Illusion: Chronicles of Nick Read Free

table, reading The Wall Street Journal while his mom cleaned up the griddle that was part of their massive gas stove. That thing alone looked like something out of an alien movie.
    He’d never seen a more normal morning scene in his life. And that scared the bejeezus out of him.
    She glanced over to him and smiled. “There’s my favorite Boo. You feeling better, baby?”
    Hardly …
    “Sure, Ma.”
    Bubba checked his watch. “You better grab it to go. I don’t want to have to talk to Mr. Hutchins again about your tardies.”
    Nick scowled at the unfamiliar name. “Mr. Hutchins?”
    “Principal.” Bubba folded the paper up and placed it on the table.
    Nick was even more confused than before. “When did St. Richard’s get another principal? What happened to Mr. Head?” Did zombies eat him, too?
    “Who’s Mr. Head?” his mom asked.
    Nick stopped while he was way behind. At least until he caught sight of the date on the newspaper by Bubba’s hand. His heart stopped. No flippin’ way. It had to be wrong. “April 22, 2002? Is this a fake paper?”
    Bubba frowned at him. “Maybe we should take you to a doctor.”
    That was all he needed. A visit to a psych ward. “No, I’m fine. Really.”
    Discreetly, Nick pulled out his license and checked his date of birth. His stomach hit the ground. If that was right, he was still sixteen, but that wasn’t the right birth year for him .
    Everything here was wrong.
    How is this possible? How?
    “I better get to school,” Nick breathed. “Where’s my backpack?”
    His mom ruffled his hair. “I think you left it in your car.”
    “The Jag?”
    Bubba burst out laughing. “You wish. I’m not letting you drive the Jag until you’re eighteen, buddy. It’s in your Jeep.”
    Okay, go with it . Don’t react.
    All is right in my world.
    Yeah, right. Nothing about any of this was right or normal. Which, given his royally screwed-up life, said a lot. He wanted to scream until it went back to the way it was supposed to be.
    His mom brought the keys to him and held her hand to his forehead again. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
    Better a lie than a straightjacket. “Fine.”
    “Michael … I’m thinking we might need to take him to a doctor.”
    “Sweetheart, you’ve got to quit babying him so. He’s a man with a job. He says he’s fine. He’s fine.”
    Nick arched a brow at that. Could he still be working for Kyrian or Liza in this place? If Kyrian was around, he might be able to help. Surely a two-thousand-year-old immortal warrior who’d sold his soul to a goddess would know something about alternate realities. For that matter, Nick might be able to borrow Kyrian’s ring and summon the Greek goddess Artemis himself and get some long overdue answers.
    His mother bit her bottom lip as she brushed her hand through Nick’s hair. “He’s still my baby.”
    Grateful that hadn’t changed, Nick gave her a quick hug before he headed for the front of the house.
    Bubba cleared his throat. “Where are you going, son?”
    “The curb.”
    “Why? Your Jeep’s in the garage.”
    They had a garage?
    Nick looked up at the ornate crown molding in this expensive house. Of course they had a garage.…
    “Oh. Okay.” He headed in the opposite direction.
    With a slight hesitation, he opened the door that he assumed was the garage only to find himself in the pantry.
    Crap.
    “Um … grabbing some Pop-Tarts for the road,” Nick said, covering his mistake. Still, they both stared at him as if he’d escaped Arkham Asylum. Offering them a fake smile, he grabbed the pastries, crossed himself, and hoped he got the next door correct.
    Nope. Bathroom.
    With a pain-filled groan at his rampant stupidity, Nick pretended to use it before he tried again. At least there were only two more doors to go.
    Fifty-fifty chance.
    Thankfully, third time was the charm. He let out a relieved breath as he stepped down and saw a red Jeep, black SUV, and silver Jaguar in the three-car garage.