Scald-Crow 1: The Rocky Road To Whateley A Whateley Academy Tale by: ShadowedSin

High School is a living hell for Padraig, and his life is only made worse by bullying.
One night a powerful spirit offers him a deal, and his life is changed forever.
In a world where Superheroes and Villains are the norm, and mutants are hated by most of the populace
life get's complicated fast for our young hero.

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Chapter 7 - A Drop O' The Pure

Early Afternoon, October 25th, Alliance Headquarters, North Bellingham

"I know you can run harder Sophie!" her mom snapped as the teenager sped along on the treadmill. Set to an incline of fifteen and a speed of six miles an hour they were testing her endurance. So far, she'd kept it up for close to an hour and, while drenched in sweat, she was definitely showing an increase compared to her pre-manifestation tests. Dressed in a black Calvin Klein sports bra and leggings her eyes were squarely on the screen in front of her. As she ran, she was watching the second Twilight movie and picking it apart.

"Mom, seriously, did you see what they named this guy?" she asked listing off the "history" of the Quileute people of La Push and the shifters. Corinne leaned against the Treadmill slowly tapping away on her phone and rolling her eyes. Why is it whites never get how we look. Picking apart the movie was just a fun way to kill time. It centered her mind and let her body go to work on the test at hand. Even as a kid she used critical thinking or just plain old sarcasm to center herself. Even if it was a made-up argument pulling apart another person's logic steadied her in a way few things could.

"Sigh, don't want to even try that," Corinne shrugged as she finished a message on her phone, "You know they told your second cousin, Lacey, she didn't look 'Native Enough' when she auditioned?"

"Yeah, we...we had to scream for a bit about that one." Sophia's long straight hair was pulled back into a pair of pigtails that shook with each step she took. About another ten minutes later her mom turned off the machine and she sat there breathing before chugging her third Powerade. Her body devoured electrolytes like no other, and as she felt the sheen of sweat on her body cooling her heated muscles she could tell another length of torture awaited her.

"So, you tested out at close to a few hundred pounds in the lift tests, so Jeff is rating you as an Exemplar One," Corinne picked up a clipboard hanging off the treadmill and added to the notes. Sophia climbed down from the treadmill to drink even more water set aside for her. Already, she was starting to vibrate with curiosity. Her stats so far weren't already started, and hearing she was only an Exemplar did lower her expectations.

At least she would outrun most of the football players for years to come. Sophia started to stretch for the next few moments while Corinne sent a text on her smartphone. While the two were absently focused on the minutiae of the day a door opened to the large gym and entered a member of the Whatcom Alliance. A tall Chinese-American by the name of Tyson Zhang. Upon his entry, Sophia's eyes shot over toward him as she noted his square jaw and lips. A small blush kissed her cheeks as she looked away.

Tyson or Bronze Wolf was a devisor with a strange flair for devises seemingly straight out of eighties anime. Combined with an outright love of steampunk from what Sophia could put together, he was fascinating to the teen. Tall and well-muscled, Tyson in his full bronze composite armor suit cut a figure straight out of ancient China. Not to mention his short black hair framed a long lanky athletic form.

"Hey Swift," he said, his attention turned to Sophia, "And hey Lil Wing."

To call her feeling just infatuation with Tyson was a simplification, no, this was full-blown puppy love. Or at least, that was what her mother would call it. The man padded across the padded floor of the gym and set down a weird brass colored box onto a cart sitting by the treadmill. One look at it told the teen it was likely a devise, one of the more complicated creations made by Tyson. The devise itself was square, about six inches wide, and perhaps two inches deep. On its surface was a digital screen while a series of tesla coil inspired wires ran along the edge of the screen itself.

Right out of the top (what Sophia guessed was the top) were two prongs. Each ended in a thick bulbous copper ball and was attached via a thickened iron rod. More wiring coiled around each rod and was soldered directly to the copper balls.

"What is that?" Sophia asked curiously, and she shot a glance to her mother who was once again texting on her phone. The speed of which was notably slow as both thumbs were visible as they moved with precision.

"It's my bi-corder," he said, indicating the two prongs.

"Wait, what?" Corinne looked up at him and furrowed her brow, "are you still trying to sneak around Paramount's Trademarks with Star Trek? Seriously Ty?"

"Hey, hey, it's not my fault they thought hand scanners had to start with tri, I'm just using a derivative name," he raised his hands in surrender before crossing them behind his head.

"Cornelius isn't going to have it if you get us sued, again," Sophia glanced at her mom over her shoulder before nearly moving closer to Tyson.

"Fine - fine," he chuckled before pushing a weird red button on the contraption and holding it up to Sophia's chest.

"What does that thing do?" she asked.

"It scans for Energizer and Esper ratings. Well mostly just Energizer," he said with a wave of his hand, "I tried Wizard, but the thing kept telling me I was pregnant.

"I'm neither, I've never shown either." She said, as she watched and her mother walked over toward her. The woman took a deep breath while she pocketed her phone. As the machine beeped Corinne lashed out three hard jabs right beside and one at full speed teasing her daughter.

"Dammit, mom! We already tested it!" she said complaining and even stamping her foot.

"Yeah, and your 'bi-corder' is shit, Zhang," Corinne chuckled as she rubbed her nose.

"Welp, back to the old drawing board, it can detect energy signatures at least," he pointed it at Corinne and the thing let out a loud goose-like squawk.

"Still a piece of shit," Corinne remarked and picked up the clipboard to add more notes. There was one last power to test, and that meant as Sophia watched her mother, that her grandfather was going to be the next proctor.

"Lil' Wing you should shower," Tyson said as he pointed at the locker room attached to the gym.

"Okay," she said as she stalked over to the locker rooms to get cleaned up.

Late Afternoon, October 25th, 2007 - Whatcom Alliance Headquarters, North Bellingham

Sophia ate an early dinner before the next portion of her power testing. She was completely alone in the kitchen of the Alliance Headquarters. It was a large professional sized kitchen put together by one of the founders of the Alliance. During the work hours of the Alliance, many of the members along with volunteers prepared food for the super team to make sure there was enough to feed everyone on the team. She eyed a pot of devisor coffee sitting in an urn near the fridge. Well, one of the fridges humming in the mostly stainless steel room.

She leaned against the counter, and let her mind wander for a short time. The sandwich was mostly turkey and had a light touch of vinegarette to it. Sophia, of course, added a slice of asiago and provolone to it to add that creamy texture she adored. Her exemplar metabolism would need the extra energy so it helped that another sandwich was waiting nearby. After ten minutes she wolfed down the food and drank some juice for the extra calories. She noted that there were, even more, turkey and ham sandwiches on a platter inside the fridge. A large sticky note simply read "EAT ME" and she obliged the rule of said note. The renewed energy from the food helped steady the dazed feeling from earlier.

Now I just have to learn how to wield essence. Great, just, easy. Self-doubt wasn't an unknown friend to her, and for years Sophia lived in the shadow of the Jameson Legacy. First, Ravenwing, the shaman hero who helped keep the peace during the late 1960s to 1970s. Her mother took up the mantle after her father founded the Alliance and named herself SwiftWing. Both were well regarded in the community both on the reservation and off. The work done against crime along the border, and people causing trouble in the San Juans was enough to build a decent reputation.

Too bad her father was just a baseline. Bet he's laughing it up right now. She didn't remember much of her dad, just his rough squared face, and his short cut hair. The suits and dress shirts he wore on his ever-present work schedule. Bouncing from one project to another he was barely ever there at home. She squeezed the wrapped she’d torn off the second sandwich as she gritted her teeth after her father sent her a letter after she manifested. He didn't say I was a freak, but he did say I was a disappointment. He never liked grandpa nor respected mom's work. Her anger roiled for a bit longer before she grabbed the remains of her meal and tossed it in the garbage, minus the cup of juice in the sink to be washed.

I'll do it after testing.

Stalking out of the kitchen she found herself in the main hallway leading from the massive entry hall and museum of the Alliance to the offices dedicated to the team's support staff. The Alliance from what she knew didn't just fight crime and deal with the presence of gangs and organized crime. They also focused on charity and outreach across the county with many of their programs aimed at helping the less fortunate.

Sophia strolled down the main hall along the grey carpeted floor and passed newspaper clippings framed on the wall. Each story she pieced together from fireside tales by her grandfather or her mom's frequent lessons. She rubbed her hands together as her sneakers dragged on the ground. Grandpa told her to meet him in the study at the far end of the hall. So she did what he asked. Down the hall along with two sets of stairs running straight, she found herself in a small library room. The door was open and as she pushed it aside to get a better look she was met by a twenty-foot square room.

Each wall of the room was lined by six-foot-high shelves of books. In the room's center sat a simple round table. A small fridge hummed by the table likely containing what Sophia guessed were ingredients for spells. Besides the right of the table from her entry was a reading stand straight out of a wizard's tower from one of her preferred fantasy books. On the stand was a leatherbound book filled with strange hieroglyphs she couldn't make out. Standing over said stand dressed in a blue sweater and black carpenter jeans was her grandfather.

His silver and black hair was held back by a red headband. Sophia walked inside as soon as he gestured for her to come. Drawing closer gave her a better view of the book and she noticed the pictograph nature of the writing. It looked like something she'd seen in a textbook when her social studies class covered pre-Columbian Americas. Grandpa Gerald closed the book and turned to face her after a moment.

"Now we are going to do one simple test," he said quietly and lifted a bag hiding behind the mini-fridge. Inside he pulled out a small length of cedar which she instantly identified by the smell of freshly cut wood. Grandpa set it down on the table just as he pulled out a small glass votive candle about five inches long from the bag as well. Now, standing he inhaled deeply as he held his right hand and focused his eyes on the candle. After three seconds the candle burst to life as a small flame came into being on the wick.

"I'm gonna light a candle," she asked confused at his test.

"No...we're going to steal it's light," he said with a smile. His hands set down flat on the table before he held out his hand and his mouth moved silently. She tried to pick out what he was saying, but from what she could tell it wasn't English.After three seconds, the light of the candle began to dim as the flame seemed to have decreased to the point where barely a small spark remained. Her grandfather held up the cedarwood and she noticed that the end of it seemed to be glowing like the embers of a low burning wick.

"Like Raven, I can steal the flame, using my essence to draw the light to this wood," he smiled.

"Now, I’m going to have you conduct a simple ritual. If it works, you should be able to at least cause the light to dim," he smiled at her.

"You mean light my well?" she asked in response.

"Yes, you have been paying attention during our tutoring sessions from last summer," he smiled. She could see the growing mirth in his eyes, and how proud her grandfather was to have a proper apprentice.

"So what are we going to do?" she asked slowly. Her grandfather began removing more items from his bag. This time instead of a simple length of cedar wood he set down a wooden box. The box itself was a steam box often used by her ancestors to cook items. She noted he also had a small raven wing likely taken years ago carefully preserved. Once all of his items were arranged he inhaled once again.

"I am going to invest an amount of essence which is why we are doing this when I can rest for the next few days," he explained. It made sense, her grandfather was an accomplished wizard, but he still didn't have the energy he used to. She watched as he looked skyward and she finally noticed the skylight placed right above the table. The final rays of the day's sun were slowly lighting the room.

Her grandfather drummed a simple beat upon the edge of the table as he picked up the preserved raven wing. The wing moved in and out in his hand recreating the motion of it flapping. As he tapped out the beat he began to sing under his breath. Her grasp of straits Saanich was limited, but as she picked up bits and pieces of Lummi in his speech she could piece it together.

"Beloved teacher, and stealer of the sun."

She heard the name mink invoked at one point, and as her grandfather finished his song he did one final wave of the wing in front of her face. At the very last passage, she felt strange vertigo overtake her. It was like the entire room shifted six feet right, as the sunlight above fell away into darkness. FIve minutes later Sophia Jameson steadied herself as she noted the wry grin on her grandfather's face.

"What just happened?" she asked confused by it all.

"I asked the tricksters to take a shard of the sun, and to light the well of essence within you," he replied.

A few minutes later he set down his raven wing and picked up the stick of cedar again. After another deep breath to center himself he handed it to Sophia. The young woman looked at the partially burnt end of the wood and remained quiet. He's now going to test my ability. If I do this right. The ritual itself was simple as her grandfather related it to her. All she must do is a sing of how Raven stole the light from a secretive old man. Saanich wasn't really her forte, and years of attending classes after school and tutoring sessions left her pronunciation a bit - sloppy.

Grandpa relit the candle and motioned for her to begin.

"Concentrate Lil' Wing," he intoned, as he tapped out the beat to the song. She set her mind on the candle and as she sang she mentally imagined herself drawing the light away from the candle. As if a strange ethereal tether yanked on the vision of the light before her she felt a strange tugging sensation along her arm causing it to twitch with the cedar stick in her hand. A moment later the candle flickered - it seemed to dim for just a moment and returned to full burn.

"Not bad, Lil' Wing." She set down the cedar stick and wiped her brow. She felt exhausted after the ritual and after her attempt. Each and every test pushed her to the brink. The teen eyed her grandfather as he was writing down a series of notes onto a pad from what she guessed was his bag. She used the edge of the table to steady herself while he finished. Whatever he wrote, her grandfather finished his notes by signing his name at the base of the notepad. Sophia couldn't make out any of the words on the notepad. When are they going to give me my MID? She tilted her head and sighed. After spending the entire afternoon doing her initial powers testing she just wanted to go home and rest for a test the next day.

"Grandpa, are we done?" she asked, a slight whine in her voice.

"Yup, Lil' Wing everything is done," he chuckled and rose from his seat. Before saying another word he gathered up the items on the table and snuffed out the candle. The stick was carefully doused with a bit of water from a bottle from the bag and finally, it was all stored back therein.

Evening, October 24th, 2007 - South Seattle

A cool Seattle night was the telltale sign that winter was overtaking fall hard. Most started to layer up as fall went from the gently cooling nights to the harsh rains of winter storms. That Thursday night was like no other. Out from Elliot Bay rolled a hard storm chasing the dregs of the fallen leaves for the night. A singular woman walked along the sodden pavement past a tree rapidly shedding its own leaves. Her heels clomped across the sidewalk as she stopped in front of a door set below a dying neon sign reading "OPEN". She clutched the coat she wore and the hood over her head together around her small frame. A pair of jeans hugged her hips and as she walked in their tightness caught the eyes of the bartender therein.

Finnegan's, that was the name of the bar she ventured into. Like every place in Ireland, it tried to be the bar that was small and cramped. Bench seats lined the walls matched to small tables. One small little rectangle that sat perhaps up to thirty people at once, built into an old building just blocks away from the waterfront. How the place stayed in business was a tad strange to anyone, but the regulars. The girl ignored everything around her and strode directly for the bar. Her hands reached into a purse hanging at her side and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill.

"Start, a tab, and pour me three fingers, of the Islay you have," she pointed to a bottle on a glass shelf two levels up and the man retrieved it. The amber liquid poured smoothly into the glass, and she picked it up in a pair of delicate hands. Each of her nails ended in a pointed black painted point. Even her lips were dark red as she gently sipped from the shot glass. After perhaps a few more small sips she let out a calming breath of satisfaction.

"Not bad, for Scottish shite," she placed both hands on the table and gestured for another double. Three more fingers of Islay-based whisky put a bit of burning in her throat. It made her feel alive to experience that sensation, and after a second shot, she was already feeling a little buzzed. Shifting in her seat she pulled back the hood of her coat to release the thick brown curls bunched up underneath.

"Hey dun get snappy wit me," the bartender growled before pouring her a third shot, "My family is from Iona."

"Well, I shall have ta thank ye fer passable Whisky," she retorted. She slammed her hand on the bartop before downing the contents of the glass in a single go. She leaned forward letting her lips pull back into a garish smirk.

"Whatever," the bartender sighed before going to tend to another customer. The woman barely noticed the sudden presence that sat down beside her. To any onlooker, he'd appear just another bedraggled drunkard coming in from the cold and rain. What few would notice was how deliberate he chose his seat and how easily he slid in to sit beside the woman. The newcomer's features were average and easy to forget. A pair of brown eyes on an oval face with a rounded male chin. A sharp nose and slightly overly large ears. The man-made a motion for a beer.

"Took ye long enough," the woman said without even acknowledging his arrival.

"Oh Bess, ye wound me," the man said and placed both hands over his heart to emphasize his sarcasm. He was dressed like an old fashioned dockworker, a black turtleneck and heavy-duty jeans. His head was covered by a leather Irish cap.

"Why are ye here lad," she asked as she sipped what she counted as her fourth drink.

"Tone be wantin' a report. Ye kilt the Fianna bitch, and yet somehow...we have no proof of the rider's oblivion," he smiled and said to her. His beer came and the man sipped at the stout given without a second thought.

"Yer boss can wait, I burnt up most of my essence finding the new ridden," she gritted her teeth and motioned for another double.

"Good thing I'll be bringing a reliquary to yer hands soon." The man's demeanor didn't change at all as their conversation progressed.

"Oh, good, very good. Shall get shite crackin," her sarcasm was evident.

"What, can ye not do it ol' Bess?" he asked while turning to face her. The woman's pale features set into a neutral expression to cover her emotions.

"I can do the job, just like I made Sinnead's heart explode for fun," she whispered.

"Yer getting sloppy," he remarked after a long draught of the beer, "If I weren't already buzzed I'd be guessin' yer desperate to please the boss. Ye did fuck up the job in Navarre last year."

"Assassinating a key section lead for MI6 ain't easy, especially if ye dun wants any of it getting back ta me, or the boss," she said. This time she set aside the drink.

"Tone's losin’' his patience Bess. Ye already know he's got back up planned, and he'll use it if ye fail this again," he said and opened his jacket to reveal a silencer capped handgun.

"Old way I see? Not since the Fenians, did we kill our own for a little mistake," she chuckled uneasily.

"Ye didn't just fuck it up Bess, ye killed the wrong woman. That set some capes on us and alerted our old friends in Galway. Tone's name came up, and the Fianna now are on his trail."

It wasn't a revelation to the woman, and Bess had lived long enough to piece together the actions of Wolftone since she'd first contracted for the man. The man, her handler, was about halfway into his beer before he passed a small folder of information to her. She took it as the man motioned and she saw the bartender flip a switch from under the bar and the little light on the security camera above went dead.

In the criminal underworld, she knew that in a world of capes and villains it was smart to stay under the radar. Her work for the True Fenians had resulted in lucrative opportunities. She fingered the edge of the folder before licking her index finger and thumb to flip it open. Inside was an image of a woman with brilliant auburn hair, and stark blue eyes. A flash of memory came to her immediately and she noted the similarity to the woman and her previous hit.

"Sinnead's little sister be wantin' her sister's killer. This is when she's scheduled to arrive." The man pointed at an itinerary on the second page of the folder.

"Good, I found the rider a few nights ago, and I almost had her." The news seemed to please her handler who handed a very small note card to her. A name and a bit of hair were likely stolen from a hotel room.

"Ye can scry from this right?" he asked as he scanned the pub briefly.

"Yeah, I can. I've already got a trace on the girl. I'll rile up a few to kill her." Her words only seemed to please the man for a moment.

"If ye can't kill her, take out Sinnead's sister. It'll delay the Fianna and the Republic. Boss will see you still of use after buggerin' up so badly here in yankland." He finished his beer and picked up the folder. He pressed a burner phone into her hand as he pretended to give her a hug. Bess' skinned crawled as the regular looking man pulled back to look at her. His eyes flickered with controlled malice and desire. Just as quietly as he came he slowly glided away from the stool and she watched him open the door. In a few moments he was gone, not a trace of his arrival except for the empty beer glass.

"Sa," the bartender said breaking the quiet.

"Sa, get me more whisky, four fingers this stime ye stingy bastard." Her words were a low order as the man rolled his eyes and poured the ornery woman another drink.