Mystical (The Mystical Trilogy Book 1)

by Michael Weekly

  The scent of his tongue sliding slowly on her neck flows over to where I’m being held captive. My lips part as her eyes roll back into her head. I can feel my mind and thoughts drifting away with her. I want the creature’s lips on my skin just as much as his prey does.

  Think, Eliza, think. Stay focused.

  I shudder as the cold wind tickles the tiny hairs on my skin. The guy stops kissing the girl and the moans fade away. He looks up and scans his setting. His eyes lock on my hiding place. I increase my cutting movement as fast as I can. He smirks at me with colorful drool dropping to the ground from his white blade-like teeth. His red lips glimmer in front of me in the shadows.

  He lets the weeds take over the girl’s body, preserving his meal for later. She is still stuck in ecstasy. Her eyes slide in my direction. Even though she must be in pain, she’s smiling. Weeds form around her body, slither up, and then slap across her eyes and mouth.

  The creep holding her captive flutters toward me slowly. He reaches out as weeds beneath the ground and roots spring up and wriggle around my ankles and neck. They travel up against my thighs and then slap across my mouth, preventing me from screaming. I am lifted up against the wall, just how the girl is in front of me.

  I raise my dagger to try and cut the weed covering my mouth, but I lose my grip and it falls to the ground. I panic, struggling to breathe, but the same scent crawls into my nostrils. Its sweet taste overpowers my senses. My heart beat slows down drastically as my eyes follow the monster, who is floating in front of me, grinning wickedly. He touches my skin with his soft hand, sizzling and calming my emotions.

  My heart skips a beat. It’s finally my turn.

  Chapter 1

  I gasp for air, coughing and frantically feeling my mouth and eyes to see if I’m dead. I grasp the crisp grass beneath me, hoping that’ll anchor me. My heart is beating fast, my throat is dry, and there is a headache punching the walls of my skull. These strange dreams have been happening ever since my father left Mom and I alone.

  I must’ve drifted off to sleep.

  Swaying, thin grass dances in the field as I breathe in the fresh, crisp air. The leaves brush against one another, the sound of their rustling singing to me.

  I watch as the morning sky bleeds into a bright orange red. I usually come out to this field and lie down, sinking into the grass as I gaze at the sky. I watch the monstrous clouds pass by slowly and dig my fingernails into the soft, moist earth. I stick my index finger up into the sky and wave it around, cutting the invisible air. Then I fix my glasses and look at the forest in front of me.

  The branches are calling for me to enter their home.

  Every time I close my eyes, whether I’m really tired or just thinking about something, I have the same recurring nightmare of the creature taking that woman through the alley, devouring her, and overpowering my senses, all when I was fourteen. In real time, I can see, touch, hear, and smell everything that is happening in this nightmare.

  Mom always tells me to bring my broomstick with me. Only thing is, I don’t know how to work the damn thing. My life is certainly anything but normal. I don’t remember how my encounter with the monster ends. Maybe he devours me too, or maybe I find some way to escape.

  It’s a missing piece to a puzzle I can’t complete.

  I’m a witch. I guess constantly having a major case of déjà vu with a hot side of nightmares comes with the package. As I stand up, I take one last glance at the dark forest in front of me. Then I walk toward the trail back home. Usually, I come out here when there’s a lot I have to think about. Well, starting my life as an adult is definitely a lot to think about.

  I forgot I have my first class today at Virginia Commonwealth University. I sprint through the dirt trail, passing Miss Canary’s house. I run across a street without looking both ways and a car almost runs me over. I quickly dodge it, leaping in front of my house.

  I open my door slowly and quietly to avoid waking mom. I creep upstairs to get myself together, then walk into my room and sit on my bed. A loud screech comes from underneath the blanket sheets.

  Jared, my cat, pounces up from the messy fabric and jumps onto my window’s shelf with ease. He grooms his claws and glares at me, then at the clock, which is beeping hysterically.

  “That,” he pauses, “was rude.” His ear quickly twitches. “I expect a sincere apology from you, Eliza.”

  I roll my eyes, fix my hair, and rush to my drawer. I dig into my drawer, chucking out all of my clothes. Gradually, my room becomes a sea of bras and shirts. I rage in my drawer so ferociously that socks rain down on top of his furry head. The alarm clock stops screaming for a minute or two and then begins whining again. I swear something is wrong with this clock. I’m sure it’ll stop beeping soon.

  Jared bumps his head on the window’s glass. The socks successfully managed to bury him completely, causing him to fall from the edge.

  “Oh, the filth! Murder…murder me now,” he cries out. “Do you ever clean your clothes, woman?” He sniffles. “Just disgusting.” He whips his head to the side, knocking a sock off of him. He bumps into my bed and curses under his breath.

  I’m too busy digging inside the drawer and looking for something decent to wear for my first class. I also have a massive headache because of the nightmare I had in the field. I can still feel the weeds stinging my skin and my chest hurting from my heart beating so frantically. That’s the thing about this particular nightmare. When it’s done, I’m left emotionally numb and unaware of anything happening in the present.

  I figure there’s nothing I can do about the nightmares. Each time I try to rescue the girl, the scent from the monster stops me. I can’t save her no matter how hard I try to resist the smell.

  That fresh wood cologne and grass scent had full control over my thoughts, preventing me from fighting back or at least attempting to do so; as a result I felt useless and weak. His notorious pitch black eyes will stay stuck in my mind for days, like a song you just can’t force out of your system.

  I’m slowly going…insane.

  At first I think of telling my mother that I’m going nuts and the smartest thing to do would be to check me into a mental institute of some sort. She’d probably smack some sense into me and tell me how witches should carry themselves, followed by a discussion on broomsticks and my untamed hair. Now that I think of it, telling her probably wouldn’t be such a bad idea, but I know I won’t.

  I hold up my cell phone to see the time. I’m already late for the first day of college. I’m never late—well, sometimes I am, on certain occasions. The alarm clock beeps on again and, within a second, it’s screaming hysterically once more.

  “Where is it?” I say, irritated, as I try to find something to wear.

  “For heaven’s sake. Liza, please turn off that wretched clock of yours.”

  “Shut up, Jared.”

  “Not even a ‘Jared, you’re so wonderful?’”

  I give him ‘the look.’ He hisses in response.

  My cat is a familiar, a creature that supports witches and aids with whatever help they may need. Unfortunately, mine is a bit lazy for his kind. He does nothing but gripe, whine, and sleep.

  I stumble to the bathroom, forgetting to grab the clothes I planned to wear. Instead of finding an outfit attractive enough to make a guy glance at me with affection, I decide to go with a yellow flowy cardigan, a plain brown cami, and some white shorts. Releasing a deep sigh, I grab the clothes and then rush back into my bathroom. I change rather quickly, but before I can open the door, the sound of a crash reverberates inside the bathroom.

  “Jared,” I growl through clenched teeth.

  I swing the door open and glare at him. He finishes kicking the beeping clock onto the floor. He then pounces back on the window’s shelf. My snob of a cat decides to massage his white, luscious back on the glass.

  “What? I did nothing wrong,” he says, blinking his eyes innocently.

  “Really?” I grab my purse.

 
; “I mean, I did tell you to turn it off…” He grooms himself and flicks his slim tail over the edge.

  “That’s the third clock you’ve managed to destroy, Jare,” I snap. I head to my bedroom door.

  “Sure, that’s what you always say, but you didn’t see me break it. Where’s the evidence, hmmm?” He yawns. “Gonna send me off to an animal shelter?”

  “That wouldn’t be such a bad idea.” I glance at the broken clock and then fold my arms across my chest.

  “It’s okay, blame the cat.” He stares down at my feet.

  I realize I’m not wearing any shoes. How could I have forgotten to grab them? After tripping on my way to the closet thanks to the sea of bras, I search for a pair of shoes to wear. I pull out some cute white flats I’ve never worn and slip my feet into them quickly.

  “Those are purrfect, and your cardigan goes well with your light green eyes.”

  “Thanks,” I murmur, looking at the life-size mirror against the wall. I fix my outfit and push up my nonexistent boobs even though I’m pretty sure no one would ever dare to compliment me.

  Hey, at least I tried, okay?

  I blink at the mirror and the crooked grin that appears across my face. I exhale and attempt to smile. I scratch the bridge of my nose where my glasses usually would irritate the skin.

  The almighty Virginia Commonwealth University where Mom got her degree isn’t far from Centreville, where I live now. VCU is in Richmond, and that’s a couple hours away from home. It’s the college she feels most comfortable sending me to other than George Mason University, my second choice.

  I know, for a fact, that if I don’t leave now, I might miss the first class entirely. I’m sure college isn’t as strict as high school, though. Finally, on such a bitter day, I’ll get to leave the nest. I’m filled with excitement, but part of me is resisting. I know I have to leave for school, but I don’t really want to. I’d rather lay on the couch for the rest of my life and binge on Netflix until I’m eighty years old.

  Jared gracefully jumps on my bed. I start to walk out of my room, but bump into the door.

  “Glasses,” he says sarcastically, “must I save you from everything?”

  I turn around and purse my lips at him. Then I walk to my shelf, where I always place my glasses. I put them on carefully and know the glasses are doing their job as soon as I’m able to see the letter ‘J’ on Jared’s collar dangling as he leaps to the foot of my bed.

  “You’re a lifesaver.” I thank him and throw my purse around my shoulder.

  “Yeah, you have no idea.”

  I grin at him as I walk out of my room. Then I run down the stairs, almost tripping. There is a note in the kitchen on the center of a table.

  Went to work early. There’s a bagel on the table. If it’s not there, Jared ate it.

  PS: don’t forget yourbroomstick.

  Stay safe. :-)

  Your fabulous mother

  Of course, the arrow on the note is pointing to nothing.

  “Jared!”

  “You love me,” he yells back from my room. Obviously, he knows about the bagel and its disappearance. I shake my head, annoyed at him.

  Right, my broomstick.

  Mom always tells me to keep it with me at all times. She’s awfully strict about it. I look around the kitchen and stumble across the entire house, trying to look for it. The broomstick isn’t hard to miss.

  Well, I didn’t think it was.

  My broomstick is like a brown twirling baton with a button in the center and with silver lines around its cylinder structure, only I’m able to change its size whenever I click the red button on it, which seems to glow randomly. The broomstick can fit in my pocket comfortably. It’s that thin and compact.

  The broomstick is an object witches use, though what for I’m not sure. It’s not a fairy tale witch broom that allows witches to fly. Witches are nothing like that, or so Jared states. I wouldn’t know. I just need to find it. The only thing I know for certain about my broomstick is that pressing the button in the center of the broomstick makes it resize itself. What else is it for? I’m not that interested in asking because I know neither Jared nor my mom will explain.

  Mom says that I’m a witch, but witches can’t cast spells. Along with the many other interesting things I learned along the way about being a witch; I learned that Jared is a familiar and that Mom and I both own broomsticks, and all she’s told me about the broomstick is that it’s extremely important to always have it on me. I’m pretty sure it’s useless and that mom is just slowly losing her mind.

  “It’s a weapon,” she’d said, but how can it be a weapon if I can’t use it for anything? “It’ll work when it’s ready to,” Jared had chimed in, but it’s been quite some time, and it still hasn’t turned into some chainsaw-gun, slasher, blood slinger, and super bad weapon.

  When I bump into one of our bookcases in the living room, warm wind blows across the tip of my nose. It seems as if the air was coming from behind the large case. I look at the ground, then peek behind the structure to investigate where the air is coming from. I narrow my eyes. This bookcase always gives me the creeps. I swear it’s possessed.

  The books tend to move and make sounds when I’m near it. Every time I try to catch them moving, I fail. The feeling that the bookcase is possessed is still here whenever I’m alone.

  It’s dusty, and mom needs to clean out a few books or two. I blow on the wood to at least try to dust it off. I run my fingers over the bindings of the books as a loud bang hits the floor.

  My broomstick is below me. I glance up at the bookcase and witness silver swirly lines beaming on one of the book’s binds. I blink and then the colors are gone. There is one green book and one purple one that randomly beams in my peripheral vision from time to time. I can never catch either glowing when I try to look at them.

  I pick up my broomstick and look down at it.

  “I’m sorry, broomstick.”

  I press the button in the middle of the object. The silver lines glow and the metal scrapes as it shrinks just enough to fit in my pocket.

  “I accept your apology! Eliza, it means so much…seriously,” Jared yells from upstairs.

  “Shut up, Jared.”

  “Your apology is so sincere. I really do appreciate it!” he says, running downstairs. He stops at the door and waits for me.

  Before Jared can get in another snarky remark, I roll my eyes, brush my auburn tangles with my fingers, and walk out of the door. My broomstick is nice and comfortable in my pocket. As I step outside of our townhouse, I lift my gaze at our street’s sign. We live next to a major street. On the other side of where I’m standing, a row of brick townhouses lean side by side.

  I’m moving in with my best friend, Dawn. We both know the dorms on campus aren’t for us, so renting is the way to go for now. I’m expecting Mom to visit my new condo later today. Lately, she’s been working hard on something. Her life’s been pretty hectic as a result, so I’m not going to ask her to take me to school. I’m pretty sure I can figure out how to get to VCU myself. That’s why GPS is my savior. Thanks to GPS, I never get lost.

  Plus, I don’t want Mom to dump her emotions on me. It’s annoying, and sometimes she goes way overboard with things like this. She’s sad that her little witch is growing up and moving out of the safe haven she’s made for me, when fourteen-year-old Eliza was nothing in school but a bully’s target. I lift my gaze, breathe out of my nose, and closed our front door.

  Miss Canary lives across the street. She’s just as strange as my bookcase, only I don’t really know her well. The first time I was introduced to her at the age of five, I could tell how strange she was.

  ***

  “Eliza! Dear, come meet Miss Canary.”

  I’m playing with the books on the bookshelf when one of the books burns the tip of my fingers. Tears in my eyes, I look up at Momma as she rushes to me and picks me up and takes me to the front door. The lady she wants me to meet is standing awkwardly on the porc
h with a flower in her hands. The thorns are still on the stem, but it doesn’t look like the thorns are hurting her.

  “What did I tell you about touching those books, honey?”

  The smell of fallen petals and fresh grass slowly slither inside my nostrils. Mom places me on the ground and looks down to check my fingers. The pale lady bends over to greet me.

  “Hi there. My name is Terese.” Her pink, smooth lips spread out, showing her perfect white teeth. “What’s your name?”

  I look up at mom and hold onto her thigh. She pats my head and tells me, “Be polite, dear.”

  “Eliza…”I mutter.

  “And your last name?”

  I furrow my eyebrows at her and notice a young boy is standing in her doorway. He stares at me with his sharp green eyes as he holds the side of the door. I look back at the lady and say, “Rose.”

  “Ah, I thought so. This is why I brought this just for you. It’s a special rose because the thorns aren’t going to pinch you.” She smiles.

  “But…thorns always hurt.”

  “This is a rare flower from the forest behind my house.” The little boy in her home plays with a stem of a flower. Its red petal falls to the ground. He quickly places the flower behind his back. He seems to be hiding it. I look up to the lady, grinning.

  “Thank you.”

  I run back inside the house, the rose in my hand, while Mom thanks Miss Canary and closes the door behind her. The soft, mumbling voices outside grow louder and furious. There’s a slam on the door outside. My heart thuds against my chest.

  I place the rose on the bookshelf only to see it burn and turn into red ashes. I look up at the bookshelf as anger and sadness builds within me. I sit down to cover my face, tears running down my cheeks. Jared runs to me and sits on my lap. I’m not used to having a cat, but he looks up at me and purrs with his icy blue eyes. I feel a bit better as I rub his back softly.