Myths and Magic: An Epic Fantasy and Speculative Fiction Boxed Set

by K.N. Lee

  “What did you say his name was?” I couldn’t get the image of him out of my mind. My breath was uneven; it seemed that when he had left he had taken my air with him as well.

  “Lacal,” she said no longer paying attention.

  “Oh, um…look, I think I’m going to head home now.” I handed her back the bottle.

  “No, you can’t go now!” she whined, looking disappointed. “Stay, please, it’s been so long since you have been out with us, you can’t leave just as the party's getting started.”

  “Look, Jazz, I’m just not that into this, and half the people here are not who I remember them to be, besides, I’m not feeling all that great.” I sighed placing my hand on her shoulder. “We should get together soon, though. It’s about time I stepped back into my life and who better to do that with than my best friend? Just, maybe not at a party?”

  She smiled reluctantly, “Okay, well, I guess I should just be glad that you showed up. To be honest, I am surprised you came at all. I was ready to hear a bunch of excuses when I called you.” She gave me a knowing look as if she could tell I had attempted to come up with one.

  “We’ll get together soon. I promise,” I smiled at her, gave her a hug, and exited as fast as I could before she could think of any other reason for me to stay.

  On the drive home, my only thought was him, Lacal. His name echoed in my mind. It just repeated over and over on an endless loop, the background music to my mental images of him. He stared at me and for a brief instant, damn near took over my body. All through a look! Did any of that really happen? Maybe, he was just a hallucination; created to help me through the disaster that was my return to the real world.

  Jazz had seen him too. He was there, he was real, and his name was Lacal. I hadn’t imagined him. I doubt that my imagination could ever be that good anyway. He was one of those guys that girls went gaga over, you just couldn’t help it, and he was looking at me. No, more than looking, he was staring, and his eyes set my skin on fire. Either this was a perfect example of animal magnetism or I really had been home alone for far too long.

  Once inside my garage, from the moment my feet hit the ground of the car, as corny as it sounds, I was floating. I dropped my bag on the kitchen table and sat in the chair next to it. My mind was on a remote island, and of course I wasn’t alone, Lacal, the gray eyed stranger was right there with me.

  “Oh my god,” I gasped, throwing my hand up in the air as the loudest clap of thunder just sounded off inside my head. You’re sitting at the table! The internal voice screamed. The one place in my house that had been avoided; the disease riddled artifact of the past. Quickly retreating from the seat, my hands wave through the air as if they were burning from the contact. In hopes to escape, the chair was knocked over onto the floor as I ran out of the kitchen and up to my room.

  Inside, the door slammed behind me. I was safe…. from the table. I tried every breathing technique and calming routine I could remember from my physical therapy, but nothing worked. I scrambled to the bathroom to get a glass of water. My hands shook so badly, I could barely lift the glass to my lips without spilling the water all over the floor.

  I opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed for the bottle of Tylenol. The pounding in my head was so loud it was drowning out the sound of my thoughts. I wrestled with the cap; it flew off followed by a hand full of tablets that fell into the sink and down the drain. I poured some into my hand, I had no idea how many, and swallowed them down with the little water I could get into my mouth.

  I stumbled back to my room, gasping for air. I couldn’t take the pain anymore. I ran over to the nightstand that set next to my bed and pulled out the offensive green box. Inside was the vial that waited for me, glowing with invitation. Without a second thought, not even a moment of hesitation, I popped the fire shaped cork and poured the thick blue liquid down my throat.

  It went down slow and icy leaving a stale taste behind, but it didn’t matter, because within seconds I could breathe again. The world became fuzzy and hazy around the edges. Everything looked and felt soft. I flung myself across my bed and passed out as I landed on what felt like clouds plucked from the sky.

  9

  Heavy lids opened to the piercing sunlight that invaded my room through the window that was left uncovered. My body was stiff, and my back was cramped from the awkward position I had slept in. I sat up to stretch the kinks out of my body and as I extended my arms out and tightened my fists; I felt a stab in the palm of my hand. Blood trickled from the point of pain down my arm.

  My eyes bulged as I watched the red drops hit the white blanket on the bed beside me. I opened my hand and there, crushed to pieces, was the vial my grandmother had left behind, and it was empty! I sat there confused, the decision to drink my grandmother’s mystery concoction, may not have been the smartest thing I’d ever done, but then again, it was hard to remember even making the choice.

  Still wearing the same clothes, I wore to Jazz’s party, I could remember nothing else from the night before except the pain I had hoped to escape. In the bathroom I let the water run over my hand to clean the cut. Pieces of glass fell into the sink, clinking as they hit the ceramic frame. With each clink, a memory of the night before found its way back into my mind. My bouncy best friend, the overcrowded party, the pretentious people that I used to call friends; it all came back to me. There was something missing. I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my hand before searching for the first aid kit in the cabinet under the sink.

  Sitting on the tub, I was dumbfounded, not only about the missing pieces from last night, but from the apparent lack of pain in my hand. I saw the blood and the gash was clear of glass, but I felt nothing. Even as I poured peroxide on the cut, and watched it bubble as it hit the opening there was nothing. Sure, I could feel the coolness of the liquid, even the effect of the air that caused the fluid to bubble, but there was no pain. Maybe, I was just too tired, too out of it to process the feeling of pain. Not that it had ever happened before. Pain was pain and I always felt it. I finished cleaning up my hand and bandaged the cut.

  As I cleaned up the mess, and wiped away the trickles of blood from the sink and the floor, I thought about the missing piece. That void in my memory of the party. Something was obviously out of place. I stood up again, tossing the tissues into the trash and looked at my face in the mirror. “Oh,” I whispered. The face that reflected in the glass didn’t resemble the one I’d become accustomed to. It was my face, but not the one that met me each morning when I dared a peek at my reflection

  I looked completely different than before leaving my house last night. My face was fuller, and it actually had color again. My skin was clear. The blotches were gone. I looked like I was thriving, not at all like the sickly shell of a girl I’d become. I lifted my hand up to my face touching the space under my eyes. The darkness was gone; the telltale signs of sleepless nights. It looked as if I had just slept for weeks.

  My eyes, the color was off. They no longer looked like they belonged to me. They were still hazel-brown, but now there were little bits of red flecks paired with the usual hints of green. I closed them tightly, assuming I was just exhausted, and my mind was playing tricks on me, wishful thinking backfiring. Of course, when I lifted my lids and caught my reflection again, the new me was still there with my new eyes.

  Eyes...That was what I couldn’t remember, those stormy gray intrusive eyes. Images of the mysterious guy returned to me riding in on a tidal wave of gray. I was back in that moment all over again.

  “Lacal,” it came out as a deep whisper from my lips, sounding animalistic, almost carnal, like pure instinct brought on by just the thought of him. My memory of him was now vivid. In sharp focus, there he was standing across the room from my paralyzed body. In a sea of busy bodies, everyone else rushing to make a scene, he was still, the only movement was the rise and fall of his chest, his breaths becoming my own. My body quivered with electric pulses as I remembered the feeling that took me over. I belonged to
him.

  My stomach warmed as if a roped of fire was tied around me, as if he had lassoed me and was trying to pull me into him. Lost in the memory, wrapped in the cloud of gray that reached out from his eyes, I was saddened by the realization that I would most likely never see him again. He was the random stranger, spying on the party full of beautiful women.

  “Oh well,” I sighed, concentrating once again on my new appearance to block out the images of him.

  I looked down in the sink and saw the pieces of glass shimmering from the drain. They reminded me of the stale taste that the blue liquid had left in my mouth. I grabbed my toothbrush and scrubbed my mouth clean. It took two rounds of brushing and three hits of mouthwash to remove the taste of metal from my mouth.

  Nana’s miracle cure had actually worked! She had been right all along. I felt one hundred percent better. For the first time in nearly three years, there was no pain, no spasms, no physical reminder of how broken I had been. My grandmother hadn’t been delusional as my mother suggested. I smiled at the reminder of both their faces and wished they could see me, fully restored. My mother wouldn’t be pleased about how it happened, but I knew that she would be happy to see me better, what parent wouldn’t be?

  I went to my room, and stood in front of the full-length mirror to better study myself. Overnight, it seemed that I had made a full transition. My favorite outfit which I was still wearing actually fit me again, instead of hanging from my frame like it would a mannequin. I had my curves back. Not the sensual, Latin ones my best friend had claim on, but my thighs, hips and butt had returned to their glory days, back when I was a runner. As I turned in the mirror; I found it difficult to believe the changes I saw. Everything was firm and plump, and my skin was glowing. I flexed my legs and arms and stretched my muscles while I waited for the pain to return. It never did.

  It was a thing of awe; I revisited the possibility of this all being a dream; that would make more sense, more logical than a magic cure. Even if it wasn’t real, it still felt amazing, even if it was just a figment of my imagination. I sighed when I heard my phone ringing. That had to be the signal that it was time to wake up.

  I stood there waiting for the inevitable shock that would drag me from my dream back into reality, but it never came, and the phone just kept ringing. I looked over my shoulder by the bed at the cordless phone on my nightstand. The phone continued to ring but the fantasy never released me from its grips. It wasn’t really possible for any of this to be real. Once I woke up, it would be torture. I looked at myself one last time, wishing I had the chance to at least take my new body for a test drive.

  The ringing stopped, but resumed just a few moments later. I walked over to my bed. Maybe this was a part of the dream that I had to go along with. I picked the phone up and pressed the call button to answer.

  “Hello?” I hesitated before speaking, I had to figure out what kind of dream this was. If it was a nightmare, something was sure to jump out of the phone and attack me.

  “Hey, so you are awake. Are you okay?” Jazz’s voice came through the receiver. “I tried calling your cell phone, but it went straight to voicemail.”

  “Yeah, I guess I am,” I still was not convinced that I wasn’t dreaming. “I think I left my cell downstairs or in the car maybe. I’m not really sure.”

  “Uh…okay, so are you feeling any better?”

  “Huh?”

  There was a pause before she spoke, the silent signal of her suspicions kicking in. “You left early last night. You said you weren’t feeling up to staying at the party.”

  “Oh, yeah I’m fine…actually I feel pretty good today.” I flexed my fingers expecting the pain from the cut to set in. Maybe I was awake, but how?

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that, because I am coming to get you. I need to do a bit of summer shopping and apparently so do you judging from that frock of a shirt you were wearing last night. I’ll be there in an hour,” she hung up, once again not giving me anytime to formulate an excuse to get out of going. She had gotten better at setting traps for me. I made a mental note to work on my reflex times. I used to be so good at dodging her set ups.

  “Here we go again.” I sighed and laughed at her underhanded jab at my wardrobe. Yep, she was the same Jazz she’d always been.

  I went to my closet and pulled out a pair of jeans and a tank top, simple and comfortable, Jazz would hate it. I hopped in the shower and washed up as quickly as I could while simultaneously trying not to get the bandage on my hand wet. Once dressed, I pulled my hair up in a ponytail, and looked at myself in the mirror, this time a lot less intently. Secretly, I accepted my new look and hoped to God that it would last. I feared that if I said it out loud, it would all be taken away.

  This was amazing; the idea that I had a second chance at life. Solemnly, I wondered if there was any way to make it stick. Could this only be a temporary fix? I didn’t want to get too accustomed to this face and body, but I was going to try and enjoy it while I had the chance.

  Jazz showed up exactly one hour later, she was always on time. I walked to her car trying to subdue the anxiety that was beginning to build. Would she notice the changes in my appearance? How could she not? There weren’t just a few minor revisions; I had developed an entirely different body overnight. Before I could finish questioning what her reaction would be, her face revealed the answer.

  “Oh my god,” her mouth fell open. “Whatever you took, I want some now!”

  Jazz sat by the curb in her new fire red Porsche Boxter, another birthday gift from her father. The car matched her hair, which I could see was fire engine red and the same as Rihanna’s whose song Hard was blasting from the car stereo. I couldn’t remember if it had been that shade of red last night or if it was a new addition to her image. Jazz had been known to change hair color overnight to match a new outfit like a chameleon.

  The car, though a bit loud in color choice, was perfect for her. It was small, but not to be underestimated. I could see that Jazz was proud of her choice by the way she beamed as I walked up. Her first car was a Porsche as well, it was much older and not half as nice as this one, but it was enough to make her swear that she would never drive any other make of car no matter how out of place it made her look.

  “A good night's’ sleep and warm tea,” I told the obvious lie and attempted to shrug it off. I could only hope that she wouldn’t press for a real answer. Not that the truth sounded any more believable.

  “Right,” the word was sarcastically stretched out to make it clear that she did not believe me. She eyed the bandages on my palm, “What happened to your hand?”

  “Chopping fruit, you remember how uncoordinated my hands are.” Of course, I couldn’t tell her the truth. She smiled seeming to believe that one, no one who really knew me would ever doubt my ability to injure myself.

  “Yeah, well let’s go.” I heard the laughter she tried to stifle as I walked around the car to the passenger door.

  10

  We went to the Chicago Ridge Mall, which was apparently still Jazz’s favorite place to shop. As innovative as she was with her wardrobe, she was surprisingly indifferent to changes in her everyday life. I wondered when they had installed the Merry-go-round in the middle of the food court, and if it was even necessary, but I kept the comment to myself. I didn’t want to bring attention to the fact that I had not been to the mall in years. No one paid any attention to the carousel and the one time they turned it on, there were only three people on it, each of them holding babies too small to enjoy the ride. Jazz said she loved it, and tried but failed, to get me to take a ride with her.

  Shopping with Jazz wasn’t at all what I remembered it to be. While she was interested in examining every item she laid her hand on to make sure each detail would flatter her figure, I was fighting the urge to dash out of every store like it was about to catch fire. She had effectively turned me into the impatient, embarrassed boyfriend, forced to carry around his girlfriend’s purse, while reading the annoying girly magaz
ines outside the dressing room. I had to judge at least five outfits in each store. After a while, they all started to look the same to me. I was sure at some point in my life I was able to enjoy this, perhaps just as much as Jazz did, but I could not for the life in me remember why.

  Jazz could tell that I wasn’t enjoying our outing as much as she wanted me to. She made every effort to make it more entertaining for me, even going to the lengths of putting together outfits for me which she then had me model for her. Yeah, that only made the experience worse. It made me feel more self-conscious. Even though I had this new magical new body, my mind was still reacting the way it had after I looked at myself the night before going to her party. I still felt the need to calculate every move and turn, comparing myself to the other people there. Yes, there was my new reflection, but in my head, I was still that sickly, blotchy skinned, underweight girl.

  After three long hours spent between four different stores, Jazz decided it was time to take a break and get some food. I couldn’t have been more relieved. While I had picked out two shirts and one pair of pants during the excursion, Jazz had four bags stuffed with new outfits.

  “You’re such a light weight now, you know that?” Jazz laughed as we sat down with our pizza slices.

  “Yeah, I haven’t made much time for shopping in a while,” I tossed a weak smile her way.

  “So, is there something on your mind? You seemed a little preoccupied today,” she took a sip of her drink peering at me over the brown sunglasses she wore.