Praxis Novellas, Mosaic Chronicles Book Two

by Andrea Pearson

  Lizzie clapped her hands over her eyes. Why did she look? Why?

  With her eyes shut, she fumbled around, finding the last loop and hanging the blanket over it. Then she rushed to her bed. “Stop it, Lizzie. Stop it. You’re just making everything worse! And if this is a prank, that’s just an optical illusion of some sort.”

  But freaking out was one of her best qualities, and she couldn’t push her fears aside. She had called Helen. It was the only explanation. There was no way a practical joke could be this detailed.

  She must have fallen asleep because sometime later in the night, a muffled thump dragged her from her dreams. In confusion, she rubbed her eyes and looked toward the window where the sound had originated. The blanket had fallen, and clouds now covered the moon.

  Just then, lightning struck, followed by a loud thunder crack. Lizzie’s skin tingled and she rubbed her arms, trying to get the feeling to go away. A quick procession of lightning bolts flashed across the sky, and the thunder followed so loud that her ears rang. She reached up to turn on the bedside lamp, but it didn’t work.

  There was a soft knock at the door. “Lizzie?”

  Lizzie jumped out of bed and opened to Steph, who was holding candles. “I didn’t think you’d be able to sleep with all the thunder. The power’s gone out. Take these in case you want light.”

  Lizzie thanked her and put a couple of candles on the dresser and two big ones on the bedside table. Sudden gratitude that she was a Fire Arete flooded over her—she’d have no problem starting a flame, with or without matches.

  After making sure the room was empty, she huddled in bed, trying not to look at the window but unable to help doing so every time the lighting flashed. It was so vivid!

  And then one bright blaze revealed something that made her shriek.

  The statue was right outside the window, robes of rushing water whirling around it, unseeing stone eyes boring into the room, a hand beckoning for Lizzie to come.

  She jerked the blankets over her head, holding still, praying that someone heard her squeal, that they’d come help her.

  Water rushed against the window harder and harder and louder and louder. Something solid rapped on the glass several times, but she ignored it. Lizzie, unable to control the shivers that tore through her body, clung to her legs, knees at her chest, burying her face in the blankets. The wind blew so strongly, it sounded like the house was about to fall apart.

  And then there was sudden silence.

  Lizzie held her breath, waiting, ears straining. After at least ten agonizing minutes, she pulled a corner of the blanket from her face and peered at the window.

  It was empty, the statue gone.

  The moon was out again and she dropped the blanket the rest of the way, hoping that maybe—maybe—Helen had given up.

  Lizzie sat motionless in bed, afraid to do anything but stare at the window. A corner of her brain itched to light a candle. She ignored it at first, then decided the warm light would only help.

  Her joints almost frozen from lack of movement, she gathered all the candles from both the bedroom and bathroom—even the decorative ones—and dropped them on the comforter.

  One by one, she lit them with her magic, miming the pencil and paper, and placed them throughout the room. Her shaking wasn’t too difficult to control and she almost fooled herself into believing she wasn’t scared.

  Soon, the area was almost as bright as it was when the actual lights were on. The unique and comforting scent of her magical fire drifted across her nose—like the smell of a match, only stronger, more sulfuric, and without the accompanying burning wood.

  Lizzie sat on the bed, staring at the bright candles on the dresser. Her heart and breathing returned to normal and she closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the kinks and fear in her brain to melt away. The morning couldn’t come soon enough!

  A slight, moist breeze drifted across her face and she opened her eyes, trying to find the source. Nothing was there, but one of the candles on the dresser went out. She frowned, staring at it. “Must be cheap,” she whispered, standing to re-light it.

  She returned to the bed, preparing to get between the sheets. The candle died again. She rolled her eyes in exasperation, deciding to leave it alone. “Dumb thing.” Just as she was sliding her feet under the covers, another candle on the dresser went out. And then another.

  She cocked her head, then shivered when the moist breeze blew by again. All the candles in the room flickered, several more dying.

  Lizzie jumped from the bed, not wanting to be alone in the dark, and started lighting the candles. She began with the ones on the dresser, then dashed for the others placed throughout the room, burning her hand several times on hot wax. By the time she’d reached those on the bedside table, though, several of the first had died.

  Panicked, Lizzie raced from flame to flame, trying to protect them from the breeze that continued to stir the air. She still couldn’t see the source—her door was shut and the window wasn’t made to open.

  Then all the candles went out at the same time.

  Oh, no, oh, no! Plunged in darkness, Lizzie whimpered, trying to concentrate enough to create a flame in her hand. Her spark refused to ignite, however. Why now? It always worked for her!

  During her rush to light candles, Lizzie had ended up by the window. Unable to stop herself, and using the moonlight, she instinctively looked for the statue. Her shoulders slumped in relief when she saw that it wasn’t at the window. The ordeal was over. Helen would leave her alone!

  A noise caught her attention. A soft sigh, coming from the other side of the room.

  She turned from the window, trying to see in the dark. It was her imagination again. Right?

  Then the sound of shifting sheets directed her attention to the other bed. Lizzie put a hand on her chest, clutching her pajama top. She couldn’t be sure, but it looked like something—or someone—was under the blankets.

  A droplet of water splatted on the wooden floor and Lizzie jumped, backing against the window.

  The form under the comforter shifted, groaned, then moved again.

  Lizzie’s arms and legs froze, her body unwilling to run as she watched a slender hand reach up to rearrange the pillow, making visible a mop of long blond hair on a woman who faced the other direction.

  Then the woman rolled over. Lizzie gasped—it was Helen, easily recognizable from her vision of the other day. Not possible. Not possible at all!

  Helen’s eyes were shut. Was she sleeping?

  Lizzie looked at the door, then at the guest bed, then back to the door again. Twenty feet of wood floor separated her from her only escape. Why did the bedroom have to be so large? Could she make it? She had to!

  Gathering as much courage as she could, she took a step toward the exit, watching the bed.

  The woman’s eyes popped open. She stared at Lizzie.

  A smile crossed Helen’s face and she reached a hand out from under the blanket. “Sutherland, my love. You called for me. You finally called . . .” She closed her eyes, the smile lingering. Then she looked at Lizzie again and shifted the blankets away from her body, revealing robes of water swirling around her. Little streams fell over the side of the bed, puddling on the floor.

  Lizzie froze again. She’d never before encountered an Arete as powerful as Helen. What could Lizzie do? Run? Scream? Reason with the woman?

  Helen sat up. “I’m ready to take you home.” She held out her hand again. “Come along, darling.”

  Lizzie decided to try reasoning. No way was she going with the statue woman! “Listen, Helen,” she said. “I’m not Sutherland. My name is Lizzie. I’m an eighteen-year-old girl, not the man you love. Please, please, leave me alone.”

  Helen didn’t respond. She stared at Lizzie with dark eyes, then stood.

  A stronger breeze flowed through the room, accompanied by something Lizzie rarely felt when away from Katon University—a magical vibration. The power flowing from the woman was unmistakable. Li
zzie had no chance against her.

  Helen took a step toward Lizzie, both hands now reaching, beckoning. Her hair drifted in the wind, tousling at her shoulders. If this had been a movie, Lizzie would’ve enjoyed the scene—Helen was freakishly beautiful, her passion and desire for Sutherland romantic. But Lizzie wasn’t watching a movie. This was real.

  Lizzie backed up against the window and screamed when a bolt of lightning flickered around the woman. She grasped around, trying to find something to throw, then remembered the blanket on the floor and picked it up. She chucked it at Helen, but it went straight through the woman.

  “Please don’t fight, my dear. We belong together.”

  Hoping that Helen would be too insubstantial to grab a physical person, Lizzie tried to rush around her. But Helen reached out and grabbed Lizzie’s arm with a stone-like grasp. Lizzie screamed again. “Help! Someone!”

  Just then, the door to the bedroom burst open. Helen looked back and shrieked at Steph and John. The air crackled around her, and Lizzie felt an electrical current flood through her body, zapping her as it entered the floor below, making her hair stand on end.

  “Release the girl,” John yelled, holding a golf club.

  “You can’t keep us apart!” Helen shrieked, pulling Lizzie in closer.

  John raised the club and advanced on Helen, but lightning flashed in the room, connecting with the fixture on the ceiling. Bright light burst from the electrical sockets and the bulbs popped, shattering glass everywhere. One strand of electricity shot from Helen’s shoulder and struck John, knocking him backward, the club flying from his hands.

  Oh, no! Was he okay? Lizzie tried to push away from Helen, but couldn’t get out of the woman’s grasp.

  Steph screamed, running for her husband. She spun around, seemingly unsure what to do. “Lizzie?” Steph yelled. “Are you all right?”

  “She won’t let go of me.” Lizzie squirmed, trying to pry the fingers off her arm. She suddenly remembered the whistle and yelled out, “You’ve got to destroy the whistle! Smash it! Do something!”

  Helen turned back to Lizzie, her eyes glowing with electricity. She opened her mouth and roared, firebolts flowing between her teeth.

  Lizzie screamed, but her cry was cut off when something closed around her throat. She gasped and struggled against Helen, realizing the woman was going to kill her. Lizzie clawed at her neck with the other hand—there wasn’t anything there. Panic overwhelmed her and she kicked, scratched, did everything she could to get away. Nothing worked.

  “We’ll live together forever, Sutherland,” Helen said. Her expression was peaceful, all traces of anger gone.

  Helen’s robes swirled around the two women, pulling them together. Lizzie’s lungs burned, but she still fought. Then the room started fading away. She was going to die.

  A loud crack raked the air.

  Helen whirled and shrieked, letting go of Lizzie. The grip on Lizzie’s throat released and air rushed back into her lungs. She fell to the floor, clutching her neck.

  Helen took a step toward Steph, raising her hand. She stumbled. Her watery robes expanded to fill the entire room and began spinning around and around, drenching everything in their path, the wind tearing at Lizzie. Water droplets pelted Lizzie like hail, and she raised her arms to protect herself. She couldn’t believe how powerful Helen was—she had so much control!

  With the sound of a hurricane and one last bolt of lightning, Helen became stone again and exploded, rock pummeling the entire room. Water splashed up against the walls, then fell. Steph was crouched over her husband, a fire extinguisher—probably the only heavy thing she could find—and the smashed remains of Lizzie’s whistle on the floor nearby.

  Footsteps sounded in the hall outside and several members of the Smith family rushed into the room.

  “Whoa,” one of the older daughters said. “What happened here?”

  “We had an unexpected visit from . . . uh . . . your father’s statue,” Steph said, holding John. “She tried to take Lizzie away.”

  “Are you serious? No way. You’re joking, right?”

  “Everything will be explained later.” Steph got to her knees. “For now, we need to get an ambulance out here to make sure Dad is okay. He got struck by lightning.”

  Ignoring the expressions of disbelief, Steph began delivering orders and pretty soon, the entire household was awake. People came in and out of the room, carrying buckets and towels and mops. Steph helped Lizzie up, and together, they surveyed the room.

  “I guess I shouldn’t have spent so much time decorating last month.”

  Lizzie smiled, too tired to respond.

  An hour later—the Smith cabin was far from the nearest city—the paramedics arrived and took John to the hospital. Steph insisted that Lizzie be checked out as well, and Lizzie didn’t argue. It hurt too much to talk.

  After a couple of hours, she and John were released, neither having been badly injured.

  Nicole was waiting at the cabin. She’d left the moment Lizzie texted her about the trip to the hospital, and had arrived in two hours instead of three.

  “Nate and Austin will be coming later today,” she said, hugging Lizzie hard.

  Lizzie couldn’t respond at first. Tears sprang to her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Me too.”

  When Steph suggested the girls move into a different room, both agreed. Especially after they learned all the other rooms had curtains.

  ###

  Would you like to know what was on Austin’s mind when he first met Nicole—why he was so upset when she talked to him? Austin’s Perception, a short story, is available only to members of Andrea’s readers group. Receive it for free when you join. Enjoy!

  http://katonuniversity.blogspot.com/

  Note from the author

  Thanks for reading Praxis Novellas, Mosaic Chronicles Book Two! I really hope you enjoyed it. If you’re interested in helping me increase awareness about this series, feel free to post a review about Praxis on Goodreads, Smashwords, Nook, or anywhere else readers congregate.

  Books by Andrea Pearson:

  The Kilenya Series:

  The Key of Kilenya

  The Ember Gods, Kilenya Series Book Two

  August Fortress, Kilenya Series Book Three

  Rise of Keitus, Kilenya Series Book Four

  Eyes of the Sun, Kilenya Series Book Five

  The Golden Symbol, Kilenya Series Book Six

  The Key of Kilenya: Special Edition with Illustrations

  Grail Bestiary Volume I: Creatures of Grail and Kilenya

  Kilenya Romances:

  Samara, A Kilenya Romance

  Midian, A Kilenya Romance

  Shirley, A Kilenya Romance (coming soon)

  Kilenya Adventures:

  Dmitri, A Kilenya Adventure

  Mosaic Chronicles:

  Discern, Mosaic Chronicles Book One

  Praxis Novellas, Mosaic Chronicles Book Two

  Perceive, Mosaic Chronicles Book Three

  Observe, Mosaic Chronicles Book Four

  Reclaim, Mosaic Chronicles Book Five

  Ranch City Academy:

  Bezza’s Book of Enchantments

  About the Author

  Andrea Pearson, author of the Mosaic Chronicles series, the Kilenya series, and a Utah native, spends as much time writing as possible. When not doing that, she can be found hiking, biking, or watching a good movie with her husband. She graduated from Brigham Young University with a BS in Communication Disorders, and she loves art and music.

  Connect with her Online:

  Facebook

  Facebook Fan Page

  Twitter

  Blog

  Website

  Join her email mailing list for news on upcoming releases

  (She values your privacy and doesn’t sell or misuse email addresses)

  Acknowledgements

  Andrea would like to thank Tristi Pinkston for her exceptional talents and hard work as e
ditor. Also, her beta readers deserve much gratitude for pouring over this novelette: Mom, Josh, Lon Pearson, Ellen Brown, Teri Hall, Linda Haning, and David West. Andrea especially wants to thank James Curwen for the amazing covers he puts together for her. She’d also like to give a big hug to her wonderful readers for being so enthusiastic about her stories.

  Bonus: first three chapters of Perceive, Mosaic Chronicles Book Three:

  Chapter One

  Nicole’s body ached from sitting in the same position for several hours. She’d never liked long car rides, and though this was nowhere near the longest she’d experienced, it still made her antsy and cranky. She couldn’t wait to get out and stretch her legs.

  At least the company had been good—her best friend, Lizzie, sat next to her on the backseat. Professor Coolidge was driving, with Austin, one of the best-looking guys she’d ever met, sitting up front with him. The two had conversed more with each other than they had with the girls, but every now and then, their conversation spilled over, and Nicole had the opportunity to learn something new about the world she’d grown up in.

  Nicole was an Arete—the fourth child born to her parents—and as such, she had magical abilities. All Fourths did. Because she had naturally blond hair, her powers originated from the element Wind, but she’d only been able to Channel her abilities a few times.

  Lizzie was a redhead and could manipulate Fire to a degree. Austin and Coolidge were both dark-headed and controlled Earth. Because most of the people on the planet had dark hair of some shade or another—Asians, blacks, Middle Easterners, and such—their abilities were a little more common than Lizzie’s and Nicole’s. This created a lot more competition for them, forcing the more powerful to branch into Wind and Fire and sometimes even Water, which was represented by dirty blond or light brown hair and was the second most-common ability.