Mythical (The Mystical Series Book 2)

by Michael Weekly

  “Donovan, no!”

  “Stay out of it, Rose,” he says, punching Christian countless times. He clicks his broomstick once more, morphing it into a dagger and placing it right in the middle of the elf’s neck.

  Christian chuckles, a slim line of blood sliding down from the crease of his lips. “I love witches,” he says.

  Christian looks over at me; Donovan presses his blade on his neck.

  “Don, please don’t,” I plead. “He isn’t corrupt.”

  “Shut up, Rose.”

  “Listen to the girl, man,” Christian coughs.

  I run over to Donovan. “What are you doing?”

  “You’re going to try and protect this elf? Really, Rose?”

  “I wasn’t going to hurt her,” Christian huffs.

  “Stay quiet, freak, or I’ll slice your head off.”

  “He didn’t do anything,” I say.

  “Yet.” He looks up at Christian, lowering his blade from his neck. Christian raises his hand, covering his wound as the mist returns around him, healing the cut Donovan made.

  “Rose, don’t ever trust a mystic.”

  “He’s not what you think, Donovan.” He’s about to say something, then closes his mouth, twists around, and stabs the mist, but Christian vanishes. Donovan did not kill the mystic in front of him; somehow the mist spirited him away. Touching the bark and looking for any signs of the elf, Donovan pulls out his dagger.

  “Where the hell did he go?” He searches the forest, his eyes switching between the many branches and large trees.

  The trees rustle with the wind, and the mist returns to circle around me.

  “Come on, you big grinch.” I pull on his arm, walking us out of the woods.

  “You really think this is a joke? We’re in a place full of mystics.” He gets all serious and cute when he’s mad.

  “Hey, jackass.” He looks at me, irritated. “Calm down.”

  “We’re born to kill mystics not befriend them, and now we’re trapped, with none other than the creatures who are the most difficult to kill,” Donovan grunts.

  We walk out on the field. I place my hand on his chest before we take another step into the sea of green. “You have to relax.” The field becomes alive, its long, reedy vines clinging to our legs.

  The ropes release, circling our boots. “See? They have feelings.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about when you were here before, the grass wrapped you up like it did me.”

  He grasps my sides, grazing my face with his thumb. He gives me a stern, yet worried look. Donovan’s examining my body for any injuries. “Are you okay? The grass pulled you in again?”

  “Wait, the grass didn’t wrap around you?”

  “What grass? Rose, what’s going?”

  The tall grass sways in front of my eyes, and I lower my gaze to the field we’re standing on. “I’m talking about the grass beneath us right now.”

  He stares at me. “No I’m fine. Nothing happened to me. I’ve been looking for you.”

  “How did you get through the grass over there then?”

  “I didn’t go through that field to get here. I went around. Rose, you’d tell me if that elf did something to you, right?”

  “I’m perfectly fine, I swear.” Am I really?

  Why isn’t this making any sense? I rub my forehead in confusion, and when I lift my head up, I see Miss Canary walking through the tall grass. Within seconds she’s in front of us, her hazel green eyes switching between us.

  “Are you all right, Eliza?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “You’ve met Christian.”

  “We met him all right,” Donovan says, glancing at me and then back to Miss Canary.

  I can’t really figure out which emotions are running through her mind. She doesn’t look pleased that he attempted killing one of her kind. She fakes a smile and places her hand on my shoulder.

  “Tomorrow you’ll start your training with Emily.”

  “For what?”

  “I’ve already explained to you, I need you to run some errands for me before you leave Ellevil.”

  “And what about getting to Ravamere?” I blurt.

  “That comes after. Don’t worry, dear, you will find out why your mother went there and where your brother Jared is.”

  I don’t know how she knew about Jared. Then I thought about her knowing certain events were going to happen. She knew about my mother and me killing her to save my own life. She knew that Mom was corrupt. Miss Canary can tell the future.

  Elves walk onto the field, passing Donovan and me. We follow Miss Canary back toward her elf castle. The elves here stare at me once more, mumbling among themselves. I walk closely next to Donovan. Mystics aren’t to be trusted. Miss Canary could’ve easily snapped Donovan’s neck at her house, but she didn’t; she ran away.

  Mystics don’t run away, and my experience in the woods with Christian was magical.

  Only thing I wonder is—was it all an illusion?

  Chapter 4

  Glancing down at the elvish clothes I’m to wear tomorrow, I poke the material with my fingers. It’s stretchy and weird. I’m still mind blown to know that what happened in the woods yesterday was an illusion. Being with Christian felt so real, everything he said to me, how he touched me, and where we sat on the branch. It all feels real to me still. Are elves really master illusionists and sweet talkers? It’s clear that it was an illusion; I remember seeing Donovan coiling up in the grass. He believes I’m crazy, I know he does, because he claims he was never attacked by the grass. The way Christian talked to me in the trees, I wanted to…well, never mind.

  I feel a painful pinching under my left arm where my veins pulse. Turning my arm over facing me and clenching my fingers into a fist, I stare at the leafy green tattoos twirling up around my wrist. The pain dissolves into a soothing sensation. The markings end with a burst of green light. I drop my mouth open, inhaling the flowery scent around the room.

  First the predictions of being attacked, and then the swift movements while fighting against mystics. My hearing is becoming stronger and so is my flexibility, and for some reason I don’t think my transformation is complete. I walk over to the side of my bed, grabbing my broomstick. The silver markings on the weapon glow as well as the ones on my arm. I take off my shirt, the crisp linen brushing against the tip of my nose and shoulders. I walk over to the window in the room holding my elf shirt.

  My door closes; a leathery movement rushes toward me. Something wraps around the side of my hands, and I prepare a nice slap for whatever touched me. Hands tightly press on my thighs. My arm flies in the air while I execute my plan. He grabs my wrist in midair, preventing my attack.

  Donovan chuckles and looks at the markings on my sides.

  “Take a good look, because that’s all you’re going to get.” I brush by him, shrugging on my green leafy shirt.

  “I miss your old outfit,” he says. “You know, the one with the scratches under your butt.” His face wrinkles up, holding back his laugh.

  “Shut up.”

  Donovan walks closer to me. He tends to do this all the time now, sometimes too close. I avoid his gorgeous eyes, worried about Dawn. She’d be panicking about where I’ve been by now. Though I would have called her to let her know I’m all right, I know my cell won’t work here. I cross my arms over my chest and inhale through my mouth.

  “You know we can leave if you want.”

  “Why would we leave, Donovan? I need answers.”

  “Whatever.”

  “And there’s no ‘we.’ You have every right to leave me here.”

  “Why would I leave you here? Alone. Why did I save your dumb ass from all the mystic attacks you so willingly got into?” He locks his piercing eyes on to me.

  “Well you weren’t really approachable during those times.”

  “Your acts were idiotic, Rose.”

  “Eliza.”

  “I
like Rose better.”

  “They weren’t idiotic; I was learning.”

  “You were trying to die. It was stupid to go after that elf in the woods where we first met.”

  “I wasn’t trying to die. You needed my help.”

  “If you wanted to help me so bad, why didn’t you tell me about the set up your brother had for me at the beach?” I question curiously, moving closer to him.

  His jaws clench, and his triceps contract along the sides of his thick arms.

  “Why?” I glare at him. “How did you know about the plan to kill Eliza?” I throw my fingers in his face, mimicking a witch casting a spell.

  “Some things are left better unsaid.”

  “Exactly, so why,” I press my index finger on his chest, “are you here with me right now?” I take my broomstick out of my pocket and press the button on it. My purple dagger forms, and I tap it on his cheek. “This idiotic witch isn’t as stupid as you think I am.”

  Donovan’s lips are tightly pressed together.

  “Am I making you upset? I think I should be the one upset here, and I’m not.”

  He squints down at me, deep in thought. I place my fist on his chest, stopping him from coming any closer.

  “You won’t hurt me,” I say, glancing down at my fist.

  “Stay in your place, Rose.”

  “Put me in my place.”

  Donovan smirks at my vexatious behavior and removes my grip from my broomstick. He then drops it to the ground and looks up at me. “You’re a useless witch. You can’t survive without me. What my brother’s doing has nothing to do with me. I don’t need to explain anything to you.”

  “If I’m so useless, why did you save me from the mermaids?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I saved you.”

  “Apparently you didn’t do a good job. My head was smashed.”

  “Are you being ungrateful?”

  “Never,” I say, “just calling contradictions. How am I supposed to trust you if you’re related to someone who’s possibly a corrupt witch or affiliated with the Verel?”

  He wraps his hands around my neck.

  “That doesn’t help with my trust issues,” I squeak out. He releases his hands and chuckles to himself. “I’m not afraid of you,” I say.

  He looks down at me. “And that is what’s going to get you killed.”

  Donovan moves around briefly and walks away in his leathery pants. “Those pants make your butt look big,” I joke. He walks out of my room, closing the door behind him.

  The silvery lines on my broomstick are glowing, and I wonder if it would activate for me again. I grip the handle in the palm of my hand. It’s warm and a tingling feeling vibrates on the surface of my palm. The same thing I felt with Mom. I don’t want to think of it, so I close my eyes. My door creaks open, and I figure it’s either Miss Canary or Donovan again. I open my eyes when the person doesn’t speak. It’s Christian. His eyes dart to the slender, glowing, baton-like object in my hand. I drop my broomstick.

  Christian closes the door behind him, his eyes staring at me cautiously; it was only him here with me.

  “How are you even alive?”

  He ignores my question, walking toward my bed. “I figured you’d ask.” He grins. “That’s cool, you’re curious—aren’t we all?”

  “Tell me one thing.”

  He sits down on my bed, kicking his legs up to lay down, crossing his bare feet. I glance outside my window, observing the sky becoming darker as we enter deeper into the day. He doesn’t care what happened. I was made out to look crazy to Donovan.

  Right now, I can care less how I’m portrayed. Donovan is getting on my nerves little by little; he needs to understand that I’m only here on a mission. His mother didn’t go missing, his brother isn’t missing; he’s out trying to kill innocents, and he himself doesn’t even care to stop Eric. His arrogant attitude and uncontrollable anger issues really are beginning to remind me of his brother. He needs to stop acting this way around these elves or it’ll get us both killed. Clearly, we’re outnumbered here.

  “Well are you going to ask me?” Christian prompts.

  I walk over to the window, allowing my gaze to wander out at the beautiful trees. “Did I experience an illusion with you?”

  “Come on, Eliza, you’re the witch here, not me. Aren’t you people ‘born’ to figure that out yourselves?”

  “Answer the question. I have to know.”

  He sits up straight. “No it wasn’t,” he says, the bottom of his lip sliding across his sharp elven teeth.

  I know that’s what witches are known for, but I’m still learning about this strange world I live in. All I knew about elves was that it’s hard catching them in the woods, and now I think I’ve experienced it firsthand.

  The elf I tried saving Donovan from, the first time we correctly met. That elf was corrupt, and the way she taunted me caused me to slowly become insane. Christian…he’s different. The way he carries himself is so confident, though not too much to call him cocky.

  “Are all witches this serious about things?” he asks.

  I cut my eyes at him, and he flinches.

  “I’m sorry if I’ve said something,” he apologizes. “Your emotions are—”

  “They’re pitiful, I know.”

  “They’re different. Which makes you even more interesting.”

  A glint of golden brown shimmers in his eyes then fades deep into the light green. I shift awkwardly at the way he stares at me, like I was mouthwatering to him, like I am his dessert.

  I flick my eyes toward my broomstick beside me; I place my hands on my hips. “So, um, what’re you doing up late? Here in my room?” I try to make my question as nice as possible, flashing him a fake smile.

  His eyes traveled down the flowery path around my bed. “Wanted to warn you about Emily.”

  Great. Emily is the last elf I want running across my mind at this time of night, and it might tempt me to throw a dagger at her in her sleep. I’m sure her proficient reflexes would save her either way. Then, yeah, I’d die from my lame attempt at murder. I drift off deeper into my deadly reverie.

  Christian stands up, taking my hand. I glance at his tanned fingers and the markings around his knuckles. The same tingling sensation I felt with my tattoos hidden underneath my arm proceed to buzz, along with the new markings around my thigh and up to the sides of my stomach. I placed my hand on top of his, the sensation vibrantly unbearable, and we jerk our hands away from each other. Our eyes meet, and I figure he felt the same buzz. The leafy lines on the side of his neck wink on and off to glowing a dark forest green.

  “You’re glowing,” I say, looking at his neck.

  Christian’s eyes dart to mine. He squints like he’s seen something. “Did you feel that?”

  “Yeah, I kind of still feel it,” I say. “It’s faint.”

  My thighs tingle, waking from being asleep. Christian and I simultaneously glance at the broomstick on my bed. I grab my weapon, causing the swirly silver lines to shine in front of me. I drag my thumb absently across the red button, and unaware what my actions are causing me to do, I press the button. A sword ejects from its sheath, glowing light purple. My back is facing Christian; I’m going to do something I will regret later. I can’t control the emotions that rage within my head. I swing my arm around with my sword, and Christian ducks to the ground. My fingers are burning around the grip of my broomstick.

  “Eliza, what are you doing? I’m not any danger to you.”

  My thumb clicks the button, morphing the purple sword into a sharp whip. I slash it on the floor, and he leaps away from the impact. A dent is created on the glossy floor.

  “My hand is stuck holding my broomstick,” I say, circling my arm in the air and aiming for his neck.

  Christian stares at me, and it’s obvious he’s afraid. He grabs my wrists. I kick him off of me and shove him against the wall, hearing his back thud against it when he hits.

  My broomstick forms into a swor
d, and I raise it up under his chin. My eyes are burning and my markings have never been so alive. This is all out of my control, and I don’t feel like myself.

  The freezing stops, and my broomstick drops to the floor. I shiver as the coldness leaves from my body. I stare at the broomstick and then back up at Christian. His eyes are wide, and he’s completely confused by what happened.

  I open my mouth in shock. Since when did my broomstick ever activate by itself? Could this be the hexed items Donovan was talking about earlier? Vibrations buzz against my fingers as my markings gradually stop glowing. Christian stands up, mumbling something under his breath. He backs away from me, bumping into the dresser behind him.

  “I didn’t mean to…I-I’m…I’m sorry, Christian.”

  Why would my broomstick activate for Christian? There was something about him my broomstick didn’t like. As soon as I touched my broomstick, it was like he needed to be killed, by no one other than me. My thoughts were pushed aside and I started to think about not killing him but controlling myself.

  “It’s fine,” he says. “I’m a little startled is all. I’ve never had a witch come close to killing me.”

  His eyes dart toward the door and back at me. Feeling really bad about wanting to kill him, I step near him cautiously, and Christian backs away from me.

  “Thanks for trying to warn me about Emily.”

  The tension in the room is beyond awkward.

  “Yeah, don’t mention it.” He forces a fake grin up at me, and I pick up my broomstick to place it in my pocket.

  I remember him dropping the rose in the trees that night I chased after him. For some reason this rose keeps popping up in my life. “Christian, I wanted to ask you something.”

  “Sure.”

  The thunder claps outside, and little droplets of rain begin to splat on my window’s glass. “Why did you have the rose in the forest?”

  “Terese got to you too, right?”

  “Who’s that?”

  “The queen of elves, of course.”