Zoey choked on a mouthful of pancake. She coughed. “I have important things to do.”
“What things?” demanded Aria.
Zoey shrugged. “Just stuff. I need to catch up on homework and Operative stuff. You don’t want me to fail, do you?”
Aria’s yellow eyes widened. She pressed her lips together. “You look guilty about something, and I’m going to find out what it is. You mind yourself, Zoey St. John. I’m watching you. Don’t go getting yourself into trouble.”
And with that, Aria waddled over to the next tables and served the agents.
After fifteen minutes of fighting with her pancakes, Zoey felt like a stuffed turkey. She pushed her plate away, leaned back, and wiped her mouth.
“ZOEY!”
Zoey looked up from her table. Tristan and Simon walked through the dining room towards her. Tristan sauntered between the tables. He wore a gray ski jacket over his strong shoulders, a black T-shirt and baggy jeans. He was tall for his age and built like a football player. His smile made him even more handsome.
Simon was the complete opposite. He was lanky, with blond hair, freckles and the goofy kind of face that you could never take seriously. He had wrapped a hand-knitted blue scarf many times around his neck, and it drooped over his forest-green winter jacket. They both looked like typical fifteen-year-olds, not soon-to-be-agents from a top-secret agency. The three of them had become inseparable.
“Are you going to finish that?” asked Simon. His large blue eyes were fixed on the four remaining pancakes on Zoey’s plate. Before she could answer, he folded the pancakes together like a sandwich and started eating them.
“Knock yourself out,” said Zoey, laughing. “I don’t understand where all the food that you eat goes.”
“Me neither,” answered Simon, his mouth full. His eyes widened. “Man, these are awesome. I’ve never tasted pancakes as wicked as these. What’s in them? You think Aria would make some more? I’m starving!”
Tristan rolled his eyes and laughed. “You just had breakfast at your house, dummy.”
Simon swallowed the rest of the pancake. “I’m still hungry. You can’t just let me starve. I’m a growing boy. My bones need feeding. I’m like a puppy that needs to be fed every few hours. You don’t keep food from a growing puppy, do you?”
He barked like a dog and then stuck out his tongue.
“You’re a complete spaz.” Tristan turned to Zoey.
“Hey, Zoey.”
His dark, almond-shaped eyes bore into hers, and she felt a strange wallop in the pit of her stomach. Although she quickly averted her eyes, her cheeks still burned. Because Tristan was part mystic, she still felt a buzzing sensation when she was around him, but not as much. It was as though her seventh sense had become acclimatized to the mystics around her at the Hive.
But with Tristan, there was something more.
Ever since she had made the mistake of asking whether or not Tristan had a girlfriend, simply to make conversation in an already awkward situation, he’d looked at her differently. He had a perpetual sparkle in his eyes, and a cocky little smile at the edge of his lips. Did he think that she liked him? She still wasn’t sure of her feelings towards him. She forced the thoughts out of her mind. She didn’t have time to think about boys right now.
“So, what are you guys doing here on a Saturday?” said Zoey. She could see Aria glancing at her table, and she was glad Simon had eaten the rest of the pancakes.
Simon dipped his finger in the maple syrup. “My parents woke me up early this morning. They were having a very loud argument. Naturally, the entire house had to hear it. So I got up and came over here for breakfast.”
“What were they arguing about?” asked Zoey.
“Agency business,” said Simon as he licked his fingers. “I don’t know what exactly, but by the looks my dad was giving my mother, it looked serious. I couldn’t fall asleep after he left. So I called Tristan—”
“Like ten times,” said Tristan, glaring at Simon.
“Well, you weren’t picking up,” said Simon innocently.
“Because I was sleeping.”
Simon lifted the maple syrup bottle to his lips and poured some of the golden liquid into his mouth. His eyes widened. “Wow, that’s sweet. I thought we could all hang out today. The new How to train your Zombie movie is playing at the MegaPlex Theatre. I’m in the mood for dead things. It’s weird, but somehow zombie movies make me hungry.”
“Sorry, I can’t.” Zoey pushed her chair back and stood up. The look on Tristan’s face had her stomach in knots. “I have some stuff to do today,” she blurted, not knowing what else she could say. “Maybe next time, okay?”
“What stuff?” pressed Tristan. “Every weekend it’s the same. You’re always too busy to do anything. You’ve been busy for the past month, too busy to spend time with your best friends.”
Zoey felt the blood rush to her face again. Lying to strangers to get herself out of trouble was a piece of cake, but lying to people she cared about was a completely different matter—it was nearly impossible. She hated lying to her friends, but she had no alternative. She wasn’t ready to tell them yet. Part of her was afraid they wouldn’t understand…
“Guys! I’m seeing double,” said Simon, blinking continuously. “I think I’ve had too much sugar. Something weird’s happening to me…guys? Oh my god! I think I’ve developed type two diabetes.” A bit of drool dripped from the corners of his mouth. “What are my parents going to say?”
Zoey grabbed Simon’s face with her hands, stared into his eyes, and shook him gently.
“You don’t have diabetes, doofus,” she said and then smiled. “Stop being so overdramatic. What you’re feeling right now is called a sugar-high, that’s what happens to people who take way too much sugar all at once. It’ll pass.”
He continued to drool, so she let go of his face and looked at Tristan.
“I just need a few hours by myself,” she said.
It was as though Tristan was reading her mind, like he knew she was making this up.
Her mouth was full of cotton balls as she continued, “…To do the stuff I need to do, then maybe we can hook up later?”
She hoped the icing she added would smooth things over with Tristan, who was still eyeing her suspiciously.
“What do you do in there anyway?”
“Nothing,” said Zoey, a little too hastily.
Tristan raised his brows. “Well, it’s not nothing, is it?”
His dark eyes bore into hers. “Why can’t you tell us? Don’t you trust us?”
“Of course I trust you.” Zoey looked down at the table. She didn’t like to hear the hurt in Tristan’s voice. And then she thought of the only thing that would deter them. “It’s girly stuff. Personal. I can’t talk to boys about it.”
“AH!” Simon poked his fingers in his ears and shook his head. “Not listening. I’m not listening.” And then he took off running through the inn with his fingers still in his ears.
Tristan didn’t look convinced. “If you say so. See you later then.”
He walked away slowly, and Zoey watched the two of them disappear through the inn’s front door.
Zoey wanted to run after her friends to tell them, but something held her back. In the corner of her eye she saw Aria watching her, and she forced herself not to look.
Zoey rushed back up the stairs and shut the door to her room. Still feeling like a jerk for lying to her friends, she pulled out her DSM and concentrated.
And just like every Saturday for the past month, nothing happened. But she wanted to understand more about her powers, so she didn’t give up. She had to keep trying.
Maybe today it would work…
With her reflection staring back at her through her DSM, she thought of places she knew had anchor points. She did not want to end up in Mrs. Dupont’s study, or somewhere else unexpected like that.
She remembered when she, Tristan, and Simon had mirror-ported to Troll City. She conc
entrated on Parrods, the large department store in London. She hoped she’d turn up there, so she could fill her pockets with mouthwatering candies. She concentrated until she thought her skull would crack under the strain, and her brain would leak out through her ears.
And then she waited…and waited…
Nothing. Not even a flutter from the mirror-port. After about an hour her arm started to stiffen and her head began to pound. She yelled out in frustration and closed her DSM.
“Why aren’t you working?” she called out and stomped her foot. “Come on! You worked before! What am I doing wrong? This is so frustrating!”
“Zoey? Is everything all right?” Aria’s voice sounded from behind her bedroom door.
Zoey’s breath caught in her throat. “Yes, Aria, just practicing some defense moves,” she lied again.
There was a pause, then Aria’s voice sounded again. “Well, try to practice a little less loudly.”
“Okay, sorry. I’ll be quieter. Promise.”
As soon as Aria’s footsteps tapered off, Zoey went back to work.
It didn’t make sense. Why did it work that time when she had thought of the interloper? Then she had ended up in the hall and had overheard Mrs. Dupont and the late Agent Stokes plotting against the Agency. What was so different about that time? For weeks now she’d been racking her brain, trying to figure out why she couldn’t do it again. What was it about that time? What was she doing wrong? And then it hit her.
Maybe she was trying too hard. Maybe her abilities didn’t work when she was stressed out. She realized that when she had first thought of the interloper, it had just popped into her head. She hadn’t tried to force the thoughts into her mind. They had appeared naturally.
She let out a breath and calmed herself. No point in getting worked up. Slowly, she lifted her DSM up in front of her again. This time she let her mind and body relax. She steadied herself and tipped her DSM slightly to get all of her reflection onto the mirror. She stood as still as she could. She thought of nothing at first, and just concentrated on her breathing and heartbeat. And slowly, very slowly, she let a single thought pop into her mind. She didn’t know why that particular thought appeared in her head—it just did.
A tingle rolled up her back. And then her body shimmered. Her reflection shifted, and she watched her body vanish. She started to spin very fast. With roaring in her ears, she squinted to see. Blurred images moved before her eyes like colored lines. She could smell baked bread and BBQ chicken. With a final spin, her feet met solid ground, and her vision slowly cleared. She steadied herself and looked around—
She stood in a large stainless steel sink.
“ZOEY ST. JOHN! WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING STANDING IN MY KITCHEN SINK?”
Aria came storming towards her waving a large pot in one hand, while the other three arms beat the air in angry fists. She came to a halt in front of Zoey.
“And your shoes are filthy! What do you think this is? A gymnasium? This isn’t a playground! You can’t bring in all this dirt into my kitchen sink! What’s wrong with you?”
Zoey felt the blood leave her face. Of all the places in the world, she had to land in Aria’s spotless, germfree kitchen.
Quickly, she hid her DSM behind her back and searched for the anchor. She read the writing on the large black board that hung above the sink. A clean kitchen is a happy kitchen, My Roast my Rules, and Harassing the cook will definitely result in smaller portions. Books were stacked on the counter in neat piles, and a large kitchen knife that looked more like a small sword was placed on a butcher block. But there was no sign of an anchor anywhere. How did she get here? How did she mirror-port into Aria’s kitchen sink without a proper anchor? It had to be somewhere in the kitchen, she just couldn’t find it. She met Aria’s bewildered expression and felt like a fool.
Food was what had popped into her head.
“Sorry, Aria, I—I didn’t mean to step in your sink. It was a bad idea. I’m really sorry.”
Aria stared at her guilty face. “How did you get in here anyway? I didn’t even see you come into the kitchen! One minute I turn my back to get some ginger for my famous Ghoul Ginger Soup and the next—here you are in my sink! How do you explain that?”
Zoey fell silent for a second. “Uh…it—it was a stupid prank. I thought I’d sneak in and surprise you.” She forced a smile. “Surprise!”
By the way Aria was glaring at her, she didn’t think she was buying her story. The woman’s gray skin darkened. She looked like a great white shark ready to attack.
Zoey swallowed hard and shrugged. “I guess the sink wasn’t such a good idea. I realize now it was a mistake. I’m really, really sorry.”
Zoey looked away from Aria’s yellow cat-eyes. She hid her DSM behind her back with one arm and climbed down from the sink, careful not to touch the counter with her dirty shoes. She was in enough trouble as it was. Her ears burned. She felt bad about lying to Aria, but she still wasn’t ready to tell anyone about her new-found skills - not until she had them more under control. Part of her was still in shock because it had actually worked this time, although she had no idea why it had.
“Why are you smiling?” demanded Aria, her thin arms crossed over her chest. “You think this is funny, do you?”
Zoey pressed her lips together, not realizing she had been smiling. “Nope. I’m really sorry, Aria. It was stupid idea. I promise I won’t do it again.”
“No, you will not do it again.” Aria rushed past Zoey and examined the sink. “I’ll have to scrub it down now. You’ve left some mighty dirty footprints in my once-spotless sink.”
Zoey slid her DSM in her pocket. She stared at the floor, feeling worse and worse by the second. Aria had been kind to her ever since her arrival at the Hive, and she didn’t want her to be upset.
“I’m really sorry,” muttered Zoey. Her eyes burned.
Aria noticed Zoey’s uneasiness and her voice softened. “Well, it’s not that big a deal. Don’t look so gloomy. There are worse things in the world than a dirty sink. I’ll have it cleaned up in a jiffy. Just don’t do this again, you hear? I just don’t get you kids these days; when we were young we knew to stay clear of our mother’s kitchen. We knew what was best for us.”
Zoey felt the blood returning to her face. “I won’t. Promise.”
“Keep your promises to yourself, Zoey,” said Aria and she smiled, “Now run along, before I change my mind and stick you in one of my mince pies.”
Relief spread through Zoey like a hot bath. “You’re the best, Aria!”
Zoey sprinted out of the kitchen, but not before she heard Aria mutter, “I don’t understand young people anymore.”
Sevenths and Agents packed the dining and living areas of the inn. Ever since the stolen interlopers had let loose the mass of hostile mystics, the inn had been crammed all the time. Every Agent was on edge. No one knew for certain how many illegal mystics had crossed over, or which ones.
Agent Vargas stood by the fireplace with a cup of coffee. His imposing frame stood out amongst the others. He was in conversation with a woman with long, silky, raven hair, milky white skin, and a perfect face. She looked like a model from the face cream commercials on television. The gleaming ruby ring on her finger looked exactly like the ones she had seen on some of the young Operatives’ fingers. It was a symbol of the Original Sevenths.
Even before she saw Stuart, she knew this must be his mother. He was sprawled on a leather chair near the fire, but when he saw Zoey he stiffened. His scowl met her as she passed them. His hatred blazed in his cold blue stare.
Zoey grabbed her gray woolen coat and her red woolen mitts. She turned and gave Stuart her best smile, and then she ran outside, laughing.
The snow crunched loudly under her boots as she ran behind the inn and made her way to the edge of the forest. She felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She had finally manipulated the mirror-port using only her mind. It had worked.
The cold air seared her
hot cheeks. She had a favorite spot, right next to a big boulder. It was the spot where, a few months ago, the leprechaun gang had kidnapped a crying Stuart. He had come back a few hours later, red-faced, and with a permanent scowl. They were now sworn enemies — and that was just fine.
Although she knew he was planning something, right now she had more to think about than what Stuart King was planning to do to her next.
Movement caught her eye.
A pretty girl with long brown hair rushed out of the Hive. It was Claudia Walsh, Stuart’s right-hand woman. She froze when she saw Zoey. Zoey expected some mocking remark or a grimace, but instead her expression was troubled, almost frightened. She glared at Zoey when she saw her. But before Zoey could make any sense of it, Claudia hurried away in the opposite direction.
The sun warmed Zoey’s face as she ran up a small rise and dropped to her knees in the snow. She looked around to make sure no one was taking a stroll nearby. The she pulled off her mitts, retrieved her DSM from her pocket, and flipped it open. Her hands trembled in excitement.
“Okay, my little mirror friend. Let’s try this again.”
Even though her heart hammered in anticipation, she let out a long, misty-white breath and forced herself to relax. Her reflection bounced around on the mirror because she was shaking, and she strained to calm herself. She didn’t want to have a mirror-port accident, not when she had just discovered what she could do with her abilities. Mrs. Dupont may have been a cat-faced lunatic, but she hadn’t lied about Zoey having special powers.
She relaxed all her muscles. Where could she mirror-port to now? Her green eyes and freckles stared back at her in the mirror, and she smiled despite herself. She looked like her mother…
A tingle fluttered inside her. Her skin prickled as if millions of ants were running over her. Her DSM grew hotter and hotter until the metal frame burned white-hot. Zoey yelled as she dropped her DSM into the snow. It popped and sizzled as it melted into the snow and disappeared in a cloud of mist.
Mystics 3-Book Collection Page 29