Ollie.

I kicked a box, aggravated. Mom had sent me up into this dusty attic to find the star that had always sat on top of our tree but for some reason wasn’t in the box with the rest of the Christmas decorations. The box tipped over, spilling its contents across the floor, aggravating me further. I took a deep steadying breath like Dad taught me to do whenever I could feel my frustration beginning to build. Stooping down, I swept the odd assortment of things back into the box, a set of car keys, a jewelry box, a couple phoenix figurines, a pair of gloves, and righted it. Mom must have used it as a ‘catch all’ box and just tossed it up here, planning to sort it one day and forgetting. A picture remained on the floor and as I grabbed it, intending to throw it back in the box, I paused, noticing it was Mom and Dad.

They were young in the picture, younger than I had ever seen them, teenagers. Dad wore a nice, smart suit and Mom was in a ballgown. Curiously, I flipped the picture to see if there was a year on it and froze. Written on the back in an elegant script was the name “Osmond Alastor. Presentation Ball.” Dad's real name could be Osmond, although I had never heard him called anything but Ozzie. That wasn’t what was bothering me though. It was the surname Alastor, our last name was Johnson. That's not to say I didn’t know the name Alastor, everyone knew the name Alastor. The Alastors were infamous, but they were all dead. They were all supposed to be dead.

“Ollie.” Mom called from the ladder, making me jump. “Any luck?”

“No.” I said, pocketing the picture and moving to the trap door. 

“I’ll send Dad up later to double check. Otherwise we’ll have to get a new one.” Mom said, sounding a little sad.

We had used the same star since we came here and I knew both my parents were big on traditions. Dad would find it, he could always find things. Sometimes he seemed to just know things, but I knew he was just really good at reading people and sensing things. I’m like that too, I can feel the air shift around someone when they enter a room and if I know them well enough I can even tell who it is without having to see them. I had always known there was something they weren’t telling me but I had never imagined it was something like this. As I lay in bed that night, staring at the name Alastor on the back of that picture, things started to make sense.

I remember the day we came to the beach, I was only 3 or 4 but I remember Mom being scared, she wouldn’t say it but I could feel it rolling off her. I remember the day Dad came too, because he didn’t come with us, he came later. Mom thought he was dead, she wouldn’t say that out loud though, but I knew from the way she looked at me she was trying to figure out how to break the news to me but I knew he wasn't. We never talked about before but I remembered it. I pretended like I remembered less than I did for Mom's sake. Dad seemed to know though, that I remembered more than I let on. I always felt like Dad was watching me, waiting for me to give up a sign that I knew more but that was probably paranoia.

I remember the house, the explosion. I remember the people that had gathered, Dad leaving for work. I don’t know what Dad's job was back then but I knew he left us a lot and we always had a lot of people around us when he was gone. Mom had told me Dad would probably be gone a while but I knew he wouldn’t be. Seconds before the explosion the air shifted and I braced myself on instinct then I led Mom through a trapdoor. She had acted calm but I knew we were in real danger. My body had screamed at me that we were moments from death until we landed on the beach but I hid it well and I don’t think Mom noticed. She never talked about it, about us coming here. Dad would occasionally mention things, things from before and Mom would get mad. I never understood why it made Mom so mad but if he was an Alastor, if I was an Alastor..

I grabbed my laptop from my desk and typed in the name ‘Osmond Alastor’ into the search engine. I held my breath as the results loaded, the internet connection on our island had always been crap but it seemed to be taunting me just then. Finally the page cleared and my hand shook as I scrolled through the results. The first link I clicked had a headline that made my stomach flip. The logical part of my brain was telling me to close the computer and just ask Dad about it in the morning but I knew he wouldn’t tell me the truth.

‘Wanted: Osmond Alastor, 23, considered armed and dangerous after explosion that killed most of the Alastor family.’

I skimmed the article, not having the patience to actually read it. I didn’t have to read it though, the picture accompanying the headline told me everything I needed to know. My Dad's serious face, younger than I ever remember it being, stared at me through the computer screen. The article said The Alastor Family home had exploded, killing everyone inside, including Osmonds parents, wife, and son. About 90% of the Alastor family had been inside the house, the remaining 10% had vanished. No one could find them and the country was on high alert, every soul on the lookout. 

Clicking back to the search results, I found a site that listed historical obituaries. Skimming through the list of Alastor names I stopped on Oliver Alastor. There were two, one for a 28 year old man and one for a 4 year old. The blood in my veins ran cold as I read the childs, knowing I was reading my own obituary. A bit further down was Osmonds', I read it, curious on how my father had supposedly died. Apparently no one knew, they just found a body, positively identified as Osmond Alastor by an unnamed source. 

My eyes shot to my closed bedroom door, someone was awake and in the hallway. I shoved the picture beneath my pillow just as my door opened, my mom's eyes drifting through the room. She had just opened her mouth to say something when her eyes widened. I could almost hear her heart rate spike as her cheeks flushed. I don’t know what she was seeing but it scared her.

“Everything ok?” she asked softly, trying to keep her voice neutral.

“Just couldn’t sleep.” I told her, and she nodded and quickly turned out of my room, the door clicking shut behind her.

The Alastors were born with war in their blood. No one knows for sure where the family originated but they popped up all throughout history. Warriors, spies, rulers. They were powerful, the lineage being passed down, oldest son to oldest son, a line that seemed to be unbroken all the way to the beginning of time. They were almost myths, whispered stories about how they were direct descendants of an actual demon. That they held powers that no human could. That you could always know an Alastor by how bright their eyes seemed to shine, like that of The Morning Stars.

Staring into my own eyes the next morning unnerved me in a way I was too proud to acknowledge. My eyes had always been a bright blue, just like my dads, but now they seemed unnatural. I had never met anyone with eyes as light as mine. They were almost white, seeming to only be tinged with a drop of blue to make them appear human. A chill ran down my spine and I turned to the door, no one stood there but someone had just passed. Entering my room, Dad was sitting on the edge of my bed, waiting. 

“Heard you were up late last night.” he spoke softly, addressing the floor instead of looking up at me.

“Couldn't sleep.” I mumbled, sinking into my desk chair.

He knew. I could just tell he knew that I knew the truth, he was just waiting for me to make the first move, giving me the chance to ask. When he realized I wasn’t going to talk he finally looked up at me.

“You scared your mother last night,” he said evenly. 

“I know. I didn’t mean to.” I mumbled, unsure if he was mad at me or not.

“It’s not your fault.” he reassured me. “She saw something in you she hoped to never see. Something she was sure we could keep away from you, despite my almost constant argument that it was inherited and not taught.”

“And what would that be?” I asked, my heart beginning to race.

“Alastor.” He muttered and our eyes locked and I had to ball my hands into fists to stop them from shaking. “You feel it too, don’t you?”

“Feel what?” I asked, unnecessarily. I already knew what he was going to say, why I had found that picture, why I hadn’t second guessed the name on the back of it.

“It’s time.” His dad said, sadly.

I would miss the island, the simple life it had given me. My mom had gotten what she wanted. I had the chance at a normal childhood but there was no ignoring this. It had been bugging me for awhile now, I just wasn’t able to articulate it. It was time though, beyond time really. It was a constant feeling throughout my life here, a yearning for a place I never truly knew. Dad was right, it was an inheritance and it was time I stepped in to take it. They needed to go home.