Title: The
Luthier’s Apprentice
Author: Mayra
Calvani
Genre: YA
Paranormal Fantasy
Niccolò
Paganini (1782-1840), one of the greatest violinists who ever lived and rumored
to have made a pact with the devil, has somehow transferred unique powers to
another…
When violinists around the world mysteriously
vanish, 16-year-old Emma Braun takes notice. But when her beloved violin
teacher disappears… Emma takes charge. With Sherlock Holmes fanatic, not to
mention gorgeous Corey Fletcher, Emma discovers a parallel world ruled by an
ex-violinist turned evil sorceress who wants to rule the music world on her own
terms.
But why are only men violinists captured and not
women? What is the connection between Emma's family, the sorceress, and the
infamous Niccolò Paganini?
Emma must unravel the mystery in order to save
her teacher from the fatal destiny that awaits him. And undo the
curse that torments her family—before evil wins and she becomes the next
luthier's apprentice…
Award-winning author Mayra Calvani has penned
over ten books for children and adults in genres ranging from picture books to
nonfiction to paranormal fantasy novels. She’s had over 300 articles, short
stories, interviews and reviews published in magazines such as The
Writer, Writer’s Journal and Bloomsbury Review,
among others. A native of San Juan, Puerto Rico, she now resides in Brussels,
Belgium.
Connect with the author on the Web:
Purchase links:
Chapter One
Brussels, Belgium
Present day
Sixteen-year old Emma Braun got off the school bus and strode down
Stockel Square toward her home. She glanced up at the October sky and wrapped
her wool scarf tighter around her neck. Heavy dark clouds threatened a
downpour.
As she passed a newspaper stand, the headlines on The Brussels
Gazette caught her attention:
ANOTHER VIOLINIST VANISHES!
Emma stopped. For a moment she could only stare. She dug into her
jacket pocket for coins and bought a copy.
The newspaper article left her stunned. Not only because three
well-known violinists had gone missing in the last several months, but because
the latest one was her teacher, Monsieur Dupriez.
The news story seemed so hard to believe, she stopped at the next
street corner to read it one more time.
It was the last week of October, and the shops and homes were
lightly adorned with Halloween decorations. Pumpkins and Jack-o-lanterns sat on
doorsteps. Witches, broomsticks, and black cats hunkered down in windows and
shops. Just last evening, Emma had sauntered along this street with her best
friend Annika, unconcerned and looking forward to Halloween. Now, everything
had turned dark and ominous.
The strange incidents she had experienced for the past two weeks added
to her stress.
At first she had thought they were a string of coincidences, but
not anymore. While scowling at obnoxious Billie Lynam during school recess, for
instance, she wished he would fall flat on his face… and half a minute later,
her wish was granted. On various occasions she guessed people’s thoughts before
they spoke. And yesterday, on her way home from school, she accurately guessed
the meal her mom had left on the table for her.
Was she some kind of a psychic? If so, why now? People didn’t
develop powers like these overnight. Did they?
She hadn’t told her mom about her new abilities yet; only Annika
knew. Maybe she would tell her mom today, after she shared the news about
Monsieur Dupriez.
As Emma approached her home, she quickened her step. By the time
she reached the door she was almost running. She raced into the hallway and
dropped her book bag on the floor.
“Mom!” she called, looking in the kitchen, then in the living
room. The house was silent. “Mom!” she called again, racing up the stairs to
the bedrooms. Entering her mother’s room, Emma found her sitting very still on
the bed with a crumpled letter in her hand.
When her mom saw her, she hastily put the crumpled piece of paper
into her pocket and rose from the bed. Her arched brows were furrowed with
anxiety.
Emma momentarily forgot the newspaper article. “Are you okay,
Mom?”
“I’ve just received some unsettling news,” her mom said. “I must
make a trip to see your Aunt Lili. She’s ill. She…I don’t know how long I’ll be
gone.”
Aunt Lili? Emma frowned. More surprises. Emma had never met her
mom’s eccentric only sister, who lived alone in the Hungarian mountains
secluded in an old chateau surrounded by dark woods—or so her mom said. Though
again, her mom hardly ever mentioned her.
“What’s wrong with Aunt Lili?” Emma asked. “Can’t I come with
you?” She had always been intrigued by her mysterious aunt.
“No. You’ll stay with Grandpa. You enjoy working with him, don’t
you?” Her brown eyes met Emma’s before turning away, and though her voice
sounded matter-of-fact, Emma detected a trace of ambivalence.
Emma sighed. She loved violin making with a passion, but Grandpa
was a bitter taskmaster. No matter how much she tried to please him, she never
could. Maybe that’s why her mom often seemed so reluctant about her
apprenticeship.
“I’d rather go with you,” Emma said. “Plus, next week is holiday.”
All Saints holiday week—or Toussaint, as they called it here—almost
always coincided with Halloween.
“That’s out of the question. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.
Besides, you can’t miss your violin lessons, not with the Christmas competition
at the academy coming up soon.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Emma said gravely, extending the
newspaper.
Her mom took it. “What’s this?”
“This is why I came running up the stairs.”
Her mom read the headlines. She gasped and looked at Emma. When
she finished reading, she sat on the edge of the mattress and stared into
space. “Oh, my God...” she whispered.
Emma sat next to her mom. “It says Monsieur Dupriez disappeared in
his study. The doors and windows were locked from the inside. The police don’t
have any explanation. How can this happen? It’s not logical. It’s not humanly
possible.”
“No, not humanly possible…”
“Just like the other three—that German violinist, the French one,
the American. Nobody has explained their disappearances. Who would want to
kidnap violinists?” When her mom didn’t answer, she began to gnaw at her
fingernail.
As if by reflex, her mom pulled Emma’s hand away from her mouth.
“Sorry,” Emma mumbled. “I’m just worried about him.”
“Poor Madame Dupriez. We must visit her. She must be in quite a
state.”
“Can you call her now?”
Her mom sighed. “I will. In a moment.” She looked at Emma, her
features softening. Gently, she smoothed Emma’s glossy chestnut locks and side
fringe away from her face. “Don’t worry, everything will be fine. You mustn’t
be afraid.”
“Afraid? Why would I be afraid?”
“I mean, about Monsieur Dupriez.” Her mom appeared flustered.
“I’m not afraid. I’m worried, and angry. I want to find out what
happened to him. Without him, I don’t even want to take part in the
competition.”
Monsieur Dupriez had been Emma’s teacher since she was four years
old. But more than teacher, he was her mentor.
“You will do your best at the competition—with or without Monsieur
Dupriez. Do you hear me?” her mom said. Then her voice softened. “Listen,
darling, I know how close you are to Monsieur Dupriez, but you cannot allow his
disappearance to destroy your chances at the competition. I’m not asking you to
win, only to do your best. You have great talent, a gift, and your duty is to
use it to the best of your ability. Never forget this. Monsieur Dupriez would
never want you to forget this.”
“You still haven’t told me what’s wrong with Aunt Lili,” Emma said,
changing the conversation. “Why must you go to her now, after all these years?”
Looking into Emma’s face, her mom hesitated, as if unable to
decide what—or how much—to say. “You know she’s always been ill, a recluse.
She…” She rose from the bed and walked to the window, then opened the curtain.
It had started raining, the drops pelted against the glass. “This time it’s
serious. She may die.”
Emma couldn’t help feeling a twinge of suspicion. She hated
distrusting her mom, whom she loved more than anything in the world, but this
time her mom was lying. Emma trusted that feeling, another of her freaky new
abilities. She felt an overwhelming urge to chew her fingernails, but tried to
control herself. For her mom, a violinist’s hands were a work of art.
“But what’s wrong with her? What kind of disease does she have?”
Emma insisted.
“Her heart is very weak.” Her mom turned away from the window to
face Emma. Her voice was laced with impatience.
And again Emma thought: She’s lying.
“Please don’t worry about it,” her mom went on in a lighter tone.
“I’ll try to come back soon.”
“How soon?”
“As soon as I can manage.”
“Grandpa is always in such a nasty mood,” Emma complained.
“Well, that isn’t news, is it?” Her mom stared down at the floor,
as if absorbed by her own thoughts. After a pause, she added, “He’s old and his
back always hurts. You know that.”
“I love Grandpa, but he’s so freaking…” She tried to come up with
the right word. Bizarre. Instead she said, “Mysterious. You know,
with his violins.”
Her mom looked at Emma and frowned, as if waiting for her to say
more.
“You know what I mean, Mom. With that room at the top of the
stairs. The one that’s always locked.”
Her mom’s features hardened. “He keeps his most valuable pieces in
there. You must never disobey him. He would be very disappointed.”
“Who said I would go in there?” Emma asked, trying to sound
innocent. If there was something she intended to do, it was going inside that
room. Once she’d almost been successful. For some crazy reason, Grandpa had
forgotten to lock it one day. But the instant she touched the doorknob, he had
called her from the bottom of the stairs, his wrinkled features twisted into a
mask that had left her frozen. He had appeared enraged and afraid at the same
time.
“When are you leaving?” Emma asked, shaking off the past to focus
on the present issue.
“As soon as possible. Tomorrow, probably. I’ll get the plane
tickets today.”
“Mom...”
“Emma, please. If you’re going to complain or say anything
negative, I don’t want to hear it.”
Fine. Obviously, this wasn’t the best time to bring
up her new psychic powers. She headed to the door.
“Where are you going?” her mom asked.
“To my room.”
“I’ll call Madame Dupriez to see if we may visit her after dinner.
In the meantime, I want you to pack. You’re moving to Grandpa’s tomorrow.”
In her room, Emma dragged her suitcase from the top shelf in the
closet and set it on the floor.
“Hi, Sweetie,” she said to Blackie, her rabbit. “Want to get some
exercise?” She opened the cage door so Blackie could hop out and roam about her
room. Blackie was housebroken, and smart as a cat—or close to it.
She stared at the elegant taffeta gown hanging from her wardrobe
door, a strapless design a la Anne Sophie Mutter she’d already bought for the
upcoming violin competition.
She sighed.
Slumped on the bed, Emma wondered for the umpteenth time about
Monsieur Dupriez’s strange disappearance.
Where could he be?
