Guys sorry about the spotty posting but my husband went into rehab on April 15th and I've been super busy. I'm not sure about my schedule going forward as on Friday I learned his Ins. Co won't talk to without his permission--every time. So I need to look into a legal/financial framework for us. That'll be fun--not. I have most of this story written; it is in two sections and I'm working on connecting them and adding finishing touches to the ending.

First I want to thank Ashleigh for her editing skills and making it readable. I've included 4 chapters as they're kind of short. Dr. Bellows wants Atalanta to do what? Mischief happens in the bathroom. Nikki has a theory about Atalanta's use or abuse of magic.

I hope you guys enjoy this offering.

Chapter 6

Leaving the administration building I strode quickly to Crystal Hall for a takeout meal; if I hurried I’d have time to eat it before the curfew at Poe. My footsteps echoed in the mostly empty cafeteria as I sought out leftovers from the buffet bar piling the food in the carryout box.

“You’re just in time,” the lady behind the counter said as I paid her.

“I’m late getting in,” I responded vaguely unsure of who knew of my routine.

Outside on the landing, I paused to look at the dimly lit walkway leading to Poe scanning the area for anything out of the ordinary. Knowing your operational area made tracking and tagging wildlife quicker and safer. After training with Manny, identifying choke points and ambush sites were second nature now and together with my owl birthmark activating a danger sense I strode confidently toward Poe.

The familiar bust greeted me from his perch in the foyer as I opened the door shutting it softly behind me.

Mrs. Horton must have a sixth sense, “Atalanta you have thirty minutes until lights out.”

“Thanks,” I replied walking toward Kimba Corner to eat my ‘take-out.’ The lounging area appeared deserted and I sat down balancing my tray to begin eating when a pile of clothing begins to take shape.

“Jinn,” I inquired mildly as I stabbed a bite of meat.

“Jade made me wait down here for you,” the various articles of clothing pouted at me.

“Want some,” I inquired amused extending a forkful of food.

“Eww!” The pile of clothes lost their shape falling flat on the sofa.

“Don’t go away mad,” I called after the spook taking another bite of food. Finishing quickly I placed the empty container in the trash and I hurried to my room where I gathered a change of clothing and toiletries to aim for the showers. Three days in the wilderness left me ripe and curfew or no I was washing off the grime.

I was rinsing off when the lights shut off. I should have another few minutes before the curfew.

I quickly changed my mind as my shoulder tingled. I slowly moved from under the showerhead letting the water mask any noise I might make. My eyesight shifted; droplets of water filled the stall splattering against the floor and pooling to swirl down the drain. The fine mist wrapped me in a wispy fog as I slowly reached for my towel and peered out at the sinks and beyond to the dressing area.

The stall and room design limited my view.

I didn’t see anyone but I knew there was someone else in here. Slowly I began twisting the towel into cordage to strike with and moved carefully from the stall’s confines to confront who waited. Movement and a slight sound alerted me as I swung my head around to see the outside door closing softly buffered by the hydraulic arm. Still I waited not convinced and I listened for any small sounds. I felt my low light vision kick in looking in every nook and corner for potential dangers.

Satisfied I walked over and flicked the light switch illuminating the room. In the corner my clothes were jumbled up. My smile vanished as I realized somebody’s idea of a prank wasn’t funny. I unwound the tied bundle my mind in high gear as I pulled on my underwear before holding up the remains of my flannel nightshirt. It looked like someone had used a dull knife to shred the back of the clothing. A cold dark fury rose from somewhere murky and deep, fighting me for control. Destructive images screamed at me. Calming breaths forced the beast back into his lair.

Stepping into a pair of sandals I held the tattered shirt to my chest opening the door to pad down the hall. In the darkened hallway in bra and panties and holding my shirt in a defensive gesture I felt vulnerable despite having faced greater danger this weekend.

Stopping in front of a familiar door I knocked and then entered to a muffled, “Yes.”

“Nikki, I need your help,” I said to the figure on the bed.

“Help!” Nikki cried mockingly, “Super girl needs help,” she added teasing, rising from the bed, “What’s…” Sensing my distress she stood up turning the light on then motioning me over to sit beside her, “What happened,” she asked softly.

I held up the tattered shirt, “Somebody sneaked in while I was showering,” I replied slowly.

Nikki was silent; everyone knew what my nightshirt meant to me.

“What can I do to help?”

“I am hoping you can work your magic on this flannel shirt and repair it.”

“Well it is a natural fiber,” Nikki mused gently removing it from my arms carrying it over to her desk laying it down and carefully arranging the strips of cloth. My jaw set I watched her hands move over the garment pausing often; chanting in unintelligible syllables. Time slowed watching Nikki activate her spell as individual threads began first wiggling like snakes before they began weaving into larger and larger patterns.

After several minutes of unraveling and retying efforts the cut strips of cloth began closing from the top down not unlike how a zipper works; knitting the damaged material cleanly. A couple of minutes passed before Nikki handed me my nightshirt back whole. I shivered running my fingers along the repaired shirt and slowly placed an arm through each sleeve wrapping myself in the checkered shirt deliberately latching the buttons.

My smile seemed to grow and grow; wider and wider tugging at my cheeks. “Thank you Nikki,” I croaked huskily then heartily hugging her.

Nikki, stepping back after the embrace with a smile that almost matched mine softly replied, “I’m glad I could help but who could’ve done this?”

I shook my head, “I don’t know but they have to be somebody from Poe; don’t they?”

“Why is that,” asked Nikki her brow tightening.

“I assume it is somebody that knows what that shirt means to me and it is pretty hard to get in here after the house is locked up.”

“There are other options,” Nikki countered, “like maybe you were supposed to be in that shirt.”

“Huh,” I asked my throat tightening.

“There are of course magic rituals but a rudimentary form of magic is using thought forms to create a servitor.”

“A servitor, what’s that?”

Nikki answered speaking quickly and softly, “I’ll explain tomorrow; if Mrs. Horton finds us up there will be hell to pay. Until then don’t lose sight of your hairbrush, toothbrush, or anything anyone can use as a personal link to you. Okay?”

“Okay,” I answered softly as Nikki ushered me into the hallway whispering in my ear, “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

Gliding softly over the tiled floor hidden in shadows softly lit by lamps at each end of the hall I passed door after closed door before stopping in front of the door to my room. I paused with my hand on the door knob and listened intently. My room, just large enough to hold one person was literally hidden behind the broom closet and the stairway.

The location suited my needs, the room was goldilocks sized, and the lone window offered a commanding view of the central campus. The room was symbolic of my campus status out of sight, out of mind, and limiting my interactions with fellow students.

It was clear to me that I made Carson nervous. One part of me understood why. The motivations, triggers, pathologies; mutant profiles were well understood, studied, and classified. I fit none of their profiles and accordingly they saw me as unpredictable. Predictably their response was limiting as many variables as possible in my daily life.

They were more than happy to lend me to the Medawihla Tribe from Friday to Sunday to track, catalogue, and tag the Reservation’s various wildlife and population. They also were more than willing to allow Manny as my private tutor four days a week. Mondays were exclusively reserved for the private class with Manny with Mrs. Carson approving the class material. The classes for the other three days—Tuesday-Thursday—consisted of standard high school curriculum. I then received instruction in the mutant specific courses as distance learning—over the internet and semi-monthly private meetings with each instructor to gauge my progress.

The modified schedule was implemented after the Christmas break. Officially the reason given was what happened with the Donners over Christmas. Through the grapevine I heard the actual reason was the assignment Circe had given me to do during that week. Nikki had whispered to me that not long after I had returned Circe’s stones to her stories had circulated that she had emerged from her classroom muttering, her clothing smudged and eyebrows singed.

“First you blew up her door and then her classroom; do you blame her if she wants you to keep at a safe distance from her,” she had giggled in my ear.

I figured she was just teasing me.

But the schedule suited me fine. Each morning I met with most of Team Kimba—the gang as I came to know them—for exercises followed by my run and afterwards meeting up for breakfast and then each evening for dinner.

Evenings at Poe were usually spent in studying, online with an instructor or in turning assignments, and often cloistered with the Kimbas in their secluded corner. Sprinkled in were updates to the Medawihla spreadsheet and calls home to mom.

Even though they teased me mercilessly about blowing up Circe’s stuff and creating new tunnels for Mrs. Carson that she hadn’t requested we formed a genuine bond around being labeled as loose cannons. That and I had powers and traits in common with several members of the group. Hank and I shared growing up in a military environment and moving every two or three years. Like Chou I had an affinity for physicality and weaponry augmenting its effectiveness through channeling a spiritual life force. Unlike Nikki I apparently had no ability to gather store and use magic; rather I absorbed and redirected what was used against me. Jade and I used our stalking skills against each other

In many ways I was the forge they used to sharpen their skills against and vice-a-versa.

Satisfied I opened the door slipped inside closing and leaning against it extending my senses into the room’s farthest corners. Nodding and bending over the bed I quickly crawled under its covers still wrapped in the old flannel shirt that belonged to daddy.

Chapter 7

Laying there in the dark I cast my mind back. The sound of the knock on our front door echoed again.

School was about to let out for Christmas; Mom was busy wrapping gifts and putting up decorations. Dad’s tour had ended and he was coming home in time for Christmas. After years of moving from base to base as Daddy had advanced in rank he—and we had achieved stability with the likelihood being of remaining at one school long enough to make friends. And I was about to become a teenager—at that time on the threshold of becoming a man.

It had all changed with that knock. Daddy wasn’t coming home. Mom seeking distance from well meaning in-laws exerted her independence by moving us to a New Mexico spa owned by her college roommate becoming the business’s staff doctor. That move had once again necessitated a new school for the next year.

But wait, there’s more. A thin smile stretched my lips at recalling that commercial.

New Mexico; Land of Enchantment was more than a slogan as I found out. I traveled there as a skinny kid on the verge of puberty anticipating developing hair on my lip, a deepening voice, and the widening of my shoulders filling out my frame like my dad had.
Instead I had gone exploring and became separated from the group and came back changing into a girl. Instead of widening shoulders it was my hips that spread and the filling out occurred on my chest.

Yeah me!

We had a good father/son relationship. We had gone to some ball games together, a fishing trip once, canoeing another time. I remembered handing him tools as he did minor repairs on the family car. Mostly it was just hanging around with each other stuff.

Stuff.

My throat constricted remembering stuff. I remembered retreating to my room and not wanting to come out and talk with anybody. Finally I remembered wandering out to the garage and finding this shirt, this shirt that he often wore raking leaves, washing the car, or tinkering in the garage. Or, for when we did stuff together. I claimed it for me; it was mine.

I thought of that Christmas as the great sundering with the far canyon wall lying in the land of normalcy; 9 to 5 jobs, two parents, childhood and growing up; public schools and fairy tales.

On that far wall divided by a yawning chasm were memories of Alan, boyhood, and Dad. On this side of that line are me; Atalanta, girlhood, and Mom. That shirt represented a tangible reminder; a cherished memento of a different time; a bridge spanning the canyon and linking the two worlds.

Images of the ruined shirt flickered across my mind and I frowned in the dark wondering if the garment was baggage and not luggage. An admonishment I remembered hearing said something about putting away childish things as an adult. I wasn’t an adult but that idea needed further thought. Being careful I turned on my side snuggling deeper under the covers and soon fell asleep.

Chapter 8

“You want me to do what?”

Dr. Bellows sat behind his desk, elbows bent on the desk studying both his steepled fingers and my reaction. The afternoon sun streamed through the window at his back, his face half hidden in shadows. He was my academic advisor and I was squirming in my seat across from his desk the next day.

“I couldn’t get you in the drama class so I did the next best thing and you still get credit for it.”

I sharply narrowed my gaze looking for a twitch at the corners of his mouth or lights dancing in his eyes. When his face remained stoic and unlined I knew he was being serious.

“But why doctor; what do you hope that I learn from this…this project?”

Now he chuckled.

The bastard!

“Atalanta so far we haven’t really challenged you here at the school. No,” he held up a hand cutting off my response, “hear me out. Okay?”

Nodding I leaned back folding my arms across my chest and waited faintly smiling at his puffing cheeks. I liked pushing boundaries and thanks to Manny’s teaching I knew body language tells. I didn’t have much choice in curriculum but I did have complete freedom in how I responded.

Yes!

“Atalanta you’re an Exemplar and a Paragon at fighting…at warfare. You excel at Parkour and outdoor survival skills. As an Exemplar you’re intelligent and you came to us proficient in your high school subjects. I suspect you have ability as a gadgeteer if you applied yourself but you don’t test out high enough to qualify for that study area. And as far as the magic arts are concerned they are still undecided on a course of action to take with you. I believe Circe described you as a magic mangler.”

Inwardly I smiled at that bit of deception. Nikki had been working with me to increase the size and reserve of as she called it, “a well containing magic essence.’ Her theory was that the crazy boomerangs happened because I was so open to all types of magic and my store of essence was so low that I absorbed every type of magic equally. A lot like connecting a negative lead to a positive terminal result in a shower of sparks and explosions. But we had been working on me using natural magic as my foundation to create intentioned results like a servitor.

I liked the idea of holding something back having already learned the power of being underestimated. I wasn’t sure how long Nikki was going to allow that omission to continue.

He continued. “So we wanted to tap into your creative side to give you something to stretch your mind with. To help you grow in other directions and maybe discover a talent you didn’t know you have.”

“And you think a fairy tale is the solution,” I snorted.

“No,” he returned quickly, “it is how you apply the fairy tale to the context or to the parameters you’ve been given. That is the solution,” he firmly stated.

“So how I tell it is up to me?”

“As long as the story is recognizable and has a Whateley theme…yes.”

“I guess and when does it have to be ready?”

“You need to submit your paper to me to approve by March 14th and have the play ready after Spring Break and before finals, Sometime late in April or early May. I’ll have to work out the exact date with the theater group.”

“Okay.”

“And you can get help from anyone to help you with ideas.”

“I have a couple in mind already,” I replied stroking my throat.

“That’s all for now then,” Dr. Bellows swallowed, rising from his seat.

Nodding I climbed to my feet and walked to the exit.

Chapter 9

“You’re going to do what,” Nikki cried her eyes widening.

After leaving Dr. Bellows I had stopped by Kimba corner to say hi and mentioned the assignment to Nikki while I was perched on the sofa arm in a lounge area. I usually stopped by in the evenings to say hi to anyone that was present. Tonight I counted besides Nikki; Billie, Chou, Jade, and Hank.

“What’s she up to now,” Billy called out from her secluded cubicle in Kimba Corner.

“Dr. Bellows gave her, her literary assignment.”

“Oh? Shakespeare? Poe?”

“No,” Nikki responded her lips curling in a grin, “a fairy tale.”

“Really,” a high pitched squeal came from beneath a pile of clothing as Jade popped into view.

“See what you’ve done,” growled Chou rolling her eyes and to Jade, “No Hello Kitty is not a fairy tale.”

“You sure?” Jade questioned her eyes bright.

I remained quiet perched on my ledge watching the banter being served enjoying the easy flow of conversation until it round-robin style stopped in my lap.

“You have a fairy tale in mind,” Hank asked quietly.

I nodded, “Red Riding Hood.”

“Tell them the rest of it,” Nikki prompted from my elbow laugh lines peeking out from behind her hand.

“I’m supposed to adapt it to a one act screenplay that paints a story of Whateley and me.”

“Tell them the rest of it,” Nikki shrieked now openly giggling.

Blowing air between puffed cheeks, “I have to give a one woman performance—on stage.”

“She,” Nikki continued between squeals of laughter, “opens for the spring play.”

“Maybe you can find pieces of Circe’s door to bring onstage,” Billie teased from her space. What followed was five minutes of puns like; ‘raise the roof, set the stage on fire, bring the house down,’ and so on with good natured jabs.

“Humph,” I grumbled frowning and crossed my arms underneath my breasts. Rising from the sofa arm I looked at each of my tormenters one-by-one before drawling a response, “I appreciate the suggestions,” and turned to leave.

Stopping at the landing I turned back around my lips curling around my pearly-whites, “And I’ll make sure to get y’all front row seats where you won’t miss any of the fireworks.”

I turned on my heels my red hair spilling from under my hat and over the collar of my duster; my boots beating a rapid tattoo on the wooden floor as I strode across the floor.

I heard the words, “I feel sorry for the wolf,” hanging in the air behind me.

The next morning in the pre-dawn dark I warmed up; extending my senses and testing my balance and fine motor skills against the environment. This time was me competing against myself as I wrapped my forearms and legs in bubble wrap shimmying up and back down the wall of Poe Cottage using a close sapling tree as leverage. I smiled at not tearing the bubbles. This spiritual practice was intended for centering and grounding in preparation to meet each day fully engaged. The Kimba gang would soon join me in some light sparring before I ran my normal cross country five mile parkour-type run before classes.

But after lunch today I was scheduled to report for a testing session in the Sims lab.

Two figures watched from the apartment window at the tall red-haired girl warm up, stretching in the bitter cold morning air in the snow in front of Poe then practicing her forms dressed in her non school hours and non conforming clothing. Nothing or nobody was stirring this early and in this weather.

“Doesn’t she ever let up,” Sam asked her companion.

Manny holding a cup of coffee between his palms hooked a leg over the chair rung and studied the girl. “She’s one of a kind,” he agreed looking outside.

Sam nodded, “She doesn’t seem human at times.”

A tiny nerve under Manny’s eye twitched. “None of us are quite human.”

“That’s what I mean. For most people to do what we do they are changed by it. Naturals are different; they don’t change.”

Manny nodded remembering the few Naturals he had known. “They are the same before, during, and after.”

“Yeah,” Sam added quickly, “most of us feel an adrenaline surge at the threat of danger. Something clicks in our brains and it goes into overdrive. That rush can get addictive though.”

Manny remained silent watching Atalanta begin her morning run and disappear over the crown of the hill beyond Poe; the absurdity of the situation striking him as funny.

“What,” Sam asked looking from a corner of her eye at Manny.

“It just struck me as funny, you know the whole don’t judge a book by its cover thing. I look like I have the most experience but you have what, decade on me?”

“More probably,” Sam agreed.

“And yet you don’t look like you’re out of college let alone a crusty old codger in there somewhere.”

“Yeah,” Sam replied dryly straightening up.

“Yeah,” Manny echoed, “Atalanta doesn’t look old enough to drive—.”

“—She isn’t,” Sam smiled the tension past.

“—and yet she may have the most experience of all.”

“I wouldn’t use the term experience but I do get your point and you’re the one training her.”

“Ever lose your hearing or sight from an explosion or know of someone that did. Or amnesia from a concussion?”

Manny waited for Sam to nod her head before continuing, “In the case of extreme examples where they need remedial training did you ever think of them as inexperienced?”

“No, of course not but that was because I knew them and their history.”

“That is certainly part of it,” Manny agreed, “but you have to admit that they quickly scale up to their level of training.”

“That is true enough,” Sam agreed countering by adding, “But that’s mostly muscle memory coming into play.”

Manny grunted, “Subconscious memory?”

“I agree that is probably true.”

“I was with Atalanta for seven days a week over 14 months but within three months I saw her subconscious memory start to activate and she began connecting dots that you don’t connect unless you have experienced them.”

Sam’s mouth opened and she formed a silent ‘Oh’ with her lips as inspiration flooded her. She was tempted to ask for an example but instead drew on her own experience.

I appreciate any comments and will do my best to answer and of course I appreciate any kudos