Mystics 3-Book Collection (54 page)

Fire burned in Xenor’s black eyes. “And I’m
going to use you to make a trade.”

Zoey shook her head.

Her heart was about to burst out of her
chest. “I’m nothing special.”

The mystic smiled widely and said, “Oh, but
you are
very
special. You’re one of the
Originals
.”

Z
oey stopped
breathing, the word from the demon lord ringing in her ears.

Original.

“Butter my butt and call me a biscuit,” said
Simon. He stared at Zoey, and a sheepish smile materialized on his
face.

Could what he said be true?
Was
she
an Original?

Instinctively, she turned to Tristan, to see
if he agreed with what the mystic had said. He looked at her
curiously, like he had only just met her, but he didn’t say
anything. Her friends’ silence was a confirmation. They believed
it, too…

“I can tell by the look on your faces that
you had no idea of her
uniqueness
,” said Xenor.

“She carries the blood of the Originals in
her veins. I could never forget that sweet smell.
She
is a
true
descendant.”

Zoey glared at him. “You’re lying.”

But she knew it must be true. It made sense.
How else she could manipulate the mirrors? She was a true
descendant of the Originals.

For some strange reason, she thought of
Stuart and his gang, with those ruby red rings. How much fun it
would be to tell him that she was an Original, and not he.

If she didn’t find the antidote soon, there
wouldn’t be an Agency at all, let alone a Stuart to poke fun
at.

“I’d give anything to see the look on
Stuart’s face when he finds out Zoey’s a true Original, and he’s
just a grunt,” said Simon happily, having temporarily forgotten
that they had been kidnapped. “This is
so
awesome.”

He looked around the living area. “You guys
got food in here?”

Zoey looked anywhere but at her friends’
faces, especially Tristan. The room spun, and part of her just
wanted to run. She couldn’t think. She tried to focus on the plan
to get a sample of the original virus.

Xenor hauled himself from his chair
awkwardly, as though he was still getting used to his human form.
“Tie them up,” he ordered.

And before they had time to react, their
hands were bound. She tried pulling them apart, but it was no
use.

“This is just great,” moaned Simon.

Tristan’s face was drawn as he pulled
against his restraints, but even with his strength they wouldn’t
break.

Xenor sauntered around his captives, a hint
of a smile on his face, eyeing them like valuable prizes.

He stopped in front of Tristan.

“It’s no use, Mysterian. Give it up. You’re
shackled with mystic rope—it would take the strength of ten of you
to break through. You’re wasting your time and energy. Keep that
for Mrs. Dupont—you’re going to need it.”

Tristan glared at the mystic Lord. “You’re
going to regret this.”

“I doubt that,” answered Xenor.

He wiped his runny nose on his red sleeve.
“You’ll make a pretty prize for her Ladyship, too. She likes the
strong, handsome ones.”

He laughed at his private joke and then
whistled.

“Let’s go, boys.” He made his way towards
the front door.

“So where does that leave me?” said Simon.
“I’m not
that
ugly…am I?”

A popping noise came from behind Zoey, and
when she turned around the changeling demons were transmuting.
Black vapors rolled off their bodies, and she smelled their putrid
rotten bodies. Their bones cracked and their joints broke as they
reformed into smaller human sizes. Zoey gagged as she watched their
skin grow like hot wax, molding and stretching until they looked
completely human.

In their red uniforms, they were
unmistakably Alphas.

“Now that was
really
disgusting,”
said Simon. “A neat trick, but totally nauseating.”

“You heard the chief,” Gall brandished his
blade. “Now move, before I cut you!”

Zoey was spun around and pushed towards the
door. Tristan and Simon followed closely behind her. When she
reached the door, Xenor glared at them.

“Don’t even
think
about making a run
for it.” His hot reeking breath hit Zoey’s face, and she
retched.

Xenor pointed to Tristan and Simon.

“I won’t hesitate to kill your friends. And
don’t call any attention to yourselves. Got it? I want this to go
smoothly
. I can’t afford for anything to go wrong. Not now.
You behave - and they live. Got that?”

Zoey nodded her head. She wished she could
use her boomerang on his face.

Zoey glanced at her friends. Tristan looked
angry, like he was about to head-butt one of the changelings, and
Simon had an annoyed expression on his face as he pulled against
his restraints.

“Move!” ordered Gall. He shoved her out of
the door.

Together, they followed the mystic lord down
the flagstone path and turned onto the street. As they passed,
Alphas looked in their direction, and Zoey recognized the man with
the gray hair from before. He made his way towards Xenor.

“What’s this?” he barked. He had a badge on
the front of his uniform that the others did not. “Prisoners? Where
are you taking them?”

Xenor gave the man an oily smile, and that’s
when Zoey noticed his eyes weren’t black anymore. They had become
brown - normal brown human eyes with the whites showing.

“Agents we found snooping around. I’ve got
orders from Mrs. Dupont to bring them straight to her,” he said in
a greasy tone.

Zoey had a feeling this wasn’t the first
time he had lied—he was
very
convincing.

The man eyed Zoey and her friends
suspiciously. “Yeah, I saw them earlier. I thought there was
something wrong with them—”

“Speak for yourself,” said Simon, “When was
the last time you shaved—?”

He cried out suddenly as his abductor
slammed a fist into his back.

The Alpha man frowned deeply. He looked at
Zoey and her friends like they were filthy criminals who should be
executed.

“Don’t let me stop you. But make sure she
tortures them good. Maybe you can beat the agent out of them.” He
laughed.

“How about you take these off,” said
Tristan, as he moved his wrists, “and I beat your face in?”

The Alpha man took a wooden baton from
inside his jacket and hit Tristan across the face with a powerful
blow. Spit flew from his mouth as he spoke. “What did you say to
me,
agent filth
?”

Tristan spat the blood from his mouth, and
then he grinned. “Why not untie me and I’ll show you?”

Just as the man raised his baton to Tristan
again, Xenor grabbed his arm and forced it down.

“As much as I would love to see you beat
this filthy agent to death,” said Xenor, “Mrs. Dupont was very
explicit about not spoiling them. Not even a scratch.”

The man lowered his baton and smiled evilly
at Tristan. “You’re going to die, filth.”

He spat in Tristan’s face.

That was too much for Zoey. Before the Alpha
had a chance to react, she landed a powerful kick against the man’s
knee, and he went sprawling to the ground.

Xenor reached out, grabbed her, and pulled
her close.

“What part of ‘
smoothly
’ didn’t you
understand?” he hissed. His rancid breath was warm against her ear.
“I won’t let you spoil this for me, got it? Do that again, and I’m
going to leave you here - with
them
. I’ve seen what they do
to agents, and it’s nothing compared to what they do to the
mystics. Trust me.”

He shoved her away.

“Sorry about that, dear fellow,” he said to
the man on the ground, “She’ll be punished for that, mark my
words.”

The man’s face was red. “Give her to me. I’m
going to
kill
her!”

“Sorry, my dear man, but not tonight you’re
not,” said Xenor. “Bye, now.”

Xenor led the way, and the group left the
angry Alpha on the ground and continued walking down the street.
Soon they began an upward climb as the road twisted and curved up
the small mountain. The houses were sparser the higher they went,
until there was nothing but the dirt road, darkness, and tall trees
towering over them on either side. Zoey’s thighs burned as she
climbed up the road. With her hands tied behind her back, it was
even harder to climb, and she had to balance herself a few times
when she almost fell.

Xenor never looked back. He marched on with
purpose. His prizes fueled him with energy.

Finally, the road leveled when they reached
the top. They came to a clearing in the dense forest where acres of
flat and manicured lawns surrounded a magnificent old manor-style
home with many windows and doors. Made of gray stone, it stood
alone and proud like a castle from a fairytale story. G
rand hedges and fountains twinkled magically in the
starlight.

There was something eerie about the big
house. The large windows on the second floor looked almost like
eyes, and the large front door resembled a nose. The bottom row
windows, too, made the house look like a giant face.

Zoey suppressed a chill. It made sense that
Mrs. Dupont would live in a place that looked like it wanted to eat
you.

The dirt road curved around neatly manicured
bushes and flowerbeds. When they arrived at the front door, Zoey’s
nerves were in overdrive. Even in the night’s cool air her forehead
and back were drenched in sweat. It wasn’t exactly how she had
planned to arrive at Mrs. Dupont’s house, but they were here now;
she would have to make the best of their situation.

The front door was made of iron, and it
loomed up about ten feet. The cast-iron doorknocker was in the
shape of a lion’s head.

Xenor stepped up to the great door, grabbed
the doorknocker and knocked three times.

He stood back and said behind him, “Let me
do the talking. Everyone shut up, if you want to live.”

“Is it me or does the doorknocker look like
Mrs. Dupont’s face?” chuckled Simon.

“I said
shut it
,” growled Xenor.

“No, seriously, look at it—”

“SHUT IT!” hissed Xenor in a high-pitched
voice. He raked his oily hair back from his face and shifted
nervously like he had ants in his pants.

The front door swung open, and a woman in a
red-skirt uniform with short brown hair and a face like a mouse
stepped into the threshold.

“What do you want?” She had a bossy sort of
voice, and Zoey immediately disliked her.

Xenor flashed a smile. “Lord Xenor, here to
see Mrs. Dupont.”

“Do you have an appointment?” asked the
woman.

“No…but I hardly think that I need one—”

“Mrs. Dupont is very busy at the moment. I’m
afraid you’ll have to make an appointment to speak with her. Good
night.”

She began to close the door on them.

Xenor stuck his foot in the door just as it
was about to close and pushed through.

“Tell her that I have the redhead with me -
the one that can bend portals. She’ll want to see me. Trust
me.”

The woman regarded him with a dull
expression, but then she said, “Wait here.”

She kicked his foot from the door and closed
the door in his face.

Zoey needed to free her hands. But how? If
Tristan couldn’t break through the ropes, then she doubted she
could. Xenor had said that the bonds were mystic rope. What did
that mean? What could cut mystic rope? Mystic scissors? A mystic
knife?

The front door swung open again.

“This way, please,” said the same woman. She
turned on her heels and marched in the opposite direction.

Xenor turned around and smiled. His eyes
were black again, and his talons had reappeared. “Told you she’d
see me.”

“We never asked,” retorted Simon.

With a slight hop in his step, Xenor walked
through the doorway.

They followed him inside. Zoey was beginning
to doubt Lord Xenor more and more. He had the look of an outlaw
rather than a lord, even if he was from another world. There was
something odd about this whole thing.

They stepped into a great foyer with marble
floors. It had an enormous chandelier made from screaming mystic
heads with light bulbs coming out of their mouths. It gave Zoey the
creeps. When they had passed through the foyer, they walked into a
large hallway with doors leading into other rooms on either side.
Colorful tapestries hung on the walls, and plush oriental carpets
decorated the marble floors and the grand wooden staircase that led
to the upper levels. The heavy wooden furniture from the
16
^th
century that occupied the rooms as they walked by
was carved into strange, ugly creatures. Life-sized marble
sculptures stood against the walls. But the creepiest of all were
the portraits.

They were everywhere. Small spotlights
highlighted the portraits of Mrs. Dupont’s dead relatives that
lined the otherwise gloomy walls. Curiously, they were only
women.

There was a painting of a relative lying
across a red chaise longue, wearing a black dress with puffed
sleeves and a corset. Blonde ringlets fell down on the side of her
face, in a style reminiscent of the 16
^th
century. Zoey
slowed down and examined the painting more closely. Could this be a
great-aunt perhaps? The woman in the painting looked a lot like
Mrs. Dupont—except for one thing. The face was younger and not
altered. She looked like a normal woman.

The women in the pictures all had the same
odd eyes. Another portrait showed a woman in a beaded 1920s dress.
Her cheekbones were more pronounced, her lips a little fuller than
the one beside it…Zoey’s stomach lurched. These were not
generations of the Dupont family. These were
all
paintings
of Mrs. Dupont.