by A. L. Knorr
"How did you do that?" Hiroki asked.
"Same way I shattered the glass in the cave in Libya," I explained. "I changed the frequency of the force-field to match that of the ball.”
"Huh. I wouldn't have thought something made of soft plastic could be destroyed that way. Frequency should be too slow, material too pliable."
I shrugged, feeling a little smug. "You're the scientist. There has to be an explanation."
"Not necessarily," came Hiroki's surprising answer. "We're dealing with a supernatural ability, here. At some point, science becomes irrelevant and the 'super' part takes over. This is when all of my education and knowledge become useless. Your abilities are the way they are, scientifically explainable or not. And not only that…"
I knew what he was going to say. "I'm one of a kind."
Hiroki nodded. "Exactly. As far as we know, there is only one Euroklydon and there can only ever be one Euroklydon at a time."
This statement caught me in a thicket of emotions. My mind took me to my recurring dream—the one of the man who looked like me. The man who seemed to be trapped in a world that moved in slow-motion, whose warning was never explicit enough and never came fast enough. The dream was always frustrating. Always confusion. Always disconcerting.
Run.
It was all he ever said—no, mouthed—and my dismay at these dreams was getting old.
Popping sounds pulled me from my musings. Three multi-colored explosions of plastic fluff appeared against the walls of my bubble. A fourth popping sound with a higher pitch sent a tennis ball bouncing off; the information about that ball passed through my core like a radio signal. When a second tennis ball followed less than half a second later, it too exploded into shreds of rubber.
I smiled, a little surprised to find that I was enjoying this. "That the best you got?" I crooked my fingers at the booth in a gesture of challenge. "Bring it on, 'Roki."
A loud bang followed my invitation and a metal ball the size of my fist bounced off the force-field to hit the lab wall with a loud crack. When a second identical metal ball fired milliseconds after the first, I was ready for it. There was another loud crack and the ball exploded into a million metal fragments.
"This could get expensive," I said with a grin.
"TNC has deep pockets," answered Hiroki, and his voice also had a smile in it. "What happens if I fire two different projectiles at the same time?"
Before I could answer, he did just that.
The popping sound of a nerf ball firing to my right, accompanied by the much louder bang of the metal ball at the same time, resulted in both projectiles bursting into fragments simultaneously.
"Whoa," said Hiroki. "Cool. Did the force-field do that automatically, or did you have to change something?"
"I heard the sound and knew what was coming. It all happens so fast that it’s not really conscious."
"Remarkable."
The shining heat of confidence was steadily growing in me. "You want to try live ammunition, now?" I laughed. "Not that a metal ball wouldn't be considered 'live.' That thing could have taken my head off."
"Can we?" Hiroki sounded disbelieving and ignored my comment about being beheaded.
"Sure."
There was a sound like some faraway engine powering down. A moment later, Hiroki stepped out of the booth.
"Aren't you going to fire something deadly at me?” I asked. “Arrows? Bullets? Bombs?"
"Not here. This lab isn't equipped for it. We'll have to go outside." Hiroki unhooked the small hand-held radio from his belt. At the same time, he flicked a switch on a blue panel in the wall and the door to the lab slid open, letting in natural light.
I followed Hiroki from the lab and stepped onto the metal staircase leading up to ground level.
Hiroki spoke into the radio as we ascended the stairs. "How fast can we get cued up for a live ammo test with the Euroklydon?"
The voice that responded sounded mildly boyish. "Really?"
"Really." Hiroki looked over his shoulder and winked at me as we stepped into the hallway which led to one of the canteens.
"The team has been waiting for this ever since she signed the contract," the voice answered. "Give us twenty to set up."
"Perfect. We'll grab a coffee and meet you in clearing number twelve?"
"Clearing seven has already been pre-approved. I'll send a rover to pick you up."
"Copy that." Hiroki clipped his radio back into place as we entered the canteen.
A low murmur of voices from a group of people at one of the tables grew quieter. I felt several sets of eyes on me and made an attempt to smile at one of the women who wore a fatigue-colored skirt. The corners of her mouth twitched but she quickly looked away.
"The Euroklydon?" I asked as we grabbed coffee at the machine on the counter. "Is that how I'm referred to around here? Not Petra?"
Hiroki nodded, nonplussed, and took a sip of his espresso. "Don't take it personally. It's just easier in this line of work not to get too personal."
"Why would that be, I wonder?" I took my hot cappuccino out from under the nozzle and opened a packet of brown sugar. This was both a sarcastic and rhetorical question. I had already been warned not to foster friendships with the other employees of the TNC field-station.
"Shit happens," Hiroki said, casually.
My brows shot up. It was the first time I'd ever heard Hiroki curse. For brief moments sometimes, I would catch glimpses of the human side of Hiroki, woven through the scientist. A joke, more and more displays of emotion, a new expression on his face. He had been a scientist to me when I'd first met him, but now I saw him as fully human. A man with passions, pursuits, emotions, humor, goals, pride.
Yet, it seemed that the favor was not being returned to the same extent. The other people here didn't even refer to me by my name. The canteen seemed somehow colder and I suppressed a shiver.
Relationships were professional, conversations with anyone save Hiroki were curt and short. In one way, I didn't mind. Given that after a year of working for TNC I planned to study at Cambridge and build a world-class career in archaeology, these relationships had a short shelf-life. In another way, though, the cold professionalism grated on me. I never knew, when encountering a TNC employee, whether I was dealing with a human or a supernatural.
I had once tried to read Hiroki's mind, just for a moment, to see if I could learn something more about the employees at FS11. I hadn't been able to do it. This had left me confused and wondering if I'd lost the ability. But later that same day I had easily read the mind of a clerk at the grocery store. I hadn't wanted to out-and-out ask Hiroki about this because I didn't want him to know I'd tried to use my telepathy on him. As a result, I was left to wonder about what might be stopping my telepathic abilities and who else at TNC had supernatural abilities. So far, the only other confirmed supernatural I'd encountered through TNC was Ibukun, an Inconquo, a Metal Elemental. But she was back home in London, presumably at work for the TNC offices there.
My cell phone buzzed from my jacket pocket. I looked at the screen but didn't recognize the local number.
"Sorry, Hiroki. Excuse me a minute?"
He waved me off so I shot him a grateful smile and moved away for some privacy.
I pressed the talk button and put the phone to my ear. "Hello?"
"Petra Kara?" The voice was a woman's, and familiar.
"Mrs. Shale?" Violet Shale was one of the people who worked at the child services office in Saltford. I hadn't had a call from them since I'd been emancipated.
"You remember me?" she asked.
"Of course, I do."
Mrs. Shale had always been kind to me. She'd often gifted me with books about history, and books full of photographs documenting artifacts found in some of the more popular and spectacular archeological digs. She'd seemed to understand and maybe even share my obsession with archaeology.
"How are you? I understand you had a dig in Libya?"
"Yes, last spring,” I said. “It was…an
enlightening experience."
"Oh, that's nice. Good for you. I'm happy to see you pursuing your dreams." Something about her tone said that she'd not called to chit chat. "Well, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, Petra, but your therapist, Mr. Pierce, he passed away earlier today."
I felt like I'd been slugged in the gut with a bag full of flour. It took me several seconds to find my voice.
"Petra? Are you there?"
"Noel is…dead?" Noel had been by no means elderly, or frail. I had seen him in February and he'd seemed perfectly fit and healthy.
"I'm sorry. He had an aneurysm. An ambulance was called, but I'm afraid he died on the way to the hospital. I'm so sorry, Petra. I know you were close."
"When is the funeral?" My mouth felt like it was filled with sawdust and tears pricked at my eyes. Noel had always been kind to me. He was the only one I had trusted enough to share my secrets with before I left for Libya. I was going to miss him terribly.
"A few days’ time. I don't have more information yet, but I'll be sure to call you as soon as I know."
"Okay. Thank you. I'll be waiting." I hung up the phone and closed my eyes against the news. Shockwaves of grief washed over me like breakers on the beach, stealing my breath.
"Everything okay?" I felt Hiroki's hand on my shoulder. "You look a little green around the gills."
I opened my eyes. "Do you mind if we do the ammo test another time? I really need to go home."
Saxony
I took the steps up to Georjie's house two at a time with a grin pasted across my face and my heart beating with excitement. I reached the landing at the Sutherland's front door and turned to wave as my dad drove away in our van. Setting down my duffle bag, I turned to face the door.
I paused, my hands hovering just over the metal door knocker. I bit my lip. I was dying to see my friends and share our summer adventures, but was I going to tell them I was a fire mage? My hand trembled.
The truth was, I still hadn't fully decided. Basil Chaplin, my soon-to-be instructor at Arcturus, a fire mage school near Dover, had been clear that he was strictly against anyone knowing except my family. But I did consider these girls to be family. They were my sisters in every sense except blood. I had never asked Basil directly because I was afraid he'd forbid it and not let me into Arcturus as punishment if I did tell them. What was that saying? It’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission? What was the harm if I trusted them? They would never betray me. I didn't doubt that they would pick up on the changes in me, anyway. My strange reflective eyes, my burnt-out voice.
Basil would never know I'd spilled my secret, and what he didn't know couldn't hurt me, could it?
I still hadn't moved. My hand hovered there, immobile.
The door swung open and Georjie stood, holding it wide, her ethereal face alight. "Saxony! I thought I heard someone on the porch, but then it went quiet."
"Hi!" The hairs on my body swept to attention at the sight of her. There was something different about her, but I couldn't put my finger on what. Something in her expression, a kind of knowing in her brown eyes.
She stepped out onto the front deck and we hugged each other hard, almost violently.
"Oh my gawd, I missed you so much!" she said into my hair. "I didn't realize just how much. It's so good to see you."
I squeezed her back, enjoying the solid feel of her. I swallowed back the sudden urge to cry. "I missed you too, Georjie."
We stepped back and grinned at one another. Georjie scanned my features intently, a line appearing briefly between her brows. I could guess why—my voice. Our generation (so my father likes to say) relies more on texting than phone calls. Georjie and I hadn't actually talked all summer, and I'd avoided leaving voice texts for anyone. This was the first time she'd heard me speak since Isaia gave me the fire.
"You look great!" I said, taking her in again. Her hair had grown over the summer and was freshly washed and undone, falling over her shoulders in a cascade of beachy blond waves. Her light brown eyes were clear and sparkling. She wore jean shorts and two plain layered tank tops in white and teal. A batch of freckles lay in sprinkles on her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose, a testament to the sunny weather Saltford had been enjoying. She was barefoot, which struck me as odd. I didn't think I'd ever seen Georjie without some kind of footwear unless she was in the pool. Even swimming in the ocean, she'd always worn water-shoes. It was a thing she did.
"You do too." Georjie heaved my overnight bag, throwing it over her shoulder. She stepped into the house and waved me inside. "Get in here."
Stepping into the house, I took a deep breath. It smelled fresh and green and the air felt humid. I looked around the wide foyer for familiar jackets and shoes. "No Akiko or Targa yet?"
"Nope. You're the first." Georjie closed the door.
I toed off my sneakers and peered down the stairs into the basement toward their indoor pool. A warm golden light flickered from the lower level.
"What's going on down there?"
Georjie stepped between me and the sweeping staircase. "It's a surprise. Do you mind waiting? I want to show you all at once. You're going to love it."
"If I must," I replied with an eye-roll. "How's Liz?"
Georjie had come home early from Ireland to be with her mom, who had been hospitalized for exhaustion and dehydration. Her mom had made a rapid and full recovery in the three weeks since Georjie had been home.
"She's good. It's weird but her illness was one of the best things that could have happened to us—for our relationship, I mean."
I thought of Isaia and how his affliction had so changed my life. More and more, I believed it was for the better although at the time it hadn't felt like it. I nodded in agreement. "I can understand that."
My gaze fell on a stack of books and papers on the table near the door. A photograph lay half-hidden inside a book, but I recognized the blond hair at its edges. I slipped the photo out from between the pages.
The image was of Georjie but her eyes were filled with a bright white light. Her hair flew up and out, making a blond corona around her head. Behind her was a sea of green foliage. She was wearing shorts and her feet were bare in the soil. It looked like dirt was crawling up her legs. Her mouth was open and her fingers were flexed as though she were casting a spell. Her hands were filthy up to the elbows with dirt, and there was even a smudge of dirt across her cheek and lip. The look on her face was both awesome and frightening. It was amazing what Photoshop could do.
"Wow,” I said. “Is this from the photography course you did over the summer? Did they teach you photo-manipulation too?"
"Something like that," Georjie replied with a shy lift at one corner of her mouth. "Mom printed it without asking me. I hadn't meant for anyone to see it."
"Why not? It's beautiful!"
“Thank you,” she said.
"Interesting artistic choices here," I said, mimicking our grade nine art teacher who'd been from Turkey and had a strong accent and smoked about four packs of cigarettes a day. "I'm enjoying the filth coating the woman's hands and feet. A clear statement about the dirty deeds of the youth of today."
Georjie snatched the photo out of my hand, laughing. "That was a good impression. She always did sound husky, like a jazz singer." Georjie's brows pinched together as she tucked the photograph back between the pages of the book. "Are you sick, by the way? You sound like you've got a sore throat."
"No, I'm right as rain." I opened my mouth to form some kind of lie as to why my voice was rough and husky, but someone knocked at the door.
We turned, lightning quick, to open it. Targa stood on the front deck, backpack slung over one shoulder. She grinned and my breath felt short. Something about her was very different, not in a subtle way like how Georjie was different. Targa’s new look hadn't just been a filter over the photo she'd sent of herself and Mira at the gala in Poland.
"D'awwwwwww." Targa wrapped her arms around both of us. "You guys look so beautiful!"
>
"You too, Targa." Georjie stepped back and we stood side by side, staring at Targa unabashedly. "Like, really."
"Yeah,” I said. “I mean, you've always been a fox, but damn, girl!"
"Uh, thanks." Targa shifted from foot to foot, letting the backpack drop from her shoulder. "Can I come in?"
"Oh, geez. Sorry." Georjie waved her inside and we stood in the foyer, the door still open behind Targa. Georjie and I couldn't take our eyes off her.
"Did you dye your hair black?" I blurted. "And your skin…"
Her skin was so pale, so opaque and flawless looking. I could have sworn she used to have a little acne scar at the tip of her right eyebrow, but it was gone now. I was also sure she'd had a few moles on her arms that were no longer there. I took her hand and examined it. The faint blue veins that normally threaded the backs of her hands were invisible.
"Uh, no…" Targa replied, withdrawing her hand gently. Her brows pulled together the way Georjie's had done only moments before. "Are you fighting a cold?”
I ignored the question. "And your eyes, they're so blue! I have never seen them so bright. Don't you think, Georjie? Come on, back me up here." I elbowed Georjayna.
"Yeah, you do look different, Targa," she agreed.
Targa made a tsk sound. "Gone for a couple of months and even your besties forget what you look like."
"You say that as if we don't have photographic evidence that your hair is darker, your eyes are brighter, and your skin is just…different than it used to be." Georjie finally closed the door behind Targa.
"Photos lie," Targa replied smoothly. "The blonde here can tell you all about that."
She peered down the stairs as Georjie and I shared a look over her head.
"No Akiko yet?" she asked.
"Not yet," I replied. "Georjie wants to wait to go downstairs until she gets here. Apparently there is a surprise." I waggled my eyebrows. "Aside from your enhanced good looks."
"Ha ha," Targa said with an enigmatic smile. "How's your mom, Georjie?"
"All good now. She's away at that conference so I've got the place to myself."
