Genevieve, Aidan's mom, walks through the front door looking very flustered and troubled, her blue eyes flashing dangerously like she could do with punching through something. She closes the front door with barely contained frustration, her face taking in the sight of all of us in the entry foyer waiting expectedly.
I can see the anger boiling inside her, the aura in the room equivalent to what it would feel like in an active volcano about to explode.
"Freaking hell, who was stupid enough to get on your bad side today?"
Clarisse's statement has a changing effect on Evie, causing some of the potential thunder-like animosity to leave her rigid body. A broken, half-heartened smile appears, causing all of us to drop our shoulders with relief at the sight of it.
"Dear, what exactly happened? You weren't very forthcoming on the phone..."
James is silenced when she raises one of her hands, walking towards him and lightly pecking him on the cheek while her hand grazes the side of his face.
"Tea first, James. I could do with a warm cup in my hands and a burst of sweetness gliding down my throat before I begin to talk of marginally bitter events."
*****************
We convene in the lounge after a short but drawn out brewing of tea in the kitchen. Aidan and I resume our normal positions on the two-seater couch while Evie and James sit on the other and Clarisse slouches in the arm chair. Evie tortures us further, sipping her tea slowly while we hang on her every action.
When she does finally clear her throat, her expression now devoid of any of her previous bad temperament I wouldn't associate with her, we all sit up a little straighter and pay close attention.
"It started towards the end of my time at work. We had just received a package of some sorts and while I was sitting at my desks, I noticed one of the delivery men looking at me strangely out of the corner of my eye. I carried on working, trying to seem oblivious to what was happening while I did a bit of a mental radar search. I was looking for signs of negative aura's belonging to anyone with a soul festering with rot inside them...especially any aura's belonging to Alterates."
She drinks some more tea, wetting her throat and brushing some of her pale blonde hair away. James moves to sit on the edge of his seat, his steepled hands shifting so that one is placed tenderly on her arm, encouraging her to continue.
"Well, I did come up with a rather nasty gathering of souls....but they must have been on high alert because they sensed my probing. I knew it when one of the guys stopped on his way out of the building and turned around slightly. I looked up at that exact moment, only to find his eyes boring into mine as if he could find the answers to the universe's mysteries hidden within my pupils."
I shudder slightly, my shoulders tensing uncomfortably at her words. Aidan leans forward like his father, although instead of aiming his comforts towards Evie, I find his presence comforting me rather. I think I feel his hand graze my lower back, but I doubt myself since the sensation barely lasts a second.
"I didn't want to wait too long, but almost as soon as they had left the building I excused myself, packed up and left the building. I thought that I had heard their truck pull out, but I had been wrong. When I turned around the corner of the exit, walking towards my car, I hear the faint sound of laughter behind me. When I looked around, the one who had glared at me earlier was leaning against the wall with a smirk plastered on his smug face. He got up so casually and started walking towards me, but all calm feelings ended when he suddenly pulled his hand out of his pocket and was holding a katar in his grasp."
"That's that, um...Chinese, no....Japanese knife thingy right?" Clarisse asks, beginning to pull out and detangle her wet hair from her shower earlier after training.
"Indian Clary. It's an Indian type of knife" James says, raising his head to correct Clarisse before urging Genevieve to continue.
"Carry on dear. What happened next"
Evie's hands tightened around the handle of the mug, her knuckles bleaching around the delicate porcelain curve in her fingers. "He got within hearing distance of me, the knife dancing in the sun like an evil little glinting eye winking to me in the fading light of the afternoon. He was so cocky, as if he expected me to start begging for my life like some poor, meek being. 'what's a pretty little non-Alterate like you doing, working some boring day job like that?' he said to me. I can't even remember what his voice sounded like past the irritation working its way up inside me..."
The tension in the room tightened, like a cord being pulled taut from either ends.
"I didn't respond. This angered him and that petty little smile I wish I could have wiped off his face turned into that of an animalistic snarl. He dove for me then, the knife swinging back and forth, trying to strike at me like a cobra. What the man didn't expect was me fighting back. I dashed away, hearing the whistle of the blade as it flew past near my face and retaliated with a swing at his legs. He anticipated them, leaping away in time before I could make contact. We went at it for what felt like forever but probably only lasted a few minutes. I would have finished him sooner except I had been unarmed; my throwing knives tucked under the seat of my car of all places....within my reach but not close enough."
I see James grit his teeth, a muscle feather along his jaw-line while his hands unconsciously ball into fists.
"I got him incapacitated enough to quickly jump into my car after I got a lucky hit on his elbow. While he cursed there, clutching his arm to his chest, I made a speedy get away. I had been on the highway on my way back here when I looked in my rear view mirror and spotted their van a few cars behind mine. That's when I really got mad....these Alterates are getting braver and braver. I thought we all had a general understanding about staying out of each other's ways and keeping the peace until they get themselves involved? Clearly I've offended some clan out there with the way these Alterates indefatigably pursued me."
She rolled her shoulders, rubbing at the back of her neck with a pained and irritable expression on her face. Clarisse glared at the ceiling with a stony expression on her face, her arms crossed tensely over her chest while her brother beside me gripped his knees tightly.
So this wasn't normal then, having Alterates target you directly so often outside of Crossovers. It must be something of an anomaly for attacks to have happened twice in one week: The first time at the ice cream café and now while Evie was at work.
"I drove around, eventually losing them but had a few close calls when they suddenly appeared from around street corners and I had to make a hasty U-turn to get away. When I was more or less certain they were no longer on my tail, that's when I phoned James and well here we all are."
We all remained silent for a few moments, I myself pondering the almost inadequate seriousness with which Evie had shared the events of this past afternoon. She had seemed more appalled and shocked by the audacity of the Alterates rather than speaking of them as a threat worthy to be taking note of and I found this rather strange. Hell, if it had been me, I probably would have walked away from it with greater losses than a mere overly depleted fuel tank. More likely, I would have ended up hog-tied and gagged in the back of that van like the cheesy start to a badly produced kidnapping movie.
"It's all over now. Thank goodness for him that I was wearing my nice heels or else I would have had the obligation to break one or two of his bones."
James laughs at this...a hearty sound which fills the room like the air which fills a balloon to bursting point. It's the kind of laugh you hear rarely, but when it does eventually come around you know that's it's a genuine show and not the tittering, insincere giggling of a moron who couldn't care less about your pathetic joke or supposedly witty response. It eases out the hyper, tightly strung atmosphere, causing everyone to droop and not remain fixated on the events which had occurred.
James rises from his seat and helps up his wife with an outstretched hand.
"My dear, you are positively charming. Although we all know that you would have shamed them regardless of whether you were wearing heels or not."
***************************
The next two days pass by without further incidents, everything remaining mediocre and my usual definition of 'normal'. Waterpolo training goes successfully, now that Aidan wasn't frying my brains from the sidelines and I was able to spend Wednesday night in a relatively calm, peaceful sleep thanks to the medication Evie had given me. Thursday night I decided to test my limits, and so allowed myself to Crossover after making sure I had brought extra clothing with. I don't know how you're supposed to make it so that the objects you're wishing to bring with manifest in the Crossover, but I woke up empty handed and donned in my Aztec get up once again. Pfft, who says I can't pull off a feathered headband and leather sandals?
This time, I was in some forest, with trees sorrowfuly hanging over the edges of a brown, mucky river whose depths I couldn't see through the opaque water. I could hear the sound of cannon fire in the far, far distance, but I merely chose to stay where I was. I wandered around for what felt like an hour, then lazily took a nap under the speckled shade of a tree. I don't know if you can dream within a dream, or if I was even sleeping at all but the next time I woke up, it was morning and I was back in the enfolds of my soft blanket. My phone's alarm is going off with a mind-numbing, continuous beeping noise which I personally think could wake the dead. I cover my head with my duvet stubbornly, letting out a moan which is muffled by my sheild doing nothing to stop the blaring noise.
On this frightful Friday morning, I need more convincing than usual to get out of bed.
I roll over, submitting to my better half telling me that I just need to suffer through one more day then I can relish the sweet relief of the weekend, the equivalent of the sugary bit at the bottom of a bitter cup of coffee which has not been stirred properly.
*********************
After school, my short, floral dress flutters faintly in the light breeze as I make my way to my locker from where I had entered the main building. The cardigan draped over my shoulders may seem unnecessary with the promise on the weather radio report of it being a warm day, but I still have a smorgasbord of healing bruises which are still tinged a purple-blue from my first practice session with the Hektor family. James' hadn't been lying when he mentioned the involvement of ice...me and that solidified chunk of water became well acquinted on my arrival home after leaving the premise.
My sneakers squeek loudly on the linoleum flooring, the hustle and bustle of students finding their way out of the area filling the halls with an incessant buzz. I pack my books quickly, the habitual and forever present canvas bag filling up in a short amount of time. I slide in my literature book, the collection of bound together paper containing all the setwork for my AP English this term. Stalink had made sure to hand them out during class, stooping over my desk last as he slid it onto my desk.
"Try not be late for this today Elena. I would hate for Mr Dolus to obtain the same impression I have." He then returned to tell us about the 'wonders' of compound sentences, and that's when my mind decided to take a short vacation.
Here I am now, walking towards the allocated class for Mr Dolus, the now abandoned halls quieting down with the minimal of students participating in extra curricular activities the Port Greylot High has to offer. The sound of the choir dashes in and out when the door to the music room opens and shuts with a late arrival, while a slightly sulfurous stench wafts down from the lab where the chem group are working on their formula to make a cheap knock-off of candle scents. Not their best work, in my opinion.
I enter room 304, the recently built cube room hazy as the afternoon sun lights up the dingy class. The furniture is mismatched, with an assortment of different desks arranged in an odd pattern not like the usual set up seen in a classroom. Then again, perhaps Jacob Dolus is not your average teacher. I've arrived on time, contrary to Mr Stalinks low expectations of me, but there are a few people who have arrived before me. Daniel is one of these, and I feel a tad better to notice a familiar face.
I slide into the desk in front of him, turning around to be met with his neutral face devoid of any particular emotions. His full lips part as if he's going to say something, but they quickly shut again at the sound of someone clearing their throat ahead of me. I swivel around, seeing Mr Dolus placing down his briefcase and pushing up the sleeves of his buttoned shirt. The sight is an oddity amongst the normally formal class setting, causing me straighten in my seat and pay attention just as the other students have done.
My AP English teacher has a certain demanding presence, which, once noticed, is like a flame to a moth which is difficult to ignore. It's not that he's flamboyant or forecful, but he just has a way of making you notice him and know that his word is law and must be obeyed. His salted dark hair is straightened when he uses his fingers to comb through it, his hands swinging onto his hips as he stands regally before us, a king addressing his countrymen.
"Afternoon to you select few with an above par intelligence concerning English. I have a few rules, which I expect to be followed. Please do try and attempt to pay attention in my short and somewhat condensed lessons. If you do not, you are merely wasting your time and not mine despite your contrary beliefs. Secondly, feel free to share your opinions and ask questions as long as it is done in a respectable appropriate manner. I don't like having conversations with myself as it does seem rather lunatic but in the same breath I will not stand for people shouting across the classroom as if they were in a stadium and not this miniscule space in comparison. Those are the basics but I'm sure you'll get to know how I run my lessons just as I will get to learn how you participate and contribute during them."
He takes some time to pause, seeming to stare at each of us individually like we are prized cattle and not a somewhat random and varied collection of teens with the odd case of acne and incredibly intricate and forever changing social lives.
"Well, what are all staring at me for? Open your books and let's start!"
His tall, lean frame bends at the waist, tugging open the zip of his nearby bag to pull out a dog-eared and well worn version of the textbook I had just packed a short five or ten minutes ago. I get the feeling that this book might become my new English 'bible' when it comes to this class. This feeling is mixed and unidentifiable in terms of whether it is positive or negative....It is still too early to start throwing around set in stones opinions for this new, untraditional teacher who is coloring outside the lines of Port Greylot's drawn out, mostly boring education system.
The next 40 minutes has to be one of the most fascinating and peculiar First Additional Language lessons over the span my scholastic career. Not only did Mister Dolus freely question the necessity of Shakespeare and his outdated English in our clearly modernized AP English curtriculum, but he also had the ability to make my jaw scrape along the ground I was so shocked at his accusation that the man had his sexuality tangled up. He said it so causally as if he was stating something not usually taboo and which would be frowned upon to be speaking of to hormonally challenged young adults. He took such a respected and somewhat revered man by the English Department here and dragged his name through the mud. I bet the dinosaur Mrs Illdehad (I swear, she's not just on door's death...she's positively ringing the bell, tearing up the welcome mat and using a breaching tool to smash the barrier down she's so ancient) would burn her hearing aid of she had to hear his blasphemous terms.
The man couldn't have gotten into my good books any quicker than if he had all chocolate cupcakes on our arrival into the class.
We proceeded to read a short extract of Romeo and Juliet, everyone taking turns to do their best impressions to sound like the pining and melancholic fool while he waits like a stalker below her balcony. If I remember correctly, someone even managed to make it 'gangsta' enough that we were all in stitches from laughing so hard for so long.
I'm finding that it might not suck donkey butt a lot to be attending this class every Friday. In fact, it might not suck at all.
**********************
I meet Aidan after AP English, the purr of his trucks engine as it click-clacks its way up to the doorway where I'm waiting patiently under causes me to rise from where I've perched on a step with my head supported in my bent arms. His vehicle glides next to where I've seated myself on the cold floor, his silhouette seen to lean across and unlatch the door of the passenger seat. I get up, slinging my bag over my shoulder and sliding into the designated seat after Aidan removes a bag of some sorts blocking where I need to locate my rear end and moves to toss it onto the seat behind him.
I close the door, placing my satchel at my feet and greeting him. His face is glistening, small specks of miniscule beads of sweat dotting his forehead. It's then that I noticed his grass stained shorts and Port Greylot High insignia blazing on his shoulder.
"What have you been doing while I was in extra English? You look like you've been attacked by vengeful lawnmowers and then run through a sprinkler."
He grants me a glimpse of that Oscar-winning smile, his lopsided grin disappears from my view when he turns around in his seat to check that the way is clear before reversing out of school and heading onto the road.
"I just had rugby practice. I was getting in a little extra fitness and camaraderie before joining the individualistic and somewhat straight-forward training this evening. One-on-one combat or mental improvement doesn't exactly have the same appeal as a team sport where it's okay to tackle someone and then be able to be friends with them afterwards."
We talk some more, the traffic lighter than expected for a Friday afternoon as we drive over to his house as planned by us all last time.
He turns down a street, our laughter joining and intertwining among the tunes belting out his speakers tuned down to a lower volume at one of the jokes he makes, the kind which makes your stomach muscle feel like you have a six pack coming on. My eyes become moist with tears, the sleeve of my cardigan making a good impromptu tissue before the fits of giggles die down.
We arrive at his house, all of us going through the stages of preparing for training that afternoon. I get changed in the guest room, meeting Aidan in the lounge and am met with the image of him taking company with Clarisse who sauntered into the house just after us, her friend's mom hooting her goodbyes as they drove away.
We all head down to the arena, Aidan taking the lead with me behind him towing my towel and hydration assistance along. James is already down there, stretching with his back to us, but his muscles stir beneath his skin as he straightens from where he was stretching forward to turn towards us with a neutral look evident on his face just beginning to show signs of aging.
"Ah, welcome back. How was rugby Aidan? I trust you didn't impress too much or injure anyone too badly? I don't understand why you would willingly dull your far superior abilities to play some non-professional sport which you would excel at regardless of how much training they make you do." I thought he was being serious, until I glimpsed a mischievous light glinting from his eyes.
Aidan places his bag down, shrugging his shoulders with a teasing indifference to his dad's playful jibe.
"I did just fine dad. I didn't let anyone suspect I'm part of some ancient line of people destined to control the outcomes of history past to protect our present and future. I did happen to get selected to the first team though"
James walks over, giving his son that masculine pat on the back which all men seem to understand as an in-depth and multi-meaningful gesture. I can tell that James is proud, even if his emotional outlet seems to be restrained.
"That's great. The new kid on the block got to give them all a run for their money. Now for some real training."
He turns towards me and I'm almost certain I feel whatever confidence I had in my success at managing to unbalance Aidan dwindling inside me like a drying up husk, very little remaining of the previously robust pride I had felt two days ago.
"We're going to try those defensive blocking techniques again. I'm sure we'll do much better than Wednesday now that you've been broken in a bit."
"Yip, this wild and once ignorant filly is ready to stop some punches!" I respond, feeling my nerves dissipate at his light manner. James somehow makes me feel at ease about my complete and utter cluelessness at all of this, even though the dark recesses of my mind keep reminding me that this is rather important of I don't want to end up dead at the hands of some Alterate. The bruises healing on my back are evidence of my efforts, but I need to do better if I want to not rely on others to protect me and risk themselves in the process.
"Glad to see you're keen. Stretch with the other two then we'll begin...Aidan and Clarisse, you'll be using the bows and arrows today in the target room after sparring to practice that tuck-and-roll move I showed you a week ago."
I gulp down the nerves which are working their way back up my throat, having a constricting effect and making me breath stick there. I move to where Aidan and his sister are stretching out there joints, while James has gone to fetch something out of one of the many rooms branching off from the main one we occupy. I hear the squelch of the mats beneath my trainers, my brain forcing breaths to lengthen and deepen as I mentally give myself a not very encouraging pep talk.
The mats shift beside me, and another pair of laced up shoes enters the frame of my gaze while I'm staring at the floor.
Aidan's brilliantly colored hues are visible as he ducks his head beneath mine, causing me to lift my own with a weak and watered-down smile.
"You look like you've been asked to eat a dead squirrel. Just relax, my dad is badass but he's only scary if you see him that way. I swear, he may have a hard outer coating but inside is a mooshy, sweet centre."
The hand tightening around my throat loosens, allowing me to breathe comfortably and clear my thoughts as a throaty laugh rises out of me.
"You make him sound like those chocolate bears filled with caramel I used to love eating as a child."
"...And I got you to smile and stop freaking that over-achieving brain of yours which was my intention. Now get over there and teach my old man a thing or two about your awesome and almost-there reflexes. Just do exactly as I showed you the last time when we, uh...and the mat..."
His eyes flicker down to his feet, his words being swallowed back as he takes his arm and uses the other to stretch it over his head. A muscle voluntarily loosens and flexes with the action, distracting me until he speaks again, his voice confident and controlled.
"When my mom had the incident with the Alterates after work."
I nod my head, feeling my morale bolstered like a soldier finding more ammo for his unloaded gun. I catch James walking in from where he had vanished to earlier, motioning me over when he sees me. Obliging, I turn, ready to face this challenge I am determined to conquer.
I hear Aidan's voice in my ear, the warmth spreading across my skin and making it prickle as if each syllable contained a fragment of lightening.
"You can do it. Come on Elena"
I raised my chin, feeling some sort of indescribable emotion making me feel like I have muscles belonging to that of a body builder and a skin as hard as steel. I am feeling pretty heroic...I'm just hoping it lasts long enough so I don't completely screw up once again in front of Aidan. Emphasis on the again.
I step onto the mat, feeling as if I'm entering one of those cage fights where one person comes out with a trophy and the other gats carted out half-conscious on a stretcher with tweety birds circling their head.
James gives a strong inhale, shaking out his hands at his sides as he approaches me with a wide gait. "Remember everything we discussed the last time we were in this predicament? Hands up, careful of my attacks, keep your guard up and your senses heightened. I know from experience that your back is still bruised from Wednesday...please get this right so that we don't have to add more than is necessary."
We both begin to circle each other in a close proximity. I bring my fisted hands and arms up defensively, Aidan's words echoing in her thoughts...
'...you're always a couple of seconds slow. You need to predict where my dad is going to strike, try and see what his next move is going to be...'
I look at James, who moves his head sharply to either side and rolls his shoulders. We finally both come to a standstill and I feel like my senses get upgraded from Technicolour month-end T.V specials, to prime-time High-Definition with all the bows and trimmings.
I can feel the breathe entering and leaving my lungs, the tightening and loosening of my muscles and the gaze of Aidan on my back which he tries to hide but looks on nonetheless. My eyes watch every motion as James exhales through pursed lips as if it's in slow-motion, the squeaking if the mat below as he grinds his heels into a offensive position.
"Ready?"
He's not going to catch me again with that tri---
Bam. And I'm in the mat. Again
I heave myself up without thinking twice or giving my aching back the chance to shout a fine selection of intended cuss words in the form of nerve impulses at my brain.
○ Aidan's Point of View ○
I see Elena walk from me, her shoulders set squarely and an unmistakable look of determination written clearly on her face. My dad is prowling around, waiting for her, like some caged jungle cat. He may be older than all of us, but there are some days when he has a sort of restless energy about him. He hides things well, but I know that all these recent happenings have got him riled up and he's got a whole lot of pent up frustration at his disposal.
Elena steps onto the mat, and before long my Dad strikes and she ends up hitting the mat like a hammer hits that carnival game measuring your strength. She hits it hard.
Up until this point I have been watching the tension and careful assessment the two are doing of each other with hooded eyes, but at the sound of flesh meeting the cold, barely spongy 'cushion' to the fall, my head shoots up. I can't help but watch, the interest in my stretching lost to me at Elena's abrupt impact with the floor.
My teeth grind together at the sight of her on the floor, her eyes scrunched together tightly. Flashes of the first time I trained with my dad cross my mind's eye, the results from back then being pretty much the same as what's currently unfolding before me. I realize that it's necessary, but why is it that I feel the need to call this all off before I have to witness anything else happen to her.
I'm a complete stalker and maybe the slightest bit strange for revisiting the memory when I should try my best to forget it, but I relive it anyways. The sight of her on that mat drudges up the shock I had felt at having almost crushed her a few days ago. She is more riddled now with concentration than she had been back then, but she still wears the same obscure dots of perspiration on her upper lip, her thumb running over them and causing their existence to be no more.
Her eyes shoot open, and I find myself muttering under my breath through clenched teeth.
"Come on Len, get up...get up..."
As if she had heard me, she grimaces but jumps to her feet and I feel my hands open and close, open and close. They continue doing this restlessly, my father and Elena eyeing each other once again. I can see her judging, calculating, perceiving his next move. Keep on at it...I beg in my mind, somehow willing the thoughts to fly across the room to her. I wouldn't want to shout now and break whatever focus she has.
I see her grow still, the thunderous grey storm growing and rising within her, the exact moment when her mind and body turn into one and click into what my great-great-great-so many-greats-indicating-that-he's-been-dead-for-a-while-great Germanic grandpa called Schaukampf. One of the few words I can use to aptly describe the state Clepsydra enter when everything just fits into place and you can taste the fight about to happen, see everything in finer detail and your blood roars with the desire to pump adrenaline through your veins like a junkie consuming their latest fix...
Schaukampf. Battle ready.
My dad launches at her, but she side-steps him with vicious grace, my nails biting into the rough skin of my palms at the sight. She spins, blocking his secondary assault as he turns to swings his arms around to deal a savage blow to her midsection which would send me buckling to my knees and clutching at my stomach. I cringe, waiting for the inevitable sound of our newest member to our secretive lives to hit the ground.
But it never comes.
I turn back to look, my face having previously been aimed toward the ground in the suspense. I open my mouth in awe, the sight of Elena holding my dad in a lock with his perpendicularly bent elbow flush with his back and his other stuck between where Elena has her arm around his neck. She's panting, her eyes wide as she looks across to me and then to my dad and then once again to me with a shadow of a prideful smile cracking open.
My dad looks up, the shock at his apprehension being replaced quickly with a smug glance in my direction.
"She's better than you were. If I remember correctly it took you three weeks and a whole lot of hard landings to get to this point. She's accomplished it in three days."
Yip, I'm definitely messed up...because in this exact moment, I realize that there's something completely attractive about the way she has my dad caught in this precarious pose. She relinquishes the control of his arms back to my dad, Elena hiding her smile as she takes a couple of steps back to pick up her bottle and sip some of the water inside. She's trying to hide it, but I can tell by her carefully hidden but still beaming face that she feels like a gladiator who has just vanquished his opponent. So. Incredibly. Attractive.
James tears my attention away, picking up his own towel and running it over the back of his neck. He ambles over to me, clapping me on the shoulder once I comment quietly "So, does this mean she's being promoted to weaponary?"
He nods his head, sliding his hand off of my shoulder with a neutral expression. "Yes. I do believe that she may now work with her desired 'sharp thingy'."