Covert Academy

 

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Books and Souvenirs and Peculiar Bits

   Of course it was storming. It’s always storming when your dad returns home from the grocery store and informs you you’ll yet again be going off to the drop-dead boring local school he doesn’t teach at for the remaining half of your high school existence. Also, Indiana weather is just plain horrifying in its midsummer indecision.

“Whadya mean I can’t go with you?” The son heaved a sigh and the barbeque supplies onto the kitchen counter with the heaviness of all teenage malcontent behind it. He had to make this convincing. “You would deny your only son such copious amounts of that bonding time so vital to my future molding?”

“What have you been reading lately?” His father chuckled, his black-framed glasses slipping farther down his nose as he hauled in an ungodly amount of grocery bags around one wrist only.

“Enough to let me know we are not doing nearly enough as a family unit to avert certain developmental travesties—tragesties—tragedies.”

“Travesty, indeed,” he sighed, taking a breather and watching his son with the infamous arched brow. “Not buyin’ it. You’re not a desperate youth in need of a father’s constant love, you’re an uninspired delinquent in need of a genuine hobby—outside of pestering me.”

“Delinquent?” The younger of the two huffed and frowned exaggeratedly. “I resent that.”

“Resent all you want, kiddo, you’re not coming with me to Covert Academy. What’s wrong with staying here with your Aunt Zelda, anyway? You like her, I thought.”

“This isn’t about interpersonal family connections!” He slapped a hand on the kitchen table, disrupting the placid stoicness of the overly-adorable, Plumpy Pig cookie jar his aunt loved so much. It’s gawky, shiny eyes watched dimly, its head cocked slightly to the side as the confrontation continued.

“But that’s exactly what you said you were hoping to bolster five seconds ago—”

“I meant immediate family. Now—”

“Alistair…” The look of disdain on the father’s face accompanied by the intoned frustration made it clear his patience was running out. Consequently, so was Alistair’s time to strike and establish a firm hold on the situation. Time to deploy all the charms and skills acquired over the last (and only) fifteen years of his life.

“Look, Dad—” Alistair pressed on the brakes, drumming up some maturity and grace beyond his years and a hint of genuine concern. “Childish schemes aside, I really don’t see any reason for me to stay. Boarding schools clearly supply a higher level of learning. I’d be starting new, and making a dent in attaining life-long necessary disciplines. Don’t you wanna teach me responsibility and self-reliance—not to mention the chance of meeting other kids from different backgrounds—can you really put a price on culture? Virtue? Enlightenment?”

“At this rate, you won’t need a good education to secure your future—that tongue of yours is enough. More than enough.”

“Dad—” His voice was growing desperate.

“Alistair.” The dad paused, having sealed the refrigerator door, as well as any room for compromise. Then father and son began talking over each other with strikingly mirror-like mannerisms.

“Please, if you could just—”

“I've told you a thousand times before—”

“—reconsider your premature decision to ostracize me from this educational experience of a lifetime—”

“—and my answer’s not going to change, so you can quit making that face and trying to finagle me into—”

“—and thus make for a depraved, isolated—”

“—letting you go, because you simply can’t. It’s up to the school anyway, and—”

“—individual under your care that you let slip into—DAD, JUST LET ME COME WITH YOU!” Alistair snapped, sucking in deep breaths, staring helplessly at his father who responded by giving him a stunned expression. “Please. I just—you don’t know what it’s like to be trapped in this house when you’re gone. The silence is—unbearable. And don’t even begin about Aunt Zelda’s half-deaf rants about neighborhood cats and paint samples for the greenhouse restoration project out back that’s never gonna get done. Those aren’t real conversations, and our schedules only ever coincide on weekends, at best. Come on, Dad. Wha’do I gotta do to convince you I can handle this? What hormonally unbalanced kid begs to be let to go to school anymore? Please—just give me a chance.”

And for a moment there, any witness to this scene would’ve teared up in the conviction that Eoghan Whittaker couldn’t help but say, “I’m sorry, son. It’s—better if you just—stay here,” to his beloved—wait, that’s not right. Did he just say that?

Alistair was just as dumbstruck, blinking numbly after his father as he vacated the room post haste, probably to lock himself away in his study. That’s where he always goes when trouble breaks. This would have been the moment where Alistair called up his closest mate and said, “Well, that was a bust.” It came as an even more poignant sting for Alistair to realize he wouldn’t be granted that luxury, either. High school isn’t exactly an orchard of dependable friends ripe for the gathering. Defeated, he decided to take his misery outside. He tiptoed respectfully past Aunt Zelda’s closed bedroom (she had sensitive hearing, and always got super-strained if her naps were interrupted) on his return from getting his shoes from his room, when something stopped him.

His father’s study door was left cracked open, allowing the fragile post-storm light and a tentative growl of thunder to pour in from the bay window behind his father’s desk. There was just enough of a gap for Alistair to see inside for a change.

Lo and behold—it was empty.

“Dad?” Alistair called warily into the room. Eoghan wouldn’t be caught dead with his study door unlocked, save the split seconds he spent passing in or out of it. Even Alistair himself had only ever been in on a few occasions before, and fleetingly at that. “Everything okay?” For the sheer thrill of it, Alistair set foot on the shiny wooden floor, the sturdy sound of his pressure upon it dully reverberating against the walls stacked to the top of the tower-like room with books of innumerable quantity. “Hello?” Where he could have gone, Alistair only could have guessed. He hadn’t left the house, but clearly he wasn’t in his room as usual. Perhaps he managed to hide himself avoidingly underneath his heavy, wooden desk dotted with decorative ink jars, quills, and a tabletop lamp that feigned to be an old gas light. Or he simply had had enough and leapt out the window. But they were on the first floor as it was, and the window remained unbroken and shut, so odds were an unsuccessful dispatchment of his body would have proved glaringly obvious. Something else was at work here. Secretly, Alistair hoped there was a passageway behind one of the walls that he could activate by turning some unsuspecting-looking knickknack. Wrapped up in the potential for something to change the turn of the banal tides he was normally pulled by, Alistair rushed hushedly into the room, poking and prodding at all sorts of odds and ends decorating the shelves, tipping an ink jar and just barely avoiding a massive stain across the leafs of paper on the desk. All to no avail. Well, he sighed to himself, shaking his head embarrassedly, I guess a shut-in such as myself shouldn’t be surprised I got so easily carried away by the thought of something not mind-numbingly dreadful. Silly me. Although, his curiosity was peaked. Aside from the unfortunately normal setup of his dad’s home workplace, there was an essence of strangeness that oozed from it all. Why was his dad always scuttling in and out of here so hastily, so sneakily, and why was he so adamant that Alistair wasn’t allowed in unless under his supervision? How often does an unadulterated opportunity like this present itself? Greedily, Alistair gawked about at the books and souvenirs and peculiar bits about the room, imagining the secrets they all were dying to reveal.

“Hello, trouble…” Alistair choked down a laugh melded with giddy mischief and childlike glee, scurrying back over to the door and sealing himself inside to give a more private atmosphere to his excavational exploration. He returned to his work with renewed gusto, carefully scanning every object lying every which way about the place. What did all these things have in common? They all had a small, cursive engraving that read, “Yours always, Bird.” His father had told him that was the nickname he gave to his mother, so that explained the study being lovingly furnished by her devoted gifting. But it didn’t explain the new veneers of some of the pieces of her love-puzzle bedecking the shelves. And the snow globe containing a hummingbird hovering over a lush garden, the stand boasting of the current year, 2036. As with all heavy news reception, it hit Alistair in the gut all at once with a multitude of possibilities. His mother was supposed to be dead from childbirth complications, so where did these things come from? If it’s not her (which it can’t be), then who’s this woman sending enamoring little love trinkets to his father under his mother's assumed petname? Had he been seeing someone all along, or just without letting Alistair know? Suddenly enraged by that thought, Alistair slammed a fist into the desk, shifting a couple of papers in his wake. How could his own father keep shutting him out like this? Why wouldn’t he trust his only son? They were supposed to be all each other had left. Even if Eoghan was some incognito murderer or infamous traitor, he would have still loved him. Like him, maybe not. But love him, yes. Why couldn’t he get any answers from him?

Alistair shook his head down at the desktop, eyes scanning over the dragon weaving amongst the wreaths on the school symbol for this elusive Covert Academy. Why hadn’t he heard much of this place, either? He picked up the first leaf, skimming it and gleaning something about a congratulation being in order for him being promoted to the Covert College conveniently located just across the vast campus. And the only reason he knew that was thanks to a little map labeling the different buildings of the impressive property, falling out from beneath his fingers. He was about to allow himself to get biffed by this further lack of intel until he realized it was dated for only a couple days ago. This was probably what his dad was trying to tell him about before he assaulted him at the car door, slinging groceries and words of persuasion around.

Alistair sighed, massaging his forehead and then pinching off at the bridge of his nose. “Great. I have a perfectly sound reason to be upset, but now I feel guilty and don't want to be.” He knew what he had to do. He had to find his father and apologise first. He’d reem him out about this little Birdy tomorrow. They had another two months together before the end of the summer break, anyway. That’s plenty of time to start something. Alistair retraced his steps, retouching any piece he may have upset, restacking the pages and adjusting the delicate pose of a quill he’d upturned. It was as if he’d never been there. “Damn, I’m good,” he commented under his breath to himself, basking in the orderly aftermath of his little adventure. As his hand reached for the door, he heard voices coming through. Alistair caught his breath and his heart mid-beat. He couldn’t afford to be caught, so he already decided he’d dive for the nearest house plant and pray for the best. That wouldn’t be necessary as the voices of his aunt and dad faded down the hall as quickly as they’d come. He shook off the goosebumps assaulting his arms and scurried as swiftly and silently out of there as he came, holding his head from a sudden headache’s onslaught. He followed the faint sound of his family’s voices to the kitchen. By the time he stepped through the doorway, the two were standing quietly over the table, looking back at one another soberly.

“Hey, Dad—Aunt Zelda,” Alistair announced his arrival. His aunt turned, her dusty blonde hair pinned up in a disheveled bun, her slightly wrinkled face smiling wearily at him. She greeted him with a soft murmur and a gentle touch to the shoulder as he approached the table. “Listen, Dad…” he began, eyes down. “I—I’m sorry. For attacking you like that. I mean, you had big news to share and I just shut you down and—”

“Big news?” Eoghan pushed off the tabletop and eyed him funny.

“Yeah, about your promotion and all,” Alistair continued, waving it away with nonchalance, not keeping track of the words issuing from his mouth and how impossible they would seem to his dad. Poor rookie. “That’s really important to you and I just—”

“Who told you about that?”

Alistair paused, mid-word. “Oh…” Yep. Now he got it. He couldn’t confess his earlier escapades, but he was in too deep now. “I, uh…” Think fast. Lie! “Didn’t you…?” He pulled out his best, most innocently confused face. “Didn’t you tell me? When I met you at the car?”

Eoghan shook his head slowly, exchanging bewildered glances with his sister who appeared as equally astounded.

Alistair began to sweat. “Are you...sure? ‘Cause I—I coulda swore you were starting to say something...when you got home…”

“I was thinking about telling you, but I don’t remember ever saying anything.”

Alistair gulped, blanching and eyeing his aunt worriedly. He was busted.

“Eoghan…” Zelda broke in gently, a hand on her nephew’s shoulder as she watched her brother with glassy eyes. “Do you know what this means?”

Alistair remained frozen in puzzled terror. Why weren’t they upset? Or livid? Or coming at him with a litany of the rules he hadn’t abided by? You know, the usual. He had always been a terrible liar so he rarely attempted it. Why weren’t they seeing through him now?

Suddenly, Eoghan made a loud sound that Alistair mistook as a roar until he realized he was only laughing, being swept up in a manly embrace by his father’s arms. “Son! You know what this means?!”

Aunt Zelda began laughing with him, and, awkwardly, Alistair felt he had no choice but to do the same.

“Ha, ha—ha, yeah,” Alistair unsurely coughed out, glancing left to right, from aunt to father on either side of him ranting nonsensical chatter. “What—exactly is it—that’s so funny?”

“Alistair, you’re an Other after all!” his dad shouted, slapping him goodnaturedly on the shoulder, practically bouncing off the walls as he spun full circle on his slick-bottomed shoe’s heel.

“And a mindreader at that! What an honor!” Aunt Zelda chimed in, wrapping her fragile arms around the girth of her nephew’s less-than-bulky body.

“Wait—what?

“Looks like it’s going to be both our days, kiddo!” Eoghan beamed at his son, panting excitedly, more energy brimming behind his lopsided glasses. “We’re going to Covert Academy!”

 
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Others and Outcasts and Alistair

    “I’m sorry, I think I’m lost. Can we start again from the beginning? I seem to be...having a hard time keeping...consciousness…” Alistair pressed a clammy hand to his throbbing forehead, glad for the cushioned loveseat beneath him now.

    “Could just be an aftereffect of his ability…” muttered Eoghan under his breath, studying Alistair intently.

    “Here, Ali, have a sip of this...” Zelda offered him a hot cup of ginseng tea. He accepted the drink absentmindedly, too numb to even cringe in his usual manner at his aunt’s endearing yet undeniably feminine nickname for him hitting his ears. She sat herself to his right, waiting patiently on him. Eoghan stood across the coffee table in the living room, pacing while running a hand through his long, dark hair, still twitching with excitement from such news.

    “You are what we call an Other, capital O,” Eoghan began, once more trying to wrap his son’s mind around the reality of his predicament. “Others are humans born with any assortment of unique and supernatural gifts. For instance, your little mindreading trick, there.” He shook his head and sighed proudly out the window, biting his lower lip to contain another outburst of joy. It silently killed him to downplay Alistair’s ability like that, but he was struggling to bring himself back to reality as well. “Covert Academy is a school for these people to go and develop their powers and educate themselves in every way without the worry of being out of place in normal society. Basically, Other professors and mentors teach you how to cope with your new skill and ready yourself to help the world out there when your time of graduation comes. And with a power like yours, Alistair…” Eoghan turned to face him, unable to hold back a grin. “The future looks very bright.”

    Power…?” Alistair paled, sinking into his seat. What power? Oh, you mean the age-old tactic of fabricating fibs from thin air? Right, “power.”

    “Finally, I don't have to keep this a secret from you,” Aunt Zelda released a sigh so strong it blew open the shut windows across the room, startling some sparrows and finches from their hydrangea perches. Alistair blinked, stunned. “Haven’t you ever wondered why those myths of some tornado-protective dome around this city exist? Because I’m here to ensure those winds never reach us. Your grandfather before you did the same!” It amazed Alistair how calmly she spoke of this, as easily as church gossip.

    “And that’s why I’ve been evading your attacks all this time,” Eoghan continued, sighing once more and claiming a seat on the sturdy coffee table before his son. “Up until now, I—we couldn’t let you in about this because Others are sworn to secrecy. From federal government to immediate families, our kind keeps remarkably well to ourselves.”

    “That seems...highly risky—how have you been able to keep this hidden from everyone—literally everyone else?”

    “Well, centuries of trial and error have led to a pretty reliable system of sealed lips,” Eoghan explained, his sister nodding along cheerily in concurrence.

    “Well, but—surely something’s leaked once or twice before. I’m sure word’s gotten out—caused some sort of upset.” Alistair was still grasping at straws of his old sense of reality. Suddenly, all this magical, strange world of the unknown wasn’t sitting so well in his stomach. The universe just got a whole lot bigger.

    “Well, sure, there’s always a few mishaps here and there. But that’s what we have a team of Takers at the ready for,” his father calmly informed him, patting him reassuringly on the knee.

    “Takers?”

    “A special classification of Others that can either invent, consume, or destroy memories. Some can even steal away your powers—!” Eoghan added with a whisper, dramatically swiping at his son’s head for effect, as if telling a ghost story to a toddler that Alistair felt very much like at that moment.

    “That’s...” Alistair gulped, blanching, sinking further into his seat. He didn’t even have an ability to suck out of him—unless they could also steal souls.”Horrifying…” He wasn’t making himself feel any better about the situation at all. Imagination had become a curse.

    “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Zelda pet his shoulder consolingly, taking his untouched teacup from his hands. “Those individuals are rare—in fact, there’s only two known Takers out there at this time who can so much as stunt that beautiful gift of mindreading you got there. As long as they can’t touch you, you’ve got nothing to fear.”

    “One’s a good buddy of mine!” Eoghan flaunted, grinning proudly. “He’s a professor at Covert, too.”

    “Fascinating…” Alistair mumbled listlessly. He had reached that point of shut-down where he was no longer aware nor in control of the words spewing from his mouth.

    “Alistair, what’s the matter? You're awfully quiet…” Eoghan frowned worriedly at him.

    “I just—can’t believe—it’s all happening so fast, you know?” He tried to laugh it off, running a pair of shaky hands down his thighs. “Wh-wh-what—kind of powers are out there—exactly?”

    Ooh-ho!” Eoghan laughed with a knowing look at his sister. “So that’s what you’re worried about!” The two adults exchanged smirks. “Listen, Alistair, there’s all kinds of Others out there. Some who can fly, or change shape, or turn invisible. Some can control elements or morph into impressive creatures. Some just look and act a bit peculiar. It’s a wide, wide world out there, but you’ve got nothing to fear being one of the more docile-set ones. Take your old man, for example. I can control plants, bend ‘em to my will, make ‘em grow in the toughest of seasons.” Suddenly the lush state of the gardens about the house despite Aunt Zelda’s lack of sprightly attendance clarified in Alistair’s head. Eoghan lifted his hand, made a graceful, swirling gesture, and from the little pot of sprouts before them on the table surged a cascade of greenery and golden-orange marigold blooms.

    “Wow,” Alistair breathed, enraptured. “That’s—that’s amazing.” Never again would he cringe at his father’s bad jokes or reclusive tendencies. Eoghan was forever immortalized as heroic in his son’s eyes for this one simple gift of growth. Son gazed up at father, nodding, solidifying this moment.

    “The only wonder is why it took so long for you to come to grips with your own ability,” Eoghan muttered ponderously at Alistair.

Alistair swallowed hard, shriveling back into the couch, trying oh so hard to become one with the fabric. He wished fervently for the gift of invisibility or chameleonic skin instead of the curse of being a terrible human being. Look at him, lying right to his father’s beaming face, making his aunt get all teary-eyed—and for what? For his poor lack of judgment and his big mouth. All this praise and he sure wasn’t feeling very worthy of it.

    “Just a fluke, I guess…” mumbled Alistair, loosing a pathetic ghost of a laugh from his lips, pressing his hands over his eyes.

    “Cheer up, Charlie, the chocolate factory ain’t closed after all,” Eoghan slapped a hand on his son’s back, doing his best Grandpa Joe impression.

    Speaking of bad jokes. Alistair peeled his fingers back from his scowling face, trying to keep his churning stomach still.

    “I think this all calls for a celebration!” Zelda cried, jetting up from her seat with a little twirl of her dainty figure.

    “Absolutely!” Eoghan clapped his hands together and rose to take his sister by the hands and dance her around the living room. “Let’s get out of town! Go to Ireland at last, or buy that lake cottage up in Michigan and stay there for the rest of the summer, or—!”

    “Or, Eoghan,” Zelda said, calmly pressing him back down to earth by his shoulders, cutting their dance short, “we could just head out for a nice meal.”

Eoghan looked taken aback but soon reclaimed himself with an assertive cough, saying, “Right! Well—let’s get going, then! Come on, come on!” He dashed for his room, giddier than a kid getting a puppy on Christmas. “It’s not every day someone goes from a Humdrum to an Other!”

    “Uhh...Humdrum?” Alistair asked weakly through his fingers.

    “Non-supernatural folk, dearie,” Zelda explained casually, winking over her shoulder at him before also vacating the room, leaving Alistair to his own devices. He was convinced this party was more for his father than for himself and suddenly realized he didn’t want this adventure after all. It was too much all at once. He whimpered a bit into his palms and shut his eyes tight. Maybe it would all just go away and he could get back to daydreaming. Now that amazing things were finally happening, the capacity to handle it well was waning. Fast.



 

    The rest of the summer went even swifter than he could have anticipated, and before he knew it, it was the night before professors were allowed back on campus. Eoghan wanted to take Alistair in to get him a leg up on the new world he was about to be engulfed in. It was all he talked about all summer long. Alistair had been reduced to nothing but a muted clump of human and frayed nerves. He’d been so suddenly thrusted into a world of such vivid and strange color he completely dropped the issue of his father’s potential secret lady friend. How could he talk about normal Humdrum drama when all his family could spew at him now was supernatural jargon and tidbits? The Whittaker boy had never felt more detached from his own species as he did then.

    “I can’t do this,” Alistair voiced nervously to his postered walls that last night at home, clenching and unclenching clammy hands all the while. “I mean, I’ve wanted this forever, but—this is all wrong. I should just come clean, I mean, I’m not even really one of them—! But I still really sucked at just being a regular human being, too...how the hell—!”

    There came a gentle knock at his door. Alistair jumped, retracting his shaky palms from his open window’s pane, wishing he’d be quieter when he gets lost in his nightly self-conversations.

    “Ali?”

    “Hey, Aunt Z,” he sighed in a makeshift attempt at teasing, turning to face the door without moving a muscle towards it.

    “May I come in? I have something for you.”

    Alistair shuffled over, somberly opening the door to let her in. Smiling softly, Zelda moved silently into the bedroom, her spindly fingers wrapped around a small square box with a green ribbon. Without a word, she shuffled on over to his paper-cluttered computer desk, leaving the box in the center of the desk lamp’s spotlight.

    “Wh—” Alistair said with a sleepy tone, joining her at the computer. “What’s inside?”

    “A little something I’ve been saving for just the occasion.” Zelda gave the thin bow one tug and its silky self gave way. She gingerly lifted the top up, and resting inside was a gently tarnished necklace holding a small metallic figure devotedly in place. The pendant was of the familiar Covert Academy dragon twisting elegantly around itself in a complete circle of bronze, zealously guarding a sapphire and dodging the diagonal thrust of a long, silver spear, weaving easily out of its piercing end’s way.

    “Wow,” Alistair chuckled a little, carefully stroking the smooth texture of the dragon’s scales appreciatively. “That’s pretty cool.”

    “Your mother thought so, too, when she picked it out for you.”

    Alistair blinked astonishedly down at his feet, unable to meet his aunt’s compassionate eyes.

    “She always said it would look so good on her little man, before she—left us.” Zelda tugged half of her mouth up in a wary smile, eyes tracing over her nephew’s face. “She wanted it to be yours as soon as you came to realize your powers and, well—since that didn’t seem to be happening at the usual time expected, I kind of hid it away. It was just a painful reminder to me...I know that’s selfish. I should’ve just given it to you, but I...couldn’t explain its meaning to you if you were never to know your own supernatural blood. I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance to give this to you, as she wanted, but I came across it this morning buried in my closet and—” Here her eyes began to well up a bit. Alistair put a calming hand on her arm, smiling and nodding, understanding. “This summer’s just been really something, hasn’t it?”

    “I’ll say,” Alistair sighed wearily, his aunt brushing tears from her eyes while she tried her best to regain her composure with a light laugh. “Thank you…”

    “Oh, here…!” She took it from the box and put it around his neck. The metallic little beast felt surprisingly warm as it grazed against his skin. “You’re more than deserving of it now.” The dams were breached in Aunt Zelda’s eyes as she stood there to take in his not-so-boyish-anymore figure. “She’ll be so proud of you…!” Her arms tossed themselves around his shoulders, suppressing her own sobs. He reciprocated soundlessly, forgiving her slur in grammar as an effect of her swelling emotions. Hastily, before she could allow any more to slip from her mouth, Zelda planted a kiss on Alistair’s cheek and scurried out the door. “Goodnight, Alix.” Oh, a new name for him? She must be proud, to separate herself from such an endearing title. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

    You’re more than deserving of it now.

    “My ass,” Alistair sunk onto his bedspread, preparing to turn out the light without so much as changing clothes or organizing his disheveled luggage scattered all about his unkempt room. He couldn’t stand to glimpse his reflection in the standing mirror by his dresser even more so now that his mother’s necklace glinted so hauntingly around his throat. This whole Other thing—he didn’t belong there, he didn’t belong anywhere. In a spurt of fury, Alistair flung himself towards the looking glass, coiling a fist to throw at it. He was stopped by the way he noted the blue of the gem in the dragon’s clutches matched his eyes stunningly. Something told him his mother did this on purpose.

    She’ll be so proud of you…!

    Alistair caught his own fist and breath as a thought hit him. He’d do it for her. For his mom. He could manage that, right? It’s not like he could back out of going—not after how long he’d been pleading to be let in, not after how much his dad was geeking out about it for him. But if everything he had to buck up and face down was for the honor of his mother’s memory, Alistair would be willing to take on anything. He owed her that much.

    He nodded at his reflection in resolution to give it his all, plucking off one of his favorite tees from the mirror’s frame to pack it for tomorrow. If he was going in a liar, he was gonna be the best damn liar Covert Academy had ever seen.

 
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For A Swim

    Nobody wants to be that guy seen on the first day of school, stepping off of the train platform, awaiting the trolley’s arrival to the school while sandwiched between two overbearing,fawning parents. Luckily, Alistair wasn’t that guy. Rather, he was the guy with a doting aunt plastered to one arm and an over-anxious father pulling on the other, neither of them shy in spewing out random tips and tales. A much worse fate than that guy, in his opinion. The bolstering of Alistair’s late-night resolution was beginning to get chafed by all this giddy talk being passed back and forth between his two attendees. None of it was really sticking for Alistair, anyway. Just in time to keep Alistair’s sanity intact, their ride came to a halt at some tall iron gates topped with several tiny birds. They chirped curiously at the new arrivals until Alistair stepped out and sent them flapping away in a flurry of molted feathers. Spotting the campus on the horizon brought a much-needed breath of fresh air to the whole little group, giving Alistair some much-deserved silence to restore his waning spirits. The imposing landscape the academy offered knocked the wind right out of his lungs.

    “Wow,” Alistair began sarcastically, adjusting his father’s handmedown Covert sweater he’d been gifted that morning, feigning haughtiness. “Frankly, I’m quite unmoved. We’d’ve been better off taking the train leaving at Platform 9 ¾.”

    “Oh, wouldn’t’ve we!” Eoghan sighed nostalgically, turning to Zelda to reminisce about a magical castle.

    Alistar’s jaw unhinged itself and dropped to the grubby floor. “YOU MEAN—ALL THIS TIME—THAT STUFF’S BEEN—REALLY REAL?!”

    Eoghan and Zelda passed each other incredulous looks, pausing in their hauling of the rolling luggage bags to shake their heads at the youngest Whittaker.

    “Son, you’re at a school for the supernaturally gifted.” He walked up to Alistair and snapped his mouth closed with a playful slap to the cheek. “This really shouldn’t come as such a shock to you.” Laughing, Zelda and Eoghan headed through the gates, conversing with the guards stationed there.

    “Right,” Alistair sighed sharply, shaking himself back into consciousness. “Silly me. What a stupid question…” Laughing less wholeheartedly than his elders, he grabbed his light baggage by the handle and chased after them, heading into things he didn’t have the heart to imagine anymore. Anything was possible at this point. What could go wrong? (Ooh. Shouldn’t’a asked that. Sorry, kid.)



 

    “So is...this where I’ll be staying?” Alistair asked to the walls as he followed his father through some impressive, stone corridors.

    “No, not here,” Eoghan answered, smirking as he swung open a heavy wooden door at the end of the hall. “This is the college. You’ll be staying way across the lake there, at the academy.”

    “I hope to see everyone before I have to head back,” Zelda said worriedly, staring out the window at the overcast. “I wonder how Erol’s doing, the year before he retires and all?”

    “I think he’s in already, just down that way a ways. Why don’t you start on your rounds and I’ll get Alistair settled in?”

    She nodded happily and puttered back towards whence they came.

    “Come on in, son,” Eoghan beamed, swinging wide the door before them, unveiling a room that looked almost identical to his study at home. Unless you take into account the plants overriding nearly every inch of the walls. Alistair stepped in and breathed a word of admiration, being greeted by a vine that outstretched a blossom to him. Eoghan lifted a hand, dropping his luggage before his ivy-coated desk, and made the strands of dangling creepers part to reveal a towering bay window. The light that poured in called the attention of every living thing in that room. “Home sweet home,” sighed Eoghan to a purple-speckled, white orchid that had been diligently guarding a little locked box that carried the same endearing initials from “Bird.” Alistair narrowed his eyes at it while his father blissfully busied himself by shuffling some papers at his desk. Now was as good a time as any to inquire of this mysterious admirer.

    Just as Alistair opened his mouth, a mourning dove came crashing into the window. The reverberating sound of the impact caused both Whittaker boys to jump; Eoghan so much so his glasses nearly slipped off his slender nose.

    Eoghan loosed an airy laugh, as if the bird’s maybe-broken neck served as a reminder for some forgotten appointment. “That’s right,” he continued, rushing back towards the door, grabbing a bag from his son’s grip. “We’d better hurry if you wanna get some exploring in today.”

    “Why are you...grinning like that? Is there some pigeon-torture hazing I should know about?” Alistair asked skeptically, following suit of his old man with not so much of a skip to his step as a slump.

    “You’ll see,” was the only vague, teasing response he could elicit from his dad as the two tramped their way around the lake path towards the other side of the school.



 

    Alistair’s designated dorm room was a lot more grandiose than he’d expected. He’d seen enough youth TV shows and “Think About Your Future with US!” college pamphlets to last into the afterlife, but even those images didn’t give the cozy atmosphere of the Covert dorms premise. There were four twin beds, none bunked together or crammed into unjust corners. There were two bathrooms, both partitioned off by quiet, white doors on either side of the spacious area, so there’d be no morning massacres in the mad scrambles to get ready each day. Alistair was especially grateful for that, as he was spoiled at this point in his life from always having an entire bathroom to lonely little he. How bad could one other intruder be? He tried not to dwell on it as he further noted that each roommate was also accommodated with their own dresser and complimentary Covert Academy pin to don on their uniform vests or button-ups. Even the walls were impressively decorated with all kinds of paintings or photos that Eoghan explained were done at the hands of past students.

    Alistair expressed his thorough approval with one crooning whistle.

    “Nice, right? Best part—first come, first serve,” Eoghan announced, breathing out roughly as he hauled his son’s backpack into the center of the open room. “Take your pick, bud.”

    “Awww, nice,” Alistair groaned, tramping up to the second bed, the one to the left of the wide window, ploughing face-first into its ridiculously comfy comforter. “I don’t know what it is about sitting on your ass for hours in moving vehicles, but it really wipes you out…” His muttered miseries were lost in the translation of his voice muffling through the fabric of the sheets.

    “What are you blathering about?” Eoghan snickered, hands delving deep into his jean pockets as he shook his head down at him.

    Alistair did not budge, nor gave more than a frustrated grunt in return. He fully intended on not getting back up again for the rest of the afternoon. “I WILL NAP HERE!” he shouted vehemently enough into the mattress for Eoghan to piece it together.

    “Oh-ho, no, you don’t!” His father laughed, pulling him by the shoulders to his feet. “You’ve got a campus to see!”

    Just as quickly as Alistair was ushered in, he was swept out again, aboard the S.S. Eoghan for a tour that he was feeling increasingly uneasy of its main destination.

    While being overwhelmed by an influx of his dad’s old stomping-ground tales, Alistair was simultaneously overrun with the intricate stonework and vivid color of the academy’s campus. He was especially absentminded for his father’s regalement as the two of them walked out into a wide courtyard with a grand old fountain in the center. Alistair’s feet came to an instinctive stop as they skimmed the rim of its circular perimeter. All kinds of mythical creatures of brass and rusted copper or tarnished metals intertwined in one decorous clump, spitting out strokes of tantalizingly cool water. There was one that didn't seem to be in proper working order, though, and this one drew Alistair in closer.

    “Huh,” he huffed under his breath, daring a step closer to inspect further while his father’s voice faded in the distance, gushing on—something about memories of the great halls, renovations to his favorite hangouts, and legends of hauntings and pranks now passed. This particular statue was by far the shiniest and most kempt of them all. She was human, Alistair deciphered, her pose cast most elegantly in a calm, sitting position, her hair slicked back in a highset and imposing sort of ponytail, her hands outstretched with an actual book perched perfectly in her open palms for her leisurely contemplation. Alistair snickered to himself, admiring the clever student who thought of that nifty trick. Grinning, he leaned over the babbling waters, extending a certain hand out to take a curious jab at the spine of the novel. “So you’re a Tolkien fan, too?” he jested to the hardback. He never could’ve prepared for its response.

    “Absolutely.”

    Suddenly the statue snapped the book shut and blinked with very real, grey eyes at Alistair’s blanched face. He gave an earth-quaking yelp and fell face first into the fountain, getting a good mouthful of leaf bits in the process. From beneath the water, Alistair discerned a distinctive cackle from his father intermingled with his bubbling screams. With one rough tug from a cold, strong hand, he broke through the surface and into panting fits. The chromatic face of the handsome, steely woman held him up by the back of his shirt so that his face met hers. She grinned.

    “You’re a Whittaker, no doubt,” she laughed in that wispy-minded air of an old family friend. Alistair replied by spitting out a mouthful of water, eyes still wide as they studied her.

    “Sinew, this is my son, Alistair,” Eoghan said, smiling, after composing himself. “Alistair, meet Sinew. She’s got skin of steel.” He added that last tidbit in a hushed, informative whisper.

    “Professor Strapp, at your service.” She nodded, setting Alistair on the ledge with remarkable ease. “Might as well get used to being called that again, seeing as how close it is to the start of it all,” she sighed aside, almost forgetting her company. “Nice to finally meet you, Alistair.” She extended a hand to the dripping Whittaker boy who returned her gesture.

    “F-finally?” Alistair blinked at her, struck by how crushing her handshake was.

    “Sure,” she said, offering him help back down onto the dry courtyard’s stones, hopping out of the fountain after him. “I’ve heard stories of you for years. I couldn’t forget your name if I tried.” She slapped his father’s arm with the book playfully. “Eoghan made sure of that.” Alistair narrowed his eyes on her for a split second following this playful action. Either they’re good friends, or they’re good friends. She turned to Alistair just as he swapped his suspicious eyes for innocent doe ones. “So you finally made it to Covert, eh? What took you?” she laughed, extending him a hand.

    “Oh, you know…”Alistair began but couldn’t really finish. Luckily, his father was more than willing to do so.

    “He’s just been holding out on us for a helluva surprise!” Eoghan couldn’t help but clasp his son and shake him approvingly.

    “Ah, that’s right!” Sinew’s eyes lit up as they blinked appraisingly about Alistair’s face. “A mindreader—you must be surprised to find that ancient blood within your family. Covert knows, I trust?” Her attention turned to Eoghan.

    “I haven’t seen her at all this summer—shocker there.” Eoghan shrugged, disappointed to be shorted one less body to boast his son’s ability to. “But hopefully word’s reached her through Grimm, by now.”

    “Ah, excuse me—” Alistair politely coughed, “but, uh—what?”

    “Don't tell me you weren’t listening when I told you about this at the beginning of the summer,” Eoghan heaved a short sigh, crossing his arms. Alistair sheepishly retracted his gaze and mumbled out some incoherent excuse, nervously deciding it best to just wiggle out of his sweater and begin wringing it out instead. Something as important as ancient blood—sure, Eoghan probably told it to Alistair as a bedtime story substitute every night for a week straight. But how was he supposed to keep from blacking out in sheer terror? Any talk of the Academy paralyzed him thoroughly, before last night.

    “Only one lineage of Others has been known to carry the telepathic trait, and that’s the Covert line—that’s why there’s always been one or two at the head of this school for the last some-decades.” Sinew nudged Alistair, clearly impressed. “You’re practically royalty, kid. We haven’t seen a mindreader since—well, since our founder Helena Covert herself.”

    Alistair wasn’t entirely sure of the weight these Other folks’ history carried, but judging by the influx of gratitude pouring from his father’s eyes at Professor Strapp, he’d say it was a pretty damn significant. So he took it as gracefully as he did all other compliments—laughing awkwardly and grinning stiffly. It’s just his natural defence mechanism. That or eking quietly out of sight, which, considering he still had no idea of his whereabouts, was not an option presently.

    Sinew was asked to join the Whittakers on their little tour and she gladly accepted. After leisurely weaving through frowning arches, the group swung by a massive aviary with a sign on the door with a small, office-esque plaque that read “Whittaker.” Alistair screeched to a halt, the adults too engrossed in their own conversation to slow up for him. Their voices faded off as he leaned in suspiciously towards the foggy glass door. This clearly wasn’t his dad’s office—this was the academy side. The plaque looked just as old as the slight moss and dirt that was encasing the door. He would have considered the whole thing abandoned had a steady flapping of wings and bird songs from within not told him otherwise. With one quick glance over his shoulder to make sure his dad wasn’t coming back, Alistair grappled with the rusty handle before slipping inside.

    His head was arched by a ribbon of wings and tail feathers sweeping overhead as soon as he took a step onto the foliage-arched path. Everything was rich in color, from the soil and its flowers, to the canopies and its tenant’s chirpings. Alistair held his breath. The place demanded a sort of solemnity from him. He crept along noiselessly, heading for what he presumed would be the far door. Instead, he stumbled upon a small pond freckled with white water lilies. Carefully, he leaned over its reflective surface, clutching onto his not-completely-dried sweater as a reminder to be wary. No more swimming for him today, thanks. But something did catch his eye in the water. There was a face—a woman’s dingy face mirrored on the water, hanging half-hidden in the leaves above him. Alistair froze as he understood it wasn’t his imagination this time. He was being stalked by some human-faced beast. As the humanoid’s arm extended towards him, her eyes frightfully wide, Alistair couldn’t contain a scream as he lunged over the pond. Clearing the water, he realized the creature had joined in shrieking, too, her voice more bird-like than human. He looked back only once as he felt the power of frantic swooping from a pair of large wings, spying a big blur of brown feathers dashed with spooked splashes of birds. Scrambling through the flora in a panic, Alistair quickly came upon the exit and gratefully sealed the howling beast behind him. Whatever it was, he was sure glad it was contained. He spotted his father and Sinew up ahead and rejoined them without consequence. He didn’t even notice he’d left his mother’s necklace behind.

    “Make any new friends in there?” Eoghan smirked expectantly at his son, leading the team on.

    Alistair gulped and adjusted the sweater tied around his waist. “You could say that.” Eoghan frowned in response, looking bemused, at best. “Well, never mind—can we stop for lunch now? All this endeavoring’s wearing me out...”

    “Sure…” Eoghan said slowly, sounding hurt.

    “You’re gonna really grow to love it here, Alistair,” Sinew piped up, masking over her friend’s sudden gloominess with unintentional ease. “And before you know it, you’ll fit right in.”

    Aaaaand activate self defence!

 
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