Praxis Novellas, Mosaic Chronicles Book Two Page 4

  Nicole dropped her cello and bow, jumping for the sheets, trying to catch them. “No, no!” She caught hold of a paper, but it ripped from her hand, leaving a small piece behind which she thrust into her pocket.

  Then the vortex gushed out through the broken frame. Nicole lunged for the papers, falling to the floor six feet from the window. She almost started bawling when she realized she’d lost everything—she’d never know what Mrs. Morse had written.

  A sudden desire to look out that window pulsed through her system, so intense she couldn’t ignore it, and she got to her knees. Music filled the air around her, coming from both inside and out. Something urged her to get to her feet and cross to the window, even while her heart screamed at her to run from the room.

  She stood and took a haltering step forward. One more step and she was close enough to see what was on the other side. She looked, expecting the city lights below and the buildings of the university.

  But there was no city. No lights.

  Only blackness. A completely incomprehensible void.

  And shadows—shadows moving through that void.

  Nicole felt her breath escape in a rush. The darkness was so near, she felt she could reach out and touch it. The shadows moved closer.

  And then a bright yellow eye appeared. Just one. Followed by another. Then three more. Then four. Then a sea of yellow eyes blinked into visibility, all trained on her. The shadows inched forward.

  A huge gust of wind rushed around her, whipping her hair into her eyes and mouth, taking her breath away. With a pop, the ceiling light behind her burst, thrusting her into full blackness. She was alone, aside from yellow spots and an unseeing old woman still playing a cello.

  Nicole fell back from the window, gasping, wiping the hair out of her face. And then something occurred to her. Mrs. Morse wasn’t a Wind Arete.

  But Nicole was. And her magic did come through the cello—but not hers. The understanding of this fact filled her soul and she jumped back, following the sounds of Anna Morse’s playing, tripping over her chair.

  “Mrs. Morse! Mrs. Morse, give me your cello!”

  The elderly woman didn’t respond.

  Putting her hands out, Nicole shuffled toward the woman on her knees. Avoiding being struck by the flying arm and fingers, she pried Mrs. Morse from the instrument and bow, ignoring as the woman fell to the ground. For a terrible moment, silence filled the room.

  Nicole sat on the chair and yanked the cello into position. The moment it rested against her, with her left hand in the correct place, she felt a warmth spread from her chest and up into the middle of her skull. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt before.

  Not taking time to consider what had happened, she started playing. She began with the first thing that popped into her mind—Pachelbel’s Canon. But nothing happened. She didn’t know what should happen. Maybe Mrs. Morse’s tunes from earlier would do it? Nicole began playing those, leaning forward, staring at the black space.

  She felt something stir in her heart, and lights began swirling around inside the cello, popping out through the holes on either side of the bridge. Magic! She couldn’t tear her eyes from the void in front of her, but she knew it wasn’t strong enough—she needed to try something else.

  Just then, something happened that made her breath choke in her throat. One of the yellow eyes, at least a foot across, appeared in the window. Shadows—discernible, even in the complete blackness—spread out from either side of the eye, reaching in, creeping along the walls, ceiling, and floor. An ancient, magical pulse, originating from the eye, washed over her.

  Nicole shrieked, nearly lifting her feet from the ground so the shadows couldn’t touch her. She cast her mind everywhere she could think to put it. Music! She needed something stronger than Mrs. Morse’s songs!

  Smetana’s Moldau flew from her fingers, her bow following, and she started at the only part she could remember—somewhere close to the beginning when the cellos play a fast, river-like background harmony.

  The lights sparking from her cello got brighter and brighter until they were no longer sparks, but flowing, flooding, illuminated air. A great dam burst around her, releasing the magic that had been pent up for so long.

  The great eye blinked, trembled. The shadows stopped advancing.

  Nicole played faster and stronger, concentrating as hard as possible. She moved onto other pieces she was just as passionate about. Songs by Schuman and Tchaikovsky. She chose composers of the Romantic era—all her favorites. The music she loved most.

  And the lights and air rushed from the cello, bursting where Nicole directed them—toward the large creature blocking the window.

  She wasn’t sure, but it looked like the monster stepped away. Just a little. And then again.

  But she realized something. She couldn’t possibly stop this thing and the other forces trying to get into the room. The magical pulse was stronger now—these creatures were much more powerful than she.

  Perhaps she could delay them long enough to get Mrs. Morse to safety. Maybe. She focused her energy through the music of the cello, directing the wind toward the unblinking eye. A sudden homesickness swept through her and she wished Lizzie was there with her, helping to make things right again. Nicole had no idea what she was doing.

  Exhaustion—complete and utter—enveloped her, and she felt her limbs and joints try to freeze up. But still she continued, relentless. As she watched, the shadows dissipated. The eye moved until it was at least ten feet away.

  She ran out of songs and started back at the beginning, with The Moldau.

  Then the eye disappeared just as her body gave up. She could play no more.

  Nicole dropped the cello. “Mrs. Morse?” No response. She felt around in the darkness until she found the woman and checked for a pulse. It was faint, and Nicole might have imagined it.

  Not even caring that she was leaving behind an instrument that was worth several hundred thousand dollars—perhaps millions—Nicole grabbed Mrs. Morse and heaved her toward safety—a faint light from the hallway guiding her, shining underneath the door.

  No telling how much time she had before the creatures returned—if they’d even left.

  Nicole pulled Mrs. Morse from the room—luckily, the frail woman weighed hardly anything. She slammed the door behind them, then picked up the lady as best she could and stumbled down the hall, toward the elevator, praying it would come fast. No way could she take the stairs with a half-dead woman.

  A low, guttural, musical note sounded behind her—muted by the door. Mrs. Morse cried out, making Nicole squeal with fright. The woman struggled to get away, but Nicole was stronger.

  The entire building shook and Mrs. Morse fainted. Nicole braced herself against the wall. The elevator door opened and she stepped in, pulling Mrs. Morse with her. She punched the button for her floor over and over again, willing the doors to shut. They finally did. With a jolt, the contraption moved down, lower and lower, carrying the women farther away from the creatures on the seventh floor.

  Nicole half dragged, half carried Mrs. Morse to her apartment. One of her neighbors opened his door and watched as Nicole dragged the lady past. He didn’t do anything to help. The music from above increased and he cocked his head, apparently listening to it. He hummed along for a couple of measures, then smiled at Nicole and slowly shut his door. She almost dropped the old woman in shock. Why would he do that?

  Nicole pushed into her room and put the lady on the couch. She ran into the bedroom, pulling out Professor Nielsen’s business card and grabbing her cell phone.

  “Professor? It’s Nicole—sorry I’m calling so late.”

  “I’m awake—I had a feeling you’d be getting in touch.”

  Nicole explained to him what had happened—how she’d played her cello with Mrs. Morse, how the window had shattered and she’d seen eyes. She was about to continue when he interrupted her.

  “You must get out of that building as soon as possible. Leave the woman a
nd anything else that doesn’t belong to you.”

  “I couldn’t do that! She’ll die! Those things want her!”

  “Exactly! Nicole, please, listen to me. Whatever forces Mrs. Morse has been fighting know her—they’ll follow wherever you take her. Leave her there and get out now!”

  Nicole took a deep breath. “Okay. Where do I go?”

  “Meet me outside my building on campus. My wife and I will be there in ten minutes.”

  Nicole grabbed her keys, phone, purse, and suitcase. She hesitated when she saw the cello case, but knew she couldn’t risk going upstairs to get either instrument. After a cursory glance over the apartment, she left Mrs. Morse—still in a faint—on the couch and shut the door.

  Luckily, the elevator was still on her floor. While waiting for it to reach its destination, she pulled the key to her apartment off the chain and dropped it. Mr. Landon would find it there.

  She got off the elevator.

  The building rumbled, pictures fell to the floor with a crash, and that low, musical note flooded around Nicole, forcing into her mind memories of the beasts she’d encountered while in Arches National Park. She panicked, realizing the creature had probably broken its way into Mrs. Morse’s room.

  Nicole raced through the front doors, not bothering to shut them behind her. Her arms were sore from playing, but she ignored the pain, holding her large suitcase to her chest. It didn’t seem so heavy as last time, or perhaps her terror gave her strength.

  Guided by the moon, she dashed down the steep road, almost tripping several times. The ground beneath her trembled. She didn’t look back. Shadows flitted on either side of her.

  Suddenly, something or someone grabbed her, nearly causing her to fall.

  “Don’t go—please don’t go,” an elderly man said.

  A woman behind him also reached for Nicole. “Yes—you could get used to it.” A smile lingered behind her words. Her pale eyes glinted in the moonlight.

  Several others approached, exiting the buildings on either side of the road, all reaching for Nicole, grinning, eyes flashing.

  The guttural, musical sound from the building increased and Nicole dropped her suitcase, clamping her hands over her ears. She watched the others, but they just grinned wider at her reaction.

  The old lady nearest Nicole snatched her hands away from her head. “Enjoy it!” Her fingers pinched Nicole’s wrists, and another woman grabbed Nicole’s shoulders, holding her in place.

  “And girlie, you’ll love what comes next!”

  Nicole struggled against them, fighting their strong grips. She shoved and kicked and whirled, trying to get away. A sob escaped her throat. “Let me go! Please, let me go!”

  The smells of the canal grew stronger, nearly suffocating her; the people didn’t seem to notice.

  With one final burst, punching and scratching and elbowing, Nicole thrust herself away. Leaving her suitcase behind, she raced forward, barely noticing she still had her purse.

  She reached the canal and ran across the bridge. The people didn’t follow—they stood on the other side, howling, begging her to return.

  Her car doors were already unlocked—she didn’t remember them being that way, but didn’t care. She hopped in, tossing her purse on the seat beside her, and shut the door. She revved the engine and peeled away, driving as fast as she could to Misto University.

  ***

  By the time Nicole arrived at the university, her breathing and heartbeat had almost returned to normal. The lights on campus were cheerful—twinkling, reassuring. She parked in the lot nearest the music and art building and turned off the car, leaving her hands on the steering wheel. She’d made it. She’d actually made it.

  After a moment of deep breathing, Nicole grabbed her purse and opened the door.

  Professor Nielsen waved from the entrance to the building, a woman at his side, and Nicole walked toward them, a smile of relief spreading across her face.

  ***

  “I thought you said you’d be able to find it.” Austin pocketed his phone and looked at Nicole.

  She held her breath as his warm brown eyes stared into hers, but then pushed the twitter-pated feeling aside when what he’d said entered her brain.

  “I can.” Nicole turned to Lizzie, exasperated that she and Austin might not believe the street had existed. “Come on, you talked to me on the phone several times while I was here and heard all of my descriptions. It’s not like I’d forget, especially after everything that happened.”

  Lizzie nodded, her red curls bouncing. “Yup. And you said it was a twenty minute walk from the university, right? But in which direction?”

  Nicole didn’t answer. How could an entire city street vanish? She turned back to the dirty canal they’d been following for the past forty minutes, trying to see something—anything. The smell of the murky water, along with the memories that accompanied that stench, made her gag. She pushed her thoughts away, focusing on the other side of the canal. Nothing popped out at her, and she growled in frustration.

  The other two followed, Austin keeping up easily—he was several inches taller than Nicole’s five-foot ten—but Lizzie, who was super short, had to jog to stay even with the others.

  Lizzie and Austin had taken a weekend off from school in Seattle just so Nicole could show them the creepy place where she’d lived for three weeks. Three entire weeks! Finding the street—one that crossed this canal—shouldn’t have been so difficult.

  She growled again, refusing to believe she was going crazy, and faced the others. “Well, it was around here somewhere. Sorry I wasted the trip.” She felt especially bad since she didn’t know Austin very well—they’d only met a couple of months earlier. And even though he was friendly now and even a little flirty, she still felt him hesitating where she was concerned and it made her self-conscious.

  “Not wasted,” Austin said with an uncharacteristic grin. He so rarely smiled. “I’d always wanted to visit Misto University. It was fascinating—I could feel its ancient, magical pulse. It’s no wonder so many Silvers are attracted to the area.”

  Nicole rolled her eyes at the mention of “Silvers,” a nickname given to magical people when they got older. Elderly people deserved respect, not nicknames. “Yeah, the magic here is different from what we have back home, that’s for sure.” She didn’t think Ohio was better than their campus in Seattle. Different, yes, but not better.

  Lizzie grabbed Nicole’s arm, turning her away from the canal. “Seriously, can we go find food now? I’m starving.”

  “Sure . . .” Nicole sent one last searching look at the buildings and houses across the water, then followed Austin and Lizzie back to the rental car.

  “Did Professor Nielsen ever wonder if you were telling the truth?” Lizzie asked after they’d settled into a booth at a pizza parlor.

  Nicole shook her head. “Nope. The only thing we talked about was how Mrs. Morse’s cello allowed me to direct my magic, while my own didn’t.” She glanced at Austin who seemed to want to say something. “What do you think?”

  “I have theories,” he said. “I think the cello has to be authentic—not a cheap knock off you could buy from eBay. It has to be an actual Stradivarius or made by someone equally talented of the past. Not only that, but an older instrument would better carry your magic, since the wood vibrates better than a new one.”

  Nicole nodded, sipping her water. It didn’t surprise her how much Austin knew. He was smart that way. “Professor Nielsen said the same thing. Unfortunately, cellos like that are hard to find. And expensive.”

  Lizzie snorted. “Just call your dad and tell him to take care of it.”

  “No—I don’t want to involve my parents. It would be best if I found it myself.”

  She sighed, wondering how she’d come up with the necessary money. “I still can’t believe the street disappeared.”

  Austin watched her for a moment, then rubbed his chin. “Have you considered that maybe you’re not meant to find it again?�
��

  Nicole looked into his searching eyes, nearly forgetting herself there. She blinked, giving herself a mental shake. “I have, but I don’t like it.”

  Lizzie chuckled. “Sounds like you’re going to have to get used to the idea.”

  “Yes, most likely I will.”

  Nicole put a hand to her pocket, checking that the sliver of paper was still there. She couldn’t make out the bit that Mrs. Morse had written on it, but at least she had it as proof that the night had really happened.

  ###

  The Manor

  A Mosaic Chronicles Novella

  Andrea Pearson

  Copyright 2015 Andrea Pearson

  Book design and layout copyright 2015 Andrea Pearson

  Cover design copyright 2015 Andrea Pearson and James E. Curwen

  Summary: Austin receives a photograph in the mail and quickly discovers something about it isn’t quite right: every time he looks at it, there are changes.

  And the changes aren’t good.

  The Manor Dedication

  To my brother Glenn

  Whose beautiful photographs practically come alive

  The Manor

  Savoring the smell of chicken-flavored ramen noodles, Austin turned off the stove and dumped the noodles into a large bowl. He set the bowl on the counter to cool next to that morning’s mail and opened a package he’d gotten from his older brother. Inside, he found a scrap of paper with scraggly writing on it taped over a framed 8X10 picture.

  Austin,

  Bought this for $150. Thought you’d appreciate it. Call it a late eighteenth birthday present.

  - Cody

  Austin pulled the note off the picture and frowned. The image of a Victorian-styled manor greeted him, surrounded by trees and a big front lawn. It looked like one of many similar places dotting the city of Seattle, where he attended Katon University. And not only was the photograph—probably taken in the late 1800s—generic, but it wasn’t very good. Definitely the work of an amateur, and not worth the price. Why would Cody pay so much for this?