Mystics 3-Book Collection (6 page)

Zoey’s attention was quickly diverted when a
beautiful steed galloped by. Its body blazed like a wildfire in red
and orange flames. She felt the heat from its body on her face. She
had never seen anything so beautiful, but she resisted the
temptation to reach out and touch it lest she burn her fingers. She
wasn’t sure if the fire was real.

“Get back here you insubordinate
animal!”

A skinny bald man in overalls and a plaid
shirt whose knees cracked as he struggled to run after the horse
called out, “You’re not allowed on the main floor. Come back here!
I’ll hose you down, horse!”

The horse neighed loudly and left only a
fiery-red trail behind as it disappeared through the main
doors.

The strangest beasts Zoey had ever seen
passed her by without even a glance in her direction. With her
heart hammering in her ears, she strained to calm down—if Agent
Barnes could be so cool, then so could she. But she turned her head
in every direction as they walked through the hall as she tried to
absorb everything at once.

A tall thin woman flailed her hands in the
air as she spoke to another group of agents. “Rank six mystics took
the Paris subway system hostage. It took us five hours to
neutralize the situation. I don’t get paid enough for this kind of
work…”

Agent Barnes grinned at Zoey’s amazement.
“Told you it was awesome.”

Zoey wasn’t sure if she would call this
awesome just yet—every single monster she’d ever faced before had
wanted to harm her.

But it was different here—the monsters
almost seemed
nice
. It was like a whole new world had opened
up to her. Monsters and humans walked and talked together like it
was the most ordinary thing in the world, as though they were one
big happy family.

She followed Agent Barnes to where a woman
scribbling in a large ledger sat behind a long polished
counter.

“I see they’re working you to the bone, Mrs.
Andrews,” he said with a smile. “Do you ever get time off? I hope
you’re getting paid time and a half for your trouble.”

Mrs. Andrews appeared to be in her late
fifties. She wore thick glasses and pinched expression as though
she had never smiled in her entire life. Her hair was done into a
long blond braid, which fell over her light blue suit. Her thin
lips were pressed in a hard line.

“It’s late. I was on my way out,” she said
without looking up. Her voice dripped with contempt.

“You’re lucky you caught me, Agent Barnes.
May I remind you that office hours are from
nine
to
seven
. It’s half-past eight, and the night watch doesn’t
begin until nine o’clock.”

“So why are you still here then?” said Agent
Barnes playfully. “Were you waiting for me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Agent Barnes. I was
just tidying up for tomorrow morning. Now, what is it that you
want? I don’t have all night.”

“I’m here to see Management, my dear woman.
They’re expecting us,” he said importantly and threw out his
chest.

At the mention of
us
, Mrs. Andrews
raised her head and gazed at Zoey. Her gray eyes were magnified by
her glasses and looked like giant crystal balls.

“And who might this be? I’ve never seen the
likes of her before? Her looks are certainly nothing to be
considered, and those awful clothes—dear God, her hair’s as red as
carrots!”

Zoey glowered.

Mrs. Andrews didn’t seem to notice. “Well,
she’s too young to be an operative. You can’t just bring in
any
stray Mute, Agent Barnes, we have strict rules about
that you know—even if she looks half-starved and in desperate need
of a bath. The agency won’t approve.”

Agent Barnes leaned over the counter and
whispered, “She’s not a Mute—she’s a
Drifter
.”

Mrs. Andrews’s eyes quadrupled in size.

“A Drifter! You don’t say? Well, I must
say—this is a surprise. I haven’t seen a Drifter in over thirty
years. Well, well, well. This will be the talk of the hive! Wait
till Mrs. Crawley hears—I can’t wait to see the look on her face.
Ha! The Wilson’s divorce is
nothing
compared to this bit of
news, and I’m the one who saw her first.”

Mrs. Andrews clapped her hands excitedly,
with a jubilant expression on her face like someone who had just
won the lottery.

Zoey caught several curious looks from
people passing them. Her face burned, and she wished Mrs. Andrews
would stop fussing and stay quiet.

Zoey ignored the woman’s stares and looked
around for Tristan. Maybe he wasn’t back from Boston.

“Just tell them that we’re here and that
we’re going up. Come on, Red, let’s go.” Agent Barnes steered Zoey
away from the counter.

She was glad to be away from those big
creepy eyes. Halfway down the hall Zoey turned around and caught
Mrs. Andrews still staring—an odd smile covered her face, as if she
were plotting something evil.

“So, where are we going now?” she asked,
looking away from the creepy woman.

Two large staircases led up to higher
levels. Agent Barnes walked up to the staircase on the right. The
words,
Floors 1 - 4
,
BL
, were written in black on the
wall at the base of the stairs.

“Up to the third floor,” he answered.
“That’s where Management is waiting for us—well, waiting for
you
, mostly.”

Zoey became uneasy again. What were they
going to do with her? Had this been a huge mistake? Were they going
to fry her, after all? …lock her in the basement like some
criminal? Or worse—perform unconventional experiments on her?

Running was an option—she was very good at
running away. If she made a run for the woods she could probably
make it. But how would she sneak past that dreadful and unsettling
Mrs. Andrews? Zoey’s legs felt like cement blocks.

She followed Agent Barnes up three flights
of stairs, through a doorway on level three, and into a hallway
with light gray walls and a tan polished floor. Doors lined the
corridor on either side, and tubular chrome sconces lit the walls
at intervals. Their treads resonated in the quiet hall and echoed
the beating of Zoey’s heart.

Agent Barnes stopped in front of the second
door. Zoey read the inscription:
Mystic Laws and Regulations,
Room 3B.
The muffled voices from the inside sounded like they
were having an argument.

Zoey’s insides churned.

“What does this Agency
do
exactly?”
she asked, her voice dry and cracking. She didn’t want to go in
just yet—she needed a little bit more information first—like what
tools they were going to use to torture her.

Agent Barnes turned and looked at her.

“The agency is a secret force that protects
most major cities around the world,” he answered. “Think of us as
supernatural peace keepers. Our mandate is to protect the human
world from evil mystics that don’t respect the treaty. We’re
charged with keeping a balance between humanity and the mystics. We
patrol the borders between the two worlds.”

Mystics
, Zoey repeated in her mind.
“What about this Management organization? I get that they’re
probably
your
boss, but are they everyone’s boss?”

“Management is
our
government, so to
speak. Each hive is governed by a group of seven directors. And
each director is in charge of a different division in the hive.
Tonight
you
get to meet some of them. Young Sevenths don’t
normally meet so many directors on the same night—you’re very
lucky.”

Zoey thought she was going to puke.

“Don’t look so panicked. They don’t bite,”
said Agent Barnes gently. “Well, maybe just director Martin…but the
others seem to be fairly decent people.”

Zoey kept her eyes low to the ground. “You
don’t sound very convincing.”

She swallowed. “What’s going to happen to
me?”

“Nothing that’s worth you fretting about
like this.” Agent Barnes put his hand on Zoey’s shoulder. His voice
was compassionate.

“Listen kid,
we’re
the good guys, and
we’re going to do what’s best for you. It’s lucky we found you when
we did.
You’re
one of
us,
and we take care of our
kind. You’ll have a real home here, with kids your own age and
people who care about you. You belong here with us, not with the
Mutes.”

Zoey screwed up her face. “I’m lost—what are
Mutes
?”

“Mutes are persons that are deaf and blind
to the supernatural around them. Their seventh sense has been
turned off, muted, so to speak. Like us, some are born with the
gift, and some are not. Sometimes kids will have the seventh sense,
and then it will go away as they age. Then they become Mutes like
the majority of the human population.”

“So how many of us are there in the world?”
asked Zoey.

“About point five percent of the human
population,” said Agent Barnes.

“Mutes and Sevenths don’t mix very well. In
fact, most of them would probably have us all locked up. Since they
can’t
see
what we see, they think we’re crazy. It’s better
that we keep to ourselves and go about our business. Mind you, some
Mutes have married Sevenths, but that’s really rare. It’s not
encouraged to lie to your spouse about your job, or who you are. We
just stick to the program.”

“So do all the people like us live here at
the hive?”

“No, some of us work here,” said Agent
Barnes. “Out-of-towners sometimes stay here, too. But you see,
Zoey, there are also small communities all over the world with only
Sevenths in them. Humankind has enough to worry about without
having to deal with a subculture that could be seen to threaten
their very validity. It is our job to protect the outside world
from truths that they are not yet ready to know.”

“Right,” said Zoey.

He gave Zoey a questioning look. “Any more
questions before we go in?”

Of course she had more questions, but they
would have to wait. She just shook her head and kept her mouth shut
for the time being.

Agent Barnes gave a nod and turned towards
the door. He knocked twice, and they went inside.

The room was large and square with rows of
windows at the opposite side. Twenty chairs framed a great oak
table in the middle of the room. Four important looking people sat
on the opposite side of the table, three men and a woman.

“Ah, at last, Agent Barnes,” said one of the
men as he waved them in. “Please come in and introduce us to our
newest guest.”

He had a round cheerful face, a neatly
trimmed white beard, and smiling eyes under a mass of thinning
white hair. He looked like a retired professor whose large girth
was exposed because his plaid suit was two sizes too small. His
small red bowtie finished his look.

Agent Barnes walked up to the desk. Clasping
his hands behind him, he stood tall and proud. “Thank you, director
Hicks.”

He nodded to the others, “director Johnson,
director Martin, and director Campbell. I’d like you to meet Zoey
St. John.” He turned and motioned for Zoey to move forward.

Obediently, she stepped in beside him. In
the moment of silence, she was afraid they would hear the loud
thumping of her heart. She tried to breathe normally, not sure what
to do or say. Everyone was staring at her like she had just landed
from Mars.

One of the men had dark skin and a face that
showed no emotion, almost as if he were a wax figure, maybe he
was
a wax figure. The other man was younger with a pale face
and dark eyes that never blinked—he reminded Zoey of an android.
The only other person who showed an ounce of emotion was the woman.
She looked bored. Her blond hair was cut square across her pointy
chin, and she was dressed in a bold patterned jacket that looked as
if it had been made from old curtains.

Zoey’s nerves danced. She smiled at each
director as she was introduced, but only director Hicks returned
her smile. She felt like she was standing in front of a prison
parole board—and they weren’t keen on letting her out.

“Pleased to meet you, Zoey,” said director
Hicks, still smiling. “Welcome to the agency. Please sit down.”

Zoey blushed. “Thank you,” she managed to
say.

She pulled out a chair and sat next to Agent
Barnes.

“So this is the
Drifter
?” said the
youngest director. His raspy voice sounded as though he had smoked
a million cigarettes. Zoey didn’t like that way he emphasized the
word
Drifter
. His pale face had wrinkled prematurely, and he
looked much older than he probably was. He had dark hair with
splashes of gray, dark eyes, and a sunken face that looked like he
hadn’t eaten in months. His striped gray suit was tailored to
perfection.

“She doesn’t look like much. She looks
half-starved and dirty, like one of those street kids,” he said
with disdain.

Zoey disliked him immediately.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant, director
Martin,” said director Hicks.

He turned his blue eyes to Zoey. “So, Zoey,
Agent Barnes tells us that you are an orphan and that you have no
idea who your real parents are. You were given to the St. John’s
orphanage without any sort of identification, without any birth
records. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.” She saw the woman and director
Martin exchange a dark look.

“And how old are you?”

“Just turned fourteen, sir—director, sir,”
answered Zoey, and then she added, “They gave me the sixteenth of
May as my birthday, but I don’t know my real one.”

Director Hicks nodded and laced his fingers
on the desk.

“And you’ve been living in foster care this
whole time, fighting off dangerous mystics on your own to stay
alive. What’s even more remarkable to us is that for fourteen years
you’ve managed to keep the Mutes from discovering you—discovering
what you
are
to be more precise. For someone so young,
that’s quite extraordinary.”