your parents have any unusual abilities? Does anyone in your family feel that they are unique or unusual? Have you ever been able to do something other people say is impossible?
“It’s like a screening quiz for possible Chosen,” Mer said.
“Check the next page,” Cayne said.
Please describe your unique skills, with no detail omitted, including age of onset, intensity, frequency, and your ability to control the ability.
“Um, who’s omitting details?” Julia said. She raised her own hand, hiding a wince at the horrible, pressure/pain it caused inside her head.
“Age of onset?” Carlin scoffed. “It’s not the…how do you say…? Chicken pox.”
“This must have been Monte’s paperwork,” Drew said.
“Must have,” Mer muttered.
“I’m leaving it blank,” Cayne said. “You should, too,” he advised Julia.
“At least until we talk to Jacquie,” Carlin added.
Julia was almost finished with the first page when her pen—which turned out to be a fountain pen—leaked all over her palm, and then Drew went all Super Sleuthing Drew and Cayne joined in, and she was sidetracked by a big debate about the Swosen and their motives and whether they were trustworthy.
Le sigh.
Yeah, it was an important question, but Julia was getting totally tired of thinking about these things. Dwight had been a big fan of that TV show The Walking Dead , and that’s what her life was starting to seem like. A bunch of strategizing, a bunch of trying not to get killed and contemplating the enemy and discussing odds and scenarios…and not the World of Warcraft kind. The kind that could get you killed. She stuffed one of the s’mores, still hot because of the unearthly blue flame below the platter, into her mouth and shut her eyes, grateful for a few seconds of freedom from the headache-inducing light of the flames.
The fireplace reminded her of late fall, deer-hunting season, Harry’s venison sausage. They’d smoke some and fry some, and that smoky smell would fill the room, and she and Harry and Suzanne would stuff their faces. Then they’d pad off to their rooms, and Julia would push her window open. Through the little screen, she would smell the pines outside her window, hear the gentle roar of downtown Memphis traffic several blocks away.
She gritted her teeth, because remembering that hurt . It hadn’t been so bad when Samyaza had been after them. When everything seemed tame compared to a massacre in Salt Lake City and a young family dead at the dinner table in California. When all she’d burned to know was why her birthmark had cost her so much. But everything was different now. Even Samyaza was gone. It seemed impossible; and she had helped Cayne do him in.
Other than wondering whether she’d be used as some kind of freaky human sacrifice, all she had to do now was sit around remembering, she thought bitterly; they weren’t even supposed to leave their room. And when they could? What would they do? What would she do? Her headache had started feeling different; instead of the old ache that was both dull and sharp and seemed to come from everywhere, now her head felt like a balloon on the end of a water faucet. Pressure—so much pressure. Like it might burst.
If Edan was telling the truth, it would come back after every time he healed her, and it would get worse every time.
“Spaaace Ghooost,” Meredith said in a low, dramatic voice, and sparkly fingernails were snapping in Julia’s face.
She felt a kick of alarm, not because she’d been caught off guard, but because, as everyone’s gazes shifted onto her, the super personal thoughts floating through her head made her feel like she was wearing only her polka-dotted Wal-Mart panties.
“What’s a space ghost?” she grumbled, and Meredith smiled fondly. “My uncle has this thing for immature teenage guy TV. It used to be on one of those cartoon channels. Speaking of Uncle Will, I’d really love to call them soon.”
“Why don’t you?”
“It’s like a screening quiz for possible Chosen,” Mer said.
“Check the next page,” Cayne said.
Please describe your unique skills, with no detail omitted, including age of onset, intensity, frequency, and your ability to control the ability.
“Um, who’s omitting details?” Julia said. She raised her own hand, hiding a wince at the horrible, pressure/pain it caused inside her head.
“Age of onset?” Carlin scoffed. “It’s not the…how do you say…? Chicken pox.”
“This must have been Monte’s paperwork,” Drew said.
“Must have,” Mer muttered.
“I’m leaving it blank,” Cayne said. “You should, too,” he advised Julia.
“At least until we talk to Jacquie,” Carlin added.
Julia was almost finished with the first page when her pen—which turned out to be a fountain pen—leaked all over her palm, and then Drew went all Super Sleuthing Drew and Cayne joined in, and she was sidetracked by a big debate about the Swosen and their motives and whether they were trustworthy.
Le sigh.
Yeah, it was an important question, but Julia was getting totally tired of thinking about these things. Dwight had been a big fan of that TV show The Walking Dead , and that’s what her life was starting to seem like. A bunch of strategizing, a bunch of trying not to get killed and contemplating the enemy and discussing odds and scenarios…and not the World of Warcraft kind. The kind that could get you killed. She stuffed one of the s’mores, still hot because of the unearthly blue flame below the platter, into her mouth and shut her eyes, grateful for a few seconds of freedom from the headache-inducing light of the flames.
The fireplace reminded her of late fall, deer-hunting season, Harry’s venison sausage. They’d smoke some and fry some, and that smoky smell would fill the room, and she and Harry and Suzanne would stuff their faces. Then they’d pad off to their rooms, and Julia would push her window open. Through the little screen, she would smell the pines outside her window, hear the gentle roar of downtown Memphis traffic several blocks away.
She gritted her teeth, because remembering that hurt . It hadn’t been so bad when Samyaza had been after them. When everything seemed tame compared to a massacre in Salt Lake City and a young family dead at the dinner table in California. When all she’d burned to know was why her birthmark had cost her so much. But everything was different now. Even Samyaza was gone. It seemed impossible; and she had helped Cayne do him in.
Other than wondering whether she’d be used as some kind of freaky human sacrifice, all she had to do now was sit around remembering, she thought bitterly; they weren’t even supposed to leave their room. And when they could? What would they do? What would she do? Her headache had started feeling different; instead of the old ache that was both dull and sharp and seemed to come from everywhere, now her head felt like a balloon on the end of a water faucet. Pressure—so much pressure. Like it might burst.
If Edan was telling the truth, it would come back after every time he healed her, and it would get worse every time.
“Spaaace Ghooost,” Meredith said in a low, dramatic voice, and sparkly fingernails were snapping in Julia’s face.
She felt a kick of alarm, not because she’d been caught off guard, but because, as everyone’s gazes shifted onto her, the super personal thoughts floating through her head made her feel like she was wearing only her polka-dotted Wal-Mart panties.
“What’s a space ghost?” she grumbled, and Meredith smiled fondly. “My uncle has this thing for immature teenage guy TV. It used to be on one of those cartoon channels. Speaking of Uncle Will, I’d really love to call them soon.”
“Why don’t you?”
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