Oakwing, 1: A Fairy's Tale by E.J. Clarke (English) Paperback Book

Description: Oakwing, 1 by E.J. Clarke After Rowans mysteriously transformed into a tiny fairy, shes thrust into a world of fairy clans and talking robins where, she discovers, her long-missing mother is also trapped. FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description A twelve-year-old girl finds herself on an epic adventure of tiny proportions after shes magically transformed into a fairy in this stunning debut novel from E.J. Clarke. Rowans mother went missing seven years ago. On the anniversary of her disappearance, Rowan cries herself to sleep beneath their favorite tree in Hyde Park, in the very heart of London. When she wakes up shes tiny...and has wings. She uncovers a hidden world of fairies and foxes, and sets out on a perilous journey to find the one person she misses more than any other. With new friends by her side and fierce enemies at her heels, shell discover powers she never imagined, and a courage she never knew she had. Author Biography E.J. Clarke is the author of the Oakwing series. It came from an idea that popped into his head and wouldnt leave. He lives in North London and is married with two young daughters who would like to be fairies. He hopes this book will give them that chance. When hes not writing about fairies he works for a company that makes films and television programs. Excerpt from Book Oakwing * Chapter One * HAPPY TUESDAY Rowan always got up before everyone else. Shed sit with a glass of apple juice and gaze out the window, high above the noise of London in their block of apartments, watching the orangey morning light bouncing off the glassy skyscrapers in the distance. She liked to have a little time to herself before the day began, time when she didnt have to worry about the others. Now that Mom wasnt around, looking after the family was up to her. Dad wasnt much help. He didnt do much of anything anymore. He hadnt done a lot of smiling in the seven years since Mom had vanished. Hed done a lot of sitting. A lot of staring at the TV, even when it wasnt on. He went to his job during the day, though Rowan didnt really understand what it was. Something at the Council that involved computers and talking to as few people as possible. All she knew was that he wasnt really like other dads. Her friends dads took her friends swimming, or for bike rides in the park, or walked them to school. She would have been happy with any one of those. But Rowan still couldnt swim or ride a bike, because her dad had never taught her. She had to get herself and her sister ready for school every morning. Dad could barely look after himself, let alone his two daughters. Rowan heard alarm clocks ringing in other parts of the apartment, and the banging and thumping sounds of two people not really wanting to get up. She took a deep breath and headed into the kitchen to start getting the breakfast ready. She opened a cupboard to pull out a box of cereal, but her hand clutched at thin air. "Oh, Dad," she sighed. She closed the door, and noticed the calendar hanging on the wall. Her eyes widened as she saw the date. In one quick movement she grabbed the calendar off the wall and stuffed it beneath a pile of dish towels. Willow yawned her way into the room, making Rowan jump. Her little sister was wearing pink from head to toe, and had a pair of gauze fairy wings attached to her back with elastic. "Did you sleep in those?" Rowan asked. "So. Hungry," Willow said, ignoring the question. She flopped down into a chair, staring at the space in front of her, as if she were waiting for a bowl of cereal to magically appear. Instead Rowan slid a plate with two pieces of limp, dry toast in front of her. "Dad forgot to go to the shops on the way back from work," said Rowan. Willow sighed. "Happy Tuesday," said Rowan. Something banged against the hall wall. "Ouch!" Rowan and Willow looked toward the kitchen door as their dad stumbled in, rubbing his head. He looked like a schoolboy who didnt know how to dress himself. Hed knotted his tie, but it was yanked off center. One side of his collar was up, the other down, and a lock of his hair was stubbornly sticking up at an angle. He had at least shaved, but hed cut himself a number of times and had little pieces of toilet paper stuck to his face to stop the bleeding. Rowan nodded over at Willow, who immediately put down her toast, wet some paper towel under the tap, and climbed onto a chair. She reached up and plastered her dads unruly lock of hair down. Meanwhile Rowan straightened his tie and arranged his collar, before rattling a plate of toast onto the table in front of him. Without a word their dad sat down and began eating. Then he froze with a piece of toast in midair as he stared at the wall. "Somethings missing," he said. "No, no, I dont think so," said Rowan, managing to catch Willows eye and nodding urgently toward the stack of towels. "Its the calendar!" Willow piped up. "Rowan put it under the dish towels!" Rowan rolled her eyes. Willow whipped out the calendar and handed it over to their dad. "Nooo, Willow," Rowan hissed at her sister. "Put. It. Back!" Rowan tried to wrestle the calendar away, but she was too late. "Oh," said Dad as his finger traced across the days date. The twelfth of August. The day when Mom had disappeared seven years before. The day shed decided to go to Hyde Park on her own. The day she never came back. There was an awkward silence around the table. Dad made an odd face. Willow looked back and forth from Dad to Rowan. But neither of them said a word. Dad stared down at his toast. Rowan broke the silence. "Its time to go, Willow." Dads head jerked back up. "I thought school had finished for the summer?" "It has, Dad. Youre taking Willow to Gracies house on the way to work, remember?" "Oh. Yes. Of course." Dad rubbed a hand over his face. "Come on, Willow, lets get going." He wrestled Willow and her wings into a shabby coat she was too big for and bustled her out of the kitchen toward the front door, with Rowan following. He stopped as if he had forgotten something, turning back to look at her. "What about you? What are you going to do?" "Dont worry, Dad," Rowan replied with a halfhearted smile. She was used to fending for herself. "Ill find something." "Right. Thats . . . good." The silence grew between them. Then he stepped out into the corridor. Dad closed the door behind him as Willows shouts echoed down the stairwell. "See ya, Rowan Snowman!" "Bye-bye, Willow Pillow!" Rowan called after her. She turned back into the apartment. Their home suddenly seemed much bigger and quieter. A baby started crying a couple of floors away. Rowan looked at the clock. It was still only nine a.m. She wandered back into the living room and picked up a picture frame from the sideboard. It was a photograph of her mom in happier days, playing a violin in an orchestra. As she looked at the picture, Rowan could almost hear the music. How beautiful it was too. "Its not just a violin," her mom would tell Rowan. "Its a machine for making your heart sing." Once, the apartment had been filled with her mothers music. The violin had been almost the only thing that could stop baby Willow from crying. Though sometimes the hair dryer would do the trick. Rowan looked more closely at the photo, her finger tracing across her mothers neck, where a necklace seemed to be. It was hard to make out, but the wooden charm looked like a miniature tree. Rowan raised a hand to her own throat, pulling out a necklace from beneath her T-shirt--the charm was a wooden acorn. A thought suddenly occurred to Rowan. She strode into her dads bedroom. After climbing on top of a chair, she opened a cupboard above the unmade bed. She pulled out a few old rolls of Christmas wrapping paper, a pile of raggedy towels, and some shoeboxes with high-heeled shoes spilling out. Right at the back of the cupboard was a dusty black instrument case. She lifted it gently down, put it on the bed, and popped the locks to carefully open the lid. Nestled in the cases velvet-lined interior lay her mothers violin. Rowan gently lifted it out, as though she were cradling a newborn baby. She held the polished wooden instrument to her chin, then realized she didnt have a bow. She scrambled back up onto the chair and, standing on tiptoes, saw that in the corner of the cupboard was another case. She stretched as hard as she could to reach for the box, and finally grasped it and pried it open to reveal . . . a long, wooden bow strung with horsehair. Rowan climbed back down. She held the violin to her chin and poised the bow above it. She closed her eyes and drew the bow across the violins strings. Screeech! This was not how she remembered it sounding. Rowan winced and tried again. The second time was even worse. Now it screamed even louder, like the foxes that sometimes woke her up at night. It was no use. Her shoulders sagged as she carefully set the violin back in its case and hid everything back in the cupboard. She worried what Dad might say if he knew shed been in there. She padded back into the living room and slumped down in the chair that used to be her moms favorite. It was an old armchair that had seen far better days, and had belonged to Rowans grandfather. Dad had kept the chair just as it had been when their mom was with them. It didnt face the television like the sofa and her dads chair, but looked out the window instead. Their block of apartments wasnt the loveliest place in the world, with its cold concrete stairwells and peeling gray paint, but by far the best thing about it was the view. From high up in their tower, they could see all the way across London. Past the London Eye, over the great winding River Thames, through the ocean of brick and glass, and beyond to the little green desert islands of Hampstead Heath and Primrose Hill. Rowans mom had loved nature. Shed grown up in the country and had never stopped missing it. That was why Rowan and her sister were named after trees. When she couldnt visit the parks, Mom would sit here and gaze at them from afar. As Rowan sat in her moms favorite chair, she realized what she needed to do. Today of all days. Details ISBN1481481908 Author E.J. Clarke Short Title OAKWING R/E Pages 208 Publisher Aladdin Paperbacks Language English ISBN-10 1481481908 ISBN-13 9781481481908 Format Paperback DEWEY FIC Series Oakwing Year 2018 Publication Date 2018-05-15 Subtitle A Fairys Tale Series Number 1 Audience Age 8-12 Edition Description Reprint ed. Imprint Aladdin Paperbacks Audience Children / Juvenile We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. 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