“Whoa…” James whispered. “Pretty cool room, huh?” Tres commented from the bedside. It would seem that Eliza’s mother had decorated each bedroom in a completely different style. This one, for example, was all opposites in modernity. The walls were a stark, bright white, the jet-black furniture and fireplace was at odds with the snowy-white, lush carpet, and various pieces of abstract art in solid black and white hues decorated the place. It was… interesting to say the least.With a shake of the head, he placed the bag inside the room, then made his way back down the hall and to the bottom floor. Now that he thought about it, it made sense that every bedroom would have its own fireplace. As the house was built around the turn-of-the-century, heating and air conditioning had not yet been very efficient, which would go a long way in explanation of the copious amounts of fireplaces. James swung around the base of the stairs, searching for the group, and found them in the formal living r
He was there again. Nothing but white for as far as the eye could see. Snow was drifting lazily everywhere around him. He looked down and even though there was nothing but an absolute, blinding white to take in, he knew that he was suspended in the air. With the difficulty he was experiencing in getting enough oxygen in his lungs, he must be very high up. He breathed deeply, the icy air burning some feeling back into his body. Thankfully, the flakes of snow were neither acid-like nor pounding painfully against his skin. Actually, when he thought truthfully about it, apart from the ability to see nothing at all, he found that this experience was somewhat pleasant. It was peaceful. In spite of the freezing temperature, he could almost force his imagination to conjure up feelings of fluffy clouds and soft, snowy mounds. He had always enjoyed lying out in the snow as a kid, closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep. Hmm, I think I’ll try that.James closed his eyes, the backs of his eye
“Oompf!” the breath whooshed from his lungs in a single huff of air as a heavy weight slammed against his body. James opened his eyes in a hurry, then squinted against the overhead light.“Good morning, sweetie!” a voice to his left intoned with a high-pitched cheeriness. He swiveled his head, his jaw clenched, and eyes narrowed. “What do you want, Christian?” Christian took on an air of mock outrage. “I couldn’t just miss my bestest buddy?” His voice still carried the earlier tone. James sighed in annoyance. “Did you have to jump on me?” He nodded vigorously as he pursed his lips causing his long, blonde bangs to fall into his eyes. Christian flicked his head and whipped them back off his face. “I was just following orders to wake you up, bro, so chill.” He rolled off the bed to his feet. “We just got here a little bit ago in case you were going to ask. Oh, Eliza said not to worry about showering cause we’re all gonna ride horses or… whatever.” Christian shrugge
After everyone had had their fill, they all headed out to the horse barn in order to give the horses a little exercise before the massive storm hit. The weather channel was claiming it was to be on a par with the freak snow storms that swept the country during the winter of 2014. Most of the horses that were currently there would be taken out as they had such a large party. Even Heather, the tall blonde who helped take care of the horses, was there making last minute preparations before the holiday. She helped everyone get saddled up and settled—James was paired up with Shadow, of course—and they set off at a slow pace. Bundled up against the cold, they explored the wooded trails, the lakeside, and more of the grounds than he had ever seen. Originally, what he had taken for being a few hundred acres of the estate, really turned out to be more than a thousand. It was massive and beautiful in an odd, winter wonderland sort of way. The oaks, willows, and dogwood were all stripped of the
“I would like to thank each of you,” Bill began, “for sharing this Christmas in our home. You are all most welcome.” A warm smile filled his face as a testament to the truth in his words. “Now more than ever, it is of the upmost importance to acknowledge our blood lines, to come together in our time of need, because our true strength lies in our numbers. I look around at each of you,” Bill continued, eyeing each one of them in turn, “and see a family of loved ones. One of my closest friends and advisors, who also happens to be old,” —he winked at Robert as all around chuckled at the joke— “Robert teaches and guides all of our children and uniquely prepares them for life beyond school. My father and mother,” Bill beamed at the older couple, “who I love and from whom have come to cherish every nugget of wisdom shared. My newest friends, Rebekah, Charlie, Esmeralda, and Arkady Igorevitch… I am confident that many great years of friendship are ahead of us. To the young ones here,” he now
James woke up early on Christmas morning. Knowing that Tres’s little sister would be bursting at the seams with excitement to open presents— come to think of it, Tres probably would be too—he had set the alarm clock on the nightstand to wake him shortly after dawn. He climbed out of bed, stretched away the stiffness from a restful and uneventful sleep, then crossed to the bathroom to shower and refresh himself. When he was finished, he threw on a pair of cotton athletic pants, a t-shirt, some socks, and a hoodie; the temperature had noticeably dropped through the night. “Come to think of it…” he said aloud, then strode towards the window. He threw back the thick curtains and a child-like glee came over him. Wide-eyed and excited, he stared out at the winter wonderland before him. The pearly pinks and creamsicle-oranges reflected off a beautiful sight: a hefty covering of snow had been dumped on the ground through the night. From where he stood gazing out of the window, he could see t
Everyone had by now stopped laughing and James heard a few gasps and comments in the background, but he wasn’t paying attention to them at all. All of his focus was on Eliza. With the tips of her fingers, she tenderly traced the edges of the silver and turquoise horse and slowly moved along the intricate desert scenery that had been carved into the sides of the box. She bit her lower lip as it started to tremble; she sniffed and blinked swiftly; tears slipped over her lashes and etched a path in her freckle covered cheeks. “Hhow? Wh-where… did you get this?” Eliza asked in barely more than a whisper. “I drew up a few sketches of what I wanted and sent them to Karen,” James shrugged deprecatingly. “She took them to Old Town Albuquerque and had it hand made.” She smiled through the still flowing tears. “It’s…so… beautiful.” James reached into the tin box and dug around until he found the key. He handed it to her and said, “This opens it up.” Eliza nodded absently and slid the iro
His eyes flung wide open like the flood gates after a hurricane as he was dragged from the depths of sleep. At the moment, James couldn’t quite place what had awakened him. All he knew was that his nerves were tingling, and his instincts were on high alert. He remained as still as possible, his eyes searching the darkness with great intent. Nothing. No sounds. No sights. Then it hit him. His nostrils flared and burned at the putrid, acidic smoke licking across the ceiling like a brewing mini storm. Quickly spumed to action, he threw the covers off of himself. “Tres, get up!” he screamed, swiftly slipping into a pair of shoes. Tres grumbled groggily. “Wh-what ... what are you yapping about?” “Do it now! Get up, there’s a fire,” James called out once again to his friend. “What the hell?” Tres asked, more in declaration than actual confusion. He slid on some shoes, donned his glasses, and began to hail Alexandria to gamer any available information.James, by this time, had raced
James sighed; frustration, reluctance, and pain closed themselves across his features. He searched for Eliza and found her. She was speaking with Tres and his family. Almost as if she could feel his eyes on her, she turned and smiled widely at him. “I understand that you do not want to leave her, James. You love her more than anything and yearn to be near her.” Zeus squeezed his shoulder to recapture his attention. “The choice, of course, is yours. I will never take away your free will. But know this, if you choose to stay, yes, you will be with your loved ones. However, it is almost certain then that you would lose this war. As I told you before, sometimes we have to leave the ones we love in order to protect them, even if our absence is only for a season. I can show you how to unlock the abilities which lie dormant within you and give you a chance to save those you love. More than anything, I wish for you to never feel pain again, but I’m afraid my children cannot always travel th
At that, James and Eliza stood to lead the procession of surviving students. With a single white rose in each of their hands, the just over three-hundred walked down the aisles and passed before the table which held the framed pictures of the victims. Some wept, some simply said goodbye and moved on, but each of them laid their rose to rest in front of their fallen friends. It was significant of a promise to be kept: A promise to always remember their friends and classmates, a promise to never forget, and a promise that those who died would be carried in the hearts of the survivors for as long as they live. The last mourning student placed her rose on the cold earth, a tear falling from her cheeks and splashing onto the laid flowers, and the gathered assembly stood to move amongst each other. As everyone else began to comfort and converse with those they knew, James remained seated, his eyes searching the faces framed before him. He found the picture of Adonis and lifted on corner of
James studied his appearance in the mirror and absentmindedly fixed his tie. He wore a black, custom tailored suit which Eliza’s father had purchased for him for the occasion. A white dress shirt, black tie, and black wingtips completed the ensemble-mourning clothes. He had been breathing a little easier ever since he and Eliza and the others had finished their goodbyes to their friends, but when he was alone, as he was now, the pressure in his chest returned. It felt as if a weight was pressing down on his heart; threatening to squeeze the life out of him. He closed his eyes, breathed deep and slow, and willed the pain to subside to an acceptable level. In just a short while, Bill Masters would speak on the events which had occurred earlier in the week- the cover story having been a last time. Though he knew with the passage of time the weight of grief would sail away like a ship on the ocean, the loss of so many lives would never truly leave him. With everything that is within him
“I know that we’re all in a lot of pain right now, but we don’t know how long this period of inaction on the part of our enemies will last,” said James, eyeing each of the faces gathered in the room. “The task ahead of us won’t be easy, but I’ve had people die in my arms and I don’t want that to happen again.” “What are you saying, James?” Bill interrupted, wanting clarification. He glanced around the room again. “I’m saying it’s time to fight. I’m saying the time for secrecy among us is over. We need to gather everyone together that can fight and train them to go to war. Mr. Blakeney once told me that during the World Wars there were thousands of swords, shields, armor, spears, and arrows made from metal mined from Olympus and forged by Hephaestus and his workers.” His eyes seemed to harden with resolve as if they were marbles. “We need to find this cache and build an army. Never again will we be caught unprepared, not ready.” James elevated his voice as he spoke. “It’s time to ta
The past few days had been filled with alternating times of mourning and grief followed by periods of clarity and resolve. He and Eliza had spent much of the time on horseback or on foot meandering through her family’s vast estate. Being together and out in the cold, open environment, had allowed each of them to process their emotions and grieve properly for the fallen director. Robert Blakeney had been particularly special to them. Having spent the entire summer together and going out on numerous missions since, they had continued to grow closer. An unbreakable bond had been forged. Or so they thought. Everyone had been completely blindsided by Clurife’s attack and the betrayal of Oliver, but James was giving himself no room for excuses. It was outright stupidity to believe they were safe at the Academy. He, Eliza, and Blakeney had known someone was giving Clurife information and it was only a matter of time before the school itself was targeted, especially after Kali was killed. N
James had never been inside Romero’s home before. There had never been a reason to because over the summer their base of operations had always been Washington Manor—the Director’s residence. Under normal circumstances, he would have found the house to be warm and comfortable. It was built in a classic American style from a bygone era: wood floors, wood paneling intricate crown molding and lots of fireplaces. He couldn’t help but think it a miniature version of the Director’s place. It was for that reason alone that in lieu of any comfort, he felt stifled and suffocated. Ignoring all else, he made his way through the house and onto the screened back porch. He sat into a wooden Adirondack chair hoping to process more than a few of his rumbling emotions. He studiously avoided thinking about Blakeney and instead focused on the others which had died. There were many he didn’t know, but of the few he did, he had known them well. There was Jennifer West, the beautiful and spontaneous girl
They pushed their way through the trampled snow and to the fountain where the escaping students had gathered. James set Jennifer down on the cold earth and surveyed the panic-stricken mass. Far too many were missing from their numbers and Blakeney was nowhere to be seen. He turned to Eliza as he shrugged off his jacket and ripped his shirt in two. “Help them, okay?” he told her desperately, handing her one of the two pieces. Eliza nodded and went to work trying to stem the flow of blood coming from Jennifer’s battered body. One look was all that was required, however, for her to know it was hopeless; the girl’s lungs had been severely pierced. Even though they had been at odds in the past, this last semester, they had become acquaintances, maybe, ironically, the pair had even been heading towards friendship. But now... this. She tried to provide whatever comfort she could during Jennifer’s last moments of life. “It’s going to be okay,” Eliza said with a small smile. “You’ll be fine
Arriving at the end of the hall, James lifted a single foot and kicked the door in. The struggle going on in the room shocked him enough to crack a shallow wedge in his confidence. Svetlana lay on her bed clutching her bleeding chest, while in the far comer by the window, Eliza barely held the attacking soldier at bay with her dagger which was held in a vise-like grip. She was trembling with fear and tears spilled profusely from her eyes. The shattering doorframe had knocked the soldier’s attention from her and as its eerier eyes were coming to rest on the intruder, James flew into action. In barely more than the blink of an eye, he batted away an attempted strike and skid his blade clean through the enemy’s chest. With a flick and twist, the heart was pierced, death instantaneous. James slammed the body into the ground with disgust and moved his eyes to Eliza. “You okay?” he asked gently. She sniffed once and nodded. He secured his sword and shield onto his back, then went to S
Blakeney had been up and working in his office when the screaming alerted him. Not taking any chances, he grabbed the sword he kept by his desk and marched towards the school’s foyer. As soon as he stepped onto the marble floors from the staff offices, the sight of flames consuming the dormitories filled his eyes. His breath quickened and his pulse pounded in his ears as the building flames engulfed his school. The students I his mind shouted above the growing fear. He sprinted down the thoroughfare, protection of innocent lives the only thing on his mind. But, no sooner had he made his way into the inner courtyard, then a sinister, pleased laugh echoed amidst the granite. “Hello, Director Blakeney,” a deep, steady voice spoke. Blakeney whirled on the spot, searching for the source. Like an image being born from darkness, Nicholas Clurife stepped into the light. He wore all black, his evil Stygian blade held at the ready, and the smile that spread across his face oozed with crue