The Bleak Beginning (Altair University #1)

14. Alex

Chapter 14

Alex

I t’s the middle of the week before I decide I should probably stop dragging my feet and pick an extracurricular before Chancellor Maxwell hunts me down. She may have given me until the end of the week as a deadline, but I had zero doubt in her choosing for me if I didn’t pick for myself.

With a sigh, I trudge to the first thing on the list that seems somewhat appealing, my footsteps echoing in the near-empty hallway. Most students were either in class or had long since committed to their extracurriculars. I, on the other hand, was stuck in limbo, procrastinating until the very last minute.

I reread the long list, skimming it again. Debate Club, Actors Guild, Underwater Basket Weaving… Who even came up with these?

I navigate through the backstage area. The room is a vibrant explosion of color, with racks of elaborate costumes and shelves lined with wigs in every hue imaginable. Mirrors adorn the walls, some surrounded by makeup products, while others reflect the flickering lights from stage equipment.

Despite feeling out of place, I put on a brave face and pretend to be enthralled by it all. After all, playing a character shouldn’t be too difficult, considering how much I pretend to like it here.

As I wander deeper into the backstage labyrinth, a petite girl with black hair with bright orange streaks suddenly pops out from behind a costume rack, nearly giving me a heart attack.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” she says, her already large eyes widening with surprise. “Are you here for the Actors Guild?”

I hesitate, unsure how to respond. Part of me wants to bolt for the door, but another part is intrigued by the vibrant chaos surrounding me. “I’m…considering it,” I say.

“How do you manage to get away with…” I gesture to her hair. “You know, your hair color?” I ask, remembering the strict rules on natural hair colors.

“These are natural colors,” she says, matter-of-factly.

Of course, black and orange could be natural hair colors. It was just the brightness of the orange that caught me off guard. Who was I to question it, though? I nodded, trying to play it cool.

“Right, of course. Sorry, I’m new here,” I mumble, wondering if it’s too late to escape.

Her lips quirk up, a spark of mischief lighting her expression. “I’m just messing with you. It’s a wig.”

She reaches up and lifts the wig slightly, revealing mousy brown hair underneath. “The drama department has some perks. We get to bend the rules a bit in the name of art.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, both from relief and genuine amusement. “That’s pretty clever.”

“I’m Aubrey, by the way,” she says, extending her hand for me to shake. “Come, I’ll take you to our stage manager and resident rule-breaker.”

Aubrey leads me deeper into the backstage area. The narrow corridors twist and turn, lined with more costume racks and prop tables. I duck under a low-hanging light fixture, nearly tripping over a coiled rope on the floor.

“Pardon the clutter, we’re currently rearranging things. Our team and the orchestra have been battling for space for years, but luckily, in about a month, some extra room will be available. We’re all thrilled about it.”

My muscles tense at the mere mention of musical instruments.

“Watch your step,” Aubrey calls over her shoulder before I nearly step on a mound of fur I couldn’t be entirely sure was alive or not.

We emerge into a wider space that seems to be the hub of activity. People rush about, carrying clipboards and speaking in hushed, urgent tones. In the center of it all stands a woman with wild gray hair, gesticulating dramatically as she speaks to a group of attentive listeners.

Aubrey’s chin juts out, pointing in the direction of the woman barking an order with zest. “That’s Margot,” she says with a hint of admiration in her voice. “Our fearless leader and the one who prefers to challenge the rules.”

Hmm, I’m beginning to think I’m going to like this woman.

“Professor Margot Blanchet,” the woman corrects sharply, her tongue rolling quickly over the French pronunciation. Her posture is confident and commanding as she surveys the group before her.

She’s dressed in a luxurious, floor-length garment that can only be described as a cross between a gown and a robe. Deep-green and vibrant reds blend together in a velvety texture. It swirls around her figure like a cascading waterfall, drawing attention to her every movement.

I find myself instantly captivated by Professor Blanchet’s presence. Her eyes, sharp and alert, scan the room before landing on Aubrey and me. With a slight nod, she dismisses the group surrounding her and strides purposefully in our direction.

“Ah, Aubrey, I see you’ve brought our newest recruit,” she says, her voice a melodious blend of authority and warmth.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Professor Blanchet.” I extend my hand, but stumble over a stray cable on the floor and fall into her.

As she stumbles backward, her body collides with a burly stagehand who strains against a rope connected to a massive metal bar of lights. The lights flicker and buzz, their brilliant beams of illumination now swaying in a chaotic mass. With a sudden crash, the heavy fixture comes hurtling down to the ground, sending nearby students into a frenzy of frantic movements. They quickly duck and dodge, narrowly avoiding being struck by the dangerous debris.

Amidst the chaos, the tangled mess of lights crackles and sizzles, sending sparks flying in all directions. The acrid scent of burnt plastic and melted sequins fills the air, assaulting my nostrils with its pungent odor. Through the somewhat settled disarray, I see a student bravely holding a fire extinguisher, ready to put out any potential flames. Another is crouched underneath a clipboard for protection while others huddle behind a fake row of trees.

My laughter comes from nervous embarrassment as I take in the mess. “Well, I guess I know how to make a grand entrance, huh?” I say in an attempt to lighten the mood. But the room remains silent.

Professor Blanchet’s face is bright red, and it’s clear that she doesn’t find this situation amusing.

I try again.

“I mean, in theater, improvisation is key, right?” Still, she doesn’t say a word, and I swear I see steam coming from her ears. “I’ll just see myself out then,” I say, as I hook my thumb over my shoulder and quickly find the exit.

No way was I waiting around to get booed offstage.

I let out a sigh; for a group of theater kids, they seem uptight. One small mistake and suddenly you’re the villain.

As I step outside, I take out my list of extracurriculars and make sure to avoid anything remotely related to the boathouse, knowing that Bishop is there with his rowing team.

If I had a marker, I would slash a bright red X across anything near, related to, or close to that direction of campus.

Skimming the page, my eyes land on something that doesn’t seem entirely awful. Besides, maybe shooting a couple of arrows would help loosen some of the tension I have in my shoulders.

I make my way across campus, the late afternoon light casting long shadows across the quad. The archery range is tucked away behind the athletic fields, a series of hay bales and targets set up in neat rows. As I approach, I see a small group of students already there, bows in hand.

“Come to join us, mudslide?” a girl with a ponytail calls out, shoving a bow and a handful of arrows in my hands.

That tension in my shoulders? Yeah, now it was making itself known in my back and stomach. When were people going to drop the ridiculous nickname? It’s not even remotely clever. I had been covered in mud. Mudslide. Real original.

I force a smile. “Thanks,” I mumble, taking the equipment.

The girl turns back to the targets, losing an arrow that thuds solidly into the bullseye. Show-off.

I move the arrow, drawing back the bowstring with trembling fingers. Snickers erupt from the group, as I stumble trying to get the arrow strung to the bow properly.

Where was the instructor for this sport? Perhaps they took an arrow to the chest, because honestly, I wouldn't mind the same, if it meant getting out of finding an extracurricular activity.

“Did you really travel all this way just to learn how to avoid making a fool of yourself in front of others?” I turned my head and saw Camden speaking to me.

Great. Had I realized sooner this was his extracurricular I wouldn’t have bothered wasting my steps and gone straight to the dining hall for a meal instead.

Camden saunters over, a smirk playing on his lips. “Here, let me show you,” he says, reaching for my bow.

I instinctively pull away. “I’ve got it,” I mutter, though we both know that’s a lie.

I guess I know who shot the arrow to keep my bag in place.

He raises an eyebrow. “Suit yourself, mudslide.” There’s that nickname again, like a slap in the face.

I didn’t need help from anyone, especially not a Legacy. If anything, he would probably sabotage my efforts and cause me to lose an eye.

How hard could it really be? I mean, if a Legacy could figure it out, I could too.

I grit my teeth and turn back to the target, determined to at least hit something. Anywhere on the target would be a win at this point. I draw back the string, trying to mimic the stance I’ve seen in movies. The arrow wobbles as I aim, my arms already shaking from the strain.

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” Camden warns from somewhere behind me.

I ignore him, focusing on the target. With a deep breath, I release the string. The arrow flies through the air with a sharp whistle, veering wildly off course. It sails past the target, over the safety netting, and disappears into the trees beyond with a faint rustle of leaves.

A chorus of laughter erupts from the group. My cheeks burn hot with embarrassment as I lower the bow, wishing I could disappear along with my wayward arrow.

“Nice shot,” Camden calls out mockingly. “I think you almost hit a chipmunk!”

I clench my jaw and grab another arrow. “A warmup,” I say to no one in particular.

“Clearly,” he replies dryly.

I notch the arrow again, determined to prove them wrong. This time, I take a moment to steady myself, breathing deeply and trying to tune out the snickering around me. I focus on the target, imagining Bishop’s face right at the center.

The arrow flies straighter this time, but still misses the target by a good few feet, embedding itself in the grass with a soft thud. At least it’s visible , I think grimly.

“Well, that was better,” Camden says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You managed to hit the ground this time.”

I whirl around to face him, my patience wearing thin. “I figured the ground needed a target more than your ego does.”

He steps forward, his smirk disappearing as he snatches the bow from my grip with a roughness that was unnecessary.

With fluid grace, he notches an arrow and draws back the string in one smooth motion. His stance is perfect, his aim unwavering. I hate to admit it, but he looks like he was born to do this.

“Watch and learn,” he says, his voice sure and confident.

The arrow flies true, striking the bullseye with a satisfying thunk. The onlookers cheer, and Camden turns to me with a smug grin.

“That’s how it’s done,” he says, pompously.

I feel blood rush to my face, a cocktail of humiliation and anger churning in my stomach. I want nothing more than to wipe that smirk off his face.

I snatch the bow from his grasp and quickly grab another arrow. My hands tremble as I pull back on the string, feeling the tension coursing through my muscles.

Camden turns back to me, his expression a mixture of smugness and pity. “Maybe you should just quit while your ahead and leave the real work to us Legacies.”

His comment goes unnoticed as I concentrate on steadying my hand. The world narrows to a pinpoint, the target swimming into focus as if by magic. I let the arrow fly.

Time seems to slow as it arcs through the air. For a heartbeat, I’m certain it will miss again. But then, impossibly, it strikes the target dead center, splitting Camden’s arrow clean down the middle.

The silence that follows is deafening. I lower the bow, my hands shaking as the reality of what I’ve just done sinks in. Camden’s jaw has gone slack, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“How…” he begins, but trails off, unable to finish the thought.

I’m just as shocked as he is, but I force myself to shrug nonchalantly. “Guess I’m a quick learner,” I say, shoving the bow back into his chest with the same strength he’d used on me before trudging off.

I duck behind a nearby pine tree, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. It’s only after I’m far enough away that I release the ragged breath I’d been holding. I can’t believe I just did that. How did I do that?

I take a deep breath to steady my trembling hand as I pull out my list again. They say the third time’s the charm, right?

My eyes progress further down the list, nearly at the bottom. Club Bedlam? What’s that?

I tuck the paper back into my blazer and figure it couldn’t be any worse than the options I’ve already tried. Might as well give it a shot.

I trek all the way to the farthest corner of campus, and then a little further. I’m so deep in the woods that I start to wonder if this club is even real or just some cruel joke by the Legacies.

Towering pine trees surround me, but I push through their branches until a massive circus tent comes into view.

The colossal tent looms over the landscape, its pointed top reaching toward the sky. At the very top, a flag adorned with an elegant eagle flaps in the wind, proudly signaling its presence.

I nudge the curtain aside and let myself in. “Is anyone here?” I ask, my voice wavering with uncertainty as I scan the room for someone. Anyone.

I’m met with silence. The only sounds are the creaking of thick ropes hanging high above, strung between a set of wooden poles.

“This place is so weird,” I mumble to myself, taking in the new environment.

The tent is ablaze with warm lights, strung up in a haphazard yet mesmerizing way. They dangle and sway gently, casting a soft glow over the entire room. Rows of seats encircle the central area, creating a sense of anticipation and excitement. In the center, an open space awaits, ready to be filled with jaw-dropping acts and heart-stopping stunts.

Suddenly, a boom breaks through the air, accompanied by a cloud of smoke. Alfie drops in front of me, dangling upside down from a rope. He quickly gets into a fight with his cape, pushing it away from his face.

Long seconds tick by.

If you were to ask me, I’m pretty sure the cape won, and his face matches his red hair by the time he manages to mostly get it out of the way.

“Ta-da!” he exclaims with a winded excitement, still spinning from the single rope that holds him above the ground below.

Crickets.

“ TA-DA !” he says louder, and he gets the same reaction from me, which is none.

I cannot believe this is happening right now. There is no way I willingly walked my way into this. Maybe the drama Professor will give me another shot if I promise on my hands and knees not to set her stage on fire…again.

“Oh, come on!” Alfie groans, his face falling into a pout as he continues to spin in a slow circle above me. The rope holding him in place by a single, well-placed foot. “That was my grand entrance! You can’t tell me you weren’t impressed!”

I clear my throat, finally finding my voice. “I’m…impressed that you didn’t fall and break your neck?”

Alfie rolls his eyes, which looks particularly odd, given his upside-down position. “You have no appreciation for the art of spectacle,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. The motion causes him to start spinning faster, and he flails his arms, trying to regain control.

“So,” I say, watching him struggle with a mix of amusement and concern, “I take it you’re part of this…circus club?”

“I’m the ringmaster,” he states proudly.

Riiiiight.

“So where’s everyone else?” I ask, gazing around the empty room.

“Uh, would you mind helping me down first?” Alfie asks, his voice strained as he continues to spin. “I’m kind of getting lightheaded.”

I sigh, stepping closer to him. “Fine. How do I do this without dropping you on your head?”

“Just grab my hands and guide me down,” he instructs, reaching out toward me.

I follow his instructions and somehow not only manage to get him upright, but on solid ground. Alfie stumbles a bit, clearly dizzy from his aerial antics, and I reach out to steady him.

“Thanks,” he says, flashing me a toothy grin.

“Don’t mention it,” I mutter, quickly dropping my hands from his shoulders. “Now, about the rest of the…students?” Performers? Acts? I wasn’t sure of the accurate terminology.

Alfie’s grin falters for a moment, but he recovers quickly. “Right! The students. My peers…” He chuckles, but I don’t find it funny. “Well, you see, they’re…um…fashionably late!”

I raise an eyebrow. “All of them?”

He nods vigorously, his red curls bouncing. “Absolutely! It’s a circus thing, you know. Building anticipation and all that.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, unconvinced. “And how long have you been waiting for them?”

He scratches the back of his neck, his freckled face scrunching up in thought. “You know, just a couple of…years.”

Years. “That’s it, I’m leaving,” I say, tossing my hands up in defeat. Chancellor Maxwell would just have to pick a club for me, because I am officially throwing in the towel.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Alfie says, keeping pace with my retreating steps. “There is one other person.”

My feet stall, “One other person?” I repeat skeptically, turning back to face him. “And where exactly is this mysterious other member?”

Alfie’s eyes dart around the room nervously, brushing at his cape anxiously.

“Is this person real?” I ask through gritted teeth.

He flinches. “Can you elaborate on what you define as real?”

I let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Alfie, I swear if you’re about to tell me your imaginary friend is the other member…”

“No, no, nothing like that!” he says quickly, waving his hands. “She’s very real. It’s just…well…”

“Well, what?” I demand.

My patience is thinner than the tightrope above us.

“Alfie,” I say, my tone dangerously low.

“She did exist… I mean, people could see her, it’s just…” He gulps audibly, tugging at his collar.

“Spit it out!” I bark.

He jumps, taken aback, but I was well and truly over his shenanigans. Why I was still humoring him was beyond me.

“She was a member, honest.” He takes a deep breath, then blurts out, “She told me she had to take a break for a couple of semesters but would be back after that…but she never came back. I think she turned herself invisible.”

I blink at him, stunned into silence for a moment. “Invisible,” I repeat flatly.

Alfie nods enthusiastically. “Yes. I believe she was practicing a trick gone wrong. Or maybe right? Depending on how you look at it.”

I cross my arms, staring him down. “So you’re telling me there’s an invisible girl in this room right now?”

“Well, it’s been more than nine months since I last saw her, so I can’t be entirely sure,” Alfie says, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for any sign of the invisible girl. “But it’s possible.”

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the frustration brewing inside me. “Alfie, this is ridiculous. There’s no such thing as invisibility. Your partner most likely left because…well, I don’t know the specifics, but she’s not here now.”

Alfie’s face falls, his enthusiasm deflating like I’d kicked his stuffed rabbit.

For a moment, I feel a twinge of sympathy for him. “Your friend probably found out she was…” I hesitate.

Alfie’s eyes widen. “She was what?”

I shake my head. “Never mind. The point is, she’s likely not coming back.”

He ponders that a moment before his eyes snap over in my direction. “Well, what about you?” he asks, sounding hopeful.

“What about me?”

“Are you interested in joining Club Bedlam? Where we promise to make the impossible possible,” Alfie finishes with a flourish, arms spread wide.

No way was I actually considering joining his club, right? I mean, it’s Alfie, so the expectations are already low. I could get Chancellor Maxwell off my back about being more involved in this school… The only downside to the situation is currently not blinking and giving me a lopsided grin.

Could it really be that bad?

“Fine,” I sigh, already regretting my decision. “I’ll join your stupid club.”

His face lights up like I told him he won the lottery. “Really? Man, this is gonna be great! We can meet every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday after class. I’ve got so many ideas I’ve been wanting to test out!”

I hold up my hand to stop his excited rambling. “Whoa, slow down. Let’s start with one hour, one day a week and see how it goes, alright?”

He nods vigorously, practically bouncing. “Sure, sure, whatever you want.”

I cannot believe I’m doing this. What’s wrong with me? Maybe Bishop was right, and I’d swallowed too much water, because I was obviously going crazy.

“Alright, Alfie. So what exactly does this club of yours do?” I ask, bracing myself for whatever bizarre answer he might give.

“Well, you’re not in it yet.” he admits, face sober.

I arch a brow. “What do you mean I’m not in it yet?”

“You haven’t passed the test, so you can’t be initiated,” he says with a shrug.

I feel my jaw clench. “Test? You didn’t mention anything about a test.”

“Well, of course there’s a test. We can’t just let anyone into Club Bedlam. We have standards, you know.”

I resist every urge in my body begging me to leave while I still can. “Fine. What’s the test?”

He leans in close, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You have to prove you believe in the impossible.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to do that?”

He produces three colored balls with the flick of his wrist. “With these, of course.”

I stare at the colorful spheres in his hand, each about the size of a golf ball. “What am I supposed to do with those?”

Alfie grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Simple. You have to make them disappear.”

I scoff. “What, like a magic trick? I’m not a magician, Alfie.” I would barely qualify him as one.

He shakes his head. “No, no. Not a trick. Real magic. Make them vanish. Poof!” He gestures dramatically with his free hand.

“You can’t just make objects disappear into thin air.”

“Ah, but that’s the point!” he exclaims, practically bouncing again. “You have to believe it’s possible. That’s the test.”

I look around, half expecting to see a hidden camera crew ready to jump out and yell “Gotcha!” But there’s just Alfie grinning at me expectantly, those ridiculous balls balanced in his palm.

“This is insane,” I mutter, but something in me can’t quite walk away. Maybe it’s curiosity, or maybe I’m just as crazy as Alfie. Either way, I find myself reaching out to take the colorful balls from his hand. They’re surprisingly heavy, with a slight warmth to them.

Alfie just shrugs, unfazed. “Insanity is just another word for thinking outside the box. Now come on, give it a try!”

I turn them over in my palm, searching for any sign of trickery. “So…what? I just have to believe really hard, and they’ll disappear?”

“Exactly! Just close your eyes, picture them vanishing, and believe that it’s possible.”

I take a deep breath, feeling utterly ridiculous. But I close my eyes anyway, cupping the balls in my hands. I try to picture them disappearing, to believe it could happen. Nothing. I pry one eye open. The balls are still there, of course.

“It’s not working,” I say, frustration creeping into my voice.

Alfie tsks. “You’re not believing hard enough, Alex. Really focus. Imagine the impossible becoming possible.”

I sigh, but comply, squeezing my eyes shut tighter. I concentrate, imagining the balls dissolving into nothingness. My brow furrows with effort. My hands start to tingle, a strange warmth spreading through my palms.

Suddenly, I feel…lighter. The weight in my hands seems to have lessened. My eyes fly open in shock.

The balls are gone.

I stare at my empty palms, mouth agape. “What happened?”

“Magic!” Alfie beams, clapping his hands. Glad at least one of us thought that was impressive.

“Great. So does this mean I’m in now?”

“That was only your first test.”

I feel my jaw drop open. “First test? You’ve got to be kidding me. What more could you possibly want?”

Alfie’s grin widens, if that’s even possible. “We’re just getting started! Now that you’ve proven you can make things disappear, it’s time for a real challenge.”

“Real challenge?” Hadn’t I done enough by agreeing to join?

“You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you? Club Bedlam is exclusive for a reason.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, ornate key. It looks ancient, with intricate designs etched onto its surface. “Your next task is to unlock the impossible door.”

I raise an eyebrow. “The impossible door? What’s that supposed to mean?”

He lifts an indifferent shoulder. “That’s for you to figure out.”

“How am I supposed to—”

Before I can protest, Alfie snaps his fingers. In an instant, a thick cloud of smoke erupts around him, obscuring him from view and filling the air with the sharp scent of sulfur.

Not this again.

I wave the fog from my vision, getting really tired of this particular trick. Unlike the times before, I don’t spot him though, it’s only me left in the tent.

I turn the key over in my hand, studying its intricate patterns. It feels heavier than it should, like it’s made of something denser than metal.

“You couldn’t have at least given me a hint?” I yell into the empty room.

I wait a ridiculously absurd number of seconds for an answer. I get none.

Of course, the one time I want Alfie to speak up he decides to quit talking.

My hand tightens around the key. “Find the impossible door. Doesn’t sound too difficult,” I say, trying to ease my doubts. But in reality, I have no idea where to even begin.