Chapter 6

After surviving two more classes, it’s lunch time. I bolt outside to wait for my oldest brother, Jake. He always walks down here from the base to see me. Normally I can see him by the time I get to the gate, but he must be running late today.

I lean against the gate, letting the brisk autumn breeze tousle my hair. It’s a little chilly out here, despite my sweater. I still can’t see Jake, so I sit down and take out my book. I read mindlessly, not following the story at all. I’m too distracted, thinking about how close I came to another “episode” with Alistair. I know that I’m just paranoid; nothing’s wrong. He’s just a boy who came a little too close.

I put the book down; no use losing my page when I’m not even paying attention. I can’t stop thinking about Alistair and not-Alistair. I haven’t seen them since my first class, not even at lunch. I deliberately avoided my locker, which might have something to do with it. I never eat lunch in the cafeteria, since I always spend it with Jake. He still hasn’t come. I resign myself to eating alone and unwrap my cold sub sandwich. I eat in silence, not bothering to move my legs from their cramped position. The spiciness of the salami irritates my dry throat, and I cough. I reach for my bottle of iced tea, but I knock it over.

“Here you are,” a voice says quietly from above. I look up. It’s Not-Alistair. Alistair stands behind him.

“This is my brother,” he says. “Alex, meet Kiera.”

I nod noncommittally in his direction as the brothers sit down, one on each side of me. Lovely.

I’m nervous, all of a sudden. I tense, debating on whether or not I should stand and leave. What right do they have, hemming me in like this, anyway? I rise to my feet, ready to take refuge in the girls’ bathroom.

I speed-walk to the entrance, not looking back. I reach the bathroom, throw away my sandwich wrapper, and lock myself into a stall. There, I calm myself down and rebuke my idiotic fear of people. They were just being friendly! And now they, like everyone else, think that I’m completely insane.

I’ve spent years convincing myself that I really do not care about what people think of me. It works most of the time. It doesn’t now. I lean into the wall of the stall and fight the tears that well up in my eyes. It hurts when no one understands you. But it hurts even worse if you’re caught hurting.

Absentmindedly, I text Jake to let him know where I was. I wait a few minutes to let the swelling in my face go down. I can hear other girls talking loudly and laughing with each other. As much as I despise the cheerleader-types, I envy that they have friends, however fake they may be.

I used to be popular. Back before my mother died. Back when I wasn’t weird. As soon as I started having trouble, all of my so-called “friends” left me, afraid that their reputations would be tarnished by hanging out with me. Eventually, I went from longing for friends to despising and fearing people in general. All except my brothers. Of course, I haven’t told them about my…condition. They both chalked it up to not enough sleep and a lot of grief. Aidan forgave me immediately for breaking his nose, but I’ve never forgiven myself for it.

Once the last of the girls leave, I shuffle out and wash my face. I check my phone; Jake still hasn’t responded to me. And I’m two minutes late.

Chapter 5

Alistair followed his target down the hall with his eyes. She definitely had a Power; he could sense it. His hidden cat ears twitched at the thrum her presence made, and the tattoo on his neck throbbed painfully, a sure sign that she was an Inborn even if she hadn’t given it away with her attitude.

The tattoo was a rune, part of an ancient alphabet. So ancient that no one even knew what society used the runes. Pity that was too, seeing as the runes held unimaginable power. Each of the 500 runes had unique properties, but they all had two basic abilities. One, that once invoked, a rune could transport its user to the world that it represented. Two, a written rune would glow and pulsate when in the presence of an Inborn. The only thing that prevented Alistair’s tattoo from perpetually throbbing was the symbol tattooed on the inside of his arm. This rune was of the same alphabet as the other. Its unique power was to deaden the abilities of any of its fellow runes.

The bell ran, but Alistair ignored it. He had other things to do. He checked his watch; Alex should be watching Kiera by now.

Alistair fished a pair of gloves out of his pocket. They were minutely accurate replicas of Kiera’s hands and would leave her fingerprints anywhere they touched. Cornelius had acquired them from a friend of his out in Italy. The Italian had made them using only a government printout of Kiera’s handprints as a baby.

This was probably an unnecessary precaution, but Alistair didn’t feel like taking any chances with this new target. Things might not go as planned.

He produced an expensive lock-pick set and set to work removing the standard combination lock on the target’s locker. Alistair worked quickly and quietly. Within seconds the lock lay disabled in his hand. He pocketed it, replaced it with a different one, and set the combination.

Alistair checked his watch again. He was making good time; only 8 seconds had gone by. It would be a simple matter to erase that from the school’s recorded surveillance footage, supposing Alex hadn’t replaced the disc like he was supposed to. Not that Alistair expected him to. Both twins were very efficient in the art of secrecy. That was why they were the youngest (and best) of their Order. Alistair’s tail flicked with pleasure at the thought, unseen by any of the “regulars,” even if there had been any around.

A student ran by, late for some class or other. Her coffee-colored hair came halfway down her back, held back only by a thin headband.

The rune pulsed intensely. Kiera was too far away to have triggered it. The girl was an Inborn. Not nearly as potent as Kiera, but she was still pretty formidable. She didn’t even turn to look at Alistair. He was just a little disappointed; watching Kiera was going to be a little boring for a while and a good fight would help to motivate him.
Alistair stopped by the small security booth as a matter of routine and peeked through the window. Alex had indeed replaced the disc. Good.

Alistair activated his watch with a verbal password and sent a voice message to his parents, letting them know what Phase 1 was complete. It was completely mundane to anyone who may have been listening; just a message from a boy to his parents letting them know that he was okay after the international flight.

He had put it off as long as he could, but there was no avoiding it now. He heaved a sigh and walked to his first class.

Of all the missions we could have gotten, we get one where we have to go to school, he thought.

Chapter 4

I make my way to my locker, trying to avoid touching anyone. I always wear a sweater with extra-long sleeves to help prevent it. I would wear gloves, but that would draw too many questions.

My locker is way at the end of the hallway, deep within the blueprint of my school. A few people brush by me accidentally. Most ignore me, as I do them. But one boy turns and asks me something. I can’t hear what he’s saying. “What’d ye say?” I say, my Irish brogue thick with irritation.

“Can you direct me to locker 472?” he says in a British accent. He’s obviously new, and maybe not so bright. We’re standing right in front of locker 403. “That one’s away down there,” I point. I realize that his locker is next to mine. Up until now, I’ve had the last locker on the end of the row. It’s been separated from the other lockers by two empty ones. Well, there goes my corner.

I begin to walk down the hallway, hoping that the new kid will keep his distance. He looks kind of like a scene kid. Tattoos sleeve, jet-black hair with blue streaks in it, long black nails, and way too much eye make-up.

Obviously it isn’t my lucky day. He follows me closely. So closely that I can feel his body heat. I quicken my steps to put some distance between us. He won’t take the hint. By the time I reach my locker, I’m sweating. I don’t like being close to people. Especially ones I don’t know.

I work the combination on my locker with shaky fingers, and slip my books out. The new kid waits until I’ve finished before he opens his locker.

“You know,” he says, his voice echoing in the empty locker. “You really should relax. I’m not nearly as crazy as I look.”

Oh thanks. I feel so much better, I sarcastically think to myself.

“My name is Alistair,” he continued in spite of my silence. “Yours is Kiera?”

My head snaps up in surprise. “And how ye be knowin’ that?”

“Well, for starters, you’re carrying your schedule in your hand and it’s got your name on it,” Alistair said. “And you’ve written your name on your notebook. In black marker.”

I look down, even though I know what he says is true. “Eh. Well, I’ve a class to go to,” I say, embarrassed. I turn about and walk back down the hall. It’s nearly empty now. Everyone glances at me, and then turns back to whatever they were doing.

As I turn the corner into my homeroom, I catch sight of Alistair. How did he beat me here? No, it isn’t Alistair. It’s someone else. They look remarkably similar, though. Definitely related. Possibly twins.

He looks at me. No particular emotion, just glancing. Studying me. Whatever he’s doing, it’s uncomfortable. I move behind Ray, the tallest girl in the 10th grade.

“Hey, Kiera!” she says cheerfully. She just won’t give up. I’ve worked hard on my antisocial exterior, so it’s a little frustrating. I nod in return, not looking at her.

When I take my seat, not-Alistair glances over again. The way he’s doing it isn’t suspicious, but I still don’t like it. I guess I’m a little paranoid. Fortunately, my seat is nearest the door. I’ve been known to take off for no apparent reason before.

…

The lesson is boring, as is regrettably typical of high school. I read the assigned work to myself. I don’t understand why class takes an hour when I can read the material to myself in less than 10 minutes.

It looks like Not-Alistair is doing the same thing. I read quickly, competing in a race that he doesn’t know about. He tries to sneak a look at me, but I see it. What is with him?

I hear a snicker behind me. I don’t bother looking. It’s Lainey, the most gossip-hungry girl at school. Lovely. By noon, the whole school will think I’ve been flirting with not-Alistair. There goes my whole “unfriendly-so-leave-me-alone” persona.

Chapter 3

“REPORT TO HEADQUARTERS!”

It’s 5:30am. I wake up immediately to the thunderous voice of my father, Lt. Colonel Finn MacLeanard. He thinks that army principles should be applied to all areas of life, particularly child-rearing. Consequently, for the last 13 years of my life, he’s woken me and my brothers up in this rather inconvenient manner. Luckily for them, they’ve moved out now.

I swing my feet out of my bed, and run downstairs in what I slept in, black sweatpants and oversized band t-shirt. “Headquarters” is the kitchen. I stand at attention, the effect mostly spoiled by my disheveled hair and the dark circles under my eyes. My father looks me over as if I were a real soldier in the army, although he ignores my bed head and sleepy face. He nods. “Dismissed,” he says.

I know what you’re thinking. Really, I don’t know why he insists on this ritual every morning. I am now free to perform my daily routine to get ready for school. I take a shower, attempt to comb my wildly curly red hair, and get dressed. As I look myself over in the mirror, I sigh in irritation. My pale skin looks sickly, and my dark red hair looks no better than when I woke up. Only my eyes look fine, other than the ever-present dark circles. Most people don’t notice those, though. My eyes are such a bright shade of green, uninterrupted by any other colors. I do have to admit, they are…noticeable, though I certainly wouldn’t call them beautiful.

I turn to grab my black messenger bag and toss my notebook, also black, into it. I also dump in a few differently colored mechanical pencils. I can’t stand the normal kind of pencils; I only use mechanical.

I return to the kitchen, where I make myself a smoothie out of strawberries, yogurt, and bananas, with a little bit of honey. I put it in the freezer to chill until I was ready for it.

My dad is waiting for me in the living room. He doesn’t say anything at first. Then, “DROP AND GIVE ME 50!” I honestly can’t fathom why he feels the need to scream his head off at me when I’m only about 6 feet away from him. Without a thought, I drop to the hard wood floors and begin the required daily regimen. After 4 and a half minutes of push-ups, I finish my fiftieth and rise to attention until the next order.

Some of you may think that the calisthenics would be pure torture. You would be absolutely right. Even though I’ve done this since I can remember, my muscles still groan and protest in the morning. The one pro in this is that I’m fully awake once I’ve finished.

The bus shows up outside the front window. I grab my smoothie and dump it into a tall disposable cup, then rush out the door.

The driver doesn’t even look at me. We’ve never been on good terms with each other. I move past the empty seats in the front; I like to be by myself. I sit in the fourth-to-last bench, far enough from the rough crowd at the back, but still far away from the band geeks and everyone else.

My stop is the first on the route, so there’s no one else there. I slowly retreat all the way into own thoughts, unaware of the shiny, tough vinyl bench, or the cool autumn breeze catching in my hair. The bus fills with students, all sitting in their usual seats. No one sits near me. It’s always this way.

It’s not necessarily that people don’t like me. I just don’t generally like them. It wasn’t always like this, though. Mostly after my mother died in a drunk driving accident two years ago. It was about a year before we moved from Ireland.

My mother and I weren’t especially close. I’ve always been more of a daddy’s girl. But of course, I was still really sad. That probably has something to do with it.

The first day it happened was about three days after my mother’s death was confirmed. I passed my brother Aidan in our narrow hallway. He was 17 at the time, and I was 13. When we passed, his hand brushed my arm. I suddenly felt split; torn apart to become two people. I could feel his every thought, and I knew every thought he had ever had. I saw myself stumble through Aidan’s eyes, felt his worry, and my own panic. Actually, I’m not really sure which one of us was doing the panicking. It was probably both.

Aidan reached down to steady me. I thrashed about—his touch was physically hurting me. My fist accidentally connected with his nose. We both felt the crunch of his nose breaking. He jumped back, severing the physical contact. Immediately everything cleared and I was myself again.

I was hysterical, crazed and disoriented. Only when he was sleeping peacefully in the hospital bed did I finally calm down.

At the time, I didn’t know that the whole episode had happened because of physical contact. Naturally, it happened again. My gym teacher was the next unfortunate victim of my terror. He ended up with an elbow in his gut. Then it happened a third time with at cashier at a superstore. She had just given me my change. As luck would have it, her fingers touched mine. That time it wasn’t as painful, so no one got hurt. I left having exchanged nothing but a grimace and a sideways glance with the cashier.

As I lay in my bed that night, not sleeping, I pieced things together. Something that I can’t explain happened. Something was awakened in my by my mother’s death. I have the power to feel people. Some are gentle. Some people have serious mental issues. And some people are just plain stupid. Whatever the case is, it’s always painful finding out, especially if it’s by accident.

Chapter 2

75 feet above their underground gym, the Buthinghams congregated around the large oak dining table. Stacked upon the dark wood were four piles of papers. Each bore the name “MacLeanard”.

Cornelius distributed the stacks, moving his teacup and saucer out of the way. “We’ve got a new mission, people,” he said informatively.

Nana and Sasha leaned forward and examined their papers while the twins exchanged grins.

The stacks of paper were files on a high-ranking military official, Stephen MacLeanard. According to his file, he had once been part of the RAF of England. In 1998, he had switched his citizenship suddenly and left for the United States, where he had enlisted in the US Army 1 year later.

“What’s it this time, dad?” Alistair asked. In the past, most of their missions had been attacks or infiltrations on the Russian government. Often they got a mission in Scotland, Ireland, or Canada. Rarely in the USA. England just didn’t have any issues with the States. At least, not many.

“Naturally, we spy on MacLeanard,” Cornelius said.

The twins visibly deflated. “Only spying? That’s it? No kidnapping? No--” Alex pouted. Alistair finished for him. “No action?”

“No, boys,” Cornelius said unsympathetically. “There might be time for that later. But for now, your target is actually not MacLeanard himself. That’s for your mum and I to worry about. It’s his daughter that you’ll be after.”

Chapter 1

“That’s all you’ve got?” Alistair challenged his brother. Swinging the curtain rod behind himself, Alistair brought it down with a resounding CRACK, just as Alexander raised his makeshift shield. It was only a garbage can lid.

The impact jarred his arm, so he easily switched to his right hand until the numbness stopped. “Really?” Alex panted. “That line is way overused,” he added, blocking another swing from Alistair.

The simulated asphalt ground crunched under their feet as they continued sparring.

Alistair, though the younger of the twins, was slightly taller and more muscular than Alexander. Even so, he moved with natural grace and ease.

Alexander, at 5’11, was 2 inches shorter than Alistair, as well as more slender. He was a born fighter, with quick eyes and lightning reflexes.

“Alright, boys. Your time is up.”

The wide alley in which they were fighting winked out, replaced by the stark white walls and padded floor of the gym. At the door stood Nana, the boys’ wizened old grandmother. She looked as if she’d stepped straight out of a storybook, with her white hair and apron. All she was missing was a tray of steaming cookies.

Alex and Alistair put their improvised weapons away and shook hands. They looked like mirror images of each other, both dressed in the same black pants and T-shirt.

“That’s another time we didn’t finish, eh Allie?” Alex commented.

Alistair chuckled and retorted. “It seems so. You just can’t beat me, Xan, can you?”

Nana interrupted the playful banter. “Now, now boys. Do you want your tea or not? Quit playing around.”

“Yes, Nana,” the twins answered in unison. For 16-year-olds, they sounded remarkably like young children after a scolding.

…

In front of the elevator that led to the normal part of the house, Alex paused to let Nana go ahead. In doing so, he stepped into the path of an invisible laser beam. An alarm sounded, and gas-releasing crystals began raining down.

Instinctively, Nana and the boys held their breath and formed a defense triangle. “7 o’clock!” Alistair warned the others. Scarcely had he finished, when the first bullet went flying over their heads. A shower of metallic “BAMs” followed it.

“It’s only a robot!” Alex said, almost disappointedly. “It can’t aim.” He was right; embedded in the wall was a gun, fired at random intervals by an electronic hand. “This is just an insult,” Alistair griped, still conserving his breath. Picking up a chunk of wall that had broken off, he hurled it with amazing accuracy at the mounted gun. The projectile broke into pieces on impact, but it accomplished Alistair’s intention, knocking the robotic hand off of the trigger. The shooting stopped.

The British family sighed inwardly (it wouldn’t be very smart to sigh literally; they were still in a room full of gas). They once again backed into a defensive position. All knew that this was only an exercise designed by Cornelius. There was bound to be more.

The gas dissipated, but no one let their breath out. The air was almost definitely still tainted, and they could still go about 2 more minutes without air.

Alex cast about for a door. The elevator had been blocked off. Nana spotted it first; whirling midair with a perfect roundhouse kick, she broke down the hidden door.

All three exited the poisoned room, coming face-to-face with Sasha.

She clicked a button on a small black wristwatch. “What happened?” she asked in surprise and concern. “A whole minute? Are you two feeling well?” Sasha raised her hands and felt her sons’ foreheads.

“Sorry, mum,” Alex apologized, bowing his head in shame. His black hair fell forward, revealing the tiny scar on his neck. He looked up, his long, dark eyelashes hovering over bright, clear blue eyes. The effect stirred up Sasha’s motherly instincts, which was exactly Alex’s intention.

“Oh, it’s fine, love. Not as if it happens all the time,” she said, running to embrace Alex. Alistair winked at his brother, emerald eyes sparkling. Besides this difference in eye color, Alex and Alistair had perfectly identical faces. Dark, bold features and long, straight noses were complemented by light, clear complexions.

Both boys had small tattoos located on the inside of their upper arms, signs of the order to which they belonged.

“Sasha, how are they to become the best of our order in you keep coddling them?!” A deep voice boomed the words. Out walked the owner of the voice, who had been concealed in a compartment in the wall.

Cornelius Buthingham was a surprising figure for anyone who had already heard him talk. He was rather small, with a twiggy frame and scraggly, thin hair.

“Well, the best agents were all excellent charmers,” Nana argued as she tried to hide an amused smile.

Cornelius threw his hands up in mock exaggeration. “Really, boys, I would think that you could at least get yourselves out of such a simple predicament! Your grandmother had to save your arses!”

Nana drew herself up indignantly. “Well, you sure are one to talk, Cornelius! You couldn’t even put together a proper test!”

“Seriously--” Alistair began.

“That’s just--” Alex joined him.

“An insult to our dignity and intelligence!” They finished together.

“Did you really think we couldn’t get out of that? We were waiting for the armed force of enemy robots or something,” Alex added.

Sasha cut Cornelius off before he started. “Well, why don’t we continue this over tea, shall we?”