Mystify Read Online Free PDF Page B

staring up at the ceiling instead. Before long, it’s time to shower and change my clothes. I do this reluctantly, moving as slow as I possibly can, until ultimately, it’s time to go and get this night over with.
     
    So this is it. Taking the stairs one at a time, I cringe at the sound the black taffeta hoopskirt is making. After putting it on, I realized it didn’t look as bad on me as it did hanging on the closet door. I think it’s the extended one-inch hem of turquoise crinoline that peeks from beneath the dark skirt that stops just below my knees. Still, it’s noisy. The blouse is a wraparound, turquoise, of course. My mom’s great at coordinating outfits. That’s probably why my closet is overflowing with clothes. That’s one gene I can proudly say I’ve inherited from her. I like shopping for clothes too. And since there isn’t much else to do in Lincoln, I spend a lot of time shopping online or from catalogs. A couple times a year, my mother goes to the city with my father and brings back carloads full of clothes, but I’ve never gone with her. I’ve never been out of Lincoln, not since they brought me here when I was a little baby.
    I don’t have any more time to think about clothes or what’s outside of Lincoln. Guests have already started to arrive. I seetwo couples stepping into the front door, Casietta dressed in her best pressed black-and-white uniform, dutifully taking the women’s wraps and directing people toward the dining room.
    My parents are going to freak. They wanted me downstairs and by their side with a polite smile on my face at ten minutes after seven. It’s now seven thirty-five. I was dressed at seven o’clock and purposely waited in my room, wondering if either one of them would come to get me. Obviously not.
    Ignoring Casietta’s warning glare, I fall in step behind the two couples. The men are older with salt-and-pepper colored hair. The women are older too but more vain about admitting it, so their faces are pinched and lifted and tucked. They’ve definitely paid their plastic surgeons a bundle of money. The one lady has a deep V in her dress showing more cleavage than should be legally allowed at her age because, while the silicone breasts are plump and riding high, the liver spots marching across her collar bone are kind of disgusting in contrast.
    They’re already whispering, probably about the house and all the expensive paintings and furniture. That’s exactly what my parents want. It’s kind of sickening to think I come from two such shallow people, but I guess we don’t get to pick and choose our creators.
    That thought has me thinking back to the Mystyx, which seems to be a constant on my mind lately. There’s so much I don’t know about this power I have. So much I want, no, actually need to know. I feel like there’s this part of me that’s foreign, like another person or entity entirely lives inside of me. For that reason alone I have to find answers to my questions or risk losing my mind.
    I’m drawn to the moon. I know this. I’ve always been drawn to the moon. I wonder if that means something.
    “Sasha! I’m soooo glad you’re here. The thought of havingto go through this entire evening alone with the adults was frightening.”
    The sound of her voice could probably be judged as equally scary. Of course I don’t say that out loud. Instead, I turn in her direction, giving the best smile I can muster.
    “Hey, Alyssa. Glad you could come.”
    Lie.
    Well, not exactly. I mean Alyssa Turner is an okay girl, if you’re into her type, which I’m not generally. Still, we’re the same age and like some of the same things, i.e. shopping, shoes and handbags. But I think that’s where our interests end. In the last few months, Alyssa has shown her truest snobbish colors. She’s absolutely obsessed with keeping the social wars alive and kicking in Lincoln. While, I think social and any other type of segregation is straight B.S.!
    Other than her obsession