I've begun to notice I make a lot of plot errors in my writing. When I write these fanfiction nothings, I simply sit down, open a word document, and go. There is no forethought. Alas, there is justification for the abundance of plot errors.

-Your mildly embarrassed author

PART 5 as told by Massie

I was never very good at recognizing dark auras or detecting ominous air, but when the strange new boy entered the classroom, I felt as if this one, sharp instinct had compensated for all those years I'd been blind.

When the new boy made his swift, no nonsense entrance, messenger bag slung over his shoulder, tousled hair hanging over his bright, distrusting eyes in a precarious position, I simply knew he was trouble.

And it wasn't your regular trouble, either, I suspected. This wasn't a substance abuse kind of guy or a runaway. This was an authentic criminal. There was a certain air closet-criminals projected. It was a combination of distrust and apprehension. And this boy was slathered in it.

"Settle, settle," ordered the Supernatural Science teacher, a stout, bitter man named Johann Bielmann. "Our new student is not actually new to the school, so don't get excited," he said, and a collective murmurs of disappointment followed his announcement. "He's just switched to AP supernatural sciences from academic, so treat him nicely, please." He addressed the new student: "Sit anywhere," he said, and because fate is as twisted as it's claimed to be, the boy chose to take the empty place beside me.

I nearly forgot my apprehension of this potential criminal when I saw his face. Previously, his hair had shielded it from view, but currently he swept his hair away from his face, revealing what I thought to be a face worthy of narcissus's jealousy.

His eyes drew my attention first. They were a vibrant shade of green, rimmed with a dark gold, and his eyelashes were so thick each individual lash seemed to be hopelessly tangled with at least one other. His eyes were both wide with innocence and slanted with distrust, something I found to be vaguely intriguing. His full, pinkish lips were parted in what seemed to be anxiety. His skin was flawless and colored by the sun. His hair was a bronze colour, tousled and disheveled. I had seen him before, around the school, but his hair always covered his face.

In my engrossment, I hadn't realized Mr. Bielmann was speaking to me.

"Ms. Block." His tone was impatient enough to be passively irate.

"Yes?" I woke from my trance and widened my eyes, feigning innocence.

"Can you explain the Bard Theory?"

Every occupant of the room turned to me expectantly—except new boy, I noticed numbly.

"I, uh," I muttered, lowering my head in shame.

"The Bard Theory is the scientific theory that supernaturalism can never be hereditary." The sweet, soft voice was coming from the new boy, of course. "Our children won't have powers," he added. "Unless two supernatural people, er, mate. But if it's a supernatural person and a normal person, the offspring will surely be normal."

"Correct," Mr. Bielmann proclaimed, and he proceeded to write a mind-numbingly complicated scientific formula on the chalkboard.

I felt inclined to thank the boy, but his lack of imperfections was somewhat intimidating. He was beautiful and scientifically well informed. And potentially evil, but I had yet to validate that.

When it seemed a significant portion of the class were distracted with the equations, including the teacher, I extended my hand towards the boy and offered my best introduction—and then hastily added a thank-you-for-saving-me-from-that-I'm-so-scientifically-ignorant. He accepted my hand (he was wearing leather gloves, so unfortunately, I missed the opportunity to make actual physical contact) graciously and replied, "your welcome, I'm Dempsey." That was the extent of our interaction, but it left me buzzing with delight till the end of the class.

After class, I made a beeline towards the cafeteria where I would meet friends the Treasures and share information on the latest Landon drama. We formerly spent lunch hours gossiping about in school relationships and who had the best powers, but with Landon's sudden re-existence, our group had become quite grim and based around Landon and Claire and Cam and the drama that ensued our little accidental meeting. I knew I shouldn't have told the treasures, since Landon practically threatened to take my life if I told anyone, let alone three people who weren't exactly well know for being good secret keepers, but I figured they could help.

"I think Claire should force him out of the town," Kristen said as she played with her salad uninterestedly. "She's the only one who could do it."

"He wants to leave, idiot," Dylan argued. "He can't. If he goes into a town or on the streets, the schools' spies will catch him." She shrugged. "If Massie would teleport him to another state, maybe, or country, he would be safe." She turned to me. "Why don't you?"

"It would solve our problems," Alicia pointed out.

I had considered moving Landon away many times, when the founders first started hunting him, months ago. But Landon insisted that he would have to solve his own problems. Besides, he didn't deserve it. He'd done things to me that didn't exactly imply that I owed him one.

"He doesn't want help," I said simply. "He made that clear the day I tried to teleport him to California, last February."

"Oh yeah," Dylan said distantly, and the group fell into silence.

When the founders of the school had started hunting Landon, I'd offered Landon my assistance. He rejected the offer several times, and finally, unwilling to accept his stubbornness anymore, that would lead to imminent death, I grabbed his arm and told him I was taking him to California for safekeeping. He'd slapped me across the face—hard. And don't forget the super strength. The impact was so shocking it flung me to the ground. There was a bruise on my cheek for weeks. That wasn't the last time I offered my help though. I only stopped when the founders actually announced to the students that they were hunting Landon, that it became so serious that the students were forced to involve themselves in the hunt too. There were interrogations. Faculty would interview students about Landon's whereabouts. I was a central target; they suspected me for weeks. When they finally thought they'd killed him with the brain wiping serum, left him at the bottom of the river with three bullets in his chest and his hands bound with chains, the founders lied to the students, they simply said he crossed the border and escaped. I only knew what really happened because I saw. The founders and their huntsmen shot him three times and he dropped. His regeneration only healed him so fast, and they were on him in seconds. They bound his hands with cruel chains and injected the serum into him. They tossed him into the river.

It was traumatizing, and he simply couldn't realize that. I'd seen him die, nearly, and thought he was dead for many months. And he expected me to snap out of it in seconds.

"He doesn't deserve it," I said flatly. "And he surely won't accept it."

The Treasures nodded solemnly. Things weren't flouncy and lighthearted anymore between us. We couldn't make stupid clubs and exclude certain people and mock others and swoon over others. We only worried now. We worried for Landon who was in constant danger, for Cam who skipped classes and sat in the courtyard looking into the forest these days, maybe waiting for Landon, and for Claire who had disappeared the day before. I was sure she was just taking a little break from all the drama, hiding in her dorm room.

I stood suddenly, causing my tablemates to wince, a little startled at the abruptness of it.

"I'm going to visit Claire," I announced. "I haven't seen her in a while and I don't know how well she's coping with this."

The Treasures nodded understandingly.

This isn't how my sophomore year here is supposed to be, I was thinking as I briskly made my way towards Claire's dorm room. Even though I knew it was beyond malicious, I sort of wished I still thought Landon was dead. Everything was simpler in his absence. Cam liked me then because I wasn't always conspiring with Landon against the founders, there was no one to worry about getting killed, and my friends liked me better then probably because I was easier to be around when I wasn't internally breaking into pieces.

I knocked sharply on the door, listened intently for a moment, and then performed a basic lock-opening maneuver I'd picked up in tech class. In big cities, supernatural people are often times attacked by gangs. It was important that we learnt these things to defend ourselves.

The dorm was empty. Claire had no roommate, whether it was requested or there simply was no one, so the room was quite small. The window was wide open, the curtains billowing softly in the breeze.

"That's weird," I said aloud, trying to shake away gathering anxiety.

And at that moment, a large blur tumbled through the window.

I screamed instinctively and threw myself up against the nearest wall.

The blur revealed itself to be a lanky blonde boy, who, at seeing me, went unnaturally pale.

"Oh, shi"—

"Who the hell are you?" I demanded furiously. I teleported a few inches just him, to assert myself as the superior in this situation, the more powerful.

He jumped a little in surprise, but my ability didn't impress him as much as it should've.

"I, uh, thought Claire didn't have a roommate," he said sheepishly.

"I'm her friend, not her roommate. Now answer my question!" I barked.

"I'm just a friend of Claire's," he explained hastily, then began gathering loose articles of clothing and shoving them into Claire's denim purse.

"What are you doing?"

"She's staying with us for a few days, so I'm just getting her things."

"Us?"

"Top secret," he explained, with a sly grin. He slung the denim bag over his shoulder and stepped onto the windowsill.

"Whoa, watch out!" I called out as he slipped off the sill.

I rushed to the window, expecting to hear a sickening splat as the lunatic made impact with the ground, but all I saw was a fading figure, soaring into the cover of the clouds.

"Wow," I whispered, absolutely awed.

PART 5: CONTINUED as told by Massie

Something was happening behind my back, and it was only too obvious that the notorious Landon was involved. Had he kidnapped Claire? Did he fear she would eventually be the inflictor of his own demise?

I wasn't going to be passive about this. Claire was in trouble.

Right after my strange encounter with the flying boy, I sought help from the best phycic psychic, the best "seer" in the school. She was a beautiful, pale skinned French senior, who had immigrated to the US, due to the lack of schools for the supernatural in her mother country. She had long tresses of dark hair and wide brown eyes. Her English wasn't perfect, but two years of French classes I'd taken to honor my partial French heritage would compensate for that.

Her roommate, a quiet girl who could detect and alter moods, opened the door.

"Is Isabelle there please?" I asked politely. The girl nodded, and led me into her room.

Isabelle was sitting casually on the center of her bed, sorting tarot cards. Her long waves were tamed into a messy side ponytail, and her red lips were pursed in concentration.

"Hi," I greeted her awkwardly.

She looked up and smiled, patted an empty space on the bed. I climbed onto the bed and sat facing her.

"You want see future?" she asked, not quite hitting the English accent well.

"No," I said. "I need to know where a friend is?"

She frowned, so I revised, then said "je cherche une amie."

She nodded, looking slightly grateful that I knew her language, and shuffled her cards. I was about to object, but her roommate, who was watching the ordeal passively, probably felt my hesitance and uneasiness about the cards and said "they work, don't worry. Some cards portray things that will happen to that person, and some cards show where they are or what they're doing."

I nodded, and allowed Isabelle to take my hand. She asked the name of who I was looking for, and I told her. I showed her the picture I brought of Claire. She closed her eyes, then with her other hand, she picked up five cards from the messy pile.

She opened her eyes and revealed the first. It was a pleasant drawing of a group of smiling people, all embracing. The cards were very old, and the figures on the cards were clad in old-fashioned attire.

"Les nouveaux amis," she declared.

"Pouvez vous expliquer?" I asked politely, not quite understanding what the card depicted.

"Um," Isabelle paused, tapping her finger against her chin, "your friend has new friends."

Of course, I thought grimly, Landon, Claire, and flying boy, best of friends; If you consider Stockholm syndrome to be a form of friendship.

Isabelle revealed the second card. It was a dark figure with red eyes, lurking in the shadows. "Bad guy," she said. "They don't want it."

The third. It was a picture of a jumble of limbs and fists and teeth and angry faces. "Fight," Isabelle explained.

The fourth was a picture of a forest. Obvious enough, I thought. Of course they were in the forest, where else would they be?

The fifth was laid in front of us, and Isabelle looked uneasy at recognizing the image. Even though I couldn't read psychic cards, I immediately knew what it implied.

"Le feu," Isabelle whispered, looking at me with a sort of sympathy.

The image showed a wicked looking fire, and inside the flames was a dark figure, raising its hands above it in plea for help.

Reviews are appreciated! Awful French dialogue courtesy of my Canadianness! Merci :)