Prologue
It's an ordinary evening as three dark-haired women – two young sisters and a woman in her thirties, possibly their mother – close up shop in a small roadside café as they go upstairs for dinner. It's a quiet little restaurant, smelling a bit fruity and tropical. The walls are painted with a rainforest mural and plastered with South American tribal symbols, giving the café an exotic feel.
In the day, it's popular, bustling and noisy with customers. But now El Arbor is just home to the Nava family.
The woman – we see she is beautiful, tall and slender, willowy, with long, tumbling chestnut waves – and the curly-haired, fair-skinned little girl go up the stairs, but the other girl – an older, darker version of her sister – stops for a moment. Watching something.
"Cara?" asks the smaller child. "Coming?"
"Hmm?" murmurs the older sister. A pretty redheaded young woman, maybe seven or so years her senior, stands at the sidewalk and stares, green eyes burning into her. Inside the café, Cara Nava wonders how the other two couldn't see the woman…girl, really.
But then, she realizes. They can't. That's only Cara's power. She's long grown used to seeing people others don't know are there.
"Yeah, Aiya, I'm coming," she replies to her sister, and turns to head up the stairs.
Chapter One
"I just find it annoying how we can't have only werewolves or only vampires for once," Alice O'Leary argued. "Like Twilight. It might have been a lot better if Jacob had been human, and just Bella's friend. But then Stephenie Meyer had to go fuck things up and add werewolves."
Cara Nava snorted. "Please. Twilight would have sucked no matter what. Edward's not even a vampire, really. He lives in the forest, he's vegetarian, he doesn't burn in the sunlight, and he sparkles – he's clearly a fairy."
Kristin Lewis gasped. "Bitch, you did not just say that. Edward Cullen is my future husband." She snapped her fingers like a black girl and planted her hands on her hips, which was hilarious because Kristin could not have been any whiter. Cocking her head, she amended, "Also, Jacob Black. We're going to be a threesome."
Alice smirked. "Jacob Black, pedophile."
Kristin gaped at Alice as Cara started snickering.
"But really, Teen Wolf," Cara argued through her giggles. "So what if they didn't stick to werewolves? I mean, girls – Scott McCall for you, Allison Argent and Kira Nakamura for me. Sucks that they're straight, but no one ever said I couldn't dream. And unlike Twilight, the writing is actually good."
"Stick to Amy Raudenfeld, hon," Alice advised a bit sardonically.
"Totally cute, and you're a bit more her type," Kristin agreed, chuckling.
"Meaning I don't have a penis. But you know what would be really hot? Karma, but with Amy's personality. Now that is one sexy girl," Cara purred, letting her Brazilian accent show just a bit (although she'd only been to Brazil twice, Cara had picked up the accent from her family and from learning to speak Portuguese as a small child). "Esta caliente. Hey, Kristi, Alice – the gifted class is like two doors down. We should go." It was okay to talk about this stuff in front of Kristin – though completely ordinary herself, Kristin knew all about the class and its freakiness by virtue of being Alice's best friend since age four, and Cara's since age nine.
"Yeah, bye," said Kristin. Cara gave her friend a small wave as she and Alice turned into the gifted class.
Quinn Jones, a junior, glanced up as they walked in but just as quickly looked back down at her sketchbook and furiously scribbled away. Cara looked at the older, shyer girl with curiosity…though it had taken her a few days to realize that Quinn even was a girl.
In every way, Quinn was an enigma. Even with an extra twenty pounds on her, the blonde was beautiful, with large blue-green eyes framed by long, thick caramel colored lashes, full lips, and wavy, thick, honey-gold hair usually tied back in a high ponytail. And with her long legs, large breasts, and childbearing hips (hidden under oversized clothes most of the time), Cara highly suspected Quinn had the body of a porn star. With looks like that, she could be the most popular girl in school if she'd wanted to. But Quinn simply seemed to want to disappear.
Sadly for Quinn Jones, though, she couldn't. Quinn was a shape shifter.
Still, though, Cara knew what it was to feel like a freak. She sat down next to Quinn and smiled. "Hey, Quinn, what are you drawing?"
Quinn looked down at her, faint surprise showing as her turquoise eyes widened, their lashes nearly touching her honey-brown eyebrows. And why wouldn't she be surprised? Between Quinn's antisocial attitude, their age difference, and the fact that they seemed to have nothing in common besides both being artistic and gifted, Cara Nava had no reason to talk to Quinn Jones.
Reluctantly, Quinn showed her the notebook. Angels with flaming wings and swords duked it out on the page, almost coming to life. Dayum, Cara thought breathlessly.
"So they're good?" teased Quinn.
"Yeah, girl, they're amazing," said Cara, blushing a little under her coppery olive skin as she realized she'd spoken aloud. "Where'd you learn to draw like that?"
"I don't know," Quinn replied, ducking her head a little. "I just practice, I guess. That one you're looking at is for a story I'm writing."
"I repeat, dayum," Cara said in amazement. "I so wish I had your talent. I just paint. And occasionally write poetry when the mood hits me."
"Your family owns that little Mexican café on Main Street, right?" asked Quinn, seeming to abruptly change the subject.
"El Arbor?" Cara asked. "It's Brazilian, but yeah."
"Sorry, Brazilian café. Did you help paint the murals there?"
"Yeah, I did," she said. "Mi madrina, Olivia, she taught me to paint."
"They're beautiful. Does she work there too?" asked Quinn.
"Olivia? Yeah, she's the black woman with the short dreadlocks. My aunt is the owner, and Olivia's her best friend."
Ina Nava was Cara's father's half-sister, and less than ten years after leaving their family's poor Brazilian village to educate herself in America, Ina had managed to open and successfully operate her own small business. Cara couldn't have been prouder of her or Olivia.
"Cool," said Quinn, and inwardly Cara cursed herself for giving a near-stranger all that information she probably didn't care about.
A woman swept in – yes, swept. That was the only way to describe Melia Montrose's way of walking. The small elegant woman was mysterious and enigmatic, of indeterminate age and unknown abilities. Madame had never claimed to have any gifts of her own, despite teaching a class for gifted kids. She was small, unassuming, and quiet, but already Cara could see that she commanded the respect of their unruly little class.
"Class," said Madame softly, and instantly everyone – from snarky Alice to nerdy Jack – quieted down. Cara and Alice exchanged smirks. No way did any of them but Jack and maybe Quinn or Seth do this for any other teacher. It was just the way Madame was. "Okay, we're going to review the root of your gifts."
All three freshman – meaning Jack Martin, Cara, and Alice – stared at each other. Then at the older kids: Quinn, Seth Nakamura, and Cal Timmons, who just seemed bored – respectful, but bored. Madame sighed at the older kids. "The way your gifts came into existence and how that may have affected you. Cara, you're the youngest, right? How about you start."
Cara pressed her lips into a thin line. Anyone who knew her at all could guess she hated talking about this.
"It's all right, Cara," Madame coaxed. "This is a judgment-free classroom."
Bullshit. There was no such thing as a judgment-free classroom. But maybe she could take a chance here, maybe. Nobody even knew the full story except Alice, anyway, and she didn't really care all that much what the rest of them thought. The only thing was…she didn't want them to see her cry. "I…I watched my dad die. I don't remember much about it, I was nine years old and it was dark out…we were traveling, staying in this little cottage in Ireland. He was a freelance writer, so we traveled a lot. My sister, Aiya, was just a toddler. Two men and a woman came out of this black, fancy-looking car. Dad told me to go in the cottage, take Aiya and hide. But I hid in the bushes and watched. There was a lot of whispering. Then some yelling, then one of the men shot him and they drove off. He was alive, for a little while, but…he was allergic to lead…he started having this…seizure…" Cara's voice cracked, her dark eyes watered, and Alice reached out for her. "He told me he loved me and Aiya, and to be safe. Told me to run. So I did. I ran back to the cottage, called the police…but they didn't believe me. I was just a little kid. Ever since, I've seen things."
The other kids didn't stare at her like she was crazy, the way someone else might have. The way Ina might have, had Cara ever gotten up the nerve to tell her. The only friends she had that knew her secret were Alice and Kristin, and Cara would always be grateful for their loyalty. Not even Tim, Olivia's son, who was practically Cara's brother, had even an inkling that she was anything but a normal girl. "Ghosts. I see ghosts." Alice gripped her hand a little tighter. Alice had her own sad story, her own issues, but she could pick herself up enough to comfort a grieving friend. Her compassion amazed Cara.
"So the core of your gift is trauma or grief," concluded Madame. "Sadness, grief, anger – the things someone might be feeling when they die wrongly. When they're murdered, perhaps."
She trembled, feeling a bit of resentment towards Madame – Madame, who, until now, had been her favorite teacher. Madame, who'd taken her under her wing when she was scared and wondering if she was going crazy. Madame, whom Cara had been so thankful for. Madame, who'd forced her to tell the story of her father's death in front of a roomful of strangers. What, would she have to tell about her mom next, too? Would Alice have to talk about her cancer? What about the other kids? If they'd developed their so-called 'gifts' the same way she and Alice had, they had their own emotional baggage. Someone had probably been abused, or bullied, or kidnapped or something. Cal used crutches; how had he gotten them? Quinn and Jack were both outcasts at the school, so they'd probably been bullied a lot. Seth…she didn't really know him well enough to say how bad his life was.
"Cal?" Madame asked.
Cal glared at her, apparently not any more thrilled with this little group therapy session than Cara was.
"Cal. You need to talk about how you developed your gift."
Silence.
"Calvin."
"Fine," he snapped, dark eyes flashing with anger. He jabbed a hand at his malformed legs. "These are why I have my gift."
"Language," Madame countered.
"Shit. Bitch. Faggot," Cal snapped.
"Mr. Timmons," Madame said calmly, only a faint hint of irritation in her voice. Cara, despite her own resentment with Madame, couldn't help but feel a hint of admiration. Cal was clearly looking for pity here, and when Madame refused to give it to him, he acted like a little brat. But still, the teacher held on to her temper. Cara – and, she suspected, pretty much everyone else in the room – would have lost it far earlier.
Yes, Cal had something wrong with his legs. But then, they all had crap to deal with. Sure, his life was probably pretty hard, with his legs all bent like that, but in her humble opinion he needed to get over himself.
Was that too nasty a thing to think about a cripple? No, she decided. After all, Alice had survived brain cancer, and if she'd started acting like a bitch Cara would have thought the same thing about her.
"Come on, man, we all have some kind of shit," Seth said, obviously trying to be encouraging. Cara sighed and put her head down on her desk. "You just have to get on with your life."
"Language," repeated Madame.
"Sorry, Mme.," Seth said, noting Madame's annoyance.
"Cal," said Madame, taking a deep breath and speaking a little more gently.
"Okay, okay," said Cal exasperatedly. "When I was born, the doctor made a mistake…I ended up like this. Not to clear on what exactly happened, but there you go. Anyway, growing up my parents tried to…make me feel better about it, I guess. Tell me that even though I'd never be able to go mountain-climbing or anything, it was okay. But I hated that, that I couldn't do what other people could. So I would…imagine. Go places in my head."
"You astrally projected," said Madame.
"Right. And that made me really happy, that I could do that and not have to worry about my legs. So I started doing it a lot more, and, um, yeah."
"It developed into a gift."
"Yeah."
"Okay, then. Thank you for sharing your gift, Cal."
Cal scowled. And the world went back to normal.
"Quinn?" Madame asked.
Quinn stared at her desk. "I…two years ago, I had a falling-out with a friend. The whole thing was really nasty. I'm not naming names but…after that, I started shape shifting. Whenever I felt scared or threatened."
The room was silent. Quinn's hands shook. "Can I be done now, Madame?"
Madame sighed. "I guess so. Jack?"
Jack glared at his desk, at the teacher, at his classmates.
Cara perked up, actually a bit curious now. Jack could create energy shields that could defend him against nearly anything. He would have had to have been in some really dangerous situation to have a gift like…oh. He was abused. She felt numb horror, like when she saw a ghost with a bloody death injury.
"My dad…let's just say he wasn't the world's greatest husband and father. He…ah….Do I really have to say this, Mme.?"
"I think we all get the picture," volunteered Alice, trying to cover up her fury at Jack's father with dry wit and failing miserably.
"Class," Madame said, quaking a bit herself. "We have a rule in here. What starts in the gifted class stays in the gifted class. I need you to trust each other. You need you to trust each other. That means that if one of us has a secret, the others need to be trusted to keep that secret. Can we all agree?"
There were muttered 'yeses' from all six teens.
"Good. Now, Jack, if you still don't want to tell the class about your father I won't blame you and I certainly won't force you, but please know that we can be trusted. Alice, Seth, Cal, Cara, Quinn…" Madame's eyes lingered on their oldest member, and with that gaze it was clear something had happened. "That goes for all of you, too."
"I…" Jack began, his voice nearly breaking. "I was…I'll talk about it some other time, okay?"
It went without saying that all six people agreed.
"Alice?" asked Madame. Maggie, Will, Nico. Melia
Alice glared at her and huffed a bit in annoyance, but spoke. "When I was eight, I was diagnosed with brain cancer. I don't know, maybe it altered my neurological patterns or something, but I started…I developed the ability to suck out other people's life energy, a little like a vampire."
"To siphon it from them," said Madame.
"Pretty much, yeah," said Alice, clearly uncomfortable. Cara shot her friend a sympathetic glance. "I went into remission when I was twelve and the doctors haven't found any more tumors since then. But it didn't seem to matter, the weird energy-sucking power stayed. I told two people, though, Cara and our other friend Kristin."
"Wait, you told someone?" snapped Cal. "What, white girl, you want us to all get dissected? That why you couldn't keep your fool mouth shut?! You want to get locked up?"
"Last I checked, your parents and siblings know about you," muttered Quinn. Cara wanted to applaud her.
"Yeah, Quinn's right," she piped in. "Next time you point fingers, make sure your own hands are clean. Besides, we were ten when she told us. I assume you didn't always make the most intelligent life choices at ten years old."
Cal glared at all three girls.
"That's enough, class," said Madame. "So that would mean the core of your gift is pain. Often, traumatic events, painful feelings, cause gifts like these to develop." There was a pregnant pause as the five who'd already spoken muttered their discontent with this, except for Cal (who clearly kind of liked his gift and was just generally an ass). Having gifts – which they couldn't control and had no real use for anyway – was so not worth witnessing your father's murder, or having cancer, or being beaten.
"I feel kind of weird doing this, since you guys all have really tragic stories, but…when I was eleven, I broke my arm in a bike accident. I was hurt bad enough that I had to stay in the hospital for a couple days. My roommate there was this kid, Tommy. I don't know what his problem was, medically speaking, but the dude loved reading. Kept trying to recommend his books to me, but I mostly just ignored him. Then I went home, and Tommy didn't…a week after the funeral, I got this package. Inside was every book Tommy had read in the hospital, and a few others. And there was a note from his mom, saying she felt like her son would have wanted me to have them. So, I don't know, I just read them. And from then on, I just really liked reading."
"Asian nerd," Cal coughed into his fist.
Everyone else rolled their eyes. "But…it was more than that," Seth continued. "Like, when I found a whole other world in books, I could find them in real life, too. And then I started sensing portals to other dimensions. After spending last semester in this class, practicing a little over the summer, I could actually open them. And…that's it."
"It seems so," observed Madame. She looked at the clock. "Okay, we have fifteen minutes left. Everyone, try to relax as much as you can and just breathe. No talking, please."
Chapter Two