The Mystic Saga Omnibus (Books 1 - 5)

by Scott McElhaney

“What? Oh, yeah, I’ve never been here before,” Braxton replied, “My buddy and I were just looking for Elizabeth Taylor.”

  She laughed, joined by the laughter of Jack who was now patting Braxton on the back.

  “I’m sorry, but she won’t be here until tomorrow,” she replied, “We’ve only got Twelve O’clock High playing today. First showing is in an hour.”

  Braxton smiled at her, then noticed a man who was now dumping marbles into a pan on the far side of the room. He turned to Jack, unsure how to approach the situation. The woman was still watching both of them, waiting for them to make a decision.

  “Ma’am, do you have someone by the name of George who works here?” Jack asked.

  “Actually, we have two of them. George Senior works the projector and George Junior works the concessions,” she replied.

  “George Richter,” Braxton inserted.

  “Yes, we have a junior and a senior,” she said with a chuckle, “Who were you here to see?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Braxton said, “I misunderstood. Is one the father and one a son?”

  “Yes,” she said, raising her eyebrow, “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  Jack put an arm around Braxton and snickered, “Yeah, he’s new to the east coast. These California boys have a whole different language than us.”

  Braxton feigned an expression of mild embarrassment when he noticed the smirk on her face.

  “I’m looking for the son actually,” Braxton said.

  She nodded over her shoulder, “He’s getting ready to pop some corn right now. But don’t even think of getting free passes just ‘cause you know Georgie.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am,” Jack said, leading the way to the concessions counter.

  Once they got closer to the counter, Braxton started to feel a bit of discomfort over the purpose of his visit. The man working the behind the counter couldn’t have been much older than about sixteen harvests – or “years” if he used the term the people of Earth favored.

  George’s hair was probably a bright shade of red to match the color of his many freckles, but whatever he’d used to slick his hair to the side was giving it a darker tone. He glanced up from the tub of butter he’d just stuck a ladle into.

  “Won’t have the concessions ready for about fifteen minutes, my friend,” George said, scooping out a yellow slab of butter and dropping it with a plunk into a little pot, “Got a late start today.”

  “That’s alright,” Braxton said, aware suddenly that his hands were shaking, “I’m not very hungry all of a sudden.”

  “Are you George Richter?” Jack asked.

  He paused in his work and lifted his gaze from the butter.

  “Depends on who’s asking? Does George owe you money?”

  “Does he owe you money, Braxton?” Jack turned, noticing a wrinkle of worry suddenly creasing Braxton’s forehead, “You okay?”

  Braxton stepped away from the counter. Jack raised a finger to George, requesting him to hold on a minute, then rushed over to Braxton who was now leaning against the curtained wall.

  “What’s going on?” Jack whispered.

  “I can’t kill someone in cold blood,” Braxton said, “The only time I’ve ever killed someone has been in anger or self-defense.”

  “But what about your assignment?” Jack asked.

  Braxton shook his head.

  “Is it true that these people you’re assigned to take out are dangerous enough to destroy everyone on the planet?” Jack asked.

  Braxton paused a moment, then nodded. He turned his attention back to the guy who had already returned to his duties.

  “You’re right, Jack,” Braxton said, “If this guy lives, then a lot of my people will die.”

  Jack patted Braxton on the back, then tilted his head toward the counter. Braxton breathed in, transforming the tingles of worry into a shifting of power. He focused on all the death on Legacy as he approached the counter again.

  “Did you decide if George owes you money?” George asked, placing the kettle of corn into the glass-cased popper.

  “George owes me nothing,” Braxton said, leaning up against the counter, “I just wanted to apologize to him.”

  “Apologize?” he asked, reaching for the pot of butter, “Why would you have to apologize to me?”

  “For this.”

  As Braxton leaned against the metal counter with his hands, he released a torrent of electricity. Other than a few small sparks that sizzled around the edges of his fingers, there was no evidence of the deadly current that sped through the silver countertop, into the bottom of the butter pot, then through George’s hand and arm before interrupting the rhythm of his heart.

  His croak of pain was barely audible, but the spasms that ripped through him knocked two utensils to the floor. Jack stepped back, frightened at the confusing display. The woman was suddenly shouting George’s name, heading in their direction. Braxton lifted his hands from the counter before she was close enough to risk electrocution herself. George was released from the current’s hold, allowing him to drop to the floor along with his pot of butter.

  “What’s going on?” she shouted, “What happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Braxton said, stepping back slowly, “It looked-”

  “You were just standing there watching the whole time?” she cried, kneeling next to him and slapping George’s face, “Why did you just stand there and watch?”

  Jack motioned toward the door. The hint was clear, so they wasted no time storming from the building while the woman in the theater started screaming. As they headed toward the car, Braxton found himself faced with a very strong sense that everything was an exact replay of something he’d already done before. All his thoughts and actions felt like they were an instant replay of something he had just done. The repeated motions were accompanied a strong feeling that he’d consumed large quantities of mind-numbing spirits. A shiver rushed through him, causing him to pause a moment near the car and take in his blurred surroundings. The drunken déjà vu remained with him even while a warped voice of Jeff asked him if he was okay.

  Underworld

  I was sitting on Elix’s bed, hugging his droilen-shaped pillow while staring off toward his paintings that hung on the wall. For such a young boy, he was very talented and I’d always encouraged that talent any chance I could. Unfortunately, that talent required paints of blue and orange – two colors that could only come from the flowers and bugs of the Upperlands.

  As I sat there staring at his painting of a patch of wilowanders, I got a sudden feeling that I’d been here before. As a matter of fact, as I turned my head to another of his paintings, I know I did that same exact motion before. It was one of those moments when you know for a fact that you were here in this exact spot at this exact time once before. The only thing that made this occurrence feel different was that this time, it felt like I was moving underwater in slow motion.

  I stood up quickly, hoping that this blurred view of my son’s room would shift back to normal, but it didn’t. Even that odd feeling that this had all happened before was still with me.

  “Elix?” I muttered for no apparent reason.

  Then, just as quickly as the feeling had come, it was gone. Everything returned to how it had been before. I was still very alone with a droilen-shaped pillow in my son’s room.

  Nine

  “Brax, we need to get out of here,” Jack said, finally getting a hold of Braxton’s attention, “before George Senior comes out here and identifies us.”

  Braxton responded with a prolonged blink, then slowly nodded.

  “You okay?” Jack asked.

  “Yeah, everything just got a little blurry there,” Braxton said, reaching for the car door, “Did you feel anything weird at all like everything was a replay of what had already happened?”

  Braxton ducked into the car while Jack made his way hastily around the rear and to the other side. He rushed in and started the car just as an older
gentleman burst from the theater, waving his hands frantically.

  “Hey!” the man yelled, rushing toward them quick enough to get one slam of his fists on the trunk before they raced away.

  “I’m starting to think he might be a little upset with you,” Jack said with a laugh.

  He steered sharply, screeching the tires as he tore down one of the side roads. Before Braxton had a chance to get comfortable in his seat, he was jarred to the side again while Jack took another sharp turn.

  “Is it safe for us to be this noisy when we’re trying to lay low?” Braxton asked.

  “All depends on how you look at it. I just wanted to make sure the theater owner wouldn’t be able to catch us if he decided to follow,” Jack said, relaxing his foot a bit on gas pedal, “To answer your question from earlier though – no, I didn’t feel any déjà vu back there. How crazy would it be to have déjà vu at a time like that though? I mean, how many people watch a guy electrocute another guy with his mind powers and then say ‘you know what, I think I’ve been here before’?”

  “It wasn’t with mind powers,” Braxton said.

  Jack looked at him, then returned his attention to the road. He veered around a couple kids who were about to cross the road, tapping his horn as he passed them. Braxton watched the kids mouthing something as they waved their fists at him.

  Braxton slowly lifted his left hand palm up between himself and Jack, bringing forth some skittering webs of electricity between his fingers. Jack gasped and leaned quickly away.

  “Whoa,” Jack said, raising a hand to ward him off.

  “I’m just showing you what I am,” Braxton said, “I’m no different from the people in those booklets you got me.”

  “Dear Lord! So, you mean to tell me that you’re more than just a government assassin. You’re also some secret atomic experiment from some military installation in Los Alamos?” he asked.

  “No, actually I was born this way. And the uniform I wear beneath my clothing helps me to control the electricity and to throw it,” Braxton said, closing his hand suddenly and drawing the electricity back in.

  “This is absolutely unreal. Are you bulletproof too and can you fly?” Jack asked.

  “What? I don’t know what ‘bulletproof’ means, but why would I be able to fl…” he started to say, pausing in a moment of contemplation, “actually, I technically could fly if I practiced with the things I have in my black bag.”

  Braxton opened the bag and held one of the cable launchers up for Jack to see.

  “It attaches to each wrist and shoots cables that you can swing from if you’re good enough at things like that – which I’m not,” Braxton said, dropping the item back into the bag.

  Jack glanced suddenly at Braxton with a mischievous grin pasted to his face. His expression betrayed the controversy of whatever idea was currently twisting through his mind.

  “We’re making another stop before we get you cleaned up and on your way to Manhattan,” Jack said with a grin.

  “What are you planning?”

  Jack winked at him and tapped the side of his head. Then he gripped the steering wheel and simply nodded to himself.

  “Those people back there at the theater can identify us. Here’s Braxton, saving the world with his super powers, but everyone knows who exactly who Braxton is! None of the heroes in your comic books work that way. What kind of life do you think you’ll live if you have every Mafioso on your tail? You already killed Sonny the Mechanic. Imagine what happens when they find out who did that?”

  Braxton shook his head; “I really don’t plan on hanging around for long after I finish my job here.”

  “I’m not sure you’ll have much of a choice on that seeing the amount of enemies you’re leaving behind in your wake,” Jack said with a chuckle, “But just in case, we need to help you get a secret identity.”

  . . .

  Braxton was overwhelmed by the sleek beauty of the fishing poles, the slick looking hooks, and the many kinds of colorful lures. He’d never expected to find so much of personal interest on this planet, but between the comic books and the fishing supplies, he wanted to somehow form some trade relations between Legacy and Earth.

  “We’re not here to look for fishing poles,” Jack said, tugging on Braxton’s sleeve.

  “To be honest, I still don’t quite understand what we’re here for,” Braxton said, “You mentioned a secret identity and something to help me train with my flying cables, but that doesn’t mean anything to me.”

  Jeff held up a screened facemask, a small tube of fabric, and a tan sheet of paper.

  “We’ve got a fencing mask to protect your face from mild shrapnel, a set of silk stockings which we will form over the mask to create a unique anonymity protector, and finally, a trampoline that we’ll need to build after they get the pieces loaded into my car,” Jack said.

  “Trampoline?” Braxton asked.

  “Trust me on this one. If you want to be an acrobatic superhero, you’re going to need a lot of practice failing. Better to fail above a trampoline.”

  Braxton simply shook his head, then held out two fishing lures. Jack looked down at them, then returned an ‘are-you-serious’ glance to Braxton.

  “If I find a way to get money, I promise to pay you back. This fish on Legacy go wild for silver lures. Especially ones that are shaped like the little strenlocks they eat,” Braxton said.

  Jack cocked an eyebrow, then took the two lures from Braxton. He shook his head, then led the way to the front of the store to pay for everything.

  “I’m looking for ways to save your backside, and all you’re doing is looking for ways to catch fish in California,” Jack said, “I just don’t get it.”

  . . .

  Nearly an hour later, they arrived at what appeared to be a small abandoned house in East Orange, New Jersey. The miniature house sat on a large unkempt property not very far from a quaint little church building. The church was gleaming white from a fairly recent paint job, which drew all the more unwanted attention to the brown house covered in flakes of grayish paint just a head-turn to the left.

  “Who lives here?” Braxton asked as they slowly made their way up the long gravel drive.

  “My brother, but he’s down in Florida these days,” Jack replied, “So we don’t need to worry about anyone bothering us.”

  Braxton may have been from a different world, but he knew abandonment when he saw it. The car stopped right in front of the flimsy-looking front porch.

  “Please tell me we will at least have water and soap so I can get cleaned off.”

  “We might have to run the water for a while until the rust gets out of the pipes, but yes, there’s water. We’ll get some soap if we have to.”

  They got out of the car and to Braxton’s dismay; Jack seemed equally as leery to approach the house. Braxton tossed his black bag over his shoulder and followed Jack around the side of the house.

  “Don’t trust that porch?” Braxton asked with a snicker.

  “We’re not really here so much for the house as we for the back yard,” Jack replied, pointing toward the overgrown weeds behind the house.

  Braxton shook his head, hoping there was indeed some form of good news on the horizon. Then Braxton noticed that Jack wasn’t pointing to the high weeds, but rather toward the tall trees further back in the yard.

  “My ol’ man cut down a bunch of trees to make a path back into the woods for his horses. All this land was once his, including the property where the church is,” Jack said, leading the way through the tall grass.

  “You never really told me what the plan is. I seriously appreciate all the help and the money you spent on me, but I’m not sure I understand exactly what we’re doing before we go to Manhattan.”

  “See those oak trees?” he said, pointing toward the path leading into the woods, “Look at the wide path between the oaks. If you want to learn how to use your wrist cables, what better place to practice than a path lined with tall oaks?”

>   “You do understand that I’ve never used these before, right?” Braxton added, following him toward the tall trees.

  “That’s why we spent that chunk of money I had in my pocket for the Joisey Boys today on a trampoline. But before we do any of that, you’ll need to work on your aim,” Jack said, “We can’t have you sailing fifty feet above the ground and miss your next swinging target.”

  “True, but…” Braxton muttered, releasing an exasperated sigh.

  Jack turned to him with a look of confusion.

  “What is it, Brax?” he asked, patting him lightly on the shoulder.

  “Why are you helping me with all this? Seriously, we both live in the real world. If you’re hoping that I’m going to help you start robbing trucks or banks or something, I’m-”

  “No way! Do I really come off like I’m that kind of guy?” Jack asked, “Okay, I’ll be straight with you, Braxton. Obviously I want you to be successful in saving the world like you intend, but I’m also hoping you might be able to help me fix a problem of my own in the great state of New York.”

  “And that is?” Braxton asked.

  “Do you remember when I told you I couldn’t be in anymore trouble if I had Al Capone himself on my tail? Well, let’s just say that’s pretty close to the world I’m living in if I ever set foot anywhere in New York City,” he said, “I’ve got half the criminal underground out to kill me. I could stand to have a superhero on my side when I walk into town.”

  Braxton looked at the man next to him, then turned his attention back toward the tall trees. He could still visualize the amazing acrobatics of Tristan back on Legacy. That Mystic was so fast; no one could stand a chance against him. Who needed to be bulletproof if you were fast enough?

  “When do we begin the training?” Braxton asked, lowering his bag to the grass.

  “Right now.”

  Upperlands

  “What the heck is that?” Commander Shay asked, pointing to glowing blanket by his feet.

  “Good morning Commander. I’m Lieutenant Oxnard, chief of the medical staff down at Outpost Two,” he said, handing a folded sheet of paper to the Commander, “I am here on the orders of Captain Driggs. We have a ‘special package’ that needs to make it to the embassy on Green.”