Mystics 3-Book Collection (52 page)

At first it looked like an ordinary small
village with quaint stone houses with red and navy metal roofs,
manicured front lawns and winding roads. A few businesses lined the
main road and yellow light spilled from the windows of bakeries and
markets. Although it was dark, the village was bright and alive
with people. Tall street lamps lit the roads and sidewalks. Zoey
smelled wood burning and a hint of cooked meat and coffee - all
normal small-village things.

But the deeper they ventured, the more she
realized how far from ordinary this village was. It was too neat
and too clean, and everyone wore the same red uniforms.

Everywhere she looked, men and women were
all dressed in the blood-red uniforms Zoey had grown to hate. A
pack of teenagers in identical Alpha uniforms eyed them
suspiciously at first but marched on through the village. They all
had the same self-assured look about them—they were the true
nation, descendants of the Originals.

They kept their heads down and did their
best to blend in.

The strange banging they had heard before
grew steadily louder, until it drowned all the other sounds.
Curious, Zoey took a left turn and followed the clatter. What she
saw next made her sick.

The noise had come from the many
construction sites along the southeast edges of the wall. They were
looking at a construction zone with piles of rubble, stones, metal
and various building materials. And in the midst of the clamor,
mystics were working as slaves.

Horrified, Zoey stared at the scene. A
skeletal dog with three heads and shaky legs pulled a large trolley
packed with stones ten times his size. His long green tongue grazed
the ground and perspiration covered his body as though he had just
come from a swim. A woman with striped yellow and black skin and a
tail carried huge boulders on her shoulders. She was chained and
her bloodied shackles rattled with every step. Gnome-like mystics
with thin, half-starved bodies carried heavy loads on their backs.
Tears and dirt covered their faces, and an Alpha man shouted orders
and lashed them savagely with a whip. Blood seeped through their
clothes from large gashes. Hundreds of mystics labored on the
walls. Some looked fresher than others, as though they had only
just arrived.

An older male with pointy ears and a large
horn protruding from his forehead suddenly collapsed. Two Alphas
came over and kicked him repeatedly. When they were certain he was
dead, they dragged his body away and heaved it onto a large
scorching fire.

Zoey recognized good mystics who had been
kidnapped from the Hive. And they all had something in common—they
all looked like the walking dead.

“Guess I’m not hungry anymore,” whispered
Simon, as he watched the fire.

Zoey saw a mystic with four arms and gray
skin who looked a lot like the male version of Aria. He had a metal
collar wrapped around his neck, and an Alpha woman walked behind
him.

All the mystics were slaves. They were
beaten, slashed, abused, and kicked to the ground like worthless
scum. Slaves had built the wall around the Alpha village.

Tears filled Zoey’s eyes. She had never
witnessed anything so awful. She’d never felt so helpless before in
her life.

Simon was shocked, too. But Zoey saw fury
burn in Tristan’s eyes. His body trembled, and he murmured
something under his breath that sounded like, “I’ll kill them all.
I swear.”

Zoey couldn’t blame him. She was sure this
scene was even worse for Tristan, because he was part mystic
himself. It was like watching his family being tortured and
burned.

She squeezed his hand in hers, and he
squeezed back. Although she couldn’t shake the horror of the scene
from her mind, she had to find the source of the virus. She needed
to find Mrs. Dupont. And, judging by the strange looks they had
started to get from the Alphas, she had to make it fast.

“You filthy monster!”

Zoey spun around. An Alpha man stood in
front of a mystic with an egg-shaped body and elongated limbs, like
an egg walking on sticks. The man swung his whip in the air, and
lashed it at the mystic. The mystic howled in pain and fell to its
knees. It raised its hands in surrender.

“Please, please, master. Please don’t hurt
me,” it said, its voice quavering.

The man sneered evilly, raised his whip, and
lashed it again.

Tristan grabbed the whip midair. The Alpha
stared in shock at first, but then he glared at Tristan.

“What do you think you’re doing,
boy
?
This monster deserves a whipping. Let go of the whip before I turn
it on you.”

Tristan’s skin started to change color. A
feral growl came from his throat. Zoey and Simon exchanged worried
looks.

Zoey moved quickly beside him and grabbed
his arm.

“Don’t,” she hissed in his ear, “If they
find out who we are, they’ll kill us. We
need
the sample. We
can’t do anything for the mystic now. Listen to me, Tristan. Please
let the whip go. I promise, if we survive and get the cure—I’ll do
everything in my power to come back here and stop this.
Tristan?”

Tristan trembled in fury. The hints of blue
that had risen from his pores for a moment dissipated and vanished.
He let go of the whip.

The man yanked his whip back. For a moment
Zoey thought he was going to use it on Tristan, but he wrapped it
up and clipped it to his belt.

“You kids get back to your families. There’s
nothing here for you. Move, before I report you.”

Tristan glowered at the man for a moment and
then turned his head away, clenching his fists.

“Come on.” Zoey steered Tristan away.

They moved away from the wall and made their
way silently towards the center of the village. None of them spoke.
Zoey strained to keep her face expressionless and tried to numb her
feelings. They couldn’t let the Alphas see how upset they were.

She glanced at Tristan. He looked like a
time bomb, ready to blow at any second. He was breathing heavily,
and Alphas were starting to notice.

A group of men and women passed them. Zoey
held her breath. A man with short gray hair and dull eyes seemed to
pay particular attention to them as he passed. The other Alphas
walked by them as though they didn’t even exist.

“Keep moving,” said Zoey, under her
breath.

They walked on in silence. When they had put
enough distance between them, something in her gut told her to look
back. Her heart skipped a beat. The group of Alphas they had passed
moments before had stopped walking. They were talking amongst
themselves. The man with the gray hair looked at them and then
pointed to Zoey suspiciously.

“…take this to Mrs. Dupont,” said a voice
behind them.

Zoey whirled around.

A tall man gave a brown parcel to a mystic
who looked like a white werewolf. A red collar was fastened around
its neck.

“Be quick about it,” said the same man. “And
don’t try to remove that collar again, if you know what’s good for
ya.”

The man went inside his shop and closed the
door with a
bang
. The mystic snarled at the door. It held
the package out like it might be a bomb and started up the road
that led to the top of the hill.

“Guys,” whispered Zoey. “If we follow that
mystic, he’ll lead us right to Mrs. Dupont. I have a feeling she
lives up in that big manor at the top of the mountain. I knew we
didn’t mirror-port here for nothing—”

“Apart from being witnesses to slavery,”
said Simon.

“We get to that big house - we sneak in — I
get the sample — and we sneak out.”

“Gotcha,” said Simon.

“Tristan?” There was a sadness on his face
that she’d never seen before. It was like he was in a trance.

“And while we’re in there,” said Zoey,
turning to Simon. “Look for something with a
mirror
,
anything that I can use to get us out of here. I’m pretty sure Mrs.
Dupont has
lots
of mirrors, so we shouldn’t have trouble
finding one.”

“I don’t know why she’d keep mirrors. She
looks like a freak of nature,” laughed Simon. “If I looked like
that—I’d kill myself.”

Zoey glared at him, and then he added,
“Okay, okay, don’t worry. I’ll find another mirror.
Promise
.”

Zoey looked over her shoulder.

The man with the gray hair was still
watching them.

“Let’s go, before the Alphas figure out who
we are—”

Something sharp jabbed into her side, and
then a rough voice said, “Make any sudden movements and you’re
dead,
agents
.”

Z
oey froze.

Two more Alphas had appeared at Simon and
Tristan’s sides before they could move. Sharp daggers pointed into
their backs. Tristan clenched his jaw and scowled. Simon looked
surprised but was stiff as a board.

Zoey moved her right arm—

“I said, don’t move!” The strange, raspy
voice wasn’t human. But how could that be?

“Move another inch, and I’ll cut you right
through to your aorta. You’ll bleed to death.”

Zoey winced as she felt something sharp
break the skin on her side.

“Why are you doing this? We didn’t do
anything,” Zoey tried to keep her voice calm.

“Oh yes, you did,” laughed the man. “And if
you don’t want the rest of the
Alphas
to cut you up into
pretty little agent bits, you’re going to come silently and
willingly with us. Any sudden movements, any stupid attempts to
run,” he jammed the dagger into her side again, “and I’ll cut you
like the blood-bag that you are - there won’t be an inch of you
that won’t have a mark.”

“And if we go with you willingly,” said
Simon, “are you going to kill us?”

“No.”

Simon made a face.

“Man, what did you eat for dinner? Your
breath stinks—” Simon doubled over as the Alpha punched him hard in
the stomach.

Tristan inched forward, but the Alpha stuck
his blade at his neck.

“Move, boy, and I’ll cut that pretty face of
yours.”

Zoey watched the two men who held her
friends hostage. Although they looked like middle-aged men, there
was something odd in their behavior, like they were twitchy.
Something in their eyes was off. They had a flatness, almost as
though they were wearing contact lenses.

The odds weren’t in their favor. Zoey’s eyes
locked with Tristan’s. It was impossible to read his mind at the
moment. He looked like a wild animal ready to strike.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Walk straight to the end of this road and
then make a left,” said the voice in her ear. “And act normal. If
you and your agent friends want to live, then you’ll do as I say.
Now, move.”

Zoey was pushed forward forcefully. She
wanted nothing more than to punch the guy who was bullying her. But
instead, she did what she was told and followed the path. His
dagger poked into her lower back, and she knew he would stick her
if she moved away.

Their captors were leading them away from
the manor house. Somehow, she would have to get away…

Their kidnappers led them away from the
center of the village to a more remote area where the moon
illuminated a few houses among the trees. All the lights were on
inside the homes—all except for one. A small gray house with a
flagstone path sat alone at the end of the road. The lights were
off and the curtains were drawn. Their kidnapers led them
there.

“Keep moving. This way,” the man growled in
Zoey’s ears as he pushed her up to the wooden front door. With the
blade still poking into Zoey’s back, the man moved beside her and
knocked five times. She stole a look at her kidnaper. He looked the
same as the others, middle-aged with the same strange, dull look in
his eyes. What was wrong with their eyes? Were they sick? Something
was definitely off…

The man stood back as the door swung open.
Shadows moved in the dark beyond the threshold, but she couldn’t
make out what they were. The air was stale and smelled of rotten
eggs. The person who opened the door seemed to have vanished into
the darkness.

“Get in.”

Before Zoey even moved, she was pushed
forcefully again, and she staggered forward. Tristan and Simon
followed her in. She heard the door close and lock behind them. It
was dark inside. Zoey could just make out two rooms on either side
of a stairway leading to a second floor. She could barely make out
Tristan and Simon’s faces. She imagined they would be as troubled
as her own.

“Bring them,” said a voice from somewhere on
the right side of the house.

Zoey was shoved forward. One more push, and
she was going to elbow him in the gut. The floorboards squeaked
under their weight and water dripped from somewhere in the dark.
Even if she wanted to spin around and punch the man on his jaw—she
couldn’t see his face. She couldn’t see anything.

Zoey waited. The rotten smell was heavier
here, like this was where it originated. She felt Tristan and Simon
shifting nervously at her sides. Whatever this kidnapping was
about, they would soon find out.

“Lights,” said the same deep voice from
directly in front of them.

Zoey heard a click, and a soft yellow light
engulfed them.

She squinted, blinking the spots from her
eyes, and looked around. They stood in a living room with peeling
wallpaper and antique furniture. The light came from an old
chandelier with only two working bulbs. A Persian rug lay in front
of a dull fireplace. Next to the fireplace was a decrepit green
armchair, and in it sat a thin man in a blood-red Alpha uniform.
Long oily black hair covered most of his face. He had a large
hawk-like nose and a square jawline. Thick gleaming talons curled
at the end of his fingers. His skin had a grayish tint to it, and
he looked like he’d skipped a few good meals. He brushed the hair
out of his face, and Zoey’s heart tightened in her chest.