Something Stolen, Something Found (The Magic Catalyst Chronicles Book 1)

by Jacie Douglass

  I’d just started rereading the chapter, when I feel eyes on me. I turn over and sit up I scan the woods to my right, where it feels like it’s coming from. There isn’t anyone in the yard with me, and I can’t see anyone in the trees. Although I had noticed that the woods get significantly thicker the farther you get away from the house. So someone could be far enough out to hide from me. This isn’t the first time I’d felt like someone was watching, but it never felt hostile or negative. Strangely enough, if made me feel safe. Like there was someone watching over me. As weird as my life has been since the “incident” I’d come to accept my initial reactions to people and places. It hadn’t steered me wrong yet. Dismissing the watcher as harmless, I focus on the book. I really need to get this down.

  After turning over so I wouldn’t be tan on just one side, I continue working on the wall exercise for about an hour. Ok, I think I’m ready to give it a try. I won’t be able to tell if it worked or not till I either brave the crystals or Mom gets home. Since there is no telling how long Mom will be, looks like it’s time to check the crystals. Picking up my stuff, I head to the house. I set everything down on the swing and take a deep breath to ready myself. I picture my walls one more time, completely encircling me like a big bubble.

  I move to the corner and cautiously reach out for the closest crystal. The surface is cool and smooth in my hand, something I’d never noticed before. Ha! It worked! It was keeping out the energy of the crystals. Cheering to myself, I quickly put them all away. The block managed to last through putting away all six crystals before I lost my concentration. I was going to have to practice keeping it going longer.

  But Test One has been a success! As soon as Mom gets home, I’ll do Test Two. And hopefully it will enable me to survive school next week.

  Monday, August 24th

  ∞

  “Emilienne,” Mom calls impatiently. “Are you ready for school?”

  Ugh, really? It’s too early for yelling. “Yes Mom. I’ll be down in a minute.” I shove my class packet into my bag before taking a final look in the mirror. For the first day of school I’d settled on black leggings under my black mini dress. I loved the way the top hugged my curves and then flared out at the hips to fall softly mid-thigh. Paired with chunky black platform Mary Jane’s to give me a little more height, I felt confident in how I looked. I’d gone with a smoky eye and a dark smudge proof lipstick. With my time by the pool and reading on the porch, I’d managed to get a little color over the last couple weeks. Now I didn’t look quite as ghost like as I had after the “incident”. I decided to leave my hair down today, and it fell in a rainbow sheet straight down my back. Mom hadn’t given up her quest to convince me to go back to blonde before school started, but that wasn’t happening. I loved my new hair.

  I slipped into my motorcycle style jacket, grabbed my bag and head out. I wonder what my chances are of getting out the front door without another conversation about how my style reflects on her. Rushing downstairs as quietly as possible, I go straight for the front door.

  “Emilienne, where do you think you’re going dressed like that?” I freeze at her sharp tone. Sighing, I drop my hand from the door knob and close my eyes. I plaster a smile on my face, and turn to face my Mom. She must have caught sight of me from the kitchen and she quickly closes the distance between us.

  “Umm… To school? Where else? Her displeasure fills the hall, and I suppress the urge to shudder. I need to get out of here, I hadn’t put up the wall yet and she was hitting me hard. But I really needed to save my energy to make it through school.

  “I see,” she says finally, her lips pinched in a hard line. “You do realize that when people see you dressed like that, they are judging my parenting skills.”

  Do not yell, do not yell. “There is nothing wrong with my outfit Mom. Why do you care what these “people” think anyways? Is there some rule out there saying do not wear black until after Labor Day?”

  “No there is not,” she sighs, her shoulders drooping. “Aren’t you going to at least have breakfast before you go?”

  “Sorry Mom, not hungry. It’s too early to eat.” She stares at me for a long moment before sighing again and slowly shaking her head. Breakfast has been an ongoing argument since I got home from the hospital. Apparently, the “old” Emilienne loved breakfast. No matter how many times I explained that just the thought of eating so soon after waking up made me nauseous, she still tried to force me to eat breakfast.

  “Well you should at least take something with you, in case you get hungry before lunch.” She lectures, not for the first time.

  “It’s all taken care of. I’ve got snacks already packed in my bag.” I smile, lifting my bag up as proof. “I promise I won’t starve.” She reaches out and pats my shoulder, and I fight not to flinch away. The psychiatrist thinks it’s a side effect left over from the “incident” and that constant exposure is the only way to overcome it. Since I can’t explain that touching makes the other person’s emotional come through ten times worse, especially the negative ones, I try to suck it up. Some people aren’t bad, but Mom is always one of the worst. Unfortunately, there no point in asking her to stop. I’d tried that only to be told it was “Doctors Orders”.

  “You’ve got your phone right?” She asks, finally stepping back and dropping her hand. I nod lifting my bag again. “Alright, call me if you’re going to be late coming home. Are you sure you don’t want me to give you a ride?”

  Ugh, and be trapped waiting for a ride after school? Umm thanks, but no thanks.

  “I’ve got this Mom. I need to get used to driving myself. Best to start the way you mean to continue, right?” With a final smile and a little wave, I grab the door knob and escape outside. I’d left my car outside in the drive last night, conveniently blocking her car in the garage. Just a little extra insurance against a forced ride to school. I quickly jump in the driver’s seat before she can change her mind and come out after me. I love that the Prius doesn’t require me to have my keys out to unlock the car or start the engine. Technology is amazing!

  The drive to school is pretty, trees lining both sides of the road till I hit the town. The fact that it takes less than twenty minutes is a bonus. I still can’t believe I’m being forced to spend another year in high school. This whole thing is ridiculous. If they didn’t think I was ready to start at Stanford, I could have just taken a year off. Maybe done some traveling, or gotten a job, or something. The idea that this would improve my socialization skills was just stupid. There isn’t anything wrong with my social skills. I just don’t want to be around people that give off nasty vibes and negative emotions. I’m sure my rejecting the Fashion Squad and the Sleazebag figured into the decision to send me back to high school. Maybe if I’d met more nice people, like the volunteer at the hospital or Patty the hair stylist, I’d have been able to prove it to them. Is it my fault that I am surrounded by creepy people? I think that says more about my parent’s questionable social circle, than it does me.

  Pulling into the closest parking lot, I dig out the map and parking permit from my informational packet. And I’m in the wrong lot. Ugh! I throw the car in reverse and back out. At least I’m early. Driving around to the other side of the school, I pull into the first available space. Tossing the parking permit on the dash, I power off the car and take a look around. Students are already gathering in small groups in the parking lot. This is going to be a long year. From what I read yesterday, there are about 100 students in each grade. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the majority of these kids have grown up together.

  Mom’s made it clear she expects me to make friends here, especially after cutting out everyone from my old life. But I’m not counting on it. It’s going to be practically impossible to break into the established cliques. And if I’m honest, it’s just not that important to me. I’d rather spend my time reading and figuring out who I want to be, than trying to fit in at a small school. Who am I kidding, if I wanted to fit in, I’d have a
greed to dye my hair. Nothing like rainbow hair to make you stand out in a crowd.

  I take a couple deep breaths, and focus on creating the mental barrier to keep out other people’s energy. Hopefully this will help shield me from the mass of emotions I’m sure I’m going to get hit with. I’d been practicing the technique all week after trying it with the crystals on the porch. Once I felt calm and centered I opened my eyes. Alright, time to get this show on the road.

  I reach into the back seat and grab my bag, taking a final deep breath before getting out of the car. Head held high, I walk towards the main entrance. I can feel the students watching me, but I keep moving at a steady pace. It’s early enough, that the halls are still relatively clear and so far my shield seems to be holding. No foreign emotions assaulting me so far. Since I’d already scouted the school when we’d came to finish my enrollment and pick my classes, I head straight to my first class. I can visit my locker later, when I actually need it.

  Tuning out the people around me, I walk quickly through the dirty gray hallway. Why someone thought gray was a good color to paint the walls, I’ll never know. It felt like a prison hall, rather than a school, but whatever. I manage to make it to my Intro to Drawing class without bumping into anyone. Slipping inside, I’m relieved to be the first one here. I immediately head to the back of the room and grab a seat at the last table. Looking around, I’m happy see to find that the walls are a soft yellow, rather than prison gray. Posters and past artwork cover most of the wall space, creating a collage of colors and texture. The best part of being here for the first day of the school year is I get to avoid most of the new student hoopla from the teachers. Hopefully all my classes will have open seating, rather than assigned seats. Since I’ve still got 20 minutes before class starts, I pull out my schedule, notebook, sketch pad, and mystery novel. Opening the book, I fall back into the mystery of who killed Mr. McGillicutty.

  “You’re in my seat,” a guy’s silky voice and the scraping of a chair against the floor, break me out of my book trance. I glance up, to see the intruder sit down across the table from me. He gives me a playful smirk, but it’s his eyes that catch my attention. A brilliant emerald green, they sparkle with laughter as he slowly looks me over. I can’t resist the urge to check him out in return. His sun kissed golden blonde hair is brushed back from his face and covers the tips of his ears. He has a strong jaw, straight nose and perfect, kissable lips. They combine to give him a sexy, yet innocent look. The dark blue Henley accents his athletic body. With his broad shoulders and well defined chest, he looked like an artist’s rendition of an angel come to life. Bringing my eyes back up to his, the heat rises in my cheeks at his knowing look. “Like what you see?” He asks with a wink.

  Pulling myself together, I decide to fight fire with fire. “Well… the view’s not bad,” I acknowledge with a grin of my own. “But I’m not sure how I could have stolen your seat, seeing as this is the first day of class.” His rich laugher draws the attention of the other students, and I tilt my head raising a brow.

  “I’ve sat in that seat for the last three years. I’d say that makes it mine.” He says with a wide smile. Resting his elbow against the table, he leans in towards me. Holding up a fist, he raises a finger with each class name. “Mixed Media, Photography, and Ceramics.”

  “Wow,” I smile in response. “That’s certainly a lot of art classes.”

  “Well, I’m an artistic kinda guy.” He grins. “So Rainbow Bright, are you going to give me my seat back?”

  I have to give him points for being cute while trying. “Sorry Mr. Artist. It’s my seat now. Possession is 9/10th of the law, you know.”

  He laughs again, flashing me a heart stopping smile. “Lucky for you, I’m happy to share my table with such a lovely lady.” I choke back a laugh at his cheesy line, but can’t hide the smile it brings. “I’m Sebastian or Bast.” He introduces himself with a wink, extending his hand. I look at his hand for a long moment before reaching out to accept it. My eyes widen at the spark of heat that accompanies his touch, his bright joyful energy dancing across my palm.

  “Emilienne, but my friends call me Emily,” I finally manage, my voice sounding breathy to my own ears. I duck my head, allowing my long bangs to fall forward and hide my heated cheeks. I jump as his warm lips brush the back of my hand. I hadn’t even realized he was still holding my hand. Ok, touching is definitely a big No-No if it’s going to make me lose track of what’s going on around me. I gently pull my hand back, and hide it under the table. “It’s nice to meet you Sebastian. But I’m going to warn you now; I’m really bad with names. So forgive me if I’ve forgotten it in a few minutes.”

  “The pleasure is all mine,” Sebastian grins. “And if you’re that bad with names, I’ll just have to make myself memorable. Now, I’m going to go out on a limb here and say you’re new to our happy little school.” I can’t help but laugh as I nod in response. His genuine warmth and upbeat attitude is contagious. “In that case, let me be the first to officially welcome you to Arcas High, second home for all the crazy islanders. Luckily for you, private tours are half price today. But they are booking fast, so make sure to reserve your seat right away.” He tells me, wiggling his brows.

  I shake my head at his silliness, still laughing. “And let me guess, you’re the owner, operator, and head tour guide?”

  “Absolutely! Who better to show you around than a true islander, born and raised?” He winks, pushing back his shoulders and striking a pose. The ding of a text message breaks the moment, and I curse under my breath as I fumble in my bag to find my phone. A quick glance tells me it my Mom wanting to confirm I made it to school alright. With only two minutes before class starts, I type her quick text confirming I’m here. Sebastian snatches the phone from my hand just as I hit send.

  “Really?” I demand, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. But his playful smile quickly melts away my irritation and I shake my head in defeat.

  “How can you book your private tour, if you don’t know how to contact me?” he answers without looking up, his fingers fly over the screen. In less than a minute, he’s handing me my phone back just as the bell rings. I quickly flip off the volume and shove it back in my bag.

  The teacher rises from her desk, clapping her hands together. “Alright everyone, it’s time to get to work. I’m Ms. Moore; some of you may remember me from previous classes.” She says with a smile as she moves through the isle, her long vibrant purple skirt swirling around her. The fashion articles would call her style Bohemian. It fits well with her short dark hair and quirky cats eye glasses. “As this is Intro to Drawing, we’ll be doing a mixture of techniques for most of the first semester. You should have found a copy of the syllabus on the table when you arrived. If anyone did not receive one, please see me after class. The syllabus outlines each project, as well as the due date. If you finish early, I expect you to move on to the next assignment. I’ll be taking roll each morning, once that is finished I expect you to get to work on your current project, I’ll be coming around to give you tips and advice. This week’s project is to pencil sketch a still life. If you don’t have something in mind, you’ll find objects on the back bookcase that can be used. Once I have called your name, you’re free to choose your subject and get started. Please be courteous and do not disrupt the rest of the class.” I open my sketch book, and tune out as she starts calling names.

  I jump as a foot taps against my ankle, and I look up at the Angel in confusion. He tilts his head towards the teacher.

  “Emilienne Langmore,” Ms. Moore calls, obviously not for the first time. I feel the heat rise in my cheeks again as I raise my hand and everyone’s eyes turn to me.

  “Present Ms. Moore” I manage, ducking my head in embarrassment. Maybe the psychiatrist was right about me needing more time before heading to Stanford. Not only have I already managed to forget the name of the Angel sitting across from me, but I keep losing myself in my own head. It is becoming an embarrassing habit. The last thin
g I need is to start hearing dumb blonde jokes to go with it.

  Ignoring the whispers and snickers from the rest of the class, I turn my attention back to my drawing. It’s a half-hearted attempt at sketching my mystery novel as it leans against my bag on the table. Once things quiet down, I sneak a peek at the guy again. As though he feels my gaze he looks up from his work and I mouth a thank you. He winks, and goes back to working on drawing the bowl of fruit that’s now sitting on the table between us. Now that he’s wrapped up in his work, I take the opportunity to watch him. His bangs fall forward over his cheek as he leans down towards his project. The back is cut shorter than the top, brushing against his collar in a casually messy style only guys can get away with. His angelic face somehow even more handsome as he concentrates on his work.

  Damn he is too tempting. I really need to keep my distance. The last thing I need to be worrying about at this point is guys, no matter how good looking he is. Having a creepy ex-fiancé is enough baggage for me right now.

  I glance at the clock and notice there are only a few minutes left before the bell. I shove all my things back in my bag, keeping an eye on the clock. As soon as it rings, I jump to my feet intent on making my getaway. But the Angel’s hand on mine freezes me in place, his joyful energy rushing over the back of my hand causing my heart to race. I turn to look at him questioningly.

  “Hi Emily, I’m Sebastian.” He says with a slow smile and a wink. Oh God, was it that obvious I’d already forgotten his name? “It was great to meet you. And don’t worry; I’ll make sure to introduce myself every time.” I nod and glance down at our hands. Sparks red, orange and yellow seem to dance across his skin and onto mine before moving back again. Blinking slowly, I look back up and smile.

  “Thanks again Sebastian. It was nice meeting you too.” He releases my hand and I rush towards the door and into the hallway. I head to the ladies room, needing a minute to collect my thoughts. Locking myself in a stall, I take deep breaths till my heart rate calms back down. On the upside… my mental shield seems to be holding as long as no one touches me. On the downside, I’m seeing the flashes of color straight on, instead of seeing them from the corner of my eye. Ugh what does that even mean? No time to worry about it right now. I hurry and wash my hands so I can get moving. I don’t want to make myself late to Chorus.