I watched the crane feed its chick intently. I was at the waterfowl preserve, a few miles from home. Getting out my sketch pad, I began to draw, rough strokes at first, then more detailed, until it was like a monochrome photograph. I smiled. My gift. I could see something and instantly draw a likeness. It was a combination of "photographic memory and mad art skills," as my tutor from my old college had said. But he didn't realize that what it really was. How could he, when he didn't even know savants existed?

Thinking of Mr. Polder, my lips twitched into a smile. It had been years since my college days, and I looked back on them fondly. At 22 years of age, I was entering into the world of the FBI, sketching pictures of suspects I had seen in the field. Yes, I was going out into the field.

Me, the meek Sera Toscana, out in the mean streets of Denver, facing the world of crime. If only mother could see me now.

Without me noticing, the hide I had been sat in had filled with people. Next to me sat a man with long dark hair, intelligent grey eyes.

"Hi," he said to me. I offered him a half smile, dipping my eyes back to my work. He frowned, seemingly frustrated by something.

"My name is Victor Benedict," he said, a shadow of a scowl on his face. I glanced up, nodded to him, and then returned to shading in my work. Nothing he said would prompt me to speak, or so I thought. I was to deep in my art work to reply to him. I had to refine my work if I was to keep up to the high standards set by the FBI. So I thought I could ignore whatever he said. Except I didn't count on his cruelty.

"An artist?" he sneered, obviously annoyed by my lack of response. "I don't see the worth in art, if you ask me. A useless occupation."

I snapped. No one, except Father's ex-wife that is, had ever called my work useless. And I had never hated anyone, again with the exception of Maria Kelly, with such a passion. I stood, gathering myself to my full height and sweeping up my sketchpad. "How dare you?" I snarled, echoing my words in his head. He wouldn't hear them, but I felt better.

How dare you?

I ran from the room immediately, calling to Renee in my mind. Renee, my father's Soulfinder, with her gift of teleportation, could be at my side with a comforting word in seconds. I needed her advice, her reassurance. She was, in almost every aspect, my mother. Sure enough, she materialized next to me. But she was panicked.

"Come along dear, your father wants to talk to you. It's urgent." we shared a strained look. Father had been complaining incessantly about my new employment, calling it unnecessary, but both Renee and I had remained firm. It was, we argued, the one way I could help the community.

Ren studied my face closely. "Something wrong, Serafina dear?"

Ouch. My full name. Renee must be worried about me if she was forced to use that name. I smiled wearily. "I'm fine just a tad tired s'all. A tourist was being insufferable."

Ren frowned, but let it go. "Come on then," she said with a smile, grabbing my hand as she dematerialized. I didn't even bother glancing back. A chance encounter with a cruel stranger was not enough to get me down for long.