Mystical (The Mystical Trilogy Book 1)

by Michael Weekly

  Mystical

  The Deadly Truth

  By Michael Weekly

  Mystical

  Copyright © 2015 by Michael Weekly.

  All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: December 2015

  Limitless Publishing, LLC

  Kailua, HI 96734

  www.limitlesspublishing.com

  Formatting: Limitless Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1-68058-394-6

  ISBN-10: 1-68058-394-8

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To Mom, Isaiah, and Elijah.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  I'm going to kill my mother today.

  I already get picked on enough, so why did she have to make my life worse by buying me these circular pair of glasses? They’re starting to irritate the bridge of my nose from wearing them an entire school day. I anticipate the raging headache due to seeing things super close because of these glasses.

  The warm sun is heating the leather of the straps on my backpack and burning the skin of my shoulders. A hot day for the start of summer break. The harsh wind blows my thick hair in front of my eyes.

  A classmate shoves me while running to the crossing guard. He turns around, points at my face, and laughs with his friends, who are all pointing at my glasses. I lower my eyes and glare up at them. My mother doesn’t deserve to live.

  I close my lips and pinch what I’m sure is a depressed grin across my face when I see Miss Canary, my neighbor. Mom’s been talking to her a lot lately. She glances up from fixing her plants and waves at me. There’s a forest behind her home and a field I sometimes enjoy lying in.

  I switch my attention to the street between the many houses in our neighborhood. I tuck my hands into my pockets and wait for the crossing guard to stop traffic so I can walk across safely. When I get to the front of my house, I stop at the end of the steps and sigh. Right when I reach for the doorknob, the door creaks open.

  “There you are,” Mom says as she takes my backpack from me. “I was just about to meet you at the street. I’m sure you don’t want to stand out in the heat all day. Come inside,” she says, smiling.

  Mom glances across the street. The smile on her face fades away, her eyes narrow, and the ends of her lips pinch into their corners, indicating that she’s worried. I turn around and see that Miss Canary is watching the both of us. She nods her head and then bends down to attend to her garden.

  Mom closes the door almost immediately and guides me into the living room. She takes a book from our old bookcase. I clear my throat and wait for her to say something, anything, at this point.

  “What’s up with you lately?” I eye the markings she tends to hide with concealer on her arms. “Why do you keep trying to cover up your tattoos? I’m fourteen. I think people my age are aware of them.”

  She walks to the couch and brushes off my comments. “There’s a few things I need to tell you and this is about the right time to do so.”

  “Are you dying?” Mom shakes her head. “Do you have cancer?” She shakes her head again. “Okay, then. I don’t need to be down here with you.” I begin to walk away. “I have summer break homework to start.”

  “Bad people are always around us,” she begins.

  I look at her and say, “Mom, I know…” I go to the kitchen, looking for a snack.

  “Eliza, hush and just listen to me. This is important.”

  She rushes to me and turns me to face her so that my attention is only on her and not the food in the fridge. She digs into her purse and pulls out a sharp knife-like object with silver lines wrapped around its handle. “This is a dagger. I want you to have it on you at all times, just in case.”

  “Why can’t I have something normal, like pepper spray?”

  “Because you’ll be able to use this easily. You’re not a normal teenager, Eliza. You’re much different and more amazing. You can do things most people aren’t able to do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Mom looks at our roof and then back down to me. “You’re a witch.”

  She smiles, happy for some reason, but I don’t smile. Who would want to be a witch? Not me.

  When it occurs to me that she’s not joking, my heart stops beating for a second or two. Everything around me becomes silent and stiff except for our clock on the wall. The tick-tocks are beginning to drive me crazy.

  “You can’t be serious…”

  “Whether you believe me or not is up to you.”

  I swear, if people start hearing that my mom is convinced that I, Eliza Rose, am a witch…That’ll just be one other thing people will bully me about.

  I’m starting to think that mom is losing her mind. I don’t believe any of this. Witches aren’t real. They’re nothing but fictional characters, a figment of someone’s imagination written in a book for little kids or animated to walk and talk. Of course Mom would read stories to me at bed time, but seriously, I’m fourteen now, and I don’t think insulting my intelligence is helping anything right now.

  “So you’re saying I have powers? Do you really think I’m dumb?” I say, pursing my lips.

  “No, I’m not. Around this time, when a child of a witch is in their teens, it’s best to tell them who they really are…” Her lips part and she looks at the door behind me, fear replacing the look of happiness that was on her face when she revealed who I am. “Before it’s too late.”

  Before what is too late? It’s almost like my mom is afraid to tell me about what’s to come. Why would she tell me this information if it’s clearly something bad?

  I wish she wouldn’t have told me anything about being a witch to begin with. I remember all the times she mumbled downstairs about mystics and broomsticks. I would creep out of my room to eavesdrop, but, every time, she was just talking to herself.

  One memory in particular stands out.

  ***

  I was standing at the top of the staircase when I heard her say to her imaginary friend in front of our bookcase, “They’re in the crowd with humans. How else am I supposed to protect the innocent?” Suddenly, she fell to the ground, and the smell of something burning grabbed my attention. My heart dropped. I raced down the stairs to see if she was okay and she glanced up, shocked that I was still awake. The strange face she made that night is the same one she�
��s making right now.

  ***

  Mom’s eyes trace the floor. She looks like she’s in deep thought. She turns her attention to the bookcase next to us, the same case she had a full conversation with. I think I’ve come to the conclusion that she’s actually suffering from some sort of mental illness.

  “If I don’t have powers and can’t cast spells, then what makes a witch…a witch? You gave me these glasses to get picked on at school, and now you’re saying we’re some creepy witches?”

  Mom purses her lips and furrows her eyebrows. She holds the dagger in her hand.

  “Soon, you’ll find out what it means to be a witch.” She grins, digging into her purse.

  When she finds what she’s looking for, she brings out a brown, thin slender object. The same silver lines on the dagger are around its handle. A tiny red button glows on it. I lift my eyes up at her.

  “Mom, what the hell is that?”

  Her eyelashes flutter up at me. “Dear, this is your broomstick…”

  I bump into the wall behind me. My glasses fall to the ground and everything becomes blurry. I breathe through my nose frantically, trying to find my glasses. When I feel their cold, hard structure, I place them back on my face, recollect myself, and grab my backpack from her. She tries to calm me down, but my breathing proceeds to pick up. I back away from this crazy woman in front of me.

  “You must be home before eight now,” she says, “and it is very important to keep your broomstick with you wherever you go.”

  I ignore what she’s saying to me and run to the front door as she shouts out, “Eliza, please come back. I know it’s a lot to take in, but it’s for your own—”

  I cover my ears, charge out of my house with a loud grunt, and slam the front door behind me. Miss Canary is still outside. She stops what she’s doing with a confused expression on her face as she watches me storm out of my home.

  “What are you looking at?”

  I run down the sidewalk, trying to get my thoughts together as the day turns to night. There is an old playground in the neighborhood at the end of our block. No one goes there because some of the students at school say there are monsters in the woods around the playground that come out at night.

  The forest doesn’t bother me, though. I guess I really am different.

  The rust squeaks from above me as I sit down. Even though I’m not swinging high, the noise of the rust is loud and hurts my ears. I cover them and get off the swing. The wind hisses, slithers in between my fingers, and tickles the tip of my nose.

  I drop my backpack on the ground, causing the broomstick and dagger to fall out. I shake my head and curse to myself.

  Mom must’ve slipped them both in before I left.

  I pick the two objects up and study the broomstick’s structure. Accidentally, I press the red button and it grows longer and a bit heavier. The silver lines around it begin to glow and my mouth parts as I wonder what’s happening.

  A streetlight not too far from the playground bursts randomly. I stick the broomstick back into my backpack and slowly wander off to see why the light broke in the first place. The sounds of branches snapping and leaves rustling in the woods grab my attention immediately.

  Could this be the monster everyone is talking about?

  I turn around and see a pair of yellow eyes glaring at me. I rub my face and blink a few times, convinced that when I open my eyes, the yellow eyes will disappear entirely. Instead, the yellow eyes turn into blue and green orbs. They float out of the darkness with a bunch of other colorful dots.

  Floating in the midst of my surroundings, the sparkles dance with one another, peacefully tempting me to follow them. I tiptoe around the scenery just in case someone might assume that I somehow broke the light. I kick the pieces of glass out of the way. I don’t see anything that proves the light was broken on purpose.

  Suddenly, I notice a tall, oddly dressed man leading a woman into a dark alley adjacent to the road. The man, whose shirt and pants are ripped, seems to be focused on getting her into the darkness in front of them. He quickly looks behind him, checking to see if anyone is following the trail of colorful dust he’s leaving behind. I’m out of his path of vision, so he doesn’t notice me at all.

  He turns his attention back to the alley. He’s holding on to the girl’s slender body with so much care, she’s smiling and giggling, probably from his grip around her waist. I bend down and stick my dagger inside my black boots.

  My muscles wake up from their sleep, sending shocking vibrations to the tips of my toes and throughout my body. I shudder at the goosebumps developing on my arms and legs.

  Suddenly disoriented, I blink a few times to figure out where I’ve been this entire time. I don’t remember taking any steps forward, but I’ve somehow drifted toward the entrance of the alley. I turn around. The park is a blur behind me.

  I press the ends of my lips together and think, but that’s the thing…my thoughts aren’t my own anymore. My curiosity is controlling me, and all my curiosity wants me to do is enter into the shadows of the alley. I want to follow the man. I want to feel as happy and content as the girl is. I’m craving for the same experience, anything to get me out of my misery.

  My life is already a train wreck as it is. I might as well go.

  What could be so wrong with doing something that’ll distract me from thinking about all of my bad experiences at school? From thinking about how Dad left and never returned? I’m curious to know why this man led his date into such a dark, eerie alley.

  My lips part in response to the sweet smell pervading the tight space ahead of me. I run the tips of my fingers through my thick auburn crinkles, attempting to pull out my middle finger, which managed to get stuck. My bottom lip quivers as it swells from me biting on it too hard.

  The clouds above me are dark. I watch as they form into different monstrous shapes. Thoughts overwhelm my mind as I walk into the alley, looking for the couple.

  “Stop, you’re so silly,” says the girl. She giggles, and her voice lures me in even more, making me want to have as much fun as she is.

  My right ear perks up from the sound of wind scratching against the dark path’s walls. Cold air brushes against the tiny hairs on my cheeks. The scent of lilies and fresh cut wood infiltrates my nostrils, causing my nose to flare at how strong the scent is.

  I turn around and see that the sparkles that guided me to this path in the first place are fading away with each step I take. The forest’s whispers creep into my ears from behind me, but I see nothing.

  I continue walking deeper into the alley, the sounds of kissing muttering into my ears. As the gravel crunches underneath my boots, I feel certain that I’m getting closer to where the couple is moaning. I strategically fix my narrow glasses in an effort to make sure that they don’t fall off of my nose.

  As I trudge through the tiny space, I manage to see a speck of light. Colorful glitter drops on the girl’s skin and slides slowly down into the crease of her shirt, like a dog’s drool. Her boyfriend kisses further down, toward her collarbone. On his back, sharp, colorful wings flutter furiously. He floats just above his inattentive prey and feels inside her shirt. He forces her hands up against the wall, and his prey’s veins begin to outline across her body. The creature gives her a lascivious glare, focusing on the girl’s neck for his next attack.

  The colors his wings make bounce off of his smooth skin and float in the darkness. Creepy, curling tattoos, all different colors, are wrapped perfectly around his skin. They glow and travel around his rough muscular neck. His eyes are a piercing cold black as he looks at the girl, desperate to taste her sweet skin. She isn’t afraid…yet. She has a dazed, drugged expression. His wings calm down, now fluttering smoothly along the stiff area they are in. Colorful dust from his wings surrounds the both of them.

  I kneel down and pull out my silver dagger slowly from my black boots. Tugging the dagger out carefully with my index finger and thumb, I structure a plan to save the girl in my head
. One of the things mom said to herself when I eavesdropped repeats in my head: “Mystics, they are disguised amongst people.” I narrow my eyes and lock them on the creature before me.

  I attempt to move and save her. Instead, I clench my hands into a fist, my throat is dry, and my heart drops inside of my chest. My hands are shaking, and I’m struggling to breathe properly. I can’t lunge forth. I’m too nervous.

  I press my lips together. Anxiously, my eyes slide from left to right as I try to think of what I can do to save this innocent girl. I glance down as soon as I hear something moving below me. Gravel on thin strands of weeds puckers out of the ground slowly and slithers up my calves. I cringe as the feeling of the moist dirt on my skin stings my legs.

  The sweet wind his wings create brush against my face, intoxicating me and causing my neck to numb. I become drowsy, my vision becomes blurry, and I forget about trying to save her. I’m paralyzed in this peaceful reverie. The smell of fresh roses controls my thoughts and actions. My eyes daze and, though I blink twice to wake myself up, I don’t want to fight against this calm feeling.

  It feels amazing.

  The weeds continue to wrap around my legs, holding me in place. I shake my head, trying to fall back into reality. I press my lips tightly together and focus on cutting off the weeds slowly. With each slash, it feels like my movement and reactions are slowing down. It must be the scent causing the nerves in my body to act strange. I cover my nose and continue cutting the strands of weed silently. Each cut increases the growth beneath me. The mud from the gravel thickens, gluing me further in place.

  The girl moans in pleasure while the weeds attach to me and cling onto the fabric of my clothing. The noise she is making and the weeds from underneath me are overwhelming me. My heart picks up frantically, and my lips feel dry.

  The strange creature caresses his prey’s bruised body. There are glowing hickeys all over her skin. He allows the weeds to slither around her neck slowly. He leaves another colorful hickey on her skin. He kisses her neck, eventually pulling on her skin with his sharp teeth.