A tease for Havoc: the prologue

Prologue

Elysian

My nightmare starts like this:

A little girl—about seven years old—stands on a beach. Her hair is combed and perfectly styled, twin buns with fake purple flowers stuck in them. It’s a nice contrast; the light purple with the deep, depressing brown of her hair. She has light brown skin, smooth and flawless. She wears black jeans and a black T-shirt, an outfit unusual for a trip to the beach, and her back is to me. 

The water licks at the shore, clapping against the dunes. The girl is surrounded by darkness, but I can see everything precisely.

I wonder who the girl is. 

I don't have much time to ponder that, though, before an older version of the tiny girl—purple flowers and all—appears from the shadows. 

"Hello, darling," says the older girl, her voice filled with emotion. It’s smooth and silky, the perfect kind for telling you bedtime stories that will put you to sleep in a matter of seconds. "I see you've found a liking for the water. It's ironic, considering your powers." 

"I know, Mother," responds the girl. She sounds much more grown-up than I expect her to. "Why did you call me here?" 

A pained expression forms on the woman's face. "My dear, your father is one of the Plenty." 

The girl looks up at her mother. "I know." Her voice is faint, being swallowed by the shadows. 

"And you have unimaginable powers." 

"Yes, Mother." The girl sounds as if she’s becoming annoyed. "What is the point of this meeting?" 

"Be patient, dear." The woman sighs and steps forward. I’m instantly hit by her beauty. Sharp, chiseled features, brown skin, intimidating eyes that reflect so many past miseries. Her long, black dress sways in the non-existent breeze. "Do you know of the kingdom of Buit?" 

The girl looks at the ground as if ashamed of herself. "Yes, Mother." 

The woman chuckles mirthlessly. "I knew you would go sneaking through your father's old photography books. And you are aware of the rulers, King Cirillo and Queen Malikah?" 

The girl nods, and a tear slides down the woman's face. She doesn't seem to notice. "They are good friends of your father, as you know." 

The girl sighs. "Mother, is there a point to this?" 

"Of course, dear," the woman replies, way too quickly. I have reason to believe she’s hiding something. If I suspect her, I wonder how her daughter is feeling. 

The girl’s hand hovers over to her jean pocket, where something sharp pokes out. It takes a second before I realize it’s a blade. Not at all bad parenting if you give your child a knife. 

"Darling," the woman starts, stepping toward her daughter, "you know this is best." 

The girl takes a shaky breath. I hope the woman isn't talking about what I think she’s talking about. "What do you mean? I never saw anything about the kingdom of Buit being hateful against Magics in Father’s books." 

The woman’s long airy dress swishes as she smiles sadly at the little girl. "Well, they don't exactly pride themselves on that, do they?" 

"You're trying to make a joke when I'm about to be executed?"

In a flash, the woman removes something just as sharp as the little girl’s and has it pointed above her daughter’s heart. Another tear slides down her face as her eyes reflect the scene: a pure black dagger, the terrified face of a seven-year-old child, and...is that fire? 

"Just trying to lighten the mood." The woman eyes the fire and smiles coldly. 

The girl lets out a strangled sound, then swiftly regains her composure. "How much did Buit pay you?"

Her mother scoffs. "You think that I can be bribed into killing my magical daughter? It was more of a voluntary job. I've always despised you, my dear."

"But I'm guessing finances still weren't off the table?" the girl asks, and I have to resist the urge to vomit. What kind of mother would be paid to kill their very own daughter, yet do it voluntarily? This mother, apparently.

"Your father’s money definitely...interested me," the woman agrees. "A little sum of his salary for a few months, just for my services as killing a Magic...we both know that is not much when it comes to having your valuable blood on my hands, but Cirillo and Malikah appreciate jobs as hard as this. Their recognition for me in their kingdom was more than enough to get me to agree." 

I realize her strategy. Keep her mother talking, and she'll have longer to live and form a plan. 

"And the king and queen were the ones who proposed my assassination?" 

"Oh, please, darling. Only use assassination when someone important is being murdered brutally." The woman flashes annoyingly perfect teeth, then continues. "But, yes, when I went to their castle in the heart of Buit, gorgeous, by the way, I told the king and queen that I had a Magic in my hands, the daughter of a Plenty, and they immediately agreed to your...elimination. Now, any further questions before you're dead?"

The girl carefully unsheathes her dagger, so quietly her mother doesn’t notice. She holds it behind her back casually, and while her mother is rambling on about the wealth she will have after the girl’s death, a ball of flames springs to the girl’s hand, surprising me. 

What was that she’d called herself? A Magic? That would explain the fire that had appeared out of thin air. 

"Ah, smart move, summoning your fire," sighs the woman. "You always know how to use it in desperate times. I applaud you for that. Fortunately, the king and queen of Buit have foreseen you might try to use your insufferable magic when we both know killing you and the magic itself would help humanity."

She shows a piece of what looks like black silky fabric from her dress, but I have a feeling it’s more. 

"Fireproof fabric, Mother? Really?" complains the girl. 

Her mother looks down at her with utter hatred. "Oh, dear, don't you understand? I always come prepared."

The girl suddenly erupts in flames, from head to toe, surrounding her like oxygen. She yells in agony and throws herself at her mother, who stares at her in shock, and as her shout echoes throughout the dunes and across the dark water, I feel her pain. Her mother. Her very own mother. 

For a second, both of the females are coated in flames. I figure the woman must have been reduced to an ember, fireproof fabric or not. There’s no way any human being—except those immune to fire—could survive that. 

The girl emerges, sweating and breathing shakily. Summoning all that fire must have been exhausting. 

A minute goes by. It seems like years as the little girl stares at her lifeless mother. Heavy breathing fills the quiet content of the beach, coming from me or her I can’t tell. The little girl reaches down to stroke her mother’s singed hair, and pulls a piece of fabric from her burnt hand, a fragment of the woman’s dress. The girl runs her thumb over it as a choked sob sounds from her. 

Once the girl is on the floor, crying and sobbing, I know it’s over. Her mother is dead. And she is the one who killed her. 

"Why did you do this, Mother?" The pathetic attempt at a whisper makes me want to cry. "We could’ve been together. We could have been powerful. That was all you ever wanted, wasn’t it? To have power?" 

I want to comfort the girl, but she’s beginning to pull herself together. She stands from the crime scene and brushes burnt hair from her mother’s face. "I truly am sorry, Mother. I hope you can forgive me in the afterlife."

The little girl brushes sand from her jeans and wipes tears from her eyes, clutching the fireproof fabric so tightly her knuckles turn white. She breathes in deeply and urges a ball of fire to ignite in her palm, but it never comes. Her powers seem to be drained along with the life of her mother. 

As the girl is leaving, I hear a faint voice, one I have never heard before, calling something that sounds like, "Lys—Lys, wake up!" 

She turns toward me and smiles sadly. 

"Is that your name?" I ask, surprised I can suddenly talk. My mouth seems to be working on its own, opening and closing when needed. 

"No," the girl answers. "But it’s yours." 

And then everything goes black.