Mystics

by Ron Lealos

Overview

While most 17 year old girls battle with pimples, baby fat, hormones, and embarrassment, along with all the other horrors, the Mystics come of age growing into supernatural powers that have sprouted in the New Age hothouse of Ashland, Oregon. Confronted with challenges like the kidnapping of Immigrant High School's most popular girl, the assault on the heroine Jasmine's boy friend, and a terrorist attack on their city, the Mystics bond together, forming a paranormal A team that has the magic to overcome the threats to their classmates, themselves, and the town they love. Learning their psychic skills, surrounded by kids who don't really get the potential in the arsenal of the Mystics, and a few adults who have their own telepathic gifts, the book chronicles the evolution of the group's mysterious talents and the bonding together required to make them a force no one would intentionally cross or they might find themselves kissing the porcelain throne.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780557818723
Publisher:	Ron Lealos
Publication date:	12/22/2010
Series:	Mystics , #1
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
File size:	1 MB

About the Author

Born Irish Catholic, I was shaped more by the nuns than the priests. The harridans almost convinced me the seminary was my destiny. It took a convent of rulers to the wrist and swats to the bare butt to steer me away from the true path. No, not really. It was weed, reds, and beer, sprinkled with hours of Hunter S. Thompson, Ken Kesey, Lenin, and Tom Wolfe. Even with the pull of the Vatican and the Sisters of Providence, I escaped into the 60’s like a penniless starving boy crawling to the Main Street Dairy Freeze. Working class America remained the hero. It was the bourgeois and the military-industrial complex that became the enemy. And a war we fought as a police action that killed millions of Vietnamese and over 54,000 Americans.
My battles weren’t in a jungle with humidity you could drink. I fought with the local United States Selective Service office run by a redneck tire salesman. Uncle Sam seemed to desperately want a confirmed anti-war and peace activist to join in the killing. Pacifism wasn’t a strong card and I was drafted anyway, only to experience a last second redemption that kept me on the streets rather than sucking napalm. If things had worked out differently and I was shipped to a Southeast Asian rice paddy, my brother, a Marine stationed on a firebase outside Chu Lai, would have “killed me.”
Besides drugs and protest, I evolved as a long haired freak who was often shown the finger and threatened by the pickup truck set. Rugby teammates called me either “Hippie” or “Porky,” depending on the amount of mac and cheese I’d eaten that week. The evolution of a small town star quarterback, married to the head cheerleader, was frightening enough without the shoulder length hair and com-symp rhetoric. My first presidential election found me in the booth voting for Eldridge Cleaver, head of the Peace and Freedom Party and Black Panther. Cleaver was later to morph into a Reagan republican and designer of leather codpieces.
Armed with a university degree and time in law school, I began my adult working career as a car antenna assembler, soon moving up to a sheet rock hauler. A daughter crawling around the house brought a change in my views on the worker’s revolution. I began to exploit my comrades like every reborn capitalist. The highlight of these years was planting nearly 5 million trees in the blast zone surrounding Mt. St. Helens. Of course, I didn’