by Owen, Kelli
Jacqueline nudged Tamara with her elbow and nodded a silent, See, I told you so.
As he spoke, he intertwined his fingers, the boniness of them made it difficult for Tamara to not believe everything Hollywood had taught her of her own kind. But he was just old, possibly very old. And she reminded herself, age, not fantasy, turns the skin paper-thin and leeches the pigment. Eventually. Tamara thought of some of the older actors and actresses of color and how well they aged. Looking at Max’s skin, she decided he must be well over one hundred to have actually started showing his age.
He glanced down and considered his hands as he continued. “The belief we returned from the dead is a thinly stretched result of us being kicked out of villages and towns, dead to our families, and considered dead by our neighbors. Had we attempted to return—if even in the cover of night to spy on our loved ones and make sure they were okay—we were returning from the dead, and headhunters were soon posted to be rid of us. Their duties took on a myth of their own—with any number of cultures claiming they used stakes or running water or iron nails. Eventually, anyone carrying the recessive gene either ran away or had been pushed away from society, and all that was left were supposedly pureblood humans. Until now.”
“We still die though, right?”
A voice behind Tamara interrupted and she turned to see who spoke. A woman in her early twenties who Tamara thought should probably know more than her, seemed even more lost and confused by the expression of helplessness painted across her worried face.
Maximilian’s mouth burst forth a short dry version of a laugh. “Absolutely. And you will, my dear. Just like all living things, we are rotting inside from the moment we’re born. You can be killed in a car accident or by drowning or any type of organ failure, just as humans. But we can, and often do, live longer than humans—if only because of our diet. Our bodies no longer break down and absorb fruits, vegetables, or grains after the gene is awakened, and so we take most of our nutrients from the blood-rich undercooked proteins of our meats. I still eat cauliflower, because I like it—especially with cheese—but my body doesn’t use it the same way. It’s like junk food to a lamian. Water and a meat-heavy diet is all we truly need, the rest is merely flavor, memories, and variety. We have a need for fewer nutrients, but of those we need more isoleucine than humans, it’s an amino acid in meat—” He stopped and studied Tamara’s face for a moment. “How are you in science class, dear? Are you following this?”
Tamara was aware he was not only addressing her directly, but others were looking at her as well. She swallowed and nodded. “I am. I understand. It’s a lot, but I’m following… I think.” The lilt in her voice was like an excited child being told an unbelievable tale.
“Good. To continue, we can live up to two times the average lifespan of a human. Sometimes three. Generally though, anywhere from 180 to 200 years is considered a normal and well-lived life. I’m over 170 and feel great.”
Tamara raised her hand excitedly then pulled it back down—embarrassed she behaved as if she were in a classroom. Max pointed casually at her with the flair of a dancer’s open hand. “No, no. Ask your question.”
“Two hundred? That’s it? I thought it was forever.” She used air quotes on the final word.
He smiled with closed lips in an elderly, knowing but not condescending fashion. “Remember, the legends and myths and false rumors about us all started during a time when humans considered thirty to be old age. To them, two hundred years was forever.”
Tamara squinted and chewed on the inside of her lip as she contemplated the things she was being told. Her eyes flit as if going down an invisible checklist of truths she wanted to fact-check.
“And the sun? Will I become allergic or sensitive? Will it destroy me?”
“No. That and the other wonderful doctrines of myth and fiction are false. All of them. No need to worry about the sun—you can even tan if you so choose. But you cannot change shape or physical characteristic, you cannot fly, you cannot hypnotize people, and you will always have a reflection.”
“Wait. We can’t hypnotize? I thought we could convince people to do things.” A man in the front row sounded upset at the notion he’d been wrong about this.
Max sighed and considered his words. “You cannot hypnotize people per se——though they may be frozen in fear for a moment if they know what you are. Convincing others of anything is more of a charismatic quality than a lamian blood trait.” He glanced at Victoria with a knowing look
“So, I’m just... different?” Tamara jumped back into the conversation.
“In a simplistic sense, yes. As much as someone with a bee allergy. They look exactly like us on the outside, but need medication if their allergy is triggered. Although, a bee sting doesn’t make someone start eating flesh. Our allergy leads us to rare and raw meats rich with blood, and humans are made of meat and blood, so they therefore fear we will take it from them. That we will kill them only to eat them. As if we were starving peasants and they had a full garden of fruit for us to steal.” He shook his head and Tamara could see he was annoyed with the incorrect assumption—the illogical behavior based on beliefs he’d likely run across in his lifetime.
“And what do you eat?” Victoria smiled, obviously aware of the answer. “Other than cheesy cauliflower, that is.”
“I actually really like lamb, and of course beef. I’m not a big fan of pork though. Never have been. Tastes funny to me when it’s rare enough to be beneficial. Fish and chicken are too slimy for my tastes. I stick to the redder meats, cow and sheep and game.”
“So I guess seafood…”
Maximilian shook his head frantically, squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and made a soft oof noise through his nose like a small child denying the very existence of liver and onions. He held a hand up with his palm flat to her as if to block her from his view and looked out at the rest of the group. “Other questions?”
“What about the powers? I was reading the Treaty…” The woman two rows in front of her let her question trail into empty space.
“Yes, the Treaty. You should all read it. We have it printed in the pamphlet on the back table, along with a card with our address and information on it, should you want to visit or have questions and can’t wait for the Monday meetings.” Max lifted his arm and indicated the location with a quick flick of a casual finger. “As far as the powers… Victoria?”
“Thanks, Max. Let’s see if I remember it all this time.” Victoria scanned the crowd and nodded at someone to Tamara’s left and then at Tamara. “As a couple of you are learning tonight, there’s a tendency to be psychic among our kind. And yes, Tod, we were reading your thoughts. We don’t do it often because we think it’s rude, but it does prove a point to the new people.” She smiled and Tamara looked over to locate the other newbie.
“We refer to the powers as the three Cs—clairaudience, clairsentience, and clairvoyance. Most people are only familiar with the last one and sometimes refer to it as ESP. Let me explain each for you.”
Maximilian coughed in a forced manner to get her attention.
“Oh wait.” Victoria glanced at him. “To answer the question, yes, we have powers. Sometimes. Actually, usually. While humans have some form of psychic gift anywhere from seventeen to forty-three percent of the time—depending on your source material—lamians tend to have them ninety percent of the time. It’s actually more unusual to not have some form of psychic ability.”
Jacqueline’s face twisted into an expression of deep thought—her eyes squinted as she looked at the floor. Tamara thought maybe she was also trying to remember if she had ever exhibited anything she could consider psychic. Tamara knew she certainly hadn’t.
“If any of you question your abilities, we can assess individuals at the end of the session. Meanwhile, let me explain the three Cs.” Jacqueline blinked and looked up, and Tamara realize
d the young woman was talking to her mother.
“Clairvoyance, as I said, is the most familiar to people. It is sometimes called ESP, extra-sensory perception, and often exhibits with what people may call visions. Essentially, it’s a visual ability and may be through dreams, visions of other places and things, or even seeing something right there that others don’t.
“Clairaudience is the next most common, and the one used by many paid psychics. This ability is hearing things. It often starts with buzzing or ringing or popping in your ears, but grows over time to be messy voices, like the static of an out-of-tune radio, whispering you can’t quite make out, or conversations too far away to understand. Eventually, this becomes clearer and clearer, and with it comes the ability to turn it off, or simply ignore it. Because as mentioned, at later stages, with the truly gifted, it becomes the ability to hear the thoughts of others.” She winked at Tamara.
“And finally we have clairsentience, the ability to feel things. This one is actually more common than people know, but it’s strange and often subtle so most don’t realize what it is. Have you ever walked into a room, house, building, and suddenly felt very uncomfortable, needing to perhaps leave? That is quite likely clairsentience. People who have this are usually quite empathetic and in touch with the emotions of others around them, but it goes deeper than that. They can get feelings about places, not just people. And to really round out the crazy, almost magical part of these abilities, they work on both the living and the dead.”
Tamara’s mouth opened in a small circle as she inhaled disbelief.
“But that, Victoria, is a different topic of conversation for a different day. Suffice to say, if you believe in the afterlife or ghosts or things of similar ilk, then yes, if you become psychic with one of these abilities, it works with them as well as the living.” Max’s focus washed across the group, not pausing on anyone but rather scanning as a whole. “However, keep in mind, these powers will sometimes not work with other lamians. I’ve always maintained these developed as a way to protect us from harm in the distant past. If we were warned of a threat against us from humans—whether it was seen, heard, or felt—we could better defend against, if not avoid, the danger. We didn’t need to be warned of lamian intent—we were on the same side. It comes in handy if you feel threatened. And you will feel threatened. We are not universally welcome yet. No matter what any treaty declares.”
He swallowed. His expression turned to contemplation. Tamara wondered if he was going to speak or simply consider whatever thought had stopped him. He spoke.
“In almost two hundred years, it’s only the last thirty in which I have been hated for something other than my skin color. It’s eye-opening and unfortunate, but it’s real for now.”
He looked over the room, his gaze flitting, searching, while the truth of his comment hung in the air. He stopped on someone in front of Tamara.
“Yes, we find it rude to use the abilities, but we use it in here because often people are afraid or ashamed to ask questions and this allows us to answer something freely, without having to point out who asked it. And I have found, if one of you has a question, others likely share it.”
He scanned again and nodded to someone on the other side of the room. “It’s rare, but occasionally lamian develop more than one of the abilities. Any other group questions before we take one-on-one?”
He paused for a long moment before turning to Victoria and nodding.
“Let’s take a quick break then. There’s bathrooms down the hall, some refreshments at the back by the handouts, and for you smokers, there’s a designated area at the end of the building outside.” Victoria stood with purpose and Tamara presumed she was one of the smokers. As if to answer, the young woman walked straight for the door at the back of the room and several others followed her.
Jacqueline held up her empty cup and wiggled it in the air in front of Tamara’s face to get her attention. “Getting a refill, do you want anything?”
Tamara shook her head, intently watching Maximilian.
Max looked around the group once again and then stood. He brushed both hands down his slacks to smooth them, and then walked over to the window. His steps were light, graceful. He moved with a fluidity that comes of class, but also age. Considering his, Tamara wondered what he’d experienced in his time. She wondered if he’d tell her if she asked.
He stood taller suddenly and turned back to the room, squinting as he scanned the people still in it. His brow furrowed and he turned and looked out the window, moving his head side to side as if he were searching for something outside.
Tamara watched his face twist up in concentration, then concern, as he continued looking outside for whatever it was he was hearing, sensing.
— EIGHT —
Madison opened the school-provided laptop as the second bell rang, indicating the beginning of the period. She usually considered her third hour a waste of time—a study hall she rarely needed and hardly used—and generally traded it in for a free hour of playing on her phone. Today however, she planned to scour the Internet for information on her condition. Since they had free reign on seating choices, she had moved to the back of the room to protect her notes and screen from prying eyes.
As the laptop powered up, she made a mental note of her classmates and wondered if any of them were also lamian. Study Hall was a diverse gathering of nerds and losers, jocks and beauty queens. Madison’s gaze flitted across each of their faces, judging them for everything other than their teeth. She stopped herself, the sharp pang of irony crawling into her thoughts, as she realized how judgment of any kind could ruin any one of the students in the room via social media.
Oh how easily we can destroy each other now. One post on Snapchat and Brenna had all but shunned Tamara. Madison recalled the wickedly quick destruction of the friendship between Brenna and her ousted friend.
And yet, Tam doesn’t seem too fazed by any of it. Maybe the teeth aren’t a weakness, as long as the person isn’t weak themselves.
Most of her generation had embraced the trait and stood tall to declare allegiance when they were shown to carry the recessive gene. There were as many pride parades as there were hate rallies. There was an ever-increasing number of pro-lamian businesses and laws, meant to overshadow the memories of repression and drown out the cries of the social injustices suffered and survived by lamians since their exposure and the Treaty’s signing. It was no longer a viable option to simply hide the truth. It was now listed on your medical records, employment files, and tax returns. On Madison’s level, of personal concern to her, it was part of your permanent educational record, starting in high school where it usually presented and then following the student through any secondary schools they chose before heading out into the job force.
Madison swallowed gently at the oppressive thoughts swirling in her head. How many of her classmates had loose teeth? New teeth? How many were truly embracing their exciting new outlook on longevity and nutrition? And how many were hiding it as carefully and fearfully as she?
Swallowing, the act of causing suction in her mouth had pulled her lips tight to her teeth and gave her a moment of panic. The loose tooth barely hung on by a thread at this point, and the other upper canine had started to move in its socket that morning. It was going to be impossible to hide for much longer. She desperately needed two things: a reason to lose a tooth—that tooth—in a way Brenna’s suspicion wouldn’t be triggered to ostracize her, and the knowledge of what to do since she learned she wasn’t human.
She had decided, while gently brushing her teeth the night before, she’d simply have some sort of accident. At first, Madison thought she could get injured at school, but knew it would cause administration involvement because they feared parental repercussion. Trashing the car seemed a bit over the top and a sure way to get her license privileges revoked. She finally settled on the idea of conveniently falling when
no one was home to witness it, supposedly hitting her mouth and knocking the tooth loose. Her mother had been letting her go to the dentist by herself for the last two years, so she could lie and say she’d gone and they were going to put in a replacement—then keep her mouth shut and wait for it to grow in.
The second tooth would require more thought and a different approach to avoid suspicion.
I’m not human.
The thought haunted her. Her own voice repeated the phrase several times a day. She looked around her school at classmates she knew were lamian and wondered again how many more were, but were hiding it like she was. She couldn’t ask anyone for help. She couldn’t openly appear curious. Every avenue she’d thought of would somehow get back to Brenna and she’d be socially screwed. An outcast. Starting over at seventeen with no friends, and without the benefit of switching sch—
Maybe I can do that? Maybe I can convince Mom I should go to private school.
Nah…it will be in my records soon. I’ll be marked.
She quickly tucked the thought back into the hat of unrealistic possibilities and focused on the screen in front of her. Madison would have to do this on her own. And she’d start here, with Google.
She glanced around the immediate desks to see who was nearby. Her study hall had been a last-minute substitution for an overbooked photography class, so she hadn’t planned it with any friends. But she needed to know frienemies weren’t close enough to spy and report to Brenna.
