Mystics 3-Book Collection Read Online Free PDF Page A

and she noticed that he was doing his best not to meet her
eyes. “It’ll all become clearer, but first you have to come with
us. Trust me, you’ll be a lot safer with us—I promise we won’t hurt
you.”
    Zoey studied Tristan’s face, she could
always tell when someone was lying, and he wasn’t. She let out a
long sigh and said, “Okay, I believe you. All I own is in my
backpack, so you could say that I’m already packed for the trip.
Where are you taking me?”
    It was Agent Barnes who answered. “To the
hive.”
     

Chapter 3
Hive # 416
     
     
     
     
    After a brief conversation on his cell
phone, Agent Barnes ordered everyone out of the theatre. He told
Zoey to sit tight while they waited for their ride. The rain had
stopped, and bright stars winked from a dark blue sky. Agent Lee
leaned on the theatre’s front wall, eyeing her suspiciously from a
distance. He stood with his right hand on his hip like a cowboy
ready to draw. He hadn’t forgiven her for the blow to his kneecap.
Since she had made up her mind to join them to go to whatever this
hive was, she sat on the edge of the sidewalk and tied her wild red
mane into a ponytail and waited.
    Tristan came and sat next to her. “So, how
long have you been a foster kid?”
    At first she was taken aback by the
question. Her skin tingled at his nearness almost as though there
were another monster nearby. But the sensation soon vanished, as
though it had never happened.
    After a moment, she answered. “Since I was
four, so about ten years.”
    “Do you remember your real parents?”
    Zoey stared at her shoes, a heavy weight on
her heart. “Not really. I get images sometimes. I know my mother
had red hair like mine, but that’s it, I don’t remember my father
at all.”
    “Do you know what happened to them?” asked
Tristan, his voice soft and full of compassion.
    Zoey shook her head. “No. All they could
tell me back at the orphanage was that I was dropped off without a
name at one of the facilities. I don’t know who they were, or if
they’re alive or dead. Without a real name, it’s not like I can
look for them either.”
    Tristan threw a pebble into the street. “So
who gave you the name Zoey St. John?”
    “The orphanage did.”
    She felt a sting in her chest as she always
did when she spoke of the orphanage—it always made her
uncomfortable, like she was a second-class citizen. Seeing her name
written down had made it seem more real to her, even though she
knew it wasn’t her given name. One day she would discover
her real name, she promised herself.
    “I was named after the St. John’s orphanage
in Toronto,” she continued, “that’s how they name the nameless
kids. They chose names for kids alphabetically, and when I was
dropped off they were up to the letter Z. They gave us easy names
to remember I guess. I’m just glad they didn’t call me Jane
Doe .”
    “I think Zoey St. John is a cool name.”
    Zoey felt the heat rise on her face.
    She thought it was best to change the
subject before she began to sweat and before her face turned the
same color as her hair. “So, how long have you been an agent?”
    Tristan scratched the back of his neck, his
face reddening as well. “I’m not an agent. I’m just an
operative.”
    Zoey noticed the dimples on his cheeks when
he smiled. It was a very handsome face, and she felt herself drawn
to it. “What’s an operative?” she asked, still staring.
    “Well I guess you could say it’s what we
call agents in training ,” he answered.
    He avoided Zoey’s stare. “You need to be
accepted in the operative program first—it’s a very selective
program amongst our people. Not everyone has what it takes to
become an agent.”
    He was very interested in his sneakers.
    Somehow, Zoey felt more at ease seeing his
own discomfort, and she took comfort it in. “So how long until you
become an agent, then?”
    “Three to four years,” he told her brightly.
“You have to be at least fourteen years