Flight of Life (Essence Series #1)

by E. L. Todd

  After his mother died, his father, Sven, began to change, and Calloway remembered the transition with clarity. The light in his eyes was absent and he had no zest for life. He passed the days in a stupor, not listening to the words Calloway spoke. When Calloway walked into his study he saw his father staring at the textbook on the desk, not really reading it because the book was upside down. Sven changed so much that Calloway didn’t recognize him anymore. The blond hair that matched his own started to fade to brown and his blue eyes lost their illumination. He walked around the house like he needed a crutch; bent at the waist with a crooked posture like a wounded soldier from battle. The prevalent muscle that used to cover his frame was absent and his body atrophied, becoming a thin skeleton with no substance. Sven never had an appetite and trashed most of their groceries because they were already expired by the time he decided to eat them.

  Sometimes Calloway wondered if he really did kill himself. There was no police investigation in his father’s death. They never pursued the mugger that murdered him. He wondered if they lied to him because of his tender age. Perhaps Aunt Grace never had the courage to tell him the truth—that his father wanted to die. He couldn’t imagine his father wanting to leave him—his only son—but the doubt still plagued his mind. Calloway refused to believe that Hawk was right—his father would never do that.

  “You may go,” Mr. Avey announced. His words snapped Calloway from his reverie. “Your hour of service is up.”

  Hawk grabbed his backpack and dashed out of the classroom before Calloway could stand. He shut the door behind him and disappeared down the hallway.

  “This feud between you needs to end,” Mr. Avey said. “You have the rest of the year to get through.”

  “I wish it was over,” Calloway said.

  “Which?” Mr. Avey asked.

  Calloway thought for a moment. “Both.”

  “Enjoy your youth while you can,” he said. “It slips away too quickly.”

  Calloway rose from his seat and placed his backpack over his shoulders. He couldn’t hide the depression he felt. The thought of his father killing himself was enough to make him lose his will. He felt the despair spread through his body like a poison and clench his heart painfully.

  Mr. Avey looked at him. “Tarry a moment, Calloway,” he said. “I have something for you.”

  “Yes?” Calloway asked. Mr. Avey pulled a medium-sized box from under his desk and handed it to Calloway. Calloway looked at the case for a moment and his eyes widened in surprise. The box depicted a picture of a personal laptop—a very expensive one. He returned his gaze to Mr. Avey. “I can’t accept this.”

  Mr. Avey smiled. “But you will,” he said. “It’s rude not to accept a gift.”

  Calloway ran his hands over the box. “I can’t believe you got me a laptop.”

  “Now you don’t have an excuse,” he said. “You better submit those essays on time.”

  Calloway shook his head. He was still recovering from the shock. When he needed to register for his exam his teacher paid for the test without hesitation, and then he covered his fee for the winter formal—Calloway was astonished. Never had anyone put so much effort in his well being other than his own family members. It wasn’t just the monetary gifts that tugged Calloway’s heart, but it was the belief his teacher had in him—that he was smart, even gifted. “Why are you doing this, Mr. Avey?”

  Mr. Avey leaned against his desk. “I want you to succeed, Calloway. There is no other reason.”

  “But why me?” he asked. “I can’t be the only intelligent student you have.”

  “No, you aren’t. All my students are smart.” he said. “But you’re the only one that is gifted—and not just in intelligence. I hate to see that potential go to waste.”

  Calloway was quiet for a moment. The words were almost too much to listen to. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

  “You are very welcome,” he said.

  Calloway placed the laptop into his backpack.

  “Don’t give up, Calloway,” Mr. Avey said. “You have a long way to go.”

  It was exactly how Calloway felt—that he wanted to give up; that this unexplained belief in him was misplaced. Calloway wondered if his teacher could read his mind. He always seemed to be in tune with his feelings, understanding exactly how Calloway felt at every moment. It was obvious Mr. Avey cared about all his students, even the ones that lacked a promising future, but Calloway felt different, special. He wondered if Mr. Avey was this invested in all of his students, but he already knew the answer—he wasn’t.

  White Wing

  The fog hung heavy in the winter air, blocking the sun in the sky and hiding the statues mounted on the grass outside the building. Calloway couldn’t see outside because the view was obscured by the heavy clouds pressed against the glass. When he was outside, the moisture soaked through his sweater and drenched his hair, making him feel a constant chill. He hated the winter season but he preferred it over the summer months—he hated riding his bike in the sweltering heat.

  They sat at the table in the Grandiose Historian Library and waited for the attack by the Hara-Kir but it never came. Calloway suspected it would happen eventually—they just had to wait. The blazing hearth warmed the large room and chased away the winter chill. The dancing flames sparkled in the crystal of the chandelier and made the glass appear to be on fire. Calloway felt cozy and at ease at the library despite the constant threat of impending death. The Headquarters had become a home away from home—a break from reality—and Calloway was glad they were there now. The thoughts of his late father drifted into his mind and made him melancholy—he tried to fight the feeling.

  “How’d detention go?” Easton asked as she wrote on her paper.

  “Fine,” Calloway answered.

  Easton looked at him. She knew there was something bothering him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Calloway was quiet for a moment. “No.”

  Breccan looked at his cousin then dropped his gaze, leaving him in peace.

  Calloway opened his backpack and removed the computer from the box. He stared at it in awe. He still couldn’t believe it was his.

  Breccan stared at the laptop. “Where did you get that?”

  Easton looked up from the Kirin Book and her eyes widened in surprise. “A laptop?” she asked incredulously.

  “Mr. Avey gave it to me today,” Calloway said simply.

  “To keep?” Easton asked.

  Calloway nodded. “Yes.”

  “Why?” Breccan snapped. “Why would he give you one? What’s his fascination with you?”

  Calloway and Easton both flinched at the venom in his voice. Breccan was more than upset by the generous gift—he was angry.

  Easton turned back to Calloway. “That was nice of him.”

  “Too nice,” Calloway said.

  Breccan shook his head. “That’s ridiculous,” he said. “Isn’t that against school rules or something? He shouldn’t shower you with such gifts.”

  “He just wants me to succeed,” Calloway argued.

  Breccan abandoned the meal he was eating and looked away. “Whatever.”

  Calloway wasn’t sure why his cousin was so angry but he didn’t press him for answers. He would wait for a better time to question his aggression.

  “Have you tried it out yet?” Easton asked.

  “No,” Calloway said as he shook his head. “I haven’t even turned it on yet.”

  The front door opened and they all froze in their seats. Calloway couldn’t remember if he locked the door but now that seemed irrelevant—another attack was coming. Calloway pulled the knife from his pocket and faced the stairway. Breccan and Easton stood beside him with their blades drawn, ready for the attack by a Hara-Kir.

  “What are you freaks doing?” Weston asked when she reached the top of the stairs.

  Calloway sighed in relief when he recognized her. He stowed his knife away and the others did as well.

  “What are you doin
g here?” Breccan asked.

  “And hello to you as well,” she said as she looked around the room. She stepped closer to them and stared at her sister.

  Breccan turned to Easton. “You told her?” he snapped. “You promised you wouldn’t!”

  “I didn’t!” Easton shouted.

  “Then why is she here?” Breccan said. “You obviously told her so stop lying about it. I knew we couldn’t trust you.”

  Easton looked like she had been slapped. “I’m not lying!”

  “Shut up!” Breccan yelled.

  Calloway touched him on the arm. “That’s enough,” he said to his cousin. “Let her explain herself.” Breccan pulled his arm away and stepped back from Calloway.

  Easton looked at her sister. “What are you doing here?”

  “I followed you,” she said she stopped in front of them. “Mother says you’re never home but you refuse to tell her where you’re going. She asked me to tail you. So what are you doing?”

  “None of your business,” Easton snapped.

  “I think it is,” she said as she looked around. She glanced to the chair and her eyes widened when she saw the Hara-Kir’s cloaks hanging off the back. She grabbed the hood and ran the material through her fingers. “What’s this?” Her voice was no longer playful. She was mad—hysterical. “Easton?”

  “It’s just a jacket,” she lied.

  Weston turned back to the other cloak and Calloway took the opportunity to cover the Kirin Book with his laptop and backpack.

  Weston threw the cloak on the ground and marched to her sister. “Tell me what you’re up to!” she yelled. “You’re dealing with something you have no knowledge of. How did you get these cloaks?”

  Easton kept her mouth shut as she stared at her sister.

  “Tell me!” Weston yelled. “You’re going to get yourself killed. I told you to stay away from them—not hunt them.”

  “What we do is none of your business,” Easton said. “You never tell me what you’re doing so I don’t have to tell you anything. You always leave me in the dark.”

  “That’s because I’m trying to protect you, Easton. I don’t want you to get killed.”

  Easton glanced at the two cloaks. “Well, we seem to be doing just fine.”

  “Now look who’s being arrogant,” she spat. “You kill two of them and now you think you’re going to save humanity?”

  “We’re going to try.”

  Weston shook her head. “What are you trying to achieve? You think the three of you can make a difference?”

  “No,” Calloway said. “And it would be nice to have help. Let us join you.”

  Weston looked at him. “We got it—but thanks.” She looked at Easton. “I can’t believe you kept this from me.” Her eyes turned soft in sadness. Calloway recognized the pain in her eyes even though she was trying to hide it. She just didn’t want her sister to get hurt—it was obvious.

  “I knew you would never approve,” Easton said.

  “That’s because you aren’t strong enough,” Weston said. “You haven’t been trained properly—you don’t know what you’re doing. I want you to stop—now.”

  Easton shook her head. “No.”

  Calloway stepped forward. “We’re just trying to help—that’s all.”

  “We don’t need any help,” Weston said. “You’re just wasting your time.”

  “Who is we?” Breccan asked.

  Weston shook her head. “None of your business,” she said. She turned to Easton. “This stops today. You’re just getting in the way.”

  “Let us help,” Calloway said. “You’re getting three extra people to aid in your cause. Why would you turn us away? If you’re uncomfortable with Easton directly fighting the Hara-Kirs she can help in some other way—perhaps research or tactics.” Weston listened to him without any interruption, and Calloway knew he was making an impression. “You can use Breccan and I whatever way you wish—just let us help. This is our Life and After-Life, too.”

  Weston sighed. “It’s too dangerous—you’re just in high school.”

  “For only a few months,” Breccan said. “We’re going to be adults soon.”

  “And you’re only a year older than us, Weston,” Easton said. “You try to act like we’re different but we really aren’t. Give us a chance.”

  Weston crossed her arms over her chest. Calloway could tell the anger behind her eyes had abated in light of their determination. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do but we already have plenty of help. Let me show you.”

  Calloway stared at her. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m going to take you to the White Wing,” she said. “Grab your stuff. We are leaving.”

  They walked back to the table and gathered their belongings. Easton shoved the book into her backpack and hid it from view.

  “We aren’t going to tell her,” Easton whispered to Calloway. He knew she was referring to the book.

  He nodded then walked to Weston and followed her out the doors. Weston got into her Honda Civic and they followed her down the road, unsure where she was headed.

  “Where are we going?” Breccan asked. “What’s she going to show us?”

  “I don’t know,” Easton said. “But I hope she reveals what she’s been doing in secret.”

  “Are we telling her about the book?” Breccan asked.

  “No,” Calloway said quickly. “Let’s wait and see what we find out. I have a feeling that she would take it from us if she knew.”

  Breccan nodded. “I would have a hard time resisting her.”

  Easton rolled her eyes. “My sister isn’t that pretty,” she said. “You just like her because she’s older—in college.”

  Breccan laughed. “No, that isn’t why. She’s pretty—young or old.”

  Calloway wasn’t interested in this topic. “Are we going to continue fighting on our own?”

  “I don’t see why not,” Easton said as she followed Weston down the street. “This doesn’t change anything. I can already tell she isn’t going to let us join her.”

  “You still want to even after she explicitly forbade you?” Calloway asked.

  Easton rolled her eyes. “Why does she get to have all the fun?”

  Calloway looked at her. “You can bow out,” he said. “We wouldn’t judge you if you decided to.”

  “We’re in this together, Calloway,” she said. “To the end.”

  Fighting the Hara-Kirs was something Calloway didn’t want to do alone and he was thankful she was committed to the task. Since she was the only one who could decipher the text she was irreplaceable—he couldn’t lose her. Calloway nodded. “Okay.”

  Easton turned on the main street and followed Weston to Fresno University. “Where’s she going?” she asked. They followed Weston down the road past the classroom building until they came to a deserted street obscured by the large trees of the forest. They stopped the Mustang for a moment, looking into the darkness and the red lights on the back of Weston’s car, and then continued to tail her. As they followed her down the path, they felt themselves pull away from modern society as they entered the isolation in the surrounding trees of the backlands. There were no streetlights along the dirt road and the gravel crunched under the tires, making their progress to the White Wing slow. The landscape was difficult to see, and Calloway stared into the blackness and wondered what he was looking at—there could be a wolf out there.

  “Are we still on campus?” Breccan asked.

  They finally emerged from the trees and found a large white building in the center of the open glade that was surrounded by other white structures, which were smaller and covered in windows. There were streetlights around the building, and it highlighted the pure colors of the painted walls.

  “Maybe these are the dorms?” Calloway asked.

  “Well, that’s one long walk to class,” Breccan said sarcastically.

  Easton followed her sister to the rear of the glade and she parked her vehicle next to W
eston’s. They stepped out of the car and stared at the building in the center of the formation. It was three stories high and covered with tinted windows. The paint was so bright it shined in the light of the streetlamps. The building looked forsaken and deserted.

  “What is this place?” Easton asked her sister.

  “The White Wing,” Weston said as she walked toward the entrance.

  “The what?” Breccan asked.

  Weston sighed. “Just follow me,”

  They came to the red doors that marked the entrance to the White Wing. The doorway was tall and wide, allowing all of them to walk in at once. Calloway stared at the walls of the building and understood why they titled the building with such a name. Other than the doorway, everything was a pristine white—unusual in its brightness.

  Weston opened the door and walked inside. They followed behind her and entered a large parlor that housed three grand fireplaces on the three walls. There were cushioned chairs dispersed in the room along with couches and matching coffee tables. It reminded Calloway of a study room except it was more relaxed, like a quiet social room. The tinted windows limited the light that came into the room and the roaring hearths eliminated the shadows in the corners. There was a large, dark-wooden staircase in the rear that led to the upper floors. Most of the furniture was white and it accentuated the dark color. The inside of the building was completely opposite of the outside and Calloway noticed the difference. The homey feel of the room was evident to Calloway and he immediately felt comfortable. He wished he could lounge in the chair by the fireplace and forget about the winter chill outside. If this was what college life was like he couldn’t wait to graduate high school.

  Weston ascended the staircase and they followed behind her. Calloway noticed the absence of people in the lobby and he wondered where they were—it wasn’t late. When they got to the second floor, Weston turned to the right and progressed down a hallway that opened into two different rooms. One of these areas was padded everywhere. The walls were covered in a brown mattress and the floor had a light layer of cushion. The walls were covered in swords and small hand blades and Calloway felt his spine shiver—it looked like a slaughter house.