Spectres

Horace & Emma

H O R A C E
  "Rosalyn!" A young, blonde man yelled. His eyes electric blue, dressed in a purple shirt and the pants the Bird's apprentice Rosalyn called 'jeans.' Hold on. The boy screamed 'Rosalyn.' Rosalyn taught me what jeans were. Could this be the same Rosalyn?
  When I had thoughts like this, I knew I was dreaming.
  'No, it's Starbird.' I tried to yell. Knowing Rosalyn, if she was present, she'd turn and start yelling at me for exposing her identity, putting friends in trouble, blah blah blah, and I'd have to run for my life as the ymbryne-in-training opted to kill me. Then Enoch called me a coward, we burst into argument, Rosalyn got annoyed, and we started the vicious cycle of death, pain and argument again.
  The boy fainted, unmoving in a heap on the ground.
  A hollow, perhaps? I'd hope not.
  However, I knew I was very wrong as a woman with golden-blonde hair and greenish-blue eyes knelt next to the boy and pressed a pale hand to his forehead. "Sleep tight, Jason Grace."
  Tapping the boy named Jason between the eyes, he dissolved into a blanket of blue light, a similar shade to her robes.
  "Find my daughter Rosalyn Kenobi, Horace Somnusson."

  Looking back on it, there were around nine hundred ways I could have handled the dream better. Screaming and leaping out a window wasn't a bad option, considering a woman I'd never seen was contacting me vis a vis dreamland, calling me by my full name, telling me to find her daughter. I could have also chosen asking Millard for the location of the next bomb that would fall on the night of our loop. So fine! I'll admit Rosalyn was the only peculiar that stood up for me when people teased me. So fine! I'll admit she was great fun, considering she was a ymbryne. So fine! I'll admit that all this time, while I was acting nonchalant, I was worried sick that one of my few friends was missing!
  I am very much guilty of reporting to Alma LeFay Peregrine at two twenty-eight in the morning.

  "Mr. Somnusson?" The Bird's dark hair was flattened on one side, like she'd been running through a cyclone. "What on Earth are you doing awake at this hour?"
  "A dream." I described the unconscious boy Jason, the blonde woman who had told me to find her daughter, who happened to be Rosalyn Kenobi—one of my fellow wards; Miss Peregrine's apprentice herself.
  "Miss Kenobi has been silent for quite a bit. The blonde woman you describe could very well be Ashla, Miss Kenobi's mother in her homeworld." The Bird admitted.
  "You mean two weeks, Miss P. She never visits less than weekly."
  "She is more than peculiar, Mr. Somnusson. I do believe she can take care of herself. We will handle this in the morning."
  "Rosalyn may not have that long. She told me Ashla is a goddess in her homeworld. Why couldn't a goddess find her? She may need our help, Miss P!" I felt like a little kid, whining for candy.
  "We will handle this in the morning, Mr. Somnusson!" The Bird's voice cracked, green eyes filling with anguish. "I do wish for Miss Kenobi to be safe as well. But we cannot do much at two in the morning."
  I was sent to my room despite protests, pouting, and, at the door, in a final resort, screaming profanities.
  "Go home Horace, you're drunk!" I heard a yell from a nearby room. Perhaps Millard, likely Enoch.
  "Shut up!" I replied.
  "Mr. Somnusson. A little respect for your fellow wards?"
  I groaned in defeat and let myself get ushered into my room, slamming the door before Miss P. could do it more gently. "Life isn't fair." I grumbled. The Bird said something about trying to sleep, but all I did was sit on the edge of my bed, the sheets crisp and cool, piled into a heap at the end. Squeezing my lucky pillow, the one thing that used to keep my nightmares at bay, I attempted to organisee my cluttered thoughts into something my brain could make sense of.
  I had to find Rosalyn, didn't I? How could I leave my best friend in danger?
  The comeback appeared as soon as the thought was brought up. You heard the Bird, it argued. Rosalyn's much younger than you, with less fashion taste and a more savage vocabulary, but she can look after herself. She'll be fine.
  Makes sense. I decided, immediately feeling guilty. And yet I felt this was the right decision. A ymbryne. One of the most dangerous and powerful peculiars in our wayward group.
  She'll be fine. My logic won out as I lay in bed, trying to escape the world where my friend had disappeared.
  Rosalyn'll be back soon...won't she?

E M M A
  I watched bright orange flames flicker around my hand. A regular scene. Staying up late to play with fire; although today it was not all play and no work.
  Left hand providing light, right hand gripping a pen so tightly my knuckles turned white, I wrote on a white sheet of paper, no lines, and the ink running thin. I was displeased with my cursive, sloping up and down like some child's seesaw, but if I wanted this mailed off tomorrow to reach him, I had to hurry.
  Dear Abe,
  I reconsidered. He had a family. Wife, children. All normals. The last few times I had started off a letter like this, he had not replied. I crossed it out.
  Hello Abraham Portman,
  Nice and formal, conveying much less emotion beneath.
  It's Emma again. How is everything in America? Here, it's all very much how you left it. Won't you come visit? We have a new ward, a ymbryne. She can turn into a phoenix; honestly, I've never seen anything like it. Her name is—
  I heard my pen clatter onto the desk, but it was mere background noise. I felt as though pins and needles were inserting themselves in my head, excruciatingly slow.
  Rosalyn Kenobi. A voice finished. Raspy, sore. I flinched, but tried to regain a confident composture just as quickly. And if you wish to see her again, heed my words carefully.
  The pain increased tenfold. Snuffing out my fire, I brought my palms to my forehead, searching for signs of fever. Hallucination? Lip biting was the one thing that stopped me from screaming.
  Despite my warning, the voice continued, that sorry excuse for my child let herself get captured by a family enemy. I was definitely bloody hallucinating. Wait for the sorcerer by the name "Strange," and his ally "Parker." Point them to her home. Tatooine. The border.
  I tried to open my mouth to yell a few choice words. Nothing came out.
  Your ymbryne lies. Raspy words came out, the content hurting more than the sound. If we cannot find her, she will die. Her prescence has been obscured from me. Or else I would have found her myself.
  Collapsing on the ground, coughing and choking, I realised I was being suffocated during the whole conversation. "God." I wanted to curse, but every word felt like a knife piercing my lung.
  I picked up my pen, crossing out everything I had written.
  This is an emergency, Abe. What do you know about the last name "Strange?"