Magic and Mayhem: A Collection of 21 Fantasy Novels

by Jasmine Walt

  Nearly four hours and way too much Champagne later, we broke apart from a very enthusiastic New Year’s kiss. Mike had been a charming gentleman all evening, and the wine had settled my unnecessarily jumpy nerves. Caught up in the excitement of the holiday, I was on the verge of pulling Studly Hernandez into the nearest coat closet for a little seven minutes in heaven. Perhaps being on a date with someone from my high school was making me feel a little bit like a teenager again.

  Luckily, Mike was way ahead of me. He leaned closer, bringing his lips to my ear. “So, is that offer to come into your apartment still open?” My eyes wandered to the back of his neck, mere inches away. Because he was a few inches taller than me, I could just barely see the edge of a black tattoo peeking above his collar.

  “Absolutely,” I said, smiling. Though I was twenty-four and had slept with several different men, I’d yet to have a very enjoyable experience. If that kiss was any indication of Mike’s bedroom manner, my luck was about to change.

  “Great, let’s get out of here,” he said, capturing my hand and leading the way. We gathered my coat, hopped into his Audi, and arrived at my apartment in record time.

  While I was attempting to unlock my apartment door, Mike was occupying himself by using his lips to do pleasant things to my neck and shoulders. A nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach—a sensation that I was forgetting something important—was washed away by twin torrents of desire and drunkenness. It was so bad that I couldn’t focus on the lock long enough to slip the key in.

  Mike chuckled against my shoulder, making me shiver, and said, “Here, allow me.” He ran his right hand down my arm until he held the keys. The door was open in seconds, and laughing, we stumbled inside.

  I giggled as Mike backed me against the wide, polished wooden post that separated the kitchen from the living room. Oddly, I couldn’t remember walking the ten steps from the door to the post.

  Mike kissed me hungrily, pressing his whole body against mine and running his hands up and down my sides. I twined my fingers in his soft, black hair to anchor my swaying body. How did we get here?

  Mike’s hands became greedy, grabbing at my breasts and hips and butt a little too roughly, but my wine-muddled mind couldn’t hold onto any thought long enough to care.

  “God, I want you, Lex. Can you feel it?” He groaned, grinding his hips harder against me. His erection jabbed against my hip bone. “Can you feel how hard you made me?” After another groan, he breathed, “I’ll come so hard for you.”

  As I felt one of his hands slip up my dress, the world suddenly became liquid. It seemed to heave and dip randomly, like the swells of a stormy sea. It was nauseating.

  I heard the clink of metal and looked down to see several identical belt buckles being undone. “Wait . . . wait,” I whispered, trying to push his groping hand away. It had made it past my lacey underwear, and his fingers were rubbing some area that wasn’t the least bit pleasurable. This is wrong. “I’m dizzy. I don’t feel—”

  “No, it’s good. You’re so beautiful,” Mike interrupted. He continued his misdirected rubbing of my groin while he used his free hand to lower the zipper on his pants. Fumbling with his boxers, he exposed himself.

  “Mike, wait,” I said more forcefully. On the verge of vomiting, I turned my head away and made an effort to push him back. He didn’t budge.

  With both hands, he raised my dress and pulled down my underwear. Nausea and panic battled for control inside me. I have to get away. Why won’t the world hold still? Why won’t he stop? What’s happening?

  “No! Stop, Mike, please!” I yelled, but he only pulled his pants down further. “Please, Mike, no!” I said, my voice shrill. I squeezed my legs together as he tried to wedge himself between them.

  “Mike, stop!”

  He pressed against me, his erection pushing between my thighs.

  “Easier on the couch,” he muttered, his words barely audible. Without warning, he pulled away and shoved me into the living room.

  I screamed, tripping on the underwear tangled around my ankles. My head hit the corner of the coffee table. The last thing I heard was the apartment door crashing open.

  This can’t be real.

  Blackness.

  7

  Explanations & Omissions

  I opened my eyes, only to be blinded by bright, florescent light. I yearned for the glorious golden fire that had been in my dreams. It had been beautiful and soothing, nothing like the awful luminescence currently boring through my eyeballs into my brain. From all directions, beeps and hums and voices pounded against my head like jackhammers. Squeezing my eyes shut, I attempted to cover my ears with my hands, but I couldn’t seem to move my arms. I moaned, or possibly grunted.

  “Hey . . . guys, she’s awake,” a familiar voice murmured.

  My inability to move my arms was making me panic, and I started to squirm from side to side.

  “Lex, it’s okay. Lex . . . it’s Annie and Cara. You’re okay,” Annie stated calmly as she pressed her arm across my shoulders to hold me down. It didn’t take much effort on her part—I was weak and groggy.

  I opened my eyes and was instantly caught in her warm, earnest gaze. “Rick, can you get a nurse?” she asked her longtime boyfriend, not looking away from me.

  “Lex?” Cara poked her head around Annie’s shoulder. “Do you know who we are? We won’t hurt you. I . . . I’m so sorry!” She burst into tears, collapsing over my stomach and splaying her unusually limp blonde hair over the bed.

  I tried to pat her head, but my damn arms were tucked under the blankets. “My . . . arms,” I whispered.

  “Cara, get up. She wants to be able to move,” Annie said briskly.

  Cara sat up and wiped her eyes. “Oh. Sorry.”

  Gently, Annie withdrew each of my arms from its cotton prison and rested it on top of the thin, blue blanket. “There. Is that better?”

  I smiled at her and nodded. “Thanks. And I do know who you are.” I paused, trying to remember how I’d ended up in the world’s brightest hospital. “What happened? How long have I been here? And why do I have the mother of all headaches?”

  My two best friends exchanged worried glances, and then looked down at the thin hospital blanket.

  Unease swelled in my chest. “Guys?”

  “You came in early this morning,” Annie said slowly. Glancing at the clock on the opposite wall, she added, “It’s almost midnight, now.”

  “I see our patient is awake,” a plump nurse chirped from the doorway. Rick entered the room behind her, offering me a little wave.

  “Um . . . yeah?”

  “Alexandra—”

  “Lex,” Cara interrupted, frowning. “We told you—her name is Lex.”

  The nurse scowled at Cara for a moment, but turned an indulgent look on me. “Lex, we need to talk to you about some personal medical matters. Your friends will need to leave when the doctor arrives.” She looked at the door as it opened again and admitted a pretty, petite woman wearing a white lab coat. “Ah . . . here she is now. Time to go, friends of Lex.” The nurse said my name as if acquiescing to a completely ridiculous whim.

  Cara, Annie, and Rick vacated the room, but not without scornful looks at the nurse. Apparently they hadn’t formed the best relationship while I’d been unconscious. Before shutting the door, Annie said, “We’ll be right outside if you need us, okay, Lex?”

  I nodded at her, grateful for her steady support.

  “Thank you, Nurse Roctenberg, but I can handle it from here,” the doctor said, dismissing the nurse.

  Bristling, Nurse Roctenberg also left the room.

  “Ms. Larson, the police would like to speak with you when we’re done. For a statement about the assault,” the doctor told me. I couldn’t get over how attractive she was—of Mid-eastern descent, she had chocolate-brown, almond-shaped eyes, smooth, symmetrical features, and perfect, bronze skin. She was by far the prettiest doctor I’d ever met.

  “A statement about . . . abou
t wh—” Without warning, a montage of images tumbled through my mind, coalescing into a horrid memory.

  Stumbling through the door with Mike. The wooden post at my back. The world spinning. His hands everywhere. Begging him to stop. Mike refusing. Mike shoving me. Hitting my head. The door crashing open. Golden fire.

  I burst into instantaneous and uncontrollable sobs.

  “Ms. Larson—”

  “Lex,” I corrected through heaving breaths.

  “Lex, I’m Dr. Isa,” she said grasping my nearest hand. “What that man did to you—and what he tried to do—is horrible . . . unforgivable. But,” she continued, “it could’ve been worse.”

  I looked into her sure, brown eyes, entranced.

  “He could have succeeded. He could have raped or even killed you, instead of simply assaulting you.”

  A bitter laugh escaped from my lips. “Simply?”

  “Yes, Lex, simply. Some women haven’t been as lucky as you. I wasn’t as lucky as you,” she explained calmly, releasing my hand.

  “You . . . you were raped?” I asked, suddenly abashed.

  “Yes. It was a long time ago, and it no longer has a hold over my life, but I understand the terror. Okay?”

  I wondered if she was the most honest person I’d ever met. I nodded, ignoring the pain in my head. “Okay.”

  “You were very lucky to have had someone nearby who responded so quickly. For many women, it’s the inaction of those around them that enables their rape . . . or murder.”

  “Who? The door . . . I heard the door crash open, but I don’t remember anything afterward. What happened?” I asked, completely confused. Who saved me?

  Smiling, Dr. Isa shook her head. “It’s quite amazing, actually. Almost like a superhero story. The nurses who were on duty when he brought you in said he was the most striking man they’d ever seen.” She sighed wistfully. “I wish I’d seen him. The police found the alleged assailant, Mike Hernandez, tied up in your apartment. He was in pretty bad shape when they arrived.” After only a brief hesitation, she added, “You should know, he’s on a different floor, but he is in the hospital.”

  I flinched and did my best to huddle into a ball.

  “Please don’t worry, Lex. He’s under guard. A police officer is watching his room at all times.”

  Slowly, I relaxed, stretching back out.

  Dr. Isa reached for my hand again, gripping it almost painfully. “There is something you must know . . .” She hesitated for the briefest moment. “Soon, other doctors in this hospital will begin approaching you with very intense questions about your medical history. You must not, under any circumstances, tell them of your unknown paternity.”

  I eyed her, taken aback. “How do you—”

  “It doesn’t matter. What’s important is your safety. They will ask you about your parentage, and you must say that Alice and Joe Larson are your parents . . . your biological parents. If you stay here too long, they will eventually ask you questions about your genetics and any differences or abnormalities you’ve noticed about yourself. You must tell them that everything is normal and as it has always been. If you don’t, your life and others will be at great risk. Do you understand?”

  I swallowed, shocked and confused by her words. “I think so . . . yes.” How does she know anything about me . . . about any of the weirdness that’s been going on in my life?

  Dr. Isa let out a relieved breath. “Good. There is one more thing. We found a very rare and little-known compound in both your and Mr. Hernandez’s systems. It doesn’t affect the average person—like Mr. Hernandez—but for a very few, unique people, it acts similar to Rohypnol, which you may know as the date-rape drug. If you hadn’t hit your head, you probably would have passed out within minutes anyway. I’m assuming you felt its effects before you lost consciousness?”

  Is she saying that Mike drugged me? Feeling numb, I nodded.

  Tilting her head to the side, Dr. Isa frowned. “This will be difficult, but you must not tell anyone about your reaction to the compound. Nobody else here knows about it, and it’s safest to keep it that way. Unfortunately, withholding that information may or may not affect the charges against Mr. Hernandez, since nobody else will be aware that you were drugged, but it will be essential to your well-being. Again, do you understand?”

  I licked my lips before responding. She is saying that Mike drugged me. My mind was whirling with questions. “Yes, I think so. How do you know all of this? You know things about me that I don’t even know.”

  She looked away. “I’m so sorry. I’m not permitted to answer any questions like that.”

  “Permitted by whom? I need more information!” I persisted.

  She looked conflicted, but the door opened, cutting her indecision short.

  “Lex? Are you okay, sweetie?” my mom asked, oozing gallons of concern. “When they called me . . . I’m sorry it took me so long to get here . . . the pass . . . I called your friends . . . I didn’t want you to be alone . . . I just . . .”

  I sighed, my frustration at being interrupted giving way to immense relief. I love you, Mom. “I’m okay.”

  She studied my blanket-covered body for a few seconds before turning to the doctor. Sniffling, she asked, “Well, what’s wrong? What happened?” Based on my mom’s tone, Dr. Isa might as well have been my attacker.

  “Mom,” I said, answering for the doctor. “Dr. Isa was just conferring with me about some of the less family-friendly details. I love you, but there are some things I don’t want you to hear, at least not from a doctor. I’ll fill you in later, okay?” I desperately hoped she would give me a few more minutes alone with the doctor.

  My mom frowned before she answered. “Dad will be here soon, he’s just parking the car. I’ll be right outside with your friends, okay, Lex?”

  I nodded. “Thanks, Mom.”

  While we’d been talking, another doctor had joined Dr. Isa in my room. He politely shut the door as my Mom left. Dr. Isa gave me an apologetic smile before he began his questions. Once he began, it was a relentless waterfall.

  “Ms. Larson, are you aware that your body heals at an unheard-of rate?”

  “Have you noticed anything exceptionally different between you and your peers?”

  “Do you have any knowledge of allergies or an allergic history in your family?

  “Are you very similar to your parents?”

  And on. And on. And on.

  I listened to each of the questions carefully and answered based on the advice from Dr. Isa, leading the other doctor to believe there was nothing unusual about me and that I’d been unaware of the strange compound in my blood. More than an hour after the barrage began, Dr. Isa proclaimed that her patient needed rest and that I was to be left alone until breakfast.

  After the other doctor exited the room, Dr. Isa used the pretense of adjusting my blankets to whisper a few enlightening pieces of information. “You hit your head very hard. You should be in a coma, and nobody understands why you’re not. Your recovery is astounding. You must tell anyone who asks that you’ve always been a quick healer.” She glanced at the clock. “Make sure you leave before breakfast. It’s served between seven and nine, so you have a few hours. Your release orders are already signed.” She reached down to squeeze my hand. “I wish you luck, Alexandra Ivanov,” she said, using my mother’s maiden name.

  “That’s not my—”

  The door opened suddenly, cutting me off. As my parents and friends poured into the room, Dr. Isa checked my papers one last time and removed my IV. My head was reeling from her unbelievable revelations—not to mention her cryptic instructions—and a multitude of questions were sprouting in my thoughts. I vowed to return to the hospital for one specific reason: to talk to Dr. Isa.

  Putting on my cheeriest grin, I exclaimed, “They said I can go home! Who’s driving?”

  Everyone but Dr. Isa looked utterly confused as I hopped out of bed. The doctors had been correct about my body’s ability to heal quickly—I fel
t a hundred times better than I had when I first woke. I’d always been a fast healer, a trait I attributed to having a strong immune system, but this was unbelievable.

  “Did someone bring me some clothes?” I asked, holding my peek-a-boo hospital gown closed as I checked the empty closet.

  “Lelee, I don’t know if you should be going home yet,” my dad said, concern etching his kindly face.

  My mom set a half-full duffel bag on the bed. “I brought you some clothes, Lex, but we didn’t expect you to be released so soon. When the hospital called, they made it sound like . . . like . . . well, like you might not . . .” Her chin quivered and tears welled in her eyes.

  “Just a little mistake, Mom,” I said, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. I couldn’t hug her—if I did, I’d break down. The hospital didn’t think I would make it? It explained why they were all staring at me like I’d sprouted an extra head.

  Rifling through the bag, I found a couple pairs of old sweatpants and a few T-shirts from high school. Not that I minded—anything was better than the drafty hospital gown. I pulled out a worn, gray T-shirt, some cotton boy shorts, and faded blue sweatpants, and disappeared into the bathroom. Again, everyone but Dr. Isa watched me with confused expressions; the good doctor simply smiled.

  Almost two hours later and after a lengthy chat with the Seattle police, I arrived home to find a brand-new door barring the entrance to my apartment. Man, my apartment manager works fast, I thought. Its pristine, polished wood looked odd next to the nicked door frame and smudged walls. One-hundred-year-old apartment buildings tended to accumulate more than their share of wear and tear.

  Using a shiny new key that had been stashed in my mailbox, I unlocked the door and let it swing open. My parents and friends stood behind me, holding their collective breath.

  Straight ahead was the wooden post Mike had held me against . . . had shoved me away from. I shuddered at the memory, practically able to feel his greedy, groping hands, but I refused to let my fear of something that happened in the past keep me out of my own home. With a shaky breath, I closed my eyes and stepped through the doorway. When I opened them again, I found that everything in the apartment was perfectly arranged . . . too perfectly, like the whole nightmarish encounter with Mike had never happened. But it did happen!