The metallic staircase exploded right in front of Eliza, sending shards of metal flying everywhere. The once-sturdy structures groaned and rumbled as they collapsed around her. Heart pounding, she looked down and realized they were way up high.
Without a second thought, she kicked David off her and bolted into a run. Gripping onto a railing, she felt it give way as the stairs crumbled beneath her, causing her to plunge down with the weight of the heavy metal debris. With a fierce kick, she shattered a fragile piece of structure, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
Forcing every ounce of strength, Eliza pulled herself out of the near-trap she had narrowly escaped. She squeezed her eyes shut as the world around her became a swirling chaos of noise, a wild symphony of destruction. Her hair whipped around her face in the rush of the wind that smelled of rust.
Then, as if time slowed down, Eliza opened her eyes just as her feet made contact with the ground. She landed gracefully on one knee, her hand meeting the dirt to steady herself. A strange sensation surged through her body, and the arm she had instinctively raised stung, much like the memory of the rose that had caused burning and freezing sensations back in her room. Only this time, it was her neck that prickled with the same mix of sensations.
Barely a moment after her safe landing, the massive staircase she had taken her daring leap from collapsed in a deafening crash. Her purse clattered down beside her, a stark reminder of the reality she was facing.
Confusion swirled within her thoughts like a tempest. How had she managed to jump from such a dizzying height and land without a scratch? It was as if an electrifying surge of adrenaline had coursed through her veins, a power she couldn't comprehend.
Collapsing onto her side, her fingers brushed against the spot on her neck where the strange feelings still lingered. The chill that greeted her fingertips was surreal, a touch of frost in the midst of chaos As her mind started to drift, Eliza couldn't help but feel that her life had shifted in an inexplicable way, leaving her teetering on the edge of an unknown precipice.
☆☆☆
A delightful bouquet of fresh flowers greeted Eliza's senses, carrying with it the promise of a new day. The touch of crisp linen against her skin sent a shiver of comfort down her spine.
Blinking open her eyes, she found herself in a room awash with sunny yellow hues. Nestled snugly in a soft bed, she was cocooned by a riot of colorful blossoms. A nearby table cradled a plate of warm, freshly baked cookies that filled the air with a tantalizing aroma.
Her lips pressed together in contemplation, Eliza couldn't help but notice her purse resting casually on the nearby table. Stretching out, she snagged it and fished around inside, a sense of relief washing over her as her fingers brushed against her cherished broomstick. It was still tucked away safely, undisturbed by the chaos she had just experienced.
A slow exhale eased her racing heart, mingling disbelief with a newfound acceptance of the extraordinary circumstances. Glancing upwards at the ceiling, she whispered to herself, "So, this is what it's like to be a witch..."
Her hand found its way to her heart, anxiety threading through her fingers as she recalled the danger she'd narrowly escaped. Clutching her purse like a lifeline, she took stock of her surroundings, unable to discern how she'd arrived here and who had extended the helping hand.
Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, Eliza let them hang down as she caught her reflection in a mirror nearby. Her gaze fixed on the intricate, silvery markings that adorned her neck. It was the second tattoo to grace her skin, a testament to her metamorphosis into a witch. But these new markings, far more pronounced than the last, caught her off guard.
She hadn't been prepared for this aspect of her magical journey, and it left her wondering what else lay ahead. "Jared really dropped the ball on the whole tattoo thing," she muttered under her breath, a mix of amusement and annoyance tugging at her lips.
A gentle voice broke her reverie, and she spun around to find Miss Canary standing there, an air of calm and wisdom surrounding her. In her hands, a cup of tea exuded warmth and reassurance. Eliza's fingers instinctively wrapped around the cup's handle as she studied the woman before her.
With a graceful exit, Miss Canary left the room, leaving behind the cup of tea like an unspoken invitation. The situation was odd – there was no denying that this elderly woman had orchestrated her rescue – but something in Eliza's gut told her that murder wasn't on the menu.
However, the untouched tea remained a puzzle, a swirling enigma of secrets that seemed to shroud Miss Canary. The woman's dual identity as a secret weapon merchant and a mysterious rescuer left Eliza's mind churning with questions.
Why had Miss Canary been there, just when Eliza's world had spiraled into uncertainty? The answers seemed just out of reach, like a tantalizing secret waiting to be unveiled.
Eliza's heart pounded with the urgency for answers as she clutched her purse in hand. The untouched cup of tea sat poised on a nearby table, and with determined resolution, she poured its contents into one of the room's numerous flower pots.
Exiting the fragrant chamber, she ventured down a hallway that exuded an ambiance akin to a pristine forest. The floor gleamed with meticulous care, while the wallpaper seemed to echo the sensation of lush grass underfoot. As her shoulders brushed against a long leaf, a sense of quiet adventure filled the air.
Miss Canary's presence beckoned from the living room, her gaze meeting Eliza's as she uttered, "Come in, dear."
Passing by the medium-sized kitchen, Eliza took in the cozy space, notably smaller than her own. Gracefully, Miss Canary glided into the living room, settling into an expansive white chair.
The house was adorned with floral wallpaper that seemed to flow seamlessly with the abundance of plants, artfully placed on windowsills and tables. A natural aroma permeated the air, lending the space an almost ethereal quality.
Eliza couldn't help but offer a quiet compliment, "Nice place."
A knowing grin tugged at Miss Canary's lips as she replied, "I like to bring the forest with me."
Seating herself across from the enigmatic woman, Eliza crossed her legs, an air of anticipation surrounding her. Her voice carried the weight of her curiosity as she began, "How did you—?"
"Tea, darling?" Miss Canary's voice was a melodic invitation, her attention shifting momentarily to the glinting tea pot and the delicate cups catching the light from above. A patient demeanor radiated from her as she waited for Eliza's response.
"Yes, please," Eliza acquiesced, finally giving in. With a fluid grace, Miss Canary poured the tea into Eliza's cup, a soft hum accompanying the task. Eliza cleared her throat, ready to breach the subject that had been plaguing her thoughts. "Miss Canary, I wanted to ask—"
"Sugar, dear?" Miss Canary's gentle interruption danced like a melody.
"Two," Eliza answered, her focus unwavering. "You were in the witch shop, then behind the club—."
"Cream?" Miss Canary's words were light, carrying a soothing cadence.
Shifting in her seat to face Miss Canary more directly, Eliza's gaze met the older woman's. Miss Canary's attention shifted back to the tea cups, her eyes lifting slowly to meet Eliza's gaze with careful consideration.
"I know why you're here, Eliza Rose," Miss Canary spoke, her movements deliberate as she poured tea into her own cup.
Surprised, Eliza couldn't help but mutter beneath her breath, "How would you know?"
A soft, sorrowful smile touched Miss Canary's lips as she glanced momentarily toward the door. With a wistful sigh, she spoke, "I'm sorry, but what you wish to ask of me... is something I cannot help you with." With a mischievous grin, she playfully pressed her pink lips together, a twinkle in her eyes.
Her blonde hair flowed like liquid sunshine over her shoulders, catching the light in a golden cascade. Her hands found their place on her lap with a sense of careful intent, like pieces on a chessboard.
Eliza held onto the tea cup, a knowing glint in her eyes that suggested she was keeping something big under wraps. Her gaze shifted from the cup to Miss Canary, the corner of her lips twitching. No way was she sipping anything Miss Canary handed her.
A sharp tang of vinegar pricked at her nose, causing her to wrinkle it in surprise. She was sure it was coming from Miss Canary – there was no mistaking that scent. Eliza cleared her throat, her arm making a slow, deliberate movement to the left, hovering over the armrest. Eyes fixed on Miss Canary, she mimicked her grin, tilting her head to the right.
"Spill," Eliza deadpanned, leaning in a bit. "You're well aware of what went down last night and my little eavesdropping episode at the shop."
"Whatever are you talking about, Eliza?" Miss Canary replied, the picture of calmness, though her smile seemed just a touch too practiced as she patted her dress.
Eliza blinked at her, innocence oozing from every pore as she let go of the tea cup, her fingers slipping away. "Oops."
A quick whoosh of air brushed against her cheek, a pungent odor hitting her square in the face. Eliza watched, wide-eyed, as Miss Canary glided across the floor with remarkable finesse, catching the falling cup with ninja-like reflexes. It landed in her hand as if it belonged there. She let out a sigh of relief, then gradually raised her gaze to lock onto Eliza's. Her emerald eyes bore into her, a mix of challenge and intrigue.
"Mystic," Eliza breathed.
Miss Canary's neck twisted, her expression turning neutral as she met Eliza's gaze head-on. She flicked her eyes toward the door behind her, a hint of uncertainty fleeting across her features. Eliza spun around, expecting someone, but the hallway was empty.
Facing Miss Canary again, she found her casually seated, legs crossed, looking every bit the picture of composed elegance. She delicately traced her cheek with her long nails as Eliza observed her, her mind racing to process everything. Why did her mom insist on throwing her into conversations with elves?
Shuffling slightly in her seat, Eliza readjusted herself. "So spill about your hubby," she muttered, her voice barely audible.
Miss Canary shot her a glare, the wish evident in her eyes that she hadn't caught onto whatever secret she was hiding. A surge of emotion hit Eliza, almost palpable – her pain and remorse radiating towards her. Her grip tightened on her dress, a futile attempt to maintain composure. She'd seen it all, and now Eliza was onto her mystic game.
Eliza held her gaze, her eyes piercing into her with an intensity that made her squirm. "You're corrupt..."
A flicker of worry danced across her expression, her gaze darting around her surroundings. "You're mistaken," she finally said.
"Then what's the story?" Eliza pressed, fingers curling around her purse, knuckles white. Her eyes never left Miss Canary, even as she fumbled inside her bag for her broomstick.
"He was...corrupt," Miss Canary admitted, her voice faltering as a painful memory played out in her eyes, etching lines of hurt on her face. Corrupt mystics were a different breed, far from the usual sparkly enchanters.
David and Stacy were far from pure, and Eliza knew Stacy had roped her boyfriend into this mystic mess. They'd pegged her as some naïve girl, but that night had shattered their assumptions.
"You...killed him," Eliza ventured, her voice caught in a whirlwind of disbelief and accusation.
Miss Canary straightened up, her posture rigid as if Eliza's words had jabbed at a raw nerve. A fierce glint ignited in her eyes, and her gaze bore into Eliza's, searing with intensity. "No, I didn't. The corruption had dug too deep, beyond any hope of saving him," she snapped, her tone sharp as a blade. Her eyes flickered downward to the tea cups, her voice softening into a whisper. "It was either him or me."
Eliza opened her mouth to speak, to dig deeper into the cryptic confession, but before her words could find form, Miss Canary's urgency broke through. "Eliza, you need to leave. This place isn't safe."
Eliza's eyes followed the trajectory of Miss Canary's gaze, landing on the door. Instinctively, her fingers inched towards her purse, seeking solace in the familiar touch of her hidden broomstick. A rush of frustration surged within her, but she held onto it, unwilling to surrender her agency. "I'm not going anywhere," she declared, determination steeling her voice.
"As long as you hold onto the rose I gave you when you were a kid, you'll be protected," Miss Canary disclosed, urgency punctuating her words, driving them deep into Eliza's mind.
Eliza's thoughts raced, trying to decode the significance of that precious rose. What made it a target for both Stacy and her mom? Unanswered questions pricked at her mind like thorns.
"You knew about me snooping in the shop, about whatever's starting," Eliza pressed on, her voice resolute even as the tension escalated.
Miss Canary's nod was subtle yet undeniable, confirming Eliza's suspicions.
"Does it have something to do with the rose?" Eliza probed further, piecing together the fragments of the puzzle.
A quick nod cemented the connection.
Before Eliza could unravel the threads of meaning further, the door exploded open with a crash that reverberated through the room. Pots clattered and shattered, adding to the cacophony.
Miss Canary's gaze locked onto Eliza in an instant, and then she was beside her, swift and unexpected. Eliza barely had time to register the shift before Miss Canary's hand tugged at her sleeve, propelling her from her seat.
Following Miss Canary's lead, Eliza moved, her pulse pounding in her ears. The chaos behind them mirrored the turmoil inside her mind as they raced towards the back door. The world outside beckoned—an enigma of danger and uncertainty. Eliza's thoughts whirled, wondering if the elusive answers she sought were hidden within the petals of that mysterious rose.
Miss Canary exuded an eerie calmness, her eyes glowing with a gentle shade of green that seemed to radiate serenity. Eliza's gaze flicked from Miss Canary to the blossoming flowers and the enchanting forest atmosphere that surrounded them. It was oddly soothing, a stark contrast to the tension building in the air.
As Miss Canary moved gracefully, a sense of unease prickled at Eliza's skin, though it took a beat for the realization to truly sink in.
The distant echoes of heavy footsteps grew closer, and Miss Canary's composure shifted in an instant, alertness replacing her tranquility. Emerging from the hallway was Donovan, a living embodiment of wrath. His pitch-black hair was slicked to the side, his lips trembling with barely-contained fury.
His thumb hovered ominously over the red button on his broomstick, clenched firmly in his grip. His intentions were crystal clear—he was prepared to obliterate anything that dared cross his path.
As he closed in on Eliza and Miss Canary, his broomstick transformed into a glinting silver whip, slicing through the air with a deadly grace. Reacting swiftly, Miss Canary pushed Eliza behind her, shielding her from the danger that loomed.
"Eliza, go now!" Miss Canary's voice pierced through the charged atmosphere, urgency dripping from her words.
The whip cut through the air like a viper, its sleek form aimed at Miss Canary. What happened next was nothing short of astonishing—Miss Canary's body contorted with a flexibility that defied her age, evading the whip's reach with supernatural grace. Eliza watched in awe, her sense of time and place momentarily suspended. Age seemed an insignificant factor in Miss Canary's movements.
Donovan adjusted his strategy, discarding the whip for a more direct assault. He hurled a dagger with a chilling blue glow, the blade embedding itself into the wall beside Miss Canary. Without hesitation, he lunged at her, fists clenched in a fervent attempt to strike her down.
Miss Canary's reactions were almost choreographed, a dance of evasion that left Donovan punching air as she deftly avoided his blows. In a swift countermove, she elbowed him in the stomach, a grunt escaping him as he crumbled to the ground.
"Go!" Miss Canary's voice carried a commanding urgency, urging Eliza to action.
Eliza stepped back cautiously, her gaze never leaving Miss Canary, who was now locked in a fierce battle for survival. A surge of gratitude swelled within her chest, a testament to the lengths Miss Canary was willing to go to protect her.
The desire to reciprocate that protection burned within Eliza, but her thoughts were cut short as Miss Canary sprang into action.
With a determined sprint, Miss Canary lunged towards an open window. With astonishing agility and grace, she executed a seamless backflip, disappearing from the room in an instant.