Alex McKenna & the Academy of Souls
Vicki-Ann Bush
Copyright © 2020 by Vicki-Ann Bush
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Edited by Celeste Hawkins, Antonia Silic, & Cindy Kilbourne
Cover & interior design by Shayne Leighton
Published by The Parliament House
www.parliamenthousepress.com
This book is dedicated to my cousin, Mary Santucci-SanSeverino. The universe had a plan, and although taking you much too soon hurt those close to you, I have to believe it needed a bright light to navigate the dark days. And you beautiful girl, were a beacon through the storm. My memories are sprinkled through years of distance, but our childhood is forever preserved in my heart. Thanks for the overalls.
Contents
1. Welcome to the Academy of Souls
2. Ghosts Take A Shower?
3. Meet Haven
4. The Embittered Zachary Knowles
5. Ophelia Meet Alex
6. Where’s Bethany?
7. The Human Side of Ophelia
8. Cain Amry Thearige Academy
9. Welcome to the Academy Alex McKenna
10. The Underworld
11. Watch Out For The Hairy Kappa
12. The Rescue
13. Life Goes On
Acknowledgments
Alex Needs Your Help
Also by Vicki-Ann Bush
About the Author
The Parliament House
1
Welcome to the Academy of Souls
Alex scooped his hands underneath Margaret's bottom and pulled her onto his lap.
"Hey McKenna, what do you think you're doing?" she pretended to push him away.
"Just getting warm,” Alex flashed her a grin and pulled her closer “It's extra chilly tonight and I’ve waited a long time to do this with you.”
" I know what you mean,” Margaret snuggled close. “We were friends and then... I like us this way better.”
Margaret curled her arms around his neck and gently kissed it and then his cheek. "Unfortunately, I have to go home."
"Really? I thought we were gonna watch a movie." Alex held her tighter.
"No. You thought we were gonna watch a movie. I told you I needed to finish studying for that test tomorrow,” she said. “Thank the gods there's only a few weeks left before Christmas vacation. I'm worn out. Speaking of which, you'd better get some sleep tonight. The dark circles under your eyes may be very I Zombie, but they don't look good on you." Margaret placed her hands on his chest and pushed herself up.
"Ouch. A zombie, huh?"
"Well if the drool fits. Come on, walk me to the door please." Margaret slipped on her gray wool coat.
"I'll walk you to the car. Let me grab my hoodie." Alex pulled a black hoodie off the edge of the couch.
"Always the gentlemen." She blew him a kiss.
The open door released a gush of arctic air, plastering an icy veil over their bodies.
"Jesus. Damn it's cold." Alex blew puffs of breath into the night air. Like miniature white clouds, they floated, disappearing under the midnight blue sky.
After Margaret was in the car with the heater blasting, he reached in through the open window and gave her a last kiss goodnight. With promises to text when she got home, he waved as the dark green Honda pulled away. Scurrying to get inside, he slammed the door behind him and latched the deadbolt.
No one hated tenth grade as much as Ophelia. Ninth was bad enough, it was the start of four years of horror, but tenth was the middle. Too old to be a kid, too young to be anything else. Of course, that was at the high school she attended before her beginning.
At the Academy of Souls, four years could easily turn into an unending loop of history, math, and science. Time could be your worst enemy.
Sitting in the Grand Hall for assembly, Ophelia nervously scanned the aisles for her friends. Unlike them, confidence didn't come easy.
The Grand Hall reminded Ophelia of a short film she once saw about Radio City Music Hall in NYC. The red, brocade drapes, and feathery, gold tassels framing the stage and drawing the eye to one of the many rich patterns throughout a masterpiece of design, mimicked the well-known theater. A warm glow, emanating from gas-fueled sconces, reflected the black and gold Victorian wallpaper. Oversized seats, cushioned velvet and stuffed for supreme comfort, filled both levels accommodating the entire student body and staff.
Amry was the first to induct Ophelia into what would become her sanctuary. She was seventeen when she died, only two years older than Ophelia, but they couldn’t be more different. Her best friend was fearless, beautiful, and confident. She was the envy of every girl, and the desire for most of the boys. But her striking appearance was only enhanced by her inner beauty. Amry was not a cliché. She was the reason Ophelia was whole. Arriving at the Academy years after the ill-fated day Ophelia and Haven started their beginning, Amry’s persistence and kindness lifted her out of the dark lonely place of despair she had chosen to preside in. Amry never gave up on her. Day after day, she'd visit Ophelia in her dorm, and eventually she was able to persuade Headmaster Abernathy to move her into the same room. Amry stayed with her when there were no classes, sometimes in complete silence. Just to be a presence, to show she cared. Eventually Ophelia started to come around. Amry saved her.
Ophelia spotted her gliding down the hall, two aisles over.
“Amry!” Ophelia flailed her arms.
Spinning to find the direction of her friend’s voice, Amry grinned when she spotted two pale arms waving above the crowd’s heads.
“Hey, where’s everybody?” Amry settled in her seat.
“I don’t know, but if they are not here soon, the security crazed Dictator Dick will write them up, and Kyle can’t afford any more negatives. He doesn’t do well confined to the dorms.”
Amry slumped down in her seat, twirling the ends of her chestnut hair around her finger. Her translucent green eyes smiled at Ophelia.
“I wonder how he got that name anyway?”
“Richard Cander. Richard—Dick, and he’s a power jerk. Dictator Dick, Ophelia grinned.
“You’re always so polite, Ophelia.” Amry nudge her.
“What do you mean?” Ophelia’s eyes widened.
“He’s a power jerk? Everyone knows he’s a mean bastard.”
“I don’t know. Bastard is a strong word. I think he’s trying to keep things in order, and sometimes it comes off like he’s nasty or doesn’t care. But I think it’s the opposite. You know I have reservations about using curse words. My mother and father would have been mortified.”
“Sometimes I forget you’re from 1910. People were so much more relaxed in the 1970’s. Before I died in ’79, me and my friends were saying some other things far worse than bastard.” Amry grinned. “Our little Ophelia, always seeing the good in people. That’s what I love about you, Lia,” said Amry, using her nickname for Ophelia.
“That’s just it, though. If he did, chances are he would have a harder time getting everyone to listen. This way, we may not like him, but he gets the job done.” Ophelia frowned.
“Potato, patato. Either way, Kyle’s ass is grass if he’s not here in the next two minutes.”
“Whose ass is grass? And why would anyone want an ass made from grass?” Kyle plopped in the seat next to Amry
“There you are. Dictator Dick is getting ready to introduce the Headmaster and you almost missed
the opening pledge. You’re already skating on thin ice with him. One more, Kyle and...”
“I know. My ass is grass.” Kyle smirked.
Kyle Burkletter was the embodiment of a California boy. Golden blonde locks down to his shoulders, blue green eyes, and a tight surfer’s physique. Ophelia bet he was probably tan most of the year when he was living, but now a ghostly white replaced any color life would have given him.
“Hey, what I miss?” Bethany slid next to him.
Bethany Smithson was the doppelganger for the 1970’s it girl, Farrah Fawcett. Or at least that's what Kyle told her. Ophelia didn't know for sure, never seeing Farrah Fawcett, but she took his word for it. It seemed perfect that they had paired up though, two beach beauties both from the seventies themselves.
Kyle leaned in, softly brushing his lips against Bethany's. A deep blue spark flashed, the result of a small electrical charge when two souls came together.
“Nothing much. We were just discussing the botanical growth on my ass,” Kyle laughed.
“What?” Bethany’s brows furrowed.
“Never mind. He’s being an idiot.” Amry shook her head.
Dictator Dick took center stage, adjusting the microphone to a comfortable level and the lights dimmed twice indicating it was time for silence.
“It is my pleasure to introduce the creator of the Academy of Souls and our beloved Headmaster, Barnabas Abernathy.”
Mr. Abernathy appeared on stage in his usual grand entrance. A man with a flair for the dramatic stood as smoke billowed around him hazing the purple spotlight circling his frame; all of it a contradiction to his plain black suit. His long white hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, added a softness to the many lines in his face. Abernathy had been around for nearly a thousand years. Joining the old ways of education and blending it with modern day, he guided with a stern hand but a soft heart.
Standing center stage, he cleared his throat. The raspy strain resonated into the microphone and drifted out to the enormous room, filling the space with command, and gaining recognition from the students.
“Attention! Attention everyone! Nice to see you're all looking fine today and on time, Mr. Burkletter.” Abernathy eyeballed Kyle.
“Right on, Headmaster.” Kyle flashed a peace sign.
“I wonder why those other men are on stage with him.” Ophelia whispered.
“Why and who? They’re like the secret service, only not.” Amry stretched her neck.
“You having trouble seeing?”
“Yeah. It’s okay. I’m not so sure I want to,” Amry chuckled.
“What did you mean?” Ophelia leaned in closer.
“Check it out, Lia. Notice they’re wearing khakis and golf shirts. Have you ever seen the Secret Service dress like that? I mean on all the occasions they came here attached to some political parody; did they ever wear anything other than a dark suit?”
“You have a point.”
“Their clasped hands, straight posture, and scouring of the surroundings, suggests something similar. Maybe military. I guess we’re about to find out.”
Mr. Abernathy motioned for the two gentlemen to move forward. They stepped up, framing the Headmaster.
“I’d like to introduce Mr. Coal and Mr. Rain.” Their benign last names didn’t fit their ready for action stance. “They'll be monitoring the halls for the next few weeks. Pay no attention to them and continue to go about your daily business. They'll do their best not to interfere with you,” he said. “Mr. Coal and Mr. Rain are an addition to the security team. Being entry level sorcerers, I think they'll be a welcome aide to the Academy, and to Mr. Cander, who I'm sure can use the help with some of you unruly students." The Headmaster glared at Roger Mooring, who sat in the first row. A penance he was given because of his outburst at the last assembly.
"Did you see Headmaster look directly at Roger?" Amry whispered, "That boy is nothing but trouble."
“How can you tell it’s him? All I see is the back of their heads.” Ophelia frowned.
“Because he’s the only airhead who would be in the front row and catch the Headmaster’s attention. The rest of them are copasetic.”
"Now, this brings me to the nature of our assembly today. I need all of you to listen intently to what I’m about to tell you. We'll be getting a new student tomorrow, Zachary Kowal. This is the main reason Mr. Rain and Mr. Coal will be joining us.” The Headmaster let his gaze travel from the two men to the teens.
“Mr. Kowal has a dark history. The council wanted to send him directly to The Nowhere. But I have hope for him. I’m instructing all of you to stay away from him for now. If he's in your class, be mindful of his presence, but try to avoid engaging. Your safety is very important to me as well. I'll need time to fully assess his capability for rehabilitation. After which, his fate will be determined.”
“All right, he’s starting to scare me.” Ophelia rubbed her forearms.
“Chill. It'll be okay.”
Ophelia glanced at her friend. Amry was always the textbook definition of calm. The girl took things as they came. Her motto was, don't sweat the small stuff. They were already dead, how much worse could it really get?
Ophelia wanted to be more like that, but she was born with a very different kind of psyche. In the dictionary, her picture would be right next to the word anxiety.
There was a low buzz of voices echoing through the room.
“Quiet, please. When I ask you for complete cooperation, I expect it," demanded the Headmaster.
“That's all for now, you may all go back to class. Except for you, Miss Wetherton, Miss Goodman, Miss Smithson and of course, the fourth member of your merry men, Mr. Burkletter. I would like all of you to meet me in my office promptly.” Mr. Abernathy glided off stage.
Ophelia sat unable to speak. She wiped the moisture off her palms on the sides of her pants. Struggling to swallow past the lump in her throat, she began taking quick shallow breaths.
“Lia, you okay?” Amry rubbed her back.
Ophelia closed her eyes and concentrated on slowing her breathing to a normal pace.
“Damn. I still can’t figure out how you do that.” Kyle stood up.
“Kyle. Stop it, don’t be such a drag.” Bethany grabbed his hand and tugged him forward.
“I’m just saying. How is that even possible?”
“Never mind. Come on, let’s go.” She led him toward the doors.
“You guys go on ahead. We’ll be there in a minute.” Amry smiled.
Ophelia knew why Kyle was confused. She was confused. It never made any sense how anxiety could still overwhelm her. And the breathing, she couldn’t even begin to understand where that came from.
“Hey, it's okay. We'll stay here as long as we need to.” Amry caressed Ophelia's hair.
“We better go. I don't want Abernathy to be upset with us." Ophelia got up.
Floating up the aisle, the only thought Ophelia could focus on was, why did the Headmaster pick them? And what for?
The halls were brimming with chatter from students rushing to class, but all Ophelia could see were the large double Mahogany doors leading into Abernathy's office.
The Headmaster’s office was a close second to the Grand Hall when it came to luxury. A century-old cherry desk was the focal point of the room. Headmaster Abernathy was seated, hands folded, and posture erect. Mr. Coal and Mr. Rain were on the left side of the room, each man sat on a yellow and blue, floral wing-back chair. They were as stiff in the office as they had been on stage. Dictator Dick was a different story. His grin was so wide, the Cheshire cat would’ve been jealous. He took up space in a small chair to the right.
“Come in children. Sit, please.” Headmaster motioned toward a plush four-cushion couch with a light blue paisley print, positioned in front of his desk.
Ophelia trembled. She hated confrontation of any kind. She wedged herself between Amry and Bethany. The friend sandwich was comforting.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why I ca
lled you here. I need more eyes and ears than we have available right now. I'm not asking you to befriend Mr. Kowal, just keep a watchful eye."
“Why us?” Kyle leaned forward.
“None of you display any initiative to be a part of other social activities. Other than the time you spend together, you keep to you yourselves. You won't attract unwanted attention.”
“So, what, we’re on the chopping block now?” Kyle’s tone was snarky, "You said this guy is dangerous.
“That is precisely why I'm asking you to merely observe. You can report to me anything out of the ordinary that you might witness this boy do. However, you must keep this little assignment quiet. Understood?”
Kyle reluctantly nodded.
Ophelia looked over at Amry who was frowning.
“Mr. Abernathy?” Ophelia timidly raised her hand.
“Ophelia my dear, this isn’t a classroom. Put your hand down and speak.”
“What has this boy done?”
“Done?” Mr. Abernathy raised a brow.
“You said he was bad in life, and you trying to save him,” Ophelia squeaked.
“I believe his life on earth wasn't a good one. He was thrown into the world with no one. His mother died when he was barely six years old; being forced to fend for himself from such an early age hardened him. I want to try and give him the chance in death he didn't have in life. I am trying to redeem his soul." Abernathy crossed his hands on the desk.
Ophelia looked away. The thought of a soul being sent to The Nowhere, churned the faux acids in her stomach. “Headmaster, isn't our safety important? I don't understand?"
“I don’t think any of us do, Lia.” Amry stood up. “What's really going on?”
“Tone, Miss Goodman.” Mr. Abernathy huffed, “This is a delicate matter that will need your...”
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