Super Powers: The New Super Humans, Book Two

by T. M. Franklin

  “Great!” the landlord—Mr. James—said. “Come on downstairs and we'll take care of the paperwork. When would you like to move in?”

  Maia turned to him with a sheepish smile. “Now?” she asked. “I have all of my stuff in my car. You were kind of my last hope.”

  Mr. James nodded. “Well, lucky we found each other then,” he said before leading her back down to the kitchen.

  They sat at the table and Maia signed a lease, then wrote a check for the deposit. She thanked the landlord and was just about to follow him out to unload her car when the front door swung open, and two familiar faces appeared.

  “Maia?” Miranda blinked at her in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, you two know each other,” Mr. James said. “That's a happy coincidence. Maia here is your new roommate.”

  “Roommate?” Chloe said. “You're living here?”

  “Didn't see that one coming?” Miranda asked wryly.

  “Nope.”

  “Well, it looks like you have the help you need to unload,” Mr. James said to Maia. “So if there's nothing else, I should be going.”

  Maia opened her mouth to tell him to stop. Tell him she'd changed her mind. But just as quickly, she slammed it shut. She had no choice. This was her home now. And apparently, she shared it with Chloe and Miranda. She couldn't even find it in herself to be surprised. All roads led to this moment. And she, apparently, was just along for the ride.

  “Thank you,” she told Mr. James quietly.

  He nodded at the three of them and walked out the front door, closing it quietly behind him.

  She stood, staring after him for a long moment, trying to compose herself. It was fine. It was no big deal. She'd just ignore it. Pretend that craziness hadn't even happened. She'd avoid Miranda as much as she could—definitely avoid Chloe and her other weird friends—and work on her paper. She'd spend most of her time in the library, anyway. And Professor Kennedy had offered his own personal library to aid in her research, as well. She'd hardly even be around, she'd be so busy.

  So, yeah. It would be fine.

  Maia took a deep breath and turned to face Chloe and Miranda. “I've got to get my stuff,” she said.

  “We can help,” they replied simultaneously.

  “No . . . no, that's fine,” Maia said, suddenly frantic to get out of the house and get some fresh air. “It's not much, so . . .” They both looked so uncomfortable that Maia felt she had to say something.

  “Can you let me get settled?” she asked. “Then . . . then maybe we can talk?” She walked out the front door before they could say anything more and made her way to her car, parked along the curb in front of the house. When she came back inside, carrying a box of sheets and towels, Chloe and Miranda were gone. Their bedroom doors were closed, and as she passed one of them, she could make out low voices inside.

  Relieved at the temporary reprieve, she unloaded her car in a few more trips, then started to unpack. She had just finished making her bed when there was a quiet knock at the door. With a deep, calming breath, she walked over and opened the door.

  Miranda stood in the hall, nervously chewing on her lip for a moment. Then she shook her head with a huff and threw herself at Maia, hugging her tightly.

  “I'm so sorry,” she said. “We shouldn't have overwhelmed you like that.”

  Maia let out a soft breath and hugged Miranda back.

  “It's okay.”

  “No, it's not,” her cousin said, squeezing her once more before letting her go. “You were clearly uncomfortable and we kept pushing—”

  “It's fine.” Maia shook her head, not wanting to think about that day again. About the way that girl had just . . . vanished.

  How . . .

  She shut down that train of thought right away. Denial was a powerful thing, and sometimes it was what kept you sane.

  “It's really not fine,” Miranda said as she followed Maia into the room. “But we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to.”

  “Thanks,” she said quietly.

  “And I told the others to stay away until you're ready—I mean, no pressure or anything. Whenever you want to talk about it, that's when we'll talk about it—”

  “Miranda—”

  “—and nobody will bring it up until—”

  “Miranda.” Maia smirked as her cousin stopped, mouth half-open. “I thought we weren't going to talk about it.”

  Miranda blushed and nodded, saying nothing more as she flopped onto the bed. They chattered about other things while Maia put her clothes in the drawers and set up her laptop and school supplies on the small desk in the corner. The room was already feeling like home. She’d set up a few framed photos on top of the dresser, smiling at the mountain as she passed the window, now barely visible in the fading light.

  “You should let me do your hair since you're here,” Miranda said with a sly grin.

  Maia eyed the purple and teal streaks through Miranda's own short hair. “I don't think so.”

  “Oh come on! You'd look so cute with some blonde streaks—or yellow!”

  Maia laughed. “Miranda, I've gone through my whole life with a bright orange rat's nest. The last thing I need is to draw more attention to my hair.”

  “Oh, shut up. Your hair is gorgeous.”

  Maia shook her head. She'd come to an uneasy truce with her curls over the years, given up on fighting them and just letting them do their thing. Miranda could pull off the wild colors. Maia . . . not so much.

  “Thanks,” she said. “But I'm not dyeing it.”

  Miranda let out a huff. “You're no fun. Chloe won't let me do hers, either.”

  At the mention of Chloe, the uneasy tension seeped back into the room. They both tried to ignore it, though.

  “So,” Miranda said, getting off the bed to approach the desk and eye the stacks of books and papers. “You have a lot of homework over Christmas break?”

  “Some,” she replied. “You?”

  Miranda shrugged. “Just some reading. Nothing too heavy.” She caught sight of familiar photocopied pages. “You working on your paper?”

  Maia stiffened. “Yes.”

  Miranda's gaze flashed up to meet hers. “About The Order?”

  Maia nodded. “My prof's been great. He offered to help me with the translation over break. I'm going to call him tomorrow about using his research library.”

  “Really?” Miranda's excitement was palpable. She was practically vibrating with it. She opened her mouth but snapped it shut. Maia could tell that she was trying not to pressure her, that she was dying to ask her more about the journal, but didn't want to break her word that they weren't going to discuss it.

  Maia felt bad. Miranda was her cousin, her closest family member other than her own mother. And regardless of what had happened, whatever she was involved in with her weird friends, Maia wasn't going to cut her off.

  “You could—” She leaned against the desk and reached over to flip idly through some pages. “I mean, when I go over to meet with him about the book . . . You could come, if you want.”

  “Really?” Miranda grinned, bouncing on her toes.

  “Just you,” Maia said quickly. “Not everybody.”

  “Yeah, sure, of course,” she replied, nodding. “Just me. I'll go along and I promise, I'll just listen. I won't ask him a bunch of questions.”

  Maia rolled her eyes. “You can ask him questions.” She hesitated, unsure of how to phrase her next comment. “Just don't, you know, bring up the whole . . .” She lifted her hands and wiggled her fingers around her head in the universal symbol for crazy weirdness. “You know?”

  “Right, yeah, of course.” Miranda flushed slightly. “Mum's the word.”

  Focused intently on the papers as she bent a corner, then flattened it out, Maia cleared her throat. “I don't really understand what's going on, or how you're involved, or why you're trying to drag me into all of this—”

  “Maia—”

  “�
��but.” She lifted her gaze to meet her cousin's. “But you're my family and I don't want to lose that.”

  “You won't.”

  “And if you need me, I mean, to talk to about . . . whatever.” Maia waved a hand again. “I want you to know I'm here.”

  Miranda toyed with her earring, her eyes narrowing. “Last time you ran away.”

  Maia's hackles rose. “Can you blame me? You guys—”

  “No, no . . . I don't blame you, I told you I don't.” She walked back over to sit on the bed, the comforter billowing up around her. “But . . . I want you to know it wasn't a trick or a game or anything like that. It was—it is real.”

  Maia opened her mouth to reply, but Miranda barreled on. “And I know you're not ready to deal with it all, but you'll have to someday . . . someday soon. One way or the other. But I want you to know I'm here for you, too, Maia. So just . . . you know, know that.”

  There were a lot of things Maia could have said to that. She knew she couldn't go on ignoring what they'd told her—what she'd seen—the inexplicable, impossible things she'd seen in that research room. But she had never been one to act on impulse. Maia was a thinker, an analyzer, and she needed to absorb what she'd been told—research, contemplate, and consider—before she could do anything else.

  So instead of pouring out platitudes or reassurances to her cousin, she simply said, “Thanks,” and finished her unpacking.

  “You're awfully quiet. Everything okay?” Miranda asked as they drove out of town toward Professor Kennedy's house. Maia had hesitated to email him at first, unsure if he really wanted her to disrupt his holiday. But once she did, he'd responded almost immediately and invited them both over.

  She hadn't told her cousin about her late night sleepwalking session, or the strange dream about their house . . . the latest in a long list of strange things in her life recently. Things she still refused to contemplate too deeply.

  Denial was a wonderful thing.

  “I'm fine,” she replied, stifling a yawn. “Just didn't sleep too well last night.”

  Miranda shot her a sharp look. “Bad dreams?”

  Maia shrugged and avoided meeting her eyes. “Can't remember.”

  Miranda hummed as if she wasn't quite sure she believed her, but turned back to look at the road. Pavement turned to gravel as they wound their way out of town and down a long driveway to a two-story farmhouse. Frost covered the wilted flowers in the front yard, but the brick walkway had been recently swept. They parked in front of the detached garage and exchanged a glance before approaching the front door.

  “It's kind of weird, isn't it,” Miranda asked as they approached the front door, “for your professor to invite you to his house?”

  “The house he shares with his wife and son,” she replied. “It's not that weird. He's just trying to help me out.”

  “Okay, if you say so. I have pepper spray in my purse, just in case.”

  Maia rolled her eyes. “I'm pretty sure we won't need that.” She raised her hand to knock, but paused to hiss at her cousin. “Now, behave!”

  Miranda held up her hands in surrender and Maia narrowed her eyes with one more finger point before turning to knock on the door.

  The door swung open to reveal a woman holding a pile of curly brown hair atop her head. She was barefoot and wore faded, holey jeans and a long sleeved tie-dyed t-shirt, knotted at her trim waist and spattered with paint. Her glasses were slightly askew over warm brown eyes and she shoved them up her nose before viciously snapping an elastic band around her hair, taming it only slightly.

  “You must be . . . Maia?” she said, looking back and forth between them.

  “That's me,” she replied. “This is my cousin Miranda. She has . . . um . . . interests in my research as well.”

  The woman rolled her eyes and blew an errant strand of hair out of her face. “Research, research, research. That's all we hear around here. You'd think certain people actually forget they're on vacation!” She all but shouted the last few words back into the house and Maia could barely make out a muffled reply.

  “If this is a bad time . . .” she said.

  “What?” The woman looked genuinely stunned for a moment, then smiled sheepishly. “Oh, no . . . no, of course not. Come on in.” She closed the door behind them and led them down the hall. “I'm just giving my husband a hard time. The guy works all the time, but that's who he is. We haven't been married for almost twenty-five years because I ever tried to change him. I'm Daisy, by the way.”

  “I'm sorry, but you seem really familiar,” Miranda said. “Do you know—”

  Pounding footsteps down the stairs drew their attention.

  “Mom, I've asked you before to quit leaving boxes of condoms in my . . . bath . . . room . . .” A tall, lean guy with spiky brown hair and glasses came to an abrupt stop when he spotted them, his cheeks flaming and the aforementioned box held high above his head.

  “I, uh, didn't know anyone was here.” He seemed to notice the box and jerked his hand behind his back.

  Daisy approached him and patted his cheek. “Sweetie, how many times do I have to tell you sex is nothing to be ashamed of? And the old ones were expired.”

  “Mom!” The guy looked ready to melt into the floor in embarrassment. Maia couldn't blame him, but wasn't sure what she could do to relieve it.

  Miranda cleared her throat and raised a hand in a finger wiggling wave. “Um, hey, Dylan.” Her own cheeks were pink and Maia wondered if it was more than secondhand embarrassment for the boy.

  His mouth dropped open. “Miranda! What are—” He fumbled, dropped the condoms, and kicked the box under the hall table. “What are you doing here?”

  “Well, I guess we're here to see your . . . dad?”

  “Oh, oh right. Yeah.” He nodded vigorously. “Yeah, he mentioned a student was coming over. I guess that'd be you, right?” He finger-gunned at Maia. “Of course it is. Right. I'm just going to go—” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Go and die of embarrassment, okay? Great. Yeah, good talk.”

  He fled up the stairs and Miranda, almost in a daze, watched him go. When she saw Maia staring at her, she shrugged, cheeks flaming. “He works at the coffee shop.”

  “Oh yeah,” Maia said, finally connecting the dots. “I thought he looked familiar.” They followed Daisy down the hall and Maia leaned in to whisper, “You guys a thing?”

  “What? No!” Miranda's cheeks flamed again as she glanced at Daisy, obviously hoping she hadn't heard.

  Maia's lips quirked. “He's kind of cute.”

  “Shut up,” Miranda hissed.

  Maia held back a giggle as Daisy escorted them toward what she assumed was Professor Kennedy's library at the back of the house. She'd have to explore the whole Dylan situation later.

  “Honey? Your students are here,” Daisy said, knocking once on the door before swinging it open.

  The professor was seated behind a large wooden desk, bookshelves lining the wall behind and to the left a large window dominated the wall to the right. He stood and dropped his glasses on the desk.

  “Maia, come on in,” he said.

  “This is my cousin, Miranda.”

  “Miranda.” He smiled at her and held out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You, too. I hope you don't mind me tagging along.”

  “Not at all,” he replied, smiling over her shoulder at his wife, who pulled the door closed behind her. “Always room in my library for a fellow historian.”

  “Well, I'm not sure I qualify,” she said, “but thank you.”

  He motioned to the low leather chairs before his desk. “Have a seat. I actually was working on your translation.”

  The two girls pulled out their laptops as Professor Kennedy sat down behind his desk and reached for his copy of the book about The Order.

  “The initial entries are in Latin, some old Saxon, possibly dating around the 9th century,” he said. “But they point to the so called Order being in existence long before th
at.”

  “How long?” Miranda asked.

  “Centuries. Millennia possibly,” the professor replied with a shrug. “It's not definitive.”

  “So what exactly is The Order?” Maia asked.

  He leaned back in his chair, rocking slowly. “Basically, The Order is a group of individuals who come together to defend humanity against the forces of evil and chaos.”

  Maia frowned. “So, it's some kind of club? Or a fraternal organization? Like the Masons or something?”

  “No, not exactly.” He studied her for a moment over tented fingers, but just as she was about to look away, he took a deep breath.

  “The members of The Order are carefully chosen each generation, according to the needs of the time. Each is given a certain gift to aid in their quest—either to protect or to fight.”

  Maia's stomach flipped wildly. “What kind of gift?”

  His intense gaze didn't falter. “It depends on what is needed. There are references to strength, speed . . . the ability to manipulate time, invisibility, illusion, foreseeing the future—”

  “But that's impossible,” Miranda said, eyes narrowing.

  His lips twitched. “Of course it is.”

  Maia cleared her throat. “So, the book is a record of this Order, through the generations?”

  The professor nodded and leaned forward on his desk. “Yes. According to the journal, not all gifts are bestowed in every generation—some have been more than others, again, depending on what is needed. But there are two who are always present—the Seer and the Scribe. The Seer is to watch for what's coming-”

  “And the Scribe is to keep the record,” Miranda said quietly.

  “Exactly,” he replied. “If there's a need, the Seer will know, and the others will be summoned.”

  Maia opened her mouth, but no words came out. Nerves vibrated through her body and she was quickly coming to realize that there was no room for denial anymore.

  Nowhere to run.

  She cleared her throat. “Summoned by whom?”

  “It’s not clear,” he said. “The closest thing to an explanation is in one of the early entries. Here, let me see if I can find it.” He flipped through the pages and stopped, running a finger along a line of text.