Emma: Book 1

New Beginnings

After the service, we go back home and have grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch. The League movers weren’t very creative in stocking the food supply, and we don’t really know any good restaurants—except for Portillo’s and the endless number of pizza places, but hey. We just got here. We can’t rush these things.

“So the youth group is having a new year’s party tonight,” Chris begins at lunch, “and the youth pastor personally invited us.”

“Hey,” Nate comments. “That sounds like a great idea. It would be a great way to meet people.”

Perturbed, Chris glances at Julianna who smiles.

“Yeah,” Chris replies, “and it would be another way to see if this church is the one.”

Meredith nods. “I approve. What time is the party?”

“Regular Sunday School hour.” Chris answers. “Six to seven.”

“Excellent. There’s this Sunday School class that’s specifically for parents with teens.” She grins. “I figured it could be educational.”

Lillian laughs. “Like parenting psychics is the same as with humans…”

“At least she could meet some other parents she could hang out with.” Julianna says. “I think it sounds great, Mom.”

“Thanks, Julianna,” Meredith smiles. “So, I was thinking that the refrigerator and pantry could use a little help. Anyone want to come with me to the grocery store?”

Immediately, Julianna and Chris pipe up. They frown at each other.

Lillian laughs. “Chris, I’m starting to think that you and Julianna act more like twins than she and I do…I nominate you to be her twin.”

“What?!” Julianna shrieks. “Chris?!”

Chris gives her an offended look. “Well, gee, I love you, too.”

Julianna punches him. “I get to push the grocery cart, all right?”

Nate nods, chuckling. “Definitely twins.”

Julianna glares at him.

Meredith laughs. “All right, this is ridiculous. If you’re done, put your dishes in the sink and find something productive to do. Who’s got kitchen duty this week?”

The slight hesitation is enough of a pause for me to speak up.

“I got it, Meredith,” I volunteer.

She smiles at me. “Thanks, Ian. Need any help?”

I shake my head. “No, I’m okay.”

“Well, then,” she says, standing up, “I’m leaving in ten minutes. All those interested in coming be in the car by then.”

Julianna and Chris glare at each other.

Nate shakes his head, yawning. “I think I’ll take a nap.”

Lillian grins. “And I have a room to fix. The movers got our stuff mixed up.”

Julianna groans. “Don’t remind me!”

“Right, the only reminder you need is that I’m leaving in nine minutes.” Meredith calls, disappearing into the master bedroom on the first floor.

“Ah!” Julianna squeals and jumps to her feet, dashing upstairs to get ready.

I stand up, too, and collect Meredith’s and Julianna’s dishes.

“What about me?” Chris asks, holding out his plate.

I stare at him.

He sighs, getting up. “Fine, fine, I’ll do it.”

Nate and Lillian finish their lunch while I begin washing the dishes, soaking the skillet used for grilling the sandwiches. Lillian brings over her and Nate’s plates, and then the two of them head upstairs.

Chris comes back through the kitchen and goes into the garage, Julianna on his heels. Meredith follows them, chuckling.

“Bye, Ian,” she calls. “We’ll be back in an hour or so…depending on how long I can put up with these two.”

I grin. “Okay, see you later!”

She shuts the door behind her, and I’m alone in the kitchen. I don’t mind being by myself. All these other crazy psychics seem to need constant company.

But I guess I’ve always been more of a loner, not one vying for the public eye.

I am one of the few psychics that are born undetected by the League, and any psychic operating outside of League jurisdiction is classified as an isolated psychic. The majority of isolated psychics choose to be isolated and usually have left the League altogether, becoming on the League’s Top Wanted List.

But I didn’t choose to be isolated. My single mom carried me to term, gave birth to me, and raised me throughout Metamorphosis. When her sickly son miraculously recovered in spite of all the doctors’ efforts, I became quite the spectacle. The doctors tried to accredit the success to their treatments and wanted to study me further, but fortunately the League stepped in.

Their plan was to send in a medical doctor to diagnose me with some rare disorder, gracefully detach me from public eye, and then pull all mystical creatures out of the situation. But because of how many people knew and were involved, it took longer for their plan to be in action and Dr. Oswald to be in place. It didn’t help that my father, my right-out-of-college mom’s boyfriend, had gotten her pregnant and then split the scene. The Council wasn’t even sure if he knew of the League, possibly being an isolated psychic himself instead of an angel.

Regardless, I’d never met him, and there was no way to identify him because no record or photo of him exists. The Council couldn’t do anything about him, which made the situation trickier to deal with because of the unknown mystical creature involvement.

Anyway, after spending sixteen human years in their world as the boy who miraculously recovered and never grows up, I had been in the media’s spotlight for a long time, receiving enough attention to last me my psychic lifespan.

The day I met Dr. Oswald is truly the best moment of my life so far. He rescued me from the human world, pulling me into his small examination room, making some excuse to my mom to get her out of the room.

He sat me up on the table and began a routine check-up, but he started asking me bizarre questions: Had I ever seen things that later came true? Had I ever told anyone about that ability? Had my mother told me anything about my father?

Of course, he was asking me questions that were only relevant to a psychic, and it scared me that he knew what I was going through when no one else did. When he told me that I’m a psychic, I was so frightened I didn’t know what to believe. I mean, Dr. Oswald was making claims outrageous as the other doctors!

Then, he called in another guy, Gary, a psychic from the nearest outpost in Houston, Texas, where I loved. Gary backed up what Dr. Oswald said, and they told me about the League and the Plaza…Needless to say, Dr. Oswald diagnosed me with some weird disease, told me to stay low until the media lost interest, and then returned to pretend to treat me, persuading my mom to let me go with him.

Well, I guess “persuading” isn’t the best word choice…More like he had her kidnapped with the cover story of her being with me as I was being treated, and then he had her memory wiped and gave her a new name, life, and memory.

She and I are never to speak again should her old memory resurface. It kinda sucks because I really liked my mom and thought she did her best for not knowing what I am. But the League has its rules, and in hindsight, I’ve realized my mom wouldn’t have believed Dr. Oswald anyway.

It’s best that things worked out the way they did. Nevertheless, I hate being the center of attention and can only attribute that to my mom.

When I’m done washing the dishes, I go upstairs to change. I throw on some jeans and a shirt with a band’s name on it. I’m not a huge fan, but the shirt is usually a good conversation starter.

I trot down the hall to the twins’ room and knock on the door.

When Lillian opens it, she’s surprised to see me. “Oh, hey, Ian…nice shirt.”

I smile. “Thanks. I was wondering if you needed any help with your room.”

She grins. “I’d love your help!”

She pushes the door all the way open and lets me in. Clothes and books and other items are spread all over the room.

“Whoa.” I mutter.

“Yeah, it’s a bit messy,” Lillian says, frowning. “But here, you take the top drawer and put all the clothes on my bed in it.”

I nod and go to work, Lillian filling the second drawer. Once I’m done, she has me put the books on the bookcase in alphabetical order while she fills the bottom drawer, carefully packing in Julianna’s camera. When she finishes, she helps me with the books, and we shove the last book on the shelf just as the garage door opens.

“Now that’s team work,” Lillian smiles, giving me a high five.

I laugh. “Your room looks all better now.”

She nods. “Thanks so much, Ian! You’re awesome!”

I smile, and she continues, “Let’s go help with groceries.”

With that, we go down the stairs and head into the kitchen. Chris is walking in from the garage, arms loaded down with bags.

“Hey, guys,” the stocky psychic greets us.

We go out into the garage and help empty the trunk of Meredith’s Volkswagen.

“Mom,” Julianna observes, “You crammed a ton of groceries in this trunk. Why didn’t we just take Lilly’s van?”

Meredith laughs. “I am not a minivan mom.”

Julianna rolls her eyes, her twin commenting, “I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to use it in the future.”

“Oh,” Julianna says, noticing my apparel as she walks past me in the kitchen, “Ian, I love your shirt!”

“Thanks,” I reply, setting bags on the counter.

Chris comes on, shutting the door behind him. “The trunk is empty.” He announces.

“Thanks for the update,” Lillian responds, setting yogurts on the top shelf in the refrigerator.

Chris eagerly yanks one out of her grasp and grabs a spoon. He hops up on the counter to eat his yogurt, sighing contentedly and swinging his legs.

“Seriously, Chris,” Julianna asks, “What’s with the yogurt?”

He shrugs. “It’s delicious and nutritious.”

Lillian snorts. “Yeah, for humans, you doofus.”

Chris frowns. “You got a problem with me eating yogurt, non-twin?”

Lillian giggles. “No, no, eat all the yogurt you want.”

“Oh, I will!” Chris replies.

Julianna rolls her eyes. “You are definitely not my twin.” She glares at Lillian. “You, however, are.”

“Hey, hey,” Lillian says, hands out. “Ian and I fixed our room, little sister.”

“Really?” Julianna asks, suddenly excited. “Yes! Thank you!”

She dashes upstairs to check it out.

Meredith keeps putting up the groceries. “So can everybody be ready to leave for church in forty-five minutes?”

We nod.

“All right, do you have to take anything to the party?” She asks Chris.

He shakes his head. “Just our beautiful selves.”

Lillian groans. “You’re ridiculous. I’m going upstairs.”

I stay and help Meredith finish putting up groceries, Chris joining us and then crashing on the couch in the family room once we’re done to watch tv with me.

Chris’ new obsession with yogurt is more amusing than anything else. As a psychic, there are few things that affect us the same way they affect human, and the main ones are food, alcohol, and drugs. Of course, these are only pointless if they’re human-made. Mystical creatures use different chemicals and substances that actually do affect us.

Anyway, I could eat like there’s no tomorrow but not gain an ounce of weight. A fast metabolism is a perk to being psychic.

Alcohol and drugs are completely useless to us—and that includes medicines. But we would never need medication because we never get sick. Our immune systems are extremely strong. It’s beautiful, really. Psychics are the perfect humans.

Not to mention we don’t have to breathe. Our bodies instinctively react according to our surroundings. Like a battery-saving mode on a cell phone, if it’s simpler for us to survive without breathing, we stop breathing. Then, as the stress and tension of a situation increase and demand us to perform at a higher level, physically or mentally, we breathe again.

Eating works according to this. Again, like a cell phone, the more output there is, the more you gotta recharge the system. Therefore, we don’t always have to eat either.

When five forty-five rolls around, we all clamber in Lillian’s can, Lilly at the wheel, and go to church. The whole ride, Chris and Nate buzz about the New Year’s party, and Lillian freaks out about getting lost again.

Fortunately, for her sake, finding the youth group party isn’t difficult, and neither is finding someone who’ll talk to us.

In fact, most kids come right up to us and introduce themselves. It’s weird because even though the church itself is huge, the youth group is fairly small, only about thirty kids total. However, with the ages ranging from thirteen to eighteen, the majority of the kids are younger than sixteen. Only a handful of the teens here are our human ages or older.

“Hey!” A bright face greets us. “My name is Monica, and I’m on the youth group’s welcoming committee, so to speak. I just want to thank you on behalf of the youth group for joining us this evening. Where you guys from?”

Nate smiles. “We’re from Georgia, Monica.”

“Oh?” Her eyebrows arch in fascination. “Really? I was born there. My family lived in the Middle of Nowhere, North Georgia. Where abouts in Georgia were you?”

“We lived in the Atlanta metroplex.” Lillian answers.

“Ah,” Monica says, nodding. “So what brings you here?”

“Oh, you know,” Chris says nonchalantly. “We were tired of living in a drought. We wanted to be able to wash our cars again.”

Monica stares at him wide-eyed a moment then erupts into giggles.

“That’s hilarious!” She exclaims. “But I totally understand what you mean!”

Nate shakes his head at Chris, saying, “We really moved up here because of Meredith’s job. Meredith is our mom.”

“All of you?” Monica asks, brows raised in disbelief.

“Yeah, Chris, Ian, and I,” Nate points to us, “are all adopted. The twins, Lillian and Julianna, are her daughters.”

“Twins?” Monica repeats, interested. “Cool. Wow, you guys are definitely fraternal.”

Lillian nods. “Thank goodness.”

Julianna rolls her eyes as Monica laughs.

“Well,” Monica says, “Welcome again. We’ve got plenty of food to eat and people to meet!”

Chris looks up at me as we head toward the food. “She’s all right for a human.”

I nod.

“A little bubbly for my taste,” he continues, “but she laughed at my joke, so whatcha gonna do?”

I shake my head. “Chris, you’re obnoxious. Go bother someone else.”

He raises his eyebrows at me. “Way to be subtle.”

I shrug. “Honesty’s the best policy.”

He snorts. “The League begs to differ.”

I smile. “Indeed.”

Chris piles his plate high with different snacks and then sits at an already crowded table, quickly making himself at home.

I get a plate and a drink and head off toward a row of chairs against the wall. Chris is now entertaining his table, Nate is talking with the youth pastor, Lillian and Monica are still chatting, and Julianna is introducing herself to the other few kids our age. Now that I’m alone, people are starting to notice me.

I’m on the edge or several different conversations, but I’m quite content just listening and watching. Unfortunately it’s not my seeming antisocial-ness that gets people’s attention. No, for that, they usually see right through me—or at least they try.

Physically, I’m a freak, untouchable. Part of it’s my coloring. I have jet black hair, which I spike when it’s too short and tie back when it’s too long. At the moment, it’s at the in-between length, bangs drooping in my eyes, tufts sticking up in the back.

My skin, pale as this paper, contrasts with my hair. I look ghostly with my hair dark as night and my skin pale as the stars. My pierced ear twinkles through my shaggy hair, the dull silver accented by my paleness.

My eyes are purple, not quite demonic but wicked as hell. They startle anyone who glimpses them, causing people to gawk.

If my build were more impressive, I’d look important, but I’m awkwardly 6’7”. My arms and legs are strange weights, stretching me long and skinny.

“Holy cow, Ian, I haven’t seen you this quiet since you moved in with us.”

I glance up as Julianna sits beside me.

“Something bothering you?” She asks.

I shake my head. “I’m just observing.”

“Well, you can participate. People generally stop staring if they know you’re not some lone wolf living on the outskirts of civilization.”

I smile. “Sorry…it’s just…You know I’m not comfortable in new situations or around new people.”

Julianna touches my knee. “You’re shy. That’s all, but don’t let that stop you from joining in.”

I nod. “Just give me some time, Jules. I barely know anyone.”

She grins. “Come on then. There are some people I want you to meet.”

I sigh, shaking my bangs in my eyes. I let Julianna drag me across the room and introduce me to her new friends. I say hi, nervously twisting the stud in my left ear, wanting to go back to my lone wolf chair on the outskirts. At least there my head wasn’t so close to the ceiling.

So I’m introduced to even more people and almost every person either comments on my shirt, my height, or my eyes. All three make pretty good conversation starters, but at least the first requires the least gawking.

I cringe when I realize that tomorrow, our first day of school, will be like this but ten times worse. We’ll get text books and workbooks, assigned seats and funny looks. Everyone will watch us and stare. Everyone will want to know our names, our story. A week later, we’ll just be more faces in the hallway.

I groan. I hate beginnings. New things always require uncomfortable feelings and usually unfamiliar actions, and I’m hardly assertive enough to better such situations.

The youth pastor, a guy in his early twenties, calls everyone to sit down for a brief Bible lesson. The topic: the new year and new beginnings.

Inwardly, I want to crawl into a hole. I hate these kinds of things. I mean, it’s a great lesson, real scripturally sound—don’t get me wrong. It’s just…a little too close to home.

And by a little, I mean hitting the nail right on the head. Everyone else is hopeful and excited. I’m…well, praying for the skill on invisibility, to be able to hide from the public. The next few weeks are gonna be tough.

Oh, thank you, League, for making our lives hell. Sometimes you make me wonder why even try to keep you a secret.

Sleep does not come easily that night.