Magic, Mystery & Zombies: YA starter set

by Elle Klass

  As her door clanked open I felt the excitement and fear inside her. She was unsure of what we were about to do but anxious to see the world outside the rank underground lair she lived in. Her footsteps were quieter than mine as we moved through the house to the back door. It was as if she knew every place the floor would creak and groan before she took a step.

  I paused before opening the door, one hand rested on the knob. I clutched her hand with my free one. Its coolness no longer a shock to me. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.” I felt her excitement but it wasn’t the same as mine. For me it was the taboo and the idea I was pushing the line set by my parents. For her it was something more sinister, a wave of darkness pushed through her. I felt all of it and swore I felt the need for a solid heartbeat, blood pushing through veins. That was ludicrous. I had to have read that wrong.

  Clutching her hand, we walked into the night. Her black eyes didn’t change to allow in the moonlight. The moon a full round sphere glowing a bright yellow, stars dotting the dark, clear sky. She didn’t appear to take notice until I mentioned it to her. Her eyes stayed a solid black and I swore they darted. How I could tell, I wasn’t sure. It was more a feeling that she was... hunting.

  She wiggled her hand free and, with a speed quicker than anything I’d ever witnessed, moved to a bush several feet from us and plucked a sleeping bunny from beneath it. Her movements were a flash in a few seconds’ time. I hadn’t realized what happened until I spotted the bunny in her hand and without wasting another second brought it to her mouth.

  I hadn’t wanted to believe it but my senses were correct. She was hunting and the bunny became her dinner. Horrified, I ran to her in an attempt to save the furry animal’s life but I was too late. It was dead by the time I reached her, as if she’d sucked the life out of it.

  Its little corpse limp in her hand, blood dripping from her mouth. “You can’t do that,” sputtered from my mouth. There were many other things that came to mind later but at that moment all I thought about was the poor bunny and how my friend was responsible for its cold-blooded death.

  She dropped the animal; its little body hitting the ground sent a cringe into mine. Rabina ran the back of her hand over her lips, wiping the blood onto it. “The food you bring me is good but it doesn’t fill me up. I need fresh food with a heartbeat.” Her words came out shaky and unsure, as if I’d judge her for them.

  I took a step backwards away from her. “You only wanted to come here and feast, not see the moon and stars.”

  “I’m sorry, Isandro. Don’t hate me. In order to survive I need blood, fresh and warm.” Her throat moved as she swallowed what I hoped was not a lingering drop of the poor animal’s blood. “Is it part of your disease?”

  She nodded. “I think so, but all I’ve had to eat for many years is rodents. I hear their heartbeat, feel the blood pushing through them, and I can’t control it.”

  I stepped back again. “But you don’t feel that about me?”

  Her dark eyes met mine. “I do, but you’re different. I can control it around you if...” the words hung in the air between us, “I have enough to eat before seeing you.”

  What did that mean? Did I need to keep bringing her up here to hunt? Was she running low on rodents? Or had her appetite increased since meeting me because she needed to quench her blood lust before I made my nightly trip to her underground room?

  It was no wonder I smelled the metallic odor of blood and the stench of death. Her lair was swathed in it and it probably smelled good to her. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. “I think it’s time to walk you back.”

  She lowered her head as if ashamed. The action broke my heart. I felt her shame working its way through my bones. She was being honest. It wasn’t her fault. She couldn’t help her disease any more than I could help being healthy and unplagued by such a devastating illness. I repressed my fear and held out my hand for her to take.

  She didn’t act on it right away. After a few moments of silence and my out-stretched hand, she placed hers around mine and we walked back into the house.

  I gently closed and locked the door behind us without making a sound. The house was so quiet that footsteps upstairs blasted my ears as if someone was stomping. “Isandro,” came my father’s loud voice, “Is that you?”

  The steps creaked with his weight. I turned to Rabina and pointed to the stairwell leading to the attic. “Hide there until he’s gone.”

  Without a sound and with super-human speed she fled up the steps and melted into the dark stairwell.

  “Yes, Papa. I’m getting a glass of water.” I hoped he didn’t hear or sense the anxiety in my voice.

  The steps halted on the stairwell. “Get to bed, son. School comes early in the morning.” His footsteps retreated and I let out a breath, releasing my pent-up anxiety.

  “Yes, Papa,” I called.

  Rabina had moved to the bottom of the stairwell and waited. I ushered her to my father’s study, not worried about him hearing my footsteps this time and hers didn’t make a sound.

  Chapter 7

  I knew I couldn’t avoid her forever, so when Clara cornered me after school it wasn’t a shock. I’d evaded her long enough and, like Rabina, what she was wasn’t her fault.

  The sun glinted off her blonde hair with a golden halo and her lips didn’t curl into a beautiful smile but made a straight line. Concern radiating from within her. “We need to talk.”

  “I know,” I answered in shame. It was easier to face Rabina and the darkness than Clara who shone brighter than the sun. It was an avoidance tactic. I didn’t want to accept what I might be. What might be inside me and, worse, what might be inside my father.

  I almost showed Lawrence and Arthur my father’s sword and would have if I had found it. Lawrence accused Clara and me of being children of Slayers. I didn’t know what a Slayer was but figured the sword was tied to it. The Slayer meant to slay and slaying is usually done with a weapon. A sword fit that bill. I knew that instinctively now, although I didn’t the day we snuck into my father’s office. Whatever was inside me was deeper than me and Clara.

  “We can’t do it here, someone might overhear us.”

  I followed her willingly, listening to the emotions within her. She was scared but what of wasn’t clear to me. She was also worried for me and brimming with the need to release the emotions weighing heavily on her heart.

  “What has you so tired in school?” she asked.

  “I haven’t been sleeping well. That’s all.” The lie came out with a crack in my voice. I hoped she didn’t catch it.

  Reading her, I didn’t sense that she did, but her ‘hmmm’ told another story. Was it possible she could block things from me?

  Keeping pace with Clara, my mind continued thinking about Rabina. She was the reason I succumbed easily today to Clara. What I’d witnessed Rabina do last night haunted me, yet all I could think about was how I would get her live food. I hadn’t even seen the bunny she plucked from the ground. I lacked her inhuman speed and agility. Tracking above ground nightly might be too much, but she needed to eat.

  I hadn’t known that the food I brought her wasn’t satisfying and I couldn’t lie to myself. The idea she desired my blood made me nervous. It wasn’t her fault but I didn’t want her hunger unsated because I didn’t want to become her meal. The worst part was that she frightened me less than the magic had.

  “We’re here,” Clara proclaimed as she marched up the steps of a house on Desoto. It was every bit as large and intimidating as the one I lived in. A narrow door and four large windows made up the first floor. The last window sat at an angle where the porch moved out in a half circle around it, creating a wide berth. Three windows made up the second floor and two long windows with a balcony of sorts displayed on the third floor or attic. I couldn’t be sure from my angle but the attic windows might be doors.

  I followed Clara up the steps. The roof came up in a triangle above our heads. Instead of proceeding to the narrow fron
t door she walked around the porch to the right. Set back several feet was another door with a balcony and another door on the second floor. I wanted to ask where we were but I had a good idea already. I sensed the buzzing in the air and its hum filled me up.

  This was the witches’ house. When his words soared into my head, it only confirmed my thoughts. Come in.

  Clara opened the door and without hesitation strolled inside. His words flowing into my head felt different to when Rabina’s had. Hers were more a straight jarring path but his seemed to follow different paths, as if lingering in my mind searching for something. They were warm like a fresh spring day. I shoved my thoughts of Rabina to my subconscious. If the man could speak into my head it wasn’t impossible to think he could read what was in my head too. I wasn’t sure I wanted him, or anyone, to know about her. My instincts told me it could be trouble for her if anyone at all found out.

  Glossy woodwork framed the ceilings and floors. I didn’t see the man but felt his presence as Clara took a step on the stairs ahead of us. They glowed in the same wood, along with the banister and molding on the wall. Natural light flooded through the windows, dousing the house. My mind turned to Rabina who would never enjoy such beauty. I quickly diverted the thought to avoid any possible mind reading that might be happening.

  The stairway curved open to a large, airy room. A waist-high chest rested against the wall with an intricate flowery design painted on the front sliding doors. Two matching wood-framed chairs with plush red velvet cushions sat across from a matching couch. The thin legs didn’t appear wide enough to hold weight but undoubtedly they were solid.

  The witch sat with his long legs at an angle to his body. In the light I saw him clearly. His unusually long raven black hair styled in something one might expect for a pirate or someone without access to hair scissors and a razor. Only his was clean and clearly worn that way on purpose.

  He raised his sharp chin enough to meet our gazes. “Sit please.”

  Clara sat before the words fully came out of his mouth. I took a moment then sat on the chair beside her, opposite him.

  His soft brown eyes drifted to me and met mine. “I’m Mark. I understand this is all very new to you and that you are skeptical. I was too at first.” His words evenly paced and rhythmic. “You are both light witches. This is something you are born with and means one of your parents is also a light witch. It’s important you determine which one without alerting the other. We have hidden ourselves in society for thousands of years. Non-witches must not know we exist.”

  This was irrational and bizarre. My parents were normal people. I’d never seen glowing light balls sitting atop their outstretched palms or had their words filter into my head. Neither had ever done anything strange and out of the ordinary. “How can we tell?”

  “Grab Clara’s hand.” Clara and I met glances as we took hands. “What do you feel?”

  “Her hand?” I knew that wasn’t the response he was looking for but I couldn’t yet admit that I felt a buzz, a surge of something pass through me.

  He didn’t speak in words but his expression spoke for him; lowered brows and straight lips.

  I licked my lip and answered sheepishly, “I feel a buzz.”

  His face remained solemn. “That is the sign you are light witches. You will feel a similar buzz from your witch parent. In the meantime, I can start your training. Clara has already begun.”

  She squeezed my hand as if to confirm it was OK to trust this man who claimed to be a witch. But I didn’t trust him and was cynical. “Why? For what reason do I need to learn to use magic?”

  That’s when his lips parted and a smile crossed his face. “Because if you don’t you can’t defend yourself against the night magic. If you had never come into your powers you wouldn’t be a threat to them, but you have and have used them. That imprint of magic can be felt by them and they will seek you out to destroy you.”

  “But why?” I stumbled over those two little words. Why would a witch have any reason to destroy me? I wasn’t understanding.

  “They work for the sorceress, doing her dirty work. Our purpose is to stop them.”

  As if Clara saw my puzzled expression she said, “They protect the evil in the world and we protect the good.” Her words made more sense than his.

  My layers of disbelief were slowly ebbing away. I wanted to believe Clara and I trusted her. “What can my magic do?”

  She spoke instead of him. “Different things. We don’t all have the same magic.” The centerpiece on the table rose and hovered over the surface. “I have telekinetic powers.” She lowered the centerpiece then curled her hand into a ball. As she uncurled it a small light glowed in her palm and grew. “You can do this too. All light witches have this ability.”

  I glanced at my hands, turning them over. I couldn’t imagine making light and holding it. “Does it hurt?”

  A synchronous chuckle escaped Clara’s and Mark’s mouths. “No, not at all,” Clara said when her chuckle dispersed.

  “So what else can my magic do?”

  Mark’s eyes widened. “I think you are an empath. They aren’t common. It’s a rather unique magic but can be just as dangerous, if not more so, to night witches because you can cripple them with their own sour minds and hearts.”

  Now it was my turn to widen my eyes in shock. I had thrown Arthur’s hate and emotion back on him. I was responsible for dropping him to his knees. The revelation left my mouth hung open in an attempt to find the words that had disappeared.

  Mark’s triangle face squared as he spoke. “You already knew that. My abilities are telepathy and teleportation.”

  Words finally found their way out, although strangled. “Telepor-what?”

  “Teleportation. He can go anywhere simply by picturing it.” Clara’s words were far too excited for me in that moment.

  Mark ran his hands over his long legs. “But I have limits. I can’t teleport to, say, France in one trip. That would take a couple trips and stopping in the Atlantic isn’t a good option.” A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he stood, revealing his well over six foot height. “Take my hand both of you.”

  The command in his voice forced me to take action. I jumped off the chair and grabbed his outstretched hand. Clara did the same. If felt more like mind control, maybe that was his telepathy and the reason he could speak into our heads.

  A hot, white light enveloped us and when it dissipated we were standing ankle-high in the ocean, the surf crashing over our shoes. The next second the light reappeared dropping us high on a mountain then a field then a city alley and finally back into the house on Desoto.

  My words again left me, as what happened was impossible.

  “It’s not impossible, it’s the magic I was born with,” he said, responding to the words in my head.

  “You read my mind!” It was an invasion. I was glad I’d pushed thoughts of Rabina out of my head. The second she

  entered my mind I pushed her out again and focused on my parents. I’d never felt a buzz from either, so which was the witch? “How come you have two powers? Do all of us have two?”

  “No. It depends on your lineage. In my ancestry, a telepath married a teleporter and so I have two magics. My power of telepathy is stronger than my power of teleportation,” Mark responded, his words making a strange kind of sense.

  “So one of my parents is an empath?”

  He clasped his hands together as he sat back down on the velvet loveseat. “A strong empath.” The undertones in his words told me he knew more than he was saying, or maybe it was my empathy...

  I’d never felt a buzz from either of my parents. Was it something that happened at a certain age? I thought again of my parents’ argument. My mother adamant that I wasn’t ready, my father insisting I was. Were they arguing over magic? If so, one had broken a rule and let the other know of their abilities or maybe... maybe they were both witches. It was preposterous. I’d never felt a buzz, not even a slight tingle, from either.
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  As I reached my house I spotted the familiar, lanky form of Lawrence resting against a tree shading my neighbor’s house. He didn’t say anything but I felt his eyes on my back as I took a step towards the front porch. Wind hit my back carrying a message: Get the sword. I shuddered.

  Chapter 8

  Lawrence’s persistence with the sword made my mind reel as I ate my dinner. What was so special about it? Was it magic? Did it have some type of light witch magic that if stolen by night witches they could control?

  “How are your studies?” my father asked in a tone I understood to know had a double meaning.

  “They’re good, Papa.”

  He sawed a knife across his slice of pork. Then pricked it with a fork and rested his hand on the side of his plate. “Is that so? I ran into your teacher who says you have trouble staying awake in class lately.”

  A profound statement. I fought the reaction to drop my eyes in shame. It was expected of me to finish out school and continue my studies. That’s what males from affluent families did. “I’ve had trouble sleeping the past couple weeks. I’ll do better.”

  “Why didn’t you say something? A bit of warm milk and honey will get you right to sleep.” My mother pushed her chair out and immediately went to mixing the concoction. Her back to me, I couldn’t see exactly what she was doing.

  “You are becoming a man, coming of age.” My father glanced sideways at my mother. The message wasn’t meant for me but her.

  She set the milk on the table, avoiding eye contact with my father. The tension between them so strong it made the room stuffy.

  I picked up the glass, “Thank you,” and sipped. My birthday was seven days away. Maybe I didn’t need to find out which one had magic, possibly they would tell me then. I finished the glass and excused myself, saying I was going straight to bed.

  I woke in the morning, sun streaming through the curtain and bolted upright. I hadn’t visited Rabina. My mom put something in the milk that made me sleep like a baby, unable to keep my eyes open. She was the witch! It was some potion she made. Mark hadn’t said anything about magic potions; was it possible? It had to be.