L.O.S.T. Trilogy Box Set

by R. S. Collins

  And somewhere deeper in my mind, a more deliberate part of me added, And he’ll most assuredly fail his destiny.

  “Where did all the furniture go? And what’s wrong with her?” Donkey-boy was saying. “Why isn’t she back in her body yet?”

  “Careful,” Rol replied. “If you touch the queen’s body while she is traveling, you will die instantly—Bren!”

  A smack—

  And then, “Ow, Rol. What did you do that for?”

  “If you had so much as brushed her flesh, you would be naught but ashes now.” Rol’s voice was harsh. “This is no teasing matter, boy. Shadowbridge is protected in many ways, and protections make no distinction between the foul and the fair. Do you understand?”

  “I get it,” Bren said. “More of the Queen of the Nutcases and her black-magic circus.”

  With one furious flap, I shot back to myself faster than an arrow fired from a bow. Through the roof, into the drawing room, and straight into my body with a jerk and a gasp. My flesh felt heavy and clumsy, but I forced open my eyes and glared at Bren. “Queen of the what, donkey fodder?”

  Bren stood at arm’s length, gazing at me with a mixture of loathing and rage. Water dripped down his face and arms onto the drawing room floor and his brown eyes glinted harshly. He smelled of sweat and rainwater, and his hair was wild. He had a huge bruise from sparring, peeking from beneath his tunic. Its angry green hue pleased me to my core.

  Or perhaps he had earned it while battling Shadows—a thought that unsettled me, although I didn’t understand why.

  Rol stepped away from Bren and spoke in a rush, as if to distract me. “Your Majesty. I was quite concerned.”

  “No need.” I tried to sound nonchalant, which made Bren turn near purple. “A close call, but I’m fine. Your pupil, however, risked his life and future, rushing headlong into peril. I hope you’ll address judgment in his future sessions.”

  “You—” Bren started, but Rol cut him off with a sharp gesture.

  “Bren has completed only his conditioning sessions,” Rol explained. “He will learn battle strategy by Summer Solstice, I have no doubt. His magic, however—you said to bring him to you at three o’clock. It is three.”

  “What?” Bren wheeled on the training master, hands fisted. “No way. I am not staying here with—with that!”

  “Are you fearful?” I asked. “Because if you are—”

  “You shut up,” Bren snapped. “I’m talking to Rol.”

  I sucked in my breath and clenched my hands, barely gaining control in time.

  Rol gave me an annoyed glance and backed from the room, holding his hands in front of him to block any charge Bren might consider. Bren tried to follow, but Rol slammed the door. A sharp thunk told me the training master had barred the exit behind him.

  Bren threw himself against the wood shoulder first, trying to knock the door open. Of course, it didn’t move. He tried again, and once more before turning back and pointing his finger at me. “Let me out. I’ve had enough today, and I’m not speaking to you. I saved you back there in Jurassic Park Land. And you know it.”

  I thought about teaching Bren’s finger some manners, thought about how funny it would look if I caused flowers or feathers to grow from its tip. But I did nothing. The sting of his words burned deep within, and I feared becoming angry beyond control or repair.

  “Open the door yourself,” I murmured, battling a wave of fatigue. “If you do, you may leave. Better still, no one can lock you behind a physical door again.”

  Bren started to say something, then broke off. He glanced from me to the door, and back to me again. “Do you mean I’m supposed to open the door by magic?”

  He sounded more fearful than sarcastic, which I didn’t expect, or know how to address. So, he believed now, in his own magical potential. Even though it scared him to death.

  “Yes.” I sat on the bare floor and flinched at a speck of dirt that had fallen from Bren’s shoe. “Most magic is quite natural. From the supply of energy within your own body. Moving or transforming objects is simply a matter of concentration, just like leaving your physical body, or breaking onto the Path.”

  The boy eyed me as if I might be mad, but he kept looking from me to the door. From the door to me. “Okay,” he said finally, as I mightily resisted attacking the speck of dirt near his foot. “But like I said before, I’ll do your stupid training and kill your stupid Shadowmaster, except from now on, nothing is free. We’ll start with straight answers, like telling me exactly what went down in dinosaur-ville. Got that? But for starters, before I try to open this door, I want to know what happened to the furniture.”

  The empty room seemed to press in on me, and that speck of dirt ate away at my sense of well-being. My belly tensed, and my breathing grew more rapid. “I blew the furniture to dust. With my fingers. Like this.” I zapped the dirt speck to oblivion. “Because I was angry with you. Does that give you pleasure?”

  Bren grinned, treating me to a full view of his handsome face. “Well, what do you know. A straight answer.”

  His eyes gleamed, and my heart sank. The sarcasm—I didn’t think I could bear it. Especially not for hours, alone with Bren in this room, trying to teach him to tap into his own skill. After he indeed saved my life.

  “All right, all right.” Bren smiled again as he scrubbed his palm over his wet face. “Tell me how, and I’ll do it.”

  I opened my mouth to tell him, but out came a long and rattling sigh.

  Bren raised his eyebrows.

  He looked curious, and—for the moment—like a real and free champion, making his real and free choice to battle by my side.

  The mere thought of Bren actually electing to help me was too much, and I started to cry. The first tears loosed the rest, and to my great humiliation, I sobbed so hard I leaned forward on the floor.

  “Aw, man,” Bren said. “Rol? Hey, Rol! Get back here!”

  I turned my back to Bren and put my face in my hands. To keep my own promise to myself, I couldn’t even make him disappear.

  ***

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jazz was crying.

  The Queen of the Witches was sobbing so hard her shoulders were shaking. And Rol wasn’t coming back.

  I looked from Jazz to the door and then back to her. I felt helpless and guilty. A heavy sensation filled my stomach, like I’d swallowed a dozen baseballs. I had been pretty mean to her the past couple of days, except for the saving-her-life part.

  My mother’s voice popped into my head, telling me to choose my words with care, that words had tremendous power.

  I rubbed at the aching bruise on my chest as I realized I had used my words to hurt Jazz. What was I supposed to do now?

  I walked over to Jazz and knelt beside her. “Are you, uh, okay?”

  “Leave me,” she whispered.

  “The door’s still locked.” I raked my fingers through my hair. “I don’t understand how to use magic to unlock it.”

  She raised her hand, as if waving me away, and the bar scraped against the door.

  Freedom.

  I could just walk away and let her cry her heart out. It was what she deserved, wasn’t it? After all, look at what she had done to me. Kidnapped me, brought me to this oddball place knowing that I couldn’t leave and that I might die. And she had turned me into a donkey, then pretended I didn’t risk my neck to pull her out of a jam.

  “Go,” Jazz said, her voice hoarse, and she still refused to look at me. “I’ve humiliated myself enough.” She wrapped her arms around her knees, her face buried against her thighs. Her black hair fell forward, completely covering her features and her arms.

  What was I supposed to do now?

  Pat her on the back and say everything will be okay?

  I sat down next to her and started to touch her, then pulled away. For a moment I just stared at Jazz’s trembling shoulders, feeling an overwhelming urge to comfort her.

  Before I could think better of it, I wrapped my arms
around her and brought her head against my chest. Jazz stiffened, but I only tightened my hold. After a couple of seconds, she shuddered and then relaxed, as if she had melted against me. Like the weight of the world was pressing her down.

  The weight of the world.

  That was it. She was only sixteen, yet she was responsible for hundreds, maybe thousands of people. And she was doing what she had to in order to save them. One of those “for the greater good” type of things my mom was always harping on.

  I really did feel like a jerk.

  Irresponsible…

  Impulsive…

  Lower than the worm she had threatened to turn me into and grind under her heel. All I had been concerned about was myself, and she was thinking about countless lives.

  “I’m sorry, Jazz,” I whispered, and kissed the top of her head. She smelled so good and felt so soft and warm in my arms. “I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings. I was just mad, and I—I really didn’t mean all the things I said after you turned me into a donkey. I just, well…I don’t think you should have used your magic against me, and I think you should be more grateful I helped you out. But otherwise, I was a real ass. Okay?”

  Jazz froze. After a moment she sniffed, her words muffled against my chest. “It was wrong of me to turn you into a donkey. And to deny how you helped me in the ancient Sanctuary. You have my apologies.”

  “Let’s start over.” Her hair was soft and silky, and I found myself stroking it as I talked. “We can be friends. But we need to be upfront about everything.”

  “Friends?” She sounded surprised as she lifted her head and looked at me. For the first time she didn’t look absolutely perfect. Her dark makeup was splotchy, and her eyes were red and swollen. Yet she still managed to look beautiful. Golden light crept around the black smears on her face, as if her natural glow was trying to break free and shine.

  I wiped a smudge from her cheek, freeing another speck of light. “Sure. Why not?”

  Jazz glanced away, her expression distant and sad. “I’ve never had a friend, save Rol. And well, as much as I love him, it’s not the same.”

  “You’ve never had a friend?” I stopped stroking her hair. On impulse, I took her chin in my hand, and made her look at me. “Not even one?”

  “No.” She closed her golden eyes, and it was like the light in the room had dimmed. “From the moment I was born, I’ve trained to be queen. My mother believed that having friends would make me vulnerable. Weak.”

  No friends, ever. And I thought having ADHD was a pain.

  “You have me for a friend now.” I pulled her back against my chest and hugged her. Holding her seemed so right. “I’ll help you find Nire.”

  She sighed and relaxed against me. “Thank you, Bren.”

  I rested my chin on top of her head. The figurine, now in the pocket of my pants, popped into my thoughts. It burned against my thigh, and as I held Jazz, my own words haunted me.

  We need to be upfront about everything.

  What was the big deal about a dumb little statue? Why would I need to tell her about it?

  Why didn’t I want to?

  Later. I’d tell her later.

  “Did you say your dad was killed by that Shadowmaster?” I asked against her hair.

  “In a manner of speaking.” Jazz nodded, her head bumping my nose. “Father gave his life to help the witches escape Middle Salem, to make sure they were safe from a disaster Nire created.” She sighed again. “But Father was killed by humans in a frenzy of fear—a natural death in the order of the universe. Such a death barred him from Talamadden, the special haven within Summerland, and a possible second chance at life.”

  I frowned in concentration, trying to keep focused on what she was saying, trying to make sense of it. “If he’d had an unnatural death, directly from spells or bad magic, he would’ve had a second chance?”

  “Yes.” Another sniffle. “But Father’s soul is gone forever…and the worst thing is that he died for nothing.”

  Absently I rested my hand on hers and slowly stroked the soft skin on the back of her fingers. My face and arms were almost dry—although after sitting so close to me, Jazz was probably a bit on the damp side now. “What do you mean, that he died for nothing?” I asked.

  “I got caught in one of Nire’s enchantments, and I couldn’t get everyone onto the Path fast enough.” Jazz said it quietly and so matter-of-fact. “Nire captured my mother and the rest of Middle Salem’s witches, save for me and Rol. That was four years ago, when I became queen.”

  Twelve. She had been queen since she was twelve years old. And she blamed herself for her father’s death. When I was twelve, all I thought about was goofing around with my friends, listening to my favorite music, and baseball. And the only headache in my life was my dad on my case all the time.

  When I looked at her again, I felt like I was seeing her differently. All her pointy edges seemed understandable, and somehow softer. Completely cool by me.

  ‘‘I’m sorry about your parents, Jazz.” I rubbed my thumb in circles on the back of her hand. “My dad is rough to live with, but I’d hate it if anything happened to him. Or my mom and brother. I’d do anything for them.”

  “Then you understand.” Her voice was so soft I could barely hear her.

  “Yeah, now I do.” I lifted my head and stroked her hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry I’ve given you such a hard time. I’ll work harder at learning this magic business, all right?”

  She sighed and leaned against my chest. “The progress you have made in a few days is quite remarkable. You should be well and truly pleased with yourself.”

  “I don’t know about that.” I shrugged. “My dad would just point out all of my screw-ups.”

  “Your skill with the sword,” she went on, her voice low and serious, “I have never witnessed such rapid development in abilities. Have you always excelled in athletic pursuits?”

  “Uh, yeah. Thanks,” I said. Jazz’s praise felt good, but it kind of embarrassed me, too. “Mom got me started in baseball when I was really little. She always goes on about how I’m destined for greatness, and about how discipline and practice would bring me closer to that destiny.” I shook my head and laughed. “I never cared about that. I just love to play baseball.”

  “Your mother is a wise woman,” Jazz said.

  “Whatever.” I shrugged again and then hurried to change the subject. Talking about myself always made me feel uncomfortable. Besides, I wanted to know more about her. “So, what kind of fun does a kid have when she’s growing up as the future Queen of the Witches?”

  Jazz shifted in my arms and seemed to relax as she started telling me about her childhood, about her family, and her life before Nire had taken everything away from her. But she didn’t talk about what she’d lost, just the happy times, the way things used to be.

  In turn, I told her about some of the fun stuff I did as a kid: playing baseball and football with the guys, swimming at the Y, racing bikes down our neighborhood street, and toilet-papering the old hag’s house around the corner. Fun stuff.

  We talked for hours, just sitting there on the floor of the drawing room until my ass was numb. It was really cool, and everything would have been perfect if I didn’t feel so guilty for not telling her about that statue in my pocket.

  The following afternoon, after I finished training with Rol, I went to the drawing room to try and learn magic from Jazz. I found her sitting on that lone bench by the window. I guess she didn’t hear me come in because she was staring out the crystal-clear pane with a soft, wistful expression on her face.

  What was she thinking about? Was she thinking about me, maybe even us?

  Get your head out of your armpit, Bren. It’s just like you to be selfish and think it’s all about you. More than likely she was trying to figure out how to beat Nire and get her family and friends back.

  No teenage girl or guy I’d ever known had Jazz’s depth. She could be serious and scary, but she could also be cari
ng and sweet, and even funny.

  Last night had been amazing. We’d talked for hours and didn’t argue once. I’d loved hearing about the things she’d done when she was a little girl. Like the time when she was five and she’d turned Acaw into a rainbow-colored parrot just because he wouldn’t talk to her. He’d just sat where she’d zapped him and called out, “A-caw, A-caw, A-caw.” Having had one too many run-ins with the uptight elf, this image really made me laugh.

  Yeah, it had been pretty cool really talking with Jazz. She turned her gaze from the window and smiled when she saw me. “Are you ready for your lesson?”

  “Sure.” I returned her smile as I stepped into the drawing room, over to where she was sitting. “I was wondering something though…could you explain some more about this Path and the Shadowmaster?”

  Jazz went sort of still, like it surprised her that I wanted to know more. “All right.” She nodded and gestured to the bench beside her. “It’s a long story.”

  I slid onto the bench and had the sudden urge to touch her again. Like I needed her to ground me. I took her hand in mine and looked into her eyes. “Okay, tell me about Nire. I need to know everything.”

  Jazz’s cheeks went red as she glanced at our hands and back to me. I squeezed them tighter, telling her I wasn’t going to leave her.

  “It would be best if I show you.” She pulled her hands away from mine and gracefully moved from the bench to sit cross-legged on the floor. “Come.” She gestured for me to sit in front of her.

  I didn’t know what she had in mind, but I figured it was probably the only way I’d get some answers. I followed her lead and sat cross-legged, but without the grace she had. My scabbard banged on the floor, and I had to adjust it so that my sword hilt wasn’t in my way. When I finally got settled, our knees were touching, and this time she took my hands and held them tight.

  “Sharing a vision is difficult and takes much of my magical strength,” she said. “It will leave us vulnerable to attack by Nire or Shadows, so we can’t stay in the vision long.”

  The idea of being open to attack didn’t sound so good to me, but I figured she wouldn’t take the chance if she thought there was any real danger to us or to Shallym.