I cringe at the wordnormal.The term implies anyone with special abilities is not like everyone else and, therefore, outcasts.
“We’re a family here, whether or not you possess powers.”
“Of course. My apologies, Conin. We’re tired from the trip.”
Sedatives. Waking in a cold, dark warehouse. Leeanne better not have subjected this family to the same shit as when we first arrived at Proctus.
I don’t ask.
“I understand.”
“And goodness me! I forgot to introduce ourselves,” she says, looking pointedly at Adam. I won’t mention I was about to ask them to state their full names, but this works too.
“I’m Beth Pershing. This is my husband, Adam, and our two children, Reece and Rebecca. They possess special abilities. Came as a shock to Adam and me when they grew into their powers!”
The Pershing children are so young. Atlas’s abilities manifested when he was eight and Ezra didn’t even realize he had any until the age of eleven. I study Reece and his twin counterpart, Rebecca, perched on her mother’s lap.
“I have super speed!” Reece exclaims suddenly.
The parents startle. Beth’s about to scold Reece when I feel the sudden, instinctive urge to intervene. “Super speed, huh?”
The boy grins and before I know it, he’s poking me on the shoulder from behind—there one second, gone in the blink of an eye, reminding me too much of Atlas.
“Oh wow,” I gasp, “you areveryfast.”
Reece giggles—I’m glad I got through to him. It must feel liberating to use powers in the open without the need to hide. I gauge the parents’ reactions; Beth is all teeth and praise. Adam has the beginnings of a grin creeping over his mouth.
“Me next! Me next!” Rebecca squeals and jumps off Beth’s lap.
She totters over to me, places out an expectant hand, confused at first when I don’t immediately react.
“Turn to me,” she commands.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say.
Once I’ve shuffled enough in my seat, fully facing the little girl, she closes the space between us and presses a gentle hand on my sternum. The warmth of a summer day blooms somewhere deep within me, expanding, growing, and filling me whole. Butterflies take flight and tickle every inch of skin. At the forefront of these thoughts is a familiar face. Someone who reminds me of home. Rebecca reveals a toothy smile.
“I can make people feel things,” she says.
An empath.
“You’re happy about something,” she adds.
Beth clarifies. “She can often tap into an emotion that’s already there and amplify it.”
“Iamhappy,” I admit.
The resurgence of tears, happy tears, wells sharp and quick. That familiar face. The feel of home.
“Why?” asks Rebecca.
“My mom finally gets to come home.”
Ambrosia waits for me at the end of the hall. Her lips are pursed as usual, her arms folded tight against her civilian attire, and her dreads fall to her shoulders, sporting a deep shade of purple. She appears tired—so tired I can see the bags under her eyelids.
“I see you changed things up,” I say jovially.
She peeks at the amaranthine dreads in disinterest, then redirects her insipid gaze to me.
