THE SHRILL SOUND OF the explosion tore through the comfortable cadence of my dreams, yanking me violently up in my bed. I bolted upright, my heart pounding as though it were trying to escape the confines of my chest. Ophelia was also awoken by the sudden boom nearby. The noise had come from below, a reverberating noise that had shaken the wooden floorboards beneath my bed.
I slipped out from under my warm covers, my bare feet touching the cold wood floor, the chill of it punctuating my confused alarm. Throwing on a worn-out dress, I padded quietly out of my room, grabbing Ophelia with me, who meowed, and following the trail of the sound that had disrupted the peaceful dawn.
Descending the grand staircase, I could smell the acrid stench of smoke sneaking its way up from the basement, like a ghost seeking an escape route. It was a bitter scent that stung my nostrils and made my eyes water. Fear and curiosity clashed within me as I headed towards the source, my heart beating a tattoo in my chest.
As I approached the basement door, I saw tendrils of smoke creeping out from beneath it, reaching for me like skeletal fingers. It was an ominous sight, but I hastily pulled the door open, the old wood creaking under my touch. There, amidst the billowing smoke and sparks of wayward electricity, stood a teenage boy, around seventeen or eighteen. He was wearing thick, round inventor's glasses, the lenses obscured by the black smoke, and a black neck tie and vest that contrasted with his white inner polo. His wavy, brownish, and golden hair was a sunlit halo in the gloom, and atop it sat an inventor's hat, low on his forehead, its brim casting a shadow over his eyes.
He lifted his glasses, and the black smoke outlined them, making them seem like two hollow orbits in his face. I stood there, mesmerized, as the smoke curled around him, painting a vivid tableau of chaos and creativity.
This must be Eli, I thought. I had overheard Mamori and Lennox speak of him, mentioning a gifted orphan boy with a hobby for inventions who locks himself in the basement.
The boy turned and spotted me in the doorway, his eyes widening slightly. "What's a pretty lady doing in my workplace?" he said, his voice a rich baritone that cut through the smoke-filled air. I stood there, wordless. "You must be the newcomer everyone was talking about. I'm Eliezer Montgomery," he added, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "But most people here call me Eli. It suits my handsome face, milady." He winked at me, a playful glint in his eyes. I felt a surge of annoyance. His casual bravado, in the face of the chaos he'd caused, was both startling and irritating. Ew.
Turning my attention away from him, I let my gaze wander around the room. It was a pandemonium of mechanical wonders; contraptions of all shapes and sizes were scattered around the room, accompanied by an assortment of mechanical toys. Gears and cogs, springs and wires, all strewn across the room, an orchestra of metal and machinery.
"Lennox told me about you, by the way. It's nice meeting you, Primrose," Eli said. "She didn't lie when she said that you looked pretty."
I didn't listen to him, though. Every piece seemed to speak of hours spent toiling in solitude, of a mind that was ceaselessly creative. As I took in the sight, a mixture of awe and apprehension filled me. This was Eli's room, a world of invention and isolation.
The dust had barely settled from Eli's latest mechanical explosion when I stepped gingerly into the basement. The air was thick with the musky scent of singed metal, swirling with particles that danced in the dim light. Eli, his face smudged with soot and his hands streaked with oil, looked up from his sweeping and flashed me an apologetic grin. "Sorry, milady," he began, his voice echoing off the bare stone walls. "I didn't mean for the smoke to bother you."
His words, like the smoke, just seemed to drift past me. Instead, my eyes were drawn to the blank paper and a small bowl with a paint brush and a squeezed lemon placed on top of a table.
"What's that?" I asked.
Eli cleaned his vest as he motioned towards me. "Ah, that? Um, I'm just trying to make this invisible ink."
"Invisible what?"
"Invisble ink. Look," he motioned me to come and look at the paper.
"Like, lemon juice is mostly clear, but when you dilute it even further in water and paint that mixture onto some paper, you can't see it," he said as he scribbled something in the piece of paper.
"Your point?"
"Well, heating up lemon juice causes some of its sugars to react with oxygen in the air, a process called oxidation. This reaction turns the sugars brown. And when the invisble ink is heated, it reveals words you wrote in it," he said as he placed the paper near a lit candle. Slowly, words appeared like magic where the words "Zexy Eli" were written.
I rolled my eyes. After revealing his so-called invisble ink, I began to dismiss it and started wandering around. From a corner, Ophelia leaped out of my arms and prowled amongst the labyrinth of mechanical techs. I then stepped closer, my dollshoes clinking against the cold, concrete floor. Eli's inventions were a symphony of gears and wires, a fusion of the uncanny and the compelling. Complex contraptions filled the room.
"Did you make all these by yourself?" I couldn't help but ask, my voice barely more than a whisper.
"Yup," Eli replied simply, his gaze following mine as it roved over his creations. He regarded them with a look of humble pride, like a parent watching their child take their first steps. He's confident, huh?
My eyes were drawn to the variety of toys he'd created; their artistry was almost out of place amongst the more practical-looking inventions. They were whimsical, full of vibrant colors that contrasted starkly against the metallic gray of the room. A few steps away, a robot stood motionless. And I was like, Dang, this kid could invent really well.
"I usually create these random inventions during my free time," he said, breaking the silence. "Who knows, they might become useful someday."
I half-listened, my attention drawn to a framed photo resting atop a cluttered table. It depicted a group of immigrants, their faces etched with lines of exhaustion and hope. Among them, I spotted a younger version of Eli, his eyes sparkling with the same determination I'd come to recognize. The frame was simple, but the image it contained was a window into a past life.
"Eli," I murmured, gesturing towards the photo, "is this your family?"
He paused, his broom clattering to the floor as he joined me. "Yup," he confirmed, a wistful smile spreading across his face. "I was a son of an immigrant family before I became an orphan."
His words hung in the air. I could feel the warmth of the light bulb illuminating on top of me as I sat across from Eli on the worn wooden bench. His sunken eyes, filled with a sadness that seemed older than his years, were looking anywhere but at me. His hands were fidgeting on his lap, and his words, when he finally spoke, carried the weight of a hundred lifetimes.
"I didn't mean to pry," I said.
"No, it's okay," he replied. And then, there was silence. After he arranged his inventions and blueprints, he took the photo and sat beside me.
"I was an immigrant before I got here," he said, his voice barely audible over the gentle rustle of the leaves in the wind. The words hung in the air, heavy and stark. I was silent, allowing him the space to continue.
"Where I come from, being different is frowned upon. We always experience prejudice. Most people perceive us as threats, and the social norms that people create in order to define who is included or excluded from groups was always our main struggle. Language barriers, houses, cultural differences, and housing are just some of the many problems me and my family encounter, and sadly most people who attacked us had no idea how hard it is to pass by and overcome those problems. My family, my people, we're not treated well. But we survived those discriminations."
I took a long breath, feeling the sharp edges of his story. I tried to picture what it would be like in his shoes, but it was like trying to imagine a color I've never seen. I felt the knot of empathy and helplessness tighten in my stomach.
"And we managed overtime as well," he continued, his voice gaining strength. "I invented things, little things. Sold them. It was enough to get by, to feed my family."
There was a strange kind of pride in his voice now, a resilient echo that bounced back from the depths of despair. I could almost see the sparks of his inventions illuminating the dark corners of the basement.
"And then...," he whispered, and I could see him retreating back into his shell. "The men in black came during the most difficult times. They killed my family. My parents, my siblings, my relatives... all gone. It was an eerie sight, honestly. I was next, but...," he paused, looking at me with an intensity that took my breath away. "Miss Alice and Augustus came."
Augustus. I've heard his name since yesterday, although I haven't met him yet. He might be Miss Alice's right hand in this foster home and academy. Mamori has been mentioning him as the mentor, the person who teaches the gifted orphans to hone their gifts. He sounds like an insightful person. However, I just don't know who to trust here.
"How about the men in black, Eli?" I said. "Do you know some things about them?"
I remembered how Elliot died because of the man in black back in our home.
"I don't know much about them, Primrose," he said, his gaze falling to his hands, now still on his lap. "Just shadows and secrets. Shadows that kill and secrets that save. They're ominous forces that tend to kill and experiment on gifted beings for unknown reasons."
The air between us was filled with unspoken words. The sun had slowly risen, leaving us in the dim glow of the moon. Eli's story was etched into the air, a tale of tragedy and survival that I would carry with me forever. As I looked at him, I couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration. Maybe the reason he tends to be overconfident is because he's trying to use it as a coping mechanism.
"However, I do know that their headmaster is an evil man who acts like a puppeteer," Eli added.
"Headmaster?"
"Yup," he said, "and those that are under his command blindly follow his orders. Miss Alice mentioned to him one time that he targets gifted beings, young ones in particular, in order to experiment on them. The adult ones are adept at defending themselves, basically answers why he targets children and teens," Eli said.
Just as I was on the brink of extracting more about the men in black from Eli, an unexpected voice echoed our way, making the hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end. I pivoted on my heel, my heart pounding like a wild drum in my chest.
It was Noelle. Her eyes, as cold as the winter, pierced through me, locking onto mine with an intimidating glare. The dim light from the lone bulb hanging from the basement ceiling reflected off her tanned skin, casting eerie shadows that seemed to dance in time with my accelerated heartbeat. Eli, too, turned, his brows knitted as he asked, "Noelle?" The intensity of his gaze softened, replaced by a hint of curiosity.
Noelle's lips curled into a chilling smile as she replied, "Augustus has arrived. He needs you." Her voice was as icy as her stare, devoid of any warmth, enough to send shivers down anyone's spine. Eli, without another word, nodded and left, his footsteps echoing throughout the vast, seemingly endless basement.
And then there was silence, an uncomfortable stillness that cloaked the room, leaving me alone with Noelle in that cold, damp basement. I could feel her icy gaze following my every move. The air was thick with tension, suffocating me as I carefully navigated my way around the dust-laden furniture and cluttered shelves.
Just when I was about to embrace the solace of the hallway outside, a voice crept through the stillness. "No eres bienvenida aqui. Don't get too comfortable, girl," Noelle warned, her accent strong and with flair. "This is an academy, no es un hogar para alguien como tú."
Her lines, as cold as the basement air, hung heavy, a grim reminder of the transient nature of my stay. I clearly didn't understand what she was saying, but I paused, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of a response. My heart throbbed in my chest, beating a rhythm of defiance. I didn't need Noelle's words to remind me of my reality. I was an orphan; I knew that. But I wouldn't let anyone, especially not her, dictate how I should feel about the place that, for now, was my refuge.
"Yeah," I simply said before finally walking away.
***
It was just another ordinary day at the foster home, with the clinking of pots and pans and the cheerful chatter of the gifted orphans filling the air. Maggie and Martha had taken upon themselves the daily task of preparing the evening meal. Their hands moved in a well-practiced dance, chopping and stirring in synchrony, their laughter filling the large, rustic kitchen.
Meanwhile, the other gifted orphans were scattered around the property, some doing their assigned tasks while others played in the sun-dappled garden, their laughter echoing through the air. I could see them from the kitchen window, their figures a white blur against the backdrop of lush greenery. I was leaning against the counter, my mind adrift with thoughts not about the present but about a past that haunted me. The mystery of the men in black, the shadowy organization that played a sinister role in my father's death, still loomed over me like a dark cloud. Their faces, hidden behind the obscurity of the shadows, were never far from my mind.
I do know that their headmaster is an evil man who acts like a puppeteer, Eli mentioned earlier, and those that are under his command blindly follow his orders. Miss Alice mentioned him one time, that he targets gifted beings, young ones in particular, in order to experiment on them. The adult ones are adept at defending themselves, basically answers why he targets children and teens.
Snapping back to reality, I moved to the sink intending to wash the dirty dishes. I neatly arranged the plates and glasses above the countertop, thinking about a lot of things that made me feel confused. The world of gifted beings and their existence in the human realm is just weird. And not just that, they're somehow harmed by the men in black. As much as I want to dig into the details about the men in black, my resources are limited. I have no idea where to extract more informations.
As I placed the last glass on top of the table, a sudden tap on my shoulder sent shivers on my spine. I turned, expecting to see one of the younger orphans, but was met with a sight that left me shocked. The face that met mine was one that I had not seen in a few days. The annoying face, the arrogant officer.
What on earth is he doing here?
"Officer Leo?" I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.
The man furrowed his brows, clearly confused by my question. "What?" the man said.
"Why on earth are you here?" I asked.
"Miss, what are you talking about?" the man asked.
A closer inspection revealed the truth. This man, despite bearing an uncanny resemblance to Leo, might not be him. There was a distinct difference – his hair. It was long and swept back, unlike Leo's short, cropped hair.
"Who are you?" I asked, my voice shaky and filled with suspicion.
His confusion only deepened at my question. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the arrival of Miss Alice. She glided into the room, a vision of elegance in a black dress that contrasted sharply with her crimson lips.
"Augustus," she began, her voice laced with curiosity, "What's going on here?"
Her eyes flicked between the two of us, seeking an explanation. I took a deep breath, the odd resemblance between Officer Leo and Augustus adding another mystery to untangle.
"The girl right here must have mistaken me for someone else," Augustus said to Miss Alice, his voice as smooth as polished wood. His eyes twinkled as he looked at me, his face carved with a gentle smile that seemed almost too familiar. It was as if I was looking at a reflection, a mirror image of Leo.
"You haven't met Augustus, Primrose," Miss Alice smiled. "This is Augustus Vaughn, by the way. The mentor inside the foster home. He was gone when you woke up here since he went out in the city to buy groceries and stocks, and to also investigate on the men in black's presence."
Vaughn, I thought. He looks just like Leo and has the same surname. Does Leo have a twin he didn't tell anyone?
Miss Alice, with her jet black hair and twinkling eyes, stood beside him. She was smiling, her lips pursed in a knowing way. "Augustus, this is Primrose Dawson, our newest family member," she said, her voice a gentle lilt of laughter, as if she found my confusion amusing.
"Nice to meet you, Primrose," Augustus said, his voice ever so gentle.
My heart pounded in my chest, its rhythm matching the tick-tock of the grandfather clock that stood tall in the corner of the room. The silence that followed was thick, blanketing the room like a dense fog. The walls, adorned with ancient portraits of stern-faced ancestors and muted landscapes, seemed to close in on me. This man was a carbon copy of Leo, down to the facial features and the way his eyebrow arched when he smiled.
Could Leo have a twin? The thought came unbidden, swirling through my mind with an insistent hum. I had only been in Perthlochry before I wound up here, yet Leo's face was etched into my mind like a permanent tattoo. Of course, why wouldn't he stay in my mind. He's the most annoying, narcissistic officer I have met. If this was Leo, the idea of him stalking me was absurd, yet I couldn't help but entertain the thought. There was something uncanny about Augustus, something that reminded me of the feeling I got when I thought I saw someone in the corner of my eye, but when I turned to look, there was no one there.
I shook my head, trying to shake off the absurd notion. The rustle of my skirts seemed too loud in the quiet room. I opened my mouth to ask Augustus if he had a twin but stopped myself. There was something about the situation that seemed off. Something about the way Miss Alice was smiling, something about the way Augustus was looking at me. It didn't add up.
Instead, I forced a smile onto my face and nodded, my hand outstretched to shake his. His hand was warm, his grip firm yet gentle. It was exactly how I remembered Leo's handshake.
"I look forward to getting to know you, Augustus," I said, my voice more steady than I felt. I tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear and nodded at Miss Alice, my mind already whirling with plans.
Does Mamori know about this? She did meet Leo in Perthlochry the moment we reunited inside his office. If she knew something, she might be able to answer my questions. However, I couldn't help but wonder: Why does Augustus and Leo look so similar? And why didn't he mention anything about Leo if he indeed knew about him?