Tracey Meredith. Middle Grade to Young Adult stories : GROWNED- Free eBook

It's Still Free*

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"Fun for all the family... an easy and entertaining read."

7th April 2017

Growned is now available as a paperback at Amazon. Just the the thing for that child you owe a birthday present to, but they seem to have everything. I bet they haven't got Growned. A snip at $6.99 or £5.91.


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Thought I'd make the cover for Growned a bit more interesting

Liam is lost in Fairyland and if battling super sized bugs isn't bad enough, he's also being pursued by the Vapourer's assassin, though no one can understand why. Well, nobody except the Vapourer, who has spent years perfecting the Sneer, the Glide and the Maniacal Laugh, ready for his bid to conquer Fairyland. It's the best kept secret in this microscopic world. Will the fairies find out in time?

It's Still Free

Published at smashwords.com, Kobo, Nook, Amazon and iBooks

..a really good story

Anonymous, December 2017 at Barnes&Noble

This was a really good story. I loved the point of view and really enjoyed this little tale. I think everyone from school children to those who are young at heart would enjoy this light and fun read. ***** 5 out of 5 stars

This was a really good story. I loved the point of view and really enjoyed this little tale. I think everyone from school children to those who are young at heart would enjoy this light and fun read.

Anonymous

This was a really good story. I loved the point of view and really enjoyed this little tale. I think everyone from school children to those who are young at heart would enjoy this light and fun read.

Fun for the whole family

J Valencia on May 2, 2017 at Amazon.com

"Child appropriate and while I wish they had gone more in depth with the storyline, it was an easy and entertaining read." **** 4 out of 5 stars

Anonymous

Posted July 21, 2014 at Barnes & Noble- **** 4 out of 5 stars

Cute story

"Fast read! Not 100 pages, but within the first 5 minutes had really grabbed my interest. Enjoyed the story very much Hope there is a sequel!!"

Dionne's review
Sep 22, 2014 at GoodReads ***** 5 out of 5 stars

Read from September 18 to 22, 2014

"Finished this a while ago. Sorry. I enjoyed it very much as well as the other one by this author. I highly recommend reading this too."

Liam thinks moving to the country is bad enough, but when he's kidnapped by a couple of fairies and shrunk to bug size, things start to get really bad. First, he finds his dad (all six foot odd of him) is a fairy prince. Then he's attacked by the Vapourer's assassin and end's up hanging from the jaws of a hungry bug. He's no sooner escaped that when the assassin turns up again, quite determined to kill Liam. Why? Nobody knows, not even Prince Cinnabar, an over confident fairy, who runs into Liam after managing to escape from the jaws of Lord Pike. Together they struggle to make their way to the Fairy Palace, where, hopefully, Liam can be restored to his former size and sent home. Maybe. If the assassin doesn't get him. Or the wasps. Or spiders. Possibly the bats. And have you seen the size of those rain drops? And they know nothing of the Vapourer's plans for Fairyland or why he wants his servant to make him "Something purple and dashing."

Excerpt from Growned

Published at smashwords.com, Kobo, Nook, Amazon and iBooks

GROWNED

TRACEY MEREDITH

Published by Tracey Meredith at Smashwords

revised edition

IT was the scream in the night that finally did it. Not the groaning and rattling of an antiquated lavatory system. Not the strange and unidentifiable creatures that scuttled about the floor during some of the quieter moments of the twilight hours. Not even the belching and rattling of the bilious and outdated central heating. No, it was the scream that did it, the last earthly sound of an unknown victim.

Beneath his duvet, Liam screwed his eyes shut and held his breath. Don’t let it find me, don’t let it find me, he thought. Every muscle, every sinew in his body was tensed for discovery and flight. His ears, pricked and alert, must surely be stretching from the sheer effort of listening.

Silence.

More silence.

Had it gone? Or was it waiting? Pretending to be gone, but just waiting for him to make a move and give himself away.

It was hot and stuffy under the duvet. Liam’s face burned and his nose was starting to run. Any minute now he would have to sniff. Then it would hear him, whatever it was.

Oh why, oh why had they come here? Out of the safety of the city to this terrifying place in the middle of nowhere. There were no shops, no other children, hardly even any cars. What could his parents have been thinking of, moving them all out here? Oh, yes, he remembered. Something about fresh air and wide vistas. Getting back to nature came into it somewhere, probably. And what was that nonsense his dad had spouted? It felt like home? What rubbish! Ever since his dad had had that stupid heart attack, they’d been going on about a “better quality of life”, whatever that was. It wasn’t like it had been a particularly bad heart attack, either. It wasn’t as if his dad had died or anything.

They had called him selfish when he had told them he didn’t want to go. Selfish! Just because he wouldn't agree with them. Oh, yes, they had tried to make it look like they were bothered about his opinion, had taken him to the odd viewing, but, when it came to the crunch, they had decided on this wreck of a house. House! Hah! Barn, more like. It barely had electricity.

Hot tears pricked the back of his eyes. He hated it here. The strange noises, the strange smells, the total darkness when his light was put out. He couldn’t sleep, he was so terrified of whatever was out there. And then his parents wondered why he was so surly in the morning. Well, it was their fault—they’d brought him here.

There was a tapping at his window. Liam froze. What was it? His mouth went dry and his stomach rolled. Could he call out? Would his parents get here in time?

There it was again―a gentle, almost tentative tapping. He shut his eyes tighter, pulled himself into a foetal ball, and tried to ignore it. Go away, he said in his head, go away—as if, somehow, he could make whatever it was disappear by sheer willpower.

There was a whispering. He was sure it was a whispering! How could he hear whispering, for goodness sake? He was under the duvet with most of the pillow over his head!

Carefully, holding his breath, he made a tunnel with his hand to the surface of the duvet. There was welcome relief as cold air met his face. Moonlight appeared to have flooded the room, bright moonlight that caused Liam to screw his eyes up against it. Yet another thing wrong with this place, he thought petulantly. He must have a moan to his mum in the morning about getting some decent curtains to block out the light.

He struggled to control his breathing as he tried to suck down the cool, fresh air quietly . For a short while the effort distracted him from listening, but, suddenly, there it was again. Liam froze half way through a breath. Whispering. Definitely whispering.

He strained his ears. He could almost catch what was being said, he was sure. If only he could make his ears point in the right direction he would be able to hear.

A noise, a muttering. Someone, something had tripped? There was a grunting noise. Then Liam heard it—an angry whisper. “Yes, right Hornbeam! Why didn’t you just bring a drum and a trumpet and have done with it! Why not wake the whole household and invite them along?”

“Sorry, Master,” came the obsequious reply. “I couldn’t see.”

“Then move... cautiously!”

And now Liam could hear it—the sound of the inept trying to be quiet, heavy breathing getting nearer and nearer. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears, feel his throat constricting in fear. If he tried to yell now, no sound would come.

“Here?” queried a hoarse whisper.

“Here,” came the hungry reply. Slowly, the duvet was peeled back. Liam held his breath and screwed up his eyes, his primeval instincts assuring him that if he couldn’t see danger, then it couldn’t see him.

The cold night air hit his clammy body with a hair raising slap, and he felt fingers upon his shoulders. His eyes popped open in terror, but before he could attempt to scream, a hand clamped over his mouth, hard and calloused, and very firm. There was a pungent smell, a strong feeling of nausea, and the room went black.

THE prince yawned. The conversation was boring him. Parties, parties, parties. That was all his mother talked about. She was either discussing what had happened during the last one, or preparing for the next. He’d rather be out with his friends, but his mother was making up a list of suitable guests and that, apparently, required his attention. He wished she wasn’t so desperate to find him a wife. He was sure the matter would sort itself out on its own.

“Of course,” she was twittering, “we must invite the Peasbodys—they have five charming and suitable daughters already.”

“All ready for what?” the prince asked languidly, seeking some relief from the incessant bombardment of names.

“Oh, don’t be so silly, Cinnabar!” snapped his mother impatiently. “This is important! I wish you would take it more seriously!”

“Believe me, Mother, I do. You don’t know how seriously I take the notion of you marrying me off to some dreadful female of impeccable family, and ruining my life for me.” He brushed invisible dust off his knee. “What’s the hurry, for goodness sake? You can ruin my life later on, surely?”

His mother’s face was turning red with fury. Any minute now, thought Cinnabar, her head might explode. “If you’re so worried about me picking the wrong wife for you, perhaps you should make a bit more effort yourself!” she almost shouted at him.

Cinnabar sighed. “I’m young,” he offered, “there’s no rush, surely? We've managed this long without a king. Let me have a bit of fun first, please!”

“Fun!” the Queen almost squawked. She tapped him on the shoulder with her fan. Cinnabar rolled his eyes. Here it comes, he thought

“You’re my last and only son,” continued the Queen. “Well, you are since your idiot brother decided to turn human. You are responsible for the continuance of the Royal Line! The sooner you are safely married and producing heirs, the better. Then,” she clasped her choker dramatically, “I can die in peace, knowing the Crown is in safe hands. Going to the right family. Not some—common—common―person. With no breeding or lineage.”

“Mother,” sighed Cinnabar, “I am not some kind of prize animal, and I will marry when I am ready.”

“Ready? Ready? How long will that be, I'd like to know. What happens if you're eaten or something before you're married and—and—” She searched for a suitably proper word and settled on “—reproducing.” She paused. No, that wasn't the right word.

Cinnabar seized his opportunity. “Reproducing!” he almost squeaked. “You do think I'm a prize animal. You're almost as bad as the Vapourer. Why don't you get in touch with him and see if you can get him to make a batch of little Cinnabars and leave this big Cinnabar in peace!”

“Oh, Cinnabar, how could you be so cruel as to compare me with that vile creature! Oh, I feel quite faint just thinking about it. And you're missing the point, anyway. What will happen to the kingdom if there is no heir?”

“Mother, the kingdom will carry on, with or without me. Besides, my succession is not a forgone conclusion, as you well know. You are, as it were, counting your caterpillars before they're hatched.”

“What do you mean? Surely you don't think this child will cause a problem.”

Cinnabar shrugged. “Who knows, Mother, who knows? If I was him, I wouldn't touch it with a very long stick. But that said, it would certainly let me off the hook if he made good his claim.” Cinnabar paused. “Now that's a good idea! Maybe I could persuade him to stay, and then I could carry on having fun.”

The Queen looked at him, aghast. “You aren't serious?” she said, hoarsely. “Isn't it going to be bad enough that I'm to be reduced in status to the King's Mother? I will not be known as the King's—” She put her hand to her mouth, horrified.

“Granny?” Cinnabar finished for her. The Queen let out a small scream.

Cinnabar stretched himself and stood up. He recognised that his mother was reaching the mildly hysterical stage. “Er,” he suggested, “perhaps we’ll discuss it later. I’m just going out. I need to see Hooktip about... something.”

“Hooktip!” his mother spat. “I don’t see—” She paused. “Doesn’t he have a sister? A bit plain, but—”

“Oh, Mother!” groaned Cinnabar. “Please, give it a rest. And Myrtle isn’t plain. You’ve not looked at her properly.” And with that, he jumped from the balcony.

THE Vapourer glared at Bogbean. “They did what!” he hissed.

Bogbean gulped and repeated himself. “Took the human child, Lord. From the house.”

“And then?”

“I know not, Lord. I... em... I lost them.” He mumbled the last words in the hope that the Vapourer wouldn’t notice them.

The Vapourer did notice them. “Lost them?” he queried, with the menace of a snake about to strike.

“Well, my Lord,” squeaked Bogbean, “they’d been growned! I couldn’t keep up!”

“Growned? Yes, I suppose they must have been, or how else could they take the human?” The Vapourer was talking to himself now, thinking aloud. “Hmmm. So how could they...? Who could...? Mezereon! It has to be! I should have put an end to him when I had a chance! The useless, meddling...!”

He looked sharply at Bogbean. “Those who took the human—describe them!” he commanded.

Bogbean shut his eyes, trying to remember. “One was green, your magnificence.”

“Green?”

“Like a leaf, with grey wings.”

“No, that’s not him!”

“The other—I think he was in charge—was also green. But darker. And older.”

“And?”

“Dark pink wings, my Lord.” Bogbean looked beseechingly at the Vapourer.

The Vapourer nodded. “Mezereon,” he stated. He tapped his lips with a long, elegant finger. “Summon Charlock,” he said, at last.

Bogbean gulped. “Yes, my Lord,” he whimpered.

The Vapourer watched Bogbean's retreating back. The creature moves like a sack of carrots, he thought. As Bogbean left, the Vapourer glided to the full length mirror at the other end of the room. He watched himself approaching with satisfaction. How elegant, how regal he looked. It had taken hours of practice, but it was so, so worth it. Now if he could just manage an equally elegant turn, he would be so, so happy.

He swivelled.

No, no, no! That would not do! He looked like a duck waddling on ice. He pouted petulantly. What he had to put up with to achieve world domination. He bet that lump of a creature, the Queen, couldn't move with even a fraction of the grace and grandeur of the Vapourer. Well, she couldn't. He knew that, he'd seen her. Though, he had to admit, she did a very acceptable swoon. You really did feel compelled to catch her. If you wanted to put your back out and strain various vital ligaments.

“Practice, practice, practice,” he muttered to himself as, again and again, he glided and turned, glided and turned. “They have no idea,” he continued, “the work I have to put in for this. They think I just get up in the morning, and there I am, magnificent.”

He tutted. It just wasn't working. Maybe he could get Bogbean to run him up a really stunning outfit with a wider skirt, and then no one would even see his turn. Or, he wondered, another idea coming to him, perhaps he could make—what were they called? He'd seen the human children on them. Shoes with wheels. He could glide and turn effortlessly and seamlessly with a pair of those. Or fall flat on his face. Hmm. He'd have to think about that. Perhaps the stunning outfit was a better idea. You couldn't go wrong with a really stunning outfit. Blue, perhaps. He hadn't got anything in blue. And shiny. He liked shiny.

THERE were waves. Huge waves, higher than the masts of the boat he was in. He looked up to watch a mountain of grey and green curl over him, thousands of tons of water about to obey the laws of gravity and smash him and this pathetic little boat to pieces. He rocked from side to side, thrown by the battering waves and unable to keep his footing.

Where were the crew, he wondered, as he staggered to his feet, looking desperately for someone to blame. There was a thunderous roar and the thousand tons of water began their descent. Liam opened his mouth and screamed a silent scream as his world turned dark green, and his mouth and nose filled with freezing, bitter water. As his consciousness faded, he knew he was going to die.

Then he woke up, face down on a hard, cool surface. He could hear the murmur of voices, but failed to register them as he tried to remember where he was. He was moving rhythmically from side to side for some reason. He spread his hands over the surface beneath him, feeling the smooth ridges. He was alive and had been dreaming. This definitely wasn’t his bed though.

He struggled through the fog in his brain, trying to remember what had happened to him. He was sure the last thing he remembered was being under the duvet, hiding.

Hiding.

Hiding from...?

Slowly, he raised his head. And gasped.

“I think he’s awake, Sir,” said a voice.

“HOOKTIP! Hooktip! Hi! Hold up!” shouted Cinnabar as he swooped through the trees.

Hooktip stopped in mid air and hovered, waiting. “I thought you were helping the Queen with her party,” he said as Cinnabar joined him.

Cinnabar made a face. “The excitement was getting too much for me,” he replied. “Particularly when she started considering your sister as a possible match.”

“What? Myrtle? I think she’d rather have her eyes pulled out!”

Cinnabar laughed. “Yes, well, tell my mother that. I thought I’d better get out before she got her heart set on it.”

“A wise move. Any news from Mezereon?”

“Last I heard, he and Hornbeam were going to fetch him last night. Or was it tonight?” Cinnabar paused and frowned. “Can't remember,” he said, shaking his head. “I haven’t seen them since yesterday, so...”

“We wait?”

“For now.”

Hooktip dived to the side and glided through a glade of young trees. “So where shall we go?” he called over his shoulder.

“Fishing!” shouted Cinnabar, following.

They flew through the trees to the lake and sat on the branch of a willow, watching.

“Well?” said Hooktip, rubbing his hands together, “What shall it be? Fun or dinner?”

“Oooh, fun I think. Let’s live a little dangerously, shall we?”

“What! Taunt Lord Pike again?” Cinnabar nodded. Hooktip whistled. “Didn’t you have enough last time?” he asked, looking slightly worried. “You nearly made him a nice little snack.”

“What, Hooktip? Losing your nerve?” laughed Cinnabar.

“No!” protested Hooktip, “But, well, what with everything that’s going on—” Hooktip paused and blushed a little. He took a deep breath and said, “Should you be taking risks?”

Cinnabar scowled. “I think it’s now or never, Hooktip. If I’m made King at last, I won’t be able to do anything like this. And my mother seems to think I’ll be too busy producing grandchildren to have fun! Let’s make the most of things while we can, eh?” He clapped his friend on the shoulder.

Hooktip looked up, a frown on his face. “You think you will become King, then?” he asked.

Cinnabar shrugged. “Mezereon seems to think it’s a mere formality, “a handing over of authority”, he called it.”

“Oh."

“Oh? Why the long face?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just, well, you’ll be King!” Cinnabar shrugged. “You’ll be busy, important,” continued Hooktip.

Cinnabar sighed and looked glum. “No more fun,” he muttered.

Hooktip nodded. “No more Hooktip,” he said, quietly.

Cinnabar’s head snapped around. “What! Is that what’s bothering you? That I won’t have time for you? My dear Hooktip, friends—good friends—share everything. If I’ve got to suffer, so have you. I’ll make you an advisor or something.” Hooktip laughed as his friend continued. “If you think I’m spending my days with stuffy courtiers in the throne room, while you and Myrtle are out here enjoying yourselves, you’ve got another think coming. What’s mine is yours and that includes all the pain and suffering. Now!” Cinnabar stood up and balanced himself on the branch. “Are you ready for a little risk?”

“AH, Charlock,” crooned the Vapourer. “Thank you for coming. You’ll like this one. It’s an elimination.” The Vapourer smiled beneficently. Charlock tossed his mane of yellow hair and licked his lips. “That meddling fool, Mezereon,” continued the Vapourer, “has found the human child and is bringing him to the Queen now. Make sure none of them get there.” Charlock cocked a quizzical eyebrow. “Use whatever methods you deem necessary. There must be no trace, no survivors. You understand?”

Charlock bowed, a smile upon his lips. The Vapourer waved a dismissive hand. “Help yourself to one of the dragonflies,” he called as an afterthought. But Charlock had disappeared into the shadows.

The Vapourer rubbed his hands together. Charlock was a very efficient and thorough assassin. There was no way that Mezereon, the old fool, was going to succeed.

He laughed maniacally. It was a good laugh. He had been practising it in the bath. The bathroom had particularly good acoustics for that sort of thing. He glanced around the room. There was no one here to hear him. A pity. But never mind. When he seized power there would be plenty of people to hear him, and they would quiver with fear. He smiled and rubbed his hands together again. Yes, he thought, he deserved to seize power with a laugh like that.

He pushed his hand into the pocket of his robe and rummaged. He really must see Bogbean about putting a little breast pocket in each of his robes, so he could find Important Items quickly. It did not look particularly efficient, rummaging amongst old tissues and pieces of string for Important Items. Important Items should have their own, special pocket.

Frustrated, the Vapourer emptied the contents of his pockets onto a table. There it was. The List.

Maniacal laugh. Check. Regal glide. Check. Turn. Almost there. What next? Point and sneer. Yes, they would go very nicely together. It would mean he could point at his victim and sneer as he pronounced their doom. And then, of course, the maniacal laughter as they were dragged away.

He sighed happily. His Destiny couldn't come quickly enough. He was born to wield power. Not like that stupid lump of a Queen. Hardly an impressive creature. And as for that husband of hers, King Whateverhisnamewas, well, he deserved to be trodden on by a fox and peeled out of that muddy footprint looking like some kind of awful rug. And their sons were no better. What a waste of time the eldest had proved to be. And the other one, what was his name? Prince Cinnabar? Always out carousing with his friends, interested in nothing but a good time. Yes, it was time for a clear out in the Royal Household. Time for someone with a bit of panache and a firm idea of the direction Fairyland should take now. Time for a revolution!

He faced the mirror and pointed. Not too bad, but lacking in flair. It would not, in its present state, do for signalling the doom of fairykind.

He tried the Sneer next. His upper lip stuck to his teeth. No. That wasn't a good look.

He unrolled the lip with his finger. He tried again. This time he looked like he was trying to stifle a sneeze.

He stood back and surveyed his reflection. Maybe he should grow a moustache as well. It would accentuate the Sneer. When he'd got it right. For now it was practice, practice, practice.

IT was a beetle. Or something like a beetle. Liam stuffed his fist into his mouth to stop himself from screaming. When did beetles grow this big? He was lying on top of a creature that seemed to be covering the ground at an extraordinary rate. It was a bronze green colour and smelled strongly of wet earth.

Once he was sure that he wasn’t going to fall off, Liam sat up.

“Ah,” said a voice from behind him, “I see you’re joining us at last.”

“Unghh,” squeaked Liam, turning. He wasn’t quite sure what he was looking at. It appeared to be an elderly man with a shock of white hair and a long white beard. What held Liam’s attention, however, was the man’s green skin and the pair of bright pink wings that appeared to be growing from his back.

“It’s a dream,” muttered Liam. “It’s just another dream and I’ll wake up soon. Just go along with it. Nothing nasty has happened yet.”

The elderly man smiled sympathetically. “Yes, Highness,” he said. “It is probably very confusing for you. I’m guessing that your father hasn’t told you about us.”

“Er...” said Liam.

“No, obviously not. Well, I don’t blame him. I expect he wanted a clean and uncomplicated start after the banishment.”

“Banishment?” said Liam, curiosity overcoming the battery of emotions currently vying for his attention.

“Well, yes. After leaving to marry your mother―well, it’s the normal punishment for fraternising with humans. And,” the elderly man sighed, “the law is the law and must be applied to everyone if it’s to be worth the paper it’s written on.” He gave a wry smile. “We’ll be stopping for what's left of the night shortly. A hot drink and some food in you and you’ll probably find the story easier to digest. Which is perhaps more than can be said of Hornbeam’s cooking,” he muttered.

He nodded towards the other curious figure ahead of them, who was sitting astride what seemed to be a black beetle. He had bright green skin and grey wings.

“That’s Hornbeam,” said the elderly man. “He’s a good lad, but I regret his culinary expertise leaves a lot to be desired. He’s my apprentice, the best of a poor lot. But he tries, and I can’t really ask more than that. Still...” He looked at Hornbeam, shaking his head.

“Yes” he continued in a low voice, “the best of a poor lot. Which doesn't say much for the rest of them. In my day, you couldn't move for outstanding candidates. But, these days, well, nobody seems to set any store by standards any more. It's not deemed—what is it you humans call it? Cool? It's not deemed cool to want to be the best at what you do.” The old fairy shook his head. “And then, of course, there's the question of his parentage.”

“Oh?” said Liam.

Mezereon lowered his voice even further. “I believe he has no idea who his parents are. Or were. Of course, they could be...” Mezereon paused, as if considering what he was about to say. “Well, anyone, really,” he continued. Mezereon shrugged his shoulders. “He'd been taken in by another family and they were, naturally, quite pleased to be rid of him. It was rather an act of charity on my part. The boy has no magical talent. None at all.” He sighed. “And I am Mezereon, chief magician and wizard to Her Majesty, Queen Demoiselle and His Royal Highness, the Prince Cinnabar. At Your Highness’ service,” he added with another bow of his head.

“Highness?” queried Liam

“Here, you are royalty,” replied Mezereon.

Liam opened his mouth to ask further questions, but Mezereon waved a dismissive hand. “Later,” he said, soothingly.

Liam shrugged. Why not? he thought. It’s only a dream. It’s not as though any of it matters.

Above them, a dragonfly and its rider tracked their movements.

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