Table of Contents
Title Page
The Focus
The Focus Dedication
The Manor
The Manor Dedication
The Angel
The Angel Dedication
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Praxis Novellas
Mosaic Chronicles Book Two
The Focus
The Manor
The Angel
Andrea Pearson
Copyright 2015 Andrea Pearson
Book design and layout copyright 2015 Andrea Pearson
Cover design copyright 2015 Andrea Pearson, James E. Curwen
Series by Andrea Pearson:
Kilenya
Kilenya Romances
Kilenya Adventures
Mosaic Chronicles
Ranch City Academy
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction, and the views expressed herein are the sole responsibility of the author. Likewise, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are represented fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
http://katonuniversity.blogspot.com/
The Focus
A Mosaic Chronicles Novella
Andrea Pearson
Copyright 2015 Andrea Pearson
Book design and layout copyright 2015 Andrea Pearson
Cover design copyright 2015 Andrea Pearson, James E. Curwen
Summary: When Nicole, a talented cellist, goes to Ohio to sharpen her skills with wind magic, she has no idea her studies are about to collide with terrifying creatures and people from another dimension. Based off one of HP Lovecraft’s popular stories.
The Focus Dedication
To my mom, Betty
For being the best cellist I’ve ever known.
And to my older brother, Erik
Who’s also pretty good. :-)
The Focus
Nicole lugged her suitcase and cello up a steep, narrow street in Hoglin, Ohio. She blew a strand of blond hair out of her face. Only ten more steps and she’d take a break.
Biting her lips, she heaved again, grunting with the effort and forcing the wheels of both cases—suit and cello—to grind against the cobblestone. She couldn’t believe the stupid rental car wouldn’t fit on the stupid street. Who had the dumb idea to build a street this cramped?
If she’d been able to Channel properly, she would’ve at least lifted her suitcase with wind, making it feel lighter.
At nine steps, she stopped. “Okay, call me a wimp,” she whispered to herself, staring at the buildings surrounding her. Like the street, they’d been poorly built. In fact, most of them should have been condemned. They were coming apart, leaning over, with fallen bricks and shingles littering the ground around them.
At least the smell of the canal she’d been forced to cross was fading. Brown, murky water that stunk of sewage and rotted fish—yuck.
Nicole pulled a slip of paper out of her jeans pocket. The address she looked for was seventeen Ginley Street. She looked up—the house closest to her was number eleven. She was a little more than halfway.
Taking in a deep breath of humid air, Nicole continued forward again, wishing the cases were lighter.
As she glanced at another house, she forgot about the steepness of the street and the heaviness of her suitcase. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed the people earlier.
An older couple sat on a pair of rocking chairs at house twelve. She smiled at them, about to set down her case to wave when both glanced away and avoided further eye contact. Rude. The man next door doing yard work also refused to look at her.
Turning, she saw others—all acting the same. Older, not talking to each other, and definitely not looking at her. Nicole realized that at eighteen, she was the youngest person on that street by forty years at least. That wasn’t very unusual, except for the fact that Misto University was nearby. Surely there were young couples living here, or students, at least?
After another ten minutes of heaving her things up the steep street, she arrived at number seventeen and paused to catch her breath while checking it out.
“How am I going to live here for three weeks?” she whispered.
The edifice was tall, badly built of course, and okay, more sturdy than many of the other buildings on the street, but still! Her mother would have a cow if she saw it. “Good thing she won’t.” Nicole smiled.
Her parents were so proud they’d been able to have a fourth child—an Arete—which meant magic in the family. Their family! Imagine that! But she intimidated them, and they pretty much let her do whatever she wanted. After she’d graduated from high school and been accepted into Katon University, they’d maintained contact only through email and occasional cell phone conversations. Except for one visit by her mother . . . which Nicole would rather forget.
Nicole was fine with the arrangement. And anyway, she’d recently found out that the only reason they even had an Arete in the first place was to keep up with appearances.
Just then, the front door opened, interrupting Nicole’s thoughts. An elderly black man with a thick head of white hair limped out. He approached her with caution, then rested on his cane. “Ms. Williams?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Mr. Landon, the building manager. Welcome.” He bent over and, with some struggling, picked up her suitcase. She hesitated, watching him, but once he got it off the ground, he handled the large luggage just fine, maneuvering it into the building. He held the door open for her and she jumped to follow, pulling her cello along behind her.
Mr. Landon led her to an elevator, hit the up button, then turned away and stared out the front window while waiting. The expression on his face, while not unfriendly, showed he didn’t want conversation.
Nicole fiddled with the strap on her cello case, wishing the elevator would hurry. It was stuck on floor three. Should she say something, maybe about the weather? Ask him about his family? No—many people considered that rude. But she did notice a wedding band on his left finger. Would it be safe to talk about his wife? She glanced around the lobby, looking for signs of a womanly presence. The decayed walls and old, eighties-style pictures didn’t give her much information.
With a rattle, the elevator door opened. Mr. Landon entered, then held the door for her again and pushed the sixth button.
After a hard jolt, the elevator started rising. Nicole jumped into the corner, bracing herself against the sides. Wow! She was jumpy. A little giggle escaped from her mouth. She clamped a hand over her mouth, her face flushing. She was more embarrassed about the giggle than her reaction to the jolt.
Mr. Landon acted as if nothing had happened.
Finally, the thing came to a stop and the door rattled open. Nicole followed Mr. Landon down the hall to the right.
Outside room 602, he stopped, opened the door, and dragged the suitcase inside. He gave her the key, then left, pulling the door shut behind him.
Nicole stared at the thin piece of wood and flimsy lock that separated her from the rest of the building. No
t very reassuring.
She took a deep breath and turned, deciding to explore. But what she saw definitely wouldn’t take much time to investigate. The place was small. And maybe she was used to having a huge home—her parents were anything but poor—but the room in front of her was tiny. It could barely pass as an apartment.
The main room was made up of a kitchen and living area. An old TV—probably black and white—with an antenna faced an orange-and-green plaid couch. The kitchen was more of a kitchenette: a small, two-burner stove, barely existent sink, and a table with one chair. No counter.
Nicole opened the door on the right, revealing a bedroom half the size of her bedroom at Katon University, and a fourth the size of the one at home. Maybe even smaller than that. There was hardly enough space for a twin-sized bed and dresser, which were crammed in together. There were two doors to the right of the dresser—one for a closet with three shelves and the other for the bathroom, which, of course, was tiny, and had only a toilet and sink.
“Where’s the shower?” Nicole asked herself. She felt panic rise up in the back of her throat. She couldn’t possibly go three weeks—let alone a day—without showering!
She searched the entire apartment again. Which, of course, only took twenty seconds. With relief, she discovered a shower head above a drain in the corner of the kitchen. A shower curtain hung from the ceiling and swiveled around the head, allowing privacy. Nicole had assumed the curtain covered a window. Which it did. She’d have to be careful to keep the window covered while not splashing water all over the kitchen during her showers.
“This is ridiculous.”
She sat on the edge of the couch and pulled her phone out of her purse.
Lizzie, her best friend, picked up on the first ring. “Hello? How are you? Did you finally get there? What’s it like?”
Nicole smiled with relief at hearing Lizzie’s familiar voice. “You’ll never believe this place . . .”
***
Nicole was awakened in the middle of the night by strange music drifting through the vent in the ceiling of her bedroom. The harmonies sounded off, the beat different from anything she’d ever played. It took her several moments to realize it was coming from a cello, which surprised her. She’d played the cello for years—she should be able to recognize it, regardless of how it sounded.
After identifying the instrument, she switched to guessing the composer. But after several moments, she gave up—the music was so off from what she’d heard before. She fell back asleep.
***
Nicole woke up early the next morning, eager for her first lesson with Professor Stephen Nielsen, a Wind Arete who used the cello as a medium. He was supposed to be one of the most powerful in the country.
As she was leaving, she ran into Mr. Landon and decided to ask him about the cellist from the night before.
“That’s Mrs. Anna Morse, an old British woman. I hope she didn’t disturb you. She chose the top floor because she likes playing late into the night and it’s farthest from my office. Let me know if she causes too much of a distraction and I’ll move you.”
Nicole nodded and left, pulling her cello down the street. She crossed the canal and passed her rental car, deciding to walk and save the gas money. Besides, the weather was so nice! Seattle was beautiful in its own right, but she really missed seeing the sun regularly.
The stroll to campus took twenty-one minutes and, once she was past the smell of the canal, was refreshing. She was used to walking that far with her cello, and she daydreamed the entire way about a particular guy she’d started liking—and had even kissed—since moving to Seattle. His eyes, smile, laugh. How it would feel to have his arms around her again . . .
Austin had kissed her while on a Katon University expedition to Arches, but he hadn’t touched her since that day, except for holding her hand once. She chose not to dwell on that, though, remembering his promise to help her Channel when she got back from Ohio. They would have plenty of opportunities to kiss later. She hoped.
Thoughts of him left her when she got to campus. It was breathtaking. Late-blooming flowers lined the cobblestone walks. Ivy grew on the buildings. Tall, magnificent trees—so unlike the trees on campus in Seattle. Or even Texas, where she’d grown up. She had no idea what they were, but the bark appeared smooth and nearly free from blemishes.
Other students—a few of whom were Aretes—lounged on benches, studying from books or laptops.
After finding the correct classroom, Nicole explored the art and music building. Guided by the sound of music, she wandered down a long hallway and into an auditorium where a symphony was rehearsing. She sat in the back, wondering if any of her fellow students from high school were there. The piece was one of her favorites—Smetana’s Moldau—and she closed her eyes, feeling herself pulled along with the rolls and flow of the song. The musicians were pretty good, actually.
Ten minutes later, the rehearsal ended and students filed from the auditorium. The conductor, a silver-haired gentleman, walked toward the top of the auditorium where Nicole sat, followed by a few violinists.
“Yes, yes, that’s fine. We’ll take it a bit faster next time.”
Nicole thought she could see him roll his eyes as the violinists left. He spotted her and smiled. “Violinists. Rare to find one who isn’t a diva.”
Nicole grinned. She couldn’t agree more.
The conductor stopped walking. “You aren’t one, are you?”
“No, I play the cello.”
“Nicole Williams?”
She started. “Yes?”
He laughed. “I’m Professor Nielsen. I believe you’re here to study under me.”
Nicole stood, extending her hand. “I am! Looking forward to it too.” She motioned to the stage. “They sound really good.”
He nodded. “Indeed they do. They’re the best orchestra on campus and have worked hard. You won’t be joining them, though, will you?”
She shook her head. “I’m just here for the three weeks.”
“Ah, yes. But I’ve heard enough about you to know you could play with us if you had more time.”
Nicole’s cheeks flushed. “After what my parents put me through, I hope so.” She glanced down at her cello. “Though, with the cello given to me by Katon University—long story behind that—I don’t know if I could. This thing is pretty bad.”
They laughed. Nicole was grateful—she’d get along well with him. Good thing too, since it was his job to help her further her expertise not only of the cello, but her special kind of magic.
He picked up a box of music at the back and she grabbed her cello, and they walked together to his classroom.
***
An hour and a half later, Nicole left feeling discouraged and disappointed. They hadn’t even discussed magic that entire block of time! He’d had her play practically everything she’d ever learned, and then gave her tons of sheet music to master before the next day. She sighed.
The early afternoon was chilly—the warmth of the morning had given way to possible thunderstorms, and Nicole walked quickly back to her apartment.
The one thing that had been different about Professor Nielsen from what she’d expected was his interest in the tenant living in her apartment—the one who played the cello. She’d told him about hearing the music, and how it had taken her several moments to figure out what instrument it was. He encouraged her to seek out Mrs. Morse and talk to her. Ask her where she’d learned cello and who was her composer.
***
After several days, Nicole discovered two things. First, Professor Nielsen probably wouldn’t talk about magic for a while. He seemed determined to study music. Odd, considering he was a music professor. Nicole laughed to herself as she pulled the covers up to her chin one evening after a long day of practicing.
The second thing was how very difficult it was to find Mrs. Morse, and then even more difficult to corner her.
Every night since arriving, Nicole had stayed up late, listening to the
foreign and strange music coming from above. Tonight was no different, and it was making her go crazy.
Leaning over, she dug through her purse and pulled out her cell.
She didn’t even give her best friend time to adjust. “Lizzie, I have to figure this out!”
“Girl, why are you awake? It’s got to be one thirty in the morning there!”
“It’s driving me nuts—she plays all night long. I don’t understand it. And it’s with meaning. For a purpose. I need to know why!”
“Okay, honestly? I have to get up early. Just go talk to her—figure out what’s going on. Isn’t that what your professor told you to do?”
“Yeah, but she’s kind of intimidating—she’s really good. And I’m only eighteen. She’s ancient. I saw her once. At least, I think it was her. She has to be in her eighties or nineties.”
Lizzie snorted. “You? Intimidated? Come on.” She took a breath. “You know, she might be able to help you with the cello itself, not just music. Approach her from that angle.”
Nicole sat up in bed. “That’s it! You’re a genius!”
Lizzie chuckled. “I’m surprised—really surprised—that you didn’t think of it yourself. Call me at a decent hour, after you’ve talked to her.”
***
Two days later, Nicole was successful in that quest. They happened to be grocery shopping at the same time in a nearby store. When the store clerk called the stooped, little woman with the scarf over her head “Mrs. Morse,” Nicole made her purchases and raced to catch up as the woman was leaving.
“Mrs. Morse?”
The elderly lady stopped and turned. “Mmm?”
“My name is Nicole Williams. I’m a cellist, and Mr. Landon said you also play the cello.” Nicole smiled her most winning smile, and Mrs. Morse rewarded her with a grin that showed old, twisted teeth.
Praxis Novellas, Mosaic Chronicles Book Two Page 1