The Wishing Well

DISSONANCE - Chapter 1

Here you go! I'm excited to be publishing Dissonance, and hope you enjoy the first chapter! To learn more about how to read the rest of it, visit my website or follow me on Twitter! The link is on my profile.

Enjoy!

-Mariella

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The December wind clawed at Allie's face, stinging her eyes. It was one of those days she refused to stay home, escaping the moment Mother's car pulled away. Grabbing her coat, she broke into a run towards town, slowing only for a moment at the sound of a whisper she loved and hated.

You'll never catch me.

It resounded deep in a hollow within her heart, the aftermath of fifteen lonely years; nothing soothed her emptiness except these games of catch.

Her companion had chosen a cold afternoon for their latest chase. Allie wandered the frosty streets, clasping her hands, not daring to take a breath. The smallest sound would throw her off-course, because Song was elusive like a dream.

Allie kept her senses alert to catch every shift of the music. For some reason, there were sounds in the world no one could hear but herself. The crunch of ice underfoot was music. The uncomfortable wheeze of her breath was a song.

But these were just songs, not the Song Allie chased.

Song wasn't music or sound, but a spirit—one who cared little for anyone. Though she could mend a broken heart, she'd just as readily vanish. Song wasn't much of a friend, but Allie needed the distraction of their games to relieve her from a life of confinement.

Wait till you get home, Allison, scolded her conscience. Imagine what your mother will say.

But Allie couldn't return without winning the game. Quarantine had done little to improve her health, so she may as well catch a cold and give Mother reason to worry...

Couldn't Song have mercy for once and make this game shorter? It was freezing! Allie slid to the ground against a brick wall, her bones aching from the walk.

She rummaged in her backpack for a worn leather journal, a gift from Father. For eight years now she'd filled the pages, penning in musical notes by hand. Nobody knew about these songs to tell her if they were any good.

Allie closed her eyes, listening intently. Years ago, when she was small enough that Mother thought it cute, she befriended the sounds of everyday life. At four years old Allie could distinguish tiny sounds, naming them for their roles in the universe.

Allie listened to the symphony of rush hour, an echoing buzz she called Citysong. Through it hummed a poignant promise that snow was going to fall. This foreshadowing oath darted through passageways and slid off rooftops, snaking in perfect circles.

But it wasn't time for Snowsong yet. She sat and waited, stiff with cold.

Through this vague, promising introduction, a voice drifted up the sidewalk: "He's not here! I don't even know if this is the right place!"

Allie squinted through her veil of fatigue at the newcomer, a man with his smart phone. He paced up and down the vacant street, burrowing his free hand in a pocket for warmth.

He squinted with tired eyes. "There are ten people inside. No one we know."

She crept into the shadows, her attention piqued by his worry. This man looked like he might buy and sell stocks for a living, or eat fish at expensive resorts, or sip wine from dainty glasses. Even lost, he walked with an air of power. "Do you think I've got the right address?"