The Telepathic Clans Omnibus

by B R Kingsolver

  Seamus started to say something but his voice caught. He cleared his throat, and haltingly said, “I thought they were going to drop you off with me, before their trip, and when they didn’t, I assumed they decided at the last moment to take you with them. Dear God, child, I thought I’d lost my whole family. I wanted all of you to be alive.” His face quivered and tears spilled down his cheeks.

  “I was supposed to stay with my grandfather,” Brenna said softly, staring down at the floor. “One of my friends was having a birthday, and I didn’t want to miss it. Mrs. Harris told my mom I could stay with them. It was kind of last minute. Then we saw the news about the crash.”

  She looked up, tears in her eyes. “I knew I had grandparents, but I didn’t know their last names, or how to find them, just that they lived far away. Social Services couldn’t find any record of me, no school records, no history. I could tell them I used to go to school in West Virginia, but they couldn’t find any records of me. I spent four years bouncing from foster home to foster home, and then the Morgans adopted me.

  “You know, I’m having a lot of trouble with all this,” Brenna said, her voice shaking. “I feel like I was just dumped and now all of a sudden I have strangers telling me a fantastic story and wanting me to just open my arms and welcome them into my life. I’m not even sure I want to believe you.”

  “They wouldn’t have found any records,” Callie said. “Where we live in West Virginia isn’t on any maps and the school you attended is private. Father doesn’t exist as far as the world knows, and O’Donnell is a rather common name. Brenna, you have to believe us, we thought you were dead.”

  Seamus said, “Well, we’ve found each other now, and I’ll make damned certain we don’t lose each other again. Are you living here in Baltimore? We can move you in here and then decide what to do next. Are you still in school? Working?”

  Shaking her long black hair back from her face, she raised her chin, squared her shoulders, and said, “I just graduated and I’m working. I have a house about a mile from here. I have a life. I appreciate that you feel we need to get to know each other, but I’ve been without any family for a long time now. I’d like to be able to sort of ease back into things, if you don’t mind.”

  “Brenna, our family has enemies,” Jared said. “It isn’t safe for you to be completely on your own. What if you ran into those men who were following me?”

  “Oh?” Brenna shot back. “I seem to have done all right the past fifteen years, and I don’t remember it being me who was having trouble dodging their attentions.”

  “I know this is a bit sudden,” Seamus said, “but if you’ve just graduated, then perhaps you might be open to a job offer from our family business. We have very diverse interests, many locations. Will you listen to alternatives?”

  “I doubt you have anything in my field,” Brenna said.

  “It’s Dr. Brenna Morgan, isn’t it?” Callie said, softly cutting into the exchange between Seamus and Brenna. “You’ve submitted a paper for publication called ‘Neurologic Observations During Self-perceived Psychic Phenomena’.”

  Brenna gasped, turned to her and said, “How could you know about that paper? It hasn’t been published yet. It was just accepted.”

  “Does the name Randolph Wilkins mean anything to you?” Callie answered.

  “Dr. Randolph Wilkins, the neurophysiologist? Yes, I’ve used his work mapping brain functions extensively as a basis for my own work. Why?”

  “My name is Dr. Callista O’Donnell Wilkins, and Randolph is my husband. He was sent your paper to review when you submitted it for publication. He told me he suspected, based on some of the methods you used and the conclusions you drew, that you might be a wilder, a telepath unconnected to a Clan. He was considering contacting you.”

  “Callista Wilkins? The geneticist? But, you’d have to be over seventy,” Brenna’s voice slowed, got softer. “And Randolph Wilkins, he must be, his seminal work was published, over fifty years ago …” she stared wide-eyed at Callie. The woman had already said she was eighty-three. She couldn’t be. She couldn’t be older than forty. Brenna was looking at her skin, not two feet away, and it was smooth and youthful.

  “Oh, my God,” she turned to Jared. “How old?”

  “I’m thirty-five,” he said.

  “I was born in 1853,” said Seamus.

  “Brenna, we don’t age the way most people do,” Callie told her.

  “How old, what’s our life span?” Brenna asked, a note of panic in her voice.

  “About two hundred years,” Callie answered, “and we develop late. Not physically, but mentally our brains take longer to develop. You’re still at least a decade away from maturing and developing your full powers.”

  Brenna took a deep breath. She stared off into space, silence fell over the room as the others watched her.

  “And what are my full powers?” she asked.

  Callie answered her. “We don’t know. Our Gifts vary from person to person.”

  Brenna was silent awhile longer. She shoved her hair back from her face, her other hand clenching and unclenching, then looked at Seamus, her eyes flashing, “Why are you telling me all this? If you’re so concerned about secrecy, then why tell me things that are obviously something you don’t want people to know?”

  He chuckled. “Who would believe you? None of this is news to other telepaths, except wilders like you. If you ran out of here and called a news conference, tried to tell CNN or the Washington Post, do you think they would take you seriously? You’ve known you can read minds all of your life. Who have you told?”

  Seamus leaned forward, his face very serious. “We’ve been burned at the stake, locked up in asylums, drugged into a stupor. We’re secretive for our own protection. We’re a tiny minority, and those of us whose lines have survived these last few millennia have learned to be very circumspect and very protective. Humans – normal humans – have never been very comfortable with us, and it’s to our advantage that we let them believe we’re myths.”

  “That’s why Randolph was concerned about your paper,” Callie said. “He told me that some of the things you were investigating would only occur to someone who knew the phenomena were real. The areas of the brain you were monitoring would only be associated with psychic phenomena by someone who already knew those phenomena were possible.

  “And that’s why your safety is of concern. Other telepaths will see the same clues in your work. Once your paper’s published, those who monitor the scientific literature in this area of study will come looking for you.”

  “If that’s the case, why haven’t you contacted me already? Why tell me this now, when I stumble into your midst?” Brenna asked.

  “Do you recall a Dr. Angus contacting you for an appointment in a couple of weeks?” Callie asked.

  “Yes,” Brenna replied.

  “Dr. Randolph Angus Wilkins is currently in the Far East, but will be coming back to DC in two weeks,” Callie said. “He planned to meet with you ahead of the publication of your paper to assess whether you’re a telepath, as he suspects. I don’t think that meeting is necessary now.”

  Until then, everything had seemed unreal, but how could they know about that appointment? The implications of everything they’d said crashed down on her. She took a deep breath, her hands shaking. She felt faint. Wobbling, she made her way to the chair and sat down. The world started spinning and she felt Callie’s hand on the back of her neck, pushing her head between her legs.

  After a while, she slowly sat up straight. A sense of numbness settled over her. Leaning back in her chair, she said, “This day definitely took a wild turn.” She looked around at them. “What the hell do I do now?”

  ~~~

  Chapter 1-2

  According to a recent survey, men say the first thing they notice about women is their eyes, and women say the first thing they notice about men is their lies. – Anonymous

  It was late when Callie showed Brenna to a bedroom on the third
floor.

  “What is this place?” Brenna asked. “I feel as though I’ve walked into an Escher painting.”

  Callie laughed. “All the houses on this block are connected. It’s actually all one house. Your father bought the whole block when the Inner Harbor was developed and designed a house for the Clan. It’s huge, and only a few of the outside doors are real.

  “Try to get some sleep. Maybe a hot bath will help. In the morning, take the stairs to the first floor, then turn left and follow your nose to the kitchen and dining room for breakfast. Oh, and if you decide to leave …”

  Brenna interrupted her, “I know, the doors are all locked,” she said resignedly.

  Callie smiled. “Yes, but not from the inside. I was just going to say we would appreciate it if you’d tell someone you’re leaving so they can lock up behind you. I would also appreciate it if you’d leave me an address and phone number.

  “You’re not a prisoner, Brenna. We’re concerned about your safety, but if you’re bound and determined to get yourself kidnapped or killed, that’s your choice. We’ll be very sorry, and we’ll hunt down anyone who hurts you, but you’re an adult. We might think you’re a damned fool, but we won’t stop you from doing what you think you need to do.”

  She turned to the door then stopped. “Do you have any pictures of your parents?” she asked.

  Brenna shook her head.

  “I have some in West Virginia, I’ll get them for you. Good night, Brenna.” She shut the door behind her.

  Brenna looked around the room. Nice, old, solid wood furniture and a queen-size bed. She peeked into the bathroom, amazed at the huge, deep soaker tub with Jacuzzi jets. The medicine cabinet was stocked with sanitary supplies, toothpaste, toothbrushes in sealed plastic, soap, shampoo and cream rinse – and not cheap brands. What the hell, she decided, and started water running in the tub.

  Curious, she checked the drawers in the dresser and was surprised to find them stocked with women’s underwear and hose still sealed in plastic. And in her size? The shock was the drawer with a half-dozen bras, brand new, in her size. Who the hell buys sexy, lacy bras in her size? Better question, who even makes a front-closure demi bra in her size? There weren’t any tags.

  There were clothes in the closet. Jeans in her size, skirts in her size, several blouses in her size. None of them had brand tags. This is creepy …

  She stripped, lowered herself into the tub and let it finish filling. She lay there for a long time, trying not to think but just letting the evening soak into her mind. She wasn’t sure what to think. An old anger at her abandonment sat in the back of her mind along with the total helplessness she’d felt when she heard her parents were dead.

  And now her father’s family shows up, wanting to tell her what to do. She had plenty of practice with new families. All she had to do was be passive, let them think she was buying in to all this, and tomorrow when she could escape she’d be able to decide how she wanted to deal with them.

  As long as she had expensive shampoo available, she washed her hair and discovered the towels were large enough to wrap her hair in just one, rather than the two she had to use at home.

  Her curiosity drew her back to the dresser. She opened a package of silk panties and picking a bra, put them on. They fit perfectly. Pulling a skirt and blouse from the closet, she dressed and stared at herself in the mirror. Her own clothes didn’t fit this good. Of course, with her body, it was never a surprise when clothes didn’t fit, only when they did. They were expensive and well made, formfitting around both the breasts and waist. The impossibility of that was something she refused to think about. Who stocked such clothes in a spare bedroom?

  Her audacity hit her, and blushing furiously she quickly stripped and put the clothes away. Of course, there was no way to hide that the panty package had been opened.

  She put her own shirt and panties on and crawled into bed. Silk sheets? No, they must be come kind of synthetic. Hell, she wouldn’t know the difference. She’d never touched a silk sheet in her life.

  The next morning, the light through the window woke her. She got up and began the task of brushing out her hair. Thick and wavy, it often had a mind of its own. There was a light tapping on the door, and she said, “Come in.”

  Callie entered with a tray holding two cups of coffee and two glasses of orange juice. “Do you mind some company?” she asked.

  Brenna smiled. “Anyone who shows up with coffee in the morning is obviously an angel, and who wouldn’t want the company of an angel?”

  Callie chuckled, setting the tray down on a small table. She watched as Brenna finished brushing out her hair, and twisted it into a braid as thick as her wrist.

  “Your mother never wore her hair that long, or at least not when I knew her. It’s incredible, like a waterfall of night.”

  “It’s a pain, but it’s also my pride, my vanity,” Brenna said. “A lot of fat chicks grow their hair long, it’s kind of a compensating mechanism.”

  Callie, in the middle of taking a drink of coffee, choked, spewing coffee all over the tray and table. She finally got her coughing under control as Brenna returned from the bathroom with a hand towel and wash cloth to clean up.

  “What the hell did you call yourself?” Callie said, her face was flushed and her eyes angry.

  “Hey, if the shoe fits.” Brenna said. “Size 14 isn’t exactly trim and svelte.”

  “You don’t wear a 14,” Callie said.

  “14, 16, it depends on the brand. Whatever. Anything that’s big enough is shapeless as a sack.”

  Callie glanced at the closet. “Did you look at any of the clothes hanging up?” she asked.

  “Yeah, some very pretty things,” Brenna answered, her face growing warm.

  Callie cocked her head to the side. “Did you try anything on?”

  Brenna could feel her face flame. Shit. She’ll know I’m lying. She shrugged her shoulders, afraid to look Callie in the face. “I tried on a skirt and blouse,” she said, wishing the floor would open and swallow her. She took a deep breath. “I was curious. I’m sorry. Really, I’m not usually so rude.”

  “Did they fit?” Callie asked.

  “The black A-line and the white blouse, yeah.”

  Callie stood and went to the closet, opened it, and took out the two garments. She looked them over while Brenna wondered if anyone had ever died of humiliation. Callie turned to her.

  “There’s underwear in the dresser. Get out a pair of panties and a bra, then put these on again. I want to see.”

  “Why?” Brenna asked.

  Suddenly Callie seemed to notice Brenna’s body language, her red face.

  “Oh, honey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty,” she said. “This is the room your mother used when she stayed here, and some of her clothes are still here.” She held out the blouse and skirt. “Would you humor me? Please?”

  Unsteadily, Brenna pulled the underwear she’d worn earlier from the dresser and put on the panties and bra. She wasn’t shy about getting nude in front of a stranger. Looking at Callie, she said, “I’ve never worn anything like this. I didn’t know they made bras like this in my size.”

  She took the blouse and put it on, again amazed at the fit, then stepped into the skirt and zipped it up.

  “Nothing that fits me in the bust and hips ever fits me in the waist. Nothing,” she said.

  Callie studied her. “Turn around. Amazing. What is your waist measurement?”

  “Twenty-four,” Brenna answered.

  “How the hell can you be fat with a twenty-four-inch waist?” Callie demanded.

  “I have a fat ass and big breasts,” Brenna replied. “I have to shop in the fat girls’ section.”

  “Those are your mother’s clothes, custom made for a special body. The bras are custom made.”

  Brenna walked to the floor-length mirror on the closet door and looked at herself. Turning back to Callie, she said in a tight voice, “I always thought I was pretty, but
I was taught that to say that about yourself, or to act like you’re pretty, was vain and that’s a sin. And my mother, my foster mother, always told me I was fat.”

  Callie strode toward her, and before Brenna could react, swept her up in a hug. “I say you’re beautiful, and you are to always, always believe me. No arguments. Got it?”

  In spite of herself, Brenna smiled. “Got it.”

  “Okay,” Callie said, “Let’s go get some breakfast. No, don’t change, wear those. They’re yours.”

  The dining room took up what had originally been the entire first floor of one of the row houses. When they entered, there were at least twenty people sitting at the table or filling plates at the sideboard. Several people looked up at them, and then conversations stopped. Everyone turned to look.

  “Hot damn,” one young man exclaimed. “Callie, may I have one too, please?”

  Brenna’s face flamed, and Callie shot him a look of distaste.

  “Collin, did you forget the one manner you’ve managed to acquire? I’ll have to tell Father you should go back to eating in the stable.”

  “Callie,” he replied with a smile, “I apologize.” He didn’t look at all apologetic.

  He stood, turned to Brenna, bowed, and said, “I’m sorry I forgot my manners. I hope you understand, Miss …”

  “Morgan,” Brenna supplied.

  “Miss Morgan. I hope you understand that when the most beautiful woman I have ever seen interrupts my breakfast, I just don’t know how to cope.”

  Brenna felt her face catch fire. She wanted to drop through the floor.

  “I don’t think words alone can express my chagrin,” Collin continued. “Please allow me to express my apology by taking you to dinner on Saturday evening at the South Harbor restaurant.”

  My God, he’s gorgeous, Brenna thought. Her mind was blank, and she just wanted to eat him whole. He was over six feet with broad shoulders, slim hips, unruly brown hair and blue eyes.

  She couldn’t believe the calm coolness in her voice as she replied, “I think that nothing less would suffice, Mr. ….”