This is fan fiction for the Whateley Academy series. It may or may not match the timeline, characters, and continuity.

If you would like background information on the canon characters, see:
http://crystalhall.wikia.com/wiki/Table_of_Contents

For a copy of the campus map I am using, see:
http://crystalhall.wikia.com/wiki/Poe_Cottage

Authors note 1:
In this chapter, I run into a small problem: When writing in a Universe like Whateley, I think it is best to stick as close to the cannon characters as possible. If nothing else, the fans expect it. The problem is that the second generation cannon authors haven't quite reached this point yet. In addition, they have only introduced three characters that, are definitively in the 2007 fall fresher intake. Roulette, (Amy,) Maka, (Martina,) and Ribbon, (Alyss,) (Note for heavy duty fans: The existing time line leaves open the possibility of Envy, Camille and the Silver Ghost arriving in either Fall term or the term preceding the vacation.) To get around this continuity problem, and still allow for the possibility of a fan's favourite cannon character making a guest appearance in Luna's story, I am going to fudge, waffle and be deliberately vague during the Poe freshman induction. I humbly ask for your indulgence and understanding in this regard. For reasons of my own plot, I will introduce a few new freshers, so, apart from the above mentioned, any freshers that Luna meets are strictly non-cannon.

Authors note 2:
I make some mention of federal gun laws in the Whateley Universe. There is a fairly extensive article in the wiki about this. On the other hand, there is no information in the wiki on UK gun laws. For the purposes of this story, I'm going to translate 'current real life' gun laws and politics in the UK directly into the Whateley universe. Some people may find what I suggest about the reality of gun and knife crime in the UK surprising, but a quick internet search will reveal extensive corroboration. For my self, in addition to working for over 10 years in France as the handler of a team of police trained SWAT attack dogs, I also have many years experience living close to the edge in: the UK, around Europe, the Caribbean and South Africa.

Freshers

When I rushed into the common room, a tall Asian woman had already started to address the assembled new Poe intake. With every eye in the room turned towards me, the woman said with a sneer in her voice: “So good of you to deign to join us sub-Leftenant McCloud. Perhaps now that we are all here, we can proceed without these unseemly interruptions.”

Dismissing me with a wave to join the other freshers sitting in small groups dotted around the room. She waited with barely restrained impatience until I was seated in a solitary chair at the back, opposite her, yet out of everybody else’s direct line of sight. Launching into what was obviously a stock speech delivered so many times she probably recited it in her sleep, the ogre continued: “Well! As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted.”

Pausing to give me another withering glare, she went on: “Welcome to Whateley Academy! Now, you’ll get the formal Welcoming speech from the Headmistress along with all the other Freshmen, but this little talk is just for you. The reason that you were all told to come here a day ahead of the other freshmen, and the reason that you’re being put up in this dormitory is that you all have something in common that sets you apart from the other students, even beyond your individual mutations. You are what is currently called ‘Alternative Lifestyle’ types. You are gay, lesbian, transgendered, or so aggressively bisexual that it is an issue.......”

Okay, I zoned out, sue me! If you are that curious, ask some other student what she said. Me I had so many other problems to deal with, having gender identity issues didn't even make the 'Hot One Hundred.'

I was brought back to reality with a bump when I heard a short haired, good looking punk girl shout out 'Fiona McCloud'. Since she hadn't thrown in the 'sub-Leftenant', that alone had already made her number one in my book. What made me do a double take was, I recognised her from my visions as one of the resistance leaders I had seen trying to fight against the GOO. When she saw me give a start of recognition, there was momentary panic in her eyes, and her facial expressions said clearly: 'I know about your pre-cog talent and understand the significance of your reaction.'

Gathering several others together, she wanted to escort us on a tour of the campus. Of course, this meant I had to ask everybody to wait as I ran upstairs to drop off the charger and spare battery in my room. The embarrassment factor wasn't helped by the look of disdain from the ogre talking privately off to one side with Mrs Horton who gave me a friendly, conspiratorial wink.

When we finally got under way, we made a very disparate group, the three I really took note of were: A young girl of maybe 10 or 11 in pig-tails wearing a blue party dress with a big bow on the back, the dress was decorated with a plastic, skull shaped lapel pin with glowing eyes which matched the skull shaped hair clasps on her pigtails. There was something really freaky about this little girl. I mean, even apart from her unusual choice of decorations. The other two I noticed were, a boy, of maybe fifteen, who was really ripped and what was either a very masculine girl or a very feminine boy dressed in heels, mini skirt, halter-top and what I was sure was an extremely empty bra.

When we reached a fairly secluded spot with a good view of the Campus we stopped, and the punk girl introduced herself as Ayla Goodkind. At the questioning looks, she added in a pained voice: “Yes I am one those Goodkinds.”

This meant nothing to me, but from the gasps of horror from the others, it was some kind of big deal. Realising a few were obviously working themselves up to leave not just Ayla, but Whateley, probably New Hampshire,and maybe even the continental United States, before I could think I butted in: “Listen I don't know who or what a 'Goodthing' is..., sorry, I mean Goodkind....”

Dam and blast Vamp!

While unintentional on my part, the snickers and smiles meant they weren't immediately heading for the hills. The big problem was, now that I had their attention, I had to finish what I had started : “What I am trying to say is: I have a bit of a pre-cog talent and Ayla is not a hungry monster who is going to eat us for lunch. Just give her a chance and get to know her before you pass judgement. Okay?”

The little gothic lolita, who I would soon learn was called Alyss and had already chosen the codename Ribbon, had pulled a thick Churchill cigar and a box of matches out of her backpack. Making quite a show of lighting it, she blew an expert smoke ring up into the air with the satisfaction of a heavy smoker, before saying: “She's right you know, you can't choose your family and you shouldn't be judged on what your family does. We should give Ayla a chance.”

I think it was the total incongruity of this little kid and the big cigar she was smoking with obvious relish that left the others were too busy gaping to head for the hills. Capping off her little display, the young girl dived back into her pack, pulled out a silver hip flask, and after another toke on the cigar, took a swig. With a satisfied smack of her lips and another smoke ring: “Ah, that's better, you can't beat a shot of bourbon to go with a good cigar, why don't you go on with the introduction Ayla?”

With a grateful look at the both of us, Ayla continued: “The groups we have spit up into aren't accidental, the other two groups are gay and bisexual boys, and lesbian and bisexual girls. Us, we have all crossed the gender divide. Some willingly, some of us unwillingly.”

Saying this, she gave a sympathetic glance to the boy/girl in heels and mini-skirt before continuing: “In my case, when I first manifested, my parents disowned me and handed me over to Dr Emil Hammond....”

More gasps of horror, and a few sympathetic looks from everyone, including me. I didn't really know who Dr Hammond was, but I remembered the MCO goons when I first manifested telling me details of the gruesome experiments he did on mutants. Holding up her hand's for quiet, Ayla told us the rest of her story: “My estranged sister, who had been disowned for being transgendered, managed to get a writ of habeas corpus and rescue me, but by that time my BIT had started to remake my body into this.”

Waving her hands down her sides, she paused for a moment before finishing: “There is something wrong with my BIT, its like a hodge-podge of different BITs spliced together. I am a fully functional male, but look like a hot girl. I don't like it and would pay a billion dollars to get my male body back, but I don't think it is going to happen. At least not in the near future.”

There were nod's of understanding when Ayla said she would pay a billion dollars to get her male body back. Not like in the sense of a shared situation, but in the sense they understood Ayla meant exactly what she said, she would literally pay a billion dollars. Vamp's comment about being as rich as the 'Goodthing', suddenly made a lot more sense.

It wasn't any of my business, and I suddenly had more important things to worry about when Ayla asked me: “Okay, we don't have to like each other, but things here at Whateley can be pretty intense, and having a support group who understand what we are going through really helps. Why don't we tell each other a bit about ourselves. What about you Luna, you've been here for 24 hours, why don't you start off?”

She, (sorry he,) called me Luna!

Just exactly how much did he know?...

Seeing it as an opportunity to get out my side of the story before people had already made up their minds based on gossip, I gave the basic cover story about my parents accident and me being kidnapped. This lead into my joining with Selene, waking up as a girl and being transferred to the corps of breeders. There were gasps as I said this and the boy/girl demanded in shock: “What did you do? How did you escape?”

From the reaction, she was definitely a girl turning into a boy.

Taking it slowly, I explained about being a weapon created during the war that lead to the Sundering and my bonding of Blackstar squad. I could see a bit of scepticism about something that was straight out of a Lovecraft novel, but luckily Ayla helped out by telling them about Fey, who I had yet to meet, and Aunghadhail. Finally, I explained how headmistress Carson had decided to take steps to redirect anyone deemed to have 'Kimba potential' and, because I was a weapon who had already bonded my own private army, I had been drafted into security with my subaltern rank in Baron Blitzen's forces.

It seemed to go quite well, everyone wanted to know what I meant by 'Kimba potential' and Ayla, with an embarrassed grimace, told them: “During the tour, I will show you the combat arenas. They are like Whateley's version of a normal school's sports stadiums. They give us a chance to really let rip with our powers and learn to control them with a degree of safety. People do get hurt, sometimes seriously, sometimes, (rarely,) even killed, but it beats the alternative of us not learning how to get our powers under control. A lot of students get together to form training teams, they might want to be super heroes, (or villains,) after they graduate or do it for protection from some of the more obnoxious super powered bullies. Like I say, the school can be pretty intense... Anyway, when we arrived last year, the transgendered students from Poe formed 'Team Kimba' , it was more force of circumstance than by design and it's a fairly long story, but we have a bit of a reputation.....”

Ayla said this last with a shrug of embarrassment, and there were a few appraising glances as we sized each other up. That is, until the little brat with the cigar blew another smoke ring and looking directly at me, demanded: “You say you are a weapon and you bonded a private army, what do you mean? Exactly what kind of weapon are you?”

Blast it!

This was exactly what I was hoping to avoid. Sighing I told them the truth: “I'm a succubus....”

Holding up my hands to stop the incredulous gasps and anxious looks, I went on: “.... we were created as a type of magical special forces' warrior who could infiltrate behind enemy lines to mount insurrections, assassinate or subvert their leaders and gather military intelligence. We are not demonic, though our true form gave rise to the racial memory of the demonic temptress. Before we volunteered we were sidhe, and are still recognised by the majority of the other sidhe as such.”

There was an implicit acknowledgement to a bit of good old fashioned racism amongst the sidhe in what I said. Racism of which I had previously been unaware. It had happened before, and would happen again, sometimes knowledge would pass directly to me from my mum. If the others picked up on what I was implying about the sidhe character, they didn't get the chance to latch on to it. The little brat was way too astute for a 10 year old and had the bit between her teeth. Demanding even more forcibly: “You're speaking as if you 'personally' volunteered, and earlier you said you are a pre-cog, but if what Ayla says about the GOO is true, they were defeated millions of years ago? Have you seen something?”

Ayla interrupted at that point, saying: “Listen, if Luna has seen something, I don't think this is the right place to talk about it. In fact, if there is a war coming between us and the GOO, it would be best if we all forget about this conversation. Unless of course you would like to see your families and loved one's sacrificed in demonic rituals or being fed to powerful Old Gods. If that's the case, I'm sure the GOO's agents would do 'anything' to find out everything 'you' know about Luna.”

Okay, I will give the little brat this, she was quick and realised straight away what Ayla was implying. Without batting an eyelid, she jumped from being a potential recruit eager to sign up to a sceptic who thought I was feeding them a story made out of whole cloth; in the process, turning me into an object of pity and derision by announcing in a dismissive voice: “Ack!... It's just all this garbage took me by surprise. Fortune telling? It's a trick used by shysters to separate fools from their money, I mean who here has ever even heard of the GOO before. And really! What kind of name is 'The GOO', it's too crass to even make it into one of those 1950's Hollywood monster movies.”

With a loud, very adult male harrumph, followed by a smoke ring, she reached into her sack for another hit of the bourbon.

So far, my telepathic gift was not something I had learned to use; and strangely, even if it wasn't a serious breach of Whatley’s cannon of psychic ethics, (on which I had had a full-throated pre-breakfast lecture from Chief Delarose,) my talents seemed, like Starlance's, more attuned to combat than simple mind-reading. That being said, without trying, I got a strong sense that the little girl was seriously concerned about what she had heard. Concerned in the way a parent or grand parent might be. The others though, snickered a bit and a few eyeballs rolled while Ayla helped the levity along by saying with an amused smile: “The cover story of 'Poe Cottage' is it's where they put all the loonies, so our little Cassandra is going to fit right in.”

Of course the rest of them bought right into what she had said with relish, and the sniggers became giggles and outright laughter. Once she was not the centre of attention however, Ayla caught my eye and gave me an apologetic shrug and mouthed sorry, as did Alyss.

I understood why they had done it, but it still put me in another funk. It didn't seem to matter what I did, a new set of rumours about me not only being a borg queen, but a flake to boot, was already warping its way into the campus's hyper-spatial grapevine.

I didn't really pay attention to what the others were saying about themselves, I was too busy wallowing in self pity. Apart from that, their story is really their own private affair, and if you are that desperate to know, you should ask them not me.

You never know, they might even tell you.

Having said that, since a couple of them figure in the story of my time at Whateley, I should maybe give a brief introduction to a few of the more important ones.

Since we were both pre-freshers, the brat and I would be under the guidance of a Mrs Grimes who ran the Junior High program. For the most part, the pre-freshers, like many/most mutants, had way above average intelligence compared to baseline children, and, as a result, were able to share classes with the older students. To give us a support group we had a compulsory home room which, because Mrs Grimes was a Mystic Arts instructor, doubled as 'Basic Mystic Concepts 050'. Alyss, whose main power was to manifest lengths of ribbon, put it about that she was the love child of a notorious super villain called Lady Havoc.

Tim, the hunk, who had just turned 15 two day's previously, was a TK brick and exemplar from a small town in south eastern Washington state. Before manifesting, she had been a fat, ugly, lesbian, (his words not mine,) who had been the target for every bully in her old school. When he manifested six months previously and discovered he was turning into a guy, it was like a gift from heaven. He suspected from the way he had embraced his change, (a change which was more or less complete,) he might have been latent transgendered rather than a lesbian.

By coincidence, the boy/girl in skirt and heels who was called Julie or Jules, had been a cheerleader at the same junior-high and had manifested around the same time as Tim. She was a high level manifestor, which she could live with. What she couldn't live with was being a mid level exemplar; which, because of her BIT, was slowly turning her into a guy. Living in denial, she was desperately unhappy about what was happening to her; and, in my opinion, close to being suicidal. An opinion that the others, especially Ayla and Alyss seemed to share.

Complicating things, Tim and Jules had not been close in school. In fact, from all the crying and apologising, I got the impression that Julie had been one of the ringleaders tormenting Tim.

With them both manifesting at the same time, in the same junior high-school, this had drawn the attention of Humanity First, and they had had to make a hair raising cross country escape from an H1 lynch mob. The chase ended with their parents leading the H1 mob off on a false trail, while Jules and Tim hid out together for three weeks in the back-country forest on the western side of the Cascades. Being thrown together like this, by the time their parents could finish getting them to the comparative safety of relatives in Seattle, Jules had latched onto Tim like a limpet. I was sure the only thing holding her together was Tim's ongoing, fraternal support.

Listening to Jules, I realised how rough my own change could have been, and it made me feel a bit better about some of the crap that was happening to me. Not much better, but it did help me to put it in the context of how I was not the only one that the fates seemed to be having a dump on. As it was, the rest of the tour was, as far as I was concerned, perfunctory, and I paid very little attention while I tried to work through the tangled skein of emotions buzzing around in my head.

Oh, before we get into the subject of my new room-mate, I should mention one thing.

Maybe because any time I had been around guys other than Blackstar squad there was too much else going on for me to notice, but I could sense and taste the essence from Ayla, Tim and Jules. It was nowhere near anything like as much as I got from my bondsmen, and anyway, in Ayla's and Jules's case it tasted funny: Ayla's tasted sour, like the way fresh milk does when cows move from summer pasture to winter silage, while Jules's taste a bit like a bland, unripe gooseberry..... Tim's, on the other hand, tasted delicious.

Still, it was only tiny little appetisers, and, asking my mum, she replied: <Yes, you can draw 'some' of the essence they are radiating, it is not much and certainly nowhere near as much as you could draw with the bond, but it is still there. Last night over Emerson and Twain, it was stronger, because there were many more hormonal boys dreaming, today there is only a few boys and they're trying to be proper gentlemen. They are till radiating essence though; which, when you draw in a taste, the spell you cast is capturing and storing in your reliquary.>

Thinking of my belly ring, when I concentrated, I could feel the essence it already held. It really was a very small amount, more like the dampness on a glass that has just been rinsed, but it was definitely there. I was very excited at this development, and my mum had to curb my exuberance, by pointing out: <Calm down child yes it is there, and you could use it, but a reliquary of that capacity might take six months or more to get even half full. Unless of course you bonded many more warriors, and I think your current warband is causing you enough problems. Once you get settled into a routine I will show you exercises to capture essence from the night sky and nature to add to your store. However, unless you are planning to immediately head off and do battle with the old Gods, you don't really need it yet. Do you?>

Gulp! Me, battling Gods?

On a basic level, I knew this was where we were heading, but I hadn't really put it together as a conscious thought. Mum gave me a quick embrace me saying: <You have time yet to prepare, and I will be with you. For the moment, your new friends are getting worried.>

Double crap!

I must have stumbled or tripped when mum embraced me. Ayla had a supportive arm around me, while the others were looking on with a mix of emotions, ranging between concern and: 'Oh my god, what’s the loon doing now?'.

Okay, I was in a difficult position here. I obviously needed to explain why I had zoned out, but my esper situational awareness was, along with the requisite klaxons and flashing red lights, screaming: 'Warning, danger be careful, be very , very careful!'

My usual glib explanation would just reinforce the notion I was one of the campus crazies. On the other hand, thanks to the brat, having a reputation for being a flake might be preferable to the alternatives. With some reluctance I told them: “I am okay, I was just being lectured to by my mum and wasn't looking where I was going.”

By the rolling of eyes, I could see the updated rumours taking off. 'Watch out she isn't just a flake, she hears voices too.'

Thankfully, we were arriving back at Poe, but before she let me go Ayla leaned in and whispered: “I'm sorry about what happened, but I think we really need to talk. I will try to find a way to speak to you without drawing undue attention, okay?”

With a silent nod of agreement, I added for the benefit of the others: “Thanks Ayla, I think I will be okay now. It's just, you know what pleasure a mother takes in lecturing her children about imagined shortcomings.”

Mum gave a snort of indignation but left it at that, which left me to return to my funk at the general way life was conspiring to ostracise me. Once we entered Poe, I didn't hang around downstairs. Instead, I immediately fled to the safety of my room.

Room-mates

Looking at my unpacked purchases from the midday shopping expedition brought a smile to my face. The first thing on the agenda was to get out of the security uniform. Plugging in the charger, I called in to sign out of the radio net, and placed the radio in its cradle with the ear bud and the sapphire choker, belt and bracelet off to one side. Then, stripping off the uniform and hanging it in the closet with the combat boots beneath, I made a snap decision to play up the loon angle.

Turning back to my bed, I quickly found the strappy sandals, red suspender belt and a pair of the silk stockings. After sitting at my desk and rolling the stockings up my legs, I felt better, much better. There is just something about real silk that affects me the way other girls go calf eyed over chocolate. Anyway, I didn't have time to wallow in extravagance. Slipping on the sandals, I stood and adjusted the suspender belt and straps, before heading over to my wardrobe mirror to check the seams were straight.

With the typical ill-chance that seemed to be dogging me, my new room-mate chose that moment to open the door and walk in. She was alone, thankfully, although there were a few girls passing by outside who took the opportunity to ogle. By now, I was immune to my almost perpetual state of near nudity and calmly pulled out the dark blue velvet gown from its carrier bag. The buttons were already open, and I was able to jiggle directly into it while sensuously pulling the long, loose sleeves up my arms and over my shoulders. This was the reason I was going to play up the loon angle, much though I loved it, the gown could have belonged to Morticia.

My new roomie was still standing in the doorway gaping while more and more girls who, unable to resist the chance to ogle my deliciously jiggling bod, were gathering behind her. She looked to be about 14 or 15, maybe 5ft 5 tall, with a full figure, jet black long, hair loosely tied back with a ribbon, and a gorgeous, lightly tanned mediterranean complexion. She was 'HOT', but not in the exemplar way, which, even though my human form is a low level exemplar, always strikes me as being a bit artificial. What I mean is, to me, high level exemplar babes look like glossy magazine models after they have been photo-shopped beyond recognition. My new roomie, was pure, natural, wholesome 'HOT' along with capitalised letters and underscoring.

Mincing over to the door, I offered a friendly, limp hand shake and introduced myself with a breathy: “Hi, my name is Fiona... I think we are going to be sharing together. Do you think you could button me up?”

Tongue tied and blushing furiously, she managed to lightly take my hand and reply: “Huh... Sure... em... my name is Cassie....”

With a visible effort, she pulled herself together and, much to the disappointment of my growing crowd of admirers, after dragging her large suitcase fully into the room, she firmly closed the door behind her.

Wrestling her big 60 litre rucksack off her shoulders and onto the empty bed, she turned back to me with a kind of really sweet, lost puppy look in her eyes. Feeling impish, I turned my back and, with a coquettish over the shoulder smile, reminded her: “Buttons please.”

Once she got me buttoned up, we got down to serious introductions. For those of you familiar with Poe Cottage, you may be aware that there is an informal rule that transgendered students normally room together. This is not strictly true. More accurately, the rule is students likely to be facing similar issues room together. In the view of the powers that be, this was the case with me and my new roomie.

Cassie's story was, I suspect, one many young girls could identify with. An only child, her father was a police sergeant, her mother a school teacher, and both were pillars of respectability in the small, Oklahoman bible belt town where Cassie had been raised. They were also devout fundamentalist christians. Upon entering puberty, Cassie had discovered masturbation and they had given her the expected 'it's sinful and evil speech'. Much to her parents concern, Cassie had ignored them. What became even more of a concern was her developing, in her parents view, an unhealthy curiosity in boys and their 'thingies'. The boys of course had loved her interest and she quickly gained a reputation.

There were a great many rumours about her floating around the community she lived in. The vast majority of them were untrue, but, because people preferred to believe the gossips, she was finding it increasingly difficult to say no to any boy, (or man,) who asked. The previous November, while still in her final year at junior high, she was caught naked in the senior high-school showers along with the football team's entire line up. Each for their own reasons, both the school and her parents decided to hush it up, but agreed that Cassie needed medical help. This lead her to a quack endocrinologist who diagnosed her as having a slightly elevated level of testosterone which, in his opinion, was causing her libido to go into overdrive. As a result, she was prescribed testosterone blockers.

At this point in her tale, Cassie broke down, and we ended up sitting on her bed with my arm around her as she cried her eyes out. Apparently the side effects from the blockers, like excessive fatigue, weakness, and lack of concentration were extremely unpleasant and her school work was suffering. Her concerned parents, looking into alternative therapies, had been seriously discussing with their minister and the quack, a treatment popular as recently as the 1960's and 70's which involved surgically removing the little button considered to be the source of the problem, (I jest not.) In the quack's opinion, her condition was a 'medical necessity' covered by section 116 subsection (B)/(1) of the 1996 federal law banning the procedure in minors under the age of 18.

Luckily for Cassie, towards the end of February, she manifested as a fairly powerful Healer with her own regen. This made that particular option, along with the continued use of testosterone blockers, unviable. Her parents, and their minister, then decided to send her off to a good christian, girls only boarding school. At least that had been the plan until about three weeks ago, when she had been caught flagrante delicto in the old woodshed behind the church with the head of her old junior high cheer leading squad. Since, in her parents, (and their ministers,) view, they were now out of options, with only 24 hours warning, she had been packed off to Whateley as a lost cause.

There was more: Her parents, professing to still love her, had, with the aid of a scholarship to help cover Whateley's heavy fees, agreed to support her till she was 18. However, before she got on the bus to Whateley, it was made clear to her that, unless she got her promiscuity under control, it would be best if she made a new life in the god-forsaken, liberal North East where the servants of Satan had created an environment more tolerant of alternative lifestyle choices.

What a bloody mess, it made my own problems seem trivial in comparison. To cheer her up, in return, I gave her the light-hearted version of my own story. Concentrating on the juicier bits, like arriving naked in the middle of the quad and how security saw me as demonic borg queen intent on seducing them into my collective, I soon had her laughing, gasping and clasping her hands to her face in maidenly shock.

While Cassie did a quick unpacking, I was putting away my mornings purchases. Since there weren't all that many and they were loosely arranged in carrier bags, things went fairly quickly. That is, until I laid my armour over my chair in preparation for tonight’s enchantments.

Up until now, probably because she was telling her story and very nervous about how I would react, Cassie had been fairly restrained. Now that we were taking the first steps toward friendship, she released the internal damping controls that normally held back her very childlike enthusiasm. Seeing my armour, she cried out: “Oh my god, what's that?... Its scandalous!..... Is that your super-hero costume?... I haven't got a costume, do you think I should get one...... What kind of costume should I get?....”

There was more, and it all came out in staccato like, short fire bursts which didn’t leave any room for a chance to reply.

Finally, I was able to get out: “I'm not a super-hero, it's my armour for my succubus form. At least it will be after I put an enchantment on it tonight.”

“Succubus form?... Enchantments?... Oh that is so cool, can I see?... Do you look like a demon?... Can I watch you doing magic?.... Oh that is so cool, who would have imagined I would be living with Hermione?.... Can you fly around on a broomstick?.... Do you play Quidditch? Heh, heh, heh.... The armour looks like it should belong to a warrior queen, are you a savage barbarian queen in disguise?......You look like a queen, is that your crown you are wearing?...”

Holding up my hands, I managed to stop the torrent and quickly filled her in: “Firstly succubi are not demonic, we are sidhe and I am not a Queen, just a Princess. Harry Potter? Yeugh! Hated the books and the film both, and I don't need a broomstick, I've got wings. Seeing my true form and magic, yes but not now, later tonight. For the moment, can we 'please' finish getting ready? My human form is basically an exemplar and it burns up a lot of calories, this means I am really hungry......”

You may have noticed that her short fire burst way of speaking was contagious. I didn't have to say any more though, with a shrieked apology, she rushed to finish unpacking her worldly belongings.

Since I had now put away my purchases, I was free to replace my bed-linen with the nice soft satin-weave that Cecilia had made for me. Of course, when Cassie saw what I was doing, I had to explain about my delicate skin, which lead to a friendly, burst fire ribbing about how everyone knows about the 'Princess and the pea' and it proves I must be a real Princess.

Quickly returning to her frenzied, but highly inefficient method of unpacking, I was able to take care of the most important stage of getting ready for dinner: Jewellery and make-up. Deciding I needed a change of accessories, I pulled out what served me as a jewellery box. This, of course, resulted in a gasp of horrified shock from Cassie, before she staccato fired another apology and dived back into unpacking everything she owned. Me, I just resolved to get another jewellery box at the soonest possible opportunity.

Selecting the aquamarine belt, I chose a shiny transparent blue stoned pendant which, with the aid of a thin gold chain, dangled just at the entry to my cleavage and a bracelet with similar shiny blue stones. They didn't match in the way the sapphire ensemble did, but they were close enough.

Sitting at my desk, I took one of the dark blue chokers Cecilia had given me and attached a moon cameo that was just starting to wane, before fastening it around my elegant neck. Then, examining my reflection in the vanity mirror, I realised I would need to redo my hair.

I mean, what is a girl to do? The delicate maiden's braids I had woven that morning just did not go with the sultry Morticia gown I was wearing.

Not having a lot of experience in the way of hair styles, I opted for putting it up in the loose bun I had originally mastered and after a quick brush, re-attached the bindi before pining my hair up with loose natural ringlets framing my face. After that, it only took a few minutes to touch up my make-up. Cassie, who having stopped unpacking, was looking at me strangely and asked: “When we were getting our tour, they told us all the other girls in Poe were some kind of boy/girl changelings?”

“Yes?”

“You can't be a boy your just so natural, and when I saw you naked, you obviously didn’t have a boy's 'thingy'.”

Okay, she deserved an explanation so I resisted the urge to sigh, and launched my standard reply #1 to questions abut my gender: “It's the magic of becoming a succubus, it's re-writing my outer personality to make me more effective as weapon. At first it really freaked me out; but now, it just feels right, like breathing air or like a fish swimming. I still have a lot learn about make-up hair and clothes you know. Like, I only know how to do two hairstyles and the only make-up style I know is what I am wearing. As for clothes!.... I was naked when I arrived and had to go to a couturist in town this morning to commission a wardrobe, this was all her choices and creativity.”

“Couturist?... Commission a wardrobe?.... Are you rich?”

This time, I did sigh: “When my parents died in the accident, they left me a trust fund. The daughter of one of the school trustees is my guardian and she acts as the trustee to my fund. I can't touch the capital till I am 18, but I get an allowance and can buy clothes.”

Seeing her getting worked up about my parents dying, I quickly re-directed her by asking in a hopeful voice: “You know I could really use your help with learning about clothes, make-up, hairstyles and all the other girly stuff?”

“Oh yes!...That would be so cool.... I would love to do that.... It would be like having a little sister.... I always wanted a little sister.... What have you got in the way of make-up?.... Let me see?....”

Oh man, I was doomed! If she kept up this staccato speech, by the end of the year I would be as crazy as her.

I think Cassie's real problem was that she had never had any friends. When she was younger having a father who was 'the policeman' and a mother who was 'the schoolteacher', made the other kids avoid her. When she found out that, by being nice to boys, they seemed to want her as a friend, the opportunity was too good to resist. At least at first, by the time she found out that everyone and their uncles were just using her, it was too late. I never got the full details of what exactly happened, but she mentioned how she overheard some of the men who were using her talking about pimping her out and making hardcore internet porn. From hints she dropped, this was more than just talk, and she did actually turn a few tricks and make a few films.

At the end of the day though, there was something really irrepressible about her nature. Sure she could be annoying as hell when she dived enthusiastically into something new, and the occasional crying jag, along with the associated guilt trip, about her parents disowning her could be a real downer; but in her soul, she was just a bubbly friendly teenage girl who, for the most part, was completely unbowed by a nightmarish introduction to real life.

A little digression there, like I say she could be annoying as hell, but we were becoming friends and I felt the need to defend her.

Anyway, holding up my hands again, I pleaded: “Food please!”

With another anguished shriek of apology, she dived back to finish off unpacking.

Actually, she was more or less finished, she was holding in her hands what looked like an aluminium 30cm square toolbox. Bearing in mind my own recent tool purchases, I curiously asked: “What kind of tools do you have? I have some of my own, maybe we can share?”

Looking at me as if I was dum and placing the box on her desk, she opened it for me to inspect its contents, while replying with some pride: “It's a .45 calibre, Kel-Tec P-3AT semi-automatic pistol. It was my dad's back up gun for when he was on duty. He gave it to me when I was packing to come here.....”

She nearly broke into tears again at the mention of her father. Apparently he had made a sarcastic comment about her needing the protection if she continued on in the way she had been going.

While getting Cassie calmed down, and helping her securely put away the weapon. She went on to explain that her father had checked with the school and she only needed to complete the range safety course before she could carry it around campus. The firearms training was something she had already done succesfuly in Oklahoma, so she didn't foresee any problems here at Whateley.

This got me thinking, I had done basic fire arms training with the Barron and, at close range, even a short barreled .45 calibre weapon would make really messy holes in human flesh. Because of the UK's restrictive firearm laws, back in Edinburgh knives and needles were the usual weapons commonly found on the streets; even, on occasion, making an appearnce in fights at my old inner city school. In fact, knife attacks were common enough that, in the same way Northern Irish surgeons were leading experts at repairing damage from punishment beatings, Scottish A&E surgeons were considered to be world leaders in repairing the damage from a frenzied knife attack. In one of those bizarre twists that demonstrate human insanity, the reputaion of our surgeons in this regard was a source of national pride.

One of the more disgusting aspects was, the thugs and morons seemed to be in an arms race with the surgeons. Developing improvised special purpose knives by fastening two, or more, blades together seperated by pennies. When used in slashing attacks, these improvised blades made deep tramline wounds that were too close together for the surgeons to easily sew up.

As bad as the improvised knives were, because of their concealability, weaponised needles, (occasionaly from syringes deliberately tainted with HIV or Hepatitis,) were becoming increasingly common. The wide-boys would thread them under their collars and into their hair with a twofold purpose: If someone grabbed them, for example a policeman or security guard, then they got a fistfull of needles, which would be quickly followed by a needle in one, or both, eyes.

To add complications, if you had the connections not avaialable to law abiding citizens, guns were freely available. It was possible to rent a gun for the weekend from an underground armourer for £100 with, if it was returned unfired, a £50 rebate. Some of these guns even made their way into the school-yard. In the last couple of years there had been tabloid stories about school kid shooters, and I knew from second-hand rumour, certain kids in my old school were reputed to have flashed a gun hidden in their school bag. Further, even as I arrived at Whateley, the shooting of 12 year old Rhys Jones was being attributed to school kids, one of whom was slightly younger than me.

So, you may understand why I didn't really know what to make of this development. A 14 year old carrying a gun, albeit in a case, thousands of miles across the country and upon arrival at her destination being issued a carry permit. On the other hand, as I made clear above, there were more than a few people in Edinburgh who, in my opinion, if some good samaritan happened to shoot them dead, then they, [the samaritan,] would have been widely considered to have done the world a great favour.

As I was thinking this through, Cassie was telling me that her dad was an outdoor sportsman and she had been accompanying him since she was a little girl. She had been riding her own horse and camping out since she was seven or eight years old, caught and landed a trophy trout by the time she was nine and taken her first trophy buck when she was eleven. A real Calamity Jane in more ways than one.

The Boys

This was all relatively unimportant though, we were ready to leave and I ran into a major logistics problem, rather several logistics problems. I needed to pee. Badly!

The first problem was that some of the girls had discovered the Hydroflux equipment but failed to realise the significance of the sound cancellation system. Threading my way through a crowd of curious boys while being forced to shout: “Desperate Lady coming through. Desperate Lady urgently needs to use the rest room.” was, I must admit, pretty embarrassing.

Of course, it got progressively worse.

I finally made it into the Ladies toilet block only to encounter problem #2: A crowd of anxious lezzies urging those lucky enough to already have a shower cubicle to hurry up and finish so that they could have a shot with this marvellous invention. Suggesting that maybe they could figure out how to turn on the sound cancellation, I threaded my way through this second crowd only to encounter problem #3: Given the figure hugging tightness of the dress, the only way to complete my business, was to unbutton and step out of the gown. Okay I did get a bit of help with that, but this lead onto problem #4: Due to inexperience, I had put the straps from the suspender belt on the outside of my bikini briefs. The result was, I was back to being naked in semi-public before I could finally get into position to relieve the pressure.

I really loved that gown, as did most of the campus males and lesbians, but it was the most impractical piece of clothing ever dreamt up by the mind of what was undoubtedly a man.

By the way, you may be wondering about why I am referring to some of the girls as 'lezzies'? Well, you see, when I was in the shower block, I realised I could taste the heightened flow of essence. It tasted weak and watery, and the flow from individual girls was even smaller than what I had tasted from Ayla, Tim and Jules, but it was noticeable, especially in the charged atmosphere resulting from the Hydroflux equipment. When I asked mum about it, she suggested the only reason I could detect it at all was because they were turned on by my delicious bod. Since it looked like I had my own built in Lez-Dar, I took to calling them lezzies. Curiously, although Cassie was sexually adventurous and she did admit to finding my bod attractive, like the straight girls, I never could detect any flow of essence from her.

Anyway, after getting re-dressed, I worked my way back outside to find the girls had taken my words to heart about the sound cancellation system. The crowd of boys had disappeared and the only two left were talking to Cassie.

Achmed had already been rated as level 6 exemplar and level 4 coercive telepath. Just shy of his 15th birthday, he was a non-practising Sunni muslim who came from the Iraqi city of Basra. Over the last thirty or forty years of near constant warfare, most of his extended family had been killed in the fighting or related outbreaks of disease, leaving him, a Sunni orphan in a predominantly Shiite city, scavenging for whatever food he could find. When he manifested, he had come under a lot of pressure to join a jidhadist group. Not liking this idea, he had explained to them at some length what he thought about both religion and nationalism before making his way to a UN base where a sympathetic aid worker had arranged for him to come to Whateley.

Estimated to be about 14 or 15, Justice, (that was his real name,) had a similar story to Achmed. From a remote region of north eastern Nigeria, he too was a non-practising Sunni muslim who had a psychotic hatred of any kind of religion or national government. Rated as a level 5 gadgeteer and level 4 devisor, he had been discovered by a UN worker hiding out in the bush, where he was using his talents to wage a one boy guerilla war against both a local jidhadist group, and the Nigerian military. One of which had been responsible for the death of his family and the kidnapping of his sisters. While he was able to salvage some electronic and mechanical parts to wage his war, many of the gadgets and devises he had created had been pure bush tech.

They were room-mates in room 210 and if you think putting people with similar 'issues' was foresighted, consider this: They both despised religion with a passion that, in any other context, would have been described as 'Holy'. It was a situation that had the potential for genuine catastrophe. Funnily enough, their hatred for any form of religion was closely echoed by Cassie. (I never got the full story of that one, but I believe that some of her church elders, possibly even the minister himself, had been both her greatest accusers and her greatest abusers.)

Joining them, the first thing I noticed was that the small amounts of essence the boys were radiating, tasted flat and lifeless. If you like, although they were male, their fantasies and drives were less than invigorating for a heterosexual young succubus.

Putting a ll that aside for the moment, the reason they were talking to Cassie was: Due to deep rooted cultural prejudices, they were so far inside the closet I was surprised they made it into Poe; and, since in muslim countries that permitted dating, a common practice was for lesbian and gay couples to double date, they were wondering if they could take Cassie and me to dinner. Neither of us had any objection, though Cassie wanted to collect a 'nice boy' she had been talking to at the station and arranged to meet.

When you bear in mind the nature of Poe, and the fact Tim and Jules were probably the only heterosexual boys currently in residence, you shouldn’t really be surprised who the 'nice boy' was, (and yes, I'll get to Jules/Julie being heterosexual in a moment.)

Tim and Jules had been put in room 208, and when we knocked on the door, we obviously interrupted a tear filled rant about the many injustices of life. Jules was sitting puffy eyed on the bed, while Tim was standing nearby helplessly. Looking to us for support, he asked: “I was just trying to explain to Jules that if he turned up at Crystal hall for dinner dressed in girls clothes, the other students would tear him to pieces. Do you think you could help explain...”

Then, pausing to give a shrug, he went on: “When we were in Seattle the shrink his parents sent him to explained it. With his BIT and regen, there were no viable medical options.... I don't even know where he got the girls clothes, when we arrived in Dunwich, he just disappeared into the toilet and came out dressed like that.”

Hearing himself being referred to as a 'he', Jules burst out: “I am not a boy, I will never be a boy and don't want to be called a boy.”

After being with Cassie for nearly an hour and still being close to her, my power mimic trait must have picked up a bit of her power. It was the first time I had ever really felt it, but I was sure I could sense an echo of Cassie reaching out from the doorway to try to 'heal' Jules. It didn't work of course, the problems Jules was suffering from were mental rather than physical and I'm not sure if any healer can cure a purely mental illness. Me though, after tasting both 'lezzy' and the 'gay' essence, I was certain Jules was now a heterosexual boy, immature and not yet all the way there, but definitely heterosexual.

Trying a little experiment, I directed a tiny little blast of my aura at him; and yes, I know it was wrong, but it was really tiny, not even enough to make him tractable. More like just enough to make him give me an appreciative second look. Which, of course, he did.

It was all the confirmation I needed. Bundling Tim out the door, while surreptitiously signalling Cassie to follow my lead, I explained: “Look, Cassie and I need to have a girl talk with Julie. Could you give us a few minutes?”

More than happy to oblige, Tim joined Achmed and Justice in the hallway, leaving us alone with Jules. Turning back to him, I gave him another very tiny blast and said: “You know you are very lucky you know,.....”

At his indignant interruption, I held up my hand, and with another little blast, started to wiggle my cute little bod over to him, saying: “Yes of course you are, when your ready to start experimenting with your new body, you're going to know all the little secrets that drive the girls wild with passion.”

Cassie, picking up on what I planned, started to seductively move to his opposite side. Saying: “Oh my yes, I never thought of that. I am sure by this time next year you will be the most popular guy on campus. When I think back to some of the guy's that have fucked me and how totally clueless they were to what a girl really likes, I wouldn't be at all surprised if the girls don't start fighting over you.”

Okay, I wouldn't have been quite so brazen and I was nowhere near ready to even let a guy touch me, never mind 'go all the way', but this was Cassie we are talking about; and anyway, I didn't really want Jules to focus solely on me. Just to keep his interest up, I gave him one last tiny little hit of my aura, before sitting down beside him. Leaning in so that one of my titties was lightly pressing against his arm, in a husky voice, I almost whispered: “She's right you know, you must remember how your dates would grope at you....”

Sitting on his other side and leaning into him in the same way I was, Cassie picked up the thread: “Oh yes, I used to think that they had more hands than an octopus, and if they would just slow down and take it easy, I would do anything they wanted.”

We tag-teamed Jules like that for a good 10 minutes.

With two hot babes leaning into him and his new found masculine drives erupting like Vesuvius, the poor guy never stood a chance. By the time we stepped out back into the hall to let him get dressed, he had agreed to hand to over his stash of girls clothes to Cassie. Surprisingly, he did this fairly quickly, with Cassie being able to dash off to hide them in our room and return before he had finished dressing in male clothes.

Real men are so easy to manipulate.

Training teams

Now that we were ready to go, I needed to exercise a Lady’s prerogative and make them wait as I returned to our room to pick up the blue velvet bag along with my wallet, hair brush and makeup. As I walked off, I clearly heard Achmed suggesting in heavily accented English: “Man, a booty like that is almost enough to make me wish I liked girls.”

Justice, Tim and Jules evidently agreed.

Weren't they nice boy's, you can see why I liked them.

Oh, maybe I should point out that before arriving at Whateley, both Achmed and Justice had benefited from a six week intensive language course sponsored by the UN. Prior to this Achmed had spoken Arabic and a bit of broken GI and Squaddie English. Justice, on the other hand, wasn't sure what his native tongue was and spoke a smattering of Yoruba, Marghi, Ngizim, Kamwe and Mada, along with a few others.... His primary language in the remote area of Nigeria he lived, had been a hybrid pidgin of English and French.

We now hit yet another problem in a long litany of complaints about what was otherwise: 'Simply the most adorable gown imaginable'.... Getting down stairs in a lady like fashion, without breaking my cute little neck.

Achmed solved the problem by throwing me over his shoulder; and, with much screaming, kicking and giggling on my part, along with a few friendly smacks to my tush, I safely arrived at the bottom, (of the stairs that is.)

It was almost a shame he was gay, but thoughts of what might have been, were rudely interrupted by the audience who, drawn by my frantic screaming, were awaiting our arrival. Blushing again, I could see running through there minds: 'Definitely a flake.'

Mrs Horton poked her head out of her door, took one look, and before ducking back in, commented: “Nice dress Fiona. A trifle overdone maybe, and definitely very impractical; but still, it is a very nice dress.”

She didn't even have the decency to warm her hands at the intense heat from my blush.

Quickly leading the way to the door, I realised that walking with anything other than mincing little steps was impossible, and, at my maximum speed, we would be unlikely to reach Crystal hall before it closed. Given how hungry I now was, I had two possibilities: Either unbutton my dress and bra, change into my succubus form and fly, or get one of the boys to carry me.

Once we were outside, the red border to the flag put flying out, which left being carried. Undignified maybe, but the situation was desperate. Looking them over, we had two exemplars and a brick. I was fairly sure that Cassie, who had managed to sandwich herself between Jules and Tim, had a 'thing' going for Tim, and seeing Jules looking a bit forlorn, I decided to cheer him up. Sidling my way up beside my target, I hung onto Jules's arm so that my titty was once again pressing gently into it, (well, it worked before didn't it.) Gradually working my way around to introducing the idea, it didn't take long until he himself proposed that carrying me might be a good idea by manfully throwing me over his shoulder caveman style.

Like I say, 'real men' are so easily manipulated, especially when they are also exemplars who were probably as hungry as I was.

It was a lot of fun, and for all he wasn't anywhere near to completing his change, he had muscles like you wouldn't believe!

After arriving at Crystal hall, we quickly filled our trays and took a table close to the food line so that we could easily go back for seconds and maybe thirds. By way of explanation, remember we were novices and didn't yet have the experience to know that, for some of us, using a tray as a plate was not only perfectly acceptable at Whateley, but an absolutely necessity if one expected to fit in a hectic class schedule with important things like gossip.

Getting down to business, we exchanged stories about our previous lives and how we ended up here. Some things I couldn't avoid coming out, like being a weapon and being drafted into security with the rank of sub-Lieutenant. Being a succubus was probably unavoidable, though it did raise a jolt of fear from Achmed and Justice. In Arab-African countries the 'qarînah' were greatly feared and tied to many local superstitions linking them with black magic rituals and curses. I think it was their shared hatred of religion that got them over that particular little prejudice. Though I did make a note to be very careful about what I did or said if I ever found myself in Africa.

Cassie, in another bought of enthusiasm, helpfully pointed out that I was a sidhe princess, which also helped our superstitious muslim brothers get over their initial shock/fear/terror. Then we got down to what was going to be the main subject of conversation for not just Posies, but all the freshers set to arrive tomorrow: Team Kimba and training teams!

After the subject was brought up, it didn't take long for Cassie, in a fit of exuberance, to propose that we form our own team. A suggestion that everyone quickly agreed to, well, everyone except me. I was keeping very quiet at this point.

As to the question of team leader, Tim suggested that, since I was an officer and getting special training in military stuff, it should be me. Achmed and Justice, more out of principle than anything else, objected to having a woman in command; but after a combined assault by Tim, Jules and Cassie, they quickly capitulated. Admitting in the process, by the way, that if I hadn't been female, there would have no question about who was the best choice.

Now that they had decided to form a training team and chosen me as a leader, they got down to the really enjoyable part: Choosing a team name.

They were having a lot of fun; but as I pointed out, I had not yet agreed to anything. It was only when Jules suggested: “Since Luna is our general and she is a princess we should have something imperial like... mm....”

Snapping his fingers, he blurted out: “I know, we should call ourselves the 'Praetorian Guard'”

I felt a quite a bit of satisfaction about this. From my original visions, I didn’t really know the full details but I knew that somehow, the Praetorian Guard, along with Blackstar squad were going to be very, very important.

Leaning back in my chair, I steepled my fingers in thought and studied them all intently. Noticing me and realising that so far I had been keeping my silence, they all turned to look at me expectantly. After a moment, I asked: “Are you really sure about this, you should be aware of two things before you commit yourselves: Training teams are not a game at Whateley, they are taken very seriously and require total commitment..... The other thing you should realise is: I'm a pre-cog and this might end up somewhere you never expected to go?”

Tim and Jules, remembering our introductory tour, exchanged a look, before Jules replied: “We already discussed this earlier and we're in.”

Justice replied, with Achmed nodding in agreement: “Wherever we end up it won't be any worse than where we came from.”

Cassie just laughed and said: “Well, if it's that bad you're going to need a good healer, and at least I can shoot straight..... Which is more than I can say for any 'boy' I've ever met.”

She said this with a dismissive toss of the head that was just too pretty for the 'boys' to object too.

Seeing they were serious and while they might not know the full extent of everything I had foreseen, they were well aware it was more than just a game. I replied: “Okay, I will see Admiral Everhart tomorrow about registering the Praetorian Guard as an official training team.”

When they nodded agreement I added: “Cassie, you said you were going to sign up for a range safety course tomorrow. From what I read in student handbook, the main team training classes don't start until winter term. This would normally be a problem for us, but I think there is a way around it.”

With them looking at me with wide puppy eyes, confident that 'Mummy' was going to make the problems go away, I internally sighed at my first taste of the real the burdens of leadership.

Biting the bullet, I told them: “This morning, I had an unfortunate meeting with the Admiral, and she told me: In order to get new JROTC recruits up to scratch with the arena and range safety rules, they run an extended version of the 'federal conceal carry course' during fresher's week. I think the Praetorian Guard should join the JROTC. I'm fairly sure it's the only way we are going to be able to make it as an official training team. At least, it is the only way of doing it before winter term.”

Amazingly, they all quickly agreed, even after I had explained to them the amount of work involved and what it would do to their plans for fresher's week. Probably the real surprise, or maybe not when you realised where they grew up, Tim and Jules, along with Cassie, already had extensive firearms training and various carry permits, with a lot of hunting, fishing and general back-wood camping experience thrown in to boot. In addition, while Achmed and Justice didn't have formal training, they had grown up in an environment where military grade firearms were even more common than in the US.

This left the even more fun subject of code names. I had already chosen mine, and since they had been through power testing with the UN, so had Justice and Achmed.

Their code names alone should probably have set off alarm bells.

Justice had chosen to be referred to as 'Spear of Tseode', Tseode being a legendary king from Borno state who, during the middle ages, temporarily overthrew the rump Yoruba Oya rulers of Nigeria. Needless to say in common speak, his code name was quickly shortened to 'Spear'.

Achmed's chosen code name of 'طوفان', or in English 'Deluge', may at first seem innocuous until you remember that he grew up in the region of Gilgamesh and Utnapishtim, the biblical Noah....

Cassie, who had evidently been thinking furiously since she saw my costume, quickly suggested Chira, a feminine form of Chiron, the legendary Centaur healer. Later, if you know your Greek mythology, we would find out that there was a special significance to the name she had chosen.

Tim and Jules, who had obviously spent quite a bit of time discussing me, and coming from rural Washington state, had already decided to call themselves respectively 'Cúpiní-k'áplac' and 'Cúpiní-teqè’s'. Which roughly translates from Niimiipuutímt as 'He who walks out of the forest with a hammer', and 'He who walks out of the forest with a net'. Of course, in common parlance, that mouthful was quickly shortened to 'K'áplac' and 'Teqè’s'

Once that was settled, we agreed to meet up at lunchtime tomorrow to head over to Kane hall and finalise all the details. Then we got back to more light-hearted gossip about what we had heard about life at Whateley.

Or at least, they did. Making apologies and promising to meet up later in my room to show them my armour, I had to mince over to security and take care of my responsibilities as Blackstar’s commander.

To be continued, comments are very welcome.

Irvine