I walked out of the bookstore and paused when the heat hit me. Summer in Texas sometimes felt like living in an oven. People have been known to fry eggs on the sidewalk, get bubbling tar stuck on their shoes, and die of heatstroke in outdoor labor. Personally, I wondered if I could bake cookies if I had a cookie sheet in the backseat of my car. Maybe then I could have dessert to go with my drive-thru dinner.

I remember a time when I used to cook. I loved making big dinners when I lived at home, the youngest of four children, and the only one who seemed to have a knack for the kitchen. I scaled it down for two when I got married, grateful for the small dining room table that we used at the end of the day, where we could talk and laugh while we ate.

Staring at the waves of heat coming off the hood of my car I remembered these things and felt like crying. Imagining the scene that would follow: co-workers looking at me with concern, the whispers at work the next day, I sucked in a deep breath to prevent that. The air scorched my lungs and I had a bad moment trying to draw my next breath.

I shoved the key into the door of my car, and got inside swiftly so I could start the car and get the windows rolled down. Normally, as tired as I felt after my shift at the store, I would have leaned my head against the steering wheel while I took a moment to de-stress. In this heat, I felt like I might leave cooked flesh behind on the steering wheel. Why I had looked for a leather interior is a piece of reasoning I no longer remember. With the temperature so high I felt the heat of the leather seat through my slacks, I wished for cloth seat covers and maybe a cube of ice to sit on.

The air conditioner was on full blast as soon as the engine started, but the air was hot and it took several minutes before the cabin began to feel even remotely cool. By the time I backed out of the parking lot to head home, most of the other employees had gone home. One day I overheard them saying that I was a such a good manager, because I waited to make sure everyone got safely to their vehicles at the end of the night, but really it has always been because I need those first few minutes in my car to wind down.

Retail is high-stress even when you’re selling something as tame as paperbacks, and today had been particularly harsh because I’d had to let an employee go for repeatedly showing up late, shelving books in the wrong sections, and because those to offenses turned out to be indicative of recreational drug use.

It was one thing for which I, not just the company, had zero tolerance.

She – for the employee was a she – had not taken the news well. What she had expected, I do not know, but she had waffled between a sort of arrogant anger and tears. I wasn’t good at dealing with either, but it made me glad to have the day over and done with.

Miraculously, the regular store routine hadn’t been affected by this little bit of drama. The most exciting thing as far as the rest of the staff was concerned was the fact that the temperatures outside had resulted in an influx of people coming in to escape the heat on a Saturday. We’d sold more iced drinks today than we had in the past two weeks because of the temperature spike.

I turned on my blinker at the light so I could turn left and stop by the drive-thru on my way home. My small apartment’s air conditioner did a poor job of cooling the place, and I’d be damned before I fired up the oven or stove to cook. The whole apartment would be unbearably hot if I did something like that.

Then my car’s engine caught fire…

This was the sixth consecutive day of freezing cold weather, and I was sick of it. People at work just laughed at the cold, and shrugged it off as nothing, but I had been born in the middle of a desert and the idea of being outside when the roads iced over seemed suicidal to me. Still, I had to get to work because the money I earned there paid for my heating bill.
Sitting in my car, as the engine refused to turn over, I felt my eyes tear up and muttered “Great, and then my face can freeze off.” Logically, the odds were against my own tears freezing to my face, but I didn’t want to test my luck so I wiped at my eyes before trying – again – to get my car started.
This time, just an empty-sounding click. I must have drained the battery trying to start it the other bazillion times this morning. Sighing, I grabbed my bag out of the passenger seat and braced myself to open the door and face the blisteringly cold winds outside.
I got inside safely, but I almost busted my ass slipping over the ice as I ran for my front door and the blessed heat inside. I fished my cell phone out and called my boss, then my friendly neighborhood mechanic, who offered to come out in the next couple hours and take a look.
I finally settled down on my couch, with an extra couple blankets, and logged into work remotely from my laptop. I was hoping to get approved to work from home permanently because, frankly, there was nothing I did at work I couldn’t do at home except socializing near the water cooler. Well, okay, at this time of year socializing happened next to the coffee pot, but you get the idea.
I half hoped that by working from home today, since my boss had okayed it due to my car troubles, I could prove that my work was even better from home than it was while I was in the office surrounded by distractions.
Then the power went out and I was sitting in front of a dead computer, with virtually no light through my windows because of the clouded winter sky.
Craptastic.
I was pathetically grateful in that moment that I had insisted on finding a place with a fireplace in it when I had moved a few years ago. I had learned how to keep it in usable condition so that, on lonely and boring winter nights, I could start a cozy little fire. More often than not I used it for roasting marshmallows and hot dog wieners, but don’t tell anyone that.
But, thanks to my weird obsession with fire, I had some of those cheap fireplace logs sitting stacked on a utility shelf ready to go when my heat cut out.
Not long after, I heard a knock on my door. I peeked through the peephole and was surprised to see Doug, my mechanic friend, standing on my much-abused welcome mat.
When I opened the door he almost knocked me over to get in. I stood there with my mouth open while he stomped snow onto the other welcome mat I kept in my entryway (for exactly that reason).
Finally, he turned to look at me and I gave him one of those looks as if to say, “Well?”
He grinned at me. “Cold outside, and the radio said we’ve got a fast-moving rainstorm moving in and the roads will probably freeze over. Everyone’s being told to stay put.”
I felt my eyes widen. “Really?” He nodded. “Have you lost power yet?” I nodded. “Storm hit one of the power stations, or whatever you call them, and about half the city is without power. They won’t work on it until the storm’s blown out.” Crap. “Well, then shouldn’t you get home?” He shook his head. “I’m bunking with you, crazy lady, I don’t have a nice fireplace like you and I already checked. My power’s out, too, and I don’t have a generator.”
“Well, I guess make yourself comfortable then.” I gestured toward the sofa. “I can get out some of my camping gear and make some coffee or hot chocolate on the fire.” He looked at me askance. “Is it safe to do that indoors?” I shrugged. “I don’t see why not. The fireplace is vented, right? The rain won’t get in and the smoke will go out. Plus, I have a carbon monoxide detector just in case.” He sat down on my couch and grabbed a blanket. “Well then, that sounds like a good idea. It’s freezing outside and a hot drink could do me some good.”
I laughed at him while he sat on my couch, acting out some pretty overdone shivering and looking woeful. He pouted. I would have found it cute, if he and I hadn’t already agreed that we were about as romantically suited as Hitler and Gandhi.
So, we spent the evening watching the rain turn to sleet, then to snow. I brought out some sleeping bags so we could sleep near the fire instead of in my rapidly cooling bedroom, and the next morning we discovered that my car just needed a new starter.
From that point on, I got to work from home, and Doug came by and dragged me out occasionally to keep me from being a completely antisocial hermit. Years passed, and my situation changed a lot, but that evening sticks in my mind – roasting marshmallows on the fire in my living room and feeling relieved to be at home instead of stuck in a cold office building, with a friend instead of alone, and with a sense that everything would be alright despite the raging storm outside…
and all those moments an feelings were the result of a breakdown.

I know it’s a sad thing, because the one piece of advice that writers always seem to give to aspiring writers it “Just write. Do it every day.” And, man have I failed! I’ve been writing, but almost everything has been school -related (and therefore not always very fun) or short little posts that aren’t really creative at all.
Hopefully I can recharge my batteries and start writing again soon. For now, I’m a little brain-dead and trying to recover.
I’ll probably let it be known on NL.com when I start posting here again.
If you’re desperate for creative writing, send me chocolate.

I didn’t know a thing about dancing, but always wanted to learn so when I saw the ad in the newspaper I decided that a free week of lessons was worth a shot. It wasn’t a skill I thought I would ever really need, and I assumed it would be hard to practice, given the fact that I was pretty much a confirmed spinster and did not move in “those” kinds of social circles…but why not? So, I made the call and managed to get squeezed into the class. The person on the other end of the phone assured me I wasn’t the only one that would be showing up without already having a partner in mind. After I hung up, it hit me that I could end up dancing with someone really smelly, or who would tromp on my toes, or worse, I’d end up dancing with the instructor when nobody else was available.
A week later I walked into the building fifteen minutes before class started, wearing my requisite jeans, t-shirt, and the dancing shoes I’d been instructed to order, which had a t-strap and some sort of frighteningly non-tread-worthy soles on the bottom. They said it was so I wouldn’t scuff the dance floor, but I personally believe in the idea that the world could conspire to see me fall flat on my face.
As it turns out, I was the first student to arrive. The instructor, a rather nondescript yet graceful looking young man greeted me, pointed me toward the room for classes and retreated into a glass-walled office. The room looked like a ballet studio should, with wood floors and mirrors on every wall. I peeked around and, seeing that I was alone, did a few experimental twirls in my new shoes. I managed not to fall on my face, but I did teeter for a moment when I stopped spinning and I ended up doing a comical double take when I realized I had been spotted…and then saw that it was just my reflection in the wall mirrors.

I decided to stop experimenting with spins and moved to sit on a wooden bench on one end of the room. As I sat, people began to filter in. I was relieved to see that there were just as many couples as single people walking in alone, and nobody looked especially likely to have strong b.o. I couldn’t account for any propensities toward toe-stomping. Right on time, the instructor swept into the room, introducing himself and telling us all where to stand in one breath. He explained that, for the first class, we would all learn the steps by ourselves before trying to dance with a partner. We all moved an appropriate arm-and-a-half length away from each other, smiling at each other nervously and trying to be sure we were as far from the instructor as possible. It reminded me greatly of the first day of school when I was a kid. Nobody ever wanted to sit close to teacher.

The intructor explained that the first dance we were going to learn was a simple salsa dance, which would fit well in many of the local clubs that played salsa and other music of that ilk. He patiently explained the beat of salsa, the steps, and then played music so we could hear the beat for ourselves. It took me some effort, not being a music afficianado by any stretch of the imagination, but  eventually I got it. The steps were surprisingly easy and, fortunately, learning the steps for the female part didn’t feel so much like dancing backwards as I thought. Take that, Fred and Ginger!

Finally, toward the end of the class, the instructor assigned us all partners – at least, for those of us who didn’t come with somebody. The instructor paired me last, as I was avoiding gazes rather scrupulously…which was probably my first mistake. My second mistake was looking up at my new partner…who also happened to be someone I knew…my boss. We both had nervous how-strange-to-see-you-here looks on our faces. I had only been working at  my new job for about three weeks, and he and I hadn’t had much contact beyond the interview. I was told he thought I’d nailed everything in the interview, but I had only seen him in passing since as he stopped by to ask for progress updates and if I could handle this or that assignment with so-and-so.

Distracted as I was, I almost stepped on his toes as the instructor started the music and I took my first step forward instead of back. He laughed it off, thankfully, and after that we got into a rhythm together. By the end of the song, the dancing was easy and, fortunately, seemed to have rubbed off most of the awkwardness. The instructor gave us a quick rundown of things to work on, or think about, for next time, and as he finished most people stood around chatting about when they could practice together and, in some cases, scheduling tentative dinner dates. I, on the other hand, was ready to bolt.

I threw a smile toward my boss, turned toward the door…and almost fell flat on my butt as my shoes skidding out from under me. Fortunately, someone caught me under the arms before I could thoroughly embarass myself. I apologized, turned around, and realized that my boss…who I should really call Evyn, since he just danced with me and saved my dignity…had been the one to catch me. I felt my ears turning red in embarassment. He smiled at me as I stammered my thanks.

Then I slowly, carefully, turned around and fled.

Thanks to Gambit for blurting out a perfectly random word for me to use.
———————————————-
The ones who came before and the ones responsible for the continuation of the race…now dead and their legends along with them. Still, we kept a vigil once every lunar cycle for the purpose of remembrance of those brave pioneers of this world. Not only had they founded our culture -architecture, art, music, religion, food and clothing – but they had made this world livable for us. It was initially unable to support our type of life. The liquid that had covered most of the world had been salient, but not nearly enough and it’s protective layer of gases and elements had been far too thick. Our forebears had exploited the weakest patches in it and dissolved those gases, converting them into the necessary minerals to help salt the world below. They had left only a few small plantations protected and pristine. The natives of this planet live in those places, kept like a living museum of the world before the conquest.

Much of our knowledge had been lost – uprisings from the native population and unpredictable fluctuations in climate had destroyed our technologies and prevented us from replacing them – but we had no place else to go, so we dug in and fought.  We prevailed in this strange and alien land. Now, faced with massive climate changes that seemed to affect only our race, we had to decide on a new strategy for survival. The coating of the world, so long absent was somehow rebuilding itself. The liquid was increasing in volume and losing its salinity, and we no longer knew how to convert the elements of this world into the minerals we needed to survive. Already, the lower ranks were beginning to suffer slow and excruciating deaths, hydrated to saturation with organs failing and suffering severe radiation deprivation.

I took my place  in a nook carved into the living rock of the underground dwelling we had established as a meeting place. There were some of these subterranean chambers that held no moisture…but we needed the moisture to enable us to convene. Here we all suffered radiation deprivation to some extent, and if we stayed too long our bodies began to grow moist from the place, but it ensured neutrality for us all since, in such conditions, no one of us could utilize our gifts and overwhelm the others. For a race with our savage instincts, it was necessary to be weakened in order to gather in large numbers. As one of the less aggressive of the council members, I was charged with keeping peace within the chamber.

Finally, everyone gathered and settled into the driest places they could find. I rubbed a metallic circlet on my ankle, awakening its latent power for the ability to pull moisture from my body. As Peacekeeper, it would be dangerous for me to be more weakened than my peers. Nobody else was allowed into the chamber with such a device.

I let my eyes wander toward the most aggressive members of the party and gently, gently lifted the veil in my mind. They were fearful and that spurred the aggression. They needed a solution for our survival and they could not see any. I noted with some surprise that they had been listening in to the natives in their little colonies. They had been meeting and said something about “rain”. I did not know this word, but these fearful creatures regarded it with terrified awe. It was a legend among the natives. Saltless liquid falling from the sky from “clouds”. I wanted to probe further, but it would have been inappropriate. Surface thoughts only were to be read; to read the memories and innermost desires of another was a crime – those who crossed the line were forced to become breeders.

Our leader finally stepped forward into the midst of the chamber. He had spoken with the historians and ethnologists who had studied the native population and their culture. We had salvaged several hundreds of radiation chambers from them. These chambers apparently caused a desirable epidermal mutation in the natives, but for us it could be the means of remedying radiation deprivation. It also appeared that they had discovered some secret for destroying the gaseous layers of radiation-repelling chemicals that was rebuilding itself around the magnetic boundaries of their world. It was, however, a long-term project with an uncertain probability of success.

I felt, among each of us, a glimmer of ambitious hope. If we could harness the primitive technologies offered by the natives, we could stop trying to salvage the remnants of our own and focus on improving theirs enough to recover from this global regression…

So…a couple nights ago this ginormous swarm of ants invaded my home from some sort of hidden ninja-path inside my coat closet and started eating my cat’s food. Now, when I say swarm, I mean it. My poor cat’s bowl of food was so covered in ants that you literally (I don’t mean figuratively) could not see the food in the bowl. So, when I couldn’t get to sleep later that night I started thinking about a story I read when I was a kid about a couple of ants searching for food and I thought to myself: “I could do that”, and so for your reading pleasure I present my own version of being an ant. o.o (I am, by the way, not overly concerned with the correctness of the actual social structure of ants, though I know it’s pretty sophisticated.)
—————————————————
I followed the trail as carefully as I could, knowing even as I did so that there was a marching line of my brethren in front and behind. It seemed endless, this journey we were on, but duty was clear to us all. We needed food for ourselves, food for our young ones, and of course, for our Queen. No matter how far we must go we would never tire or falter, and no matter what obstacles may present themselves we would keep on marching: over, under, around, or through. Our strength lies in numbers and for some reason I believe it always has and forever will.
We do not communicate these ideas, these abstract things, to one another as other creatures might. We think them, but we do not give them to one another because at the core of our beings we all just know. We know the paths and ways  that the scouts have given us, as we would know our own legs and antennae. There is no end to us. All knowledge is universal to us. The only mystery, if I understand the concept correctly, is the knowing of our Queen. She is the core and center of being, and it is only she whom we do not all know as we know ourselves and one another – though, clearly, she knows us all. There is no female created without her knowledge, there is no worker that dies without her understanding how it came to pass; she is omniscient and hidden.

I have never seen the Queen, but I know each part of her as well as she knows herself. This was I believe impressed upon my mind in some way – we think and we know our leader. We think and we know our place. We toil and we feed the world in which we belong and we do it gladly for the Queen. These ideas I do not communicate; the wondering how and why I know, but I also know that others have these thoughts – these ideas. We do not question because there is nothing to question, but we wonder how we came to be and how it is we know.

The food is heavy and there is much to gather, but we are strong and together we set to moving it back to our home. As I lift my share of the burden I seek the path that will take me back and I know the Queen is aware that I have found food. How she knows, and how I know that she knows, is a strange and comforting thing in my brain. If joy exists, then I think I feel it in this, our grand victory. But then, suddenly, I feel something hit my back.

My load is heavier, if only infinitesimally and I am choking. I can no longer see. There is something some wetness over me. I struggle and my antennae touches another. We cling to each other. The food is poisoned and forgotten. It will not serve our colony. It would kill our Queen. She knows this. I feel her in my mind. We find another of our number and cling again. They know her, too. They communicate our losses to me. We find another and cling desperately to each other. If we can gather enough we may survive the wet. We find another. And another…and together we drown.

True to form, my Uncle rushed over as soon as he got the call. By that time Barran had made the  file my parents had compiled disappear. It turned out that it wasn’t a paper file, as I had thought, rather it was part of a computer database that my parents had created. After we deleted his information – which I looked over first – Barran went downstairs to make the call. I took the opportunity to copy the database and all the documents I could find, as well as anything that seemed work-related, onto a disk. I resolved to come back later and copy the entire hard drive when I had the chance. I had a feeling that Barran wouldn’t be the only one after information in the days to come.

I joined the two men…well, one man, one vampire…downstairs in the kitchen. They were discussing Barran’s reason for being at my place.
“I’m surprised you didn’t just come here and steal the information, Barran. You aren’t really known for trusting others.”
“He did come to steal it.” I felt the need to point that out as I walked into the kitchen.
My uncle frowned at me as I searched through the cabinets. “What?”
Barran cleared his throat. “I did. I broke into the house. As I told you, I had been informed that James and Callie were out in the field. I didn’t realize they had a chi- er – a daughter that would be in the house. Let alone did I know she was so tal-.”
“So,” I said brightly, “tea anyone?” I tried to shoot a glare at Barran, but he was facing the other way.
“What was that?” My uncle ignored my outburst. In sudden inspiration, I sent a mental jab at Barran and tried to make him realize that I didn’t want my uncle to know I could do all the things he had mentioned earlier.
“Um, I hadn’t realized she was so…tenacious.” I almost sighed in relief. He got the message and, thankfully, listened.
I felt more than saw my uncle’s frown. “Tenacious?”
I fought the urge to groan. Tenacious? At least he hadn’t gone ahead and blurted out ‘talented’ like I thought he would. That would have set off major alarm bells.
Barran nodded. “Yes, well, you see I startled her and I was hoping to force her compliance in helping me search the house-”and well…she shot me.”
Uncle Jake looked enraged. “Force. Compliance?”
“and well…she shot me.” Barran’s hands went up in a placating gesture. “Calm yourself, my friend, I merely meant to intimidate the housekeeper. I would never stoop to mental coercion.”
“See that you don’t. Dusty has exhibited no mental capabilities thus far.”
“Oh, thanks a lot.” I said, testily. He had the grace to look abashed. “I’m sorry, D, I meant that you didn’t have the talents the rest of the family had exhibited, not that you were, er…” he trailed off.
“Retarded?” I challenged.
“Um.”
I let out a dramatic sigh. “You wound me. Here I thought I had achieved great levels of cognitive ability and you crush my hopes by implying I belong in a football helmet and kneepads.” Uncle Jake smirked. “Well, I’m glad to know you finally advanced past sippy-cups and diapers.”"Oh, yes,” I added, “I’ve been wearing my big-girl panties for a while now.”
Barran, whom we had forgotten for a moment, started making a strangled, choking sound.
“It’s okay,” I said, “you can laugh.”
He turned to me, eyes black again, but shiny. “Diapers? Helmet?” He let out a short chuckle. Uncle Jake leaned toward him conspiratorially, “We even let her play with the pretty fire now.” He motioned toward the stove.
I laughed and went back to rummaging through the cabinets until I found the tea I wanted. I started a low fire on the stove as I pulled out my tea kettle – my parents had hated tea – and filled itwith water. I found my favorite coffee mug and rinsed it out before putting it, along with my tea bag, on a tray next to the sink. Then I leaned against the counter, waiting for the water to come to a boil. I was struck suddenly with how cozy the scene before me was, with all of us sharing the kitchen, and that this was the first time I’d felt a part of something since my parents had died. Strange that I should feel cozy with a vampire in my favorite chair. Then, I remembered I was supposed to be making explanations.
“Anyway, Barran told me why he was here and we worked it out.” I was hoping he’d
buy the short explanation instead of asking for details. I didn’t feel like sharing my emotional breakdown. I glanced at the clock. Midnight. I looked at the phone next to the stove, wondering if it would ring. To my chagrin, Barran began to explain for me.
“I had found her upstairs, you see. She had just closed the window I used to enter the house. She had found a gun, and I managed to knock it out of her hands – then she rolled under the bed to retrieve it. I pulled her out by her ankle, but by that time she had found the gun. She shot me dead center, Jake, you should’ve seen it.” He chuckled. “Didn’t seem too intimidated by it disappearing, either.”
“About that,” I said, “what happened to the bullet?”
Barran fished it out of his shirt pocket and held it up for my inspection. “It popped out before the wound started to close. I caught it before it hit the floor. Of course, at that point I was just trying to hold onto my guts. It hurt quite a bit.”
I remembered him clutching his stomach and winced. “Sorry about that.” The kettle started to whistle at me and I moved to take it off of the stove and turn the heat off. I turned with the kettle and poured the water over my tea bag. “Really sorry, this time, not fake sorry like before.”
“Fake sorry?” I looked at my uncle and sheepishly explained about my reaction to shooting Barran.
He seemed amused.
“So, what have you found out about this conspiracy I’ve come up with?” I asked, hoping he had a solution. “silverware” drawer. My uncle explained that he had come across the information earlier from another source, but hadn’t wanted to tell me about it because he felt I had been facing enough as it was. He said that that was why Brandon had accompanied him to the house. He wanted a lookout and bodyguard there in case someone came after me during the night. “When we left, ” he said, “we had determined that you weren’t in immediate danger. Anyone who had set up my family would be lying low for the next few days, if not weeks.” I nodded to show I understood. I wondered if I would need a bodyguard against people like Barran – or maybe worse – breaking into my home. Barran voiced that very concern. My uncle listened and tapped his knuckles on the table. “I should’ve thought of it myself. Dammit.”
Barran leaned forward, “Jake, the victims were your brother and sister-in-law, it’s doubtful that anyone would be playing with a full deck. I doubt that your niece is the only one who has had to deal with the trauma.”
“Well,” he said, “we’ll certainly post guards around the clock from this point forward.”
“Might I,” Barran asked, “provide security for the night? I think it would be best, actually, if our forces pulled together for this operation. If there are supernatural forces at play, you’ll want to fight fire with fire.”
Uncle Jake nodded, and looked at me. “You okay with having him here, D?”
I studied Barran for a moment. “Sure, why not? He didn’t kill me earlier, and now it’s too late. He’d be a suspect.”

“I assure you, I had no intention of doing so.Furthermore-”
Jake stopped him. “She was just joking, Barran. She’s got a sharp wit.”
I felt my face flush. “Sorry. I’m not used to watching what I say. I didn’t mean to offend you at all. I was just making light.”Barran took a deep breath. “I see. I accept your apology, Destrina. I shall try to keep that in mind to avoid future misunderstandings.”
I gave him my best lopsided grin. “You can call me Dusty.” I stepped toward him and offered my hand. He took it and gave a firm shake.
“Pax?”
“Pax.” I agreed.
Having dealt with the immediate situation, Uncle Jake gave his apologies and left swiftly, promising a “human contingent” to relieve Barran of duty at dawn. I looked at the clock again. One a.m. Just realizing it made me tired. I yawned, covering my mouth with my hand. I looked at Barran apologetically. “I hope you won’t think that I’m being a bad hostess, but I need to get some sleep. For me, this is rather late.” He nodded affably. “I quite understand. If you have no objection I will see you to your room and check its security before you go to bed.” I gestured toward the stairs, “Third floor, second door on the right.” He stood from his seated position at my table. “After you, my lady.”
I considered his form of address for a moment, then decided he must be a little old-
fashioned. His file, after all, had said he was anywhere from 300-500 years old. I grabbed my mug of tea and plodded up the stairs. He entered my room first. I heard him checking the closet, but when I heard him opening drawers I followed him in. He had his hand in my underwear drawer. “Hey! Paws off my stuff!” He actually jerked his hand away like it was burning. He shot me a dirty look. “I need to check if your room has been bugged.” I eyed him skeptically. “Fine. I’ll sit on my bed and watch.”  He gave a sharp nod. Testy. I sat in the middle of my bed, sipping tea as he rummaged through the rest of my things. He knelt to look under the bed. “Nothing but dust bunnies under there.” I pointed out. “I checked it out this morning.” He raised his head. “Indeed, it is clear of any technological devices. I will leave you to your rest.”
After he shut the door, I took the disk from my parents’ computer from underneath my shirt, wear I had tucked it into the waistband of my jeans for safekeeping. I found a permanent marker and labeled it “Techno Mix” before popping it into a pink cd sleeve and adding it to the growing pile of cds on my desk. Then I chugged my tea and padded over to my closet. I tossed my clothes into the laundry basket and changed into my favorite old t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants with frogs all over them. I covered another yawn, though there was nobody there to see it, switched my cd player on and crawled into bed. I fell asleep much more quickly than I had thought possible.
Sometime during the wee hours I woke up, feeling very alert. Once I realized something was up, I tried to keep my breathing slow and even. I was tempted to cover my head with my blankets and hide, but curiosity won out and I cracked my eyes open to try and peek around my room. I realized that the light coming from my computer’s monitor was what had woken me. It should have been turned off while I slept, but it was now on. I turned my head to look and there was Barran, sitting at my desk. Annoyed, I sat up. “What are you doing on my computer?” He turned to face me, rather casually and replied, “Trying to see if you had copied any of your parent’s data to your own computer.” I tried to look confused. “Why would I do that?” Barran, apparently wasn’t buying my story. “I know you must have, dear. You’re a very curious girl and I have the feeling you might think it wise to store away their information for yourself.” I shook my head. “No. I don’t want anything to do with that stuff. It got my parents murdered, remember?” Closing my eyes, I had to project sincerity and a little sadness. I heard Barran stir in my chair. My eyelids snapped open. “What is it?” He leaned back in my chair, threatening its balance. “Did you know that you projected your emotions quite clearly just now?” My eyes widened. “Really?” He nodded. “I kept your secret in front of your Uncle, for reasons I don’t quite understand myself, but if you keep playing around like that I won’t be the only one to notice.” I thought about that. “Would just anyone notice, or only…someone like you?” His mouth turned up a bit at the corners at my polite turn of phrase. “You mean vampires?” I nodded, feeling stupid about not coming right out and saying it. “Not just anyone could pick it up, but it isn’t limited to my kind. Your uncle is sensitive. He would notice. Especially if you tried astral projection again.” I frowned. “Astra-what?” “You don’t even know what it means?” He sounded incredulous as  he asked that. I frowned harder. He looked at me like he was sizing me up now. “Did your parents train you to use your talents?” I shook my head. “No. They never knew.” His eyebrows crept up at that.

Since Part 3 was a little over 5, 000 words long, I split it up into two parts. Hence 3.1 before 4. Technically, yes, I could’ve changed the post titles, but where’s the fun in that?

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There was a short silence. I was sorting through questions again.
“Unicorns?” I asked, somewhat hopeful.
“Extinct, I’m afraid.”
“Darn. What else is there, then?”
“Vampires, ghosts, gargoyles, and many other mythical creatures.”
“Vampires?”
He nodded at me again.
“Ew.”
“Ew?” he asked, sounding baffled, “Why ew?”
“Blood-suckers? Come on. I don’t even like the smell, who would want to live off of it?”
“Ah, I see,” he said, enthusiastically, “that’s where it gets interesting. You see, a vampire’s taste buds are chemically alter-”
“Enough!” My uncle cut in.
I snapped back to reality. “Uncle Jake, is he telling the truth?”
My uncle nodded.  “There’s more, D. Your family – well, our family – has certain talents that fit into the same world.”
“Talents? Do we turn into mice or something?”
He chuckled. “No, D. No shapeshifting. We have, well, mental capabilities beyond what is considered normal.”
Something inside me stilled. Nobody should have known that. I’d never told anyone. Ever.
“Like what?” I tried desperately to sound nonchalant.
“Telekenisis, telepathy, premonitions and prophecy, and the like.”
I stuck my hands in between my legs to hide the sudden trembling. “Even me?” I asked, trying to sounding curious now.
He frowned. “We don’t know,” he admitted, “you’ve never displayed any talent in that direction, but we don’t know why. You should, but if you had any such talents then they should’ve manifested by now.”
I giggled. It was an unusual sound for me to make and I groaned inwardly. “Maybe I was adopted.”
He shook his head and offered me a grin. “No, D, I was there when you were born.”
Cautiously, I lowered my mental barriers to taste the moods in the room. Brandon tasted like pickles, projecting bitterness and a sullen, irritated mood. He smiled at me. Turner tasted like a hot brownie, comforting and solid. Underneath I tasted a little tart. He was concerned about me. Uncle Jake tasted like, well, cardboard. Flat, bland, utterly uninteresting. I fought the urge to frown at him and push harder. He should have a flavor. Nobody was that blank. I smiled brightly. “Well then why don’t I have special powers?”
*Oh, but you do*
I jumped. That was not my Uncle Jake. In fact, it wasn’t anyone in the room with me. Turner looked at me intently. “I think you need to get some rest, my dear. You’ve been through a lot today.” He turned to my uncle. “I suggest we leave her for a while to consider what we’ve all learned today. She needs to rest and come to terms with everything.” He slid a card in front of me. It was blank, but for a phone number printed in shiny, black ink. “This is my number, Miss Waters. If you feel ill, or even overwrought, just give me a ring and I’ll come to help you out. I’m a certified MD and Psychologist.” He lowered his voice and pitched it for my ears as they rose to their feet. “I can tell you need to be alone to deal with your grief and your concerns, but I will be here if you need someone to talk to.” I nodded. The card was something right out of an action movie, but I took it anyway.
Mentally, I was searching for the voice I’d heard in my head. I murmued my thanks and walked the men out the door. My uncle turned on the threshold and gave me an awkward hug. We never displayed affection. “I’m here for you if you need me D.” He stode away quickly to catch up with the other two men. I scanned the neighborhood for anyone who looked strange to me, but everyone was safely tucked away inside their homes, out of the nasty weather so I just shut the door behind me, locked it, and activated the security system. I listened as their car started and coasted out of the driveway. There they go, I thought, riding off into the sunset.

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Silently, I acknowledged that I probably needed to deal with things, but I refused to grieve. I felt anger more than anything else. They’d left me nothing but secrets and doubt. I wasn’t sure at all that I believed any of the men who had just visited me, but on the other hand, I knew what my uncle was talking about.
Telepathy. Telekenisis. Premonitions.
I’d discovered the talent as a child and for some reason I kept it a secret, even from my parents. I thought I was doing something bad by hearing other people’s thoughts, or tasting their moods, by moving things without having to physically reach for them. Strangely, I had blocked it out until my uncle mentioned it but after he did it was like I’d never pushed it out of my mind. I considered that. I also considered the fact that most people I knew couldn’t deal with things the way I was doing now. I went upstairs to my own little office room. My parents had set me up nicely in the computer department since it had been one of their interests. The only one they admitted to, anyway. I opened up Firefox and typed in the web address for several search engines. In each of them I typed the word ‘telepathic’. I came up with varied results. Some for animal psychics, some that seemed like the page was genuine, and a few from obvious crackpots. There was even a wikipedia article on it, as well as a link about erotic telepathy. I pondered that for a moment. Erotic telepathy. Would that be like…mind sex? Weird. I opened the link in a new tab and did likewise with several others. I closed the search engines and started tabbing through pages.
The first one offered a definition of telepathy on a horribly designed site. The next looked like a blog. The guy talked about practicing telepathy with him family. Interesting, but not very useful. The next two were also short articles defining telepathy. Finally I gave up. The magical internet had failed me. I was looking for something dealing with how I was able to divide my own mind into pieces like that. It was like I had just created a partition or barrier in my brain. Information could go in, and I’d be aware of it, but I wouldn’t have to think about it or deal with it until I wanted to. I wondered how long it would hold and shrugged. Maybe forever. I felt driven now that I was alone. I wanted to be occupied while I thought about everything I’d learned. As for the voice I’d heard in my head, I was starting to believe that I had imagined it. Idly, I wrote down what I knew about that voice.
Male. Sounded young, but felt older for some reason. I pondered possible reasons for that and came up with nothing. I tried to remember how it had tasted to me. I closed my eyes and tried to put myself really back into the memory. I heard the echo again in my head. I mentally “tasted” the voice of my memory and shivered. Cool, clear water with something unidentifiable in the background. That last taste made me frown. It wasn’t an emotion like most of what I could pick up from people, it was a sense of…something about the speaker. An aura? Did I even believe in auras? I shook my head and opened my eyes, feeling a little disoriented. I thought about where the voice could had come from, who it may have belonged to. I was certain it hadn’t been anyone in the room with me, but it had been close. Suddenly, I felt very paranoid. I ran downstairs and checked the outside doors. They were all locked. I started testing the windows. Locked as well. A thought occured to me and I raced up to the second floor. I burst into my parents’ room. The window above the bed was wide open, but that became secondary to everything else. I felt all my emotions pushing against that mental barrier I had erected. Their bed looked like it had just been slept in, their pajamas tossed onto the bed carelessly, the closet door open revealing clothes, shoes and an open gun safe. There was a book on the bedside table. The lamp was on, shedding a dull yellow glow over everything. I felt dizzy and realized that I had stopped breathing. Cautiously, I took in a breath. I went to the gun safe to close it. I knelt down by it and realized that I didn’t know the combination. If I closed it, I’d never get into it again. Impulsively, I opened the door wider. It was crammed with ammunition, but there were only two guns left. I recognized one. My dad had tried to teach me to shoot once, but the loud noise bothered me, even with ear plugs. He said we’d try again later. I picked up the gun and checked the clip. It was empty. Feeling ever more paranoid, I loaded it, snapped the clip back in and double-checked the safety. I propped the safe open with a shoe, trying not to think about how useless it would be now that there was nobody here to wear it.
I stood, gun in hand, and walked to the window. The wind had continued picking up and I was smacked by a couple of leaves before I could pull the window down. I wondered if it would rain. The window finally snapped down to the sill. The security system went off downstairs and I jumped about two feet into the air. The phone next to my bed rang and I picked it up automatically. It was the security company. I explained that I had set it off by accident. They cut the alarm for me and hung up. I wondered briefly if I should’ve asked for them to call for police to check out the place just in case it had’t just been me, but dismissed the idea. I had the feeling my uncle would not only disapprove but feel that I was risking my parent’s secret career. I’d rather face the bad guy alone than face an angry Uncle Jake later. I considered my options and decided I’d better check the house over again for safety’s sake. I felt my heart speed up at the possibility of facing an equally well-armed bad guy and then I realized I had an advantage. I was the one with the crazy abilities, right? I sat down on the floor and thought about what I wanted to do. I knew the layout of the house very well so I should be able to figure out which room this person was in by looking for their emotional energy. I sat down on the floor with the gun next to me, closed my eyes and tried to imagine my house from the outside. I couldn’t do it. I sighed and decided to try another angle. I imagined myself getting up and walking down the hall. My imaginary self started peaking into rooms and she wandered through the house. I didn’t see, feel, or “taste” anything on the second floor. I debated whether to go up or down when I thought I felt the edge of someone’s thoughts downstairs. Mental-me tiptoed down the stairs and peered into the parlor.
To my surprise not only did I taste this person, I saw him, too. Mental-me crouched down at the foot of the stairs. He appeared to be searching the old secretary desk in the corner. I wondered why he’d be sifiting through our bills for a moment before I realized that he didn’t know it was all bills. Duh. I wondered if my parents’ office had been locked before they left. I knew mine wasn’t. I waited to see if I could catch a glimpse of a gun. He seemed to think the house was empty. I sent my mental self closer to him. I couldn’t tell if he was armed or not and I needed to know before I traipsed downstairs.     He didn’t seem at all aware that I was near him. Then again, I wasn’t actually there anyway. Mental-me crept up behind him. It looked like he was muttering, but I couldn’t hear anything. I realized that there really was no way he could see me so I started to walk around him to look for a weapon. Suddenly, he stood still. I looked at his face. He was staring through me. I continued to walk around him looking at his waist for a gun. I took a glace up at his face. He seemed to be looking through me again. Oh, crap, I thought. I took one long step to the left. To the right. His gaze followed me. Mental-me squeaked. He thrust out a hand and yelled something unintelligable. Back on the floor in my parent’s bedroom, I let out a yell, then I was staring at the cieling and rubbing my chest. Ye gods, that hurt! Worse, he knew he wasn’t alone. How the heck had he seen me? I wasn’t even really down there. Real enough to get yourself hurt, retorted my inner self. I grimaced. Apparently. I tried to get up and fell back to the ground rather feebly. Double crap.
He could be on his way upstairs right now. I felt around on the floor for my gun. Just as I thought I felt it, the man walked into the room and kicked it away from my hand. He knelt down next to me and reached for my throat. I kicked him and rolled under the bed. I seemed to be hiding under beds a lot lately. He reached for me and grabbed my ankle. I tried kicking him again but it was sort of hard when he was dragging me out from under the bed. The good news is, I found my gun cuddling with the dust bunnies and got one hand on it. I flipped off the safety. As a cleared the bed, I rolled over onto my back, aimed and fired. The man was instantly across the room, clutching his stomach. Unsteadily, I got to my feet, trying to remember the shooting stance my dad had taught me. The only sound in the room was my harsh breathing. The man ripped open his shirt to reveal a wound dead center in his stomach. I felt queasy. “Sorry.”I blinked. That had slipped out past my inner censor. He looked at me and quirked a brow. I frowned. He didn’t seem to be as hurt as I had hoped. I looked at the wound again. It wasn’t bleeding.
“It will heal shortly,” he replied. He sounded much too calm.
“I could shoot you again.”
He looked like he was about to laugh. “I thought you were sorry?”
I looked at his mosquito bite. It had been a gunshot wound about forty-five seconds ago. “Sort of. Why are you here?”
He turned serious. “I was searching for my file.”
“Your file?”  I wondered what would be in his file. Caution: crazy healing monster?
He nodded. “I believed that it would be here with the investigators. I didn’t think they would have a guard.”
“A guard.” There seemed to be an echo in the room.
He took a stepped forward. “How did they get someone so young into the business? You don’t seem like a fighter. Why don’t you show me to the office?” His voice sounded very persuasive, but what shocked me was the mental push I felt along with it. I was instantly stubborn. “What’s your name?” he continued, “you could be a great help to me.”
“My name is Destrina Waters and you’re breaking and entering. Get out or I can shoot you full of more holes than you can heal.”
He looked surprised as soon as he heard me name. “You are a relative?”
An ugly thought hit me. “You killed them didn’t you?” I took a step forward, raising the gun. “You killed my parents so you could break in here for your little file, didn’t you?”
He eyed the gun much too calmly. “I did not.”
“You did.” I felt to make sure the safety was still off. I felt a sick rage stirring in the back of my mind, threatening to tear down the floodgates.
His eyes went completely black. He growled at me. He actually growled. “I did not.”
I glared back at him. “Then who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t you? How else would you know that this house was supposed to be empty?”
He frowned. His eyes turned green. Cool. “I had heard that the investigators, your parents, had been called out on a mission.”
I lowered my gun. “How did you hear that? Who knew? Who told you that?”
He glanced at me, assessing. “It came out last night.”
I considered that. “At what time?”
He looked surprised. “Around ten. Why?”
Ten. Two hours before my parents had gotten the call. Someone had set this up. I felt a crack in my mental defenses. “Are you planning to kill me?” I asked bluntly.
He looked genuinely offended. “I don’t kill people. No. I was just here for recovery. When I knew I wasn’t alone, I hoped to get their guard to help me retrieve my file.”
“You sure you don’t want to kill me?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No.”
I put down my gun, safety on and walked to him. I looked up at his face from about six inches away. “Don’t kill me, then. Just get out.” Then I walked down the hallway, dazed. I heard him behind me and assumed he actually planned to leave. Until I heard him following me up the stairs. “Go away.” I turned around to face him.
He stared at me. “You’re crying.”
Horrified, I raised a hand to my face. It came away wet. I looked at him. He looked…confused. “So? What do you care? Get out of my house. Sorry for shooting you.”
I turned and ran up the stairs to my room, ran in and shut the door. For good measure, I locked it. Let him have his file. Let him burn the whole house down. I didn’t care. I sat on my bed and took down the barrier I had erected against my emotions. I hugged myself and started to sob. I was truly alone in the world. My parents were dead, victim of some setup because they couldn’t live in the normal world. They’d left me money, sure, a home, yeah, but it was negated by the fact that they’d left me with their wild conspiracy. I conspiracy that had people breaking into the house. People whose eyes could turn completely black and back to green at a moment’s notice. Who could knock the crap out of my mental projection of myself and heal gunshot wounds in less than a minute.
I heard a faint knock at my door. I sucked in a breath. “Wh-what?”
I heard something brush against the door. “I’m sorry about your parents. Destrina.” He said my name awkwardly. “Can I come in?” I shrugged. Let a potentially dangerous stranger into my room while I blubber because he said he wouldn’t kill me. Sure, why not? It’s not like my life was sane anyway. “Sure.” I got up an unlocked the door. I walked back to my bed as he opened the door, snagging a box of kleenex on the way. I mopped at my face rather ineffectually, given that I was still in tears. He came in and sat down next to me. I had the urge to move over, but I stayed where I was. Let him move. He peered at my face. “Why are you crying, Destrina? You obviously weren’t frightened by me. You shot me. What’s wrong?”
I felt the insane urge to giggle. “You have to ask? My parents are dead. I saw it happen -” his face registered shock, “and I’ve inherited a house, two cars, loads of money and a conspiracy that has people like you breaking into my home.”
“You – saw your parents die?”
I nodded.
“What happened?”
I glared at him. “You said you heard around ten that they’d been called out?”
He nodded, confirming what he’d told me.
“They didn’t get a call until midnight. I – well, I eavesdropped on them.”
“Midnight? But then that means that-”
“They were set up?” I nodded. “That’s what I think happened, too.”
“Destrina, you must tell me. Have you told anyone that you suspect this?” He grabbed my upper arms.
I shook my head. “No, why? Who are you?”
He let go of my arms abrubtly and stood up. “My apologies. I am Barran. You parents were allies of my – family.”
“Family?” I asked. His hesitation made me curious.
“We are vampires.” He stated this simply, without fanfare.
I stared at him. “Shouldn’t you be thirsting after my blood or something?”
He laughed, and I noticed that he had sharlpy pointed canines. Okay, maybe he was. “No, no. I’ve already had my dinner.”
“If they were allies, then why did you break into my house for those files?”
He looked me in the eye, “You parents had the unfortunate habit of recording each of us that they met, including myself. I am supposed to be for my people what your parents are for yours. I investigate matters that could potentially involve my family or others like us. If their file became common knowledge among your people, or mine, then I would be out of a job.”
I nodded. “That seems to make sense. Why not just ask them for the file, though?”
“I hadn’t thought of it.” He seemed genuinely perplexed. “Do you think they would’ve given it to me?”
I shrugged. “How should I know? I had to learn about them from my Uncle Jake and the men he had with him today.”
“Jake Waters?” he asked.
I nodded. “That’s my uncle. He’s my father’s older brother.”
“Jake Waters is a legend, even among my people. He heads up the organization your parents worked for. Actually, all three of them ran it together until, well, up until last night.”
I absorbed that information. “You don’t think my uncle-?”
Barran shook his head. “No. He wouldn’t. He’s a straight shooter. It was definitely someone in his organization though. Very few people could’ve arranged for them to go out into the field. They were primarily investigators and only would’ve been called into the field if there were no available field agents in the area.”
“You seem to know quite a bit.” I pointed out.
He nodded absently.”We’ve teamed up in the past. It’s been beneficial for us both to keep the underground a secret.”
He pulled a cell phone out of his pants pocket. “I’m going to call your uncle. He needs to know about this.”
I held up a hand. “Wait. He’ll want to come straight over here. Let me clean up.”
He looked me over. “Alright, but be quick.”
I reached for the handle of my bedroom door, then turned around. “And we’ll get your file.”
He smiled at me.

I’m taking a break from editing my “old stuff” because, frankly, it’s a lot of work! I keep wanting to change little pieces of conversation or stories…which just opens up a whole can o’ worms. So, I’m taking a break from that and just writing from a random prompt instead. Enjoy!

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Word: Snowflake (It is the holiday season after all – though thankfully no snow yet!)

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I was standing in line at Starbucks, looking over the list of drinks behind the counter and trying to keep the sizes straight: Venti is Large, Grande is Medium, Tall is Small, and refills for your personal coffee mug are priced differently. The stereotype of the Starbucks crowd is typically enough to keep me away, but I had been forced to admit that sometimes their drinks were what I craved no matter how ridiculous the prices may be. Granted, I had managed to make myself several tasty cups of chai at home, but in general I’d rather pay someone to make it for me. I’m a little lazy when it comes to my drinks. Why spend five minutes digging through my fridge and cabinets looking for sugar, milk, and throwing aside the decaf chai I bought by mistake when I can spend five minutes in line and get a steaming hot chai, perfectly made and full of caffeine?

Besides, it was freezing outside. Snow had fallen during the night and while it had stopped by the time I left home, it wasn’t melting at all and no matter how pretty and fluffy it looked from the windows it made the winter day seem twice as cold. So, when the wind picked up I ducked into the coffee shop for something hot to drink. I had planned to grab a table and sit down with my newest purchase: a biography of Henry VIII, but while I waited in line more people trickled in – in groups of course – and they had filled every available nook and cranny in the small shop. Chatter seemed to triple in volume every time  someone new came through the door. I was irritated by how people would stand in the door holding it open for people half a block away and letting in the freezing air.

Finally, I moved up in the line. One woman was ahead of me, and she seemed to have not yet decided what she wanted. I tried not to look impatient. She ordered two grande white chocolate mochas, then decided she wanted them to be one grande and one tall instead, and finally decided that yes, she did want whipped cream, but one mocha had to have low-fat or soy something-or-other in it and, oh yeah, one of those muffin thingies. I rolled my eyes. Seriously? We’d been in line for over ten minutes and she didn’t know what she wanted? Then I remembered that she’d been on the phone the whole time, gushing about her “puppy” and griping about how “totally, like, selfish” her roommate was.

To top things off, she was a dollar short and while she stood there digging through her luggage-sized purse I gave up. I stepped forward and handed the cashier a dollar bill. The woman looked at me, grabbed her coffees and pastry and walked off. No thank you, no smile, just the look as if to say, “Oh, that’s right. I forgot that I’m the most  important person in the world.”  Even the cashier was offended.

Now that, my friends, is a real snowflake. But my chai was still wonderful. You see, I managed to wedge onto a stool at a table in a corner and I got to watch Mocha-Girl spill her monstrous coffee onto her cell phone…while talking on it through a bluetooth connection. It was truly priceless.

We were seated at my dining room table.  Uncle Jake had explained, after defusing the situation, that everything had been left to me. In fact, everything had already been put under my name. I had enough money to live the rest of my life without having to do a lick of work, a three-story house, a cabin out in the middle of nowhere on five acres of land, two cars and a small bookshop. Coincidentally, it was my favorite book shop, only three blocks from out home. I wondered for a moment there if I’d still have to pay for the books I wanted. Couldn’t I technically just take them? Though the fact that my parents owned it might explain why they never minded me spending all my extra money on books…no wonder they didn’t let me pay rent when I started college, even when I offered.  It was another thought to put in the back of my mind – though considerably more tame than the others, which were clamoring to get out and make my life very, very ugly. I had calmly accepted the facts. At least, outwardly I had. In some small, dark corner of my mind I was screaming like a bedlamite.
Both Turner and Brandon – I had stopped trying to include a “Mr” since I had decided not to like them – were holding ice to various places. The doctor had taken most of his fall on one elbow and well, Brandon apparently wanted to have children someday. To their credit, they didn’t look particularly vengeful when they glanced at me but they’d stopped calling me “girl” and patronizing me. I took a small – okay a great – amount of satisfaction in the fact that I had defended myself so ably. Looks like the self-defense classes had paid off, even if I’d only been halfway paying attention. They sat listening to my uncle, darting occasional glances in my direction. There was a lull and I realized that I had zoned out. I blinked rapidly. “I’m sorry, what?” I mentally replayed the sounds I had just heard, making the vowels and consonants reform into something intelligible in my memory. “Did you just say my parents were spies?” Brandon rolled his eyes. I pegged him for about twenty and I held it against him. My uncle had a pained expression. “Agents, D. Covert agents.” I allowed myself to blink again. “As in spies?” At the looks I got I held up my hands to placate the men. “I’m sorry. Okay, what’s the difference?”
“Your parents, worked for – or actually headed up – and organization for which they conducted discrete investigations on behalf of the general populace. They were key in protecting humanity from-” I stopped him with a hand held up. I was actually kind of surprised that it worked. “Okay,” I said, “Spare me the recruitment brochure. Answer me this, were they more like detectives?” Uncle Jake nodded. “Yes, more like that. That’s a better explanation.”
“So did they worked for the government?” He looked decidedly cagey. “So, that’s a no.” He nodded. I cocked an eyebrow, thinking hard.”Was this organization legal?”  He shook his head, but I swore if I’d closed my eyes I would’ve felt him nodding instead. “Right.”
“What does that mean?” He asked it irritably. I shrugged. “It means I’m considering the possibilities.”
He reached across the table and covered my hands with his. “D, they weren’t doing anything bad. They were doing their best to keep you – and the entire city – safe.” I pondered that for a moment. The area wasn’t exactly rife with criminal activity, but what there was had always been very nicely handled by the police, at least according to the local news. You couldn’t even get by with speeding anymore. “Safe from what?”
Brandon sighed explosively. “I knew you’d ask that.” I grimaced. I was really beginning to not like him. My voice turned cold. “Was I addressing you, pleb?” I heard a choking noise from Turner. “Did you just call him a plebian?” I offered him a tentative smile. “Yeah, I did.”  Brandon looked confused. Turner giggled. Not very manly of him, but at least he didn’t annoy me. He could have his “Dr” back.
My Uncle Jake fought to keep a straight face. “D…I have to ask. Did your parents ever mention the supernatural?” I felt my brows bunch together. “As in ghosts? that sort of thing?”  He was back to looking cagey. I’d never realized that my Uncle was so shifty-eyed. I elaborated on my answer. “Yes, actually they did mention the, uh, supernatural. Not exactly ghosts, or only ghosts, but they said that most legends were based very strongly in fact, even if they seemed implausible. It’s strange…”
A memory came floating back to me. “What’s strange?” Brandon asked. I gave him a quick glare for interrupting my train of thought, but answered anyway. I could only be perverse for so long before it began to wear on me, too. “I remember I was reading Dracula when I was a kid, and my mom told me that I had to keep an open mind about the unexplained. It seemed so incongruous with the situation at the time.  I had just been sitting there, reading…and all of a sudden she was practically lecturing me on the unexplained.” “They were supposed to tell you this on your twenty-first birthday, D, but…most of the legends are real.”
I gave him my patented I’m-Clearly-Dealing-With-A-Crazed-Adult look.  He remained unaffected. “It’s true, D.”

Dr. Turner leaned forward on his elbows.  “It’s really quite simple, Dest– Miss Waters. You see, most legends really are based on fact. Most lore is quite true. The reason people today are so unaware of that is because, over the course of time, these creatures of lore have become increasingly rare. Dragons, of course, are extinct. As are a few other creatures, but really, our organization has to work full time to keep watch to make sure these things to not interfere with everyday human life.Your parents were a part of that. They saw a different side of reality and after their eyes had been opened, they didn’t turn their back on it or explain it away like so many others. They were fascinated, drawn to the darker side of reality and they decided to be a part of it. Not by joining the forces of evil or anything like that,” he laughed nervously at my open skepticism, “but by helping to keep the secret, aide those who needed help, and by preserving life. All life. Human, animal, and the lives of supernatural creatures. Most of it is completely real.” I couldn’t shake the feeling that Dr. Turner was being completely honest. At least, I was convinced that he believed what he was saying. My Uncle Jake was nodding. I looked at Brandon. I think he was trying to look encouraging, but he just looked like a ham to me. Maybe I was a little biased against him, though.

I looked out the window behind my uncle’s back and into the street beyond. It looked cold outside. The trees were swaying in the wind and little clumps of debris skidded and hopped down the street. The streets were still slick and a little flooded from last night’s rain. “Real.” I repeated it quietly. All three men nodded. “Dragons?” “Extinct.” Turner reiterated solemnly. “Werewolves?” “To some extent, true.” “To what extent?” I was almost afraid of the answer. “Well,” he began, “they aren’t tied to moon cycles for the change from man to wolf, and…” “And?” I prompted, intrigued. “There are more than just wolves. Shapeshifters come in many shapes and sizes, my dear. Tigers, bats, bears, birds, dolphins-” “Dolphins?” I could not have been more incredulous. He nodded. “Yes, as long as the,er, secondary form is a mammal; including porpoises and marsupials.”  I felt the need to clarify, though I can’t say why since we were talking crazy.  “So no were-lizards, or were-snakes, or anything?” He nodded and gave me a smile like I was a very bright student of his. “Nor are there any were-insects, were-fish, or were-arachnids.” I considered that for a moment. “Good to know.”