Mystify (16 page)

I move to the couch, wondering if this is a good idea. Lying down, I put my fear into words. “What can he do to me if he catches me there?”

The room goes quiet. Jake, Krystal and Lindsey look to Casietta and Mouse for the answer.

Casietta closes her eyes. Mouse speaks up. “It is different there, rules are different.”

That’s way too cryptic for my liking. “And?”

“And he could kill you or capture you.”

I swallow deep because I figured this was the answer. “Okay, and what does he gain if he does either of those things?”

“You,” he says as he looks around at all of us, “are the only thing stopping him from what he wants. If he gets rid of you one by one or all together, he wins.”

“But, I don’t understand.” My words are cut off when Mouse touches a hand to my forehead.

This is different. Mouse has never touched me before. Ever. His hand on me now feels really weird, heavy and cold like ice. I’m looking into his eyes and see how dark they are, how perfectly round and dark. His brows are thick and bushy, but that’s all the hair he has on his head or his face. He’s not frowning, just wearing a bland expression that I feel like I should understand.

“Close your eyes and concentrate,” he says slowly.

It’s like I’m being hypnotized by his eyes and the sound of his voice because I instantly close my eyes. I know where it is I want to go, but this is different from teleporting.

I don’t focus on getting to the point. Instead, I focus on the power inside me, feeling it grow and spread throughout my body. I think this is like getting a blood transfusion. It’s moving through my veins at record speed, touching every nuance of my soul. My limbs feel heavy, like they’re sinking into the cushions of the chair.

I think I hear somebody soothing me, coaxing me to take my time. But the voices are growing distant. I’m traveling now, feeling the weightlessness of flying. A cool breeze swipes
my face, ruffles my hair. I’m soaring, high above everything I know to be true. I’m leaving it behind, heading into the unknown—yet, familiar.

She’s calling me. I guess it’s Fatima or whoever she really is. I don’t hear a voice, just feel this physical tug inside that wants me to keep going. I don’t fight it, don’t try to rationalize it. I just keep going.

It’s
different this time, here on this astral plane. Before, it was either really dark or super bright.

Now it just looks normal. Well, as normal as possible for another plane. Everything is white, but it looks like I’m in a room. There are four walls, and although I can’t see the outline of a door, there’s a gold knob that sort of gives me the indication that I can get out if I want to.

I take a tentative step. The white floor seems solid even though it looks cloudy. Another breeze blows by, so forceful that it makes me stumble. When I right myself, I see the smallest spot of light. I stop all movement, afraid that if I move I’ll lose sight of it. But I don’t because the small fleck of light grows and grows until its brightness is eventually tapped out, and in its place stands a woman.

As weird as all this seems, the woman looks rather normal. Her skin is the color of heavily creamed coffee, flawless and radiant. Her eyes are like this funny brown/gold combination with thick perfectly arched brows that make me just a tad jealous. One of my eyebrows is always arched a bit higher than the other, whether I do them myself or go to the mall to have them done. Never could figure that out.

This woman, who I’m guessing is Fatima, is also tall, with a tiny waist and curvy hips. She’s wearing a long multicolored skirt that’s lifting in the constant, but substantially softened,
breeze. Her top clings like a bodysuit and is as white as the walls. At her waist is a huge red belt, on both her wrists about three inches of silver bangles, and at her ears are chandelier earrings twinkling with a rainbow of colors. So, like I said, she looks perfectly normal, a bit colorful and eclectic, but still normal for the most part.

What I really mean is nobody would ever know she’s a witch or whatever other unnatural thing she may be.

Unless they were here in this place, with the breeze moving around us both. This place that I’ve been to and seen a few times now and still have no idea where it is or why I can be here.

“It is called the Majestic,” Fatima says, speaking in her real voice—not the sing-songy echo I’ve heard before—for the first time. “It is another plane between earth and the heavens.”

And I’m here because? I don’t actually say that because clearly I’m still reeling from actually being in her presence.

Fatima’s small, pert lips spread into a smile. “You’re here because you are one of them.”

Gulping and taking a deep breath, I realize at some point I’m actually gonna need to start talking to her if I want the answers to my questions. Even though it kind of feels like she can read my mind like Lindsey. “One of who?”

“She said she would send protectors. She warned them not to cross her. And here you are.” Both her arms stretch out towards me, her bangles clinking loudly.

“She who? And what are we supposed to be protecting? Look, forgive me, but I’m really confused here.”

Fatima simply nods. “She said you would be. And that is why I am here. To help you and the others find your way. The challenge is big and dangerous. Without the proper knowledge, you will have a hard time succeeding.”

“Then could you please give me the proper knowledge?” I
know that sounds sarcastic and is probably really disrespectful, but I’m tired of the games. I want answers.

“You all are very intuitive. You have already figured out who you are and what your symbol means and that you were sent here by Styx. Because of her curse, you and your friends are in a battle to save this earth.”

“To save it from who?”

“He is very angry that his plan did not work, that Styx ultimately caught him. He will not stop until all power—light and dark—is his.”

“Do you have power? Are you a witch?” This probably doesn’t relate to the Mystyx and our overall goal, but I’ve got to know.

“I am what is called a Messenger. I am eternally pledged to do the will of the goddess.”

“But you knew about Mary Burroughs and the letter. Was Mary a witch?”

“That is a mortal name given to one who holds power. There are many species of powerful beings, especially here in the Majestic. It is the home of the magical.”

“Why am I the only Mystyx who can come here?”

“You are the only one of your friends who has astral projection power. Styx gave you all different powers so that, combined, you could complete the task.”

“Those things that I saw, the faces of those people in the mall. What was that?”

She nods her head, and I expect those big dangly earrings to make a sound, but they don’t.

“Because you can visit the Majestic, you can also see what others cannot. You can see the true being through the glamour they use on earth.”

“So these are really magical beings and not real humans? And they’re just walking alongside humans every day?”

She smiles. “See, very intuitive.”

No, very out of my league, I’m thinking. Then I hurry up and push the thought from my mind. If she can see into my thoughts, I’d better not think too much right now.

“Krystal sees them, too.”

“No. She has the power to see the undead and to see what may happen in the future. If she sees magical beings, it is be cause they are about to reveal themselves to you all in some way. Heed her warnings. They will be very accurate.”

Now it’s my turn to nod. Krystal can see future events. That’s good to know, but very unsettling, considering the last couple visions she’s had. “And Styx gave us these powers by using the weather?”

“It is difficult for the magical to mingle with the mortals. There is such a thick level of misunderstanding. Styx has power of the sun and the moon. The rest comes naturally.”

“How?”

Fatima’s head tilts, and for the first time I see the long strands of fiery red hair. It looks like when one of the Goth girls used packs of cherry Kool-Aid to dye her hair, except this looks soft and glittery, not stiff and matted. I wish I could touch it.

“You are a child of the moon, of what mortals call a subtle eclipse.”

Her voice is kind of fading, the breeze blowing a bit stronger. “Wait! Why can’t I stay as long as I like, ask all the questions I want?”

She chuckles, and this time it sounds like wind chimes. “I am not here to give you all the answers, only to keep you on the right track.”

In essence, she is like the Good Witch Glinda in
The Wizard of Oz
—she could come in on a beam of light, say some lyri
cal words that have vague meaning and then disappear. I’m beginning to get the picture, whether I like it or not.

“Then just answer this, how do we stop him? How can the four of us alone defeat this Darkness or whatever he is.”

“He is powerful and from the Underworld. He has the strength of many dark souls behind him. You must be careful and stand strong together. When the time comes, you will know what to do. Trust your hearts, your minds. They control your powers.”

The breeze kicks up to full-fledged wind, pushing me back until I’m gliding along the clouded floor on my butt. Then the clouds from the floor begin to swirl, and suddenly I feel the lightness of floating once more. I’m on my way back, my mind is racing with Fatima’s words, my heart thumping with the extra knowledge and yet ignorance of what is to come.

“Why were you sent to watch over me?” I ask Casietta that night.

Earlier, she’d made me, Krystal, Jake and Lindsey lunchmeat sandwiches and ordered us to eat them.

Then I’d said goodbye to the other Mystyx as Mouse had ushered them all to a car to take them home. After that, I showered and am now lying on my stomach across the bottom half of my bed, staring up at Casietta. She’s picking up things, moving them around. Essentially she’s keeping busy. She’s been doing that since I came home tonight. I can tell there’s more she hasn’t told me.

Even now she doesn’t answer my question but just hunches her shoulders.

“Does my father know that I’m a supernatural?”

“He knows danger might come for you. That is all.”

“Is that really all he knows or is it all he wants to know?”

“He is a tough man, your papa. I do not understand him all the time.”

“That’s good because I don’t ever understand him.” I sigh, then roll over onto my back. “And my mother doesn’t know.”

“Your papa threaten to shoot anybody who tell her. So I keep my mouth shut.”

“You’re good at doing that, huh, Casietta?”

She stops then and turns to me. In her hand she’s holding my robe and the jeans I just took off. She’s rolling both the pieces in her arms now, her cheeks puffing with the exertion. “I do my job.”

I nod. “And your job is to protect me. Well, who protects the other Mystyx?”

“They all have guardians.”

“So you are mine. Who are the others?”

“I only know that fool Louis is supposed to watch out for Jake. He didn’t watch his brother the way he was told, so I don’t know why he have another chance with Jake. But it is not my place to complain.”

I see. Mr. Kramer’s brother William had the same super strength and telekinetic power that Jake does. But Mr. Kramer never had any power. I guess because he’s a guardian. “And Krystal?”

“I don’t know. She was not born here, so I do not know who was assigned to her. Lindsey either, she is a mystery.”

I almost laugh at that one because I’m beginning to think the same thing about Lindsey. “What if Lindsey and Krystal hadn’t come back to Lincoln, could Jake and I have fought this thing alone?”

“The goddess knows what she is doing.”

Lying back on my pillow, I listen as Casietta fusses around my room a little longer. When she comes over to the bed, I
close my eyes like I’ve fallen asleep. She pulls the covers up to my chin and tucks them tight at my sides, just like she used to do when I was younger. I don’t mind because now I know why she’s always gone the extra mile for me, why she’s been more like a mother than my real one.

She’s my guardian and Fatima is the Messenger. We’re Mystyx, and we’re to fight against some evil from the Underworld who pissed Styx off in some way a long time ago.

Wow, this has been some day.

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.

—Martin Luther King, Jr.

On
Saturday morning I get up early, much earlier than normal, but that’s because I have something to do. I quickly dress, then head straight downstairs to my father’s office. Usually he’s out by eight with the excuse that he’s heading to the gym. But we have a gym in our house, right down those three steps on the side of the kitchen. It’s huge and has everything the rinky-dink gym in town does, probably more. So a long time ago, I figured this was yet another excuse to get out of this house.

I’m probably the last person he’s expecting to see, but he’s been a priority on my list since learning of his plans for where to build this club.

“Daddy,” I say when I step into his office.

He’s behind his desk, already sifting through some papers, and he looks up at me with surprise.

This morning he looks a little older than usual, like maybe he has a lot on his mind. I imagine running a big company and managing all the money he does has to be stressful. And as I’m walking across the shiny wood floor to get closer to his desk, I realize I don’t really know him all that well.

I mean, he’s my father, I know that. He’s been here all my life. But as for who Marvin Carrington really is, I have no clue. I don’t know if there are certain foods he doesn’t like, or what his favorites are. I’ve never seen him watching television
or listening to music, so I don’t know his preferences there either. He’s like this stranger who shares a house with me and a last name. That’s unsettling.

“I wanted to talk to you about the club.”

He keeps his hair cut short, like a military cut. It used to be darker, but it’s starting to show a lot of gray now. His eyes are dark, too, like a sea green, with no sparkle at all. His lips are thin and seem to thin out a little more as he sits back in his chair and continues to glare at me.

“Why are you up so early? Surely your mother has plans for you today. Something else you should be tending to.”

I shake my head. “No. She has other plans today, but not me. So, like I said, I wanted to talk to you about the club.”

“What about it?” He steeples his fingers together under his chin like he’s some big-time mobster and I’m one of his minions coming to ask a favor.

“Jake Kramer is my friend. His family lives down by the tracks. He said that’s where you want to build the club, that you’re making them move. I don’t think that’s fair.” This isn’t how I’d planned to say this, but now that it’s out, I’m glad.

“This is none of your concern,” my father says, his voice a little gravelly.

“It is because Jake is my concern. He was my first friend here and I don’t want to lose him.”

“You will make other…more appropriate friends,” he says seriously.

“Like Stephen Whitman the Fourth?” I snort.

“I’m afraid you may have already burned that bridge. But yes, friends of that nature.” Then he leans closer, planting his elbows on his desk, his look even more disapproving of me than I’ve ever seen. “Don’t think I don’t know who you’ve been running around town with. The boy from the Tracks. The one from the gang. And those two new girls who just
moved here that we know nothing about. I’d hoped your mother would have gotten you and your choice of friends under control by now.”

So hurt am I by his vague and narrow-minded assessment of my friends, I lash out without even considering who I’m talking to. “She has no control over who my friends are. I associate with who I want. And you have no right to judge people you don’t even know!”

“I have every right,” he roars right back. “I live in this town. Most of my money has gone into building it up to what it is today. Do you think I like having all these others just crawl in here and take what is rightfully mine?”

He’s crazy. In this instant, I know this to be true. If someone on the streets had told me this, I probably would have felt compelled to defend him—I mean, we do share the same blood and all that. But he is definitely not in his right mind to really believe what he’s saying.

“It’s just money, Dad. All you have is money. You don’t have any real friends and you don’t have a real family. We’re just like statues that you like to move around when you can. It’s actually really sad.”

“You’re really young and naive and this conversation is over. Leave my business to me.”

I shake my head, knowing what I must do. It wasn’t a part of my original plan to persuade him to leave Jake’s property alone, but I feel like I have no other choice. I’m doing exactly what Fatima said, using my heart and my mind to do what needs to be done.

On legs stronger than they’ve ever been, I push the chair back slowly. His eyes rise, following my movements. “I may be young and probably a little naive where you’re concerned but I’m dead serious about my request. Leave Jake’s property alone. Find someplace else to build your club.”

“Go to your room!” he yells.

But I have no intention of doing his bidding. Instead, I close my eyes and disappear, reappearing right beside him where I put a hand on his shoulder.

He jumps, his hand flailing out and knocking over the coffee cup that was on his desk. He’s looking at me with just a hint of disbelief and a lot of fear. This is my father. My goal shouldn’t be to scare him, it should be to look up to him, to love him. But he’s not worthy of that. He’s cold and manipulating, and it’s time for that to stop.

“If Jake’s house is torn down to build this club, I’ll tell everyone your secret.”

“Wh-what are you talking about?” he stutters.

I smile, then close my eyes and appear right next to the window where I pull the curtains open. “I’ll tell everyone your daughter is a supernatural. That your flesh and blood is not normal.”

He stands up quickly, too quickly because his chair gets caught on his legs. He kicks at it until it falls over.

“You’re crazy! You’re possessed! I told them that when you were born.”

Tilting my head to the side, I can see clearly now that he’d probably said those very same words. Funny, they should hurt my feelings coming from the man who is supposed to be my father. But they don’t. I can see his fear and his disbelief and know that if I weren’t the one with the power, I would probably feel the same way. No, that’s not true. I’m not like him. I can accept other people’s differences and not judge them for it. Unfortunately, Marvin Carrington cannot. It’s a shame we can’t choose our parents.

“I am what I am and you’ve known it all my life. You chose to ignore it and me because you don’t understand it. But it’s not going away. And if you don’t leave Jake’s land alone, I’m
going to share it with the world. Now, how many investors do you think you’ll get then? How many clients will you lose, Daddy?”

I don’t know what’s got into me, but it feels good. I’m standing up for what I believe. Sure, I’m threatening my father in the process, with a secret I have no intention of revealing, but I’m betting he won’t call my bluff. This image he’s created for himself is far too important.

“You can’t. It would kill your mother.”

“It would destroy you, just as you’re planning on destroying the lives of the people who live in those homes. Think about it, Dad. The choice is yours—their lives or yours?” And just for dramatics I disappear and reappear right in front of his desk, taking a seat in the chair I’d sat in before.

His shaky fingers are gripping his tie, acting as if it needs straightening when it doesn’t. “You don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t know what you’re playing with. This isn’t a joke, Sasha. It’s not a game.”

Don’t I know it. If it were, I’d definitely be quitting by now. Running from possessed birds, fighting some dark entity that wants to kill me, are not normal pastimes for a teenage girl. But like I say to him in reply, “It is what it is, Dad. Do we have a deal?”

Reaching behind him, he finds his chair, then plops down into it. “Not a word of this to your mother. None of it, do you hear me?”

“What? You don’t want even her to know who and what her daughter really is?” Now that
does
hurt. She’s my mother, but this is why she treats me like I’m her hobby instead of her child—because he wants her to.

“She won’t understand like I did. You were the one thing I asked of her and she gave me. Knowing your imperfections would kill her.”

I’m biting my bottom lip to keep from crying. “My imperfections” is what he just said. I have imperfections. And he doesn’t? Forget it, he’s not worth my tears. “Build your club someplace else and leave my friends alone. I’ll see who I want when I want without your interference. And no, I won’t tell my mother of my imperfections.” The words taste bitter in my mouth, but I say them, and leave them and this stranger alone.

The minute I close the door behind me, I want to scream. I want to run out and find my mother and scream at her for tolerating his controlling ways and for not understanding me. But I know that none of it will work. Sometimes you can’t change who or what people are. If that were possible, Marvin Carrington certainly would have tried to change me.