Something Else
Chapter 1

Istare helplessly at the grey walls outlining the room. There are no windows, nodoors, no means of escape. I search for any open routes. There aren't any. Weare all here for a reason. We are here, because we are the problems no onewants to solve.

Iglance behind me at a wooden row of desks. No one looks truly focused. Probablybecause all the focused kids sit in the front. It kind of is your basic class.We just don’t learn math or English. And our textbooks were published beforethe public school system was established. And also we learn about mythicalcreatures that are not so mythical.

Luckily,this will be my last year in this class. I'll be doing a different set ofcourses next year. The faculty finally realised that I’m a special case andshould be given a specific schedule for my particular set of skills.

Iwish they let us out of this school more frequently. We all do. The Finishingacademy for elite students. Very elite, considering you have to be part of an endangeredspecies to enroll. We hardly get to leave even though we are only an hour awayfrom New York City. I would love to go see the skyline.

Thisis decidedly the worst class on my schedule. Everyone is starting to getrestless. The atmosphere in here is humid and claustrophobic it feels likesomeone has sucked all the moisture out of the air in the room, and then suckedall the air out of the room

It’sdifficult for me to focus right now, because I don’t sleep very well at night.This place has a bad vibe. All those abandoned rooms and dark hallways withnegative energy coming from them, My dorm room is at the end of the hall nextto a door that no one is allowed to open. My roommates and I swear that we’veheard footsteps outside our door more than once. I’ve had one too manynightmares waking me up in shrieks or tears. I’d love to just take a quick nap andit can’t hurt. If I have a nightmare everyone will think I’m having some kindof break down or panic attack and send me to the nurse.

Andthen I finally do start to dream, because I'm exhausted and this lecture onfairy species variations is so dull that I want to die and I am a second awayfrom announcing that to the entire class and get sent to some mental healthward for suicidal behaviour.

Suicidalbehaviour. It has been a long time since any of our kind has shown anyinclination of wanting to end our misery. We haven’t had any misery to endlately. I don’t think we have had any suicides since the before I was born andthere was a lot of suffering and dying and war.

Ohgreat now I am going to fall asleep feeling all depressed and thinking aboutdeath and have a nightmare. I hope that I at least don’t drool.

***

I'min what I think is a meadow or was at some point. The flowers crowd my baretoes. They are all dead. Lifeless. I bury my toes in the yellow, straw grass.I'm wearing a beautifully woven garment with yellow fibres to make a radiant,glowing sun dress.

Iwalk along the meadow alone and start humming a song. I don’t recognise thetune, but I start singing the lyrics randomly. “Walking alone. Alongside thestones. The place I’ve been grown, to always replace home. This place is empty,but I’m surrounded. There’s no one around, but it is crowded. People are sofragile, they are so easy to break. Just look around at my broken dolls, thisis their storage place. It’s where I keep a keepsake of all my rotting brokendolls. Like memories of my youth as I begin to fall. I miss them all, but nowit’s dark and time to sleep. Lay down and let yourself dream.

Iwrite down the time that I got to playwith them before they broke and don’t work anymore. I don’t like playing withbroken dolls. They’re no fun at all. Dig a hole and throw them away. Unless Ifeel like bringing them back another day. Dead dolls, dead dolls, cemetery ofdolls. Lay there a long time, there my toys I’ll do what I want because it’s mychoice,” I sing out the lyrics to an ominous harmony.

I’venever heard those words before; at least I think I haven’t . . .

Then,suddenly it all comes back to me.

Thescenery changes, now my dream melts into a memory.

I’min a wooden house and my family is below me. This place is a small, one story, little,remote cabin. The walls are all a dark blue colour except for the occasionalstreaks of dark red. Old blood stains that were remnants of stories I willnever get to hear. There are about six rooms. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, the diningroom and the office. My cousins, siblings and I aren’t permitted to enter theoffice. One bedroom is for my mother andmy aunts and the other is for my cousins, siblings and I. We were not rich ifit isn’t obvious enough.

There’salso a small balcony type perch on one of our two windows. It’s located higherup on the roof’s infrastructure. I’m the only one who knows how to get upthere. There aren’t stairs or anything, just a set of intervening beamscreating a passage that can be climbed to reach my perch. It is hard if youdon’t know what you are doing like I do. My mom made sure I had the strengthand know how to fight, because who else would protect my sister Karly?

Icrouch there now staring in the distance out the window. All of our neighbors’have even smaller even more crowded houses. My house holds 15 people. Thenagain, this is a poor community. Then again, our people are all poor. We aregoing through some kind of a financial problem. No one ever told me why, but Iremember the fighting, lots of fighting.

Forthe first time ever, my mom crawls up my perch and kneels next to me quietly.If I were anyone else I wouldn’t have noticed her. I didn’t even know she knewabout my hiding place, but I guess she is more than capable of tracking plainold me.

“Whatare you thinking about?” my mom asks quietly after several, long minutes ofsilence.

Iturn to look at her beautiful face, my features reflected in her own. Same longblond hair, light tanned skin, deep red lips, medium in height,- even though Ialways get treated like I am tiny- muscular build, nearly overweight from allthe muscles, but still some nice curves. Of course I am not as muscled and fitas my mom was I got more fat luckily it goes to the right places.

“Nothingin particular,” I lie smoothly. “I just couldn’t sleep and Rochelle snores soloud. My classes are so boring I am sleeping through one right now.” My momsmiles and opens her mouth as if to say something and then shuts it; resultingin another long period of silence. She tilts her head curiously and nods.

Ohdamn it. I am completely aware that I am not living this moment and it is amemory with some details probably altered by my brain. This will probably messup a memory I don’t remember and could be very instrumental to my future or topiecing together my path. Can I tell her? Tell her I miss her? She’s alreadydead. It won’t change anything. She will still be dead whether or not I tellher, but maybe it will give me closure, but it could also tamper with thismemory that might be vital. Maybe after.

“What’sgoing to happen tomorrow? I have a bad feeling and I’m getting stronger, youcan’t keep secrets from me forever!” I exclaim.

“It’syour birthday,” she replies lightly.

Suddenly,my senses seem to sharpen at the word birthday, there’s something not rightthere. It’s my birthday, but there’s something bad about that date too. Thatdate marks something. May 11th it’s someone else’s birthday.Somebody else is getting older and stronger too, and not someone good. Waitthis isn’t part of the memory this is my own instincts, my own senses.

“Whosebirthday is it tomorrow?” I ask.

“Yours,”she replies.

“Motherbesides me,” my tone getting a sharp edge.

“Someone’s…” she says her voice drifting off.

Herface is chalk white, she doesn’t want to talk to her six year old daughterabout this, but at the moment I feel much older than I am. My face is one of achild; but my eyes could’ve been a thousand years old for the amount of griefthey hold. I am not a little kid now I’m 15 year old Lacey Night who can takeit. I think she realises this.

“Oh,I can’t tell you that; you’ll make your way towards the answers. The truth willjust sting you and you’ll get burned. I don’t want more little girls to die,like how he killed me.”

“Thatdoesn’t make sense! Please elaborate,” I say widening my eyes.

“

“Mother?Who killed you! Mother what happened! Talk to me who, who killed you?” I knowmy mother was burned alive … burned alive I the house, in the neighborhood, inthe city that all went up in flames. Thousands of deaths, hers was hardlyremarkable or recognisable; barely heroic.

“Ican’t stay for long, it uses too much energy. My energy consumption is almostat an all-time low. You’re too strong for me.”

“What?I thought- but you’re- you’re way strong than me!” I say shocked.

“Notanymore,” her voice is ghostly and drifts. “But, you’re developing and I’m deadand I’m pushing alone. It would help if you could give me a hold. If you usedyour abilities too …”

“Isthis a dream or a memory?” I’m confused and disoriented.

“Oh,my dear Adeline, you are asking the right questions, to the wrong people,” thensuddenly the dream shifts as if the dream refreshed and returns to the originalcourse of the memory.

“Why don’t we go down and get you tucked in? Aren’tyou tired?”

Nowthat she’s mentioned the word tired I realise she’s right, the use of power hasdrained me Almost entirely.

Iallow her to lead me down the beams and towards my sister and cousins and I’sbedroom. I glance around at all the beds and girls within them. All my malecousins are gone now so it’s just me, Karly, my sister and my cousins:Rochelle, Minnie, Katy, Diane, Sarah, Molly, Lana and Tori.

Mysister is sleeping all curled up under my sheets, although she sleeps with mymother. She must have had a nightmare or At least sensed the unease andrestlessness and came to my bed for security.

Icarefully and silently slide in next to her as to not wake her up; but at thatmoment Rochelle had a particularly loud snore. She began to stir and finallyopened her eyes and meets my mother inquisitive look.

“Icouldn’t sleep,” she says quietly. “Can you sing a lullaby for us?”

“Ok,”says my mother. “Walking alone. Alongside the stones. The place I’ve beengrown, to always replace home. This place is empty, but I’m surrounding, there’sno one around, but it is crowded.” My mom pauses to see if we are asleep andKarly is, but she doesn’t notice that I’m not so she continues with the lessappropriate lyrics. “People are so fragile they are so easy to break, just lookaround at my broken dolls, this is their storage place. It’s where I keep akeepsake rotting broken dolls. I write down the time that I got play thembefore they broke and don’t work anymore. I don’t like playing with brokendolls. They’re no fun at all.” I don’t understand the lyrics, but they scareme, but I continue to listen curiously. “Dig a hole and throw them away. UnlessI feel like bringing them back another day. Dead dolls, dead dolls, cemetery ofdolls. Lay there a long time, there my toys I’ll do what I want because it’s mychoice,” as my mom finishes this ominous harmony.

Thetemperature in the room seems to have dropped, but only I acknowledge it.

Quietlymy mom exits the room, but I don’t fall asleep, all I can do is replay the songover and over in my head. The song scares me and I don’t even understand whatmost of it means. This frightens me even further.

***

"Whocan tell me what that is?" Asked Mr. Timmins "Lacey?" SuddenlyI'm snapped back into reality.

"Oh,what? I was busy napping. I mean seriously that's a sea shore underwaterfirefly fairy. But honestly, who cares? I certainly don't. They are rare andwhy should I care Mr. Timmins? Maybe you should teach me that." I retortannoyed

"Howabout that your aunt is the HEADMISTRESS. In fact why don't you pay her a visitright now!"

"Whatever."

Iwalk down the hall reiterating our conversation. "why don't you go pay hera visit." well fine I will. See if I care, I don't. I pass the portraitsof the past headmasters and headmistresses. There's the first headmistress Ms. AmberNight. My great, great, great, great, great lots of greats grandmother. She wasThe first Night. I'm the second last one. Well not really, there are my aunts,my father, my cousins, my uncles, my second cousins and all that. But me and mysister are the only remaining direct relatives and remaining heirs of the Nightfamily. No one else got the name. My grandmother was very pretty. She wasslaughtered at age 24. It sucks to be her. She was killed by "the mostpowerful demon ever" I don't believe that. I think they just don't want itto seem like she died in vain. Also, he died with her. That doesn't add up.When there’s so much power there's always a match or something stronger brewingon the other side. And, she fought impossibly hard, they both died. Whenever I mentionthis: my aunt screams about how I can't do better until I shut up.

ThenI recall the dream. I think I understand the lyrics now.

‘Walkingalone. Alongside the stones.’ That’s about someone walking by stones, prettyself-explanatory.

‘Theplace I’ve been grown, to always replace home.’ It’s someone’s home, but somethingis wrong.

‘This place is empty, but I’m surrounding,there’s no one around, but it is crowded.’ They’re alone, but at the timethey’re not. Maybe they are actually alone, but they think the people are stillthere. Or they feels alone or are emotionally detached, but people are stillthere.

‘People are so fragile they are so easy tobreak, just look around at my broken dolls, this is their storage place.’ I’mwrong, I’m wrong, oh I’m so wrong.

‘It’swhere I keep a keepsake of all my rotting broken dolls.’ I was wrong I didn’tunderstand at all, she is alone, but then again she’s not. ‘I write down the time that I got play thembefore they broke and don’t work anymore.’ My mother knew … how’d she know?

‘Idon’t like playing with broken dolls. They’re no fun at all. Dig a hole andthrow them away. Unless I feel like bringing them back another day.’ Who wrotethis song, this song it’s. It’s …

‘Deaddolls, dead dolls, cemetery of dolls. Lay there a long time, there my toys I’lldo what I want because it’s my choice.’ This song is about dead people andsomeone in a graveyard. My mom sang me this song the night before she died . ..

***

Iopen my eyes, how much time has it been? How long has it been? Where am I? Thenit comes back to me. I was thinking of my mother and the emotions got sostrong, I must’ve had a power surge and feinted, because I had no control andnowhere to direct my energy.

ThenI remember aunt Ronnie, I have to go visit her office.

Myaunt Ronny. The woman who raised me since my mom died. Who knows of my faults,of my talents, of my issues, everything but my secret. she knows I haveabandonment issues, but she thinks that my distrusting of people is all from mycowardly father leaving me behind, because he blames me for my mother. Justbecause I had been there and I'd done nothing. Well what was I supposed to do?I was eight.

Iknock on the heavy, locked door that opens after several long minutes. I kickit open with ease. My aunt sits on a plush velvet chair behind her mahoganydesk covered in trinkets and gadgets nowhere near as complex as the preciousitems stored in the cabinets along the walls. A woman with skin the colour ofcoffee and dark jet black hair brushes by me looking high class with a maroonlow cut designer dress and tall, classy heels.

"Move,"she barks.

"What?Who the hell do you think you are?" I ask recoiling.

"I'mfrom hell," she says flaunting her demonic features and cackling. "Ijust came to pay a visit to your dear headmistress, next stop to talk to theking." She says as she walks out the door, slamming it hard forcing me tojump out of the way.

"Paya visit?" I inquire.

"Wehad some business to discuss," she said with a hard expression.

"Asa headmistress as Veronica Landers or as a former night?"

"Allthree ...." she replies quietly as her voice trails off. She quicklycomposes herself back into headmistress.

"Payinga visit?" She asks with evident irony.

"Whyyes I am from hell," I say with just as much sarcasm.

"Towhat do I owe this pleasure-torture? Let me guess Mr. Timmins class?"

"Maybe,but auntie-"

Herexpression says everything before her mouth does. She’s too angry andfrustrated already, she doesn’t want to deal with me. Something has happenedand especially pissed her off enough so that she loses control and lets it allcome pouring out like rain.

"Nobuts Lacey this is the eleventh time this week and its TUESDAY. You’ve only had18 classes! Right now is your nineteenth. THAT'S MORE THEN HALF. ALMOST TWOTHIRDS!!!! You know what that lady demon thing WHATEVER wanted? She wanted toinform me that the demon king and his three sons are coming. You know why?BECAUSE THEY'RE LOOKING FOR A WIFE! OH AND THAT'S NOT EVEN THE BEST PART! THEREIS GOING TO BE A WAR, YOUR FATHER TOLD ME. HE WANTS HIS DAUGHTERS TO BE PICKED SOTHEY'LL BE SAFE." She yelled.

"Butdoesn't he . . ." I start, choking on my words.

"Yes,he already has exactly three daughters supposedly. Seem convenient? He wantsthem to be safe. He got married so many times on purpose. To have threedaughters. Haven't you wondered why all of his wives haven't gottenpregnant?" she replies.

Ican’t believe my father, I sicken at the thought. If I didn’t hate my fatherbefore I despise him now. My aunt also loathes him also, but my sister doesn’t.

Istare at her blankly. Trying to take in what she'd just said. This newinformation just doesn't seem possible. I can't contemplate it. One look tellsme it's true and she's sorry for saying anything. Demon war, dad doesn't care,three half-sisters, three demon boys, wives, dead mother, going to die, goingto die, going to die, going to die ...

"AmI going to die?" I ask.

"NowLacey I can't give you a direct answer-"

"AmI going to die!?" I demand.

"Mostlikely yes," she responds solemnly.

“But,I am going to do everything in my power to keep you alive and safe,” her voicefalters.

“Becausemy mother doomed me? Because the Night name is a curse disguised as an honor?Because, we will be classified as immediate threats?” I hiss with a gnarledexpression.

“LACEY!”she appears outraged and ready to slap me, but she wouldn’t dare, too manyconsequences. I’d knock her out in the blink of an eye.

“Tobe a Night is not a curse, do you know who your ancestors were!? Generals andRoyalty and-

“WillKarly die?”

Shestares at me quietly trying to dissect my emotions from my face. I quicklycompose myself so she can’t read me.

"Isthere anything I can-I can do?" I ask quietly.

"Yourmom wouldn't want this. Lacey, what you want is too much ... I know you careabout Karly, but this is just horrendous; no one should do this Lacey, not evenyou. It’s too much to ask and the consequences are too great. It’s not evenworth it, modifying yourself just to convince some demon to love you so you canincrease your chances of survival"

"PleaseAunt Ronnie this is Karly we are talking about the sensitive little girl who ,"I say quietly. "Please Aunt Ronnie, how?"

“TeachKarly how to seduce the demons, they'll take her with them and she’ll be safe.Know this though, You'd better choose carefully, only one of those boys will becrowned so there is a chance that they’ll be killed off or assassinated. That’swhat happened to your father’s sister. Also, think of it this way, how manywives has your dad had? A lot. Half of them are less than half his age. She canbe thrown out just as she can be taken in. One wrong move."

"Whatdo I have to do?" I ask, not exactly eagerly, but anxiously.

"You'll need to pay more attention inclass, also I'll have to move all her classes up to top schedule. You and I’llneed to wax her, trim her hair, put her in a dress, and make her presentableand give her a new sparkly, but superficial personality. I can let you be herguardian, but you’ll need to make yourself presentable. The other guardianswill be older, wiser, more trained, more presentable, and likable!" shereplies with a bit of a snicker at the end.

"Ugh,”I think I just threw up a little bit. The thought of it all has made me woozyand nauseous. Seriously ‘be a girl’, that's the key to survival? Beauty andtextbook? What about strength and cunning and street smart and fighting? But,sexual appeal is apparently more important!

"Wellsome boys like independence, but knowing these guys they like girly girls, theyneed to feel like the man. Think of it this way, you are both very pretty, ifyou just stopped wearing gross clothes, washed and brushed your hair, cared foryourself maybe others would too. At least Karly is something to work with. Somepeople like you, but they're SCARED to approach you. On the contrary, everyonelikes Karly!" she says in a smug voice.

Isigh. What can I do? I don't want her to die, so what else can I do? I stare atthe beautiful carvings of past headmasters and headmistresses. I look at acarving of Samuel K. Pimkstorl. He had cruel eyes with dark circles around thesurrounding area. His cheeks are pale and flushed. His hair is dark andstreaked with grey. He looks like a mean ghost. I'm so happy I wasn't alivewhen he was the headmaster. Of course I'd be dead for all the punishments andtimes I’ve gotten sent to the headmistress's office this week.

Istare at my aunt; my solemnness reflected in her white face. She recomposesherself and her tan skin returns to its usual colour.

“Dowe tell her?” I contemplate this. My sister is very sensitive; she could refuseto do this from disconformity.

“Eventually…”

“Sheneeds to know,” I whisper quietly.

“Thentell her …” mutters my aunt.

"Whendo we start?" I ask.

"Rightnow."

Chapter 1.5

“Where are we?!” I demand as shesuddenly leads me through the hall and down several flights of stairs.

“Sit!”yells my aunt fiercely. “Watch and learn.”

Itake in my surroundings. We must be in one of the former training facilities. It’smusty and abandoned and dark. They were considered too violent and dangerous sothe academy stopped using them, because of injury complaints from parents. Soof course they were forgotten and left to rot. No one has kept track of whatreally happened to them, but a lot of rumors surfaced that the teachers weresecretly training a select few.

Iwatch as she lifts up something metal and reflective and turns to face thewall.

“Ihaven’t done anything like this since I was your age. It was apparent quiteearly who the fighter in the family was. And it still is now. Just because it is just you,Karly and I, doesn’t mean there isn’t still a fighter amongst us. That is howthe Night family works. One of us has to be the fighter in the family fulltime. That’s you,” she says.

Sheruns towards the wall and I’m not sure … she tries to flip? She manages tobuild up enough force to push herself onto the wall, but she falls or ratherslips off.

“AUNTVERONICA!” I run forward to help her. But she immediately refuses and shoves meaway lightly.