Six Branches

by Jeanne Allen

  “Because that’s the power of the Agora. They are not born with a Gift, but they can exert their will on humans and weaker Kladí and Agora. The stronger the Agora, the stronger their Power of Will.”

  I can’t think of anything to say. In the deepest part of myself, I know the truth of Jackson’s words. Though I didn’t have the labels or names he does, I’ve always known I was different. As cliché as it sounds, I felt incomplete somehow.

  “So… so… I’m your Agora?”

  Jackson nods, his eyes crinkling in pleasure as I say those words out loud. I ignore his expression, opting instead to turn toward the others.

  “And yours?” I ask Lucas, who nods enthusiastically.

  “You, too?” I ask Lyle, who winks again and brings me back to lie against him.

  “And mine, babe,” Forrest says, his soft rumble causing an unfamiliar warmth in places south of the border.

  I can’t help the smile that tugs at my mouth in response, or the flush that heats up my cheeks. Even if I’m wary about being some kind of weird power outlet for these guys, at least my body seems to be on board.

  “And, of course, mine,” Sebastian adds.

  I push up to peer past Lucas. Sebastian turns toward me with the same serene expression he’s worn all morning, but a glimmer of emotion flashes under his calm demeanor when his eyes find mine.

  “So…” I turn back to Jackson who seems to be the leader of the group, or club, or whatever. “Five? I have five Kladí?”

  Roll with it. Roll with the crazy, Rose. Observe and analyze. The mantra repeats in my head over and over as I force myself to ask my questions calmly.

  “Six,” Forrest growls.

  Jackson shoots him a warning glance.

  “Yes, you have six Kladí. Unfortunately, one was… unavailable. He will join us later.” The mention of this sixth Kladí makes Lucas roll his eyes and Forrest to grunt in annoyance, causing me to wonder about the missing member of our little subculture.

  I file the concern away because too many questions already buzz in my head to try to answer them all now. With another deep breath, I tackle my most pressing concerns, another calming exercise a Los Angeles court-appointed therapist taught me. “What does this all mean? What do I need to do? Make sure you don’t use too much power?”

  My headache intensifies as I wrap my head around the information my new friends presented. I’ve suspended my disbelief long enough that I’m able to analyze what’s happening and what happened already, like a case study. Thinking of these people, the Phósopoi, as a new subculture to study helps settle my nerves and sharpen my focus. My dream is to be a sociocultural anthropologist, specializing in uncontacted people-groups. And here is a brand-new culture, dropped in my lap. Thinking like this makes it easier to ask questions and easier still to bury my rising panic at the possibility of being a mutant with freaky powers and six hottie bond-mates.

  As my thoughts trickle through, I realize I believe what the guys told me, for now. It’s the same innate trust I had with the twins in the hallway, a sixth sense. Though this time, I sense there are no superpowers involved; this is all me.

  If this is all some giant prank… then I’ll have to take that chance.

  Chapter 3

  Professor Evans, Jackson, gives me another gentle smile. “A Kladí and their Agora are called an Omás. The Omás is a family. When you Awaken, we will Bond and—”

  “Wait. Wait a minute. One thing at a time.”

  “My apologies. You’re taking this so well, I forgot it’s all new to you.” Jackson looks so sincere I almost feel bad for cutting him off. Almost.

  I take a few breaths to calm myself, glancing over at Lucas who grins at me encouragingly. People-group, not mutants. These Phósopoi are a new cultural group, I remind myself. “Do you have any sort of formal government?”

  My question takes Jackson by surprise, but he recovers well. “Yes, we do. But it’s a bit complicated to explain. Perhaps another time.”

  “You mentioned the Agora and Kladí are like family? What do you mean? What does family mean to the Phósopoi?” I slip into another alter-ego nicknamed The Scholar by one of my foster brothers.

  When I find a particularly interesting topic, or culture, I get sort of single-minded until I learn all I can. I like to be knowledgeable. Hence the front row ‘nerd’ status.

  Jackson fidgets again with the material at the edge of his chair. I’ve made the unflappable Professor Evans uncomfortable. He exchanges some kind of silent conversation with the other men. Even Sebastian raises his brow in contribution to their pow-wow.

  I sit back and wait. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out they’re debating how much to tell me. I’m pretty sure there’s a lot they’ve already left out. My right hand twitches, a physical representation of the curiosity that burns at my lungs, aching to ask more questions, but I ignore the impulse. One of the biggest attributes of a great anthropologist is patience. It can take years to uncover a people-group’s secrets, and even longer for that group to trust you with them.

  According to the boys and my freaky Willpower ability, though, I’m not technically an outsider. This is my own culture I’m studying. The thought makes me apprehensive and elated at the same time. It’s human nature to want to belong somewhere, especially for those brought up in foster care like me. My attachment and self-worth issues war with my waning disbelief. With how much these guys know about my weird ability, I find myself leaning toward believing this overly handsome collection of strangers. But I’ll never admit out loud how nice it feels to be included in something that feels special.

  Finally, the guys reach a consensus and Jackson turns to me. “An Omás is what we call an Agora and his or her Kladí. Ninety-nine out of a hundred Omás are a male Agora with a female Kladí, or a female Agora with male Kladí. The remaining groups are all male or all female.”

  He looks at me before he continues. “An Omás is not like family, they are a family. An Agora is destined for his or her Kladí, not only to stabilize their power but also to bond soul-to-soul. I’m sure you’ve heard the term soulmate?”

  I nod, still not sure where this is going but soaking up the tidbits for later inspection and analysis.

  “Well, that’s what an Agora and Kladí are. Phósopoi are not limited to one soulmate. An Agora can have anywhere from one to six Kladí, each one destined to be together. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

  It takes a few seconds to settle in, but once it does, I blurt out, “Fascinating. So, your family groups are all polygamous?”

  Jackson blinks at me before answering. slowly, “Yes. That is the technical term, I suppose. That’s how our people have always been. We’re raised to expect it, and our powers and bonds won’t work any other way without… consequences. Although, the Kladí to Kladí pairing is usually monogamous.”

  I wait for him to elaborate but instead, he commends me. “I have to say, Rose, you are taking this remarkably well. I knew you were intelligent, but this level of acceptance is refreshing.”

  I wave my hand in a dismissive gesture. “There are plenty of cultures that practice polygyny or polyandry. Nomadic Tibetans traditionally practice fraternal polyandry, where one woman marries brothers.”

  Lyle and Lucas shift beside me. Out of the corner of my eyes, I notice they stare at me in a kind of shocked wonder.

  I clear my throat before continuing in a more subdued tone. “And that is just one example. It’s not that uncommon.” My cheeks heat under the intense stares of all five men, but my mouth keeps running. “What is fascinating is your society practices both polygyny and polyandry. I don’t think I’ve come across an example of both being practiced by the same people-group …”

  The last bit trails off as Jackson’s face reverts to that blank mask from before. Those forest-green eyes blink at me.

  He’s probably worried you’ve cracked, the voice in my head offers. I grimace. Maybe I have. I was so far into Scholar
persona I ignored the real-world impact of his revelations.

  Forrest speaks up. “So, you’re okay with this? Wow. That’s way easier than I thought. When Sebastian saw our Agora as an orphan, I thought for sure we would have to wait weeks to tell you about the Omás thing.”

  At his easy-going words, the rest of the group snaps out of whatever bubble they were in. A collective sigh rings out into the room.

  I am not some delicate female prone to conniptions, I grumble to myself.

  I turn to look at Forrest. “Why?”

  “Because, er… to someone not raised in Phósopoi society, it’s a bit weird to suddenly find yourself with six boyfriends, right?”

  My mind blanks again, kicking me out of Scholar mode. Squeaky Rose returns. “Boyfriends?”

  The real-world implications crash down on me. Sure, it’s fine to study a polygamous tribe, but to live as one?

  “Well, what did you think soulmate meant? Once we Bond, we’ll be tied together forever.” Forest states this like it’s already set in stone that we would do the Bonding thing eventually.

  “Forever?” I parrot.

  Lyle elbows Forrest, who protests until he sees my face. I must be emoting something because all the boys get wide-eyed and do the eye-flashing conversation thing. The freak-out they were waiting for takes hold; my breath shortens and my limbs tingle.

  Before I’m tempted to ask another question, and therefore be forced to hear the answer, I shoot out of my seat. “Nope. Sorry. Not thinking about that. This is my limit. See you around.”

  And before they can protest, I run out the door. My legs pump furiously as I race down the hallway, chased by heavy feet.

  “Wait, Rose!” Forrest, Lyle, Lucas, and Sebastian echo behind me.

  Where’s Jackson?

  My answer comes when I open the front door. Looking as unruffled as when he sat in the living room, Jackson now stands blocking my escape.

  No fair. I mentally curse at the smiling professor in front of me. How can he have gotten here so fast?

  “Right. Superpowers,” I mumble to myself.

  Jackson smiles wider. “Gift of speed. Handy when you need to catch your runaway Agora.”

  Lucas snickers behind me. The rest of the boys catch up and I find myself surrounded by men. By Kladí, I remind myself. And if I believe Jackson, my Kladí. Somehow, that distinction makes me more proud than wary, though I grimace at the idea of ‘soulmates.’

  I’ve avoided the male population for twenty years, and suddenly I don’t have one boyfriend, but six? Someone upstairs is laughing their cheesecakes off on this one. Jackson smiles kindly, his normal aloof expression giving way to a gentleness I thought impossible for him. “I know this is a lot to accept. Take all the time you need, but please contact us when you’re ready to hear more. Please.”

  He sounds almost desperate with the last word, his eyes pleading with me to… do what, I don’t know, but I begrudgingly accept the card he holds out. It has all the guys’ numbers on it, as well as one extra number. Must be Kladí number six.

  My thumb brushes over the name underneath that number, Jin Kim. I’m more than a little curious about the sixth member, about what more Jackson has to say, about what Gifts the guys possess, about everything. But I’ve had enough for one afternoon. It’s time to retreat to my Happy Hermit Home and recover my sanity.

  Halfway back to my dorm, I realize I forgot to ask one major thing. What the French toast is an Awakening?

  “Sooo, how is your first week of classes going?”

  Tightening my hands over the corners of my towel, I swallow every rude outburst my mind generates at being stopped in my quest to make it from the communal showers to my room in as little time as humanly possible.

  My feet shift uncomfortably as I stare at the seventh circle of hell, A.K.A. Danika, my nosy RA. She took one look at the words Special Permission on my info sheet, put there by administration to explain why I received a single room without paying for one, and decided to make me her ‘special project.’

  Ugh. No. I get nightmares. That’s not really ‘special,’ but it’s cost me enough roommates and branded me the weird kid at every home foster care placed me in. With nightmares, plus the Willpower thing, I’ve been visiting a therapist since I was ten. Didn’t take much to convince Doc to sign off on some paperwork when I transferred. One signature and voila! Special snowflake gets her own room.

  Tell this to Danika, though, and all she hears is therapist and nightmares. I swear she made me into her Senior Thesis project. She is, after all, a social work major. The corners of my mouth turn up at the thought. I would almost pay money to see my prissy RA out in the field trying to deal with some of the kids I grew up with in homes and youth centers.

  She wouldn’t last a day.

  Danika, unfortunately, takes my minuscule smile as a form of encouragement. “That good, huh? Did you make friends? Meet any hot guys?” She wiggles her eyebrows like we’re in a 90’s sitcom and she’s the cool mom.

  I shrug. “It’s been alright. I met some people, I guess. Too early to tell if they’re friends or not.”

  Or, you know, soulmates. But I don’t tell her that. I can barely wrap my head around it. I’ve been thinking about yesterday’s events since I woke up, sans the three hours I managed to sleep, and I still don’t know how I feel about the whole mutant-with-superpowers and hot-guys-who-are-also-my-destined-lovers thing.

  “Who? Tell me! I know everyone at Woodrow.” Danika grabs my arm in excitement, her cherry red fingernails leaving imprints in my pale skin.

  I bruise easy, so it’s going to leave a mark. But I’m too intimidated by Danika to say anything despite the visceral reaction I have to being grabbed at, much less touched by someone I don’t trust. You didn’t mind when those boys touched you. The voice at the back of my head whispers, but I shake it away.

  Instead, I mumble, “Uh, Lucas and Lyle? They’re twins, but I don’t remember a last name.”

  “Shut up!” Her excitement reaches screeching level.

  A couple girls in our hallway turn to stare at where Danika cornered me outside the bathroom. My hair, still wet from my morning shower, sticks like noodles to my flaming cheeks.

  “Lyle and Lucas Wellington?” She demands an answer without giving me a chance to respond. “They are like, the Gods of Soccer. Rumor is they were scouted by the EPL before moving here. No one knows why they showed up at Woodrow, but we haven’t lost a game since.”

  I nod like I knew this already. If I act like none of this is news, maybe Danika will let me go.

  No dice.

  “How did you meet them? They never talk to girls except at parties, and that’s ‘cuz, you know—” Danika trails off, releasing me from her hold with an uncomfortable expression.

  I almost laugh at her abrupt change in posture. While I may be inexperienced, even I know what goes down at campus parties, especially for good-looking guys like Lyle and Lucas. What I don’t expect is the sudden jolt of jealousy when I imagine either one of the twins, or any of the guys, with other girls. I shake the image out of my head. Despite what Jackson says, I met them all yesterday. I have no claim to their past or their future.

  Danika recovers from her perceived faux pas. “Anyway, good for you. You seemed like, shy and nerdy, but you snagged a meet n’ greet with the campus idols, so I guess you can’t judge a book by its cover, right?”

  She has the balls to give me a once-over, trying to figure out how I snagged a meet n’ greet.

  Backhanded compliment aside, I understand where she’s coming from. If I weren’t some genetically mutated super-species destined to be with them, I probably wouldn’t stand a chance with any of the guys.

  It’s not that I’m ugly. I have an okay face, and my stick straight white-blond hair falls over my shoulders. My foster mom Mary used to describe my light-brown eyes as golden. “Like an angel,” she’d say.

  But all in all, I’m pretty average, especially since clothes hunting
in bargain bins doesn’t lend to any sense of style. Objectively, I can’t argue with Danika’s assessment.

  I suffer a smile and nod. “Right.”

  My stiff agreement convinces her to let go of the interrogation. She backs up and shoots me another toothy smile before flouncing away to bother some other poor resident.

  “Let me know if you need anything!” She calls over her shoulder.

  “Not likely,” I mumble as I shuffle to my room, which is blessedly empty. I’d take my chances with Dante’s other six circles before I sought out Danika “Oh-My-God” the RA.

  I grimace at my unkind thoughts. It’s not like she’s a bad person, but I’ve met too many Danika’s in my life: well-meaning people too enamored with the idea of helping to actually try and genuinely understand the people they’re supposed to help. Many of my caseworkers were Danikas, and too many of them passed me on to a colleague when my issues got too freaky to handle.

  Sighing as I put away my shower caddy, I pull on jeans and a sweater. I already put on my bra and panties in the shower cubicle, too freaked out to walk the halls nude like some of the other girls.

  By the time I brush my hair, which still sticks to my skin like papier-mâché, the panic and shaky hands I get when someone grabs me are suppressed.

  I already have enough nightmares. I refuse to add more.

  As a true blond with super pale skin, I look like I have no face if I don’t color in my brows and lashes. But with some mascara, a bit of eyebrow pencil to give my face some definition, and a swipe of lip-gloss, I’m ready to take on the day.

  Thursdays mean no classes. I chose to take all of my classes on the MWF block to clear up space for my part-time job at the Kitty Kat Café. Contrary to its name, it’s not an animal shelter or a cat-themed café, though it does sport some subtle feline décor.

  It’s actually a dive bar that holds open mic nights every Thursday and live music on Tuesday nights. It’s farther into the city than Woodrow, but closer to my old school, the University of Minnesota. It takes me almost three hours by bus to get there for my four to close shift, and I like to be there early so I don’t have time to do anything else on the days I work.