L.O.S.T. Trilogy Box Set

by R. S. Collins

  That thought gave me more than a little pause.

  Until this moment, I had been assuming Bren was simply talented, yet unaware and unconverted—someone with strong magical potential who didn’t yet believe in himself or his ability to tap into the Earth’s energy to manage the shape, form, or speed of matter and time.

  There was something different about Bren, though. More different than I had dared to hope for when I sent my magical plea, begging the universe to send me our champion. I would have to discover what that difference was, and whether it would help our cause or harm it.

  And soon. “What did you do to giant-man?” Bren jabbed a finger into Rol’s ribs.

  “A spell,” I replied, doing my best to seem calm. “I asked him to cease before he carried out your ill-conceived order to pinch you. Rol is very loyal.”

  Bren drew himself up. Gooseflesh spread across his impressive shoulders. “You’re not a witch, and this guy’s not real. None of this is real. Now tell me how to get back to the store—or horror movie warehouse—or whatever it was.”

  “The only way you’ll get back home is to do what I say.” My smile failed me, and the urge to apologize rose like the tide.

  For a moment, my father’s lopsided smile flashed through my mind. Had Father been this handsome when Mother met him? Is that how he disarmed her constant disapproval?

  Straightening, I forced myself to look at Bren. “I need your help. I believe you’re the only one who can save us.”

  Bren’s eyes blazed, making him all the more like some god from an ancient tale. Did he have to be so attractive?

  At least Alderon was ugly, both in flesh and in spirit. It was easy to hate him, and I wouldn’t have cared if he fell off a high cliff. Many times, I would have been pleased to push him.

  Bren, though… I could feel his kindness even through the growing fire of his anger. And that raw power. It was—he was—enough to confuse me.

  Kindness doesn’t win battles, my mother’s voice informed me, cold and unforgiving. That was something she told my father all the time.

  I closed my eyes for a moment, banishing my mother and her constant judgment. Who was she to insult my father’s good heart, anyway? After all, he was the one who had royal blood, not her.

  With great concentration, I summoned the image of my father, who always gave me comfort when Mother wasn’t carping about what a rotten king he was. My father, who laughed when I missed a spell or forgot a potion ingredient. Even when I turned him into a mushroom by mistake.

  When I dared to look outside myself again, Bren was frowning at me. If his gaze served as any measure, he would have liked nothing better than to string me from a tree or torch me to cinders. It took all my courage to carry out my bluff of arrogance and unconcern.

  When the boy found his voice, he spoke through clenched teeth. “Enough of this bull, Jazz. Take me back to the store—the convenience market, the one I saw when I needed to use the restroom. Take me back now.”

  He advanced on me, as if to menace—and despite my wishes otherwise, he succeeded. Why in the name of the fates would I be afraid of this untrained whelp? And yet my breath came shallow, and I raised my hand.

  “Resume!” I commanded.

  Rol and the village snapped to life as if they had never ceased to move.

  My training master shot me a perplexed, then angry, frown, and grabbed Bren beneath his arms before the boy could reach me.

  “Don’t pinch him,” I told Rol as he lifted Bren and held him forward like a year-old child. “He spoke in haste.”

  “Let me go!” Bren shouted, even as he struggled to free himself.

  “I apologize,” Rol said, “but I cannot comply. Releasing you would jeopardize your safety and our own.”

  All curiosity had left Bren’s sharp eyes. They darted back and forth, taking in his new reality. This ancient place, once carefree, but now just another tense Sanctuary on the Path of Shadows.

  L.O.S.T., I reminded myself. There’s always L.O.S.T. For hope. For the future.

  Live Oak Springs Township could be the Sanctuary Shallym once was. A place attached to the Path, yet still attached to the non-witching world, where humans and nonhumans wove together like a tapestry. A place where witches and non-witches lived in peace.

  Rol held the boy without flinching, even as Bren demonstrated his impressive natural strength. Punches, kicks—even a few near-lunges—but Rol held him forward and stayed just out of reach.

  Bren never offered to strike at me.

  “Can’t hit a girl,” he kept telling himself in his mind.

  How sweet. Stupid, perhaps, and a quaint belief he would have to abandon to survive in the witching world—but it was sweet.

  “I’d appreciate it if you would calm down and keep your thoughts to yourself.” I flicked an annoying piece of lint from my sleeve. “They are terribly distracting.”

  Bren sputtered, but stopped struggling. I knew he would have sworn, but I caught the strong thought that his mother had chided him for swearing, especially at girls.

  My head began to ache with the enormity of the task before us, and I rubbed my temples with two fingers. “Listen carefully, Bren. You aren’t dreaming. I am a witch—though Rol is no giant. He’s a training master and a powerful witch in his own right, savior to thousands and one of our last hopes as a warrior—just as you are. Rol will teach you how to use your…um—muscle.”

  I flushed and immediately felt foolish.

  Did Bren notice? No hint was forthcoming from his flat expression or his thoughts, which now seemed oddly quiet. I cleared my throat. “Your magic and your mind, those will be my responsibility.”

  “Magic? What a pile of sh-crap!” Bren doubled his fists and narrowed his gaze. “You’re crazy.”

  Rol repositioned Bren and stared at him, nose to nose and eye to eye. “Even the would-be Shadowalker may not insult the queen.”

  “Queen of what?” the boy demanded.

  Dread trickled through me. After all, Bren would have to choose of his own free will, at some point. And he had to know, but…

  But for a moment, I sensed that Bren was the most genuinely good boy I had ever met, and definitely the most handsome.

  The Sanctuaries offered pitifully few opportunities for company, and all of my own kind were too frightened to speak to me. Most feared even talking in my presence, preferring instead to leave Shadowhispers or some other form of magical communication. Other than Rol and my sworn servant Acaw, and of course Alderon’s incessant grunts and grumbles, and the oldeFolke’s mutterings, Bren was one of the few people to talk to me in the four years since my father died. When my mother and the rest of my family were captured by Nire.

  I sighed. “Let him go, Rol.”

  “But, my queen—”

  “Let him go!”

  Rol snorted and dropped Bren on his backside.

  The boy leaped to his feet and towered over me. “Queen of what?” he asked again, each word its own snarl. I raised my fingers toward the heavens, and with a startled grunt, Rol hid his eyes.

  “Truth,” I whispered.

  All the blackness fell away from my nails, my hair, my eyes—even my clothes. I became my full and complete self, more light than substance, and shining like the golden sparkles in the sky. My essence was blinding to non-magical creatures and magical beings not yet converted, and even to most other witches.

  Bren’s cough told me that he had seen, and I felt some surprise that he had not cried out in pain. He had been able to look upon me in my real form. Well, no matter. I suspected that now he might believe what I had told him.

  “Hide,” I said, imagining myself back as I had been, to the form tolerable to most eyes. Black paint again covered the shine of my nails. My eyes were once more robed with deep purple-black powder, and the glow from my hair was snuffed out with modern dyes and concealments.

  When Rol dared to look at me again, I faced Bren and took the first step toward putting my life and the lives of
my people in Bren’s untested hands.

  “I am Jasmina Corey,” I said. “Queen of the Witches.”

  ***

  Chapter Five

  “Queen of the Witches. Yeah, right. And I’m the King of England.” But even as I said it, a chill crept over me. Jazz had turned golden. Even her eyes had glowed.

  And she had been reading my thoughts. I was sure of it now, and that was enough to give anyone a serious freakout. It made me feel weird that she had been in my head. And never mind the little King Arthur town in the background. That I couldn’t even begin to deal with.

  Rol growled and flexed his muscles. Jazz placed her hand on his arm, probably keeping the guy from pounding me into the dirt.

  “Listen,” I said to Rol, acting as cool and calm as Jazz. Trying to respond instead of react. “It’s getting a little chilly out here, and I’m half-naked. Think you could find something for me to wear since you shredded my favorite T-shirt?”

  The giant dude looked at Jazz. She nodded and seemed to relax. Her features softened and her shoulders didn’t seem as tense. I hadn’t even realized she was keyed-up until that moment. Maybe she wasn’t as in control as she made out to be.

  “We’ll go to Shadowbridge,” Jazz said, “where you’ll be outfitted and trained.” She gestured to the right, which had to be south since the late afternoon sun was behind us.

  “Whatever,” I grumbled. I just wanted to get a shirt on and get out of there. My dad would really think I was a screw-up now. I could already hear him yammering. Can’t even drive fifty miles without getting into a mess. You’re so irresponsible, Brenden…

  The giant led the way down the dusty road, his ebony back gleaming like it was coated in oil. Jazz fell into step beside me, dirt and rocks crunching beneath our shoes, and for a while, neither of us said anything. As we left the weird little village, even weirder villagers scooted out of our way, but they never looked at us. Like we weren’t there.

  I spat into the bushes to the side of the road to get the acid puke taste out of my mouth. A cool breeze chilled my bare chest while I checked out the sights and tried to figure out where I was. One thing for sure—the ocean was definitely close. I could smell it, and I was positive I could hear waves crashing against the shore.

  Maybe I was at a renaissance festival around San Diego. Yeah, like the one that was way east of Phoenix that my mom took me to last February. Of course, that festival was totally lame, nothing like this place, which seemed so real.

  “What will it take to convince you?” Jazz murmured. Her shoulder brushed mine and a strange jolt shot through me, like electricity running wild in my body. Even the hair on my arms stood on end. Jazz looked up at me, and for a minute, I thought I might even like her. That she and I could be friends. Maybe more than friends.

  No. I scowled and turned away from her. No way. The witch was wrecking my life.

  I heard her sigh, but I didn’t bother to look at her again. She had a way of taking away my anger, no matter how hard I tried to be ticked. What was it about her, anyway?

  My stomach growled so loud that Rol glanced over his shoulder and said, “We shall sup as soon as we arrive.”

  “Great,” I muttered. “She reads my mind and he reads my stomach. And sup? Who talks like that?”

  Jazz giggled, and I glanced at her in surprise. She had seemed so serious—so queenly—until that silly sound. Her smile lit up her face, and for the first time, I realized how incredibly beautiful she was. And she smelled good. Really good. Like sunshine, cinnamon, and peaches.

  “So, how old are you?” I asked without really meaning to.

  Her smile widened, and she was beyond beautiful. “Sixteen. And you?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “What, you didn’t read that in my mind?”

  Jazz shook her head, her black hair shimmering in waves over her shoulders. “I can’t read your memory. I can hear only what’s in your thoughts.” She paused and stared at me from beneath her long lashes as we walked. “And your powers are growing. You’re already blocking some of those thoughts from me. At least when you consciously wish me out of your mind.”

  I kicked a rock and watched it bounce off the road and into the bushes before looking back to Jazz. “Then why did you ask what it would take to convince me?”

  She shrugged. “I read your expression, not your mind.”

  “Oh.” I found myself smiling, glad I didn’t have to worry about her knowing what I was thinking all the time. “I’m seventeen.”

  “Perfect,” she murmured, and I had the feeling she wasn’t talking about my age.

  I shoved my hands in my pockets as we walked, and my fingertips brushed the figurine. The one the bathroom-freak crammed into my hand before he disappeared.

  In the cellar. You will find the door in the cellar, the man’s scratchy voice said in my mind. Remember that, brother, or you will be sorry.

  I was tempted to pull out the statue and show Jazz, just to see what she thought of it, but something held me back. Like it was my secret, and I didn’t want to share it with anyone.

  We slowly left the village behind, and soon, we were following Rol up a hill that reminded me of the one leading to the restaurant where I used the restroom. Except this path was made of rocks, not concrete steps, and there was an enormous stone building at the top instead of that lame restaurant that used to be somebody’s house.

  It seemed like ages since I had stopped at that convenience market, but it had to have been only an hour, tops. I still had time to get a shirt on, eat, and be out of there and on my way to finding my mom’s truck. Then I would be off to Brandon’s house for a week of sun, surf, and babes. Adios to all this weirdness. But as I glanced at Jazz, I felt as if I might actually miss the chance to get to know her.

  I was seriously losing it.

  But this witch-girl was nothing like the girls I had dated. She wasn’t like any girl I had ever met. At the top of the hill, Jazz opened a wooden box and took out a bunch of notes.

  And then the box started whispering.

  No kidding. It really did. And Jazz just stood there, listening to it mumble. Sometimes she nodded. Once or twice, she frowned. Rol didn’t seem too freaked by the talking box, so I tried to act cool.

  When the box stopped mumbling, Jazz glanced at the notes, folded them, and tucked them into her pocket. Rol came to attention. “Should I take care of anything, Your Highness?”

  “Not at the moment. For once, we’ve had no new disasters.” Jazz didn’t even look at me as she started walking again, straight toward the big, dark building a few football fields away.

  I followed, glancing back at that weird box a few times.

  The building they led me to was actually a mansion. The sound of Rol’s boots echoed as he jogged up the stone steps to the entrance. Jazz wore a shirt and leggings that clung to her curvy body, and I let her get a little ahead of me so I could watch her walk. Her movements were smooth and graceful, like a dancer’s. And yeah, she would look good in one of those bikinis on the beach Brandon and I—

  She glanced over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes.

  Oops. Maybe I still need to be careful with my thoughts. Concentrate. Stay out of my head. Stay out of my head. Stay out…

  Rol held the door open and motioned us inside the mansion. “Welcome to Shadowbridge Manor.”

  I had to wait until my eyes adjusted to the dimness for my first glimpse of the place. Mansion? Okay, no. More like a castle. It had massive vaulted ceilings that would put a cathedral to shame. Rose-colored velvet drapes and rich hangings covered the walls.

  And everything was spotless. Not a speck of dirt on the floor, no smudges on the walls, no scrapes on the furniture. Nothing like my home, where Dad was always yelling at Todd and me to pick up our dirty clothes off the floor and put our stuff away. He complained how nothing stayed nice with kids around. Mom just laughed and said our house had that lived-in look. She actually liked clutter and had all kinds of weird craft and art stuff in her
back room, where Todd and I weren’t allowed.

  My jaw dropped as we were led from one enormous room to another. Finally, we stopped in a dining room with a table long enough to seat twenty people.

  Rol glanced at the table, then said to Jazz, “I will see if Acaw might deign to serve our dinner.”

  “Could you bring back that shirt you promised?” I asked.

  Rol nodded, bowed, and then took off to wherever he was headed.

  My mom’s voice echoed in my head, telling me not to come to the table without a shirt on, so I decided to remain standing until the giant returned with one. Jazz stood beside me, and the silence between us was stiff and awkward.

  I folded my arms across my bare chest and tried not to look at her, studying the room instead. The only light came from floor-to-ceiling windows, and I couldn’t see any electric lights or outlets. Candleholders hung on the walls, and a wicked-looking candelabra crouched on the middle of the dining table. Around the table stood chunky straight-backed chairs, but there were only three place settings at one end.

  As if they had expected me.

  It was so quiet that I could hear Jazz’s soft breathing. My gaze seemed drawn to her, and once I looked into those witchy gold eyes, I couldn’t look away. Her dark lips parted and I thought about how soft and full they were, but the sound of Rol’s boot steps shattered the hold she had on me.

  Yep, somehow the witch was getting to me. Getting under my skin. Maybe it was a spell. If I believed in magic, which I didn’t.

  Rol entered the room and tossed me a light brown shirt that felt like soft leather, like the chamois cloths my dad made me use to clean Mom’s truck.

  Mom’s truck. Right. I’d be so dead if I didn’t find it!

  I slid the shirt on, glad not to be walking around half-naked anymore. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jazz’s face, and I could have sworn she looked disappointed that I wasn’t bare-chested any longer.

  The shirt was sleeveless, like a muscle shirt. It opened in a V at my neck and had laces I could have drawn tight, but I ignored them.