Mystics 3-Book Collection (32 page)

He armed his slingshot. “You don’t have a
choice, Zoey. You’re the closest one to the stairs. Don’t
worry—we’ve got this—Simon and I will take it on.”

Zoey’s voice wavered.

“But I can’t—I’m not going anywhere without
you guys.” Their eyes locked.

But she knew Tristan was right—she had a
chance to escape and get help. She
had
to take it.

The Daragon, cold and calculating, watched
Zoey for a moment and then switched its attention on Simon. But as
if it knew where the real threat lay, it turned finally to Tristan.
It was sizing him up for something, and Zoey thought she could see
an ugly smile forming on its face.

“It wants to fight me,” said Tristan calmly.
“Daragon’s love to fight a worthy opponent, and I guess I’m
it.”

“What? But why?” said Zoey, “Why you and not
us? Tristan, please, don’t do anything heroic—it’s not worth
it.”

“I
have
to do this. It’s our only
chance,” said Tristan.

“Right now, I’m its biggest threat. I’m
stronger than the two of you, so it sees me as a worthy challenge.
Daragon’s are very arrogant—it wants to prove to itself that it’s
stronger than me.”

“It
is
stronger,” said Zoey. “I know
what you’re doing. Stop trying to be brave and think. This is
crazy. It throws fire—remember? Tristan, don’t do this.”

“I have to. Go, Zoey—don’t worry—we’ll be
right behind you.”

Zoey blinked the dust from her eyes.
“Promise?”

Tristan smiled. “Promise.”

She looked at Simon, who blanched and was
turning green. “Simon?”

“It’ll be all right, Zoey, go,” his voice
cracked. “I’m sure Tristan knows what he’s doing—I hope.”

“Zoey, GO!” urged Tristan as he armed his
slingshot. “Quickly before it changes its mind and decides to go
after you.”

Tristan stepped forward as though he had
acknowledged the mystic’s challenge.

The Daragon grunted its acceptance of a
worthy opponent. It raised its head proudly and flexed its bulging
muscles.

Zoey pulled herself away from her friends
and ran for the staircase. She took the stairs two at a time
without stopping to look back. Tristan would be okay—they would
both be okay—they
had
to be.

She burst through the exit and onto the next
floor, sprinting like death itself was at her heals, but something
caught her foot, and she went sprawling.

Her breath had been knocked out of her like.
She wheezed to catch her breath and searched frantically for what
had tripped her. She had fallen over a bloody body that lay in the
middle of the corridor. There was nothing she could do for it now.
She scrambled to her feet, and started to run again.

“ZOEY!”

Zoey halted. She knew that voice. She
turned, and her knees weakened when she realized that the body was
not dead.

“Agent Barnes!” She kneeled beside him.
“Agent Stokes is the traitor! I figured it out! I recognized his
voice—he’s going to try to get the interloper. He’s going to use it
against us!”

Agent Barnes was bleeding from his nose and
from a gaping wound in his stomach.

“Oh my God, I thought you were a dead body.”
Zoey pressed on his wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Her
eyes burned.

“Zoey, listen to me,” croaked Agent Barnes
through his pain. “You’re right about Agent Stokes. He did this to
me.”

He paused for a moment. “He took me by
surprise and grabbed the interloper. I couldn’t stop him. But
you—you need to stop him.”

“Me? But how?” she stammered. “I’m not an
agent.”

“Zoey, listen to me carefully. You
must
destroy the interloper.”

His face was pale. “Before it’s too
late.”

Zoey swallowed. Her stomach twisted, but she
knew she
had
to try.

“How? How do I destroy it?”

“I don’t know—maybe fire? Do whatever it
takes to stop them from opening up the portal.”

Agent Barnes started coughing. Blood covered
his lips when he spoke.

“Agent Stokes is stupid—he thinks he’s doing
the right thing—but he’s being used. He’s just too stupid to
realize it. You need to stop him before he gives the interloper to
the Alphas. Once they open it, it’ll be too late for everyone. You
must
stop him, Zoey. You must.”

“Okay, I’ll give it my best shot,” She hoped
she sounded confident.

She looked at Agent Barnes. “Stay here and
don’t move. I’ll be back with help. I’m going to fetch Tristan and
Simon.”

She got up, but Agent Barnes grabbed her
wrist with more strength than she thought he still possessed.

“There’s no time. Go now. Forget about
me—I’ll be ok,” he urged. “The interloper is more important than my
life. The fate of this world depends on you destroying it.
Everything else is secondary, even me. You must understand. Now,
go.”

Zoey looked around helplessly, “Where?”

“They’re on the roof. Go back and take the
stairs. Go—go now!”

Zoey wiped the sweat from her face with the
back of her hand. She didn’t want Agent Barnes to die. With a final
look at him, she ran back towards the stairs and headed for the
roof.

She drew strength from her anger—Agent
Stokes was going to pay. She was going to
make
him pay.

She pushed open the door at the top of the
stairs. The sky was a deep blue, and an orange sun was setting in
the west. A cool breeze caressed her hot face. London’s lights
glowed like jewels around her. It was beautiful.

The rooftop was a giant rectangle. The buzz
of the air exhaust vents from the building’s air conditioning
system masked her footsteps. She hid behind an air conditioning box
and peered around it. Her heart skipped a beat.

A skeletally thin woman in a black, tailored
suit stood in the center of the rooftop. She wore a floppy wide
brimmed red-feathered hat, like those Zoey had seen on women from
the costume shops. The woman’s face was just as distorted and
stretched as she remembered it. It was Mrs. Dupont. She held
something in her hands and was admiring it lovingly. Was it the
interloper?

A man was with her—the same man that had
locked Zoey and her friends in the basement and had killed Mrs.
Andrews and the old man.

Zoey shrank back behind the air conditioning
unit. The man was huge and strong, and he had a gun. If she got a
little closer, she could hit him in the head with her boomerang.
But even if she were lucky enough to get rid of him somehow—there
was still the creepy Mrs. Dupont. Zoey suspected she might be a
Mysterian herself—she looked part mystic—maybe even part Daragon.
Was she super powerful like Tristan?

It all seemed impossible. She hoped Tristan
and Simon were having better luck than she was. She held her breath
and crept over to the next air conditioning box. Mrs. Dupont and
the man hadn’t moved, but she was still too far away for a clear
shot. She ducked down and moved closer as silently as she could.
She was close enough to hear the murmurs of their voice. She was
close enough to take a shot. She gripped her boomerang firmly and
aimed.

But something hit her on the back.

Zoey fell to her knees and dropped her
boomerang.

Whoever had hit her, hit her again. She felt
her ribcage split apart with the force of the blow, and she rolled
over on the ground in agonizing pain.

“So, you’re the one who’s been snooping
around,” said an angry voice.

Blinking through her tears, she looked
up.

Agent Stokes hissed at her. “The
Drifter—
you tried to ruin my plans before, and you made me
look stupid and disloyal in front of my mistress.”

“You look stupid all by yourself,” spat
Zoey.

He backhanded her across the face, and she
tasted blood in her mouth.

Zoey glared at him, wanting nothing more
than to avenge Agent Barnes.

“Well, you didn’t succeed,” he sneered, “and
now I’m going to kill you.”

Z
oey screamed as
Agent Stokes dragged her across the roof by her hair. Her eyes
watered, and the world was a blur. He hurled her to the ground and
kicked her in the stomach again.

“You tried to ruin my plans, you little
brat, but you didn’t succeed. How could you? You’re nothing but a
foolish little girl with a death sentence.”

“I’m not a little girl,” growled Zoey—where
were Agent Barnes, Tristan, Simon? The pain in her broken ribs was
unbearable when she sobbed. She tried to control her breathing.

“Oh, but you are, and a very stupid one at
that. Did you really think that you could come here and stop
me
? I killed your beloved Agent Barnes, and you’re going to
wish you were dead before I’m finished with you. First, I’m going
to rip it out your tongue—”

“Enough!” commanded a woman’s voice.

Zoey peered up at Mrs. Dupont. She cradled a
metal cube in her hands. It had rows of smaller cubes on each face,
but instead of colors, like a Rubik’s cube, the little cubes had
geometric symbols on their surfaces. The interloper.

“You’ve had your fun, Sylvester, now let her
go.”

Mrs. Dupont looked down at Zoey. “I need her
alive to answer some questions first.”

“Mrs. Dupont, you don’t understand,” began
Agent Stokes. “She’s the one that almost ruined everything! Let me
kill her! Please!”

He pulled out a knife and grabbed Zoey by
the hair. He yanked her head back painfully, and she could feel the
cool blade sharp against her throat. She held her breath.

Mrs. Dupont walked casually towards her.
“Not yet. I have a few questions that need answering. You can kill
her after. I promise. Let her go, Sylvester—don’t make me ask you
again.”

She smiled at Zoey, and her face twisted
grotesquely—as though some of the muscles in her face moved, while
others did not.

Agent Stokes released his hold on Zoey’s
hair and pushed her to the ground. “You’re dead, Drifter.
Dead
.”

But then the man with the gun and the white
eye moved closer and glowered at Zoey.

“I locked you in with the monsters—you
should be dead—or better yet, torn to shreds. How did you escape?”
he asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” answered Zoey.
She matched his scowl.

“Thank you, Nazar,” said Mrs. Dupont, and
she waved him aside. “I’ll take it from here.”

Nazar stepped back slowly. His milky white
eye was locked on Zoey, and she shuddered involuntarily.

Mrs. Dupont turned her cat-like eyes to Zoey
and examined her more closely.

“So you’re the Drifter,” she said
finally.

“How remarkable. I’m very impressed. You are
exceptionally resourceful for someone so young. Not even an agent
has been lucky enough to get as close to me as you stand now—and
yet here
you
are—just a girl. But you’re not just a girl,
are you? There is something unique about you—am I right? Yes, of
course I am. Tell me, what’s your name?”

Zoey spit out some blood. “Zoey.”

“Zoey,” echoed Mrs. Dupont. “You’re a very
brave girl, Zoey. You’re the one who eavesdropped on my
conversation with Sylvester back in the hall. I remember you well.
I never forget a face. Tell me, how did you
find
us then?
Did someone tell you where to find us?”

Zoey shrugged. “No. I don’t know. Someone
pushed me when I was using my DSM, and I just appeared there. I
don’t know really know how I did it. I just did.”

“Very interesting.” Mrs. Dupont looked as
though she was trying to frown, but her brow only twitched
awkwardly.

“Tell me, Zoey, what were you
thinking
—right before you used your precious mirror
device?”

“I don’t know—to get back to the hive?”

Zoey started to feel uncomfortable under the
unnerving stare of Mrs. Dupont’s cat-like eyes. It was almost as
though she knew something else—something about her.

“Is it possible you were thinking about the
stolen
interloper
?” Mrs. Dupont inquired. She sounded
excited, and her feline features twisted in a grotesque smile.

Zoey’s hair rose up on the back of her neck.
She remembered. She
had
thought of the interloper right
before Stuart had pushed her. She had wondered if the interloper
looked like their DSM’s, if it had mirrors. How did Mrs. Dupont
know what she had been thinking?

“By the look on your face, I gather that you
did.” Mrs. Dupont’s face twitched.

“I’ll tell you what happened, my dear girl.
You
thought
of the interloper, and then you mirror-ported
yourself to the anchor that was nearest to it.”

Zoey tensed. “I don’t understand.”

“No—you wouldn’t—but
I
do.”

The way Mrs. Dupont was staring at Zoey made
her very uncomfortable. It was almost like Zoey was a prize that
Mrs. Dupont had been waiting for, for a very long time.

Mrs. Dupont’s eyes shone excitedly. “Tell me
Zoey, where are you from? What are your parents’ names?”

Something clicked inside her, and Zoey
decided to stop playing nice. Nothing good could come of telling
her the truth. The more information she gave this woman, the more
danger would come to her.

“Bill and Marge St. John,” she lied, putting
on her best poker face.

Mrs. Dupont and Nazar shared a look, and
then she looked back at Zoey. “Really? How interesting.”

Mrs. Dupont was quiet for a moment, but she
looked excited.

“That red hair you have—it’s almost like
it’s on fire, isn’t’ it? It’s very beautiful and very
rare
.
I’ve only seen it once before, a long time ago—on a woman—and her
name wasn’t Marge St. John.”

She focused on Zoey more intently. “You made
up those names, didn’t you? Don’t lie to me, girl. Tell me who they
are. What’s the harm in knowing someone’s name? You can tell
me.”