by W. Peever
When the world finally stopped spinning for Mick and Charlie, Joelle the Siamese werecat spoke. "Well, it appears you two are well rested. Over-rested some might say. The rest of the student body have already wolfed down their eggs and bacon, and moved on to toast and jam."
Professor Grayson smiled. "Welcome to breakfast, my lads. It does seem to be shaping up to a beautiful morning." The worry creases that masked and shadowed their headmaster's face the night before were gone. He had been so serious, stern and prophetic explaining the choices Charlie had to make in the near future, a demeanor that had disappeared from the old man with the rising sun. "Have you ever noticed how the smell of crackling bacon can trigger childhood memories? If I get even a hint of bacon and fried eggs my eyes well up with visions of my dear old grandmother cooking over her cast iron pan. Tea in the fancy silver teapot…you remember the one, Charlie—we had the most wonderful tea service when you first arrived. Memories—they can be so sweet, so tart but hardly ever bitter."
The old man smiled to himself. He was quite the dichotomy of an active, sharp master Manserian. If Ms Welling was the mother of the school, Grayson was the kind grandfather telling his stories of the good old days. It was hard to see the headmaster as anything but a sentimental elderly gentleman, hardly the most powerful Manserian of his time.
Professor Grayson peered down at his charges with genuine warmth, and gently ushered them into the dining hall. As they entered the room fell silent, every single student's head turned toward Charlie. The night before had seen an epic race to the finish line that included revelations even he didn't fully comprehend. The one element he thought was missing from their previous evening's adventure was an audience, and he was shocked to find news of Charlie and company's adventure had been whispered by every mouth in the hall. He could only imagine the exaggerated—maybe not considering the night needed no embellishment to make it more exciting—tales of it. Charlie's mind wandered back to the final battle he had with Samuel, an upperclassman who had gone bad and stolen Merlin's sword, Excalibur, for Lord Vali of the Vanari. The sword, as it turned out, held the sapphire diamond for Charlie's ring in its hilt. And not just any diamond; this diamond had unlocked a map that, if they could decode the language it was in, would lead to the crystals Merlin had hidden in space and time.
Charlie looked out at the sea of eyes staring back at him. All were waiting to be entertained with stories of his victory…victory? He could not fathom how it could be a victory. He had reunited Merlin's ring with its proper crystal and unlocked the three-dimensional map the ring projected on a wall…and that was great. More than great, it was a miracle they'd kept their lives. But the map was useless to them in a lost language. All the danger, the bedlam that had taken over Charlie's first year at Thornfield was for nothing. He was the first Jumper in history to have a chance at reuniting all the lost crystals, and it meant zero because Merlin had written the map in a dead script. To top the night off he finally found the father who had been lost to him for over a decade only to lose him to the abyss once more. He knew his father was alive out there, somewhere, waiting to be freed.
Charlie's flashback was shattered as the entire student body rose to their feet, clapping and banging their coffee and tea mugs on the long wooden tables lining the great stone hall. The cacophony was overwhelming. Would his classmates feel the same way when they discovered his exploits led to a dead end? The very existence of the map was a state secret, and Charlie was not certain if the headmaster would inform even the Council of Elders about it. This worried him on many levels.
Professor Grayson entered behind the two boys and the room fell silent. With a hand on Charlie's back and the other gesturing to the buffet table overflowing with the most delicious breakfast treats, he anounced, "Why don't we let these two lads get something to eat, and then we shall honor them."
Charlie and Mick made their way over and piled their plates with eggs, bacon, sausage and pastries, then weaved their way in and out of tables, self-conscious under the steady gaze of four hundred eyes on them till they found Tillie and Bailey.
Bailey was dressed in her new, unique style, deciding her teens would begin early: sporting a pink tank-top with the band name Godsmack in gray and black flames on the chest and rainbow sleeves, and a mini-dress and Doc Martens both in black. Her long, brown hair was held back by two pink 'hello kitty' hair pins she'd picked up in a tiny shop back home in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Charlie took a second look, trying to comprehend the changes she was going through lately, and as an afterthought searching for her power crystal gloves. She had gloves, but not the white arm-length ones that made her look like she was going to the opera. These only covered her hands, had the fingers and arms cut off, and were matching black.
Bailey had customized her focus object, the sacred gloves that focused a Telekon's ability to move an object with concentration of mind. It was a strict regulation that each student carry his or her focus object at all times. Charlie wondered what loophole Bailey had found to alter the gloves to her new style. Shaking his head, Charlie could only hope whatever trouble Bailey was going to get in for this bastardization would not include him…knowing Bailey, it somehow would.
Charlie and Mick approached the table where their two friends sat and gossiped.
"Hey!" was all Charlie could say as they sat down.
"Excited?" asked Tillie.
"About what?" Charlie replied, mesmerized by the scent of Tillie's new honeysuckle shampoo. Bailey rolled her eyes in exasperation; however, the jealousy that consumed her the beginning of last year was absent.
"To go home of course, silly. What else could I be talking about?" Tillie's airy laugh made Charlie light-hearted for a moment.
"Are you still coming to visit us for the Fourth of July, Tillie?" cut in Bailey, trying to help Charlie look less of an idiot as he stumbled for an answer. Charlie smiled vacantly as he remembered their plans to get together over the long break.
"Yes. My mum works for the airlines so getting there is free; no problem at all. Our vacation in Europe will be over the last week of June, so I shall fly down for your Independence Day celebration. Sounds like fun—a cookout and fireworks. Very American."
"Ya, to celebrate their independence from your bloody country!" Mick goaded.
The three friends were interrupted by Ms Welling, who stood up from the staff table and tapped her knife on a crystal goblet, which was in the shape of an owl. "To order! To order…" When no one responded she stood to her full height and shouted. "Quiet!" Ms Welling recollected herself and her voice returned to her usual controlled meter. "The headmaster has a few parting words for those of you who will be leaving us today. Before he speaks I remind all of you who are staying behind that I expect you up and dressed appropriately to scrub the first floor bathrooms tomorrow at seven o'clock sharp." Mick shot a look of gratitude at Charlie, pleased not to be staying for the workload that Ms Welling had in store for the unfortunate few whose parents could not be bothered to take them home or, as in Mick's case, were orphaned. "For those of you who will be leaving during the summer months, strip your beds and place the sheets in hampers. Take your belongings with you. Leave your uniforms to be washed and pressed for when you return. Are there any questions? No?" Ms Welling did not wait for an answer. "Good!"
"Well, well, well." The warm tones of the headmaster's Scottish burr echoed through the old speakers in the hall. "Another year has come to a close. You who are leaving us to pursue jobs with the Council, I wish you the very best of luck. Most of you have spent seven years of hard work here at the castle and I think you deserve a hand." The headmaster led halfhearted applause from the assembly, apart from seniors whooping it up at the corner tables. "Now, as you know, we had some trouble this week, and I am certain we are not yet out of the woods. Be vigilant while outside of these walls. The world can be a dangerous place, as Charlie, Tillie, Bailey and Mick can attest to. Never let it be forgotten: We fight for independence and freedom from tyrants every da
y, and the choices we make along the way are not always easy ones. Be safe this summer, and come back to us in September ready to take on another year. A toast…" The headmaster raised his goblet of orange juice to the room and then pointed it at Charlie. "To the heroes of the day. Cheers!"
The room erupted, the four friends turning various shades of crimson. Gradually the clatter petered out and Professor Grayson continued. "Well, that's all I have to say. For those traveling outside the UK, the Qilting stations open up in an hour. The rest of you—the shuttle to the train station will be leaving at noon. Dismissed." He smiled and waved before sitting back down on the purple couch where the headmaster took his tea in the morning.
"Well, that wasn't embarrassing at all," Charlie said, breaking the awkward silence among the four 'heroes'. "Let's get going. I hear the Qilting lines are terrible."
"Won't be a problem for you lot, now will it." The booming voice of Marley resounded around them. The giant man, with his heavy army boots, brown leather pants and well-worn bomber jacket that he sported despite the warm late spring, appeared from behind them. Marley was the head guard for the Order and when Bailey and Charlie went home over spring break he'd led the team of Manserian protecting them.
"I'm not sure I follow," said Charlie, hoping that indeed he was not following and they would be allowed to travel home without an entourage of trained watchdogs. It was a hope that vanished as the rest of the guard entered the room.
"You didn't really think the headmaster would let you go home without your guardian angels, Charlie?" The voice sang, and made him weak at the knees; that of the beautiful, young Influencearian Priscilla. She liked to go informally by the name Cillie, much to Marley's disapproval. She tossed her silky blond hair, smoothed out her sparkling blue Cinderella dress, and smiled. "We couldn't just leave you four all small and helpless, now could we?"
The thought that Cillie saw them as small and helpless didn't sit well with Charlie. Tillie nudged his shoulder and smiled. "I'd better cut the family vacation short to come and protect you from all this danger around you!"
The private joke was interrupted by twins Simon and Silace entering the room, spiky jet-black hair shining with gel and skin-tight black tee-shirts and jeans completing the package. Unlike most twins, Simon and Silace enjoyed the duality of their personality and dressed exactly alike: same black wrist band, same silver chain reaching from the front clasp of the leather belt to the wallet in the right back pocket. Charlie had never asked them about it, but knew it had to be for effect.
"Your drivers are at your service," they chorused. The twins each had the ability to transport up to three people anywhere in the world on a beam of light. Qilting, or quick instantaneous light travel, was the fastest mode of travel in the Manserian World. A Manserian had the choice of traveling via Qilter or using a crystal programmed and charged by a Qilter to go to a set destination. The headmaster did not look kindly on Qilters who sold what he called "vacations in a bottle" because of all the potential mishaps. He cited Marley's qilt to the middle of the desert without adequate food or water as a prime example. What Professor Grayson did not know was that Simon and Silace sent him there as a well-engineered joke, not a mistake.
"I wonder if the kitty cat is packed and ready." Marley boomed with laughter.
"Ready as I will ever be traveling with the likes of you, Marley." The werecat made a low growl as she wove in between Bailey's legs, flicking her tail in annoyance. The school's librarian werecat had a falling-out with Marley when he was a student, but neither would ever talk about it.
"Well then," snickered Simon. "Why don't I take Cillie, Marley and Joelle to secure the grounds around the Burrows home, then summon Silace to bring the kids when we have everything set?" Marley nodded and cautiously took the hand of Cillie, and reluctantly the paw of Joelle, now hissing. They blipped out amid a cloud of blue sparks that continued to spin like a top where the four had disappeared.
"All right." Silace smiled. His I-pod headphones poked out of his front jeans pocket where he stuck them when he saw Marley. The twins were pranksters, music buffs and get-rich-quick schemers first, Council Qilters second. "Are you three ready to go?" They nodded, and clutched tight the bags Ms Welling had left for them at the qilting station.
"I guess we will see you in July, Tillie," said Charlie, his heart sinking at the words. Tillie smiled, wrapped her arms around him and quickly kissed him on the cheek before turning to run down the hallway to the girl's dormitory.
"Be safe, you three." The fog of blue and white sparks spun around them.
Charlie thought he saw Bailey roll her eyes before everything went black.
Chapter Two Homecoming
Charlie's cheek still shone red from where Tillie had kissed him, as the four young Manserian rematerialized outside a modest home. Marblehead, Massachusetts is a typical New England seaside community where houses have perfect white picket fences in tiny yards bursting with summertime flowers. While most of the town is well off, Charlie had grown up with his mother in a rundown old house in the woods on the far fringe of town. He and Bailey had grown up hardly seeing their mothers, who were always working to barely make the bills. It had not been easy growing up poor in a town that housed many of Boston's doctors and lawyers, but they had managed. They swam in the ocean in the summer, stole apples from old Mr McGriff's farm in autumn, skated on Red's Pond in winter, and made fun of women wearing their funny Easter hats in spring.
But the house the three young friends Qilted up next to was not the same house Charlie left six months prior. The paint on the colonial gray-blue house was no longer pealing. Some shingles on the roof looked new, and it appeared the crumbling foundation on the north side had seen fresh cement. Was that a brand new Honda Pilot in the driveway where the old Civic used to rust? Charlie stopped and stared in disbelief. The whole scene looked like something out of a bad, overdone Cinderella remake.
In Marblehead he had always been the kid with the patched jeans pretending they were stuck on for their fashion value, who got dropped off to school in his mother's old scrapbanger rust-bucket, whose muffler could be heard down the street long before you saw the car. At Thornfield he found a family who accepted him. Some even admired and revered him. He was the Jumper. A question formed in his mind. If he was being truthful to himself it was stirring from the moment he put on his ring: Did he still belong here in the Mortal World? This selfcross-examination intensified with each new material improvement he saw in his mother's life. Was she better off without him? Certainly she was being well taken care of by the Council.
Charlie recalled an evening Professor Grayson had talked to him about choices not being easy. The Professor had alluded to the possibility that the Order, as well intentioned as they believed themselves to be, might create a situation where Charlie would feel compelled to go against his moral code to aid their cause. Charlie could not help but wonder if all this kindness his mother was finally being shown was the Council bribing him to their side. He wouldn't want to see it all disappear, leaving his mother with nothing again, but would he be willing to trade his father or, worse, betray his conscience to keep his mother in fresh cement? These thoughts would plague him in times to come. Grayson had said as much, but for now Charlie was going to enjoy the time he had with his parents, with a mother who loved him and friends who would always be there.
Bailey turned to Charlie, a giant smile amplifying her Egyptian-styled eyeliner to comical proportions. Why did Bailey have to go overboard on everything she did? "It looks like the Order came through on their promises to take care of our parents. I bet your mother's over the moon with all these repairs."
Bailey was right: new paint on the house; upstairs, windowpanes where before Ellen had improvised drapes to stop drafts; even a new car. Charlie smiled. He was taking care of his mother, and it felt good.
The screen door to the all-new gray-blue house opened with a strangely musical clatter, slamming into the wind chimes lining the front porch. Charl
ie's mother, Ellen, came tearing out of the house, fiery red hair billowing behind her, stripping herself of and balling up her apron all in one motion and tossing it behind her.
"Charlie Burrows, get over here!" she cried just moments before her embrace hit him with a force he imagined a squirrel would feel hugging the grill of a Mack truck. Somehow she grabbed Mick and Bailey without releasing Charlie and pulled them all into a massive bear hug.
It was a strange feeling for Mick, to be pulled into this familial embrace. He had been without a family for so long. The foster homes were fine, but the adults never hugged him, at least not like this. He felt warm all over and kind of awkward at the same time. After all, this wasn't his mother and he didn't want to step on Charlie's toes. Ellen seemed to sense this and ruffled his hair as she finally released them.
"You're family now, Michael, so you'd better get used to hugs." She smiled straight at him, and the warm feeling that was in Mick's chest spread all the way to his toes. The incessant talk of a woman deprived of someone to look after for too long took over. "So tell me. How was your flight? Did they feed you? I was listening to a news program that said airplanes are charging for everything now, including meals. I think it's outrageous! You spend a small fortune on a ticket and they still find a way to get more money out of you."
Ellen abruptly stopped and took a second look at her son. "Charlie Burrows! What are you wearing?" The accusation in her tone and eyes made Charlie feel guilty. He wasn't wearing anything out of the ordinary; a green polo shirt, tan cargo pants, white Nikes he'd owned forever. Granted, everything hung on him a bit baggily because he was so thin, but not as much as it had this time last year. Charlie's freckly arms were still thin, but a new layer of wiry muscle covered his boniness. The past four months of weapons training with Marley had seen to that. Shouldn't she be more upset at Bailey's drastic transformation?
