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Chapter 1 - Auld Acquaintances

October 12th, 2007, - Ferndale, Washington

"There's a fag, and another fag," the words were stupid, annoying, and altogether useless. Why was I even caring about them? Their definition was wrong, but even as I walked by the pipsqueak thin boy in a hoodie, I felt ashamed. Why was this kid jeering at me? I never did anything to him! My green eyes closed as I breathed in and continued on my way to science that day. It didn't get any better but at least homophobe rando was out of my way.

Never would I guess that all of this was just the tip of the iceberg. Ferndale is a small town situated smack dab north of Bellingham Washington. It calls itself a city, but it's just a step above a four-horse town. Don't look at me, I'm shit at these sorts of descriptions. I digress, this wasn't where I lived, it was just where the school district bussed me every day since I graduated elementary. Year four of this journey saw me as a Sophomore just a tad taller than the rest, and a bit wiser. Graduating from not only grades I upped my fashion and added steel-toed boots to my look. Wait, wait, let me jump back.

My name SHOULD be Gráinne, that is who I am in my heart. But I didn't get a choice in that. Instead, I was born Padraig, and even from there I hate that name. And so I do what any kid my age does, I embrace black, I avoid eyeliner and I become a wannabe goth. What I wanted to tell everyone was that instead of boots I wanted clomper heels, and instead of a fucking hat, I wanted a veil. Yeah, I was already some weird long haired queer to half those kids. Most were so in love with football I wondered if they roleplayed it in the bedroom. All my snark aside, this is who I am. There's nothing that can be changed unless I somehow was a mutant, but with how ordinary my family was that wasn't likely to happen. I guess it's weird that here I am, this rando kid in the middle of nowhere wishing she'd mutate on the spot. I mean, one of my classmates last year changed, and she became an entirely new person.

Though to be honest, all I have to go on is Fox News complaining about the local mutant problems in Seattle, and whatever the heroes in Bellingham are up to. Let's face it, I live in the frontier as far  most of the country was concerned. But, that's a thought that needs to be tabled for now.

Today was the twelfth of October, and I was glad my week was almost over. Already my English teacher was chomping at the bit to drop a reading assignment on me. History was readying for a dip into the American Revolution, and it was only the second month of class. Even my friends from the year before weren’t in my classes, and above all, I had Orchestra that morning which added more weight for me to carry.

The day started with a ring of the bell a bit after eight and the music geeks of my class file in. One hand totes a large black reinforced case with my violin and my seat awaits. Orchestra was where the musically cultured, repressed, and dejected went. If you were good you were popular. The first chairs were always the best of the best and while we didn't compete for the seating as the band did, there was a hierarchy to our class. My hand rested against the string as I used a cloth to wipe away the dried rosin. Two boys in the back were giggling about something again, and all I could do was smile at the antics of our bass players. Mr. Olmstadt rose from his seat at the conductor's position and raised his hands. The man was tall, six feet at least, and had a shock of curled blonde hair at his head. He was dressed in a blue button-up shirt, jeans, and his shoes were even shined.  By a single movement, he started it all and practice began.

This was how it was three times a week ending on Fridays. I was in Orchestra and next was English. Most of the time I was able to avoid problems, and the other kids left me alone. During lunch, I would find a table and sit back with my friends, though John was avoiding me for some reason. During my walks carrying my backpack from one class to another, I usually ran into different people I'd like to avoid. Brad Finkbonner was one of them. He was your typical jock and popular kid. His hair was bleached at the top and he wore a silver chain around his neck. Barely a freckle on his face, and he showed the gangly muscles of a teenager who at least put some effort in the Weight Training P.E.

Usually, when he wanted to he would just get behind me and shove me. "MOVE YOUR LARD ASS" I would hear and suddenly I would impact face-first into a wall. Or I'd be shoved into another upperclassman in front of me. All of this would then be hailed by the laughter of the jerk as he walked away. Being the outcast, even my social awkwardness placed me at odds with the other cliques. The goth artist kids disliked me because I actually -read- Interview with a Vampire and the other books and developed an opinion. The magic kids who played before class during the open period hated that I bombarded them with questions. Plus, the teachers weren't sure what to make of me because I had my head in the clouds. My own respite honestly was reading, and even then I didn't use the school library for the simple fact it wasn't very connected.

No, you see when I finished school and rode the bus back home I would endure the long journey via some novel in my hands. First, it was the Animorphs and after that, it was Lord of the Rings. By the time I was twelve, you would catch me walking from my house to the library a half a mile away daily. 

You see, I didn't live in Ferndale, no I grew up on an Island in the same county, so by the very fate of districts I had to ride a bus for an hour a day to go to school. The rest of the length was in catching a ferry home for five minutes and walking the half-mile down the road to where I live. Most of the kids in the city will have a different experience, but I had a small hike every day so it was no big deal to walk to a library to get the latest novel of the Wheel of Time. 

It's probably not weird at all really, but that is how I functioned. I usually read a book on the ferry and on the bus. When I was home I would load up some story on my computer written about someone becoming a girl. There I would learn more about who and what I was. You see, I don't fit who I am. Named Padraig O'Callaghan as a kid, I never seemed to like how my body fit. Mom would say "you just haven't grown into it" and would do her best to manage my mood swings. But, at the end of the day when I read those stories about magic, and technology 'fixing' someone I'd beg the universe for it to happen to me. Between these stories, and my constant reading I was able to manage my depression for short periods of time.

You see I did have a younger sibling, and we were good at pushing each other's buttons. So maybe it was why in retrospect I found it so easily to play into those dumb little squabbles we had. She'd say one thing, and I'd blame her for another. My father being the parent who took care of us on certain days would then take the next hour to lecture us on being nice. That's my life, it's not bad, but each day, I hold a burden that outside fantasy I can barely describe.

The afternoon of Friday I ran through the general route. First, I went to Orchestra and tried to just get a bit better. Next, I found myself in English, and after that it was math. All the while I would shuttle between classes and trudge across the large high school campus. My sneaker's kicking aside dead leaves and my breath misting out as it got colder each day. I juggled through Spanish, and finally, after so very long, all I had was P.E. Physical Education, the one class I hated and loved at the same time.

I liked games and even ones where I had to be physical. The competition wasn't fun to me, but I enjoyed getting the one up on people especially if they thought they could beat me down. Our P.E. building was the typical school basketball court. The outside was brick and mortar rising up well over thirty feet and accessible through two blue double doors. You pushed them in and walked to the right to get to the P.E lockers. If you were lucky, no one stole or messed with your clothing, and there you changed. If I could, I would change in the toilet stalls. Other times I stared at my dull painted blue locker before changing into shorts and a t-shirt. All this experience did was reminded me of my how wrong body was, the lack of breasts, and the only thing right being my long hair.

I opened my locker, pulled out my clothes for the period and exchanged my pants for black shorts. My shirt pulled off as some kid laughed, "look he's got tits like a girl" and I blushed. I wasn't fat, and yet, I kind of was. Ignoring him I yanked on the over-large baggy shirt and pulled on my shoes. Last period of the day, all I had to do was make it through. A quick dash took me out through the white brick-walled doorway back into the gym. Two basketball courts met my gaze, the shined squeaky wood floor, and the same weird white brick walls. The girls lined up along one line and the boys took another. Our teacher, a guy in too tight of shorts, named Mr. Saul, began our workout routine of the day. Jumping jacks, gods, I hated them.

One kid puffed and puffed beside me as I began the awkward limb swing jump. Mister Saul started some upbeat music and after the jacks, we began our lap for the day. Three times around the gym, I generally alternating between a slow jog and a quick sprint to show off. I buzzed past a girl who shook her head and rolled her eyes. Another day, another annoying girl, and be jealous of her being her true self.

The cardio lasted for fifteen minutes. Mr. Saul broke the routine by calling for us to gather up before pointing to a line of balls he'd lain while we ran laps. My green eyes remained on those balls as the coach called out, "Bombardment". Instantly, he divided us by counting off between one and two. Each team split to respective sides of the gym and we readied for war. I lucked out today, Brad was funnily on my side, but one of his friends, Lanny, wasn't. Lanny was the short kid who others made fun of and used humor to deflect it. It was he who said I had boobs, and it was him with his beady little grey eyes that met mine. The whistle sound and I was off. Hands swing from side to side and I slid on my knees to grab a ball.

Damn, I snagged the ball and use it to out a leggy tan girl in front of me. I jumped over another before jogging back a few feet. I rarely was this lucky, but thanks to all that walking I wasn't completely out of shape.

"Hey, Patrick Star!" Lanny screamed over the others. Even his voice was pinched and high pitched.

"What do you want Lollipop Guild?" I tossed back, well that's what I thought I said. I really said, 

"WHAT!?"

Just as I took the time to look at him I watched him in slow motion. His right hand went back as he wound up the swing and snapped forward. The head size dodge ball flew out of his grasp and right at me. Now, this is where in the story I tell you I dodged it. No, you see the ball was thrown a foot above where I stood. But somehow, and I swear to the gods this very day the little creep was a psychic, it leveled down and slammed right into my face.

I heard the whistle again, "Ceallachain your out!" Mr. Saul stated.

Rising to my feet I shook my head and glared at Lanny as he pointed and jeer at me. Brad himself was laughing loudly, as he danced past a ball while in his long baggy jersey shirt.

"I hate this game," I grimaced as I walked over to the far wall and sat down. We played two more times that day, and every time Lanny knocked me out. And all, I could think of was his stupid smiling pale round face. Those brown eyes bulging as he pressed a hand to his gut and he laughed. The rage boiled up in me and would say with me all the way home on the bus for the rest of the day.

Afternoon, October 14th, 2007 - Harborview Medical, Seattle

Harborview was like any big city hospital, it was where the worst cases of the most important in the Emerald City were cared for. In the middle of the city, built on one of the hills making up the cities foundation. There, on the sixth floor in a very quiet room was a visiting Irish Professor, A quick glance of her chart would tell the viewer her name was Sinéad Maguire, and she was from Galway in the Republic of Ireland. What it wouldn't tell you was Sinéad was not even sure why she was there. All she could remember was the start of her day and the events leading right up to before it all went black. Invited to lecture on regional languages and indigenous studies at the University of Washington, she was also in the city to visit family. Most of the Maguires had fled Ireland during the tumultuous troubles, and the resulting public outcry. Sinéad herself while appearing as a simple professor, was also a woman many in her home county knew as "Song Spirit". That was what it said on her MID, and that's one reason she was also in Seattle.

A death among her American cousins had pushed plans in the work for over a year. It did help that her associates in Ireland, a team dubbed Fianna, were in the grips of a scandal involving the MCO. The specifics were once again not clear to her, but what she did know was it involved an underaged traveler girl, and one of her students a boy named Brian. Mutants in Ireland weren't hated, but they weren't beloved either. Toss in the politics of the traveling community plus a large traveler girl's family including her da and several brothers, and shat hit the fan quickly. After using what influences she could to move the lad over to England for a spell, she decided that the death of her cousin Michael was a good push for her to finally take the guest lecturer position in Seattle.

Her first week in Seattle had been perfectly fine. The weather was similar to her family home in Galway, and the coast reminded her when she grew up in Connemara. Even the fishing boats resting at nets on the coast added to the nostalgia she felt upon seeing them. The sky was cloudy, just like home, and the fall sun just as bright. But something was -wrong- as well. Once she stepped off that plane into SeaTac she all of a sudden felt at odds with the world around her. First, it was an itch along the back of her neck, and the whole day before the lecture she was feeling a growing sense of anxiety.

Right before leaving the hotel she walked right into the bathroom to examine herself. Just as always her flaming red hair and green eyes met her gaze. Like any Exemplar woman, she was good looking, with each movement punctuated by the muscle underneath her half-nude form. She checked her eyes, her mouth, and even sang a small ditty to herself. Her codename, Song Spirit, came from her ability to manipulate sound and to entrance people. Since she had manifested, and taken on the burden as a Draoi, or druid, she'd had a deep connection to her Gaelic heritage. As always, looking at herself revealed that sense of double-vision, as if seeing herself through someone else’s eyes. Initially, it took her months to get used to it, but now after being bonded to her spirit for so long she felt right at home in her body.

"Sigh, mornin’ Morgan, mornin' Sinéad," she said to herself. Her brogue was thick like any girl born from Connemara, but it also held a distinct sing-song flavor to each syllable. Even when out and about she had to watch her voice, or she'd cause someone to stop paying attention. This was especially dangerous when in a cab, or when walking in a crowded street.

Sinéad completed her morning ritual and set aside a small bag of runes carved with Ogham, the old line and dash writing of the ancient Irish. Much like a Norse rune reading she asked a simple question like, "WIll my day be fruitful?" and drew a series of runes from their bag. The runes themselves were small flint stones marked with words in Old Irish. Most were simple words such as "luck" or "health", others were more complicated such as "reaper" and "carriage." So when she drew the rocks from their home this morning and the words spelled out "old friend, bad luck", she was nervous.

There wasn't any actual magic to the runes, but she knew in her gut that something was wrong. The truth was she'd made them up after a friend did a Norse rune reading five years ago, and usually kept them around for the placebo of decision making. And yet, she eyed those words again and tried to fathom what by Dagda's grace they could mean. Red eyes narrowed and widened at them, as she bit her lip uneasily.

"Feck it," she grunted, 'I got shat ta do, and na' much time ta do it."

The Irish lass gathered up the cast runes and shoved the bag quickly into her purse. Whatever bad luck old friend meant, she'd have to figure it out later.

She put on the simple grey pullover for the weather, and a nice pair of khaki trousers. Her favorite leather shoes were next, and after fussing with her hair for ten minutes she declared it "good enough".

The walk from the hotel to the university lecture hall was a few blocks, but Sinéad barely minded a thing. While walking past a window display from a local boutique she cast a glance and caught a girl walking the other way, straight black hair, and a hoodie pulled up over her head. Strange, dun remember passing her by. The Irishwoman ignored the thought and continued on her way. 

The noise of the city was a bit much for her and while waiting for the crosswalk when the eerie sense of someone staring at her caused her to glance over her shoulder. No one was there, again she shrugged it off and continued on her way. Along her way she tucked her purse closer to her person instinctively, and soon passed the last block before arriving at the Communications Building on the University Campus.

Sinéad inhaled deeply before pushing open the door to the building and made her way to the elevator. Pressing the button for the second floor she wrapped her arms around herself as she banished whatever anxiety was starting to creep up her spine. The door opened perfectly on cue and she scooted her way past a brunette student waiting to enter. Just as her lecture was to begin she walked into the Simpson Center lecture hall. Row upon row of seating awaited her and was quite full as she padded down the right side of the room.

'Oh, dang, sorry fer bein' late," she said while passing one of the faculty, a woman dressed in long black skirt and black blouse.

"No worries Doctor Maguire, we were just starting to file in, you are on time," the woman replied. Sinéad smiled her eyes alight with vigor.

"Alright, shall we start?" she asked and set down her purse before removing a jump drive.

"Yes, the computer is ready if you have the correct file we should be able to start your presentation," the faculty member said. Meanwhile, a tall student in a black button-up shirt and jeans stood up to address the audience.

"Thank you, everyone, for attending this afternoon's guest lecture by Doctor Sinéad Maguire!" he began before continuing, "As you may have heard, Dr. Maguire has recently published her study on the current status of the Celtic Languages of the British Isles. As per usual, please wait for the Doctor to complete her presentation and then we will be allowing a short question period thereafter."

Sinéad gulped, this was a small audience and far smaller than the crowds she was used to. As Song Spirit, she was a leading member of Galway's Fianna, and she wasn't at all inexperienced in presenting herself to the public. Under her real identity though she rarely did anything but conduct her research and present it for peer review. Now, for the first time since she was invited, she would actually be putting her results for others to see. Well, for those not directly in her small circle of fellow Doctoral experts of indigenous European Languages.

"Hello everyone, an' before I begin, I just wan' ta say thank ta the Washington Celtic Society here in Seattle for the invitation and providing for my visit," she breathed slowly to calm her nerves.

"I also want ta say thank ye ta everyone for attendin' my lecture. While many may not know, the native regional languages of Europe face an' uphill battle. We in the Republic have nationalized our native tongue, bu' only maybe twenty percent of citizens speak it actively." She continued discussing the statistics before opening up her powerpoint presentation and showing a brief history of the language. Once the data flowed she eased the cadence of her voice, letting her voice carry her growing confidence she leaned back against the table where the projector rested.

"Now, when I conducted my research, I did so with explicit permission while spendin' weeks at a time in well known Brythonic and Goidelic language settlements. The Gaeltacht of Ireland, in towns in the Hebrides of Scotland. These areas are home to defined dialects and vary between that spoken as the standard in their home country. Wales, which is noted as having a far higher speaker population itself shows stronger Welsh presence in those areas farthest away from the dike built by King Offa."

In all her time in between work with the Fianna, she had picked up how the traditions of the Draoi were found throughout the Isles. If the University of Galway gave permission for her trip to Bretagne more could be realized! Even more so for personal understanding, she wanted to know more about the elusive tradition she was a part of. Her research for the preservation of her people's language was just a plus along the way.

She was just about finishing up her presentation when a wave of anxiety hit her again. Sinéad felt the wisps of a daze dash through her eyes as she leaned against the table once more. Her right hand curled around the edge of the cheap college furniture as she ran her eyes across the audience. Everyone was intent on paying attention to what she had to say. The genuine fascination they held invigorated her to go further. The Doctor wobbled a bit feeling her legs wanting to give and pushed herself to remain standing.

"Now, what I have noticed through my study, which will require further corroboration," she froze mid-sentence.

At first, she wasn't aware of why she stopped, before her, she realized that pain was exploding in her arm and worming its way to her chest. Her heart beat harder and harder, filling her hearing with its drumming. Slowly, she winced, and felt her legs giving way just as her grip on the table loosened. There was a rush of shocked gasps and when her body impacted the ground it let out a loud thud.

"Someone call 9-1-1," she could make out the faculty member yelling, "I think she's having a heart attack."

The pain continued and slowly drew her away from the light, deeper and deeper until nothing remained.

After blacking out she later found herself in that quiet room in what appeared to be a hospital. The steady beeping of a heart monitor met her wakening senses as she tried to move and found herself completely drained of energy. Did they say a heart attack? But I couldn't have one that easily, right? Questions invaded her sluggish brain and Sinéad closed her eyes. Neither her arms nor her legs wanted to move, and her chest felt like someone had driven a spike into her ribs. 

From her prone position, she shifted her head painfully slow to take in the room. A window glaring with the nightlight of the city was the first thing she saw. Second, she noted the bedside light near her bed and finally at the doorway to the bathroom. Her hospital bed was comfy, not as nice as her bed at home, but it kept the pain at bay. Sinéad licked her lips nervously while trying to make heads or tails of the idling worry returning to her senses. Ever since stepping foot in Seattle, everything felt wrong. Even the day of her presentation had felt off, and the runes were just adding to the fire of confusion. One attempt at sitting up only rendered more pain so before she even began she gave up. A soft thump against the pillow was all she heard as she closed her eyes.

At least she was alone.

Running through the events of the day Sinéad tried to figure what could have happened to cause her to almost die. As a mutant, her health was quite good, and she hadn't even stressed herself out remotely that much with her studies. She ate well, and was fairly young for an exemplar, and should have a long life ahead of her. Other than a few of Fianna's arch-enemies there was no one actively wanting her dead. Song Spirit was the face of the Fianna, but she wasn't one of the biggest targets. No one should even know she was -in- Seattle other than members of her family and her team.

It all left her befuddled as to what happened.

That's when she saw it or finally saw it. In the glare of the window, the smallest movement by the base of her bed. Reacting quickly, she painfully rolled over to spy the mirror facing the edge of the bed and stood still. Her heightened hearing picked up nothing, and nor did she see anyone. 

Again she looked at the window, and again movement, the barest of it on the other side shifting of the blankets. Her muscles protested her reversal in the bed, and as if by magic she found no one on the opposite side as well.

"Tick - Tock," the barest hint of a voice whispered. Sinéad's body tensed, her eyes darted around looking for a source of the sound.

"Tick - feckin' tock, the Rider's run ou' the clock," that stupid voice was feminine, and sounded like a little girl singing under her breath. Whoever, or whatever was speaking showed not a hint of being close enough to her or remotely in the room.

A yelp of frustration emitted from the heroine's mouth as she pounded her fists into the cushion of the bed's mattress. WHO THE FECK IS TEASING ME! WHO ARE YE!

"Just an old friend, come callin'" this time the voice was louder and placed right in front of her. Sinéad's head leaned forward trying to spy someone hiding at the foot of her bed.

"Up here ridden," the words drew her gaze up, and she saw it. The shock of the image hit her harder than a dram of shit whiskey, and it was perhaps the last solid thought she would have.

There in the reflection of the mirror was a girl, well, the body of a girl. A body that vividly lacked a head. It moved directly into view in the glared mirror, and the voice started to hum. Sinéad squinted to make out the body's clothes and realized she was dressed like a young girl from the victorian era. The dress itself was held up by a thick white petticoat and appeared dark-colored. Around the headless neck was a lace collar fitted with a small black ribbon tie. The sleeves went down all the wave over her wrists and were edged in white lace. The only thing she lacked was what made it seem so eerie.

"Dullahan," she whispered. The headless grim-reapers from Irish faerie tales, and there was one right there in her room's reflection.

"Spot on, well done ridden!' the voice chirped and as if to add insult to injury the hands of the body clapped.

"What do you want?" Sinéad croaked, as she began to hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

"Just to finish the job, as I said, tick-tock." The Exemplar tried to wrack her brain for why a magical creature would be wanting to kill her, and how a reflection was going to do the job. Just as she inhaled to focus the hand of the Dullahan snaked away from its resting place at the body's side. It's arm extending inhumanly out to plunge fingertip first into her reflection's chest. Just as it did she felt a burst of pain, and blood began to seep up through the paper hospital gown.

"The poison, wasn't working well enough, and your rider kept you alive," the headless being spoke again.

"How - how?" she coughed.

"Hurt the shadow, and the victim bleeds all the same," the little voice said with a chattering laugh.

"Tick - tock, rider, I know you are in there," the hand whatever it was grasped at her heart and squeezed.

In her dying moment's the only thought she had was the epiphany of what the Dullahan meant by rider. Morgan, the force that gave her her powers, and sustained her. But, the force itself was just that, a force, a spirit without any real name other than Morgana or Morgan as Sinéad called it. Could it be something else?

"Tick - tock lass, the banshee's wailing for ye at home," were the last thing she heard as the mirror monster's hand squeezed her heart till it burst.

 

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Chapter 2 - Striking a Deal

Afternoon, October 15th, 2007 - Lummi Island

Another Monday done and gone, and yet I already was not looking forward to the rest of my week.

The weekend went by too far for my tastes and left me wishing for it to come again faster than before. I groaned as I walked off the bus, and as I stepped onto the curb by the old casino the cool afternoon air hit my face. Somehow, for reasons I could not understand, the temperature had dropped a lot in the last two days. Maybe, it was some sort of a cold front or another storm. There had been a thunderstorm on Sunday night, and it'd woken me repeatedly. I was usually a heavy sleeper, but Sunday night just was not my night. I eventually put on my small TV in my room to will away my energy. Somehow I ended up watching an old episode of Battlestar Galactica playing on the SciFi channel.

That damn robotic dog monster would haunt me to the end of days.

My life was almost rinse and repeat - starting from the beginning to the end of the day. I eventually drifted off to sleep again before waking up to the loud screech of my alarm. I slapped it quiet and rolled out of bed. The cold of my painted cement floor instantly woke me up as I squeaked at the chill in my bare feet. A few loud curses later I was upstairs after getting dressed and ate my breakfast, the usual bowl of off-brand Cheerios. Rinse and repeat, and even class had been dreary to the point of blurring together. The end of today, broke the monotony as I was knocked out of my daydreaming in Algebra class by the bell. The cobwebs were knocked from my mind as I hurriedly jotted down the assignment for the night, and rushed to shove everything into my backpack. There was distinct giggling by two of my classmates as they mocked talking audibly about me and my constant daydreaming. Nothing these past few days seemed to stick.

I snapped my thoughts back to the here and now, letting the chill of the sea breeze stabilize my awareness. It all felt wrong, and the walk up to the dock felt longer than usual. Five minutes later the round shape of the ferry came into view. Its two-story-tall form strangely stuck to the open bowl-shaped hull of the car deck. A quick jaunt down the ramp onto the deck and I was in the crew cabin to wait before most of the other kids arrived. Finding a seat right by the table of the cabin I shrank into a corner to catch a small nap before the boat docked on the other side. Rumbling beneath me signaled the ferry's engine roaring to life, and just as my fellow students started their quiet chatter I zoned out for four wonderful minutes.

"Shit, hey Padraig, we gotta go!' one of the kids yelled at me as I rose and shook myself awake. Outside through the windows, I could see one of the deckhands signaling for the last of the cars to begin their exit up the ramp of the dock. Instantly, I was on my feet, and as I dragged myself out of my seat at the table I caught sight of something. Usually, the crew cabin was where the High School students from the Island went to get away from the cramped quarters of the passenger cabin. My place at the table was a prime spot, especially since it had a nice cushion to sit on. The table itself was usually covered in food and reading the material the ferry crew used to pass the time in between their runs.

What I saw was the headline "VISITING PROFESSOR FOUND DEAD!" in large black letters above a picture of a red-haired woman. It was only a short glance, and the kids shouted at me to hurry up. I snagged my backpack with one hand and slung it over my shoulder as was my habit. As I rushed out the door and onto the steel deck I was again hit by the chill sea wind.

I could hear one of the ferry crew ordering me off the boat as the rest of the kids were already halfway up. I hated last minute jogging and instead broke into a laggardly run to catch up.

Late Evening, October 15th, 2006 - Lummi Island

Mom gave me a ride home that afternoon, which was rare indeed. It was nice to see her in the front seat waiting in the green CRV checking the news on her Gizmatic Smartphone. I walked right up to the car, opened the door after hearing the telltale "thunk" of the car unlocking. My mom was in her forties and usually cut her hair above her shoulders. While reading a pair of glasses were perched on her nose as she sat there wearing an old Seahawks T-shirt and a pair of black leggings.

I told her a bit about the day, and she let me vent about my treatment at school. Mom was best described as particularly defensive of me and my sister. That's what happens when you grow up as a socially defunct child and had a sibling with a genetic disorder. As I thought about it while we drove and I later walked through my home's back door, she had nearly threatened to sue the Elementary school on the Island. The school district's response to my sister’s presumed issues was that she was a diabetic and didn't require that much assistance. For me, this meant I grew up drinking diet rather than sugar soda, and my family was always aware of the need for food.

"Go into the dining room, no TV until your homework is done," mom chided me as I began to unpack my work for the day. The book far heavier than any child should be able to carry made an audible thump as I placed it on the long tan table. An hour later I was on the twentieth problem working through each at a long boring pace. Math wasn't hard for me, I just didn't like it. The way the repetition was drilled into my skull every day in class and the hyperfocus on tests was irritating. I wished they used more real-world problems. Any of the word problems presented were usually so random I think they were written by a chimp with a typewriter. Glumly, I stood up and walked over to get something to drink when the eerie feeling of being watched.

"Help me," came the whisper behind me.

I whipped around and all I could see were the couch and the bay windows of my living room. Shaking my head I opened the fridge to retrieve some milk and decided to just return to work. Dinner would be served soon and I didn't want to have to eat and have homework to do! Another hour passed, and I could hear dad chatting with my sister about her day. Our kitchen was an extension of our massive living room and had a large cook-top built atop an island in the middle of the room. Giving up for the moment on work I joined my father and sibling in what they were talking about.

My dad, Eoin, can be described as the quintessential Irishman. He's got a friendly smile, closed thick curls on his head, and light blue eyes.

"What's for dinner?" I asked lazily, slumping against the dark granite counter.

"Rat on a stick, as always," he smiled. I glanced at my little sister, a dirty blonde girl of twelve, who was busily sketching something.

Let me give a very quick overview of how I appear. I'm about five foot three, and my little sister Sloan is just a head shorter. Her hair looks to be cut in a pixie style, and she was dressed in what can be best described as "hot topic" high fashion. A black t-shirt with "Nirvana" in big white letters and a pair of black pants fringed in red. She's round-faced and appears like my mom, and so she's the one with the brown eyes and pretty face. Me, I have a weak chin, and my nose upturned a little bit.

Most people assume we aren't related, especially with my dark brown hair and green eyes compared to her blonde locks. It made for a lot of awkward conversations when we walked home from the ferry dock.

"Fine, dad whatever," I sighed and returned to work. Just as I turned the corner to the dining room I smiled to see him preparing his famous teriyaki chicken for the day. I was hungry enough to eat half the pan, and just now I could feel that hunger growing. One long moment staring at the problem again, I heard my father announce dinner was ready.

"Dad, can you look at this problem and help me?" I asked as I walked over with the math book in hand.

"Sure, just get your dinner and remember to leave enough rice for your mother," I nodded before I sat down at the counter atop a barstool. Dad looked through the problem and walked me through the section confusing me. One thing I loved about my parents was they wouldn't hold my hand or do my work for me. They would have me do the problem so I would have the actual experience for it. The problem's completion freed me for the evening so I hugged Dad and proceeded to put away my work for the night.

My stomach growled loudly while I did, and my spine was starting to ache. Not my back, but my spine, and for some reason, all the muscles along my upper arm and my calf were hurting. Eating appeared to cause pain to calm for a moment before it flared up once again. I set aside my dish for the night before walking it down the stairs to my basement room. The pain increased with each step, going from my calves down into my ankles and up into my thighs. I whined a little drawing the attention of one of our dogs, a large Newfie mix named Jasmine, who nuzzled my side. My hands flew to her head as I fell to my knees to give her ears a good strong scratch.

I didn't say anything to her, just reveled in how her concern made me feel a bit less focused on the pain. By the time I was ready for the night, I found whatever energy in me completely drained. As I laid back and closed my eyes I winced as pain exploded across my forehead. Heated agony crawled up my arms and bit my shoulders. 

Evening, October 17th, 2007 - The Dreamscape

My eyes opened, and I felt a cool breeze tickling my body. Instantly I felt an absolute disconnect between my body and my self awareness. I looked down at myself and noticed my form was covered in strange clothing. How would I describe it? My feet were encased in a pair of soft leather boots, I wore a pair of leggings, and a long dark green tunic as a top. Instantly, I was reminded of how I always thought of people in Middle Earth dressing and my tunic came to mind. On the chest was a single black bird, something shaped like a crow. Around my hips was a cinched thick belt.

So I guess I was in some sort of fantasy dream. I mean on the one hand, I was in a very realistic dream, one where I not only felt the chill of the evening breeze, but I could feel the soft wet ground of the moss beneath my boots.

"This isn't you," I heard behind me, and I whipped around to see who spoke to me.

What met my gaze was a woman far taller than I was. She was from my guess at least six foot tall, and towered over me. Her face was heart shaped, and even as I took a step back away from her she grimaced at me. Unlike my tunic the woman was wearing a dress, one the color of soot. It was the sort of dress you'd expect Queen Guinivere to wear in Camelot. The general bodice of the dress fit her chest snugly and was held around her waist by a silver belt. What made me think of King Arthur was the sleeves of the dress, they wound to her wrists and then draped down. I was confused and found myself staring at her chest before she clucked to regain my attention.

"Sa, tis is wha I'm suppose ta work wit?" her accent was Irish, I think, and her voice was melodic to my ears.

"Um...who are you?" I asked and found myself trembling as she leaned back and let out a loud roaring laugh.

"Oh tat's good lass," she spoke and rubbed her nose, "Tats very good!"

"Lass?" I inferred. Was she messing with me? I mean she couldn't possibly know-

"O' carse I do! Yer hallow beats with yer true self lass, and even now yer dreamself changes ta fit it!" Her voice seemed to carry as I looked down at myself and gasped, My hips were wider, and I saw the distinctive bump of breasts beneath my tunic. I gazed up at her and felt a million questions coming to mind.

"I need ye lass, I hate ta say tis, but I had no choice bu' ta enter yer hallow before I could ask," she leaned toward me and caught my chin. It was almost motherly in how she caressed my jaw.

"What's a hallow?" I said as I felt myself in a daze.

"I can't describe it, but do you want ta be a girl? A real girl?" she asked me and I just watched her in awe.

"Um...yeah I meant I feel so wrong that my soul hurts! I wish I had hair like yours, and I was strong as you look," I gushed a little. My voice was a rush of emotion and stuttered as I tried to understand this cruel joke she was playing on me.

"I can make it happen, but I hafta exact a price from ye," she said darkly. Releasing my chin from her grasp she turned and faced away. It was then I saw the dream landscape around us begin to come clearer into focus. All around us was open bogland, or moors, or even winding hills. Whatever it was, it was green, and open to clear blue sky. Before the woman was a single tall grey stone. I stumbled toward it and shuffled past the woman as I found myself rushing over to press my hand to the stone. Taller than me and her, the stone was covered in dark green moss, and was half-sunk into the ground. Three feet from the ground a rivet was cut into it's surface and it steadily spiraled inward.

"The spiral, the eternity, this is where I was honored, a place where no one thinks to walk," she said, and I realized how completely deserted the land around us was.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"Yer dreams lass, but also a place in memory," she padded over and placed her hand in mine.

"After the Great War, I awoke and bonded to a woman named Moira O'Reilly. During the second World War we fought in Europe and she was slain. But before she died, she introduced me to my next Draoi, or Druid, Christine. Each generation, I have found a new host, and we fought any who sought to sow chaos and sorrow in their wake." Her words enchanted me as she spoke. I canted my head to look at her, and I could see how deeply sorrow was etched into her face.

"At first each Druid was slain by happenstance," she stated before gritting her teeth in front of me. "Then recently, an assassin came for Sinéad my beloved. They killed her and I do not know WHY!"

She whipped around to show me something and four women appeared before us. First, was a woman dressed in the fatigues of a British Soldier: a round helmet, khaki green jacket and pants. Her hair was bright red, and a smattering of freckles covered her face. The second woman was a brunette with bright green eyes, and she was wearing the clothes of a nurse from the nineteen forties. A third sat there looking me over while crossing her arms. Unlike the other two she was grim and wore dated nineteen seventies fatigues with combat boots, and a black bomber jacket.

"Moira, Christine, Jenny now...now I've lost Sinéad," her voice cracked and I could only reach up to place my hand on her shoulder in comfort.

"I don't know what I've done, all I did was rest, and lend them my voice, and my strength," she stopped before she used a sharp dismissive gesture to make the images of the women disappear.

"I've been bullied all my life, and I'm terrified of what could happen if I actually out myself," I squeaked by the spirit woman's side. Her hand snaked along mine and I looked up at her."I offer again lass, I can make you a real girl, I can make you stronger and give you the power to fight back," she said I could hear there was a "but" in there somewhere.

"But, you need me, just like them, you need me as your host, right?" I asked, "You have to possess me."

"It's nothin' like tat girl, but it would mean ye would be hunted like the others," she said and slowly knelt in front of me.

"I mean...there are heros out there, and villains like Reaper...and Miss Astarte." I remembered watching a video once as a child, and seeing the power of the heroine as she utterly smashed a villain trying to use a bus of children as a sacrifice. The woman's hands rested on my shoulders, and I felt her hands knot fists in my tunic.

"I no longer wish to rest, and hide. I want to make them pay for killing my daughters, and for hunting me," her voice was a whisper to my ear.

"I'm Irish and Swedish, my mom always talks about the rage of her family. And I swear my dad is a leprechaun. I don't mind being in danger, if it means I can finally take hold of my destiny in my own hands." My little speech was one I had thought about at length, and one I had harbored longer than the words came to mind. Growing up I saw myself not as the knight in shining armor, but the defiant princess who led her people to victory. Of the daughter who made her parents proud, and who spoke up for the wrongness of the world. That's when I felt it, a bone deep anger I had ignored for so long.

The woman's eyes widened, and I shook a little as I grit my teeth to control it. My rage wasn't for just bullying, but was for the way people had treated me at the notion of being "gay". Of trying to tell me that being queer was not just bad, but was a sin. Never in my life had I done a thing to these people, and yet I knew they would hurt me if I hinted at being a trans girl.

"That's what drew me to ye, yer anger lass," she said, "And I agree. There are ta many tings rotting around ye."

I nodded in agreement.

"Sa what do ye say daughter of Eoin, do ye accept me offer?" she asked and offer me her hand.

"Aye, I do," I responded and I gripped her hand in my own. Suddenly, a burst of fiery emotion swept over me and the vision around me turned to black.

 

---

 

Chapter 3 - Strings Attached

Early Morning, October 19th, 2007 - Ferndale High School

"Oh my god, it's like ice picks to the soul!" Mister Olmstadt exclaimed from his place before the Orchestra. His hands were pressed against his temples, and all of us were laughing. My seat was a little hard for my back, and as I tried not to squirm in front of him I laughed along with the rest. The problem lay in one section of our merry lot somehow not getting the idea of an E-flat. Even as we began again my hands deftly moved along, and my hearing allowed me to track the pace with increased precision. Three days after my dream of making a deal with a woman claiming to be an Irish Goddess, and I felt confused.

I mean, no one was going to just make me a girl right? Sure, I'd noticed a slight loss of weight recently, and my fingers were a lot more fine-boned than before. Each time I ran my left hand along the neck of my violin I felt the strings hum along with the stroke of my bow. It was fantastic! I was decent at the violin, but my senses all felt a lot more alive than usual. Maybe a radioactive spider bit me! Or maybe the dream -was- real. Still, that sort of thing wasn't going to just happen in the middle of nowhere, right?

Class ended without any fuss as our Teacher and grump of a Conductor were grabbing the music for his next class. I gathered up my things and pulled on my jacket.

"Padraig," he said and waved me over, I came to stand in front of the conductor's stand and rolled on my feet.

"I noticed your intonation has increased pretty well recently, I just want you to consider moving into the first violin section," he said to me and gave his compliment offhand.

"Thanks, Mister Olmstadt!" I chirped and as I spoke my voice broke. This wasn't the first time I had gone through puberty joke of voice shifting, but this time it shot an octave higher.

"Okay there squeaker, just have a good day," he said and offered me a shake of his hand before shooing me out of the classroom.

A few more periods later, it was time for lunch, and I could feel my positive energy deflate. My old friend pessimism reared its ugly head again as I soon found myself shoved aside as one of the Senior's pushed his way out of the bathroom.

"Yeah, Diabolik's kids have sighted in New York apparently," I heard a girl chatting to a friend as I meandered back into the boy's room.

"Hey freak, move faster already," I heard a yell from behind and caught sight of Sophia Jameson jumping out of the way of a known Cheerleader.

Sophia was a member of the location's first name, the Lummi, who lived on a reservation across from my home island. Every day she rode on the bus behind my seat, and every day I paid her little heed. Her name and who she was only came to mind for an incident that occurred freshman year. Like most members of the tribe, Sophia usually stuck with the other native American students when at lunch. That all changed however when she had manifested as a mutant over the summer. Most of the rumors said she was some sort of thunder or lightning energizer. The truth was I didn't know anything at all about her. Mutants did exist here in Whatcom County, but generally, they stayed quiet in small cities like Ferndale.

Ferndale was a stronghold of the conservative power base and a healthy Humanity First presence. Most of the kids at school were obvious baseline purists, and any child remotely showing a sign of an eye change was usually targeted thereafter.

"Yeah, whatever," was all I heard Sophia say as she turned from the hallway and glared at me through the boy's room door. I flinched and ducked into a stall to avoid her. Once I entered, I suddenly felt sick to my stomach and fell to my knees as the pain from two days ago returned. Feeling the immediate urge to vomit I shoved my face into the bowl of the toilet and wretched for the next two minutes. Once I wiped my face clean with a bit of toilet paper I rose unevenly to my feet before stumbling out of the stall. My eyes were blurry as I caught the edge of the sink and steadied myself. After splashing some cold water on my face I caught sight of a long-haired figure behind me wearing a black hoodie in the mirror. I spun around to look for another would-be bully and found nothing instead.

"Creepy," I said as I slowly shuffled out the door right nearly into Sophia Jameson's body.

"Watch it!' she growled at me, and I murmured an apology before pushing past her and out the door toward the gym.

Sophia was just not in the mood to deal with any more of Brad Finkbonner's clique when the Cheerleader, a tall Hispanic girl, decided to scream freak at her. Sure, she was a mutant, and she held no shame over it! Her mother was an established member of the Whatcom Alliance, a pan-town superhero team based out of Bellingham to the south. Even more so her grandfather was a respected Shaman! No, there was no reason for her to flinch, to shrink away, or give ground to some small-minded baseline. But while her mom, Samantha, was an Energizer, she was a Wizard or more correctly Witch. Even now as she casually loitered by the bathrooms to avoid the usual High School politics she stroked a charmed stone around her neck.

Grandfather had said to keep it on her at all times, and that it would absorb the essence around her. Sophia knew it was a simple piece of rock, but all the same, it held meaning just by being a gift from her grandfather. Her actual powers testing wouldn't happen for another week and only a cursory examination by her grandfather would she know if she truly was a Wizard. Still, there were a few things she 'felt' when she was off the reservation and away from the quiet cedar scented house she called home. Here and there she had "feelings" of things, which she assumed was magic. And just as that weird kid, she thought his name was "Paul" walked passed her she caught sight of something in the mirror just before the boy's room door closed shut.

It was a girl, well what looked like a girl. Just a second to catch the image and already she felt a wave of negativity wash over her. This is bad, very bad, I need to tell Grandpa about this!

Her thoughts raced as she turned around while fingering the stone around her neck. Small comfort for whatever she just saw which sent a chill down her spine.

Early Morning, October 20th, 2007 - Lummi Island

"Goddess!' I whined as my eyes snapped open to the green light of my alarm clock. The digital glare hurt my eyes and made the migraine warp the lines of the light into a pained haze. Lifting myself up, I sat and stared at the window twenty feet away. A bare memory of my dream left me shrinking away from the dark brown curtain I rarely opened. The damn thing was dark enough to keep my room the nice dimness I preferred.

"What bloody time is it?" I sighed to myself as I turned back to note it was Five AM. Ah yes, ye olde crack of dawn. The early morning was ick to me, and just as I was about to roll over to curl up I realized there was no way I was going back to sleep. Nope, whatever exhaustion in me remained but joined the dull leaden feeling wrapped around my limbs. I imagined a pair of weights shackled to my feet and wrists. Just trying to move resulted in my hands and my head lolling back against the pillow. Screw this, I didn't want to move anyway.

Five minutes later or what I assumed was five minutes I was splayed out over the bed atop my blankets. My back arched, as I dug my fingers into the throw blanket balled up by my head.

"It was just a dream, just a damn dream," I muttered. Alternating between staring at the ceiling tiles and my alarm clock did nothing for me. Perhaps another half hour later I summoned the strength to lift myself up a second time. The result was a creaking in my body as my right hand shot out to steady myself.

"I need a shower," I croaked.

Another agonizing three minutes later I was making my way into the downstairs bathroom. Dressed only in my boxers and a t-shirt I shivered at the chill of an early fall morning. The cement floor did nothing to help and only numbed my feet with every step. I locked the door and turned on the water. First the cold shock and a small squeak from myself, and finally the hot cleansing I needed to purge my skin of the filth from the night before.

I used a brush to scrub my skin raw, and I'd never realized how sensitive my body was. The burning I left across my own flesh was somehow a release from the aches of my bones the night before. As I hung my head and pressed it up against the blurred glass of the shower stall I felt an eerie presence once more. For a second I swore I saw the rough black shape of someone just outside but was completely impossible.

Fear gripped me and tugged at my heart. I shut off the water and listened for whoever could be just outside.

Finally, after a moment of waiting, I nudged the shower door open.

There was nothing there, and I giggled at how silly I was being. Just like the dream with the Goddess, there wasn't some scary monster woman chasing me. Nah, that was just another nightmare of a hormonal teenager.

The time to dry off took longer than usual and I growled in frustration at how thick my hair was getting. Weird, I should have a little bit to shave off my face this morning, and yet my face was totally smooth. It felt so nice, and for a fleeting moment, that sense of a burden lifted returned to me.

Still aching and strangely calm I used my towel to wipe the fog clear of the bathroom mirror. As I leaned in to look and reach for my toothbrush I noticed my eyes. They were green as usual, the green of forest moss, but there was something off about them. A ring of bronze now lightly throbbed in the center of my pupil. I gasped, as I suddenly realized that my eye color had become far more intense than before.

Oh by the Gods, it dawned on me, I'd manifested - I was a mutant.

Late Evening, October 20th, 2007 - Dreamscape

My boots crunched on the frosted grass and moss of the bogland. Out here where the fairy mounds rose out of the mists of morning fog like a mountain peak seen from the heavens. I pulled the trews higher up and readjusted my belt so the trousers weren't uncomfortable. Over my shoulder was pinned the cloak every noble wore, and around my neck was a silver torc. This was my dream, and I was sure I was lost in a fantasy straight out of Rob Roy. And I just trudged further until I came to stand by the old broken faerie ring.

Only one stone remained where once a hundred stood. The spiral cut into the stone ebbed with energy from the leyline beneath it, and I could feel the essence pulsating underneath my feet.

"This is where it all started," she said beside me. I turned to gaze at the red-headed woman from nights ago.

"So....what's happening to me?" I asked, my voice was clearly more feminine than it once was.

"What I promised to ye," she said while caressing the spiral, "I'm making you the woman you are meant to be."

"How is this possible?" I murmured.

"You're a Draoi, just like my last host, a Druid," she gave me a half-mirk with those blood-red lips.

"Okay, you are just tossing obscure terms at me now," I groaned.

"It means," she leaned forward and reminded me how tall she was, "you have the ability to host spirits like me."

"And you are making me a girl?" I proffered to her.

"That was the deal lass, an' in return ye keep me essence alive," she murmured. I watched her and stepped away from the stone.

I watched her and brushed a bit of dew off the cloak clipped to my shoulder by a raven shaped broach. I did notice that my dream self was far more girly compared to only a few days ago. Both hands ran down my torso and I felt a small satisfaction in the breasts I found upon my chest. Feeling the slight swell of my hips, this was who I was meant to be. I turned my eyes to the woman who was now kneeling by the stone.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"A shadow of who I once was," she smirked in return.

"That's a bit deflective," I sighed.

"I was not named 'The Morrigan', but it is the one I use," she said to me quietly, "But it is who I became."

The woman's features appeared uncomfortable with the question, so I wondered if I should even keep pushing. But, deep down inside I felt the need to know more about this spirit who was changing my life so suddenly.

"Can you tell me when your ready?" I asked gently and I added, "I'm sorry I'm just very curious."

"I can understand, lass, Sinéad's loss just hurts so much," she brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, "And changing you is taking nearly all my strength."

The next half-hour or so I just spoke with her and at one time we started to sing. I'm not sure how to describe it, but through the song, we started to feel a sense of closure. One part of our lives was over, and another was just beginning. Finally, as I could feel myself waking I just said, "Thank you."

Her features broke for a second time showing genuine care she had for me. I dare say I could read her expression as love! I stepped closer to her and embraced her midsection as she placed her hands upon my back.

"No thank you little one, you have saved me, and will give me this one last chance," she whispered.

 

---

 

Chapter 4 - Rebirth

Morning, October 21st, 2007 - Lummi Island

The day before my birthday I hid in my room and informed my mom I was sick. She saw how thin I was and muttered about taking me to the hospital only for me to beg her to just let me rest. My dinner, of course, consisted of microwaved Chicken Noodle Soup and several glasses of water. I also asked for some high protein foods and she let me eat a few cans of beans. I say a few because I'm pretty sure I ate at least three after the soup for lunch. The next day I awoke even hungrier as I tried to remain cognizant and lucid.

Opening my eyes that morning I was curious to hear how quiet it was outside. Usually, on my birthday mornings, my family would be upstairs cooking breakfast and waiting for me to wake up. If my birthday was on a Sunday we would attend church in town and eat out afterward. But from what I could tell as I sat up, none of the above was happening. I ran through my memory to figure out what was going on. There was no way in hell my parents forgot my birthday. Likely they were all sleeping in on account of me claiming to be "sick" yesterday. I mean I had pulled the hood on my favorite sweatshirt to hide from mom last night so maybe they were giving me some air.

I glared at the cement floor of my room and decided to bite the bullet and placed a foot down on it. DAMMIT, THAT'S COLD! My lips pulled in a tight line and I just stepped down. Screw this! It was my birthday and one cold floor wasn't going to hold me back. Each step was a tiny icy dagger to the soles of my feet, but I was determined to get dressed for my birthday. Originally, I'd planned to wear my usual band t-shirt black pants combo. I know it wasn't really inventive when it came to fashion. All of my feminized feelings were suppressed for years!

Deep in my pants drawer, I found a pair of cargo shorts. Just holding them up really emphasized the changes which had overtaken me. From what I could tell, my hips had visibly widened enough that pulling on the shorts could be problematic. I fished out a snarky t-shirt with the words "Heavily medicated for your safety" and pulled it over my head. At least my boxers were still pretty comfortable and the shorts were fine after I pulled my belt to its tightest. The shirt proved an issue and as I sat there staring down at my chest I took stock in what was happening.

My hands were slimmer, and so were my legs. Well, my thighs still had a good amount of curve to them and seemed to just make my hips more obvious. A quick glance at my chest told me that my flabby chest was definitely more defined, and yup, I had a small budding pair of breasts. After a few minutes, I resolved to tighten the loose shorts at my navel before running a brush through my long hair. At least that wasn't a big change, I'd had long hair since middle school and honestly, I was proud of my curly locks. All that remained was pulling on a pair of socks to avoid that damn cold floor.

As I padded to the stairs leading up to the kitchen I gulped. This was the day I revealed to my parents I was a mutant, and I wasn't sure how they would react. My mom was a vocal liberal and so she often screamed at the TV whenever Humanity First joined the talking heads. Dad, however, was a bit more laid back and seeing his jovial face in disgust at his newfound daughter was not something I wanted to see.

The hell with it!

I exhaled sharply pressing all the anxiety out and told my worries to feck off! This was -my- bloody day! I stomped up the steps to make it clear I was awake and peeked around the corner into our kitchen. Just like the night before my dad was working at the cooktop frying a bunch of corn beef hash in a pan. He didn't bat an eye and just said, "Hey boss, happy birthday."

Then he looked at me and his eyes widened. I gave a small uneasy laugh as I walked over toward the couch with its back to the bay window. All I could do was flop down and wave at him a little as he turned off the stove and came to sit down by me.

"Is there something you want to tell me?" he asked gently.

Let me say something about my parents. They were hard on me when it came to grades, and if I did something stupid they let me know it! I was fully aware every year of the amount of work they did to keep a roof over our heads and for lack of a better word it did bother me at times. They weren't perfect. My mom often judged my dad after family events down in Seattle, and he was quick to anger as she pressed his buttons.

But nowhere in his eyes did I see hate or a remote bit of disgust. This was the father who'd changed jobs and worked from home so mom could pursue a career as a college professor.

"Um...I think I experienced some changes Friday night, and I awoke to my eyes changed, I guess I'm a mutant," I winced.

"Is there something else?" he asked and placed an arm around my shoulder. Instantly, I leaned in and moved closer his fatherly embrace was safe to me.

Oh, goddess where was mom?

"What honey?" my mom said as she stepped out from the staircase leading to the upstairs. I could tell she'd had a long night likely fighting a migraine, her eyes were a little glazed likely from just waking up.

"Hey mom," I said reenacting my earlier re-introduction to dad.

"Oh baby," she said and I soon found myself hugged from the other side.

"Mom I-" my voice broke and this time I could make out the higher octave.

"Okay why is everyone," I heard my little sister say as she strolled downstairs directly into the kitchen. Her brown eyes opened in shock as I redid the wave to her as well. Unlike my parents, my little sister's reaction was to walk over, get a mug of coffee and add some milk before saying a thing.

Seriously, she did this every day and had been drinking the stuff since she was five.

"Too early, need coffee," I could make out from the kitchen.

"Is this why you were hiding last night?" mom asked.

"Yeah um...I woke up and noticed how different I looked after a shower yesterday morning," I mumbled, anxiety spiked in my chest, "And I wasn't sure how to tell you."

"Tell us what honey? That our son needs us and was scared that we wouldn't accept them?" my dad the ever perceptive counselor finished what I was trying to say.

It was then that I gently broke away from the parental hug and stood up for a moment. Dad gestured for me to take a deep breath as I felt tears filling my eyes. Ever since I was a kid I'd had issues with anxiety and how hard my emotions struck me. This time the waterworks broke and I started to cry as years of repressed feelings washed out.

"Mom...dad...I've always wanted to be a girl but I - I - I" I stuttered as I covered my mouth in shame at what I just said.

"Oh this makes sense," my mom said, "I always did find your excuses for reading those stories a little weak."

Mom's response caught me off guard, yet I had been fascinated with transgender women since I was ten. A random hour-long documentary had drawn my attention and mom can, I guess, read between the lines.

"Padraig, whoever you want to be doesn't matter to me as long as you're happy," dad said and kissed my forehead.

I was crying at this point and even mom was misty-eyed. Throwing caution to the wind, I sat back down and hugged mom so hard and even she said: "Whoa honey you're a bit too strong!"

"Alright," my sister said as she walked from the kitchen, "If you're my big sister now, that means one thing."

"I'm your big barbie doll now?" I replied from my seat on the couch.

"Of course, who else is going to teach you how to dress, do your make up." She even did a small motion with her hand counting off all I would need to learn.

"Sounds about right," I remarked before my dad rose and returned to working on breakfast.

"You'll need to get your powers tested soon baby," mom said and I flinched a little bit.

"Do we have to go to the MCO location in Ferndale," I asked with a small whine attached.

"Yes, unfortunately, that's where they put their offices," she replied, before adding, "your father does know someone in Alliance who could probably do a basic test for you."

Wait, dad worked with the Whatcom Alliance? I thought all he did was work vocational rehab stuff for the state and the American Legion on the reservation.

"Maybe, I'd have to ask if they'd mind it first, but it's an option," dad replied from the cooktop. Meanwhile, my mouth started to water from the sweet smell of cooked potatoes!

"Can I eat breakfast first?" I whined this time louder than before.

"Of course, then we will do your birthday presents since you didn't want a party this year." I nodded slowly and mom said, "But in the light of recent news. I think we will have to make a change of plans."

I frowned, what did she mean by that? Wait, did that mean?

"Ooo we need to go shopping!" my sister cheered as I stared at my mom. Shopping, now, on my birthday? The idea of being dragged out to try on clothes or find things didn't seem fun to me.

"Honey, can you meet us at the restaurant later tonight and I'll go get our oldest something more fitting to wear?" I was surprised to hear her willing to do something so out of the blue. My parents were supportive, but I didn't expect to suddenly go clothes shopping on a Sunday afternoon.

"Mom," I said trying to dissuade her. My current look was fine, I just wanted to get through the day and relax, not get dragged into town to play dress up.

"Too late big sis, we're doing this now," my sister said and pumped a fist into the air.

This day was getting weirder, and weirder.

Noon, October 21st, 2007 - Target

Life was playing a joke on me lately, and I was certain the delusion I was having was going to come crashing down. Even as I opened the door of my mom's Honda CRV I found myself in a daze. After nearly an hour in the car and clamming up to work through my own thoughts I was still surprised. My parents weren't terrible and I hadn't thought they'd disown me like some of the mutant kids I've read about, but I never expected my mom would decide an impromptu girl's day out on the spot. Still dressed in my Hot Topic t-shirt I was busily trying to maintain my composure as my mom picked through her purse for her phone.

"Why did you buy the Gizmatic mom?" sis asked as she was busily texting on her phone to one of her friends from middle school. I had a simple folding phone on me, and yet the more I watched my sister mindlessly staring at the screen the more I was unsure what to do.

"It's a good solid piece of technology," mom replied.

"Sounds good to me," I added as we passed through the automatic doors of Target. I did my best to stay close to mom while we made our way to the women's clothing department. I was surprised that so far we haven't received any of the odd looks I feared. Mom and Sloan disappeared behind a series of racks bursting with clothes. Taking a deep breath, I ran a hand across one of the tops and as I did, I began to feel a strange unnerving itch along my skin.

The itching continued even as I drew my hand back, and it continued with my current top. I ignored it and decided to just watch the cis-girls around me. Sloan was busily moving through a rack and her hands moving each piece of clothing until she found one she liked. She picked each preferred article and held them in her opposite hand. I tried my best to copy the movement, and after a while I got a feeling of what kind of tops I wanted. Honestly, it was hard to put together a new look when I had only fantasy to drive the equation.

I had a few different items in hand and I realized I had no idea what my sizes were now. In one hand I held two tank tops each plain and were listed as mediums. One, a white one, made my hand itch just by holding it and the longer I did the more uncomfortable it became. I put the tank back on a rack as fast as I could and hissed as I noted how red my skin was getting,

"Honey, are you okay?" Mom asked me. I gave a slow shake of my head and showed her the rash. Looking it over she gave a small gasp as the rash receded within a few minutes.

"It was some of the clothes I touched, and my T-shirt I'm wearing. They itch, but the more of it I had to touch me the more it started to hurt," I said.

"That's weird," Sloan remarked as she came to stand beside me.

Mom picked up the tank from me and glanced at it. She seemed intent on reading the tag and finally reached out to pick up another top nearby. Again, as soon as I touched it my hand began to itch. It felt like a swarm of insects crawling over my skin and I withdrew my hand with a hiss.

"Try this one," mom handed me yet another top, this time a baggy sweater. Nothing happened, as soon as I touched it my skin felt fine. I huffed a bit in confusion as mom tapped the side of her jaw.

"We need to do some research, that sweater is hundred percent cotton," mom told me. I sighed as it dawned on me that today was going to be a long - long day.

An hour later, through empirical testing, we figured out I was allergic to synthetic fibers. Sloan commented on how weird it was I wouldn't be able to wear most of the cheaper clothes I liked. Mom, on the other hand, took it in stride and we went through each and every article of clothing I thought about wearing. After a while, we accrued a sizable pile of potential tops, bottoms, and even underwear to try on.

I was standing next to her  while mom was perusing a few skirts for me to wear. She settled on a simple a-line and turned to face me. I noticed that she had her phone in her hand and was reading a text. Not wanting to get admonished for reading the screen I backed up and promptly pressed myself into a cluster of synthetic cloth. My skin exploded in a rash of itching as I yelped at the sudden assault.

"Dear God," mom winced as I back away from the rack and hugged myself. My shirt still itched, but it only got worse the more I touched anything that wasn't naturally sourced.

"Mom, should I start trying on some clothes?" I asked her, and she gave a curt nod. On our way to the changing room, my mom stopped me at the desk and asked the associate for a tape measure. What was she doing? I stood upon the tips of my toes to get better and I heard ,"My daughter is a late bloomer and needs to be measured for her bra size."

A bra? I blinked, of course, I would need one especially with the small, but obviously growing bust I sported. Still, it was an alien idea to me. For years I wanted to buy a bra and feel like the girl I was. The fact it was happening right now in front of me was just surreal. Moments later I was holding my hands above my head as the girl measured straight across my breasts and around to my back. After some chatter, she informed me I was an a-cup, and directed me at a few options hanging along a wall a few feet away.

"How many bras do I need?" I asked curiously.

"Maybe one or two," Sloan answered as she walked over and started thumbing through a few selections.

"Shouldn't I have one for each day?" I inquired.

"No, bras are like pants, you wear them for a few days at a time and then wash them when you need," Sloan shrugged.

It made sense, rarely did I see girls on T.V. wearing matching bra and panty sets. Well, in porn or dramas about the rich did show matching sets. Still the simple fact that I didn't need more than two bras was kind of uplifting. My mom began to teach me a few things and just as she continued Sloan handed me three separate bralettes. I quirked an eyebrow at them and she said something about "just pull them on" and so I just nodded to show my understanding.

Finally, the time came for me to venture forth into the changing room and see if anything actually fit. It was a daunting task, and while I didn't really like trying on clothes I found myself at a crossroads. My anxiety increased with every step rising to the point of all other sounds being drowned out by my solemn movements. The door to the room creaked loudly as I pulled it open and closed it behind me.

A mirror was set into the wall to my right, and three sets of wall-mounts attached to the three walls facing the door five feet from the ground. I began to hang up the various clothes I wanted to try-on sorting by placing them all on the right wall mount.

"You are so slow, GOD!" I heard a groan from Sloan

"Take all your time babes," my mom chortled from the waiting room.

I sifted through the clothing and was able to figure out a collection that didn't elicit the itch. A pair of skinny jeans were the first and I undressed. This is where I met a quandary and I stared at my nude genitals. Yup, things had shrunk and after a painfully dragged out minute, I tucked myself into a pair of boyshorts my mom had found for me. Next came the jeans which were snug against my hips and pulled up. Neither itched my skin and that tightness felt right. For the first time in my life, tight clothes didn't make me squirm about my weight or worry about how I looked.

Anxious to move forward I squirmed into the bralette and adjusted the best I could, thankful that my stomach had shrunk down likely thanks to my growing curves. The last piece was a simple black cotton tank top Sloan found for me. Again, I had to struggle a little bit pulling it over my shoulders and tugged the material down to cover my navel. After brushing back my hair I closed my eyes and turned to face the mirror.

One, two, three, and I snapped open my eyes. Where do I begin? How do I even fathom the vision before me or the fact that it...was me? Green eyes, my normal eye color, which glittered like emeralds. A pair of scarlet lips that would easily reveal a smile to brighten anyone's day. I still had my pixie nose, but a lot more had changed. My eyes were much larger, and I now sported much more pronounced eyelashes. Even my eyebrows seemed beautiful in their gentle arches upon each brow. I studied my chest again in the clothes and slowly reached out to really admire my hair.

You see my hair has always been this long tangle of curls that gains volume in hot air. The curls were much thicker and more vibrant and even as I watched I felt a line of pain jolt up my spine and into the base of my neck. It felt like something was slicing a knife right up my back and I yelped.

"Honey," I heard my mom walked towards the changing room door, "Are you okay."

Slowly, I opened the door and cringed at its creak. Stepping out, I did a small twirl around for her to see the outfit and she pressed her hand to her mouth and gasped.

"How um - do I look?" I asked her. Hopefully, she wouldn't ask about my changes or the amount of pain they were causing.

"Hey, Sloan come tell your sister how she looks," mom called and on cue, my sister drifted into sight. A pair of jeans, black boots, and her black jacket pulled over as she texted away on her phone. I waved my hand at her to try to get her attention and she immediately flipped me the bird. A shy smirk came as a response from me in response.

"You don't look like a Padraig anymore," she replied and pocketed her phone before crossing her arms over her chest.

"Actually," I started as I turned to face mom.

"And did you look like a Sloan, no, but your dad liked the idea of naming you a little raider," mom said to my sibling before giving me her attention.

"I...hate my name," I admitted, "I would prefer to be called Gráinne."

"Gráinne? Really?" Sloan asked curiously before I blushed at her.

"It can mean corn or wheat," I started.

"Are you sure you want it as a name," mom inquired giving me a raised eyebrow.

"But...and I looked this up - it also likely means the Sun." I countered to them both as I put both hands on my hips and smiled proudly.

"You know with the way her hair is eerily lighting up that isn't off and," Sloan giggled, "it would fit her need to be the center of attention."

"HEY!" I squawked at her.

"You two, be good, or we'll go straight home," mom stated firmly.

"Yes, mom!" We both said before uttering a rough "I'm sorry"to each other.

Immediately, I darted back into the changing room and closed the door. In a rush, I tried on a few more sets of clothes and was able to affirm that I was able to wear a particular brand of underwear as well as four shirts and another pair of pants. The one skirt my sister had grabbed for me was a classic black mini that fell just above my knee and I took devil delight in wearing it. Once I was done, I knew then and there, this was the end of any notion that I was a boy. I was a girl, it didn't matter if my dick was still there, I was a girl. There was no -arguing- with that damn fact!

Mom paid for all the clothes as I fidgeted by her at the checkout line. The teen working the register eyed me a bit to the point of ogling me. When I realized his intense gaze I stepped behind my mom as my sister looked at me a bit perplexed. After leaving the front I headed to the women's room to change. Walking through that door required a lot of courage and again I found myself needing a slow deep breath. My anxiety was on edge these days, and it was razor-thin. It squiggled under my skin and made me want to just jump into a run.

I scooted past the mirrors and sinks straight into a handicap stall and proceeded to change. I made sure to put on the receipt on top of the toilet where I couldn't lose it. There was no way in hell I was going to be that "shoplifting mutie girl". Growling a little at the very idea of it I shimmied into my new clothes with a near reckless abandon. Having them on them unleashed a level of stress I didn't know I was holding in my heart.

Skipping out in my steel-toed boots I giggled at the loud clomping they made as I came to stop. I looked silly, but the still defiant teenybopper. Just turned fifteen and I was ready to burn the whole world down! Now I just had to get through dinner with my parents. The thought of it brought an eager desire to show dad the new me and to be in public. If that one boy was confused about who I was, maybe I was more than able to pass!

“You are a beautiful soul.” I swore I heard as a whisper in my ear as I turned to leave.

Early Evening, October 21st, 2007 - Bellingham

"Here in KSM, it's love from the nineties," the radio blared as mom pulled out of Target. I sat in the front seat slowly watching the mall pull away from us. The clothes on my body didn't cause nary an itch, and as I heard the opening chords to the song starting on the radio I began to hum along. My hand absentmindedly tapped along.

"Another head hangs lowly,

A Child is slowly taken."

As we reached the chorus I was blaring it out to the point that my mom rolled down the window. I wouldn't notice it, but I was crying. An overwhelming sense of sorrow overcame me as I brushed my nose. Rubbing my eyes I stopped as singing the last line hung in the air as I just couldn't stop sobbing. Flashes of feeling jolted through me as the words from the song and as I turned to look at my mom I saw how she was giving me quick sideways glances. I huffed loudly as the pain building in my chest finally gave and I sighed demonstratively.

"Honey are you okay?" my mom asked worriedly. Brushing away as many of the tears I could I sniffed.

"Mom...all I can say is I know what the song's about," I said to her.

"Sis are you okay," I heard Sloan and turned around in my seat to smile at her.

"Yeah, just, all these changes are giving me mood swings," it was the best excuse I could think of for them and myself.

It was my birthday I was not going to get caught up in why my emotions were all over the place. After just a few moments of quiet we pulled into the parking lot to the restaurant where'd I'd be having dinner. Already, I could see my bud John waiting outside. Oh, gods that was going to be a complicated explanation. The other member of my gang of friends. Sloan got out before us and skipped over to John and gave him a hug. As I drew near I could see his eyes bug out of his head as I reached up behind my head and rubbed my back.

"Padraig?" he gasped.

"Yeah...so I'm a mutant," I said casually and just loud enough.

"Whoa man," he gave a slow nod, the ring on his lower lip spun nervously.

"Is that a problem?" Sloan asked pointedly.

"No - NO!" he laughed, "You're you still, right?"

"Yeah, I'm not some alien replacement," I joked.

"Dude, really Pod People? That's a bit dated," he laughed along.

I opened the door to the restaurant, a place a lot like Red Robin, but a local form known as Billy McKales. There was even a silly little train that ran along the top of the wall. It was one of my favorite places to dine at and for reasons I think are quite understandable I was so damn hungry! John had been dropped by his dad and my parents instantly agreed to give him a ride home. My dad was waiting, reading a copy of the Foundation novels.

"Hey boss lady," my dad quipped at me and rising to give me a long hug.

"Thanks, Dad," I smiled before the hostess came and led the way toward our table. We lucked out with a booth and so this time I wouldn't need much work to hide my new status as a mutant. Honestly, it was my birthday and since my parents accepted me with open arms I didn't give a fuck on what others thought. This state of bliss wouldn't last that long, but I embraced it head-on.

A server passed out our menus and immediately I inhaled as I realized how hungry I was getting. Tapping my fingernails against the tabletop to the point where my mom decided to just ask.

"Gráinne," I perked up at her use of my preferred name.

"Yeah?" I replied slowly.

"We've scheduled powers testing in Ferndale on Friday." my father told me.

"Okay," I said biting my lip, "Mom...I think I'm going to need to eat a lot tonight."

Dad's reaction was to look a little surprised and I could already see his mind working away at the realization of feeding a transforming mutant daughter.

"Okay honey, I think we should contact the doctor to also see you," she started as I scooted over as the server arrived to take our orders. Immediately I ordered two different hamburgers and a basket of fries. My sister went for a sandwich as John ordered a large french dip as did my mom. Dad finished by ordering a reuben. We all ordered our drinks and the woman left, though she did give me a slight frown before leaving. That was weird. Was my new status that obvious. I blushed for a moment as I decided to ask my little sister.

"Hey um is it obvious," I mumbled.

"What?" she said right beside me in confusion.

"Is it obvious that I'm a mutant?" I stated the words carefully so others would not overhear.

Sloan leaned in to inspect my face to the point where she was giving me that squinty eye expression people got when they really wanted to spy something. I gave her a slightly uncomfortable cast across my face before she leaned out of my personal bubble.

"It's your eyes," Sloan shrugged, "Your face otherwise is normal looking if a bit androgynous."

"Dude, she's right," John piped up, "Your eyes are the only thing that could give you away."

"Is something wrong?" I asked plaintively.

"No, babes, the only thing is your eyes are probably the greenest I've ever seen them," my mom said finally putting my worries to bed, for now. I decided to table the conversation for the rest of the evening if I could. Off the top of my head, I was already worried about how my classmates at school would react. One of them had shoved Sophia Jameson nearly into an oncoming car earlier this year. If I was going to be facing the same level of racism, I wanted to be ready.

Food came about twenty minutes later and we had been chatting amongst ourselves. Dad was curious about how I felt about the changes, and I was gushing pretty hard because my body was changing. He even asked why I liked Gráinne, informing him of the long search I'd made. This also eventually led to the many reasons I came to dislike my given name of Padraig. First, my family had originally spelled it out publicly at school as Patrick, my long name usually caused people to laugh at me and mock me in class. He seemed genuinely hurt that people would take it to such a level; I even admitted that part of my self-repression of my transgender nature was part of that simply stupid joke.

There was that, and how people always seem to exaggerate my name to ask if I was Irish. Yes, I'm Bloody Irish, as Irish as Leonardo DiCaprio is -not- in feckin' Gangs of New York. Every time I introduced myself to some adults, I always had to be asked: "Are you Irish". It was grating on my ears, pushing me to want to distance myself as well as possible. I think in many ways it was one of the reasons I was so enamored with my heritage.

"At least you didn't choose a Swedish name," mom smiled.

"Why? I was thinking of changing my second name as well," I replied, a bit confused.

"Oh, which one?" mom asked, "your grandfather Herald told me to avoid Swedish names at all cost."

"I was thinking Hilde, it means battle," I replied.

"Gráinne Hilde," she said the name quietly, "Not bad, we may need to think over it."

I smiled and stretched in my place as the food arrived. As soon as the smell of cooked meat came to my senses I began to feel my mouth water. When the plate was placed on the table in front of me I seized upon it like the starving lass I was. Biting into it I didn't care what got on my face as long as I ate, and as I ravenously finished off the first one drank what water I had. I noticed my dad looking at me as he whistled.

"I know some of my mutant clients have large appetites, but seeing my own daughter go to town on a burger like that makes me proud," he smiled. Friday, the idea of my test standing at the end of the week added a certain daunting conclusion to whatever was going to happen. For a moment I could feel my anxiety rear its ugly head again. I beat it down in the recesses of my mind. There wasn't time for me to be weighed down by the neuroses of my mind.

I hate mental illness.

"What about Róisín?" Sloan suggested out of the blue.

"What?" I asked curiously.

"Well, grandma Evelyn's middle name was Rose, be a nice way to honor her," she said.

I thought about it. Gráinne Róisín O Callaghan, it fit well, but I felt like there was something missing.

"Gráinne Róisín Ní Ceallacháin." I heard it as a whisper, and it sounded like a suggestion from a beloved friend. As I found myself deep in thought I said in my head, "Morgan?"

"Yes, my heart, I am here. Just weak. I can't speak much more, but since your considering a name...I thought I would toss my pence in the ring."

I smiled at her words.

"You like it?" my sister asked.

"Yes, I do! I was just reminded of something a friend told me once when I was researching Gaelic," I said.

"Oh?" my dad perked up. Like myself he had an evident love of his Irishness.

"What about Gráinne Róisín Ní Ceallacháin?" I suggested.

"That's a mouthful, but it sounds pretty," mom said.

"Ní Ceallacháin is the girly form of O'Callaghan in Gaelic," I giggled.

"Maybe stick with O'Callaghan in public, but I like that as a formal thing," dad mused.

"Yeah, I really don't need more fodder for the kids at school," I murmured.

That led to a moment of silence, John was busily tearing into his fries as Sloan was nibbling away at her own order. Honestly, the tension was a tad thick that mom leaned back and I could see the gears working in her head.

"Now that we have a name, and a date for your powers testing," she said. I could sense there was something ominous in there somewhere. "Maybe we should consider homeschooling or private school."

"Private school?" I asked and felt my voice break again as it was definitely rising in octave still.

"Your dad and I will be discussing it after we see the results of your tests," she said. Mom was the one I confided in when it came to how bullying was affecting me. My dad tried his best to suggest how to not let their jabs and insults get to me. Yet, the problem wasn't just words, it was physical. How do I tell my dad that someone punched me in the face for no reason? Or that the principle of the entire school seemed fixated on enforcing hats and hood rules rather than bullying.

"I'm not against the idea," I mumbled and asked selfishly, "Um do I get to see my presents?"

"I did buy you all those new clothes," dad pointed out.

"Yeah," I frowned a little bit, but I smiled bigger, "and thank you so much!"

"We did, however, get you one more present from your sister as well as us," I blinked for a moment.

"And I got you one too!" John said trying to get a word in edgewise.

I hadn't really noticed it, but dad did have a medium paper bag with him when we got here. Now, as I thought of it the bag appeared from underneath the table and he sat it atop a clear point in the middle. From within he pulled out two simple small boxes. One had John's clunky handwriting on it and I picked it up to get a better look. The box itself was rectangular, and likely held a piece of jewelry I only made this assumption because it was not nearly big enough to hold much other than maybe a watch. I read the small message John wrote to me:

Bro,

We've been friends for the longest time, and I've always got your back.

John.

It's hard to really not be emotional with all the mutant change level hormones filling my veins. Upon reading the small note I turned around and gave him a tearful high five. Sloan hugged me hard as I opened the small box by lifting its lid. Inside was a simple silver ring in the form of a braided Celtic knot. I tilted my head at it and lift it up to get a better look.

"I wasn't sure about your finger size so I tried to get a midline one," he said and shrugged, "I even had to stare at your fingers this last week."

"Oh god is that why you were acting so weird," I laughed at him.

"Yeah," he said sheepishly, "sorry about that."

"No problem, and thank you it's gorgeous," I said as I put it on my left ring finger. It felt right there, and as I flexed my hand to get a feel for the new ring. It was surprisingly non constricting. I was so happy about it I leaned my arm behind Sloan and mouthed "thank you" to John again.

"No problem it's beautiful," I said and giggled.

"Okay, now it's our turn," Sloan remarked as she picked up the larger box and shoved it into my hands. My little sister was a mix between finesse and impatient. Comparably, she was better in social circumstances and adapted easier to new ideas. Me, I fumbled in social interaction and change easily caused my anxiety to ratchet up.

The card sat atop it was black and on the front was a pentagram, as I saw it, I sent a curious glance to my little sister. All I got from her was a simple Cheshire smile and my mom was smirking at me. Dad meanwhile, well he was finishing off his fries.

"Don't look at me, I only helped with picking out part of the present, the rest is your mother and Sloan," he chuckled.

Giving them both an irritated look at neither giving me any idea I opened the card and read it.

Happy Birthday, from one Witch to Another.

I stared at my sister and started to giggle loudly. Instantly, I leaned in and gave her a hug before untying the silver ribbon tied in a bow around the box. Inside I found some black tissue paper inside and rolled my eyes as my sibling's theme continued onward. What I found inside pretty much left me speechless. Pushing my hand into the box I slowly lifted out a large packet wrapped in tissue paper. Once I unwrapped it I found a large AT&T new phone box, my eyes widened in shock. A new phone to replace my old flip?

"We thought that since you are getting older, and we've liked the new Gizmatic mobiles," my dad said, "you deserve one."

I stared at the box and pushed used my right fingernails to pull open the lid. My hands shook as I lifted the lid and reached in to pull out the smartphone and felt it's sleek black surface in my hand. Just as I pulled it free a small loop of black cord fell free and landed with a plunk on the tabletop. What the? Whatever it was it was shiny! Picking it up in my left hand, I let the string fall and watched as a small Celtic pentagram bounced on the end. I gazed intently at it as I noticed how it caught the light.

"So, the Pentagram is an emblem of safety," Sloan told me, and I nodded in agreement. I kind of knew what the little star meant, but I hadn't done as nearly as much research as my little sister. "A phone and a necklace, thank you so much," I gushed.

"We're not done yet," mom chuckled as I noticed movement just out of the periphery of my eye.

"HAPPY - HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" three staff members wandered over all clapping. Everyone broke out laughing as they all clapped along to the three servers. A vivid red blush brushed my cheeks, I stared at the servers as they all sing along rapidly to the music. One was watching me with a weird glint in their eye, when their gaze met mine theirs nearly bulged on the spot and they quieted down as their jaw tightened. Did they figure out I was a mutant? Did my emerald eyes give me away?

"For you, birthday girl!" chimed a fourth server, a woman with long curly black hair as she set down a piece of chocolate cake and ice cream in front of me. Throughout the conversation tonight I had rapidly eaten what food I'd ordered. The ice cream sat beside none of the fries or the two hamburgers I ate. All of it was gone. Now seeing the source of sugar I could hear my stomach gurgle to announce it's still extant hunger. I began to wonder, would I always be this hungry or was I just like this because of my changing body? Everything had repercussions, perhaps this was what I was reaping. But, I couldn't let one little worry affect this entire night. Not now, in front of my family!

I blew out the small sparkling candle on top of the dessert and made my wish.

 

---

 

Chapter 5 - Two Steps Back

Afternoon, October 22nd, 2007 - Lummi Island

Monday and Tuesday I was out of school for one reason or another. Sunday ended so perfectly in my mind's eye I was completely unprepared for the agony that met me the next morning. My breaking voice should have been a red flag for the painful burning that would seize my throat for the next two days. Every time I tried to talk the pain would alight in the right and left of just below my tongue. Just as it started it would burst in my ears and cause me to yelp. That was even worse as my throat was so raw even my yelps were painful. I sucked on ice for hours as my mom made cool smoothies to drink. I'm not sure how many novocaine sprays I went through or how many lozenges. Mom was feeding me a mix of medications throughout the experience as well as protein shakes and a variety of substances. At one point she called the doctor's and after what sounded like a loud verbal argument got an answer of what to do. I was put on mostly water and liquid foods for the next two days. Each limb and extremity of my body ached as my muscles seemed to tear themselves apart and heal slowly. I could tell that my rabid hunger from Sunday had instantly been used by my body as my breasts increased a bit more and my areolas became more pronounced. Even my hair was growing rapidly as it was easily past my shoulders by Monday and Tuesday it was at the middle of my back.

Mom did her best to shear the brown portion off leaving the newly grown bright red locks in its place. I swear, I would go to a salon, but I had begged her to cut it off as the length was getting in the way as I tossed and turned in bed. I had to be getting close, and as my body shifted further to whatever Morgan was gifting me I felt a rush of anticipation. Once I was winnowed down to my new self what would the chaff reveal? Tuesday night as I could feel my throat pain lightening I gently tried to make a few sounds. I reached up to my throat and noted how smooth my neck was. I hadn't shaved in nearly a week, and already I could feel how my follicles shifted.

It still hurt to talk or make a sound, but rubbing my throat I distinctly felt a lack of an adam's apple. I smiled, I'd never had a prominent one to begin with, and yet this was a godsend to me. That meant that not only was my voice different, it was permanent. No more squeaks for me while I try to talk! 

Tuesday I mostly spent in bed once again wrapped in blankets and a towel. Not to keep me warm, but to absorb the profuse amount of sweating I was doing from all the strain put on my body. Every few hours, I would sit up and wrap myself up and try to get some water. It got to the point where I was so dizzy from the pain I nearly fainted from the movement. It was around early afternoon I found myself slowly walking toward the sink and this time my legs actually gave out. I hid the ground hard and cringed as I spent the next few minutes pulling myself up. Stupid bloody - I was not going to let this own me! Step by step I shoved the cup I was carrying under the faucet and turned on the water.

Later that night as I lay tossing and turning, I had one thought in my mind; I'm so dead at school tomorrow.

Afternoon, October 24th, 2007 - Ferndale High School

Out of the frying pan and right back into the fire was how I felt as I stepped off the bus that week. I had a hoodie pulled over my head to hide my face and I kept my eyes down the entire time. Once I got off though and I was back on school property I was promptly told by the new principal, Miss Fairchild, to pull it off. The hood's removal revealed the long bright red hair falling over my shoulders, and immediately I was stared at by two of the nearest students. Blushing bright red I went over to my locker in the main brick building of the school.

No one seemed to mind me at all as I retrieved my books for the day and worked them into my backpack. The usually heavy pack felt like nothing to me, and as I turned to leave, I felt someone's eyes right on me. Whipping around to look I caught sight of Brad Finkbonner walking away from me. A quick deep breath steadied me as I couldn't fathom what the hell he wanted. I had to get off to math and so I ran as fast as I could. My new body was definitely far more feminine. Just look at myself in the mirror that morning I easily passed for a girl and I could tell that whatever changes I had undergone were slowly coming to an end. Not since the weekend did my hips expand. My hair was still growing, and already mom was planning to have me visit a salon on Saturday.

Math was math as usual.

"Padraig O'Callaghan," I heard my former name and as I raised my hand the teacher marked me as present. I even said "Present" causing two of the kids by me to stare directly at me. One was staring at me in confusion before turning back to focus on their work. Most of the problems weren't too hard that period, and I was even able to finish most of my work for the daily assignment. Weird, I blinked at paper and quickly focused on a few problems to get a quick start on homework. Before I knew it, the bell rang and I was busily gathering my things for last class before lunch.

Lunch today was going to be a protein shake mom had blended for me before school, and a bunch of fruits as well as nuts and meat. Whatever changes I'd undergone mom was worried I was burning through too much of my body mass. I was able to dodge out of the way of a few of the kids as I strolled from the main building out the doors to the cafeteria. Already I was thinking of just finding a place to sit near my next class and eat my lunch. But as I was making my way out I caught a group of kids looking at me - their eyes squinting as they were trying to find something out.

Oh shit, had I been made?

I didn't want to be known as a mutant nor a transgirl that early!

A quick flash of brown hair and a worried face watching me caught my attention. I blinked just in time to see Sophia Jameson watching me before another crowd of teens brushed passed me. Afraid to head to the lunchroom I snuck back in through one of the deserted exists and made a beeline toward the closest boy's bathroom. Upon entering, I turned on the water and splashed a little bit on my face. My chest heaved as my heart started to beat faster and faster.

"Tick-tock, rider."

What the -hell-?!

There was nothing there, no one behind me and no one in any of the stalls. I sighed loudly and brushed my brow before I turned around to leave. Just as my foot set down on the floor, the door opened to reveal Brad Finkbonner. The boy's square jaw fell away as his eyes locked immediately on my chest and shot up to my face. My eyes widened to the size of saucers.

"I saw you raise your hand when they called Starfish's name," he said as his jaw went from hanging open to tightly shut.

"Yeah - um - I am Padraig," I said.

Feck! What was I going to do? I began to look around and as I began looking for a way to get past him my eyes darted around the room. He was standing in the hallway, the only way out, and even if I hid in one of the stalls he could probably kick them in. Thanks shitty school repair! A bang sounded as Brad heaved a loud breath and slammed his fist against the side of the wall.

"Not only were you some stupid fag lard ass, but you're a sissy mutant TOO?" he asked in disbelief.

"Uh - yeah." I said this and shrugged. I wasn't going to play into his hate mongering bullshit. My eyes narrowed as I noted an opening just past him. If I could just get close enough to him I could run past him.

"You going to run freak?" he growled.

"No, I thought we could talk and catch up on old times," I quipped. Bolting toward the door while Brad took another step I felt a punch to my gut as he caught me. Coughing at the punch I fell to my knees as I felt a hand grab my hair and pull it toward his legs.

"Trying to run fag?!" he sneered. I yelped at the pull of my hair and as I recovered I saw a flash of movement in the mirror. What the -hell-? I was brought back to my current predicament as he shoved my face against his crotch. Instantly, I felt my fear being overridden by pure focused rage. HOW DARE HE! Just as he press my face into his crotch I reared back my head and shoved it hard up into his genitals.

"NO ONE TOUCHES ME!" a terrifying loud primal scream erupted from my mouth.

Brad collapsed to the ground as I pushed myself away from him and grabbed my bag. Now as fear returned I kicked the door open causing it to slam against the wall. I heard Brad crying out in pain as well as "FUCKING FREAK! You'll PAY FOR THIS!"

I began to back away from the door as I tried to put as much distance between myself and Finkbonner as much as possible. Whipping around on my heel I nearly collided with a large body behind me.

"Watch it," someone snapped, and I glanced up to see another member of the school's varsity football team. Shit, not another one. I don't remember his name, but he was one of those kids my mom always joke was so huge because of drinking too much milk. His beefy fist slammed into his other open hand as he moved to grab me after hearing Brad's pained cries. I skipped back just out of reach and into the arms of another football player.

"What the fuck did you do to Brad little girl?" I heard above me as a pair of strong arms wrapped around and pulled me against a male body. I could feel his hips against mine and I nearly wretched on the spot. Why did these bastards have to travel in packs.

A minute later as I sat there struggling to break free the giant lumbered into the room and returned with a red faced Finkbonner leaning against him. I had nearly broken free from the one player holding me, and a second jumped in to help. My arms were held back as a sobbing Brad pulled himself together and leveled his gaze at me.

"You'll pay for what you did freak." He said slowly, his voice was surprisingly high and pained (well that part wasn't surprising).

"What do you want to do Brad? Lunch ends soon and the teachers will start patrolling around." I wasn't sure who said it, but I assumed it was the giant, Again, I wasn't paying attention to my captors, just on the notion of escape.

"I'd say we have some fun with the little sissy, but," Brad coughed loudly, "I think we should beat the shit out of him as a reminder. Maybe we can get her expelled too."

That caught my attention. So they weren't going to rape me? Thank the gods, but dammit I grunted as I heard the line about beating me to an inch of my life.

I didn't even get a moment to react as a hard punch connected with my cheekbone. A loud scream and a loud "HELP" came from my mouth. One of bastards holding me down shoved a hand over my mouth to muffle my screams. Two punches to my stomach and a kick to my legs sent me reeling in pain. Fighting hard to get free I was just about to when they shoved me into a wall and two more hits landed on my jaw. I tasted blood, and as I opened my eyes I felt a fist landing into my already tender stomach.

"You're lucky you aren't protected by your kind here freak," I heard Brad say, "Nearly the entire town thinks sins like you should be wiped out of existence."

Closing my eyes I began to slide against the wall as I let out a sob. How was I going to get away?! "Hold on lass, just hold on." Were the last words I heard before I opened my eyes and saw red.

Just After Lunch Bell, October 24th, 2007 - Ferndale High School

Sophia was already done with the day. If her cousins didn't go to the same damn school she would have begged her parents to send her to a private school. All day in and out the same group of girls slipped snide racist insults at her. Once, she'd been the cream of the crop of Ferndale, and even at the start of the year she was still quite popular. But, once it got out that she was a mutant, any and all social support started to disappear. It all began with something simple, she arrived at Cheer Squad practice one day to be informed by the female coach, Mrs. Randall, that she was being disqualified because of "unfair physical advantages".

Years of dealing with code switching, and dealing with whitesplaining and it was her -mutant- self that did her in. Well fuck that! At least her cousins Greg and Lacey had her back. Even after manifesting right before a major dance practice at the community center they still loved her. As an only child Sophia grew up in an affluent household among the upper crust of the reservation. Her father held an established position on the business council and everyone respected her mother's contribution to the Tribal community as well as her connections to the county.

But off the reservation she'd met problems left and right. Some of the kids she went to school with bordered on outright hateful in what they said about non-natives. Others still seemed to be so focused on their heritage and bloody quantity she was confused by it. Again though, unlike some families on the reservation her family didn't rely on yearly fishing jobs to make ends meet. Or steady jobs at the casino. Her dad was a businessman, and it showed in her clothes and even how she talked.

Out of the Tribal School she was just another Lummi girl among a small crowd going to the local High School. Immediately, she found herself at odds with some of the kids because she was invested in her people's history and language. Some of the kids didn't see a point in learning the Lummi Language like her, and the non-Native teens were confused to learn there was still a language to begin with.

After what little popularity she had was torn to shreds, Sophia was focused on getting through school and keeping her head down. The Cheerleaders did try a few times to bully her, but they were quickly put in their place with help from Sophia's cousins. Now, well now she had a book report to write and already she was lamenting having to read the Grapes of Wrath. Sighing in disgust she was surprised when she heard a loud scream for help coming further down the hallway. She'd just finished her lunch and was heading back to class.

"HELP!!" she heard. Picking up her pace Sophia stopped when she passed a trophy case. Why she stopped chilled her, and she had to do a doubletake to make sure she wasn't seeing things. At first glance she saw the reflection of a girl with long black straight hair, covered by a grey nondescript hoody. Second glance revealed that nothing was there. The girl picked up her pace and sped around a corner past a teacher.

"HEY NO RUNNING!" the teacher barked as she stopped and yelled back, "Mister Olmstadt, there's a fight!"

How she recognized the Orchestra teacher was beyond her, and as she glanced at the tall blonde man she noted the files in his right hand. Maybe a meeting or grading. A thought passed in her mind as she jabbed a finger toward the sound of a girl yelping in pain.

"Sir, I heard someone screaming for help, I think there's a fight happening!' she called.

He gave a simple nod as he followed after her, she was walking briskly and just as she turned another corner, she heard a primal scream of rage. Her eyes widened as she repeatedly picked up her pace to the point where she was almost running again. Just as she drew near to the tumble of bodies she watched as Brad Finkbonner and his tall friend were thrown into the lockers. Not shoved, thrown, he flew the fifteen feet across the hallway's width to collide into a block of lockers not far away. The bodies impact was loud enough that it rang through the entire hall.

The larger of the men trying to grab a hold of the now fully writhing girl was shoved hard enough to send him skidding across the floor twenty feet away. Both of the boys were breathing, but their bodies were barely moving. The last two remaining varsity team members seemed to make a split second call to back off from the girl. Just as they did the redhead let out another primal scream and kicked one of them hard enough to send him several feet away from her.

Sophia was amazed at how controlled the girl's rage was, it seemed to be focused on removing the threat of the four boys. That all changed as the girl's head snapped toward Finkbonner and she started padding toward him. A groan came from the boy as he watched the mutant redhead his eyes wide with terror. She wasn't sure what she should do, but as the girl neared him she raised her fist to punch him. Making a split second decision she rushed to intervene. This wasn't what the redhead needed and Sophia knew that any more injury to Brad would play the local authorities against the raging teen.

"Padraig stop!" she said remember the redheads name.

A pair of brilliant green eyes stared at her, the girl's chest heaving and Sophia could see the bruising around her face. The cracked split lips already slowly healing as the blood ceased. This girl had been put through the wringer and just wanted the boys to leave her alone, Sophia could easily sympathize. Sophia placed herself directly in front of the baseline to break Padraig's line of sight. Though the more that she looked at the newly manifested mutant, the more she felt that the name wasn't going to work.

"If you hurt him anymore the MCO won't care, they'll take you away," she warned.

Being the daughter of a mutant family did give her some foreknowledge of what the Mutant Commission Office's agents would do. There would likely be a cover up. I never trusted them, just like those BIA bastards! Sophia watched as Padraig slowly drew back her hand and punched the locker right by Brad's head. Her hand went through the metal and was cut up along the top. Another scream of pain, frustration, and anger pierced the air as she fell to her knees. Sophia embraced the crying mutant and began to hum under her breath.

I can't believe I went from being a Cheerleader to a social warrior. She sighed a little bit as Olmstadt checked on the boys and grabbed the last one remaining. Already Sophia could hear the shouts of other staff members and students down the hall mister Olmstadt waited with the remaining teen. Shit just hit the fan. Sophia stared at the scene before her before she closed her eyes to think. It was all about to get a lot more complicated

Late Afternoon, October 24th, 2007 - Ferndale High School

I was lucky it was Mr. Olmstadt and Sophia who found me. Anyone else would likely have just called the MCO and let them deal with me. I was sure that a Knight of Purity was likely to show up at any moment when Sophia hugged me, but instead campus security arrived (late as usual) and took me to the principal's office for punishment. Brad Finkbonner and his mooks were also gathered up in the sweep while I was dropped off in the waiting room outside the Principal's office. The wait it turned out would be a long one, and I was forced to just sit there for more than an hour. Sophia was let go after being inside the office for about an hour and all I could do was sit.

At least the chair was padded, and at least no one was allowed near me. Some kids tried to say something or even wave and before they could security shooed them away. Did I mention the high school security guards were armed? There were two of them, each armed with a taser, dressed in black slacks and button-down shirts with "SECURITY" emblazoned on their shoulder. Why our school even had security personnel was confusing to say the least. From what I understood, the security personnel, were added after the increase in public incidents faced by the Whatcom Alliance. In response the city of Ferndale hired a small corps of retired members of the County Sheriff to act as security.

So far all they'd done was drag me hard by my arm to the general office. The one who was staying by the door was a squat man, red faced, and cleanly shaven. He was fingering the taser looking at me and I could see his jaw working. I tried to shrink away further from the bastard as I could. The guard was more than six feet away, but his glare was slowly wearing it's way under my skin. After being beaten and attacked by baselines for no reason, I had no interest in getting my mutant ass assaulted, yet again. Already, the shock of the encounter was setting in, as I felt my hands starting to shake.

I was not going to be a victim, I'm not a victim!

I closed my eyes as the panic attack seized me in its claws and I shivered. Fear twisted in my gut as I wanted to wretch and had to hold myself back further and further. I placed my hands on my calves and squeezed hard. The feeling did give me a bit of focus and grounded me. With my eyes closed I began to remind myself. They have no power over me, they have no power over me. Like "water off a duck's back" it was a mantra my father taught me. It was meant to relieve me of any former hold of abuse a person held on me.

There was no way I wasn't up shit creek any farther than I could go. Not only did I attack another student, the bastard had three witnesses against me. Sophia could testify that she heard a help, but that wouldn't prove the assholes assaulted me. All that was on record was my berserk reaction to them being around me.

My eyes opened and I caught a look of disgust from the secretary as she was busily updating files for something on her desktop. Not a peep came out of my mouth since I arrived in this place, and even when I considered making a sound I remembered I didn't want to give them anymore ammunition.

The door to the office opened, and Mr. Olmstadt slowly filed out with other members of the faculty. Along with them came a woman wearing a khaki pant suit with long curly auburn hair. Her lips were painted red, and set in a just too garish smile. The woman's eyes were blue, and each nail was painted pink. Just looking at her gave me serious squick vibes, and to think this was the Principal of Ferndale High School. A woman who introduced herself not as "Miss Fairchild" but added a weird elongated emphasis to her name.

"Miss Faair-chiild." Goddess those words would haunt me to the end of days.

"Mister O'Callaghan, please stand," her rueful voice made me jump on the spot. I was on my feet, and already annoyed that the woman seemed intent on referring to me as male.

"Am I next?" I asked mournfully.

"Yes, I will hear your side of the story and then I will be informing you of what is happening," the woman stated. Her too red lips weren't pretty, but reminded me of knock-off cherry flavored candies.

The office itself was simple. Facing me as I entered was a rather large window covered by shades facing outward toward the entrance of the school. On the left was a framed picture of the city of Ferndale from above, and the opposite side featured a picture of the current football team. The woman's desk was clean of things except for a plaque stating her name, and a laptop computer closed and sitting before her seat. Miss Fairchild walked around the desk and sat down in her chair.

She pointed to a simple wooden-backed chair before the desk and I sat myself. For the next minute she opened up her computer and seemed to be reading something before reaching into a drawer of her desk. This was when she held up a thick file with my name on it and the words "Permanent Record". I gulped at seeing that file as I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to keep myself from shaking again.

Miss Fairchild placed the file down beside her laptop and audibly cleared her throat. What was her plan? I had no knowledge of this woman except her telling me to pull down my hood on my sweatshirt. Now, I was in front of a complete unknown. But, knowing Ferndale the town, and who sat on the board of education, she was not very likely my friend.

"Mister O'Callaghan, it has come to my attention that you have manifested as a mutant," she enunciated the words in a creepy fashion.

"Yes...I go by Gráinne now," I said.

"Sorry, but your file here says your name is Padraig, and legally that is how I will refer to you," she replied matter of factly.

"Oh-Okay," I nodded.

"Mister Finkbonner informed me that you were in the bathroom during lunch and shoved him into a stall," she stated.

"That's - not what happened," I answered.

"He said you were wanting to teach him a lesson for some minor mischief he'd committed," she said. As she continued, I could feel my anger wanting to burst out of me. A slight ringing sound filled my ears as I closed my eyes and breathed slowly.

"Are you okay Mister O'Callaghan," she asked me.

"Yes...I'm just recovering from what happened," I replied.

"I believe it's your turn to tell me your side of the story," she told me.

So I did. I began with how I was just washing my face after a small panic attack after heading to lunch, and then about how Brad had attacked me. It was painful to relive what I went through. Images of the experience flashed between my eyes resulting in me stuttering. I then admitted to headbutting his junk to get away and relayed how the other football players had pinned me down and beaten me.

"From what Miss Jameson told me you were able to throw a student fifteen feet which is corroborated by a statement by Mister Johnston."

That had to be one of the football players, and when she said his name she added that weird emphasis again. I was getting more and more weary by the moment, and as I finished my story I could tell something was coming my way.

"Your parents are on their way Mister O'Callaghan, and so is the MCO," she informed me. She picked up the file in her hands and placed it back in the drawer unseen from behind her desk. I gulped, what was I going to do, there was nothing I could do.

"You'll be waiting here until they arrive," she said as she stood and opened the door for me. All I could do was stand and slowly shuffle my way outside and await my doom.

Early Evening, October 24th, 2007 - Ferndale High School

An hour passed and I was still sitting in the bloody chair. More waiting for what felt like the end of my High School career. I could have just been a good little freak and taken my punishment. No, I had to stand up for myself and respond to an assault. This wasn't what the school wanted, and I could already tell they were going to just dump me to the wayside. For the last few years the precious Football team was working its way to gaining a second state championship. It was almost straight out of some twisted drama from the WB. I was sure I was going to offered up on a silver platter.

"Why are you so glum, sister?"

Morgan? What - now you talk to me?

"Yes, when you awoke my rage I was able to finalize the last part of our bond." That rush of energy I felt was her -rage-. She told me that her hosts had been murdered, my eyebrows knit for a moment. This took my mind off my assault and drove me to consider what else I could do. Brad had been light in my hands after I was able to get a hold, light enough for me to toss into the locker's across the hallway. That could mean a lot, but I had a sense I was pretty strong. Oh, gods, I could have really hurt those idiots!

"You understand, your rage was well placed, but your strength is not something to use without discipline."

I was so wrapped up in talking with Morgan I barely registered my mom arriving and giving me a hug. When the tears started to fall from my eyes I was still in my own little world. After a few moments of mom waving her hand in front of my eyes, I finally registered her presence. Through my sobs I was able to give her the gist of what happened, and I could feel her grip of me grow tighter. Mom was much like a bear, when her cubs were threatened she held nothing back to keep us safe. I looked up just as dad was walking in, and with him was someone I didn't recognize.

An older man, maybe about seventy, his hair was long, straight and blue black. Silver shot through his hair giving it a mesmerizing marbling effect. What I noticed though were his eyes, they were a kind brown and reminded me of Sophia. Was this man related to her? I watched him from over my mother's shoulder and observed the man further. His suit was moderately expensive, and his hair was held back by a simple headband.

"Hey kiddo," dad said and slowly gestured to the man with him, "this is Gerald Jameson, a member of the Lummi Business Council."

"Why is he here?" I asked slowly.

"My granddaughter told me of what she saw, and as a mutant I believe I am aware of what you may face." His voice was a light baritone and held a welcoming suredness to it. He had that slow twang of the reservation and immediately I felt a little bit better.

"Sophia found me...she helped me," I mumbled. More tears and more crying. It was really refreshing to be able to express myself.

"We'll take care of it baby," mom said, her face was a kind smile, but I could see the worry and the anger. Mom was already thinking of how she was going to make the school pay, I know because Sloan and I get our anger from her. Dad was busily chatting with Gerald and that left me kind of alone again. Sloan was likely at home or waiting with a friend. Mom and dad would not want her here to see what had happened. We were kind of sheltered compared to other kids, and I knew my parents did it with our best interest at heart.

I wish I had my sharp tongued sibling to back me up when I had to face the music, once again. I needed it now, I needed this stress begotten disquiet to leave me so I can prepare myself. Mom released me from her hug and I still felt wrong.

Even with the man my dad brought, I just wasn't sure if it was enough. Ferndale was only fifteen miles from Bellingham, but it was vastly more intolerant. There was obvious influence from the Goodkind family here from local donors to the Rotary Club to the fact no one ran against the local prosecutor for the past ten years.

Mom and dad returned to speaking with Mr. Jameson as I sat there alone. As the stress pushed me I started to sing under my breath to keep my focus. Off the top of my head I picked the Rock Road to Dublin, the rolling constantly fast lyrics gave me something to focus on. I was on the penultimate verse when I froze. A tall man was standing in the doorway he was bald, and was dressed in a dark three-piece suit. In his ear was one of those little ear-bud microphone pieces and as he strode in another man dressed much like him followed.

The secretary who barely acknowledged my existence waved to the two men leaning over the high counter of her desk.

"Agent Wilks and Johnston, Mutant Commission Office," I had dreaded hearing those words. They continued to talk in whispers with the secretary who then handed them a piece of paper. The tallest of the two, the bald guy, wore a pair of aviator glasses and took them off as his gaze swept the office. He noticed Jameson first, and across his face flashed annoyance before he settled his eyes on me. All I could do was stare back at him and shrink. My parents hadn’t liked the MCO for years, both being outspoken former hippies. What surprised me was mom didn't immediately step in front of the man as he made his way toward the office.

"I'll page her to let her know you are here, Agent," I heard the secretary say as a few moments later the door itself opened. Miss Fairchild beckoned everyone to enter, referring to me as "young mister O'Callaghan's". What followed was a clinical and biased account of what happened to me. I could hear where'd she pulled bits and details from my own account to combine them with Brads. It all spoke of the coverup I'd seen coming from miles away as I knew this woman had no scruples when it came to protecting her precious Football team.

Football was a religion in American small towns, and I was ready for a suspension.

"So, it is with a heavy heart that I must inform you that after consulting with the district we've decided to expel your son," she said with finality. Her hands were placed directly on my file as I sat across from her. The MCO agents were standing against one side of the wall as my parents stood behind me protectively. I was so caught up and keeping my eyes on them I didn't register the word "expel" right away.

"But," I started to say and a glance from Miss Fairchild silenced me.

"My daughter was defending herself," my mom growled.

"Not according to four witnesses to her throwing Brad Finkbonner across the hall," replied Miss Fairchild.

"You're not going to do anything to the boys? At all?" I piped up.

"All four boys have been suspended for a week for participating in a fight," her words only seemed to make me more anxious. Why was I getting expelled? I mean I kind of guessed it was because they deemed me a present danger because of my anger, but my attackers only got a suspension!

"Mister O'Callaghan," Fairchild stated to me, and I flinched at being referred to as male.

"Um yes?" I asked while peeking up at her.

"The MCO has been informed to her newly manifested mutant status, they wish to speak with you about what happened," was all she said before motioning for the Agents to speak. The taller of the two, bald-aviator man, pulled out what looked like a dictation device and set it down on the principal's desk. I kept an eye on the man beside him, both were armed and I'd noticed him fingering the latch to his holster the entire time he was in the office with me.

I eyed my parents for a moment, and bit my lip. Swirling my tongue over my teeth I wrung my hands together as once again I launched into describing my assault. Ten minutes later I was curling my body up in the chair as I brought my knees up to my chest and breathed slowly to calm my nerves. When he picked up the recorder to pocket it once again I finally got a good look at the security badge hanging from his lapel. The bald guy was Wilks, which meant, the fidgety one was Johnston.

"Keep aware." I heard Morgan's words whisper in my ear. My green eyes were focused on the two men as Wilks leaned in to whisper for a few moments with Johnston. This was becoming my normal life, my future being decided by adults who decided I had no say in what happened to me. I mean, I didn't have full rights until I was eighteen, but still. Even my parents told me when they made a decision and they even laid it out for me. Dad prided himself on providing the logic behind his decisions.

These two weren't doing that. Even the Principal waited hours before telling me she was going to kick me from school. Honestly, I wasn't sure I wanted to continue going to school even if they only suspended me. Ferndale was shitty little town with few redeeming qualities to it. There were people who lived there that I adored, but I'd been tortured by the kids there for too long.

"Since she's attacked baselines we'll be directly involved rather than local police," Agent Wilks stated.

"Have the police been informed of the alleged assault?" I heard Jameson say suddenly.

"They surrendered jurisdiction to us, even the Sheriff has signed off on it." Wilks nodded to Johnston who reached under his suit jacket and removed a pretty official looking warrant. My father stepped aside as Mister Jameson walked over to intercept the piece of paper.

"This is a warrant for the girl's arrest stating all four boys are pressing charges," he said to me. His gaze was square in my eyes as I could only look away in fear. I felt little guilt in defending myself, but I suddenly began to feel a growing sense of terror. I was already scared the MCO was involved, but I had somehow held onto the ideal they would let the cops deal with it first.

"Your actions show you are a clear and present danger to those around you," Wilks added. The agent reached into his pocket and took out a pair of zip tie handcuffs. My eyes grew wide as mom started to cry, I could hear her trying to keep herself under control.

"Please stand and present your hands behind your back," I heard him say as the world started to lose focus. A tightness encased my chest. My life was over just before it began, and all because I stood up for myself.

 

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Chapter 6 - The Road Gets Rockier

Morning, October 24th, 2007 - Ferndale Police Department

I thought I would never want a nice couch to sleep on or even just a shitty cot in the middle of a cabin back at summer camp. If one day I would be arrested for a crime I didn't commit I would tell my younger self to speak up more about my pain. About denying who I was and more about the bullying I was being put through. Perhaps if I said something my parents could have pulled me out of that hellhole. I held onto my knees as I awoke in a sweat and pulled them up to my chest. Sleep had barely been my friend as the changes continued. First, it was my collar bone, and then my ribs. Like molten magma, I swore I heard each of my bones creak.

My skull had been the worst as I felt one of the worst headaches I'd ever felt. Through it all I cried out for water and some food, nothing came. There were blisters from where those bastards zip-tied me still. They forced me into the cell and left me without anything to do. All I could hear was an argument from one of the deputies standing duty about some sort of fuss. How was I not in some scary fictional black site? As I stared at the blank cement wall of my cell I felt the increased weight of my hair and I growled at how long it was getting. Holding out a hand I noted how pale my skin was, and the number of freckles now scattered over my skin.

The cell was one of many which were made up of solid concrete walls fitted with steel bars. An electronic door for the holding cell was the only way out and as I sat on the bench I stared out. The walls were made of whitewashed brick walls. It was the same material they made my stupid high school out of and the same damn walls in middle school. Ferndale was obsessed with whitewash and it always made me feel like I was in an old-timey sanitarium. The only difference was sanitariums had beds, and wouldn't make me use the bathroom in public. What I learned from my few times using the simple toilet in the cell was I was pretty much a girl now.

A guard informed me that morning that the wait for processing was going to be over soon. Once they were ready to extradite me to the regional MCO offices in Seattle I'd be moving fast. This left me bereft of any hope I could muster. Fidgeting I stood as a guard appeared in full police blues and opened the door. He furrowed his brow at me, and I could tell the man was unsure how to proceed. All the police procedurals I grew up with usually placed the uniforms as faceless extras just saying a few lines. This man was the one who was going to hand me off to Wilks and his partner. They had a Warrant, and they already had me in holding.

Ferndale was happy to see a mutant menace silenced.

"Alright, this way please," he said and he indicated for me to follow. At first, I was unsure, and when he didn't ask me to present my hands for another zip tie I eased up a little. I held aloft my hands to show I wasn't a threat and he gestured for me to follow him. As I did, I noted how empty the holding cells were this morning. Whatever was happening, I was being kept in a place where I wasn't likely to be seen. Past another electronically locked door and I found myself in the station's bullpen. Several desks stood in front of me lined up so the local officers could do their work. Not far away was a small office where I guessed the chief was.

I just stood there as I saw agents Wilks and Barber waiting by the door of the office. Both were once again immaculately dressed in black suits straight out of Men In Black. Barber even had those weird little aviator glasses on his head this time, and both of their faces were set in impatient scowls. I heard a lot of yelling coming from the doorway as the uniform by me nudged me to move forward. I followed suit and walked past a series of cops all working at their terminals while filling out paperwork. Several gave me obvious looks of disgust, another gave me a small nod before I walked passed her in confusion. Wait, I thought all of Ferndale was against me?

Well, I mean not all of it. The rush of exaggeration was only made more real as the door opened and I once again saw Miss Fairchild. The woman was far from smiling now, and as I stared at her I could feel contempt flowing off of her. The woman's red-painted lips were smiling, none of her white teeth were showing through. Now we just had to wait for the Chief of Police to let us into his office, and decide if my extradition would continue onward. I had no idea if the man was a poignant racist like the two MCO Agents or a hidden one like Miss Fairchild. All I could hope for was just one chance.

Was it possible that not everyone in this dumb little town was an utter shit?

Please, Goddess, let it be damn true. I needed the respite, even if it was just for a little while.

Noon, October 24th, 2007 - Ferndale Police Department

Sophia hated getting up early on Saturdays and hated it, even more, to give up her weekend. Today wasn't any different, and as she worked her way to put on her best clothes for the day she remembered what her mother said when she awoke her daughter.

"Your Grandpa wants you to go with him to the Ferndale Police station," Corrine Jameson replied as she zipped into her daughter's room in a blink of an eye. As an energizer, Corinne was usually constantly in motion. As a member of the Alliance, she was usually the first on the scene and the first to give chase. Living with a speedster was not easy for Sophia, and being the daughter of one was far worse. It wasn't any easier since her parents divorced and Corinne changed their names. Really though, Sophia didn't mind being called Jameson-Langley, but her mom said it was too long. Whatever, after being woken up she rushed to get ready

She hated being up on Saturdays, but today was different; today was the day she would try to save another's life. Instead of her usual casual shirt and jeans, she grabbed a nice sweater dress to up the formality of her look. Makeup was easy today as she wanted to be minimalistic and to appear as conservative as possible. Her grandpa Gerald was down in the kitchen quickly preparing omelets for that morning. As she ate all she could think about was what was her grandfather going to do to save a fellow mutant.

Ferndale's School Board met in an emergency meeting the night before and finalized their decision to not only expel one Padraig O'Callaghan, but to add new so-called "no tolerance rules" aimed at mutants on campus. Right before falling asleep her grandfather gave her a copy of the minutes of the meeting which a friend of his on the board passed along. Scanning through it she noticed how thinly veiled racism of the rules were. What in particular caught her attention was one singular rule.

Students With Powers Who Use Any On School Campus Are To Be Suspended With Notice.

Hey, at least they'll suspend us and give us notice. I'd rather know I was suspended than being escorted off campus like a common idiot. Seriously, how are they getting away with this?!

The rate of actual mutants manifesting in the Ferndale School District was just slightly below the national average. Most were usually quietly removed from campus and shuttled to the facility just out of town set aside for remedial students and those just out of juvenile hall. Really, the school seemed to be bent on getting as many of the non-baselines out of its population as possible. Sophia herself was sure most if not all the teachers were happy to see her leave their class every day. Well, not all of them. Most in the music department didn't seem to care, and at least one of the female Physical Educators actually did try to keep the kids from teaming up on her during most of the team games.

If she hadn't been a cheerleader she was sure her classmates wouldn't have even noticed her.

But that all paled in comparison to what Padraig was facing.

Sophia finished her breakfast and was right behind her grandfather as he headed out the door.

"Dad I'll see you there, I'm going to head over to the Alliance Headquarters in Bellingham." Her mother was busily finishing up preparation before heading out to work. Corinne Jameson wore a grey skirt and blazer over a white blouse. Sophia admitted her mother had taste, and the office attire suited her.

"Okay sweetheart, send you a text if things go south," Gerald replied just as his daughter walked out the door. The sound of a car starting signaled her exit. After putting away the dishes from breakfast her grandfather grabbed his keys and ushered her out the door. The drive to Ferndale would only require a total of fifteen minutes, but it passed in total silence. Sophia eyed the briefcase sitting in the back seat of her grandpa's sedan. The young woman knew grandpa kept several documents on him at all times since he was a lawyer.

Is he going to free Padraig? The girl wondered as she started to think about the recent plans her grandfather was working on. Both mom and he spoke often about some kind of big change in the works. Her cousins had even said something about missing her when she moved. I'm not moving! Grandpa's house is huge and he's shown no interest in leaving his job on the Reservation! As she thought about it the more she wondered if it had something to do with her mom's divorce, and where her dad was. I know he's living somewhere off the reservation and working for the government. But, he's barely spoken to me in two years. Not since he and mom separated.

Whereas her mom's life as Swiftwing was known to her - her father's, on the other hand, was a near-complete unknown. He worked for the Games Commission with her grandfather's friend Rodrick. He always seemed busy with something, and after watching her parents argue for years as she grew up she figured it was the reason mom left him.

The thoughts of her father were pushed aside as soon as grandfather Gerald parked the car outside the police station. Like much of Ferndale, it was a squat little building that revealed a stark difference. To Sophia, Ferndale was a city that lived a dream of what it viewed itself to be: a large modern town - a true city. In reality, it was a small backwater town, made up of a patchwork of suburbs. A town just a step above small highway shopping district. The small squat building she saw in the police station really did emphasize just how the city really lacked that modern feeling other towns around it really had.

"You ready?" grandpa asked her and all Sophia did was give a gentle nod. Inside was a person she didn't know personally, but both of them shared a common bond. Both were social outcasts, and both had a keen dislike for the shitty little town they went to school in.

The entry hall to the police station really showed how the department was just an up jumped County Sheriff's office without the countywide level of jurisdiction. A small receptionist port fitted in the wall covered by a layer of clear glass. Gerald walked ahead of her as she came in her eyes staring mostly at her gizmatic smartphone. Busily texting with her cousins was one of the few ways she was attempting to keep a sense of serenity in the face of her classmate’s predicament. If they could do it to Padraig they could do it to her just as easily if not more so.

The uniform at the reception desk paged them in through the locked door leading the way further into the station. She walked directly behind her grandfather and earned a few odd looks from the uniforms and detectives present. She noticed the pantsuited form of Principle Fairchild as she came to stand beside her grandfather. Two men dressed in black suits were standing at rest beside the Principle as were who she guessed was Padraig's parents.

Sophia smiled at the redhead as the green-eyed mutant was sitting in a chair placed beside the door to the Chief's office. A tense moment of waiting began as a creaking inside the office itself. A few awkward minutes passed, and Sophia continued to text her cousin Lacey. The young woman was spending her early afternoon getting ready for a shopping trip to the Bellis Fair Mall and was listing off the various new clothes she wanted to buy for an upcoming school event. Probably a dance or something Sophia would have loved to go to before she became a social pariah.

Padraig was listlessly sitting in the chair without a single sound coming from the redhead. Sophia wanted to say something and slowly padded around her grandfather's back, drawing closer to the mutant who she easily figured was becoming a woman. I know a little bit about how things work, but I never met anyone who just turned into a girl. As soon as she was within whispering distance she cleared her throat to get the young mutant's attention. Even as the two were out of school for the day because of "special circumstance" she still could go back.

They had expelled the redhead.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey," the redhead replied in a weird lilting accent.

"So...what should I call you?" Sophia decided to ask. One of her cousins down south on her mom's side was Two-Spirits so she had some idea of what she was seeing in the redhead.

"Grainne," she said the words slowly, "I always hated my dead name."

"Dead name?" Sophia asked curiously.

"Yeah... a term I picked up off some LGBT forums; it's the name I had before I became who I really am."

Sophia canted her head to the right to regard the finality of Grainne's words. She leaned forward and smiled at the redheaded girl and gained one in response. Whatever had occurred to Grainne, the girl looked like she was straight out of a fairytale. Her hair was bright red, and a smattering of freckles covered her face. If she kept up that weird lilting to her speech Sophia would guess she was from Ireland itself.

"So," she stressed the word as she found herself unsure how to continue their small talk. Truly, she wasn't the best at it and preferred gossip or an actual subject for conversation. The young native girl rolled on the balls of her feet as she fidgeted with something to say.

Just as she was about to finally figure it out, the door to the Chief's office opened.

Twelve Forty-Five PM, October 24th, 2007 - Ferndale Police Station

I took a deep breath as I waited for the plunge to begin. The door to the Chief's office opened and as it did I could be the stereotypical opaque pane of the door itself had the name "Chief Victor Larson", and I craned my head to watch as a man stepped from the door. The man who appeared wore a suit which seemed to be the prevailing formal dress for today, and I could see where he dyed his hair to keep the grey "under control". His jaw was a soft round chin, and his nose was a bit pronounced as he had deep wrinkles under each cheekbone.

I wasn't sure about the man; he seemed to be too close to Wilks in his make. His suit was grey or some kind of off-color brown which to me said he grabbed it at a closeout sale at the Men's Warehouse. Nope, this guy, I didn't like him from one look, and as he ushered everyone into the room I found myself surrounded. Once again in a chair right before a cluttered wooden desk, my supporters ringed the wall to my right and my mom stood right behind me. To my direct left was Miss Fairchild, a woman I wish would just get punted from my life.

"So, Agent Wilks, your warrant seems in order, why is Miss O'Callaghan still here?" the Chief asked impatiently breaking the already increasingly tense silence of the day. I squinted at him and tilted my head in confusion. The man was using the correct gender for me, and yet seemed to be cut from the same cloth as Miss Fairchild. This was...unsettling to say the least.

"-MISTER- O'Callaghan is to be transferred to our regional office in Seattle soon once some red tape is cleared up down south," Agent Wilks huffed in response.

I gaped for a moment and gripped the hand rest just enough to cause the wood to creak under the stress.

"Young lady if you break that chair I will see you personally pay for it," the Chief snapped at me upon hearing the sound.

"Yes - yes sir!" I squeaked.

"I'm surprised she hasn't tried to run, she's strong enough to throw a full-grown football player across fifteen feet," Agent Johnson muttered at Wilks’ side.

"THEY ATTACKED ME I WAS DEFENDING MYSELF!" I barked at the man as my anger rose further. My mom placed her hand on my shoulder and I quickly inhaled to calm myself. It barely worked.

"You will not raise your voice in my office young lady," the Chief held firm and didn't raise his voice as I had. "And you! Agent, I expect you to keep the commentary to yourself -unless- I ask you a question."

My eyes widened as I looked to Agent Johnson and me smiled slightly at his admonished expression. But, this still left me wanting to hear the answer as to why I really was here. I mean, did Gerald get his foot in the door and was he bringing a means to get me back to my family. Squaring my shoulders I crossed my arms and brought my legs up to my chest as I breathed slowly to calm the fear growing in place of my anger.

Finally, I relented and gave a nod and mumbled, "I'm sorry sir."

I noticed not a single word from Agent Johnson as Wilks appeared ready to proceed with my extradition down south. In his hands were the same warrant he'd flashed at the school last night, and I could see him firmly ready to cuff me again as his free hand was fidgeting.

So that was it, right? I didn't notice any movement by neither my parents nor Gerald. All three of them remained silent as I returned my gaze to Miss Fairchild who had that stupid smug smile on her lips. But whenever did she not have that smug grin? I think she injected botox into her cheeks to keep it in place. A rustling of papers broke the air of silence. Gerald took a moment and handed a series of papers toward the Chief of Police and then a signed order to Miss Fairchild. The man licked his lips and waited as the two began to skim through the contents of each document.

"You can't be serious," Miss Fairchild said.

"Oh, but Principle Fairchild, I am," he said, "I was very happy to speak with Mr. Olmstadt after you and he himself has noted a history of bullying on your campus."

"Every school has bullying problems, what does this have to do with anything?" she asked in response.

"What matters is both Mister Olmstadt and my own granddaughter noted they saw the four boys attacking a small girl," he continued before turning to the Chief of Police.

"If these records are correct, and I've seen a few of these myself in the past year," he said as he dropped two files showing the names of Brad Finkbonner and one of his cohorts.

"Your star players have drug problems," Gerald started to Miss Fairchild, "And at least three complaints about sexual harassment. None of which has resulted in charges."

"This is most definitely the lax rules of my predecessor," Miss Fairchild nodded, "I'll open an investigation this next week and see to it that we put in place better rules to protect our students.

"I'm just getting started," Gerald removed even more documentation and I chuckled as I could see a small bead of sweat appearing on Fairchild's formerly smug face. So this was how adults played hardball? Oh, goddess, this was making me feel a lot better about my future.

"You can't be serious!" Fairchild exclaimed as she read the last document handed to her, "You can't possibly pull every single Lummi student and funding from the BIA in a single day!"

There was a noticeably angry scowl now on both Wilks and Johnsons faces. Their precious little warrant was looking more and more defused by the moment. I uncurled my body and sat up straight as newfound confidence surged into my being. This was my chance, and I could see an argument forming and a knife twisting to get me out of trouble. But, I did wonder, why did this man want to help me so much?

"You should know by now Chief when I present an argument I never do it without corroborating evidence to back it up," he said seriously.

"How did you get the Tribal Council to back this move, Gerald?" Chief Larson inquired.

"I called them this morning and we held an impromptu meeting to vote in response to newfound racist policies by the Ferndale School Board," he said with a smirk.

"The School Board added that new rule about the usage of mutant powers," he added.

"It was completely necessary." Miss Fairchild was now being reduced to what my friends and I called a "Karen". An angry soccer mom who found a way to complain to the manager about a perceived slight.

"I don't dispute it," Gerald chuckled as he continued his argument, "But as you can see from the files here Chief the School Board hasn't shown any interest accommodating mutants on campus. Most if not all are left to be bullied and or bussed to the remedial school on the outskirts of town."

The Chief of Police pressed his hand to his forehead and inhaled deeply. It was obvious he was thinking of something, and for a moment he thought about it before saying to an intercom on his phone, "Sergeant is the County Prosecutor here?"

"Yes sir," came the reply over the speaker. A few moments later another suited man entered. This man was much calmer and he shook both Gerald's and the Chief's hand. For the next five minutes, the three men leaned over the desk as a lengthy discussion continued. I could see they were busily hashing something out. Miss Fairchild joined in and I could see the anger present in her face as her jaw twisted into a grimace. I glanced over my shoulder to look at Sophia and I let my thoughts wander for a moment.

"Fortune favors us this day." Morgan's voice caught my attention as I felt her presence in the back of my mind. "We must ride the waves of fate carefully my heart. If we do not, we will be consumed."

"Thanks, Morgan." I thought internally doing my best to not show any of my little conversations. I'm just trying to remain calm, and you have to drop that little number on me.

"I won't coddle you little Rose, you have so much potential, and you must gain the discipline to use it."

"I'm sorry Agent Wilks, but the charges for Miss O'Callaghan are going to be dropped," said a voice from the desk. I glanced up and shared a look with Sophia as I watched Wilks' face turn a vivid red.

"There's no way you can do such a thing!" the Agent balked at the pronouncement. Miss Fairchild looked like she'd just eaten a fly as she glowered at me.

"In fact, I can," the prosecutor said, "and tomorrow we'll be speaking to a judge about the issue in the county courthouse. You are free to attend."

"Mister and Missus O'Callaghan, we are releasing your child to you under your care, I don't believe I need to make it clear that we ask you to remain in the county and to bring her to the courthouse tomorrow morning?" the prosecutor said swiftly.

I gave a fast eager nod. Ah hell yeah I was going to be there! These adults just let me go and there was no way I was going to screw up my one chance to clear my name! Rising to my feet I was close to babbling out a thank you as Gerald turned to face my father. The County Prosecutor shook everyone's hand and stepped around me before taking my own and giving it a firm handshake. Something about the man seemed familiar as I turned and watched him slowly walk out the door. This left my family, Gerald, and Sophia along with Miss Fairchild. Both Wilks and Johnson were not looking happy at all.

"You strong-armed your way into this Jameson," Fairchild hissed venom at the old man. Gerald Jameson never lost a step as he guffawed loudly at the woman.

"I do what I needed to do when you did nothing but protect your beloved football team and cast your own charges to the wayside for a personal racist agenda," he cocked an eyebrow as he brushed past her. My parents gestured for me to follow and I soon found myself outside the office. A burden lifted from my shoulders and I turned to sob into my mother's embrace. I needed to let it all out as the fear, the rage and much more finally seized me.

"You're lucky Mister O'Callaghan," Miss Fairchild said turning her attention to me. I was busily still choking out a sob into my mother's arms when I heard her snide comment.

"I'm going to ask you one time, to never speak to my daughter again," my mother said very firmly.

"Why is that?" she asked carefully.

"Ah yes, Miss Fairchild one more thing," Gerald said as my father walked beside him.

"What is that Mister Jameson," she asked.

"We'll be seeing you in court soon, I'm preparing a class action suit against your school and you personally." The man said as he clapped my father's back before putting his briefcase back in order.

"You can't be serious!" she asked.

"Oh, we are," my father said as he adjusted his glasses, "you knowingly let four boys sexually assault my daughter. You are lucky I'm not pressing charges. We'll be calling you soon if Gerald thinks it's a good idea to settle."

My parents ushered me past the woman as I could barely contain my glee at her gaping fishlike expression.

 

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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.

 

---

 

Chapter 8 - No Turning Back

Early Morning, October 25th, 2007 - Dreamscape

Dewdrops dusted the ground as I found myself standing in the open bogland of my deepest dreams. My feet were wrapped in a pair of archaic boots made out of cow-leather. They were held in place by straps woven over my lower legs in a cross-stitch form. Unlike the last time I visited my dreamscape, I didn't wear a pair of trousers. Instead, I wore a leine tunic, along beautifully woven wool tunic all the way to just below my knees. At my waist, a thick belt cinched around my thinned waist. Long red locks fell over my shoulders as I twirled in the slowly brightening day of my dream.

I was a girl fully, not just an idea, but deep down in the deepest part of my soul, I knew it to be true. At full speed, I sped across the uneven ground and felt my body being unearthly nimble. Of course, this was not the real world, I was easily altering the logic of my own realm. Fleet of the foot was the best way to describe how I felt as I darted across the ground and leaped from rock to rock when I came to the bogs themselves. The surface of the bog was almost the same as the moss and grass-covered land around. I nearly slipped at one point and it was there I saw the possible watery grave beneath.

It's hard to describe how I felt as my hair seemed to lift in the air as I went and felt the wind whistling in my ears. Finally, after one more jump, I landed near the crystal clear waters of Morgan's domain. The large standing stones still remained and circled the water. Near the ground, I could see a fire pit and a boiling iron kettle suspended over the flames. The air smelled of tea and I heard a rustling behind me. I turned around to face Morgan as she came into view. Unlike before she wasn't wearing a dress, and her hair wasn't flowing free like mine. As always she towered over me, her green eyes were half-closed as she licked her lips deep in concentration.

"Morgan?" I asked her as she walked past me and I saw how carefully she'd plaited her hair. It reminded me of pictures I'd seen in a Celtic goddess calendar. Her hair was braided and tightened on both sides leaving a long braid down the center of her head. Over both eyes were blue lines curving then under each eye and along her cheekbones. Both cheeks were covered in a blue spiral as I noticed more paint along her neck and her exposed arms. She wore a leather armor over her chest, and a pair of trousers on her legs. The armor looked to be studded with pieces of metal and as she began to check on the boiling water I noticed a sword hanging from a belt on her hip.

"Morgan, speak to me!" I snapped. Ever since the incident with the jail, she'd been quiet. Only a day and not a word from her and finally I meet her in the dream and she was different. I could feel a silent roiling emotion shifting as a miasma around her. My spirit was going to tell me what was going on or I would be without a thing to do.

"It is my fault Sinead is dead," were the words she said snapping her head to face me. The muscles of her body went taut like a leopard coiling to strike. I didn't take a step back or react. This was my spirit, my bonded companion, and I would not let fear hold me back again.

"Tell me why!" I declared and I stepped closer to her.

Morgan easily had two feet on me in her paranormal height, but as I drew closer, she looked so small to me. Her rage was so clear, but it wasn't directed at her enemies.

"Whoever killed her wanted me dead, and instead of dying with Sinead, I am still here!" she growled before falling to her knees and wrapping her arms around herself.

"I don't know how spirits die Morgan, but you can't blame yourself for whatever killed Sinead," I walked over toward her and I leaned against her back.

"I can't promise you won't die either." Her words were clear and for just a small second I feared whatever hunted for Sinead would come for me. Yet, as I leaned against Morgan's back a small thought came to me.

"I beat back and nearly killed my attackers, Morgan," I said slowly. "It was your strength and determination which helped me survive the night. It was you who helped me become the woman you see before you."

I felt her shift as she turned and her arms brought me to face her properly. A small stream of tears filled my spirit's eyes as she bit her lip and her chin tightened. Suddenly, as a flame lit on a kerosene lamp I could feel her anger burn away the chaff of the depression. Self-doubt was shoved aside for something rawer, and far sharper.

"Will you help me find her killer?" she asked me.

"I'm not sure I can do that right now," I replied. Her green eyes bore into me.

"I don't expect you too lass," her voice no longer.

If I ever expected to see the 'Morrígan' in her terrible beauty I could see it in her. Morgan's face contorted as she stepped away from me and drew a knife I'd missed on the opposite of her sword. She threw it at the spiral etched stone and the knife embedded itself. A low keen erupted from her throat as she slowly quieted herself.

"Okay," I replied stock still and confused by her display. This was more braveheart than I expected, but I was willing to roll with the punches.

"I'm going to find the despicable thing who murdered Sinead, and still threatens you." Her low voice sent a chill down my spine as I saw her eyes burning with rage.

Suddenly, an image flashed across my vision. A black-haired woman, her face cowled by a hood pulled tight around her head. The lower bottom of her face was all I saw was her mouth moving quietly speaking out an alien mantra. The mirror, I had seen her in the mirror when Brad assaulted me. Shaking I waved to get Morgan's attention, and as she finished her display she quieted. Lean forward she knelt before me and waited for me to explain.

"There was a woman in the mirror when I was attacked by Brad. I saw her for barely a second, but I was sure she was there," I relayed it all to Morgan. Her face got a look as her eyes stared off into space.

"That helps greatly my heart," she said to me and rose to her feet. Walking over to retrieve the dagger she sheathed it deftly. I just stood there, watching the display as I could feel her rage being linked to mine. The defiance to never let someone victimize me or her ever again.

"Morgan...I need to learn how to defend myself," I said. Not the berserk kicking and punching I did earlier to Finkbonner and his lackeys. No, I needed to learn how to use my newfound strength. As a girl, I knew I was a target for others, and I didn't want to feel as terrified as I did that day again.

"I can't promise no one will ever hurt you again lass," Morgan relented, "but, if you speak with your parents for the need for proper training I am sure they and this friend of theirs, Jameson, will know what to do."

"I understand." It was kind of all I could say. Morgan's arrival and my changes shifted my life radically, and while I was thankful for my new body I didn't want to think there weren't strings attached. The very raw emotion I witnessed from her told me that whoever killed her last host, she hadn't seen it coming. It terrified me to my bones.

"I can promise you my strength, my unrelenting defiance, and my support in the trials to come." Her words eased my worry and scattered my fear for now. She rose and offered me her hand. I took it in mine and we shook in agreement.

Early Morning, October 27th, 2007 - Whatcom Alliance Headquarters

When my parents told me that my Powers Test was going to be changed to Saturday I didn't imagine they'd wake me up at the ass crack of dawn to catch the five-forty AM ferry to the mainland. Mom had me dress in a pair of leggings and a tank top for the day. We'd gone bra and clothes shopping the day before on account of my slightly growing assets. Laying down in the back of the van my parents drove all I could do was try to sleep on the way to the Whatcom Alliance Headquarters. Friday was a day of self-care as after the clothes shopping mom took me home to rest for the night. Whatever changes had begun during my time in holding continued on till Saturday morning.

A glimmer of my dream with Morgan remained with me as I stared at the rolling hills and countryside of Whatcom County. Farms surrounded the reservation and as we sped past the new casino I began to think about my new life. After leaving the police department on Thursday I told mom I wasn't ever going back to that shithole of a school. No matter what Mister Jameson said, there was no way one little incident would fix the year of bullying they'd put me through. My middle school went out of its way to hire teachers who seemed bent on tossing me under the bus for minor problems, and it was only two good instructors back in elementary who saved whatever feelings I had for the Ferndale School District as a whole.

No, mom and dad were pretty evident that I was not going back, not after my sexual assault by fellow students. Mom went full rage mode and I could hear her growling death threats to the boys on our way home that evening. Dad as soon as I woke up after a nap that evening passed me a bit of whiskey in a shot glass.

"You need this Grainne," he said before I sipped the stuff. It made me cough with the burning flavor, but I sipped it and for a bit, it numbed out the stress of the day at least for a little while. I was no stranger to altered states of mind since the school district had pushed for me to be diagnosed as ADHD as a kid. Even as I watched the countryside rolling by from the window of the car it was hard for me to focus on what my parents said. Ritalin did little for me and the other pills we tried caused my chest to fill with agonizing pressure.

We tried everything and finally my parents kind of moved on. Thinking back on it, I realize now that a lot of my repressed feelings of who I was likely didn't manifest in the best way to those seeing me from the outside. I ran a hand through my long hair nervously and licked my lips. The drive to the Headquarters of the Alliance took about fifteen minutes, but it dragged for me.

The building was utilitarian in appearance. Three stories tall, and made out of brick and mortar. An exterior with regular windows every few feet. I could see the office in the small attached lobby. A larger steel building which I guessed was the training center loomed behind it. There was a ramp and a set of cemented stairs leading up to the lobby. Parking in a small parking lot adjacent to the lobby I stared at the simplicity of the building. A small area surrounded by tall softwood trees and wetland was where they built the place. Mom told me it was time to go and I stepped out of the door to feel the cool kiss of a late October morning.

The lobby itself was a smaller block one floor tall and perhaps, from what I surmised, was about forty feet wide. At the top read the words "The Whatcom Alliance". As I walked closer I saw more on the doors "Officially Supported by the United States Department of Paranormal Affairs". It felt nice to finally see the home of the people who helped me out of clutches of the MCO. The very thought of Wilks’ seething hateful eyes made me shiver. His visage was banished from my thoughts as I pushed aside the door and was the first to enter. The lobby was pretty general, a few seats and a wrap-around receptionist desk that looked to double as a dispatch office.

A woman was typing away in front of a large flat-screen monitor. My parents walked up to speak with her as I remained back towards the door. I was soon waved over as the woman handed my parents a small list of what I would be doing for the day. Shooting a glance at her and then to the parental units I felt my anxiety growing. I could only imagine what lay in store for me.

Noon, October 27th, 2007 - Whatcom Alliance Headquarters

If there was one saving grace about the tests, it was that they let me watch old episodes of Xena: Warrior Princess. Lucy Lawless’s figure was always something I dreamed of. A woman who was strong and sexy combined into one fantastic bundle of skill and knowledge. I was busy doing a lifting test as I was playing back one of my favorite episodes in the back of my head. I wasn't sure which one it was. Most of the Xena episodes were easy to run together, and I had to run through my memory to barely remember the name. My train of thought was completely distorted and it was only the immediate snap of Sophia's mother, Corinne which drew me back to reality.

"HEY LOOK!" she barked and pointed at how my hands were slipping.

"Listen!" I replied and Sophia who was hovering by her mother face palmed immediately.

"Okay, what?" Corinne eyed her daughter and Sophia mumbled, "It's a gamer thing."

"Fine - fine, just lift the damn bar," the Energizer ordered and so I did. Currently, she had set the deadlift at about two hundred pounds and I was easily pulling it up. My tester directed me to stop and she changed the weight again before I found myself lifting closer to four hundred pounds. Again, I was able to lift it upward, but I could feel strain setting into my muscles. I placed the bar down as Corinne jotted down a series of notes. I eyed Sophia who mouthed "I know your pain,'' to me. Another few weights moved on the barbell and I eyed Corinne. This was the moment in the Xena episodes she'd be doing one of her ululating cries and do a sky kick. Do you know the one with really obvious support harness and string work?

"This is boring, and barely a challenge." Morgan huffed in my mind's eye. We'd been communicating more during the day, and I could feel she was getting more in tune with me as her host. I felt an ethereal shift across my body as Corinne set the weights one more time and I reached forward. Sophia leaned forward and corrected my posture before I began to lift properly with my legs and not my back. I eyed the weights, it was about five hundred twenty-five pounds, and I was slowly able to push my limits. It took a few more tries, but finally I brought it up to chest level as I thrust my hips forward.

"Okay, that would rate you as an Exemplar Three," she said and looked up from the notes. From my short interactions with Corinne I liked her a lot. She reminded me a bit of Sophia in her outward snark and sarcasm. Since I came from a family of rage-induced Swedish Irish women it wasn't at all that difficult for me to understand. Sloan would have a field day with SwiftWing, and I was a little sad that we left her back at the house this time.

They had me repeat the process with a few different machines. First, I was asked to bench press a few hundred pounds and found I was about the same limit, if not a little bit closer to six hundred pounds. Second, Corinne had me run on a treadmill and steadily she increased the speed and the incline of the machine. By the end I worked up a healthy sweat and I could feel the newfound clarity my body gave me. Morgan was offering small commentary in the back of my mind.

"Not bad, this isn't any more difficult than the Defense Forces training Sinead went through."

It was interesting that a slumbering spirit did seem to absorb the memory of her hosts. Personally, I had no access so I had to hear it a second person from Morgan's point of view. No different than a friend relaying what they saw or heard someone else do.

An hour later they brought me into a weird little library room. A singular round table was situated in the middle of the room with a skylight above. Upon entering, I was asked to take off my shoes and I shrugged in response. Complying with their request wasn't hard since I had a few Asian cousins making this far from weird to me. I padded barefoot across the carpeted floor and watched as Sophia followed in after her grandfather. I was a little surprised to see him in his full RavenWIng costume including the body armor. Each piece of armor fit on his legs, chest and his arms. It was a light impact type I'd heard people comment about on a few forums I scanned when I first did a little research on superhero uniforms.

"Ah, good to see you, Miss O'Callaghan, I have a few documents for you and your parents," he declared cheerfully. Documents? And my eyes immediately shot to his infamous briefcase which he carried with him.

"Did you file the paperwork for her name change?" my mom asked. I blinked, a name change? That was a tad quick. He opened up and placed a copy of the court order including a court time next week. A lump formed in my throat as I saw the full name of "Gráinne Róisín O'Callaghan" on the document. Immediately, I grabbed both my parents in a tight hug as I felt a sob shudder through my body. Upon releasing them I gave Gerald a hug hard enough that he actually asked me politely to let go. Tears blurred my vision as I picked up the documentation and noted the court date on it.

"Next week? How?" I asked. I knew a little on courts, just enough from years of watching Law & Order in that judges didn't have open slots that easily on their dockets.

"We called in a favor with the Municipal Courthouse, and request we expedite your application," Gerald told us all.

"Judge MacDonald owed me for saving his son on an incident just out to sea years ago," said a new voice. I turned to face a man I had only heard of, but now was finally meeting, Cornelius Holbrook, the leader of the Whatcom Alliance. Cornelius was an aging black man with short hair, and a small mustache graced his upper lip. I could tell by the ripple of muscle underneath his shirt that this was a man dedicated to his craft, and a few scars poked out along his hands. He was dressed in a blue button-down collared shirt and a pair of black jeans.

"You're...OGUN!" I said as the man smiled at me, "Yes...or as I was in the 80s, Crown Justice."

This man was a living legend! There was manga in Japan based on his armored visage and I was now just feeling my internal geek starting to squee at his presence. I could see Sophia visibly rolled her eyes as my nerdom flared for all to see.

"Thank you mister Holbrook," my father said as he shook the man's hand. I could barely contain myself as I was asked a few questions by the man himself. Cornelius wanted to know more about my experience at the school and in between Gerald listed off his plans for a lawsuit. We finished about ten minutes later and pulled apart for a small lunch so I could regain my energy.

As I was leaving the small room Gerald asked me and Sophia to stay behind. He set down his briefcase and like what seemed to be a small amethyst gem onto the table. Instantly upon seeing the shiny purple thing, my attention was officially fixated on the spot. Did I mention purple was my favorite color? It was the color of royalty and empresses so, of course, I adored it.

"Gráinne," Gerald said and drew my attention back to his face. I peered at him as my hands fell to my hips and I cocked one to the right. Damn, I was getting feminine posture down!

"All I want you to do is hold the gem," he pointed to the Amethyst and I picked up the piece of quartz in my hand. A small pulling sensation flowed down from my arm up into my chest. I winced a little as the gem seemed to glow in the palm of my hand. There was a slightly painful sensation aching in my fingers.

"Fascinating," he gestured for me to put the gem down and I shuddered. A bit of myself felt like it was being pulled into that thing.

"It's a container of essence, you just stored some in it." I blinked for a moment as I started to wonder what the hell essence was. "Magic lass, it's the energy used in spells."

It was nice I had a magical spirit to explain everything. Just like a little fairy from one of my favorite games.

"Never compare me to that floating ball of irritation - again. Or I'll make you bald."

Okay, never refer to Morgan as Navi ever again.

Early Afternoon, October 27th, 2007 - Whatcom Alliance Headquarters

"By the Gods this is good," I exclaimed as I dug into a massive plate of corned beef and roasted potatoes. After working away for the last few hours I was already craving calories to return my lost energy. Not only had they tested my ability to collect essence there were the tests on a few motions to see my flexibility. Walking a balancing beam wasn't really that hard and having me run around a track to see my full-on sprinting speed just added to the soaking level of my clothes. After showering in a YMCA-styled women's locker roo`-m I was cleaned up and in a pair of jeans and a tank top. It felt nice to be out of my sports bra and back into my preferred boy shorts.

The food served at the Headquarters was better than passable and as I tore into the corned beef I was licking my fingers as a bit of juice came off one piece of meat. After my second plate, I was finally satisfied and gave an embarrassed smile to both of my parents. My dad was shaking his head as my mom said to him, "She'll eat us out of house and home."

We were seated at a small table located in the lounge of the building. Nearby through a pair of swinging restaurant doors was a professional-grade kitchen set up by a member of the Alliance. Across from me, my parents were busy talking about something with Gerald Jameson. Beside me sat Sophia who was enjoying a nice hot cup of peppermint tea which she informed me she needed to help "calm her nerves".

For myself, a cup of coffee, I needed the stuff to function on some levels and definitely with tons of cream in it. The normally bitter taste of coffee always made me feel sick to my stomach. Didn't help with that mess with the mind-controlling Starbucks coffee thanks to some asshole villain in Seattle earlier this year. This was cup number two and I could already tell my mom wasn’t pleased with the increase of my vivid hyperness. I wanted to jump to my feet and start singing loudly to anyone who saw me. The thought came to me about how well I could hold a tune? Did I have an increased lung capacity? More ideas raced through my mind as Gerald finished explaining something to my parents.

There was a lot going on I wasn't currently in on. Both mom and dad had been in long phone calls the day before. Not to mention there was that notary work my dad spent time going over before I woke up. I only even knew about it because of his papers left on our dining room table. What was going on? For a few seconds, I let my mind wander long enough to what I'd experienced. This was most definitely the first of perhaps more Powers Tests. Being a mutant required I have a Mutant ID and it was likely one of the reasons my parents were talking at length.

But that left the issue of my schooling. Were they thinking of homeschooling me? I mean, that would make some sense, and I could easily get training here with the Alliance in their HQ. What it didn't explain was what I swore was a brochure in my mom’s hands as we drove in that morning. It created only more questions for me to consider.

Sophia was clearly done eating and as she finished her last bite she sipped a bit more of her tea. Me, I downed the last of my coffee before using a napkin to dab my lips clean. It was nice to not wear any makeup today though I was definitely hyped for learning the ancient secrets of how women changed their skins. A moment later I was done with my food as well and pushed the plate aside. Satisfied and full, I couldn't eat another bite! My eyes wandered around the lounge and my eyes landed on a pinboard located near the entrance.

In my boredom, I decided to just see what was on the notice board in question. Off the top of my head, I was able to make out a piece of paper about someone offering lawn work. A small flier about a missing dog and a second flier about an upcoming event for a local performer. I couldn't read everything, but I was still able to make out the general wording if it was big enough. After what seemed like a minute I got up to get a better look at one particular notice that caught my attention. It reminded me of something I'd seen before and as I drew closer, I finally saw the wording.

What was the Whateley Academy? Reaching out I removed the tack holding the brochure in place and opened it up so I could read its contents. The front folded page of the brochure depicted a picture from someplace called the Presidential Mountains. The School itself was in New Hampshire. As I read further it was then I recognized it as the very same one my mom had been holding on the drive in that morning. I tacked the piece of paper back onto the pinboard before turning around and brushing a stray lock of hair out of my face. Why was my mom reading about a school all the way across the country in New England?

Were they planning on sending me to boarding school?

I guess I'd have to wait to find out as upon returning to the board I could see both my parents and Gerald Jameson were waiting. Gerald appeared to have a clipboard like the one Corinne Jameson had been writing notes on from earlier. There was also a small piece of paper clipped to the top of it.

"Ah, so," dad said as he gestured me to take a seat.

"Alright, honey," mom began as she glanced at my father for a moment.

"You aren't sending me back to Ferndale are you?" I asked slowly just wanting to break the ice. There was no way I was going back to that shithole school.

"No," mom replied with a slightly shocked expression on her face.

"Okay," I said and was about to ask before my father said, "We've been discussing it and decided to ask Gerald a bit about where his daughter studied for High School."

"Mom went to Bellingham, didn't she?" Sophia asked. That was what her mother told her roughly when she was younger, and it was where Corinne had met her father.

"No," Gerald said and Corinne walked through the door dressed in what appeared to work out gear. A pair of black leggings and a loose razor-back blue tank.

"Oh, we telling them about Whateley finally?" Corinne asked.

"Yup," Gerald sighed as he furrowed his brow at his daughter's lax question.

"Okay," Sophia said and beat me to the punch, "I can see you affording to send me to a boarding school. Thanks for sending me away by the way." The girl crossed her arms across her chest and turned her head to look away in defiance of the adults.

"Actually," my dad spoke up, "we can afford to send Gráinne to a school which your mother has told us specializes in preparing young mutants for their future."

"Wait what? An honest to goodness Xavier school?" I chirped as I sat on the edge of my seat. This wasn't sound so bad.

"Yes and no," Gerald added as he placed his hands on the table. "Whateley is important as it's neutral ground, a place where you two can learn how to control your powers, and also get above-average education."

"Neutral ground, what you are saying-" Sophia said and she stopped as her mom nodded.

"Villains and Superheros do not break the neutrality, it's a seriously safe place, safer than Ferndale and it’s more than equipped to help you with your rage problems," Corinne informed me. I wanted to look away as she reminded me of my issue, but instead, I inhaled slowly and maintained eye contact with her.

Anxiety would not rule me for this conversation. Well, not for now.

"Remember lass, they want to do this for your own good. Don't get angry, think about it from their shoes." Morgan my ever prominent Jiminy Cricket-styled conscience. "Don't compare me to a Disney cartoon bug, ever again." Who can also read my thoughts. I really need to remember that my body had two passengers now.

"Is it better than Ferndale?" I asked carefully.

"Yes, and no," Corinne replied. "If you stay on the good side of most of the faculty they'll have your back. But there are bullies, and so it's best to learn how to defend yourself."

That didn't help at all. I blinked sadly at the idea, but it did sound better than what I had experienced. Slowly, I straightened up in my seat as I bit my lip. What other options do I have? I could go to Bellingham High School and make my parents drive me every day till next year when I could earn my own license. Truth be told, I was terrified of being far away from my family, and not being near them. I was tight with my family on a surreal level. Throughout my recent change, my parents had been nothing but supportive. There was no lying, my change was adding more financial burdens to them and honestly, I wasn't sure what else lay in store for me.

I threw a kid into a locker and almost killed him. Let's be realistic, I can deadlift a few hundred pounds without too much effort. From what I saw I was most definitely a threat without training. More than enough superhero movies and anime taught me that. There was no way I was going to be the fool who didn't accept an offer for hard-won training from a mysterious sensei. At least I wouldn't have to sit forlornly under a waterfall so I could learn the true way of the warrior. Or least, I didn't think this 'boarding school' would be one of the few places.

So I was going the Harry Potter route minus the obvious child abuse. I could only hope my school headmaster wasn't an eccentric with a penchant for letting underage children fight horrors of the deep.

"How would you guys pay for something like this?" I asked slowly.

"Well, there goes your college fund," my dad smiled.

"Really?" I asked.

"No," mom said and gave my dad a mock slap on the shoulder, "We've been talking to Gerald about a possible scholarship, and according to Corinne there are work-study options on campus."

"Ah," I gave a small nod to affirm everything.

"I'm going there without a choice isn’t I," Sophia finally spoke up.

"Yes, most definitely." Corinne gave a cocky smile showing there was absolutely no arguing the point.

"Am I going to do work-study?" she asked innocently with her mother.

"No, but, I would suggest it, I did and helped build connections I'm using now," Corinne shrugged.

All the cards were on the table, and I was facing a tough no brainer situation. This was going to place me in the stereotypical role of the working student. Okay, not like my parents didn't make me work for things in the past. There were the yearly splitting and chopping of wood. Helping with church functions as I grew up. As the old saying goes - this wasn't going to be my first rodeo of hard work.

"I'll do it," I said, "what do I have to do to get in?"

"We'll need to get your name changed and then you'll need to pick a codename for your temporary MID," Gerald informed me and I gave a nod.

Picking a codename? Okay, that couldn't be too hard? I just had to make sure none of it has been trademarked, copywritten or you know, owned. I could do that. Just a little old fifteen years old me, picking the superhero name that would stick with me for the rest of my life. How hard could it be?

 

---

 

Chapter 9 - Gas On The Fire

Late Evening, October 28th, 2007 - Jameson Family Home

Corinne inhaled the last of her cigarette and doused the burning end in her ashtray. Usually, she would likely look for a bit of alcohol, but she was trying to set an example. The last two nights hadn't been easy. Balancing an angry teenager with a former husband who liked to throw temper tantrums wasn't easy. Miss Jameson usually only opened her preferred personally rolled pack of cigs only when she really needed them. It wasn't too shabby that her friend at a local smoke shop also hooked her up with some high-quality tobacco now and then.

She was in her father's kitchen in the same home she'd grown up in. Weird, divorce your shitty husband and you move back in with dad. Some might laugh at her, but as a Superhero and a mom, Corinne didn't have much choice. The death of her mother three years after Sophia's birth exacerbated her father's mental health to a point of self-destruction. Entire new chapters of his life were made clear to her that it was her mother, Mara, who was the rock the old man needed. Now that she was a nearly full-time member of the Alliance her father retired and stayed on as a general council working with the Lummi Tribal government. He also provided a steady father figure for Sophia and kept her personal ass tick, Michael Langley, aka Sophia's sperm donor at bay.

That was until the bastard decided to call.

There was no real way to put into words how much a marriage could fall apart, but it's best said by how he spoke when she picked up the phone. She knew it was him, this time he'd used his unblocked telephone and likely his personal mobile too.

"What do you want Mike," her voice cracked with emotion.

"What's this about MY DAUGHTER attending that freak school you did?" his voice was a low feral growl. Luckily after years of verbal abuse at the man's hand, she was used to ignoring it.

"The school you so lovingly call the best football ground in Whatcom decided to nearly expel a girl like our daughter for defending herself," she barked in return.

"Sophia was doing fine at that school, she practically ruled Horizon Middle School," came the riposte.

"It was great until she manifested and like me was left by the wayside like any other token girl on the cheerleading team," she snapped in return.

"Well, it is good then that I was able to push a few of my contacts in the BIA and rattle some information for you then, toots." She heard him from the other end. Seriously, which misogynistic asshole still says toots. What am I a cigar girl in a speakeasy?

"There was an investigation on the campus of YOUR school, some poor Lakota kid died." The words at that point caught her attention and her jaw tightened. I mean. Kids can die, it's not like we're perfect. But, there is no way that... Her train of thought trailed off.

"Got anything to say for yourself?" he asked pushing the issue.

"One, I have full custody, two, if you call me again and scream into the phone again I'm filing a restraining order that widens the one I already have. Goodbye Mikey, stop calling!" she retorted before hanging up on him abruptly. Her hands tightened as she placed the phone down and thought about stomping her foot. Or maybe she'd go for a run and just scream!

No. Mom instincts kicked in as she brushed some hair from her face and rubbed the forming headache knotting up along her forehead. Nah, she had some calls to make. I could call someone from Seattle. They'd likely know more since the cities bigger and there's that huge MCO office down there. Thumbing her lips she scrolled through her contacts and noticed she'd added Claire Westbrook of the Seattle Squires last year. Oh, shit...her father was shot and I never said a thing! She tried to piece together what she remembered of Claire's family.

Hitting the call icon she waited as the ring continued.

"Hello?" came a feminine voice from the other end.

"Hey um Claire, its Corinne Jameson, I'm an old friend of your mother's," she said with a wince. There was a small pause on the other end.

"Oh...you worked with her on that case involving the Yakuza here in Seattle didn't you," Claire replied tensely.

"Yeah." She sighed and said, "I also testified against her husband since we both have experience with abusive pencil dicks."

The frankness of her words caused another pause. Why did I have to call her blood-father a pencil dick?

"That sounds pretty accurate," Claire said in a slightly clipped tone.

"First, I want to say I'm sorry I didn't call to offer condolences for your father's passing," she began, "and I hate to do this, but I need to ask you a few questions."

"Okay...and thank you." Another pause on the other side, "What would you like to know?"

Corinne let out a quiet slow breath to calm herself before heading straight into another difficult conversation. A bit of it panned out with that she was looking for, a murder on campus and a supposed 'chosen one' for the native people. What drew her attention the most was the murder accusations and her eyes narrowed. Whatever had been happening on campus was more worrisome than she'd contrived from the usual alumni newsletters.

"An entire club dedicated to things cute. Has Hartford reacted to that yet?" she asked steadily.

"No, seems they are letting it play itself out," Claire affirmed.

"Okay, a bit of this makes sense from what I've heard among some of my friends across the country about a new important Shaman. But, from what you tell me my daughter is facing some serious problems," and the conversation continued.

She informed Claire about the situation in the North and about the near seizure of a young woman by the MCO. The two spoke at length long enough Corinne ended the call by saying, "We should catch up soon. What about lunch sometime this next month?"

"That sounds nice, I could use someone to talk to. Oh, and I'll let my sisters know your daughter might be rooming with them," Claire replied.

"I thought Anna was your only sister?" Corinne asked quizzically.

"My little sister Catherine just started Whateley, she was a little sheltered by our parents," came the quick reply.

"Ah well I will tell Sophia about this when she's awake tomorrow," Claire said. The two were able to say goodbye cordially before Claire hung up. Corinne rubbed her now throbbing head and considered lighting another cigarette. She eyed the clock and sighed at the time. I have to get Sophia up in under eight hours. They were going to be heading into the High School to fill out paperwork to remove her daughter and Sophia's records from the registrar. Corinne knew the O'Callaghans would be doing the same and so they considered helping each other on the manner.

What to do? She leaned against the counter of the island in the middle of her family's kitchen. Corinne braced herself as she leaned forward and considered once again lighting up another cigarette. No, not this time, she had to prepare for a long conversation with her daughter. And possibly some very uncomfortable questions.

She heard a creak. Her eyes shot to the doorway and she saw the shifting shadow as someone leaned back from the edge.

"Come out Lil' Wing, you know it's rude to eavesdrop," she said aloud. A moment later a pajama clothed Sophia rounded the corner where she'd hid.

"So how much did you hear?" Corinne asked pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Most of it, I didn't hear the part before Claire," she asked slowly, and added, "So you worked with the DPA? Seriously?"

"Yeah, I didn't want you to know about that part just yet, it's one of the reasons I left your dad," she sighed.

"Did dad hit you, mom?" Sophia asked slowly after a pregnant pause.

"Once...after he did that - that was when I took you here to Grandpa's," she replied.

"Wait...that was only two years ago....why did you stay with him?" Sophia asked.

"I did it because I didn't want to disrupt your life," she said quietly. Sophia ran over and hugged her mother around the waist.

"Thanks, Lil' Wing, I needed that." she stroked her daughter’s hair before saying, "So I guess we have a lot to talk about. You'll need to go to bed in a bit though so you get enough sleep."

"Okay mom," Sophia said with a smile.

Just Before Lunch, October 29th, 2007 - Ferndale High School

Okay, here we go. I said this to myself just as I tried to fathom what I was about to face. Again I'd awaken early to be ready only to find my body still too sore to move. After snapping open my eyes I nearly crawled upstairs to my mom making some hot soup for breakfast. I ate three large bowls of chicken noodle soup and after my body stopped aching I got dressed and we piled into the car. Just mom and me, Lynn O'Callaghan and her daughter, Gráinne. Curled up in the passenger seat I listened to my mom singing along to the Beatles as we drove to Ferndale High School.

I shivered just thinking about it as flashes of my attack came to me. I let out a mewling whine and mom immediately turned off the radio and gave me a worried look. Biting my lip I said, "I...I am starting to have nightmares about them."

Wow, I actually told her what was happening. I looked out the window as my mom quietly drove for a bit longer before placing her right hand on my own.

"Baby," she began, "I think we should talk with Gerald and see if there's a trauma therapist on campus."

"I don't need to see a shrink," I replied stiffly. I wasn't broken, I can get through this.

"Yeah, Babes, that's a load of bullshit," my mom told me.

Before we continue, I want to cover a few things about my family. My father is a vocational counselor, he's the one who the state asks to help people keep their job when their injured on the job. Worker's comp? All of that was handled by a man much like my father. He'd even gone on to get his Masters in Psychology, his second Masters Degree. Did I mention I come from a family of over-educated nerds? I wanted to fight my mom's words and I could feel tears slowly filling my eyes.

Was I really broken inside?

"I'll think about it mom," I said slowly, "the therapy for my ADHD didn't help at all."

"You know that's different," she replied, "and maybe your diagnosis wasn't right."

I blinked, wait what? Slowly, I turned my head to face my mom and I was going to ask her a question but just then we pulled into the school parking lot.

"We'll talk more about this in a bit, but think about it," she smiled before turning off the car.

"Okay," I sighed.

Trauma, was not a subject I wanted to face.

"I understand my heart." Morgan's voice whispered in my ear. "But your mam is right, we need to confront our pain. And learn how to not let it rule us."

I filed away the thought as I walked beside my mom down toward the main building. Ferndale High School's parking lot was north of the main auditorium and just past the cafeteria building. The bell rang for the first lunch of the day and a rush of students were already making their way from the various classrooms to head towards the cafeteria. As a bunch from the junior football team appeared out of the gym I tensed. They were a hundred feet away, but I could tell by how they all stood together and it helped one of them was tossing a football in the air.

Instantly a heat enveloped me as my hand clenched into a fist and I grit my teeth. More flashes as I let loose a low growl and only my mother's hand on my shoulder stayed me from running headlong into the boys.

"Gráinne," she soothed carefully, "I know you want to punch them. I want to burn this entire school for what they did. But we are here to cut ties, not cause more trouble."

My mom was right, I let out a loud snort and shook my head. This wasn't the time, and I could feel Morgan biting at the bit, but barely holding it together like myself. Okay, we just had to get in and out. I strolled by my mom's side and considered hiding behind my phone. Today I was wearing a pair of hip hugger jeans I'd snagged on our last shopping trip and a black hoodie with a rose-covered skull on the front. Yup, time to up this goth to full-on! I grinned to myself as I pushed a bit of my bright red hair out of my face.

Mom opened the door and as more kids flooded out I tried my best to stay with her. You see the problem you often face when trying to get to the office when the lunch bell rang was actually getting through the flood of teenagers. Ferndale kids didn't give two shits about people heading the wrong way in their opinion. I instantly lost my mom as three tall seniors nearly shoved me out of the way and only my strength kept them from shoving me over. One of them gave me a wide eyed stare as I returned it with an indifferent shrug.

"Girl works out," the tallest of the three said before deciding to ignore me and move on. I needed to get a better look at myself, but I knew more change had swept over me since my visit to the Whatcom Alliance. I decided to trudge forward and make my way to the office and hopefully meet up with my mother. Walking back into the doorway of the main building caused me to pause just on the lip of the interior.

As I drew closer to the inside I felt myself freeze. Dread swept over my shoulders and crawled over the skin of my back. Hugging my sides I closed my eyes as a large hand suddenly enveloped my right buttock and gave it a hard squeeze. I whipped around as a snarl erupted from my mouth to come face to face with the last person I wanted to see again. Brad Finkbonner, his arm in a sling and I could see the stitches from where'd I'd nearly ripped open his cheek. My eyes widened to the side of plates as he looked at me and I could see him lick his lips.

"Damn girl," he said in the best imitation of a player he could be.

"Are you new?" he asked. I raised an eyebrow at him as it was obvious that I hadn't changed that much, right? I mean my chest was a bit bigger and my ass was a bit rounder, but I wasn't that different looking from when he last assaulted me. Fear was pressing on my chest as I could feel whatever composure I had collapsing.

"No," I squeaked as I felt my resolve falling away.

"Wait......you're the freak." He said and I noticed that instantly he reached out and touched my cheek. I shrunk away from his touch and instantly my right hand shot out to steady myself against the locker. The problem was I hit it hard and winced as a bit of pain returned my klutziness in kind. I didn't notice I had dented the locker, but Brad did. His eyes remained wide as I swear I could see a bead of sweat drip along his forehead.

"You're lucky you little fag you're so damn pretty," he leaned over me as I pressed my back up against the locker and his hand found a placed just to the left of my head.

"I'm not a fag," I said in a small voice.

I was stronger than this shit. Hell, I had even stood up to him and yet, his very presence was making me feel weak. More flashes, my head being pushed into his crotch as he reached down to unzip his fly. He loomed over me and his free hand over my right breast and palmed it. I let out a muted screech as I heard a voice behind him. As his hand touched my breast my eyes closed tight and I heard him say, "Damn you are a nice piece of ass aren't you Callaghan."

Upon hearing the boorish chauvinist comment on my attributes I firmly punched my left hand against the locker. My right hand shot out and grabbed the collar of his shirt. In a fit of rage I lifted the boy completely off his feet or at least to what I could see and grit my teeth.

"YOU WILL NEVER TOUCH ME AGAIN YOU FUCKING PERVERT," I growled through gritted teeth. I was going to break his jaw. There was also kicking him so hard I would render the shit pervert sterile.

I drew back my free hand and closed it into a fist ready to plow my full enhanced strength into his chest when I finally heard who was trying to get my attention. Dropping the little turd I backed away as my mom ran over and waved her hand in front of my face. I burst into tears upon seeing her and she embraced me on the spot.

"Brad Finkbonner, nice to meet you," my mom's voice was serious, "and it's great to see that you are as stupid as I thought you were."

"Wha - what?" he replied, "you're a freak of a kid assaulted me again."

He was stammering a lie and just as I was about to protest I heard my mom say it, "I saw what you did Brad. So did the School security feed.

Mom's hand jabbed out and pointed at the security camera peeking out from the corner of the ceiling and the wall just across from where he'd cornered me. Brad's face, that perfect chiseled jaw and angelic blue eyes, and did I mention his coiffed blonde hair? Yeah well, all of that turned ugly as his eyes widened and he got the look of a small child caught in their own lie.

"You're parents are going to love it that I have video evidence when Gerald Jameson includes them in the lawsuit we're filing against the school." My mom said each word firmly. "And you know what, I think this might even put you on the -sex offender registry-, you are eighteen aren't you? That means your little football future is now over."

The boy was gaping as my mom pulled me up and we began to walk away. At this point, mom was ushering me to the office so we could get done and get out of this hellhole. I walked along obediently in a daze by mom's side. We were soon inside of the office as my mom leaned across the counter while making a call.

"Good morning Gerry," her voice was saccharin as she spoke, "Yes, he tried to do it again. Can you get a court order to get the security feed of the school? You can? Good!"

My mom sat there as I closed my eyes. I found a seat a bit away from the secretary's desk and curled up to stare at my phone. An eternity passed as I heard someone enter, and I glanced up at the clock. An entire half-hour had passed, I scrolled through my phone's various apps and I tried to think straight. I wish I had brought my mp3 player with me, and that's when I realized I didn't have one. Sighing, I sat up as mom was quietly and concisely putting the secretary through her paces. Lynn O'Callaghan liked to always say that she didn't become a lawyer because she would use her mind for evil. Right there and then I started to see why.

"Oh, I'm not leaving until Gerald get's here, I don't trust you all," she smiled at the secretary. I considered looking into the music feature of my new phone, but I couldn't stop from just quietly watching mom work away on the poor secretary. It was weird, about five minutes later I found the silly internet browser and was busily reading through the headlines on the Seattle Times website. Nothing new was happening, a few new collars by the Seattle Supers, and a closing of the investigation into the death of a visiting Irish Professor. I scanned the article in question, and as I used my thumb to scroll through it I froze.

Sinead Maguire, Professor of Irish Language and Culture, that was her.

"That was my previous host. Someone killed her using...her shadow." Morgan's voice said to me. I felt a strange settling in my body and I figured it was my Spirit settling in my hallow. A few minutes later I shook my head as I heard Gerald's voice, and I realized he was here. Wow, I really was out of it.

"Who would have thought the school's security budget last year, because of the Overlord attack in Seattle, would play in our favor," the lawyer chuckled.

I had no interest at all in participating in the scene's playing out before me. I pulled my knees up to my chest as I shrank away when one of the faculty walked past me. Mom was now arguing with the School secretary and Gerald was happily watching the entire exchange. Honestly, I wanted out of school as fast as possible. I was starting to shake now as the flashes were becoming all the more real to me.

"Mom...are we - we almost done," I asked. After about a minute she walked over and took my hand in hers.

"You're cold," she brushed my face as I shivered, "Okay, we're getting some food into you."

I gave a slow nod as I closed my eyes, more of the memories. More tactile than before as I winced as mom drew close to me.

"Honey?" she asked me and I opened my eyes.

"Sorry, mom...I just keep feeling his hands," I trailed off.

"Okay honey, food and we'll talk," she said slowly.

Another nod, and another flinch. I wanted to get away from this place and as mom started to lead me out I heard her say, "Gerald can you take care of this?"

"Yeah Lynn, no problem, take care of your daughter."

The actual walk back to the car was a blur. I couldn't even focus at all as I shivered in place in my mom's car. The green Honda CRV made me feel safe as we drove away from the school. A few minutes later we were near the highway and pulling into the parking lot of a local grocery store. I smelled fried chicken as I followed after my mom inside. A few shakes of my head and reality joined me again.

"Wait, we at Haggen?" I asked.

"You really are out of it," she said after picking up a heavy bag that smelled of fried golden deliciousness. After a few more moments we were sitting in the seated area just after mom paid for lunch. An entire pound of jojos just for me, and two chicken breasts. The food helped me feel better as the warmth seemed to permeate my skin and ease the painful chill at bay. I felt like Harry Potter just after a dementor attack, and just as I exhaled a bit of steam from the fried hot potato logs I glanced around. There was no way those floating monstrosities were real too, right? I mean, I had a Celtic spirit inhabiting me and my new friend can use magic.

"No...dementors aren't real. But, boggarts are." I heard the words of my rider and I shook my head again. Great, so at least the closet dwelling monster was real. More flashes, the feeling of arms twisting around my torso as hands dug into the edge of my jeans. The jeans themselves being yanked down to reveal my new black boyshorts.

"Babes," mom waved her hand in front of my face again, "I lost you again. More flashes?"

I nodded a bit and immediately began ravenously devouring a chicken breast. The warmth seemed to keep the memories at bay for now as I wanted to just get some energy. I felt drained and the food was invigorating me. As I tried my hardest I was able to push the memories to the side as the ongoing panic attack threatening to erupt from my chest was kept at bay.

"Did you pull me out of Ferndale today?" I asked mom out of the blue.

"Yes, we're filing the paperwork to transfer you to Whateley this week," she told me. Another nod, and another affirmation that my previous life was over. Padraig was gone, and I had shed the false skin I once wore. The weight of my hair and the pressure of my bra reminded me of who I was now. I was Gráinne Róisín O'Callaghan, and as soon as we got my new name and my MID I would be moving forward in my life. Another step forward, and there was no way I was going to take two steps back.

Seven P.M, October 31st, 2007 - Ferndale Camp and Conference Center

There was no way she envisioned herself renting a car under an assumed name and driving to a small middle of nowhere location far north of Seattle. The way how cities and towns were so spaced out compared to Europe was maddening to Bess as her hand gripped the steering wheel. Dressed in a black hoodie and carpenter jeans, she was about to do something rash in hopes of provoking the newest rider of her target. Just a few days after meeting the average man she was unsure how to proceed. The other target was not scheduled to arrive for another week or more, so all she had to go on was what she picked up from scrying the new rider's position.

A place in the middle of nowhere, home to a half-way decent American Football team. Scrunching her nose as she parked, the woman heard the crunch of gravel as she parked. The Conference Center was alight that evening, the evening of All Hallow's Eve. And as she shut the rental's door she palmed one of the reliquaries delivered to her by her benefactors. This one was about the size of a small ball and shaped like a jeweled pendant. A sapphire gem blazed in the middle of the square metallic piece of jewelry. Essence throbbed inside of the vessel and as she made her way into the meeting hall she smiled. With the amount of essence in this one vessel, she would be able to set a few things in motion.

"I see we are all here," cried the speaker, a middle-aged man dressed in a pair of dress pants, tie, and a white collared shirt. She didn't bother to learn his name, but she knew he was the local shadow-leader of Humanity First in the region. That wasn't hard to figure out as the face of the organization's chapter was the one smiling and offering handshakes on the way in.

"Thanks for coming, I'm Robert Dickinson, we need to stick together," she heard as she pushed past him.

"You all know why we've called this meeting and we understand it's likely to mess up your Halloween plans," the speaker continued.

"But as you know a long-time member, and supporter of our cause, George Rufus Finkbonner, has brought to our attention a new dangerous threat right in our own backyard." Just as the man finished gathering the crowd's attention he went straight into firing them up for the evening.

"She attacked my son!" cried a woman.

"She threw mine into a locker!" said a man not far away from her.

This is perfect if I can weave a simple rage working I can get them to do much more than whine and cry about their troubles. Bess draped the pendant around her neck and reached into her pocket to withdraw a small knife. As she focused her mind she turned clockwise while quietly intoning the elements. Her mind focused on the necessary thoughts as she started to mouth a rhyme under her breath.

"It's taken considerable work, but our friends in Bellingham, and in the county Government have informed us that not only is this danger going Scott free, but she's getting legal documentation! Where once was a boy now stands a freak of nature!" he roared.

A cry of what Bess could only consider homophobic ranting roared to life as she could feel the essence in the reliquary burning away. Her eyes closed and she imagined a miasma spreading out from where she stood in the crowd. Bess grinned as she could feel the thoughts woven in just as she spoke the rhyme one more time.

"Tomorrow we'll confront the family and ask for an apology to the Finkbonners for the lies they are spreading about our football stars," the speaker continued.

"We'll make sure it gets on the news," yelled 

Her eyes closed as she could imagine the miasma spreading further. Bess slipped the knife back into the front pocket of her hoodie. This is too easy. I should ask for more of these reliquaries more often. The pendant was almost dead of the stored essence. Without even batting an eye Bess took a step back and slowly withdrew from the room.

"We'll need everyone there tomorrow!" the speaker wiped his brow again and drank more water. "Mister Finkbonner is asking for volunteers to come and help provide support as he tries to speak to his son’s attacker."

She smiled as she walked past a few rows. Her thoughts quickly caused her to lose interest in the speaker and his little plan.

"We should do more than that!" said a voice as she passed, "we should make an example of her and her freak family."

The words made her grin wider. Thanks, Tone, all I needed was the essence, and now my job is done. For now at least. Brushing past the man at the front door she fingered the keys to the car while everyone was entranced by the man at his little podium.

"Stupid feckin eedjit sheep," she giggled as she turned on her car and pulled out of the parking lot.

Late Morning, November 2nd, 2007 - Whatcom County

"All the evidence appears in order, and you agree you are not changing your name and gender for nefarious reasons?" the judge asked me. Who asks that? Seriously, I should just say, "Your honor I plan on mowing down an entire park of kittens and puppies right after this." But, luck was on my side because instead of being an impulsive idiot I spoke up and gave a simple, "Yes your honor."

It was the end of the week and days after my last encounter with Brad. Across those four days, I'd spent most of the time getting ready with my parents for my new school. There were supplies to buy as well as a handbook sent via express mail. It arrived Thursday morning and I was already overwhelmed by the amount of information. The idea of wearing a uniform was strange, to say the least. One of my friends, Raphael Griffan, attended the local Catholic Elementary School and his uniform didn't seem too bad to say the least. I was so caught up in thinking about uniforms and staring at the uniform requirements that I barely registered the people around me. My name was now legally Gráinne and my legal, as well as biological gender, was female.

Just as I walked out past the door I was suddenly blasted by a loud yell of, "There's the girl who attacked my boy"

Let me back up a bit here, I'm a five foot six, curvy, but lightly built girl. Mom is about two inches shorter than me and was a bit on the plump side. I was now shorter than the father I once matched height with, and while my hair did give me a nice presence there was no way I was that scary. However, just as I exited the courthouse, I came face to face with a blond-haired woman in her forties dressed in an expensive conform dress. Her ears bedecked with what I could only guess were diamond earrings.

I stopped immediately and my mom rested beside me. Sloan, who had decided to come along for reasons I'm not entirely sure of was the first to react. First, my dear little sister cocks a hip wearing her bell-bottomed black Hot Topic pants. The girl had a black collar around her neck as well as a black bomber jacket.

"So...why is Rachel from Friends screaming at us?" I snerked.

"Mrs. Finkbonner," my mother began and stepped to the side. That's when we noticed the small, but decently sized crowd of people just beyond us. Immediately, Sloan bolted back inside to grab the Court security officers, my mom, the ever defiant mother bear, inserted herself in front of me. Me, the rage-filled redhead who could deadlift four hundred pounds, being body shielded by her baseline mother.

"We'd like to speak to your daughter, Mrs. O'Callaghan," Mrs. Fink Bonner said. I tilted my head as I scooted around my mother and stood by her.

"Not happening, your son is one hairbreadth away from being charged with sexual assault." Mom crossed her arms and I could hear the gears in her head working as she said, "Do you really want to hand me more fodder for our lawsuit against you?"

"I didn't know you'd be here, I was here merely to speak to a friend on the County Council," the blond Stepford wife smiled. You know those fake smiles people get when their about to play maniacal stalker, yeah, that was the kind of grin the blond woman.

"Mutants are a threat to baselines everywhere," added a person not far behind her. And the crowd decided to flash a Humanity First placard and I backed up a step.

"He attacked me," I gasped. Not wanting to get near any of those bastards several of which looked a bit like the football players who attacked me.

"You're lying," the woman snapped in reply.

Just as the mob started to close in toward us, my sister walked out with three uniformed police officers behind her. Sloan's hair was dyed purple at the time, and she looked damn heroic. She walked by and took my hand in hers and linked hands with my mother.

"Your stupid fucking son attacked my big sister," she snarled, "and now you're showing where he got his brains. Walk home malibu, not everyone is a degenerate like you."

"Your parents named your sibling well. She's as spirited and sharp-tongued as anyone I knew." Morgan's chuckled in my ear as my sister completed her quip.

"You little cretin," the woman neared us and looked about to say something as a uniform blocked her path.

"Miss, I'm sorry to form you, but this is verging on witness tampering." The Officer informed the woman, and as the other two began to wave off the crowd we made our escape.

After being assaulted again by her kid, I wanted to get one last good view of the woman as we made our escape. I turned around and just as I gazed at her - her eyes met mine. She smiled at me, not the weird shit-eating grin from earlier. It was like I was walking straight into a trap or something. I took my time to get a good solid view of the situation and of all my surroundings. There was no one around us outside of the protesters and the three uniformed Officers. Whatever, the woman was smiling about unnerved me to no end. Morgan herself growled in my ear as we turned to get in my mom's car. It was time to put the past behind us, and get as far away from reminders of it as fast as possible.

 

---

 

Chapter 10 - Fool’s Folly

Late Afternoon - November 2nd, 2007 - Haxton Road

Henry hated how dark it got near the end of the day in Winter. As a Floridian transplant to the state, he'd never got used to how quickly the temperature dropped near the end of October. To most a Washingtonian the low fifties were barely cold enough to wear anything more than a sweatshirt. The rain made it even worse in Henry's eyes, and as he sat along the road playing speed trapper he could feel his boredom growing by the minute. The shift was almost over though and would be ending at about Six PM.

His cruiser was one of the newer ones, a nice SUV made for speed and durability. Because he had a larger and more imposing vehicle the deputy, like others, traveled alone when out on his assigned shift. A small bag of food sat on the passenger seat, and as he glanced at the numbers tick away to five PM he decided to eat his lunch for the day. Six AM to Six PM wasn't an easy shift, and after eating small meals throughout his initial stops he wanted a nice bit of pastrami on rye. Unwrapping the sandwich his husband placed his meals in he savored the tanginess of the dijon mustard inside.

Even if the place was damn cold, he didn't have to worry about his background getting him in trouble. The young man was only in his mid-twenties and now two years on the job. A good recommendation from the Police Academy in Miami landed him this job in the first place. After about five minutes the sandwich was gone along with the Powerade he'd packed along with it. He preferred electrolyte drinks to that taurine heavy energy shit the kids drank these days.

his little break over Henry Duvalle scanned the horizon as his cruiser faced out away from the inner territory of the Lummi Tribal Reservation. He gripped the steering wheel as a series of headlights alerted him to a small convoy of passing cars. This wasn't unusual at all as many cars sped along Slater Road onto Haxton way on their way out to the Lummi Ferry Dock. But something about those lights made his gut turn. As they drew clearer he caught sight of five cars all moving at relatively the same speed as the others. The first was a nondescript sedan, black, and sped by at just five miles over the limit. He had no interest in ticketing someone for something so minuscule, but as the second car passed he caught sight of a Humanity First bumper sticker on the back of the SUV. The third car was a large Pick-Up truck with one of those strange little rigs in the back that let it fly a flag.

This one flew the Confederate Battle Flag, and upon seeing that his stomach turned further. As a southern boy, Henry was familiar with the flag itself. At times when he was growing up, he always felt proud of the Confederacy's history and even considered joining a Civil War Reenactment Society at one point. That was before he met Daisuke his husband, and before he adopted two little kids. Upon seeing that flag he decided that perhaps it best he pay a small visit to the Lummi Tribal Police. Lloyd Spencer, a drinking buddy of his and the brother of one of the Council Members owed him fifty dollars, and, if he reckoned right, was on duty right at that moment.

Just as the last car sped out of sight he turned around and reported in he was heading to the Tribal Police.

And he thought his shift was over.

Just After Five PM - November 2nd, 2007 - Jameson Home

You know all my life I'd been driven all over parts of the Lummi Reservation and even now as my parents drove through the trees enclosing the small clean kept driveway I was amazed at how beautiful it was at sunset. The Reservation itself is decent sized, It covered an entire peninsula splitting Bellingham Bay from Lummi Bay in the north. A smaller Island just off the coast by a few hundred yards was an added bit of land. Every school day since I started Middle School I was driven over parts of the reservation. Some of the homes we stopped off at weren't the best, and some were pretty ritzy. Just like any group of people, the Lummi had a middle and lower class. I mean it's not unrealistic since the reservation itself was, to a large degree, sovereign land.

So when the Jameson House came into sight I can actually claim I wasn't surprised by it. The House itself was about as big as mine post-remodel, with a total of three stories. I made out a large room facing the woods away from the driveway, and a small reception area near a covered carport. We parked a bit away from the front door and I stepped out just before my little sister followed after me. Mom and dad were already locking the car by the time I was told to get the gifts from beside my seat. I wasn't sure what dad bought for Gerald, but I knew mom was busily carrying her addition for dinner that night. A stroganoff meat casserole she made with chives and sour cream. Something I would have eaten the entire platter of.

Was probably a good measure mom brought two covered pans of it with us.

We reached the front door and I was a bit amazed. Beside the door and towering over me was an articulately carved totem pole, a smaller far cry from the large ones found across the reservation, but a totem pole nonetheless. What a lot of history teachers and professors might tell you is that totems are not a Native American wide practice. The Cedar Longhouses and their tall carved Poles are something unique to the Pacific North West. So was the beautiful style of art most of the tribes who made their homes along the Salish Sea used. Salish Art and those of other Pacific Northwestern first nations were hard to describe. It was geometric and used alternating colors and shapes to form images. Black and red were prominent in the design and I felt a warmth spread over me as I admired the pole in the sunset light.

At the base was Raven, the great sunstealer and teacher found in many parts of the Salish region. At the top was Eagle, and middle of the way through I picked out Whale.

"This is magnificent." Morgan's words broke my concentration as I felt her spiritually leaning in to get a better look at the pole’s craftmanship.

"It is right?" I whispered back to her.

Sloan gave me a side-eyed glance at my self-talk and as I turned to face the door. I was going to be the one to knock and not one for hesitation I did so. Three hard knocks to wake up whoever was in the home, and immediately I heard the barking of a few dogs. Dogs are a common sight on the reservation and unleashed animals are not at all peculiar to most when traveling it. When the door opened a massive black form whizzed out past me and was nearly tackling my sister. Sloan started to giggle like a schoolgirl as what I could only call a Newfie licked her face.

"Dammit Cody," I heard Corinne speak up as she leaned from the doorway and rolled her eyes.

"He's gorgeous," Sloan cried as she knelt down after him and hugged him around the neck.

"We brought some food, and a gift for your father," my mom said lifting up the pan of food and shuffling past me to show it.

"NICE! I smell stroganoff, gods, I've been wanting something fatty and greasy all day," she laughed.

"Good! I mean I used low fat sour cream, but plenty of chives," mom laughed.

"Can we go in and eat?" I asked with a small whine.

I was an exemplar, SUE ME, if I was hungry a lot.

Corinne gave a small shrug before asking us to take off our shoes. Just inside the foyer she showed us where we could hang our coats. The small entryway wasn't unlike my own at home. A tiled floor met my feet and the ceiling loomed just a few feet over me. It was painted green and as I looked across the room I noted that evergreen was the color of choice for the home. Green was a good color, and personally, I saw no issue with it.

"Ah, someone with a good sense of design!" Morgan chuffed as I set aside my coat and darted further into the home. A massive living room met me and upon a long couch, I spied Sophia laying down while nursing a cup of hot chocolate. Upon seeing me she sat up a bit and waved me over. My new comrade in arms pulled a blanket over us as she began to tell me about the show she was watching. Luckily, it was just Law and Order, which I readily agreed was far better than any of the "REAL MCO" shows others watched. The fact we both liked cop procedurals laid the groundwork and soon we were both talking about the upcoming change in our school life.

As part of some sick joke between our parental units, both Sophia and I would be traveling with her grandfather on a train across the country to Dunwich, New Hampshire.

"Did you get your measurements for the new uniform," she asked me.

"We're going to a tailor to get it done right," I sighed, "mom spoke to someone in the school administration and relayed how my measurements have been shifting lately."

"Oh, so your boobs did get bigger," Sophia chuckled.

"Yes! I'm up to a c-cup now and GODS," I growled. My breasts were awesome and in other cases, a fucking curse!

"Hey, being  a girl isn't all that easy," she replied.

"I know, but, I feel like I wasn't given instructions, for all this," I gestured to my body.

"Welcome to girlhood and puberty, confusion and shame are your new friends," she said.

It was true. Not only had my body undergone a rapid change it was remade. I still ached from the last jolt of changes hitting me over the past week and I could feel how hungry I was. Sophia's mom handed me a cup of hot chocolate while I sat by her daughter, and we were soon back to chatting about our upcoming school.

"So," I placed my hands in my lap as I eyed Sophia and she returned my gaze.

"So," she returned.

"Is your application package done?" I asked.

"For the most part, Grandpa's already reserving a sleeper train for us." She drank a bit of her hot chocolate and I followed suit. "Why is your's not."

"Um...nooo?" I squeaked.

"First," she took a piece of paper and booped my nose.

"HEY!" I said and scrabbled to block my nose from further assault.

"You need to take this seriously," she scolded.

"I am - I AM!" I whined plaintively.

"Hey guys," Sloan said from the entry hall, "there's a ton of cars coming down the driveway."

"WHAT?" I heard Sophia yell.

"Yeah, there are like five sets of lights making their way here." Sloan was watching from the front door just beyond the small hallway leading back to the foyer.

"Why are you even in here?" I asked as I came to stand beside her. My little sister in her usual bomber jacket and black jeans stretched before giving me the bland reply, "Cuz yer busy playing dolls with yer new buddy."

"Whatever," I growled just as a small sedan parked just outside the door.

"Mister Gerald," Sloan cried loudly as a crowd of figures began filing out of the cars.

"Yeah?" he appeared around the corner just in time to see the men through the door window.

"Did you invite anyone else?" I asked.

"No," was all he said before the lights in the house suddenly went out.

 

---

 

Chapter 11 - Speak Softly

Early Evening - November 2nd, 2007 - Lummi Tribal Police Station

Something just didn't sit right with Henry after seeing the convoy of five cars making their way down Haxton. It wasn’t the Confederate flag nor the Humanity First bumper stick. Nor was it the conjunction of the two appearing on two separate vehicles like a Klanner tailgate. No, it was what he saw in a singular glance and a flash of expression. Just before the first car passed he made out the man driving the small sedan leading the pack. It's hard to really gauge what a man was thinking in a momentary frame of expression. But as a deputy and as an officer of the law Henry prided himself on his ability to read a situation.

Those men have no good intent on their minds. He made the general rationalization just as he pulled up to the small one-story building where the Lummi Tribal Police called home. He stepped out of his cruiser and eyed the two smoking officers leaning against the railing of the ramp leading the way up for the handicapped. Both were Natives at first glance, dark hair, and slightly tanned features. One couldn't be too generalized though. He gave a nod to the two Officers after passing them by on way up and pushed the door to let himself inside. The Tribal Office wasn't as big as the Sherrif's, but it suited the needs of the smaller population of the Rez. In luck, his friend, Lloyd, was there and seemed to be sitting at a desk just beyond the reception area.

"Lloyd," he called out as an officer passed him, her face was set in a hard mask before she opened the door and disappeared.

"Oh look who it is," Lloyd said as he turned away from his computer screen and smiled at his friend. Being a Spencer the man was tall, at least six-two, and bore a long braid of dark brown-black hair. His ochre complexion was easily visible in the bright halogens of the station's lighting.

"Yup, up it's me, Dade County," Henry laughed. Ever since moving from Miami, the two had become fast friends on their respective beats. Lloyd even came over for dinner with his girlfriend, a girl from the Jameson family. That was all he knew of the man's background, but the two had created a good working relationship.

"I saw a small convoy, at least one Humanity First bumper sticker and some idiot flying the Confederate Flag out of the back of his pickup," he said in a flurry of words.

"Sounds like a bunch of country boys playing stupid on the Rez," Lloyd rolled his eyes. As a tribal cop, there was little he could do involving non-native folk on the Reservation.

"They were heading down Haxton, in formation staying within equal distance of each other," Henry relayed.

"What could they be after?" Lloyd wondered as he sat down in his chair and rubbed his chin.

"I'm sorry to take up your time Lloyd, I know you and Dahlia have plans for tonight," Henry sighed. Maybe his gut was wrong. There was nothing wrong with a little night ride, right?

"I wouldn't say you’re taking up my time Lloyd, what sparked you to come here in the first place," Lloyd inquired.

"I saw the face of the driver of the first car...he seemed...filled with malice," Henry said, "the kind I used to see when some country boys wanted to curb-stomp someone."

He still remembered when one of his friends ended up in the hospital for kissing her girlfriend at a bar. Just one kiss and some asshole decided to 'straighten out the lesbo'.

"Well, I guess we best ready ourselves then, a bunch of non-tribals on our land playing Snidely Whiplash isn't what I wanted for tonight," Lloyd shook his head and gave a snort.

As they both seemed to take a pause an alert pinged loudly as the dispatcher called out. "Hostile Home Invasion in Progress. 1302 Lummi Shore Road."

Lloyd froze at hearing the name before gritting his teeth and walked to the back in what Henry knew was the armor. The man returned holding his pump-action department issue shotgun.

"This is Officer Spencer reporting," the man spoke into his radio, "send an alert to the Whatcom Alliance, but I'm sure they already know."

"What's going on?" Henry asked as he fingered the holster of his own sidearm.

"You were right about those idiots in the cars, there at my wife's Uncle's place," he said.

"Whos that?"

"Gerald Jameson," Lloyd said as he waved to the two officers out front and the rest of the department exploded into action.

Early Evening, November 2nd, 2007 - Jameson Home

Have you ever had the feeling that all your happiness was on a timer? That some cosmic entity was waiting over you like the Sword of Damocles and as soon you were unaware just dropped the hammer? When the strange man got out of the small sedan parked near the door of Jameson's home I didn't know what to make of him. I was easily able to pick out his features in the light of the alert lamps on the house. He was balding with slicked back hair to one side. Wrinkled eyes and a face went to pasture. His body was clothed in a simple two-piece suit and his tie was loose around his neck. The man carried a piece of paper which I guess was some sort of document or a script for what he was going to say.

He stood just outside the car, leaning against the top of its frame, and kept the door open. Another man made his way outside, and this one made me start to panic. Unlike the other man, this man took care of himself and his hair was still nearly there. Blonde thinning hair atop a strong square jaw head and blue uncaring eyes watched me above a roman nose. This man had to be Brad's dad and the way how he held himself he screamed: "I am your better". Both of these men were obviously the leaders of the circus lined up along the driveway and as they waited more men climbed out of the cars behind them.

At this point in the action film, there would be a standoff. But, sadly this wasn't an action film, no yippee-kai-yay motherfucker to save my family in a blaze of glorious machine gunfire. No, the men all walked until they formed a semi-circle around the front door. Gerald was still standing in the doorway as the leader by his stance took a step closer to the door itself.

"Gerald, it's good to see you again after so many years," the man said.

"Dickinson, why are you here?" Gerald asked carefully.

"We aren't here for you or your freak family. Just the redhead, she's caused enough pain and needs to be taught a lesson," Dickinson or whatever his name was.

"You know I'm not going to let you near her Dickinson, just as I never let you near any of my clients when we sparred in the courtroom," Gerald countered.

"I thought you'd say that, and I had the smallest glimmer of hope you wouldn't," he said with a shake of his head.

A crash was heard behind us and I rushed into the kitchen as three armed figures appeared. Each was dressed in black, a combination of what I can only assume were body armor, black pants, and combat boots. Even their hands were gloved, and their heads covered with ski-masks. You know, I'm an evil but smart mercenary look. One of the men moved forward and he seized my sister's hand and yanked her away from my parents. Mom let out a loud growl, "Don't you FUCKING TOUCH MY DAUGHTER!"

My dad raised his hands to indicate he wasn't armed and replied, "Gentlemen, you have to know that the Alliance is on their way. This won't end well. We don't know your faces you can easily walk away and never get charged with a thing."

The mook holding my sister placed her against his chest and held his gun while drawing a knife from his hip. I felt my fear rising as he pressed the knife to her neck and my eyes shot to Sophia. My friend was whispering to her mom as one of the men barked out, "ALL OF YOU OUT FRONT! NOW!"

My parents slowly backed away as I watched Corrine drag, Sophia, along.

"Grainne, don't do anything," mom ordered me as she and Corrinne shared a quick look. I could only guess that being a hero Corinne had some sort of plan for a hostile home invasion scenario. I mean, why wasn't there a panic room around here? That was a thing, right?

I watched as we were all ushered into the foyer and the three men blocked our path. Each from what I could make out was carrying some form of an assault rifle. Not being a military expert all I can describe them as being is somewhat AK-47 in appearance. They even had slings for the men to keep the rifle over their shoulders. The men themselves moved in a trained precision that only could be made through years of training as a team.

My body was shaking as my fear kept me in place, and I followed the direction of my parents. Gerald was busily sparring verbally with Dickinson from what I could make out. The two were definitely old frenemies of some make, and I could make out a few more characters in glimpses around Gerald's form. After about five minutes the three mercenaries began pushing us toward the door and Gerald shuffled forward as we all were filed out of the door. Now we’re standing in front of the Jameson home in the middle of the night. Offhandedly I registered the fact that I was standing in Corrine's flower bed, and even stomping over a heather bush I could only guess they planted years ago.

I let my view drag downward in a slow painful arc until it was on my shoes. I dug my feet in instinctively as I could tell my fight or flight response was now on high alert. Lifting my head up I finally focused on what Dickinson was saying.

"This is getting old," Dickinson sighed.

"Your delaying tactics are just wasting time, shoot the bitch and we'll be out of here," cried a man behind him.

"I've got this covered," Dickinson said and raised a hand to stop someone. In the glare of the headlights, I made out the third man.

"This freak should know her place!" came the party line from the man.

"I told you I would handle this, I have no interest in seeing you all hit by one of Gerald's spells," Dickinson said.

"Watch lass, watch!" My eyes snapped onto the two men and back to Gerald. He was thumping a piece of wood I could only guess he'd sneaked out of his pocket. Sly old bastard! "Yes he is, he got them talking as a distraction." I blinked as the realization sunk in.

"Light is a gift for all to see." I heard the words.

All of a sudden a strange suction flowed through the air and I could feel myself feeling a little dazed. Morgan uttered a series of comments to me in a language I couldn't understand at all. But I did pick out one word she said and it was, "Essence."

A flare of blinding light filled my vision and I raised a hand to block it out in reaction. I heard a scream as several of the men weren't fast enough and one fell over obviously blinded by the light. Gerald held out the light source as it began to fail. Adrenaline sparked my reaction as I heard a collision of bodies. Corrine had jumped into action against the three men behind us. Seeing a speeding energizer tear into a group of armed men was shocking, she wasn't a blur, but she definitely moved faster than the three mercs could react too. Just as she hit the three men I heard something whiz by my head as a series of pops rang out behind me.

Someone was firing off their gun. I caught sight of the bastard who'd attacked my sister and it took all of my self-control from running at him. Edging away from behind Gerald I considered putting myself in front of Sloan as the last of the light ended. The men knew at this point I think that their plan wasn't going to work. Come to think of it, we had two trained heroes on our side. How was this going to go in their favor? I thought about it for a moment but shoved that aside as the gunfire started.

My parents moved to grab Sloan as she was closest to them at that moment. I could see my father watching me out of the corner of his eye. I had no hard feelings, I knew my parents were doing what was the first thing on their mind, and I was right as my dad was already assessing if he could reach me. A whizzing sound sped past me as I dropped to the ground. The gunfire was a mix of what I heard in video games and a series of loud pops. It was like any Fourth of July on the Island when the kids when nuts with firecrackers.

I felt it at first when the men grabbed my sister, and before that when Brad attacked me a second time. My muscles went tight all at once as fiery heat bubbled up from my feet into my belly and further. Just as I began to right myself upward I dug my foot into that poor heather plant once more. Immediately, as I scanned the scene. The men were retreating from the front of the house back toward their cars. The speaker, Dickinson was already opening his car door as the other one he argued with was angrily pointing at me as he got into the passenger door.

The light of the car revealed his face, a nice square jaw, blue eyes, and blonde hair. An old version of my attacker. As if a light switched on in my brain all that pent up stress and rage sparked and I jumped from where I stood. Something struck my shoulder and a flare of pain blossomed along my right. Slowly I started to run until I was right in the car. Hitting it with all my strength the metal dented more and more as I punched a fist through the driver’s side window. More pain as shards of glass bit and sliced open my fist. I seized Dickinson by the scruff of his jacket and I began to pull. Dickinson or whatever his goddess fucking name was let out a moan of protest as I began to drag him from the car.

His clothing protected him from most of the glass as in one final yank I sent him flying out of the car window. Another flash of pain blossomed on my side as I felt something hot and wet running down my right shoulder. Mister Finkbonber stared at me in horror. His 'lovely' blonde hair was mussed with sweat and slick against his head. I landed two consecutive punches to the inside of the door before it creaked open. The stupid door finally came off after I dug in my heels and pulled with all my might. Finkbonner was struggling to undo his seatbelt like a complete fool.

"YOU FUCKING COWARD!" I bellowed as I ripped off his seatbelt and began pulling him free.

The man was kicking and fighting to get away from me at this point. I grabbed one of his hands and a loud crunch was heard as I crushed it. He screamed in pain and I threw him across the ground onto it with a loud thud. Stalking over towards him I growled as I kneeled to land a punch directly to his head. My eyes lingered on his hand and I snapped my head back to gaze at the car. All rage fell from me as I stood up just as a flash of lights entered my vision. I pulled back my fist as the sirens from those very lights finally caught my attention. My eyes caught on the words on one of the cars now pulling up behind the rest.

"Lengesot-Cho>"

That and the words "Lummi Tribal Police" made me feel so damn relieved.

"COUNTY SHERRIF!" said a voice from one of the cars another figured yelled, "TRIBAL POLICE! GET ON THE GROUND! DROP THOSE GUNS!"

I raised my hands. A Tribal Cop came near me and gestured for a woman to quickly frisk me. Perhaps five minutes later she nodded and I headed back to my family. Tears flowed down my eyes as I felt the pain from earlier far more clear. I cried at the agony throbbing in my right shoulder as I realized a bullet had grazed me. The opposite shoulder or more accurately my clavicle was bleeding as well. One of those bastards had finally shot me. Those idiots had the aim of Imperial Stormtroopers. Closing my eyes my mom waved to a cop for an ambulance.

"You'll just need to stem the bleeding," Corrine remarked as my mom waited by me.

"Why?" mom asked.

"Your daughter, her initial tests point to her being an Exemplar Three or Four. She'll heal fully in a few days."

"Really?" mom asked as she glanced at dad. My father gave me a confused shrug. Neither of them had worked with many mutants in the past. Me, I just gave a nod as it sounded about right. It seemed to fit every bit of loose internet lore I'd read over the years of fanfiction.

"Officer does anyone have a first aid kit to help clean out her gunshot wound?" Corinne pulled aside and asked the Sheriff's Deputy.

"Yeah, I have one in my cruiser, just give me a few moments," the man said.

"Hey Gerald, Corinne, a bus should be here in a bit to look over you all. Also to look to the man with the crushed hand, and the other with the possibly broken back," said a Lummi Cop.

"Broken back?" I asked in shock.

"Yeah, he was thrown hard enough and landed on his spine, could just be a bruise, but he's reporting limited feeling in parts of his body," he replied.

"I did that, I pulled them from the car," I said monotonously, "I hurt them."

"Babes, you were defending us and you didn't mean to do anything," my dad assured me.

"No - no, I was going to cave Finkbonner's head in when I stopped myself," I could feel fear coming over me. Maybe, I was being a little dramatic, but the amount of anger I felt when I attacked Finkbonner was overwhelming to my senses. The other problem, it felt good at the time. Now I felt exhausted, and my body was starting to go leaden. This made no sense, why was I so tired.

A lot happened in the time between the sudden drain of my energy. First, the man I would later come to know was named Henry Duvalle returned with a first aid kit and properly disinfected my wounds. He applied a bit of gauze and medical tape and after about another ten minutes a loud siren signaled the arrival of an ambulance. I could only watch, a glum expression on my face, as the two men I'd attacked were placed on stretchers and taken into the bus.

"I'm a monster," I said, before closing my eyes and letting my mom's hug bring me some measure of comfort.

 

---

 

Chapter 12 - Revelations of the Dead

Morning, October 15th, 2007 - Dublin Ireland

A normal morning in the ancient city of Dublin, the capital of the Republic of Ireland. The Oireachtas, the Irish Parliament hall, was abuzz with morning activity as security personnel prepared for the gathering of the lower house, the Dáil Éireann. As the various Deputies filed into the room, a pair of women walked out past them. One had long black sable hair, held up in a bun at the top of her head. Her stark blue eyes were furrowed as she was in deep conversation with a middle eastern woman. Both were dressed smartly in a pair of pencil skirts, button-down pastel blouses, and low heeled shoes.

"By the Lord's breat', I am feckin' tired o' Sinn Feinn's nonsense," groused the ravenhead, a woman by the name of Maeve. Or more appropriately Second Lieutenant, Maeve Maguire, military liaison to Ireland's Ministry of Paranormal Investigation. As a mutant, she rarely wore the mask of her persona, Glass Witch or 'Ceallach Gloine', in her native Irish tongue. Late the night before Maeve was confronted by a Deputy from the up and coming, Sinn Fein party. The bitch wanted a favor in return for backing a pro-Mutant act a month earlier.

"You are the one who decided to date a Deputy's secretary and got caught," replied Revi, a British born Kurdish woman.

"Not all of us get to meet non-Irish girls all the time Revi!" Maeve quipped as she giggled with her friend.

"Not all of our work for Interpol," Revi replied.

Maeve was the youngest of two daughters born and bred on the Emerald Isle. Growing up in the shadow of the Troubles of the North they both became heroes in their own right. Sinnead had gone off to the United States to train at a special school whereas Maeve stayed in school and later joined the Irish Defense Forces. Even as Glass Witch, Maeve spent more time staving off government bureaucracy than out in the field. As a practitioner of the old arts, she found it irritating her scrying skills were more often used to locate missing cell phones than missing people.

Still, even with her sister galavanting about the west of the country as the great and beloved Song Spirit, she and Sinnead shared a bond that was strong after years of being apart. Their mother wasn't happy with both of them being masked heroes, but at least when push came to shove they had each other's backs. Maeve was looking forward to her sister's return at the end of the week. Already, she had lined up a few pretty lads she might find fun to dance with at a small pub in their old home town.

Her personal prospects weren't that good. The queer community of Ireland was a strong one, but her double life made it hard. It didn't help further she wasn't a mutant as well.

"Hey, what’s with the fancy bloke waiting outside our office?" Revi blurted out. Both were so caught up in their conversation they'd barely noticed how fast they'd strolled to their current base of operations.

"Second Lieutenant," the man said. He was dressed in a military dress uniform. The dark grey-green most people saw when the modern Irish Defense Forces conducted their formal drills outside the government buildings. This man didn't wear the usual high billed hat and instead held a small beret under his arm. He held a dispatch in one hand, a small envelope waiting to be opened and addressed to "Second Lieutenant, Maeve Maguire."

Upon coming close enough the man offered her a salute which both women returned. He then handed her the dispatch as she gave a small murmur, "What does DJ2 wan' wit' me?"

DJ2, the Directorate of Military Intelligence, she worked for them on and off when her assignments were required. Seeing a uniformed officer outside her door wasn't unusual especially when she worked on active counter-terrorism details. Still, her breath shook as she opened the door to her office.

"Tea or Coffee, sir?" she asked, the man gave a shake of his head.

"Sorry mam, but I must return to Headquarters," he gave a nod and turned on his heel to leave.

Maeve was perplexed as she set the dispatch down on her desk in the small spartan office. Revi shut the door and locked it behind them both. The woman kicked off her heels and set them beside her own desk as she walked over to her friend.

"What does it say?" she asked.

"Let's find out," Maeve wondered.

Using a silver letter opener she sliced open the dispatch and retrieved the message inside.

"Oh...by Mary's good graces," she whispered, as her hand flew up to cover her mouth.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Sinnead had - a heart attack and then...something crushed her heart. She's dead, me big sister is dead." Tears came to her eyes as her friend embraced her. Her mind raced as all she could think about. By the Briars! How could this happen!

Early Morning, November 3rd, 2007 - Downtown Seattle

Break the balance and debt would need to be paid. The words rang loudly in her head as she set down all of her work for the day. Dressed in a black kimono-style robe, she was leaning across her bed as a list of items were placed out before her. As promised a few days after their meeting the Average Man delivered her a series of documents. His commander preferred things on real old dead tree format over the newly arising digital. The documents in question were all files carefully put together to give her what she needed. Already, the edge of her debt was against her neck figuratively and if the commander wished for another direct hit she had a lot to pay for.

Elizbeth Monaghan was a woman running out of time. The death of the Song Spirit was an item on a laundry list likely to see her dragged down beneath the mounds. She sighed and rubbed her neck where the razor stood, and she began looking through a list of acts. A series of accounts were on one document, and she rolled her eyes at the amount of money she'd have to bleed just to stay alive. Next, there was the list of targets she could place the blame on. A few local criminals who were more than able to take on a bit of the burden as necessary. The amount of footwork required to find it all out was beyond imagining, and only the sources of the Average Man could suffice.

"I'll need to set up these feckin eedjits first," she hummed. The plan would require allocating some of her growing bad luck to the motorists who seemed to be avoiding hefty drunk driving charges. A few rich kids who could absorb the bad news in her favor. A few signs anchoring the luck on before they went driving the night before the hit. Of course, if she could set up the hit as the actual fault of someone else she could circumvent it all. The knife pressed closer still as she felt her jugular pumping in her neck and she shivered.

"She's going..." she trailed off and shivered again.

"Agree, to this Bess, and I'll keep you alive,"The words were a reminder why she did all of this. One little mistake and she could end up...there. More shivers, and more problems down the road. If she didn't own so much on her tab she would just go retire in Belfast as she planned years ago. A small tick in the form of an eye twitch appeared as she read through the information on her primary target, Glass Witch, the sister of her previous hit.

She and Glass Witch went back a bit, to say the least. Not like any sort of comical former friendship like one might see in a cartoon or some sort of high action blockbuster. No, when she was starting out as a petty thief and learning the basics of her magic and Sinnead was just off attending that stupid school in New Hampshire. In fact, it was through the sister that Elizabeth knew Glass Witch. Now that they two would be going toe-to-toe again. Easily it would end in her death, and Glass Witch getting her revenge.

Oh gods, how would the Balance take that one.

"Not this time old friend, not this time," she crooned as the knife at her neck eased, metaphorically of course.

The spell in question would be easy, once she set it all in motion the pendulum would swing as it would. The particulars were going to be annoying as well as keeping all of the parts of her rube-Goldberg-esque plan moving. Rubbing her hands together she glanced at the last bits sent to her via unknowing courier. More vessels filled with essence, enough to do what she needed.

On the bedside table to her right lay her regent's bag. Made from the sacrificial kidskin, it radiated a simple spell that hid its location and made it seem completely innocuous to anyone, but herself. The constant essence cost was worth it though, as she retrieved her athame. At the beginning of the spell required she offers a bit of her own blood to anchor the threads of luck in her favor. No more traversing the world of mirrors this time.

"By the blacken Oak,

I invoke the twisting ties of Loki.

Venom of the serpent,

I seek the chaos of the Trickster."

Her old friend the knife was back this time under her chin as she sliced open her right index finger. The circle below her was drawn out in Futhark, and as she felt the blood well up from the cut she pressed it to the circle. Immediately one of the vessels filled with essence drained away like sand falling in an hourglass. The sigil glowed as she smiled. Several smaller pieces of crystal started to glow in time with the sigil. Already, the paper began to burn away as she picked up a small piece of mistletoe from her bag, a line of witch's nest she'd gathered before. The crystals were small and would contain the effect, as the mistletoe would wrap around them all.

"Yes....just what I needed."

Each of the items would look strange, a piece of quartz bound in a wrap of mistletoe. She smiled as she reached out and used her athame to draw the auric lines from the slowly burning sigil paper into the crystals. The mistletoe would contain the bad luck she was purposely drawing around her. Then whatever probability required to cause what she wished to happen.

"I hate dealing with this shite," she murmured as she reached into her bag one last time. A small hello-kitty band-aid would serve its purpose as she used it to close up the cut on her finger. Sucking on it a little bit before bandaging it she let out a loud sigh. She felt a nonexistent hand caress her throat as the knife disappeared.

"I have too many damn debts ta pay," she smiled before returning to her work.

Mid-Day, November 3rd, 2007 - Seatac Airport

If there was one thing in this world that Maeve Maguire hated more than dealing with gun-wielding Irish Provos, it was flying internationally. Well, not the usual European concept of international, no, inter-continental would be a better definition. Being an anti-terrorism agent would make many think Maeve was fine with international transportation and in question flying. The truth was though, she hated it. The lift-off scared her to her bones and the landing only increased the claustrophobic feeling. Oh, begob, why did they hafta stick me next to the damn windoh seat? Feck this! Luckily, a quick sleeping draught brewed for this very occasion let her get through most of the flight in a deep restful sleep. But potions only lasted so long, and hers left her awake the last two hours of the flight.

The worst of it all was that gentle increasing sense of falling she felt each time the plane circled down closer and closer to the landing site. All she had to look through was the blastedly small window. Tiny little buildings grew larger and larger as she felt the plane drop again. Another drop and at last it came in for the landing. A sudden hard force and roar filled her ears as the plane touched down and began it's a final taxi to the exit. Her breath quickened while the landing came to an end. Every time, every damn time! Maeve reached for the bottle of water sitting on her small tray and downed it quickly. As the entire wretched machine came to a halt a loud ding signaled it was okay to unbuckle and stand. Most people hated leaving airplanes and Maeve was one of them.

She let the first few rows of people in front of her move before she stood from her seat. A pair of jeans covered her legs and a smart red collared shirt. Her black jacket completed the ensemble. Reaching up and around she grabbed her overnight bag and unhooked the carryon beneath her seat. Enough supplies for a few weeks and she already had a town-house rented to act as her base of operations. All she needed now was to get through the visa checkpoints and see customs dealt with. Luckily her MMID was prepared and so was her official badge as an agent for the Irish Ministry.

She tied her long black hair into a tall messy ponytail. The long black tresses would need a bit of a wash after she hit her town-house. The last two rows of seats in front of her emptied out and she walked down toward the end of the aisle. The British Airway attendants were offering goodbyes to everyone. A quick nod to the cute blonde she flirted with at the start of the flight led to blush from the blonde in question.

"See ye next toim Luv," she offered and the girl blushed again.

Her blue eyes wandered over the exit and she took a step over into Yankee land. The push through the entrance continued all the way down the long hall. She inhaled the fresh air and admired the total lack of heat which she preferred. It was a reasonable chill outside and the switch to the air calmed the last of her nerves. A glance across the line of seats for the folk waiting to shuffle their way into a plane for the flight back. The scene before her was typical of most airports. A tiled-floor easy to clean and a series of shops just beyond the rest area.

"I'd fancy a tea if I didn't have to run," she murmured to herself. She followed the rest of her fellow passengers toward the exit, her secondary carryon rolling behind her connected to an extendable handle. Cheap and easy to move, and with her other bag slung over her arm along with her purse. She spent the next while just trying to keep track of where everyone was going and finally she was in customs. Up an escalator and she found herself in front of a desk for the customs agents along with an MCO detail. A small roll of her eyes was her immediate reaction to seeing Mutant Commissions Agents, and even as the black-suited jackboots drew closer she stood her ground.

Not being an exemplar nor suffering from GSD Maeve knew she was lucky. Unless someone pressed her, she could easily pass off as a baseline. She stopped in front of one of the black suits as he asked for identification. Maeve removed her MMID and her Ministry Badge as the man seemed to take a moment to look it over. He was close to two meters tall, golden tanned skin, and a rough carefully shaven shadow on his round jaw. The man was completely bald and as he moved she could tell he was not just another desk riding agent as well.

"M'am, I'm going to need you to come with me," the man said. She gave a simple glance at the man as she twisted her face into a frown.

"Yer checkin' me Irish Ministry identification correct?" she asked.

"This says you are a military attache?" she nodded in response, "Second Lieutenant, Maeve Maguire, I werk as a terrorist expert fer the Irish Republic."

"You have all of your credentials?" he asked as she walked behind him slowly keeping an eye on his two co-agents.

"Aye," she replied in a slightly gruff manner. They opened a door to a small side room and she walked inside. The inside was grey painted walls more tiled floors and a singular cheap grey table. Knowing the drill she set her bags down and let them do a quick personal inspection as she set down her passport for them. The youngest of the agents, a white man stopped as he retrieved a large manilla envelop stamped with the words "CLASSIFIED" and the Seal of the Irish Republic. The man's hands hesitated as he licked his lips before he roughly grasped it. His brown eyes narrowed as he reached for something in his pants pocket and retrieved a red pocket knife. Immediately, the senior agent raised his hand to stay him.

"Sir, she could be faking this," said one of the junior agents.

"Not every mutant coming through is trying to pretend to be James Bond, Krezinski," the senior agent relayed.

Good, it looks like what I hearin' bout the local MCO was correct.

"Your background checks out, sorry agent," the man replied.

"No problem sir," she said as she watched as the older man directed Agent Krezinski to put everything back. About two minutes later her luggage was all back in order and the older agent opened the door for her.

"Tank ye very much agent?" she asked and offered her hand.

"Agent-in-Charge Jeffrey O'Dell," he said and she shook his hand harder.

"Good ta meet another Irishmen!" she laughed as he released her clasp.

"Dad's actually from Donegal, met mom just after coming here," he said and she gave a nod, "Did he tell ye bout the Troubles?"

"Yeah, about the gunmen in the night from both sides, " he gave a curt nod.

"Well AIC O'Dell, I tink one of those arseholes is the reason I'm here," she sighed.

"Sorry to hear that Agent Maguire, I can only hope your stay here in the States is a good one," he replied.

"I can only hope," she smiled and gave wave before heading toward the checkpoint. The American at the desk gave her more sass than the MCO as he checked over her Passport and joked about her accent. A cold glare met his gaze as she walked past him and stepped onto another escalator to head into the baggage claim.

Her regents and other items needed for her magic as well as an armor were stashed in the larger checked bag she kept. She preferred to travel light when abroad and as she picked up the large black roller-bag she set it down on the ground. The carousels were already moving the large sheets of metal shifting over each other as bag after bag lumbered down the conveyor belt from the loading dock. With her baggage already in hand, she took her time to scan the signs hanging from the ceiling and walls.

This place is better organized than that shitter in Cleveland.

The layovers were boring as all hell, and being left in Ohio of all places didn't help. She swore she saw a Humanity First preacher while traveling from one terminal to the other. Most of the surfaces of the place were either black, brown or taupe. Whoever designed the placed really loved grey as well. A light annoyed frown graced her features as she began scanning for whoever was supposed to pick her up. All the contact information told her was to head to the baggage claim and they would find her. Maeve was getting more annoyed by the second as she was already hungry from being asleep and missing the in-flight meal.

I need ta get over me fear of flying. She chided herself as her phone beeped loudly. Perplexed, she reached into her back pocket and withdrew her smartphone and stared as a simple text appeared.

BLOCKED: Welcome to the States, Agent Maguire.

"Feckin, 'ell," she growled.

MAEVE_MAGUIRE: Who is this?

BLOCKED: You'll see me right by the exit, I'm wearing black tie.

Of all the things to encounter, now it was time for a Lil' old cloak and dagger. Rolling her eyes the Irishwoman let out a series of unkind curses in the recesses of her mind. Dammit Sinnead, this kind o' shite was yer thing!

Five minutes later she lugged her rolling luggage past carousels six through twelve. A small lobby met her surrounded by the same square black faux-leather seating. Each bench was attached to the next in a long steel black frame. Several men and women sat at the bench as more travelers brushed past her. She eyed her phone in her right hand and began to scroll through her messages. Another loud bleep as she turned back to her messages. Upon seeing it she scowled at the glowing screen.

BLOCKED: Lookup Agent, I'm waving at you.

"Mother Mary," she switched to more child-appropriate curse words as a troop of children toddled by surrounding a fairly tired looking gaggle of parents. Are those scouts? She eyed their small little brown jackets and let the sight distract her as another bleep announced yet another message.

BLOCKED: My hand is starting to hurt, I'm in plain daylight perhaps a few meters away. Are you blind Miss Maguire?

Her face was about to turn red from what she saw before she grabbed her luggage and glanced about. Her eyes narrowed in on a small short Hispanic man, his eyes covered by a pair of aviator glasses. He was dressed in a grey tailored suit and as his text indicated he wore a black tie. Barreling toward him and nearly shoving an old woman aside she came to rest in front of him.

"By all the Heavens, that took forever," the man said and carefully removed his glasses. He was a head shorter than her, dark brown skin and slightly almond eyes. He brushed off his shoulders before offering his hand. The Irishwoman glanced at it, her lips screwing into a frown before she took it in hand. A firm shake not unlike Agent O'Dell.

"Agent Jimenez, DPA," he said and removed his credentials within his jacket pocket. He even let her read the badge number before she handed it back to him. She offered her own papers in kind and he read through them with his eerie yellow eyes.

"I'll hand you the briefing information once we are alone," she stated to him. He gave a nod before picking up her checked luggage in one hand and gestured for her to follow. An exemplar? She wondered as the man scanned the street near the exit before waving his hand and a black unmarked sedan pulled in front of them. The woman in the driver's seat on the left tilted her head before smiling at Jimenez.

"Good to see you finally found her Bobby, and here I thought we'd be waiting till the saints sung his name," the woman said in a slight accent. It wasn't like Jimenez's and instantly she pegged it for something back east. To her knowledge that's where all of the strange-sounding American's lived anyway.

Jimenez opened the door for her and she got in. He then opened the boot to stow her larger luggage. Strangely enough, the small car was fairly comfortable, and interestingly enough had a leather interior. I wish our bloody budget paid this well. Maeve glanced out the window as Agent Jimenez sat down in the front. She crossed her arms over her chest as she waited. The damn flight and the annoying agent, what the hell was I facing?

Night, December 3rd, 2007 - Dreamscape

I could feel the cold as it brushed the tips of my fingers and my face. It wasn't real, but by the goddesses, it felt real. A cold harsh kiss against my skin as I pulled the cloak around my shoulders tighter still. The deeper I went into my dreamland the more and more real it felt. Everything was becoming more confusing as the puzzle I thought my life became was adding pieces every day. Morgan's realm was pieced together from my own memories and dreams of what Ireland was. From the very fabric of the books I read as a child and what I often thought about in my earliest writings. So it wasn't surprising at all when the cold hit me and I found myself staring at a dank rolling moor.

I swore, my dreams shifted faster than normal. Fog rolled over the moors straight out of The Hound of the Baskervilles. The damp ground itself was unevenly made of peat, moss, grass and much more. I kicked over a rock which littered the ground of the sod beneath my heels. Boots crafted from wrapped leather and bound wool on the inside. They were soft and gave me a grip on the uneven ground. Atop my head was a light helm crafted from bronze. I pulled it down over my head as my hair tied in a series of braids fell over my shoulders. An upper mask of metal covered my face and ended just above my nose. The metal of the helm was etched with scrolling birds.

My chest was encased in a leather cuirass fitted with pieces of bronze metal. Studded leather armor, I giggled a bit as the cuirass swept down to my legs. A wide belt held it all in place as I checked my helm and stopped moving. The spear strapped to my back moved against my legs as I reached behind to check the straps. I didn't remember manifesting the spear, but it's weight felt nice in my hands. I walked a bit further and stopped. The moors were quiet, not a single sound, only that of my feet. This wasn't right.

Even in my dreams, the wind made a noise. The crackling of animals shifting around as they went about their lives. I knew this because this is how my dreamland was made! A sudden movement caught my attention as I gasped. Something ran across the ground thirty paces away just on the edge of my vision. Fog deepened, and shapes started to shift around me. I was a green hand, and I could feel my fear increasing. This was my dream, I -knew- it was my dream. There shouldn't be anything at all which pushed me out of power.

Only Morgan could shape the dream in any way. A quick scan of whatever I could see out in my surroundings showed not a single sign of the standing stones. I drew myself close to the ground as slowly something shifted out of the mist. It walked with a limp, its feet were wrong. Immediately a smell gripped my nostrils and I wretched at it. How could? Squinting I stepped back once as I felt my footing give way. Slipping, I flung out my right hand to catch myself, but the impact of the ground knocked the wind out of me.

"You," it groaned and the thing moved closer and suddenly as it came into view. I gasped loudly. It looked to be me, well I think it was me. I glanced at the doppelganger and my eyes widened. Its eyes were glassed over, and it brought a finger to its lips. The thing's skin was - dead, that was the only way to pull it. It appeared to be a zombie, but as the thing limped closer I could tell it wasn't any sort of the thing. One of the pauldrons on its shoulder was torn off revealing a gaping wound. Another wound appeared as gunshots through its middle. Two more steps and it was nearly towering over me.

Its hair was greasy and the skin on its face was completely weathered. A piece of her lip was missing. It let out a loud groan as it stared down at me and shushed me finally.

"Whaaaaaaat are you?!" I squeaked.

The thing shuddered slowly as it froze in place.

"Portent," it hissed through lips and with a voice that sounded broken.

"Okay?" I asked it.

"WARNING," it hissed as the helm covering its face fell off to reveal a gouge from a blade of some sort. One of its eyes fell out as it shook its face.

"STOP BEING FUCKING VAGUE YOU DAMN GAUNT!" I screamed as I felt my feet scrabble at the ground.

Suddenly, the thing lifted it's face up toward the sky as a flash of lightning struck. From its throat came a loud blood-curdling scream that filled the air. It seemed to cause the air around me to reverberate as the thing started to float in the air and its hair drifted in the wind. A whirlwind swept up from the ground beneath me as it turned its face and I noticed its dead eyes looking at me.

"It has come....one has died," it pointed at me and as I gaped at the thing it seemed to swim in the air as its body drifted away.

"Fuck....a..." I said carefully through my dread.

"A banshee, an ancient spirit of warning," said a voice above me and I craned my neck to see Morgan standing there behind me in all her glory.

"What is it doing here?" the keen was slowly dying down as I felt Morgan's hands pull me up.

"They follow people like me, and you, those attached to the land. When someone dies they appear, and they keen the coming," she said to me slowly. Her face was stern as the fog around us was slowly dispersing. I could tell something was wrong as Morgan placed a hand on my shoulder. Her normally pristine appearance seemed sallow and pale.

"What's going on?" I asked her as she turned me around to face her.

"Someone has died, my heart," she sighed, "someone by your hand."

I could only mouth 'no' as I shook my head. No, I couldn't be a killer, right?

 

---

 

Chapter 13 - Meaning of a Name

Dinner Time, November 4th, 2007 - Jameson Residence

Sophia awoke early that morning in a cold sweat, just as she did the night after the men attacked her family. One night in her mother's room and another on her own. Both nights she woke up screaming about men with guns breaking into her room and slipping a black hood over her head. The MCO was the bogeymen of her dreams just after she manifested. Corinne warned her of young mutants getting taken by the agents of the international agency and never being seen again. So, of course, she quietly quaked at what they could do. They almost took her new friend for gods sakes! Instead, it was the bastards of Humanity FIrst who now haunted her.

Instead of the Men in Black, she got the second coming of the Ku Klux Klan. There was no other way to describe Humanity First other than they lacked the white hoods and weird fetishes for burning crosses. As a Native woman, the event of what can only be described as a Night Ride was all more real. Saturday was nothing more than an impromptu therapy session with her grandfather. A man who'd been in more than one major villain fight, he was someone who could give her a sense of where to start. Her mother said she would offer the help herself, but something didn't feel right about what she said. Grandpa told her stories about his work with the Alliance, and fighting crime along the border. He told her about the early work operations with members of the DPA in the mountains against the Grand Hall of Sinister Wisdom.

"There are more than the MCO and Humanity First Lil' Wing," he said slowly, "I cannot lie to you about what lies ahead. But we can do our best to make sure that your trauma does not come to rule you."

Her mother didn't say much the Saturday after the attack and was mostly on the phone. Not long after a repair team arrived to replace the window and begin to clean up on the grounds. In between talking to Grandfather and her mom Sophia was pretty much adrift. Scared of her own shadow she just wanted for it all to be over and for life to go back to the way it had been.

Waking up on Sunday morning to the alarm set by her mother, and finding herself completely unprepared for another day she simply stared at the ceiling. What is wrong with me? I'm jumping at every sound. The nightmares won't stop and I don't want to leave my bed. What am I? A little kid? She pulled the blanket up tighter to her chin and let her body go slack. More staring at the ceiling and she started to count the cobwebs in her room. Right around the thirteenth she stopped and found her eyes being drawn to the outside. It was light out and she knew it was time to get up, the alarm had woken her up before she turned it off and sat there like a lump in her own bed.

Her moment of low motivation could only last for so long right? Rolling over to sit on her side she nuzzled into the pillow as she let the weight of her blankets press down to her.

"Lil' Wing, time to get up," came the loud knock at her door. The knock announced her mother's entry to her room.

"MOM!" she cried out and ducked her head under the covers. “I'm not getting out of-”

"Breakfast is ready, get your bum dressed or I'll come back with cold water." Her mother's words interrupted her train of thought.

"Fine, FINE!" she yelled loudly as her mom laughed and exited. Rolling out of bed a few minutes later she was able to shimmy into a pair of pajama shorts and a tank top. Her body shivered in the cool November air as she thanked her mother and grandfather for not dropping the night temperature too much in the house. Already, the heat was kicking in as she could hear the rumble of the vents beneath her feet. Pulling a robe around her body she walked down the stairs out into the open hallway. Many of the pictures which once lined the walls were currently leaning against it on the stairwell. Others were off to the framer to be fixed.

The attack on the house had unsettled everything and upended her entire life. Now, only a few days to go, she would soon be off to a school more than a thousand miles away across the country. Sophia padded into the kitchen just as her grandfather was setting down a large pot of deer stew for breakfast. Her mother meanwhile was slicing pieces of bread and grilling them on the cooktop with butter. Texas toast and stew for breakfast was a time honored tradition in her family. Especially during winter where her mother's energizer body required large quantities of calories to maintain itself. Personally, she just loved eating venison after one of her cousins did the yearly cull to maintain the health of the prey population.

"What did you add this time grandpa?" she wondered aloud as he placed a bowl and spoon in front of her. Gerald could only smile at how his granddaughter was slowly returning to herself. Sophia was thinking quietly to herself about a similar thing. Maybe mom and grandpa are right, I can't just keep wallowing. But still...

"Deer meat and some elk from your cousins up in Nooksack," he replied. His brown eyes shined with mirth as he served her up a large heaping mix of potatoes and other vegetables mixed with thick chunks of meat.

"I love elk," she smiled before digging into the bowl. The simple spices made her mouth water and as she hungrily tore into the bowl her mother finished the bread. A pile of it was placed in a basket in the center of the open counter in front of her. The young teen was eager to get a second helping as she began eating a portion of the bread as well. Ten minutes into her dinner, her mother joined her while grandfather took care of the dishes. Gerald joined them not long after portioning out the last of the stew for himself and sat back while drinking a glass of milk. His long hair was freely falling down his shoulders with lines of grey running through it.

Laugh lines formed around his face as he offered a smile to his granddaughter and she returned it.

"Lil' Wing," her mother said suddenly, "We do have to talk about a few things."

Sophia frowned and nervously eyed both her mother and grandfather. Gerald crossed his arms to watch both of the women in his life.

"Your mother is right Sophia," he intoned, "we have spoken to someone at Whately Academy. They will help you find a therapist on campus to help."

"I don't want to see a shrink," she scoffed.

"They helped me," her mom said, her face tense, "after I left your father I needed someone to talk to."

Sophia eased up at hearing the words and listened.

"I needed someone who would listen, not shrink me, but listen and walk me through how not to let my experiences rule my life," her mother said poignantly.

"I don't want to be broken on the inside," she lamented.

"You aren't broken," her grandfather affirmed as he enveloped her in a hug, "you experienced a trauma. And, like anyone who experiences trauma you need help working through it."

"Okay," she said.

"Now listen," her mother told her, "There are a few you need to be careful around at school. The big school cliques, the Alphas, stay away from them. Keep your head down and try to avoid the bigger politics. Some of the worst supervillains have their kids there as well as the world’s most famous superheroes."

The teen listened for the next few minutes as her mom laid out the basics of what she'd already eavesdropped from the night before. She did that a lot recently just sat there and listened. It was something she was used to in her family. Her mother tried her best to not act like the overbearing mother. The few times she did get to see her dad he fit the role quite well. always asking her how she was doing in school, and if she'd made any decisions for college. Corinne did make decisions for her without any consultation, but her father demanded she gave up her childhood.

"Mom..." she spoke up suddenly.

"What honey?" her mom asked.

"Thanks for just....caring for me," she said as she gave her mother and then Grandfather a hug for a few minutes and her grandfather let her go, but not before giving her forehead a kiss.

Mid-Morning, November 5th, 2007 - Meche's Tailoring Shop

I never thought I would ever meet a banshee, and I never thought I would kill a man. Seeing that creature in my dreams, and then having its warning confirmed the next morning rocked me to the core. Mom found me screaming that night, and after I finally quieted down she didn't fall asleep at all. So, when she confirmed it after a call with Gerald Jameson all I could do was sob. I hadn't cried so hard in years, and when I was done my mom sat me down and I offered me some hot apple cider. After sipping it my parents did their best to inform me about what was going to happen this upcoming week. First, they were going to enroll me in a therapist on campus for Whately. Mom already spoke to the Jameson's who were doing the same.

It was good to know that both Sophia and I were now not just friends, but we'd both understand the wonderful world of no consent given therapy sessions! I love it when the adults in my life take my agency! It's for my own good, right?

"They mean well love, but your father and mother are just worried." I continued to mentally rant for about an hour after they informed me of that part of the schedule. In fact, they let me go for a run around the island after that and I did so. Being able to just speed along the road without too much worry helped me burn off my initial outrage. I decided thereafter to just return home at about mile four, and after jogging back I walked into the house at about the time my dad was finishing dinner. I barely noticed it was dark outside as I looked out and I gave a sheepish grin as dad shook his head.

"My daughter, the superhero to be who likes cheating death by wearing blackout and running in the middle of the road." He's not kidding I did that. I had run off in all black and didn't bother to carry a flashlight. My red mane sailed past my ears on the run and as I sat down to dig into a massive pile of tuna melts made by my dad I just listened. Or as my mom liked to say, "mouth closed, ears open."

After a bit of explaining dad told me mom would be taking me to a tailor the following day and after that the Alliance Headquarters. All I could do was a nod. I mean what else was I going to say? Please don't pay tons of money so I can go to a nice school? Yes, unthankful spoiled brat words straight out of the manual we're all given upon birth, right? I rolled my eyes internally and I could hear Morgan chuckling at my own self-awareness. I was trying to hide my own sense of denial in self-depreciation. A habit I wouldn't break for months or even years down the road.

So here we were, the tailor, a place called Meche's Tailor, and the woman who owned it named Cynthia was a pretty friendly middle-aged woman. She explained thoroughly what would be happening that day and that I wasn't the first student of Whately of hers to come in as a client. My eyes widened at the little revelation and I smiled. Who could it be? I was pretty sure Corrine Jameson, Sophia's mom, attended the school. Maybe even Gerald himself was an alumnus.

Mom and Cynthia chatted while I remained quiet and pretty much engrossed in my phone.

Grainne: I'm at the tailor, where r u?

Sophia: At the Alliance HQ, I'm going over school rules with mom.

Grainne: IS your MID ready?

Sophia: Yeah, my temp is done, and I even picked a codename! :)

Grainne: Oh? What did ye pick?

Both Sophia and I got into the habit of texting each other mostly during our respective downtime. It was a nice way to keep up. I hadn't even learned my class schedule yet, but the application package itself was hefty. Mom and dad sat me down at the computer to fill out most of the information. I still can't believe the amount of detail the application required, including a small essay about who I was. That was weird, I've never written an essay to get into a school before. They also asked me a few questions about my powers. It was all under a section for "powers testing preparation".

So I tried my best to describe what I could do, and what I remember they did for my initial testing. The very idea of having to go through the process all over again was, not high on my list to say the least.

Cynthia's purpose in all of this was to get the measurements I would need for my school uniform. One which I found to be a tad over the top. But, let's be honest, I think school uniforms are just an excuse to charge tons of money to my family for a few sets of clothes. My synthetic allergy was going to be a problem. I could barely wear anything not made from a organic fabric, and luckily my allergy wasn't a severe as some (as Corinne told me). This, of course, added weight to the already growing cost of my time at school. Mom decided to have most of the clothing made by a tailor located in the nearby town of Dunwich. A woman named Cecilia Rogers was the one my parents were commissioning for much of the cloth itself.

The measurements Cynthia took of me were to be transferred via email to Cecilia so that she would be able to produce most of my clothing for the upcoming semester. With that added to my already existing wardrobe I wasn't completely screwed. But, if I wanted things to be perfect I had to remain still. A small pinprick of pain drew a yelp as I jumped in the air.

"Please keep still miss O'Callaghan," Cynthia scolded me playfully.

I flushed pink in my cheeks and could only give a slow nod.

"I am sorry for the pin though, I moved it too far to the left," she said as she removed the pin and freed up her measuring tape.

"It's okay, my skin is a little over-sensitive," I blushed before closing my eyes. How much more of this would I have to undergo?

"Be patient, my heart. Once we are at this school we can train to defend ourselves."

Morgan was right, as she usually was. Focusing my mind I decided to consider what I was going to choose as my codename. Cynthia asked me to raise my arms and I let my mind wander for long enough I began to daydream. I imagined myself dressed as I usually did in my dreamscape. A brigandine coat covered my torso, and a half helm guarded my face. My long red hair was pulled into a tight series of braids from beneath my helm. Gazing across the bogland on the coast of what I assumed was Ireland I smiled.

"When my sisters and I went to war they gave us a name." Morgan appeared beside me in my daydream in her usual green dress. More than a head taller than me she placed her hand on my shoulder. It comforted me as I watched a small fox race after a rat across the bogland. Its red tail rose up as it bounced straight up into the air to land on the rat.

"It was the three of us Banba, Fódla, and Eriu. We left our forest and our families and became the Morrigna." Her grip tightened and I let my daydream self lean against her.

"Honey are you paying attention?" mom asked snapping me out of my dream. Morgan was gone leaving me in the small shop again wearing a skirt and a blouse. My recently shave legs had a few cuts from my first attempt, but I was proud I finally accomplished my next level in teenaged girl!

"Sorry, I was thinking about my codename," I replied meekly.

"Well, we're almost done here," Cynthia chirped as she was busily using a Gizmatic tablet to type out my measurements.

"So, sorry to ask but," I stressed the 'but' and gestured to my figure emphasizing my chest and behind to Cynthia. The older woman's reply was to burst out laughing as I blushed bright red. Hey, I was a girl for only a few weeks and I had no idea what my measurements were.

"You're a thirty-four B, twenty-four waist, thirty-four hips," she smiled. My face was a deep bright red as I could barely contain my embarrassment, but I was happy.

"Thank you very much, Cynthia," I was able to stammer after mom dragged me over to the cash register to pay the woman.

"You're welcome little Rose," she smiled at me and I gave her a confused look.

"You're mom said your middle name is Róisín," she said.

"Yeah, it is," I nodded. Mom was chuckling to herself at our interplay, and again I blushed in embarrassment.

"Cynthia, I think my daughter's head is going to explode either from the compliments or from embarrassment," Lynn O'Callaghan declared as I rolled my eyes. Mom was dramatic when she wanted to be and was where I learned my hard sense of sarcasm.

"My head isn't that big," I pouted.

"Not yet, little Rose," she smiled evilly at me using my new nickname.

"Mom!" I squeaked before I sighed. Mom's am I right? They love you and toss you under the bus as soon as they can.

Early Afternoon, November 5th, 2007 - Whatcom Alliance Headquarters

I was lost in thought for most of the drive north to the Alliance Headquarters paying little to no attention to whatever my mom was saying. Honestly, she wasn't really talking either. The last few days had definitely wounded my family's morale to a new level of strain. Mom was more protective than usual, keeping me within arms reach of her, and glaring at -anyone- who gave me a weird look. Luckily, except for my eyes, I could easily pass as a baseline if I didn't show off my strength. Yeah, the problem with my eyes were they glowed now. Yup, they glowed.

You see I grew up on stories where some of my favorite characters were psychics. My eyes gave off a strange aura, and if I moved in the night my reflection would actually show a flame-like energy-burning there. Morgan said it was the rage she's pent up for years slowly leaking out of me. I think it's the essence I'm taking in and my body decides to show off by having it flame up in my eyes. One random person said I had the "geas" of the fae in me. I tilted my head when he said this in passing while we were walking back to the car from the tailor.

"Weirdo," I scoffed just an hour ago.

But you know what, I'm not so sure. I'm definitely not magically gifted as I barely rate as a Wizard 1 from what Sophia relayed to me after seeing my initial results. "If you name yourself something eyes, I'm going to leave your body." Morgan's sense of humor had grown or should I say darkened over the last few days. This is where my constant silence began an ongoing debate about what my codename was going to be.

I began thinking of naming myself War Song, and of course, Morgan pointed out that Blizzard's World of Warcraft wasn't a good source of names. Shrugging it off easily, I went through another five names before finding myself at a complete creative block. By the time I was completely out of my internal wanderings I was on auto-pilot and closing the car door. The pleated skirt around my legs kicked up and I moved to shove it back down. While I loved the free feeling of dresses and skirts, I hate the fact one wrong gust of wind gives everyone a glance at my underwear. I now understood why in the world anime girls were so damn angry about their skirts. Who wants to know about my preference for purple boyshorts, because I really only want ME to know this fact alone.

I found myself in the office this time, a small building located to the left as you entered the lobby. Much like most offices it for some reason had a small window looking out into the lobby. Inside I found several filing cabinets all organized along the far wall. To the right were three desks each dedicated to where one of the logistics staff usually worked. I found a seat just past the doorway by a desk set aside for RavenWing. Another had a small placard for Ogun, and the third was for someone named Agent Jimenez.

There was lettering under the name and I squinted to make it out. "Special Liaison Office for the Department of Paranormal Affairs". My eyes widened, an actual agent of the DPA worked here? I mean it made sense at least one government official in the area. I mean there wasn't another super team for most of the state outside of the teams in Seattle. A single mug of coffee still steaming hot remained on the desktop meaning its owner was just out for a few minutes.

The smell of fresh black coffee made my stomach gurgle as I realized I needed to eat soon. Mom glanced at me from where she stood reading through an email on her phone. A faint smile of shame graced my lips as a man brushed past us and went straight to the desk holding the mug. He was a dark-skinned man, short, and at first glance, I assumed he was Hispanic. His eyes though were ocean blue, and a faint mustache covered his upper lip. He was short-statured, probably shorter than me, but each move he made spoke of years of training.

This guy was a real-life James Bond type, hell I could hear the theme music playing as he just sipped his coffee like a pro. Not long after mom stepped aside this time and Gerald appeared with Sophia in tow. Both appeared a little frazzled with Sophia yawning just after entering the room.

"Ah now that we're all here we can get this done," Agent Jimenez spoke. I assumed he was Agent Jimenez because it was a cardinal sin in Washington State to steal another's coffee.

"Yes, Sophia has already chosen her codename," Gerald replied and he patted his granddaughter on the back.

"DuskWing," she stated with a shrug. I looked at her and before I could reply she said, "If you make a Darkwing Duck joke I will sew your lips shut."

"I wasn't going to at all jeez!" I sighed before singing, "Daring Duck of Mystery!"

Mom just laughed as she shook her head, Sophia instead of rounding on me laughed out loud herself. It made sense, we were going to a High School so having a sense of humor about her codename choice was a good starter.

"Alright," Jimenez said as he leaned over a small printer and a little card popped out. Furrowing my brow in wonder I watched as he walked over and handed the card to her.

"This is your Probational MID which you'll get replaced at Whately once their power's testing lab completes the job," he said simply.

"I'm a Wizard 3 and an Exemplar 1?" she asked staring at the piece of plastic.

"Uh," I said raising my hand. Those piercing blue eyes and solemn impatient faced were now aimed at me.

"You pick a codename yet Miss O'Callaghan?" he asked me.

"Um, no can you give me a few minutes," and I could see his eyes roll.

"Yes, I need to call my partner, we have an Irish woman to babysit in Seattle," he laughed before walking out of the room.

Everyone turned to stare at me, and I fidgeted in my seat. This was the moment in the drama where everyone expected me to act scared and I was. There was no hiding it, I was completely dumbfounded about what I was going to call myself.

"This is silly expecting a child to select a name for themselves. My sisters and I were given our names and not all of them we liked." Morgan the ever stoic highlander woman in my head added her two cents.

"Yeah, well," I said.

"Well, what?" Mom asked.

"Oh I was thinking out loud," I said. I mean, how do you tell your mom you were a glowing-eyed faery woman because you actually bonded with one. Oh yeah, mom, you see I met a woman in my dreams and she said she could make me a girl. There would be a very long heated debate where I'd be reminded that I shouldn't make deals with cosmic entities.

"Sounded like you were talking to someone." She said and sat down in the seat beside mine.

"Ye canna hide me forever." I swear she purposely trilled her accent up when she wanted to play Obi-wan.

"So um mom," I began, "I...kind of am bonded to a spirit."

Mom's face went from concerned to confused. She glanced at me before Gerald rubbed his jaw in that usual "I'm thinking" gesture people liked to do.

"So you're an avatar," he said and then added, "A mutant who can host a spirit."

"You're saying my daughter is possessed," Mom answered.

"Not possessed, bonded, Spirits are limited from what I understand," he offered. Mom didn't appear entirely convinced as she turned and let out a demonstrative sigh.

"She...she made me who I am mom," I replied plaintively.

"Okay, okay," she held up her hands to placate me inhaled to calm herself. "I'm guessing the Academy knows more, so when you take her there Gerald please ask if there is some sort of brochure-like 'So your child is a mystical spirit host', I can read."

Dad was likely going to get a kick out of mom's reaction. Out of my parent's mom always came off as the most assertive and aggressive. She told me it came from years growing up in parts of Tacoma as a child. It made sense, she lost her mom as a kid and unlike didn't have the easiest time growing up. Dad reflected this almost entirely. He was quiet, and easy going and when pushed easily exploded if he didn't like the way things went. It was my mom's aggressiveness and my dad's anger which led to my "Scandinavian rage" as my mom called it.

"You aren't Loki come again little one, lying isn't one of your skills." Again, the wise woman speaks the truth and I put my mind to what I needed to decide, my codename. Since I had the weird eyes I considered calling myself Faerie Fire before I heard an unapproving chuckle from Morgan.

Jimenez returned and let out a loud yawn while waving his hand in front of his face.

"Sorry about that, apparently my partner almost lost sight of our charge, and she ended up getting caught up by a pack of reporters," shaking his head he grasped his mug to drink more of his coffee.

"It was like seeing crows crowding over a fresh piece of roadkill," he said after setting down his cup once again.

Now that little line from Jimenez helped. Digging into my beloved hobby of reading random online resources of mythology and folklore something came to me.

"The raid on Cúalṅge, I remember that story. I did appear as a crow to warn that stupid idiot calling himself the bull." I smiled, if I was going to be tied to a spirit steeped in mythology why not embrace it.

"Scald-Crow," I said speaking up.

"A what now?" Jimenez asked.

"It's a banshee-like omen, it signals oncoming battle and misfortune." Not going to bring up the death part, but I mean if I'm going to be some fighter why not be the one that end's the fight right?

"Okay, weird, but okay," Jimenez said, and I could tell this was his every day. Like before he entered some information on the little card printer and a few moments later it spat out another probationary MID. Mine was a little different than Sophia's as the man handed me the card I noticed my ratings.

"Initial tests say you're an Exemplar 3, but your healing suggests Exemplar 4. Also, nice try on hiding being an avatar, but we have the latest information from ARC this week," the man smiled at me. My eyes finally fell on the rating of Wizard 1. Wait, I was an uber strong teenager, but a shitty ass witch? "Heh, you didna ask for the magic lass."

She was right, our deal was I was to be the girl I wanted to be. Not the magical witch, the brightest of my age. I was Supergirl, not Hermione Granger.

Chapter 14 - In Nemain’s Shadow

Early Evening, November 5th, 2007 - Harborview Hospital

Oi, mother mary and by the saints in heaven, please God grant me the strength to not murder an American journalist. Her anger rippled off her form as she stalked down a side alley to break away from the pack following her. One was holding a KONG labeled speaker another a KING-5 one. From only a day in the city of Seattle, she'd easily identified the major local news outlets via a few cursory minutes watching her hotel's Television. Even as she ducked further into the alley she could hear a few of them scrambling to figure out where she went. The alley trick was not likely going to work, but as they drew closer she heard the sound of, "DPA, desist or you will face federal charges."

"You can't silence the truth?" said one voice which she guessed was a reporter, and a third yelled something about government overreach. Yeah, course you say that. But when there's stuff like Humanity First bullshit, ye dun care. A regional news outlet up north had reported on the death of a prominent community figure a few counties north of Seattle. Turned out the bastard was also a bigwig in the local H1st chapter and got his arse handed to him. She canted her head as her handler for her trip to America appeared. One Agent Jimenez, and his partner, Agent Fanous, was always at her side to some point.

The tall sepia skinned woman reeked of professionalism, and even when she was cracking a joke at her partner, she rarely showed anything beyond a light smile. Her long black hair was usually tied in a bun at the base of her neck while a Coptic cross hung around her neck. Even as she moved the woman's energy screamed federal agent. Her steps were poised like a runway model and her face was always set in a mask of detached impartiality. To her, Maeve was part of the job, and in her tailored grey suit, she was here to get the job done.

She's got to be an exemplar at least a level one or sometin! Maeve wracked her brain the first few nights as her room lay silent after she’d arrived.

When she saw both agents reappear, she let out a visible demonstrative sigh.

"One would think you'd stay nearby us, Second Lieutenant Maguire," Fanous chided her. Brown eyes beneath arched manicured brows swept upward as the judgment of the Egyptian-American only seemed to increase by the moment.

"Yeah, well, I need some air since yer not lettin' me near where my sister died," she calmed herself to keep her sharp tongue in check.

Verbally sparring with Agent Jimenez was one thing, and going up against the serene 'standing bitch face' of Agent Kasrin Fanous was a terrifying prospect to the Irishwoman.

"I was busy up north, some kid needed a rush job on her temporary MID," Jimenez said in passing.

They were right outside Harborview Hospital, and after dodging the reporters the chase took the trio a block away. Now they were slowly making their way back as the two DPA Agents expounded upon the importance of a 'low profile' to one 'Hurricane Maeve'. She was a military specialist trained to deal with terrorist cells and to disarm violent mutant magic users. Cloak and dagger was something she played well at, but not when she had a pack of reporters obviously tipped off to her arrival. All she wanted to do was get away from the reporters and continue the journey back to the primary West Hospital building of Harborview Medical Center. Her eyes rolled as a car sped past them, a bright red pickup truck which almost ran a red light on Ninth Avenue.

Right before them, the street continued past the massive Jefferson Building to her right and a smaller unnamed building to her left. Quickly, she picked up speed on the pavement as her black ballerina flats barely made a sound. Her ever-present shadows only added to her urgency to get to the hospital so she could get a clue to her sister's killer. Maeve's long dark hair was blown in the wind as the stormy grey sky above her threatened to unleash a torrent of rain down upon her. Just like home. She smiled to herself as she prepared to step off the sidewalk onto the street. Carefully honed instincts from years dashing across streets from Galway to Dublin primed her for ready to dash across the perils of American traffic.

She glanced both ways and stepped out. However, just as she took three steps she heard a roar of an engine, witnessed a flash of red and only just in time jumped back as the red truck from early nearly collided with her. Instead of being sent flying across the street she felt the torrent of air as the car zipped in front of her and collided with a traffic light. The screeching of breaks signaled an attempt by the driver to stop. The poor sod reacted too slow as his entire front caved in and the windshield of the car cracked as it impacted against the pole. The base of the traffic light groaned as it bent inward forcing the light to fall forward.

A body lay on the ground bleeding out after being ejected by the impact. Maeve raced over as several people from inside the nearest hospital building soon joined her. One glance at the driver, a young caucasian male with brown hair, and stereotypical frat lad look. She grimaced as she checked for his pulse and found none. His head was smashed open, and the gore of his brain matter was slowly coagulating in his brown hair. Both passengers were dead, and it felt almost if they had implicitly aimed to hit her.

Maeve stepped back as she considered what she could do. Hmmm, it can't be, can it? Simple logic would tell her that the poor idiots had made a coincidental decision to turn around and speed their way back. She walked around to the back of the truck. Like any American pickup truck it was large, and obviously a statement of one's male virility. That was what they did right? She cocked an eyebrow as she spread her hand over the truck's partially intact flatbed. Essence bled into the spell as she mumbled out the words in Irish.

"Nocht a rún," she uttered the command and waved her hand over the empty black plastic bed. Nothing happened, at first, she walked to the left coming toward the rear left wheel. Suddenly, a small tingling occurred along with her hand at the point of a small silver ring on her left hand. As she concentrated she held the hand out palm flat as she moved it back and forth over the wheel until she found the location with the most intense feeling. She ceased the spell and reached inside just above the wheel. Her fingers found a small package and as she removed it she felt a charge of negative energy shoot up her arm. It was akin to being shocked, and made her arm ache as she picked up the object and held it in her hand.

A hex bag, or a ramshackle version of one from what she could tell. The 'bag' itself was made of a small kidskin leather pouch. Carefully she set it down and stared at it. There was a barest hint of bad luck tied to the bag and as she thought about opening it she sighed. Her ingredients were mostly back in her hotel as today was just suppose to be a basic scrying. Who knew whoever she tracked would play their hand so quickly. Maeve usually kept a purified silver knife on her person for such occasions and as she withdrew said knife from her back jean pocket she fingered it. The knife blade was made of high-quality silver and was regularly cleansed in ritual water. Then there was the white oak handle to complete the evil slicing combination, and she had it as a basic folding-blade.

Thank ye to all the Gentry for simple forward-thinking. She laid the hex bag onto the plastic truck bed and muttered a few small words of prayer. A flick of her wrist sent the knife's blade outward and she carefully drew it along the cardinal directions, and finally invoked the name Saint Brigid as an extra precaution. After finishing her incantation she felt the air around her go still as others were already inspecting the bodies of the two men. She drew the knife across the twine holding it shut and sliced it open enough to peek at the contents. Inside was a long piece of blackened quartz almost rotted completely through. Wrapped around it was a string of mistletoe. Maeve made a quick judgment and used the knife to nudge the vine apart, as she thought there was something else inscribed upon the crystal.

This magic bound many different things together, and reminded her of the witchcraft she once faced against a mercenary from Germany. It was almost all the same down to one single difference. The hex bag, in that case, used the double thunderbolts of Thor in an attempt to electrocute her to death, and this one was quite different. No, this crystal had the Kenaz rune, the rune of Loki the Trickster. It meant knowledge, and intuition, but combined with the mistletoe the plant used to slay Baldr God of light in Norse Mythology.

"Clever girl," she growled as she flipped the knife back into its handle. She had a basic idea of who would invoke a God of Chaos and a powerful Symbol of darkness tricking the light. It was a simple spell of diversion, and yet she knew of only a handful of practitioners who were foolish enough to use it.

"I'll find you - ye damn slag," she said before she placed the knife in her back jean pocket. Agent Jimenez finally decided to approach her at that moment as he read her sharpened focus.

"Was this related to your sister?" he put the pieces together as her expression gave away by the cogs working in her head.

"Yes, same magic, or at least someone associated. This car was suppose to hit me, but since they put it in place to activate when I walked by instead of direct it themselves they missed," she explained clinically.

"Your government forbade anyone, but you to do this search, so I trust you know what you are doing." He gave a wave of his hand as she stopped for a moment.

Something was still off. Much like a cop straight out a of hardboiled noir book she felt a tingling in her gut. Her eyes swept the scene one more time and she considered destroying the hex bag. Even if she sliced it open the rune would continue to attract bad luck and jinx whoever was foolish enough to touch it. I'll need ash from a Rowan, and need to get some iron, probably a horseshoe. The woman's mind alit with thoughts as she tabulated the necessary ingredients for the proper purging. The amount of work alone was going to set her back a day or two not including the legwork to get the damn ingredients.

A pinch of moly would do the trick, if she still had that damn Rowan ash!

She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. Agent Fanous hovered on the edge of her vision, and she groaned. Please don't tell me I have to fill out paperwork cuz some stupid bint tried to kill me with a hex bag. Feckin' Yank Bureaucracy!

Maeve shook her head and released the bridge of her nose as that tingling in her gut popped up again. Cocking an eyebrow she uttered her spell once again and this time she didn't move her hand. Silent casting and whispering the words often dampened the spell's effectiveness. It's all in me head anyway. Walking around the truck one last she didn't feel the unease in her gut nor did the ring on her finger give off any feeling.

"Are we done here?" Agent Jimenez asked appearing behind her.

Immediately, as the man drew near to her the sensation in her ring returned. Rather than tingling the feeling traveled directly to her heart as a wave of depression swept over her. Maeve pinched her nose again so that the ring directly faced Agent Jimenez. The man appeared impatient about her lollygagging, and just as the ring pointed at his face she felt a surge of emotions. Rage, vengeance, along with inadequacy and much more. It wasn't the agent's actual emotions. Her eyes narrowed, she recognized the taste of the aura her ring was feeding to her.

Breaking off the spell, she knew she had to think. The miasma of her working would likely decay quickly as she used a little essence to reveal the aura attached to the man. Jimenez kept his gaze on her while she gathered up the hex bag and was handed an evidence bag by Agent Fanous.

"I need ta see the hospital room," she stated, "and as soon as possible."

Yes, and I need ta find out why my sister's Spirit left an auric trace on the agent. She smirked to herself at finally getting a lead in her case, and a small tinge of joy came to her. If the Spirit had found a new host she could be tracked. The Emerald Soul, could tell her who killed Sinnead, and bring the vile magician to justice.

Early Morning, November 7th, 2007 - Kings Street Station

The sun gave me no respite that morning, it somehow found a hole in my curtain and landed it's bright burning rays upon my eyes. I woke irritated, and as the wonder of attending a new school hit me like a punch to the face I was wide awake. The night before I'd tossed and turned as the anxiety of the trip across the country to go to 'boarding school' came closer and closer. I could say I hadn't felt uneasy, but it was a bald-faced lie. My life became a quick blur of constant events as the rush of change tore into my life like a hungry dog. Sitting up in my bed I winced at the cool concrete of my basement room floor. Already the space heater was kicking on to reheat the room after being off for more than a few hours.

I heard the steady "THUNK" of my father splitting a piece of wood to restart the fire for the morning. Breakfast was a bowl of oatmeal, a plate of bacon, and a large quantity of juice. I ate it all in only a few minutes and could almost feel my body digesting it by the minute. The charge of energy would last me long enough for the two-hour drive to Seattle.

"The winds of destiny be callin' little Draoi."  Morgan's voice crooned in my mind, and I could tell she wanted to tell me something. I decided to use the upstairs bathroom. A last-minute shower to clean out my hair and get me ready for the long cross-country ride. Looking around I dropped my towel on the ground. My family's shower was built of a wood frame covered in tile. The greenness of it was astounding, and as I ran my hands over the glass blocks that formed the wall I smiled. Inside it was big enough for three people to stand, and I traced a hand over the cool red interior tile.

"What ye wan Morgan?" I asked her aloud, and I noticed a sudden shapeshifted beyond the glass. Immediately, I shook my head and turned on the water to let the heat wash over me. Soaping my hair now took far longer than it did, but when I washed out the hair mask after shampooing I was overjoyed. Proper hair care was important to a girl, and mom had carefully schooled me in the care of my bright red locks.

"I can feel your strength returning little Draoi after so long we are almost ready for what awaits." My spirit sounded far more confident than she had been. After fifteen minutes I stepped from the shower and toweled off my hair, and my body. I glanced at the shifting hair falling over my shoulders as I turned around to moisturize my face.

Upon seeing the mirror my image stared back. A pair of emerald-colored eyes that faintly glowed with a burning intensity. It reminded me of my favorite video games, and as I leaned forward I smiled at the small bronze ring near my cornea. Skin the color of porcelain and pinked with the flowing of blood. I smirked and revealed my rosebud lips, and opened my mouth to smile widely. The day after the attack my front canines had fallen out to be replaced by a pair of sharpened ones. Honestly, my pale skin, and reddened lips, plus the actual teeth did make me look vaguely predatory. I leaned forward to marvel at random freckles which covered my face, nose, and jawline.

Unlike some redheads, I wasn't 'dusted' with freckles, and my skin while yes pale, held a healthy hue to it. Each movement I made showed the muscles used to make my curves, and to give me the strength I exuded.

"Impressive," a voice said from the mirror. and as I moved I saw her, Morgan. Just like from my dream she stood there leaning forward in the mirror, and her eyes blazed brighter than my own. As she moved, I felt a small rapture grow in my chest as I placed my hands on the edge of the granite sink top.

"Ye look fantastic," I chortled to her.

"As do you my heart, as fine as any lass who graced the sweepin' lands of Merica an Eirinn." I hugged myself as the joy spread through me and I gave a cant of my head.

"Much is ahead of us my beloved, as you host me, I will as we grow stronger lend you more of my power." She said as I wrung my hands together a small bit of unease coming to me.

"What...do you want in return?" I finally inquired.

"You have saved me, my heart, you give me a second chance to right the wrongs done to me and mine. For this I am eternally grateful."

I could tell then she was telling me the truth. Morgan hid from me many things and yet, I knew she never said a thing that was meant to cause me harm. Now that I was fed and showered, I snuck downstairs to wear the freshly laid out dress mom picked out. Strangely enough,  Sloan had suggested the small peplum dress, the color of my hair, and just tight enough. Not a pure body-con, the dress had the small frame all like it did, and it ended in a nice clear-like lace. The bodice itself ended a few inches above my cleavage for a tasteful look, and yet emphasized my newly gained exemplar figure.

Along with my quirky little bull-dog headed purse, I struck a memorable figure. Leaving my hair free I helped dad load the last of my mass of luggage into the car as mom handed me a massive mug of coffee to drink. The energy from the coffee eased my mind as all of us piled into the car. We caught the early Seven AM Ferry, and as we left on the opposite side I waved to the crew.

"Bye guys! See you in a few months," I called out as the captain leaned out from the piloting tower to return my wave.

Driving to Seattle was a long boring affair and I soon found myself lost in the student handbook. Yeah, I know, I'm a nerd, sue me. I was reading the damn thing not to be a good girl, no I was reading it because I wanted to know which rules they were likely to enforce. Which were likely to be ignored, and which I could find my ass handed to me over. The experiences shown to me in High School over the years, plus a long-standing love of history had taught me a thing or two.

A fool knows how to play by the rules. A clever girl knows how to play the rules.

Maybe this is why whenever I assign an alignment to myself in 3.5 edition in Dungeons and Dragons I was chaotic neutral. I mean, I tried my best to stick to rules, and yet, I saw no reason to bend them to make it easier on everyone. Now, I am completely new as a Dungeon Mistresses, but as someone who reads doorstopper novels for kicks, I think have a good sense in my pretty head.

"A new chapter dawns, my heart." Morgan's words crooned in my head as I watched the landscape of Whatcom and later Skagit county whiz by. I could feel the growing anticipation as every town came and went.

"What do you feel lays before us?" I asked her in a whisper. Sloan didn't register me talking to myself and nor did my parents.

"And those who were seen dancing thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music." She quote to me.

"What?" I asked quizzically.

"Friedrich Nietzsche, a man who was far ahead of his time. Maybe not the most accurate, but his words are apt for this moment." Morgan spoke quietly and I could see the outline of her form reflecting to me in the window. "You are a beautiful soul, my heart, you hold so much potential. I can only hope whatever aid I render in our upcoming life together finds you successful."

"Thank you," I smiled and turned to face forward. My parents were busily discussing a few things. I tried to listen in a few times and all I could make out was. "Therapy" and "Training" was all I could make out as mom gave me a stern look for trying to eavesdrop. Failing in my spy attempt I closed my eyes to let the rest of the ride to the station give me some peace.

Arriving in Seattle proper, you know past Stanwood and finally we were passing the mall at Northgate. The traffic gods were in our favor as my dad zoomed carefully with precision from lane to lane. Years of life in Seattle taught my father how to move among the growing chaos of the traffic. Twenty minutes later we were pulling off at the exit and were slowly driving through the streets of downtown. Boulevard passed by fast as we rounded through the streets beyond high rise and boutique shops. My life was speeding up it seemed, and all I could do was hold on for dear life.

"When we marched to war, me mam kissed me cheek and bade me good luck. We do this together as sisters." I could feel Morgan as I shifted my body and cracked my neck. Newfound confidence lit along my limbs and I licked my sharpened teeth. The world lay ahead of me and I was going to tear into it with determined gusto.

"Kings Street Station," mom said aloud, and I stared into the mirror from her window cover. Mom's kind green eyes were filled with tears as my emotions suddenly built. Did I mention I feel things harder? Yeah, when I'm sad, I am really sad. It's profound, and just as my dad stopped the car I leaned over and hugged my sister.

"What's happening? Why are you touching me? MOM! Grainne's lost it!" Sloan protested in jest. I laughed with her as her smile told me how serious she was.

"We need an adult, I can't stop myself!" I jeered and pulled my younger sister into a hug. Today, she wore her stereotypical Hot Topic form. A pair of black hip-hugger pants with black hanging suspender belts, a black crop top, and of course black platform boots. She even had on black lipstick to complete her ensemble.

"You two," mom sighed as we both exited the car and I closed the door carefully. All of my confidence surged forward as I walked to my mom nearby and hugged her as hard as I could without hurting her. Pulling away I let her plant a kiss on my forehead and I gave a hug to my dad after he unloaded my luggage. Two large suitcases, my backpack, and a large carry-on roller case.

Each case in hand and my dad pulling the small roller I glanced up at Kings Street Station. A beautiful light bricked plaza lay at my feet filled with chairs for a small cafe located just inside the station. The station itself was a neatly built square redbrick building tapering to a small steppe pyramid roof. Atop in large metal letters the sign read "Kings Street Station" about twenty to thirty feet above the plaza. To the right as I waited was the long row of train tracks and the platforms for waiting passengers. The strangely eye-catching light grey pavement was brightened by the appearance of a bright fall day sun.

My dad started walking first, pushing us all to the inevitable end of this chapter of our lives. A few feet in front of the front doors we met up with the Jamesons. Corrine, ever the stylish mother wore a green dress over a pair of black leggings, and a leather jacket. By her side was Gerald, brown leather jacket over a black button-down shirt and jeans. Sophia matched her mom in a dress, leggings, and a denim jacket. Altogether I felt a little underdressed by both, but I decided to just run with it. The cool air of the autumn day made my bare legs become covered in goosebumps.

"Looking good lil Rose," Corinne said to me as she offered my mother a hug. Gerald and my dad started to discuss the travel times of the upcoming train as well as break the school offered between classes. My backpack slung over my left shoulder and my purse along with it I followed Corinne and Sophia into the building. I looked above me and watched the form of the massive clock tower nearby disappear from sight. A thirty-foot vaulted ceiling and beautiful white painted walls replaced it.

I followed the two over to a row of connected brown leather chairs. Finding my place I sat down and decided to rest my feet while Gerald and dad continued to talk. From what I could make out, we'd transfer onto one other train once in Boston which would then take us to the Dunwich Station in New Hampshire. It seemed pretty straight forward to me, as I pretty much decided to just wait. The two passed a few papers between the two of them and I noted Sophia's gaze lingering on her smartphone. I considered just losing myself in a book on my own but instead decided to just observe the world around me.

Dad handed me a ticket not long after and I noted the departure time, only about ten minutes away. I inhaled as I rose up and gave my father a hug and he whispered, "I love you dearest."

Tears filled my eyes as my emotions threatened to overwhelm me. Two baseline teenaged boys watched me as I pressed my face into my father's shoulder and cried. I didn't want to leave my home and family or let that bastard Dickinson control my life to the degree he did. Circumstances were not so kind, however, and Ferndale High School was closed to me. The friends of the men I fought against last Friday were already doing their best to make my family's life a living hell.

"Dickinson's widow has already tried to press charges three times against your daughter," Gerald informed us all.

"How goes the lawsuit?" I asked carefully.

"Good, the fact that Brad's father was present at the night ride is more than enough evidence to show malice." That was good right? My family was already watching their backs and thinking of increasing security. If Gerald could financially bleed the Finkbonners and the school maybe some of my suffering could be alleviated.

"More than good, when we got them to release you I already had more than enough evidence. This new addition shows that the family is out for blood. With all of it tied up in public appearances, plus their own patriarch being so reckless they'll be begging for a cash settlement." Gerald rubbed his hands together as I smiled. It was good to hear that after so much my family was going to finally get something out of this entire ordeal.

"It's better to let the enemy hang themselves my heart, or let them fall into a trap than play their game," Morgan purred. She was right, and as I realized it this was how I would have to be in my life. For years others stole from me the simplicity of choice. Yeah, let's get the hyperbole aside, I could decide how I dressed, or what I said. But in the greater scheme of things I couldn't present myself as a girl without fear of being harmed. Throughout my life until I made a deal with Morgan I didn't have the power necessary to stand up against cruel fate.

I stared off into space for a moment, as I felt the world melt away for just a second. Another daydream as I found myself standing at the edge of a vast forest. Three women stood with their backs to me, each wearing a dress similar to what Morgan always sported. One was dark green, another scarlet, and the final one a blue of the ocean. As I watched the tallest of the three the one in green turned away from the others and faced the forest. She was redhaired, and her eyes the color of burning emeralds. But, it wasn't Morgan. It was someone else.

Just as the woman glanced my way she turned and the three began to shrink as they drew farther and farther away. Just as I was about to call out to them I heard the call for boarding. My eyes snapped me back into reality as Sophia waved at me to get my attention.

"Hey, dreamer girl, we gotta go!' she giggled as she picked up her luggage. It came, the last goodbye between myself and my family. Sloan was the first to hug me and whisper "give ‘em hell" in my ear, and dad was the last. Mom's hug was perhaps the strongest as I tried not to break into sobs.

Five minutes passed as the last call for boarding came. An angry rail employee dressed in the blue waistcoat and white shirt uniform of Amtrak nearly yelled at us to board. Finally, I pulled everything on board as my bags and carryon were stowed in my sleeper car. It was a rush, a blur of motion as I couldn't contain my thoughts and as per usual saw myself lost in them. As I kept repeating to myself - this was a new chapter of my life. So many questions rushed in front of me. What was I going to learn? Who did I want to be when I got there? All I knew is one thing, I now had a voice in what was going to happen. I had the power to change my fate, and by the wyrd, nothing was going to stop me.