VI. In The Hall Of The Mountain King

Vanessa was never one to intrude in the lover affairs and brief flings Catty indulged herself in, yet with this particular man—Kyle Ormond, the heartthrob bound to tear her heart out—, Vanessa was going to make an exception. Although, she already managed to hit a snag in the road with the oh-so-brilliant plan she developed: Catty was giving her the silent treatment.

So they're back to middle school, again, eh?

"… Come on, answer the phone, Catty," Vanessa coaxed into the phone, stamping her foot on the ground when the phone beeped, ending the message. She furiously slammed the phone down and slumped down on the queen-sized bed, overcome by the sheer pressure throbbing in her chest, an empty void that clawed at her stomach and heart relentlessly. You're heading into dangerous waters, seemed to be a great way to describe her situation. In affectively altering Catty's view of Kyle (by enforcing jealousy into her heart, thus Michael being the key), Vanessa may lose her best friend, her love, before the climax of the plan—where Catty drops Kyle and announces her love for the blonde—can fully occur.

"I need to speak with you, Vanessa," her mother's dry, throaty voice commanded from behind the door.

Groaning, Vanessa stormed to the door and threw it open. In front of her, Eleanor stood, hip cocked and arms crossed; brown tresses disheveled and face solid, unmoving, emotionless: probably because of all the botox injections; the plastic surgery. Face it, mother: You can't fight against time, nor can you win a battle against age, which, in turn, is time; time clasping hold of your body and throwing it to the sharks.

"I have some important matters to discuss concerning you academically," she spoke levelly, brown orbs dull and listless, "and we'll be conversing about it during dinner—at six. It's extremely essential, especially to your discipline, and I find you'll learn to tolerate this decision… you'll have to." Smiling briefly with false affection, Eleanor quietly shut the door on Vanessa's face. The blonde continued gazing at the white-painted wood, uncomprehending of "learn". Will she completely despise this mega-super-important choice at first? Was it so awful and insufferable? A terrible thought slammed into her.

Eleanor was sending her to boot camp! Yes, boot camp, where she'd be forced to run through icy, muddy puddles and sleep amongst a giant group of terrifying people in the cold, stone area of a massive tent-like shelter. Her heart turned to frost, melting away and forming an even greater ache in her chest. Her arms wound around her lower body, containing the vomit building in her stomach. Heat pressed against the back of her tongue, the working of a meal she ate hours ago slowly ready to be released.

The phone rang, and too engulfed in sorrow, Vanessa leapt for it, knowing the high chance of it being Catty. "Hello!"

"See, I've called you back, now what—"

"My bitch of a mother is sending me away!"

The voice on the other end paused, a dramatic affect of brief bemusement. All that could be heard was the light breathing of Catty before she responded, saying heavily with a tinge of uncertainty, "What? Are you sure? What did she say to you?"

"Well, she only hinted that some major change in my school-life was about to happen, but I—"

"So you're just panicking?" Catty demanded, exhaling a gruff sigh. "You scared me for a second!"

"I'm panicking because it sounds like something she would do! Can you use your power and see what's going to happen?"

"… Okay. I'll call soon. Just wait!"

The line ended. Vanessa's allowed the phone to slip from her hand, and all she could do was stare blankly at the wall in front. A wide painting of Marilyn Monroe smirked down at her. Marilyn Monroe, in all her blonde glory, never had to suffer through all of this! Of course, her family was mentally ill, she had a fling with the president—and his brother—, and eventually overdosed! But… she never went to boot camp! Only foster homes!

She pressed her palm against her chest, heart pulsing underneath the bone-armor. The ache of waiting trimmed down her confidence. Sweat beaded her forehead. On the first floor, the tedious ticking of the antique grandfather clock echoed mockingly. She tapped her thigh, scratched her palms, squeezed her cuticles, and rubbed the back of her neck where the hairs had dampened by sweat and terror; all mind-numbing little habits that proved her anxiety was commanding her nerve system. Eleanor held no place of love for her, that was clear, but Vanessa never imagined that deep-set imitation of motherly care would actually vanish! She always thought Eleanor would keep up the charade till Vanessa finally moved out.

Apparently, that little self-restraint dwindled too low for Eleanor, and she snapped at the child "responsible for Jack's (Eleanor once husband) untimely death. If you hadn't been born, he might have had more time to stay at home and away from his life-threatening job!" Yes, Vanessa always did enjoy listening as her mother accused her of her own father's death; the father who cherished her and would envelop her in his strong arms.

The phone rang shrilly, and Vanessa leapt forward, pressing it against her ear. "Catty!"

"She's sending you away!" Catty shrieked shrilly into the phone, infuriated and grief-stricken. "I went in time to your dinner time because I knew that's where she always gives the bad news, and I heard her tell you where she'd be taking you! And it doesn't even make sense, especially because you're Christian! But it's way worse than boot camp!"

Vanessa gripped the phone tightly, breathing unevenly. "Where exactly am I going…?"

Catty gasped, as to breathe evenly without having to choke on air, before responding with a sharp cry.

"A Catholic School in Beverly Hills!"

"… We're not even Catholic!"

"That's what I said!"

Yes, indeed, a prestigious—probably co-ed, seeing as Eleanor always wanted her to marry (you know, so she'd be out of the house)—Catholic school was a thousand times worse than boot camp.

At least people in boot camp were sane.

O

Serena and Jimena, arms hooked together, strolled carelessly down the swarming breezeway of La Brea High. Sunshine poured through the holes in the clouds, a soft harmony engulfing the student body. Spring Break was nearing, but more importantly, the Spring Dance—a time to elect the princess or prince (a tradition neither Serena nor Jimena had ever encountered). Apparently, spring was a time for the princess and prince, while the nearing of the end of a school year—something far more important and exciting—was meant for the "Final Prom", where queen and king could be announced.

Several pink and blue flyers stamped all over printed out a list of required fields—all through not mandatory, it may bring you more notice—needed for one to be considered a possible candidate to be elected Prom Princess or Prince; among this list: sports and/or extracurricular club, band/orchestra, class office. Jimena already established herself as an astounding, stragitcal soccer star and Serena, a phenomanal, lovely cellist.

"I'd imagine Morgan Page would be using all her time for this?" Serena questioned.

Jimena smiled crookedly. "Actually, no. She's not in any club, she's not in the class counsel. She just comes to school." She leaned in closer, as if to block out any eavesdroppers. "Her life is hell at home, I know it."

Serena shrugged nonchalantly. "I never pick up any negative thoughts."

"Never?"

"Actually, I've never been in her mind." Her emerald orbs glowed with self-doubt. "I haven't gone into Vanessa's mind either. I'm always so afraid, that's why I only pick up traveling thoughts—I rarely push myself into using my power. The consequence could prove deadly."

Jimena nudged her with her elbow. "Are you just being melodramatic?"

"Hmm…" Serena's thoughts already wandered. On the flyer, printed in gigantic letters: MASQUERADE BALL. "Things have just gotten interesting."

"A Masquerade Ball?" Jimena forced Serena forward, for they had halted in front of the flyer now. "Don't tell me you're seriously considering going to something so stupid!" She stiffled joyous laughter bubbling in her throat. Serena ignored it and sighed dreamily, as if imagining the gown she would be wrapped in and the mask she could hide over her face—feathers, silk, satin, jewels. It would all be lavished down upon her, the queen of the court. These ambitious thoughts and pictures shattered under Jimena's perplexed stare.

"Daydreaming…?"

Serena smiled mysteriously, feeling as if she was floating. "We're all daydreaming… Every minute, every second, every hour, every day, every year, we're just dreamers floating on by, wishing for the time to slow down but it never will. With time stopped, we'd have the hours needed to achieve what we all want… I'd be crowned, a golden septor in hand, almighty, Queen, Her Majesty, of the Dark Moon—"

She clasped her hands over her mouth, silencing the speech, eyes widening in shock. Jimena continued staring, eyebrow cocked and eyes penetrating. For that split moment, Serena couldn't understand what had happened, but only that her words had not belonged to her. Dark spirit hands had eneveloped her and guided her, and inside her mind, they painted an image of pure bliss: the collision of dark and light, the burning of stars, the moon in her glory, and the sun in his brilliance, all just melded together in an endless silvery-golden field that not even Elysium could compete with.

And above all, Serena stood, violet gown sweeping across the floor, presenting the darkness below her, while her silvery-white bodice glimmered under her face, her smirking face of wisdom and dark desires. And among her audience of dark and light, a fellow man, blonde and handsome, yet face cast by shadows, kneeled before her and offered the best of all: a feather, red, orange, and yellow, burning with sheer power that was almost unbearable to hold within her grasp. A phoenix feather, in her hand, in her presence, and disaster struck with her fiery malice.

The man fell back, consumed by a vast plume of black that had swallowed all. Her silvery bodice was torn, revealing the cleavage. She was too paralyzed to take any notice. The moon and the sun, once holding hands, departed, exploding into nothing and leaving nothing but the horrid masterpiece painting of a lonely nightsky, abandoned by moon and sun, nothing but a bleak universe shattered by evil.

And as Serena stood before this realm, her eyes darted down to the Phoenix feather, and with a start, she realized that all is her fault. The sweeping gown tormented the people below it with shadows. She was frozen, seeing the feather sliced up her arm, burning something into her arm: Wings, vast and far, blossomed, and Serena smiled, seeing the Phoenix wings, coaxing her to to spread them and use her power to promote misery.

"Serena!"

Extend your wings and cast down all who oppose.

"SERENA!"

She slumped back against something solid, startled and consumed by numbness. Jimena stood before her, concerned; uncomprehending. Jimena must have seen something through her power, for she grasped the telepath's hand, and ignoring the onlookers, sprinted toward an empty corridor of the massive high school.

O

Their eyes connected only once. The shiny polished dinner table gleamed under the diamon-chandelier that sent bright prims of light shooting in every direction of the room; a room that smelt of candle-fire and a heavy-scented perfume that masked the glorious supper. Vanessa stabbed at her meat, also spooning mashed potatoes into her mouth with an increased vigornous that astonished the usually uncocerned Eleanor.

"I have some news for you," Eleanor announced, clearing her throat. Vanessa noted that she was the only woman that has ever possessed an Adam's apple, yet that inner insult faded almost quickly under the penetrating gaze. Instead, Vanessa opted for bitter sarcasm.

"I bet you do."

Eleanor continued oblviously, "I'm sending you to Saint Margarets Catholic School"—yep, always one to be remorselessly blunt—"and you've already been added to their school workings. I find that this choice was purely for discipline and—"

"Discipline?" Vanessa barked, somber; throat swelling in grief and horror. "No, mother, this is your sick demented mind creating ways to torture me. You want me to become this little robot who succumbs to your every demand and plea. Yes, mom, I'll go buy you more of that grape-flavored wine. Yes, mom, more liquor at the drug store? Okay, I'll go out and buy it. Oh, and some cigarettes, too? Oh, you have a fake ID for me, already made—"

"Enough."

The cold, heartless command sewed Vanessa's lips shut. Hurt, emotional, and frail, Vanessa leapt up from the chair and stormed out of the room, her feet stomping angrily all the ways up the steps. Even after slamming the bedroom door shut and falling onto the warm, thick bed sheets, the need for solace beated against her heart, tempting her. It was a new kind of need stirred to life within her.

Cattyemotional need…

In that moment, paralyzed by these dark desires, Vanessa realized where she needed to plunge herself into to receive the need her soul lusted after; a need that consisted of purely physical contact and electrying skin-on-skin movement.

And, of course, with Catty expelled from that category, there was only one person left in mind; someone who would entwine well with the heartless plot against Catty.

Vanessa, needing to perish—and as awkward as it sounded, that was the right word—under the lust-filled intent that clouded her mind, concenrated, and not soon enough, her molecules detached, spreading into the air like a misty fog; she, in turn, nothing more than a phantom gliding through the air. Sumbitting to these pulsing thoughts, Vanessa even managed to shove away the concernt that momentarily slipped into her heart at the numbing sight before when she passed the dinning room:

Her mother, Eleanor, face buried into her palms and reckless yet silent sobs tearing from her throat as she quivered under the—seemingly—relentless sorrow digging under her flesh and piercing her heart.

But, selfishly and denying her own affection, Vanessa traveled through the night, a spirit, in search of the final person she could find comfort in and actually emotionally harm Catty at the same time—Catty, who would never love her in the way she wanted; would always carry a part of Vanessa; would always shatter Vanessa every single day. Vanessa needed to hurt Catty for this, and she knew the exact person.

Chris Fischer, the boy that Catty wouldn't admit to, but did, care for; immensely so.

He would be persuaded.

O

In the next few weeks, Catty noticed the sudden shift in Chris's attention; the deep-set, dazzling eyes always ripping away from her whenever he spotted her; the beautiful grin vanishing under her gaze. She watched as Serena, always one for quietness, transformed into a ghost floating through the days, her once bright emerald pools completely flooded with a thin veil of hollowness. Jimena was constantly at her side, sometimes grasping the telepath by the shoulders and steering in her into a private area of the school.

But worst, Vanessa, who Catty saw after school—for the blonde had transferred to the Catholic school—, seemed incredibly guilty over some event that haunted her mind everyday it appeared. The smile she gave Catty upon meeting her anywhere was completely false, a fabricated lie that laced through Catty's soul and forced her heart to halt its beating for several seconds of anxiety.

Her life, everyone around, was slipping through her fingers like running water, cold and frosty against her skin. Kyle, who had noticed her distance days ago, exited her life instantly; his attention averting to the sexy newcomer to the school, Jasmine Vasquez, a "hot" Latino girl. In basic terms, Kyle no longer cared for her existence, Serena and Jimena were too lost in their own dilemma to notice anyone around them, Chris only sent her one saddened glimpse a day, and Vanessa… something happened, something terribly heartbreaking, and it concerned Catty somehow.

Catty was going to play Nancy Drew.

Catty was going to uncover the truth behind everyone's problems…

…Wait? Wouldn't that seem more Dr. Phil-ish?

Anyway, she was going to unravel everyone's mysteries.

O

"I-I c-can't take it anymore m-more," Serena stuttered through the sorrow fogging her mind. Jimena rubbed her back comfortingly, even having lit several incense-sticks in Serena's bedroom to help cloud the thick aura of grief. A silvery tray carrying two porcelain mugs containing a honey-colored liquid resided at the foot of the bed; a small treat Collin brought up for his "adorable sister and very-welcomed guest."

Jimena rubbed her temples. "Tell me, exactly, again, what has been happening in these dreams? All I know is that they're destroying you physically." She noted the bluish-circles sagging under the telepath's eyes, the sickly gaunt cheeks, and the sour yellowing of her complexion. Either some vile disease was raging against her body, or the evil described in her dreams greatly took a toll on her body.

"Well, it's always some sort of evil version of me, and I basically destroying the world with… shadows. But at first, I was just a queen and nothing more, but this blonde man hands me some feather—and for some reason, I know it's a phoenix feather. Then, everything is just destroyed, and I'm happy about it—happy that the feather managed to give me the power to destroy in seconds.

"But… they've changed… the dreams have changed." A tiny smile of hope tugged at Serena's lips. "This beautiful, blonde woman just comes out of nowhere completely clothed in white and just… the moon appears and all the shadows are gone. Everything is normal and happy and… the woman did it all just by stepping up to me and grabbing my hands like a mother or guardian angel."

Serena, shivering, sent Jimena a small smile. "She told me, 'This is not who you are or who you were meant to be. You were meant to be a savior, not a destroyer. Come back to me and your sisters. Bring the light. I am waiting.'"

"That's deep," Jimena commented dryly.

"But I think this woman's real."

"It's a dream," Jimena argued, clasping Serena's chilled hands in her own grim ones. "Dreams are just unimaginable and insane parts of your mind coming to life. And sometimes, emotional stress can physically harm someone. You haven't been eating that much lately, you barely sleep out of fear of these dreams, and you don't talk that much anymore. No offense, but you act like a crack-addict when you're walking—always staring over your shoulder like someone's going to jump out and abduct you."

"Because I feel something watching me from every corner of the earth!" Serena cried dramatically, recoiling from the Mexican girl with fresh agitation. And such an emotion worried Jimena, for the telepath never let loose her stronger, more passionate emotions such as irritation, hatred, fury, and anxiety; they greatly affected her powers. She explained her emotions controlling her telepathy like "pouring water onto a plugged in radio."

Jimena squeezed Serena's hands. "Maybe you just need more sleep, food, and—"

"Why are you denying everything!" she snapped, her vision temporarily clouded by blinded tears and outrage. "I'm trying to tell you—no, convince you that something evil is following me, and it has to do with my powers. And if it stalking me for my powers then it'll be stalking you, too, Jimena, and that's what I'm trying to warn you about!"

Jimena flinched away from the harsh cries being thrown at her, but for one fleeting moment, she felt… convinced; convinced that evil was brewing on the horizon and their powers were the main source. She was convinced because Serena no longer acted herself anymore. In fact, Serena acted like a woman possessed by a demon sent from Hades—the hollowed, trenchant jade orbs; the thinning frame, as though she something sinister was caving down on her; the hatred for light, because it was apparently "easier to see in the dark".

She knew that inside Serena, a "malfunction" had occurred, as though some invisible force had managed to capture her soul and corrupt the point of madness, which is the direction the telepath was heading toward. Jimena needed to save her.

"I'm going to get help," Jimena said in a light voice.

Serena gritted her teeth and narrowed her eyes. "From who, Jimena, from who? Enlighten me."

"I need Catty and Vanessa."

"What the hell are those idiots going to do?"

"I don't know!" Jimena retorted, voice clipping and crackling like a whip. "I just feel it in my heart that they can help. They're the only others with powers, and I need to see if they can help… somehow." Grasping Serena's hands once more, she slid off the bed and darted to the door, calling over her shoulder in a commanding tone, "I'll be over soon. I promise!"

I swear to God, I promise…

O

Vanessa rubbed viciously at her arms and legs with the soapy rag, unable to stand the disgusting feel clinging to her skin. Steam curled into the air from the smoldering hot temperature the water was set at as it poured down onto her body. Showers were almost hourly after those weeks back. She was a slut, a whore, and nothing would change that now. She was losing her mind.

A darkness lingered in her demented mind. In the years they've been together, Vanessa has never wanted to harm Catty. Well, sometimes, but those were normal, teasing thoughts, like whenever Catty stole the last cookie in the jar. But the innocent thoughts had vanished, replaced by completely evil and vile ones. Being with Michael—as she's been doing for awhile to help cool down—didn't help, for his constant jolly mood contrasted deeply with her stormy and moody attitude.

Shutting off the water and slipping her arms through a silk robe, the fabric clinging to her body, Vanessa strolled over the Victorian-styled sofa in corner of her room and flopping down, not caring of the plush cotton soaking under her. Her fingers trembled. The silk against her moist skin didn't help to cool the burning of her flesh; the areas where…

What was happening to her? She not only completely plotted against her own best friend over childish matters that Catty knew nothing of, but she also managed to transform into something purely new. A whore—a conniving, clever little slut with issues over keeping her emotions in check. And now, that night with Chris Fischer—the roaming hands, the absolutely physical attraction, the lack of morals—would forever haunt her mind.

But, another part of her argued, it did help shove something Catty deeply cared for out of her life—two things, in fact!

… And that evil inside Vanessa laughed.

AN: Oh, my, Catty and Jimena are the only sane ones. A shocker on Catty's part.