First Project

by Jennifer Rose McMahon

  Urban Mystic Academy: First Project

  Jennifer Rose McMahon

  Copyright © 2019 by Jennifer Rose McMahon

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents described in this publication are used fictitiously or are entirely fictional.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover design by Rebecca Frank of Bewitchingbookcovers.com

  Dubhdara Publishing

  www.jenniferrosemcmahon.com

  Contents

  Praise for jennifer rose mcmahon

  A Supernatural Academy Series Book One

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Also by Jennifer Rose McMahon

  About the Author

  Afterword

  Sample-Urban Mystic Academy: Second Project

  Praise for jennifer rose mcmahon

  “McMahon's excellent paranormal mystery. Teen and adult readers alike will be clamoring for the sequel."

  Publishers Weekly Starred Review

  ”Engaging, beautifully written scenes, and idyllic descriptions keep the tale moving at a quick pace. The characters are engaging and they draw a person in to this tale of adventure and intrigue. Adrenaline-fueled action and enough twists and turns to keep even the most astute readers on their toes, this is a captivating story with a heroine who is forcefully engaging."

  InD'tale Magazine

  ”As Chieftain of The O'Malley Clan I am always interested in anything to do with Granuaile, our very famous Pirate Queen ancestor. Jennifer's novel captures the connection with the past which we treasure in Ireland. The Irish landscape, contemporary social life, the Irish language, and romance are woven into this fantasy story about Maeve Grace O'Malley and her quest to solve her 'Awake Dreams'. I am certainly looking forward to the sequel. More BOHERMORE please!"

  Sarah Kelly, O'Malley Clan Chieftain 2017

  A Supernatural Academy Series Book One

  URBAN MYSTIC ACADEMY: FIRST PROJECT

  by Jennifer Rose McMahon

  Chapter 1

  Purple dye dripped off the ends of my hair, creating bold splatter patterns across the porcelain sink. I pulled my fingers through the full length to be sure color coated every strand. Staring into my unimpressed eyes, I told the mirror, "You can do this. Again."

  Moving to another school should have felt natural at this point. I'd done it enough times—once a year, practically. Mom always decided to move during the summer months to make the transitions smoother. I was supposed to believe that was thoughtful of her. But the truth was, it felt more like we were running from something at every turn. Our landlords were always ready to call the sheriff, in hopes of getting some rent for a change. Mom wasn't the best at keeping up with such trivial matters.

  So, here we were again. A new town. Another chance for a new identity. A fresh start.

  No thanks.

  That might have sounded good freshman year, but I was a senior now. I didn't need any more fresh starts. I was ready to get on with my life and leave all this crap and uncertainty behind me. I'd figure out what to do on my own, once I had my diploma.

  Fortunately, I understood that my education was my power. Without it, I'd remain trapped in this cycle of dysfunction forever, and there was no way I'd settle for that. I even had a twisted pipe dream of attending college... somehow.

  But for now, I decided I would stick with my usual plan for my new school. I'd keep my head down, ignore everyone, and just get through the next one hundred and eighty school days to my freedom.

  Blinking into the mirror, I noticed that the purple dye made my hair look black, and a twinge of panic ran through me. I just wanted a subtle violet hue over my dirty blonde hair—something to say, "Leave me alone. I have a lot on my mind,"—not a full-on goth-look. With a shrug of my shoulders, I realized either would be fine. It didn't matter.

  But then, it was the strange look in my eyes, more than my odd hair, that caught my attention.

  I held a lost gaze. The deep blue of my irises was like the abyss of the ocean depths. The color whirled like a downward vortex, making me dizzy, and I shook my head to steady it. I stared into the mirror again and gasped as a stranger stared back at me, searching like they were struggling to find a way out.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. The reflection had been my own, but somehow I didn't know her.

  A strange feeling brewed in my gut, as memories of a place I'd never been flashed through my mind—an unusual metal gate, deep woods, glowing purple flames.

  My stomach tightened, sending nervous energy through me, clenching my teeth.

  Then the image of a star surrounded by intricate symbols flashed in my mind. The vision caused me to stand up tall as it struck me deep in my core.

  Here it comes again—my evil anxiety.

  Sweat broke out on my forearms—the constant physical indicator of my inner stress.

  I lifted one hand to rub my arm and then stopped short at the sight of purple dye all over my hands.

  Shit! I'd forgotten to use the gloves in the kit.

  My heart rate jumped ten levels as I cranked the faucet on. Hot water rushed out of the tap, scorching the skin off my hands as I fumbled to get the temperature right. Wet, plum-colored dye flew everywhere, splashing onto the white tiles behind the sink and on the floor. In the back of my mind, I knew the mess would be hell to clean up, but my panic drove me forward, scrubbing furiously.

  Adding soap to a full lather, I rinsed my hands only to reveal a blotchy tie-dye effect all over my skin. My fingernails were the worst with black stains under the nails and dark purple lines at the cuticles. Frantically, I ripped open the alcohol wipe included in the coloring box for 'touch-up' and wiped it all over my hands, digging it under my nails.

  It helped a little.

  But the damage was done.

  Great.

  First day of school tomorrow, and I looked like the walking dead.

  At least my hair turned out well.

  Once it dried, the shade of purple glowed like lavender. It was perfect.

  My hands, however... not so much.

  And the state of the bathroom after my Armageddon... a disaster. Once my mother woke from her Svedka-coma, she’d be sure to deliver some sound verbal lashings and hours of scrubbing. My welcomed escape for the moment was school.

  Shame-of-the-day number one: purple zombie hands.

  Shame number two: no car.

  Finding a part-time job was a must, but for now, I had to survive on my measly savings from DQ. It was enough to keep my wardrobe decent and my cell phone activated but far from paying for driver's ed or a vehicle of any form.

  The school was within walking distance though, ten minutes max, so that was a plus.

  I hoisted my light pack over my shoulder and stepped out into the all-too-early morning. Commuter traffic hadn't even started up
yet, and here I was heading off for the day. It was pure torture. My bed always beckoned me back at this point, but I fought the familiar urge to return to it, and powered on.

  Moving past the lake by my house, I noticed how pretty it was for the first time. I glanced around the neighborhood, seeing mature maples, flags hanging from telephone poles, and a free-library box on the corner, full of books for the taking. It was actually a charming town.

  I shot my eyes forward again, refusing to allow myself to like it here.

  It was too nice for us.

  It wouldn't last.

  It never did.

  Following the GPS on my phone, I had three minutes until arriving at the school. I slowed my pace to avoid the inevitable, but it was too late. Busses passed me, and a few more walkers filled the sidewalk, proving I was almost there.

  My anxiety tweaked at me, and I swallowed hard to keep it down. Everyone would know I was the new girl, and I prepared myself for the unrelenting stares.

  It wasn't my ripped jeans and leather jacket that would stand out most, though. It was my hair. Okay, and now my hands, too.

  Why did I always do this to myself? It was like I couldn't help it. Different school, different hair color. Maybe it was subconscious since my mother hated it so much. I wasn't sure. All I knew was that I was compelled to do it.

  Every time.

  And now, once again, it was clear that my look didn't fit in. That was obvious from all the khaki, fresh white Vans, and perfectly-trimmed, straightened hair, everywhere.

  But it didn't bother me. It was exactly what I'd been aiming for. As always.

  If I didn't fit in, then no one would pay attention to me. I'd be left alone to get through my sentence and be done with it.

  So I'd thought.

  Chapter 2

  Lifting my eyes as I approached the front of the school, I was shocked at first by its gothic architecture. The building looked more like a regal, ivy-covered college than a public high school. I was used to poured-concrete structures built in the seventies, with dirty buckets in the halls collecting drips from the ceilings.

  This place was better. Way better.

  My mood lightened slightly as I moved up the granite steps at the front entrance. Two sets of stately double doors waited at the top with the words 'Lakefield High School' scrolled above them. My primary focus was on finding the main office and meeting with my guidance counselor for the typical 'new student' run-through.

  As I reached the top of the stairs, I glanced toward a student leaning against the railing. His eyes met mine, and he watched me as I pulled on the door nearest my reach. I fumbled for a moment, distracted by his piercing gaze. His stare unnerved me like he knew me or was sizing me up.

  I ground my teeth in annoyance. I'd already broken my cardinal rule of keeping my head down and avoiding eye contact at all cost.

  The bang of the door behind me echoed into the long corridor, emphasizing the fact that the hallway was empty. Clearly, the students avoided entering the confines of the school until the very last minute. That was fine with me. I'd rather remain unseen in my lost wanderings while searching for the elusive office.

  A white sign stuck out from the wall ahead of me letting me know exactly where to go, and I moved with purpose toward the office. Maybe there was a chance my meeting would be quick, and I'd get to class before the first bell. I hated walking in late. There was nothing worse than all eyes staring as the new kid searched for an empty seat.

  Standing at the door, I took a deep breath and reached for the handle. As I pushed it in, I lost my balance as the door pulled open from within. Weightless, I stumbled forward and shuffled to avoid hitting the student who had just flung the door open, exiting at the exact same time.

  He chuckled, holding the door steady to help me regain my balance. I swore under my breath and glanced up at him. There was no doubt he was a football player, judging by the way his broad shoulders filled the doorframe. His friendly eyes held mine, and I paused for a second staring at him, waiting for him to say something. My awkward hesitation threw me off, and I fumbled with my bag. It wasn't that he was beyond attractive and beautiful and handsome, but it was the fact that I'd looked at him at all.

  What was the matter with me? I was breaking my first steadfast rule left and right. Keep head down, ignore everyone—was it really that hard?

  It was weird, though, none of the other students drew my attention, but with those two guys, I couldn't help myself. It was like we already knew each other. It was the first time I ever felt anything like that before when entering a new school.

  I pulled my gaze away, frustrated by my error, and focused on the desk ahead of me. The secretary watched with an annoying smirk like she'd caught me blushing or something. She dragged her pencil through her short, spiky hair, waiting for me to pull myself together.

  Damn it.

  I had to stop having eye contact with the students here. I was usually a master at avoidance, but clearly, something about Lakefield was making me crazy, throwing me off my game.

  I'd have to try harder if I was planning on surviving my final year. Making connections of any form was not a part of my master plan.

  "Can I help you?" the secretary probed. Her blank stare and monotone proved how much she loved her job. I half-expected her to snap on gum.

  "I'm new here," I replied. "Brynn Douglas."

  "Do you have an appointment?" she murmured.

  "Umm, no. I didn't realize I needed one." I struggled to keep my tone civil. Her attitude was already grating on me. "I think my records were sent over."

  She rolled her eyes.

  "Have a seat." She let out a deep sigh as she pushed herself up from her chair. "I'll see who your counselor is."

  She shuffled along a row of office doors and stopped outside the one at the end. After a few words, she headed back, taking her time for fear I might actually think she cared about me.

  "Ms. Kelly can see you," she said, motioning her head in the direction of the office.

  Obviously.

  It's not like they'd leave a new student just hanging around. Didn't this woman know the drill?

  But instead, I swallowed my cynicism and remained calm.

  "Thanks," I forced the word and walked down the narrow hallway to Ms. Kelly's office.

  I had no idea what to expect. I'd had so many different teachers and counselors throughout high school. Sadly, I expected the worst.

  My last guidance counselor was an old dude. A hippy. He was nice enough but never stayed focused on what I needed. He was too busy talking about himself with a load of 'back-in-my-day' crap. I never went to him for anything after our first meeting, no matter how much I needed help.

  "Hi. You must be Brynn," Ms. Kelly's friendly voice invited me in.

  My eyes widened at the sight of her. She wasn't too young, but young enough that she was still vibrant and full of positive energy. I was a little surprised at how cool she seemed.

  "Um, yeah."

  "Come on in. I've been looking forward to meeting you," she said.

  "Really?" I mumbled under my breath.

  "Yes. Have a seat." She gestured to several options.

  There was a chair right in front of her desk, one off to the side by the fidget toys, and another against the wall by the colorful pictures of former students, intriguing field trips, and amateur artwork. I sat in the chair directly in front of her without hesitation.

  She smiled and continued. "Your transcript kept me busy," she teased. "It's choppy, with different variations depending on each school you've attended." She scanned the multiple pages.

  My heart rate accelerated. This was the part where the counselor always challenged my credits or tried to put me in the grade below me. I mean, I was eighteen. Could it be more obvious that I was a senior? Either way, this moment was never smooth, and I prepared myself for the fight.

  "It's clear to me, though," she added, "you're an exceptional student."

  The breath I'd b
een holding since entering her office released from me in a long whoosh.

  "Um, thank you," I whispered, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  "At first, I was concerned that you had requested all AP courses, but after reviewing your academic records, I can see why. It appears that learning is one of your strengths." She watched me for a response.

  I'd never considered having any strengths before, but somehow, the way she said it made it sound like a compliment. I had no idea how to react to it.

  "I guess."

  Maybe it was true. I had nothing else to focus on, so it made sense my school work would get my full attention. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that learning did come easy to me. The other students always had questions and struggled on the tests while I sailed through every hoop. It was one small blessing, I supposed.

  Ms. Kelly gazed at me like she was trying to figure me out. But it was more than that. She looked into my soul like she could see more of me than I wanted to allow. I pulled my eyes away from her, feeling like it was my only way of hiding my true self. Her examination was unsettling, to say the least.

  "Well, typically, I would be hesitant about having a new student take five AP classes, but judging from your perfect scores on last year's exams, I think you've got this." She smiled.

  I couldn't believe it. It was the first time a counselor had faith in me. Last year's hippy made me sign over-ride forms and practically swear away my firstborn to take their advanced placement classes. He probably never even took the time to see my exam scores. That was how it always went. I was never around long enough for people to see my academic history at their schools. It was like they always had to take a leap of faith with me, assuming the wayward girl would follow the wrong path.