Chapter One
Monday
The kitchen still held the scent of coffee and toast although Aislen’s parents had both already gone for the day, Patrick to his new position at Zeus Forest Works, and Tiffany to the accountant’s office where she had found a part-time role as receptionist. Aislen was relieved to have the house to herself. She was nervous about her first day at Havermouth High School, and having Tiffany fuss over her would just make things all the worse.
Tiffany meant well, but in recent years, they had grown apart as mother and daughter, and Tiffany seemed perpetually disappointed and disapproving of Aislen from top to toe. She would critique Aislen’s hair, make up, and the way she wore the uniform, tearing Aislen’s self-esteem to shred whilst doing so, right when Aislen needed all the confidence she could muster.
She decided against eating, her stomach churning with nerves, but forced herself to drink a cup of tea, before heading to the bathroom to brush her teeth and do a final inspection of her reflection. She was what Tiffany would be had her mother not been on a restrictive diet her entire life, and had she not had an addiction to the bleach bottle. Aislen’s hair sprung in wild, thick brunette ringlets around her face despite her best efforts to tame the mane, and she was curvy to the point of plumpness – something that Tiffany had been trying to fix since Aislen turned thirteen. Only now that Aislen was less than a month from turning eighteen, had Tiffany finally given up the battle.
Aislen tugged at the gray, pleated uniform skirt. Tiffany had procured her uniform for her, and the girl who had worn the skirt before had tailored it, lifting the hem so that it brushed just above Aislen’s knees. She was certain she was going to get a warning for it. What a way to start at a new school. As if starting in the final term of the final year wasn’t problematic enough.
“f**k it,” she sighed and grabbed her school bag from the hall table.
It was a short walk between her house and the school, and even though she wasn’t particularly familiar with the route, having only had the weekend to get to know the town, it was not difficult as there were plenty of other students in the blue and gray uniform walking the same way.
Aislen’s nerves were picking at the mental wards she’d spent precious time that morning re-enforcing, and the thoughts of the students around her, and the people in the houses, were whispering, whispering at the back of her brain.
The family gift, her grandmother had told her when it had come to Aislen along with her menses at thirteen. As old as history, dating back to the oracles that had once been worshipped in temples, something passed through their bloodline but only ever given to the women. And, as such, it was not for the men to know of. Nor anyone not of the blood. A secret for them to keep.
The telepathy was something confusing, inconvenient, and increasingly isolating at a time when most people were wanting to get close to others and explore their sexuality. Not even Aislen’s father knew what he’d passed to his only daughter, and therefore, when her grandmother died before Aislen’s fourteenth birthday, leaving her with one summer’s training at controlling her new ability, and a grimoire passed down through generations of women, Aislen had been left with no one to talk to about it.
The wards Aislen had learned from her grandmother were like iridescent bubbles. One that wrapped around her brain, and others that enclosed the thoughts of those around her, so that as the crowd thickened towards the school entrance, it was like walking through a sink of soap suds. Each soapy bubble, with its deceptively pretty rainbow of colour, a fragile surface. They would hold sometimes, and the thoughts that filtered through would remain like whispers in another room.
But the more stressed out Aislen grew, or the more people she was surrounded by, the thinner the surfaces until the tension built to the inevitable POP! And all their thoughts would tumble into her mind until she did not know her own from theirs.
At her old school, she’d convinced the school nurse that she suffered from migraines and would frequent the quiet rooms during recess and lunch, with the curtains drawn, whilst she meditated into calm, and restored the wards into place so that she could attend the next lessons of the day.
She was going to have to break in a new nurse, she thought ruefully as she tried to maintain calm whilst navigating the unfamiliar school grounds, watching for signs that said: “front office.”
She didn’t need to be a telepath to know that there was something in Havermouth’s water that was different from anywhere else – she just needed a set of eyes. The students around her were like supermodels pretending to be teenagers. Tall, lean, with perfect hair and white teeth flashing in grins as they greeted each other. The uniforms even looked different on them, more glamorous, as if they wore the designer version.
Oh, sure, there were ugly ducklings amongst the crowd – enough that she didn’t feel like she stood out like a sore thumb, but overall, the teenagers in Havermouth were gorgeous.
It wasn’t until a tall blonde girl brushed up against her in the crowded hallway that Aislen realized why. Werewolves. She’d read about them in the grimoire. Not a lot, and what was there was ancient. Something about pack hierarchy, and full moon ritualistic hunts. Havermouth was home to a werewolf pack. That was new. She’d half believed that the writing was just fantasy – except that most of what was written in the grimoire related to her telepathic and empathic ancestresses, so she had to give the other writing some credit.
She was quite certain that there weren’t werewolves in Kabramatta. Maybe it was too hot there, she decided as she queued at the reception desk. A gorgeous russet-haired young man with a grin that made her heart hammer in her chest, was completing paperwork for an excursion the following week that had been incorrectly filled in the first time.
“Do you need it signed again?” He asked.
“It’s okay, Cameron. We have your mother’s signature on the original document. We’ll clip them together,” the receptionist assured him warmly, before turning to Aislen with a faintly puzzled frown. “How can I help you?”
“Hi, I’m transferring in?” Aislen moved to stand at the desk next to the stunning redhead. He even smelled great she thought. A subtle cologne, herbal, mixed with fresh air and a mysterious musk that was just all him but that had her hyper-aware of the chafe of her lace bra against her n*****s, and the throb of blood to her clit as if it were begging for him to touch it.
“Ah, yes,” the receptionist flicked through the paperwork on her desk allowing Aislen a moment to compose herself. Her skin felt hot and her ribs tight around her lungs. She could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on, the thoughts of those around her growing louder as Aislen’s grip on the ward weakened.
“Aislen Carter?” The receptionist asked as she produced an A4 envelope with Aislen’s name on it.
“That’s me,” Aislen managed a weak smile.
The redhead was watching her out of the corner of his eye as he filled in the excursion form. When their eyes met, he smiled, and Aislen’s heart skipped a beat.
“All your paperwork came through last week, and I updated it all on Friday,” the receptionist typed in a clatter of keys, pulling up something on the screen. “Yep, all done. I’m afraid there wasn’t much choice in classes, it being so late in the year and all, but I’ve managed to squeeze you in where I could.”
“Great,” Aislen didn’t care. It was only a few weeks, then exams, and it would be over. She wasn’t expecting great grades, certainly not good enough to get a scholarship into a university, and Patrick and Tiffany couldn’t afford to pay for her to go somewhere, so she’d probably have to find a job. She didn’t even want to think about that.
“Here you go,” the receptionist passed over the envelope. “Your first class is English.”
“With Ms Walker?” The redhead asked.
“Yes,” the receptionist looked at him. “How did you know?”
“I’m in that class,” he handed her the excursion form. “If you like, I can show Aislen the way.”
“That would be lovely. Thank you, Cameron. Aislen,” the receptionist raised her eyebrows.
“Thanks,” Aislen repeated.
Cameron grinned. “No problem.”