Alessandra (#1, Omega Beginnings Miniseries) Read online

  Alessandra

  Episode One

  Omega

  Beginnings

  Prequel Miniseries

  By Lizzy Ford

  http://www.LizzyFord.com/

  Cover design by Eden Crane Design

  http://www.EdenCraneDesign.com/

  Smashwords EDITION

  copyright ©2015 by Lizzy Ford

  http://www.LizzyFord.com/

  Cover design copyright © 2015 by Eden Crane Design

  http://www.EdenCraneDesign.com/

  Fleuron © spline_x - Fotolia.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This story is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events; to real people, living or dead; or to real locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental

  Acknowledgments

  Special thanks to:

  Brooklynn Hupke, who suggested the name “Mismatch” for the heroine’s gargoyle friend,

  and

  Aoife Connolly for naming the heroine’s best friend, “Mrs. Nettles!”

  Chapter One

  Twelve years ago

  The gargoyle was crying.

  Only I could see it.

  Later on in life, I would learn that the ribbons I witnessed around everything were fields of energy, sparks of magic and the flow of life, each with its own unique color range. The world was filled with them. Inanimate objects had two ribbons. People had three.

  At the age of five, all I really understood was that the stone creature being tormented by teen boys was alive – and hurting.

  “Leave him alone!” I shouted and ran towards them.

  The boys faced me briefly and dismissed me as quickly as most adults did. One of them wacked the gargoyle with his bag, and its ear chipped off.

  Where a little girl wasn’t listened to, a screaming kid generally was. “You’re hurting him!” I shrieked.

  “Hey! What’re you boys doing to her?” one of the teachers called from the group of students touring the temple nearby.

  One of the boys pushed me away. “You got us in trouble, you stupid kid,” he snapped.

  “You boys should be with your group!” Mrs. Thatcher approached and pointed to the other teens gathered around one of the priestesses giving the tour. “You leave kindergartners alone.”

  “We didn’t do nothing, Mrs. Thatcher,” one of them protested.

  But they left, which was all I wanted. My attention was fixated on the stone monster whose ear was broken in half. The ribbons around him were agitated. Unlike most people, who had three ribbons, there were four around this beast: purple, faded teal, bright red and sunny yellow. The teal one sparkled in a way I had never seen before. I didn’t know enough to understand what this meant – aside from the fact he wasn’t like the other rocks and stones in the world.

  I bent down and retrieved the cool limestone piece of his ear. On tiptoes, I reached up to replace it. His ugly face and large fangs were scary to me, but knowing he was in pain trumped my fear. I struggled to reach the broken stone.

  “What’re you doing, Alessandra?” Mrs. Thatcher asked, finished with the boys.

  “He’s hurt. I’m fixing him.”

  “You have such the imagination!”

  I rolled my eyes and rested my cheek against that of the hideous statue. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you,” I whispered to him.

  “Oh, his ear is broken.” Mrs. Thatcher took the piece from me and replaced it. “Do you know what this is, Alessandra?”

  “A gargoyle.”

  “No, Alessandra. You should’ve been paying attention to the tour guide.”

  I watched anxiously as she balanced the part of the ear back where it belonged. It wasn’t helping the creature’s pain, and its suffering was moving into me. The ribbons of everyone around me always reached out to me, as if I was supposed to do something or know something about them. I could take those ribbons and manipulate them, bring the unliving to life and fix those that were hurt. I had even combined ribbons to create my own best friend: a monster-like creation consisting of my cat and my favorite stuffed animal. Its name was Mrs. Nettles. It purred and looked like a koala.

  But I was too young to know why the ribbons existed, how I alone saw them or what I was supposed to do, if not bring my stuffies to life for tea parties.

  “Gargoyles have water spouts,” Mrs. Thatcher told me. “This is a grotesque. It’s a statue monster. Can you say grotesque?”

  I ignored her.

  “They’re here to protect the gods,” she continued. “Do you see how large their eyes are?”

  While each was unique, every beast had oversized wings, fangs and eyes. This one had eyes that were different sizes, the mane of a lion and face of a panther, a long tail, and wings like a dragon. He was larger, too, and facing the wrong direction.

  Dozens of scary-faced stone monsters peered over the edges of the rooftop on the Temple of Artemis at the heart of Washington DC, glaring down at anyone who came to visit. Only my monster looked inward, guarding the rooftop. This was my first field trip to the Temple, and nothing had interested me about the place where the goddess visited aside from the stone creatures with their four ribbons. But this one had my absolute attention before the incident with the boys; he was special like me.

  “It’s said the gods can see through the eyes of the grotesques and make sure no one is here to hurt them,” the teacher said. “But they can’t hurt you. They’re just stone.”

  “I don’t care!” I snapped at her, my anxiety reaching a pitch. “You’re not helping him right!”

  “Alessandra, what have we discussed about these outbursts?”

  “Leave me alone!”

  “I’m getting your teacher.”

  I climbed onto the paws of the grotesque and grabbed the piece of stone from her. She walked away. I planted the ear where it belonged, albeit sloppily, and then I did it. I closed my eyes and imagined his ribbons smoothing out, twisted the two yellow ones beginning to separate and wrapped him with the ribbons only I possessed: the green ones.

  I took his pain away and went one step further. I willed his ear healed. The stone shifted beneath my fingers and grew together. His ear was sideways, but it was back where it belonged.

  “You’ll be okay now,” I told him softly. “I’m sorry they hurt you.” I touched his scary features. “You need a name. How about … Mismatch?” I touched his misshapen eye and uneven fangs. “I don’t care what she says. You’re a gargoyle. You’re my gargoyle.”

  “Alessandra!” My teacher called.

  I was always in trouble as a child, obsessed with the ribbons no one else could see. The grotesque didn’t answer me or move the way my stuffies did when I wrapped them in green ribbons. I hopped off his paws and waited for the teacher to come lecture me, as usual.

  “Honey,” my teacher’s voice was gentle but firm. “It’s time to go sit in the bus.”

  “I know,” I said and sighed. Uncertain how to address a stone creature, I curtseyed the way I’d seen the princesses in Disney movies do. “Goodbye, Mismatch.”

  Chapter Two

  “Mrs. Nettles! I’m home!” I shouted and shoved the front door open.

  With my partici
pation in the temple tour cut short after the gargoyle incident, I couldn’t wait to get home. My parents worked until seven each night for the government; I didn’t expect them to be there. I dropped my book bag on the floor by the door and flung off my shoes.

  My purring, stuffed koala waddled down the stairs to the door.

  “I had an awful day, Mrs. Nettles,” I told her the way my father did my mother when he got home from work. “I made us a new friend! But then I forgot to tell him where I live.” With a sigh, I began to think this was the worst day of my life so far.

  Mrs. Nettles picked up my shoes – she loved shoes – and waddled towards the stairs.

  “Don’t you want a snack?” I asked her.

  She paused and then switched directions, clutching the shoes to her fuzzy chest. We went to the kitchen, and I told her all about my day – the stupid tour, the stupid boys, the ugly gargoyle and being sent to the bus to sit because of my temper.

  “I don’t have a temper, Mrs. Nettles!” I complained while heating us both cups of water for tea in the microwave and digging the chocolate pudding out of my mother’s hiding spot in the pantry.

  Lifting her off the counter to the floor, I precariously balanced a tray of tea and snacks and climbed the stairs to my room on the second floor. I turned on Frozen, my current favorite movie, which always cheered me up, and sat down on the floor with Mrs. Nettles.

  She sat on my shoes and then pawed at the stuffed horse at our tea table.

  “Okay. I guess he can come out. He almost got us in trouble last time,” I reminded her.

  Weaving the ribbons that floated around the stuffy quickly, I counted to three and smiled when Horsey came to life.

  Clumsy and oddly proportioned, Horsey’s first move was to knock over Mrs. Nettles’ tea.

  “Can this day get any worse?” I moaned.

  It could and did.

  My parents came home early, soon after I did. Irritated by my day, I went to the top of the stairs to greet them and fetch my book bag before my mother yelled at me.

  They were speaking tersely in quiet voices. This, of course, warranted me sneaking down the stairs to hear their secrets. My sixth birthday was coming up. It was possible they were planning a party.

  “… neighbors disappearing,” my father said. Tall and handsome with brown hair, he stormed into the kitchen – the place they went to talk in private – and was followed by my pretty, tiny mother. “Seven, Kaitlin! They’re closing in.”

  I crept down the stairs. It didn’t sound like a discussion about my party, but I wanted to be sure.

  “If we move now, they’ll know,” my mother was saying in her calm I-told-you-this-before voice. “We have to wait.”

  “For how long? For our entire neighborhood to end up at the House?” my father asked. “For us to be arrested and interrogated?”

  “Relax, Howie. We’ve been careful. We always are.”

  “Not careful enough. They found her somehow. We’ve tried everything to make her normal, to make her fit in.”

  I was too young to understand they spoke about me. That knowledge didn’t click until I was close to ten. I stood and listened, wondering whom they were talking about.

  “Hey, Mrs. Nettles,” my mother greeted my special pet. “No snacks before dinner.”

  Mrs. Nettles curled up at her feet.

  “This is why,” my father said and pointed at her. “We can’t keep hiding these … things she makes.”

  Offended by how they treated my only real friend, I gasped.

  “Lyssa, is that you?” my mother called.

  I ducked behind the doorway.

  “Come on out, baby,” my father said.

  “Who were you talking about?” I asked and entered the kitchen. I gave Mama a hug first and then Daddy before picking up Mrs. Nettles.

  “No one, baby. Just a neighbor.”

  I was too young to know when my parents lied to me, too. “Oh. You aren’t planning my birthday party?”

  “Not yet.” Mama smiled.

  “Will people come this year?”

  They exchanged a look. “Lyssa, we might have to keep it a family affair again this year,” Daddy said gently. “You can bring all your toys to life at once. Won’t that be fun?”

  “It’s the worst day of my life, daddy.”

  He laughed and picked me up, hugging me. “You want nuggets for dinner?”

  “Yes.”

  My mother wrapped her arms around both of us. We rested our foreheads against one another’s, the way we did every day before bed. The worry faded from both their faces.

  “You are our world, Lyssa,” Mama told me. “You know that, right?”

  “I knooooooow.” I said with another dramatic sigh. I took her face in my chubby hands, kissed her forehead and did the same to my father.

  “I’ll put Mrs. Nettles away so you can start dinner,” I said with all the seriousness a child possesses.

  My father set me down. I picked up Mrs. Nettles and hefted her up the stairs to my room.

  Dinner was quiet. I knew enough to sense something was wrong. Rather than watch a movie after eating like we usually did, my parents went to their room. I couldn’t make out their muffled words and remained in my room, alone, as usual. Mrs. Nettles played with me, though Horsey was grounded after spilling her tea.

  My parents didn’t emerge at bedtime, so I changed into my pajamas and brushed my teeth then turned off the lights. I climbed into bed with Mrs. Nettles. Streetlight slipped past my curtains and made lines on my ceiling. I watched them. Mrs. Nettles burrowed into the covers beside me, and soon, her purring lulled me to sleep.

  Until sometime very late, when a scratching at my window woke me. Mrs. Nettles was at the wall beneath the window, clawing at it. I sat up, shuffled to the window and peered out. Shadows and light played with my eyes. I wiped sleep from them. Something resembling a huge bird was hovering outside my window. I leaned through the curtains to see it more clearly. It was in the unlit backyard, and moonlight glinted off its wings as it settled next to my sandbox.

  Unable to make out its form among the pool and landscaping of the yard, I focused on the ribbons to identify what it was.

  There were five – and one was green.

  With a gasp, I shoved my feet into my slippers and grabbed Mrs. Nettles. I raced out of my room, down the stairs and to the back door, all but slinging it open in my excitement to see my guest.

  My step slowed when I reached the bottom of the stairs. I set down Mrs. Nettles. None of my stuffed animals or toys were nearly as big as the gargoyle before me.

  Mismatch was huge, larger than he had seemed crouched on the rooftop of the temple. His wings were as wide as my yard, his eyes glowing dark teal, and his athletic body like something I had seen in cartoons about superheroes. His tail swished back and forth, tapping against the swing set, wagging the way my neighbor’s dog’s tail did when I fed it treats.

  “You found me, Mismatch!” I exclaimed in a quiet squeal I hoped didn’t awaken my parents. “I am so sorry! I forgot to give you my address!”

  He was still ugly though less frightening than he had been crouched and scowling on the temple. I dashed to him and flung my arms around his thighs. He was warm like a human, not cold like a rock.

  “Mrs. Nettles! Come meet Mismatch!” I cried in a muffled voice.

  How did you awaken me, little one? His voice entered my head rather than my ears.

  I looked up at him. His fangs were too large for his lips to cover, and his oddly shaped eyes and face were nowhere near normal. A small gem matching his teal eyes was at the base of his neck on a black choker. But I wasn’t afraid; he was mine. Everything I awoke became part of my world.

  “I gave you a new ribbon,” I told him. “It woke you up. It woke her up.” I pointed to the purring koala bear that drew near. Mrs. Nettles was worried, pawing at one of her ears.

  Ribbon? The gargoyle’s voice was low and dark like the night. He knelt in front of me, his w
ings closing around us as if to keep my parents from hearing. What is this ribbon? Magic?

  “Magic?” I echoed and scrunched my face. “I can’t have magic, silly. Only the gods and Oracle have magic.”

  He touched my face with his cool fingers. His nails were long and pointed. They tickled, and I giggled. You are but a child, he said, sounding puzzled. How can a child have this gift?

  “I don’t know,” I answered. “Do you want to meet the others?”

  What others?

  “My toys. I bring them all to life sometimes but they’re sleeping now. You can stay with me, too.”

  I cannot stay, little one. He laughed quietly into my mind. I am too large.

  “But how will I take care of you?”

  You wish to take care of me? He tilted his head.

  “Yes, of course. Mama says if I awaken something, it must stay with me, because it’s my responsibility. No neighbors can know, and especially not the government or they’ll take you away. So I bring everything to my room.” I looked him over skeptically. “You might fit in my closet.”

  You gave me life, little one. I can take care of myself. I can take care of you.

  “Me?” I giggled. “That’s why I have Mrs. Nettles.” I stretched to grab my favorite pet and best friend.

  This is your protector? Mismatch picked up Mrs. Nettles with one hand.

  “Yes. She sleeps most of the time, except in the afternoon.”

  You need a protector while you sleep.

  “Why? Everyone is asleep at night,” I pointed out. “The only monsters are the ones I sometimes dream about. They come to life and sneak into the neighbor’s house, but they never hurt me.”