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TWILIGHT OF THE GODS Book 1

Unabridged Edition

Revision 1.5 (August 2015)

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By: Kit & Khestra Karamak

Prologue

Winter, early 1999

"How's your headache?" The voice was calm and fatherly. Mr. Howard, hands on the steering wheel, glanced back at his son. "We're almost to the hospital, hang in there, Mark. It might be related to your ability manifesting." He cut his gaze back to the road.

Mark grunted from the pain at the base of his skull. He wanted to reply to his father, but didn't know what to say.

"This ability, Mark ... what you can do is undocumented. I'm thinking maybe that's why you've been getting these headaches lately."

"Yeah, dad." Mark Howard brought his hands up over his face. He winced at the pain throbbing at the back of his head. His shoulders felt tight. His left arm ached.

He licked his lips and made a sour face at a strange taste on his tongue. Mark clenched his eyes shut. His head ached, but it was mild compared to the tension at the nape of his neck.

"We're almost there." His father's voice radiated with concern. Mr. Howard added, "You hear me, bud? Just a few more blocks."

Mark licked his lips again. The disgusting taste annoyed him. His left arm felt numb. His cheeks tingled in a similar fashion.

"Mark, did you hear me?"

Mark looked down at his teenaged hands. He remembered driving with his father in the passenger seat earlier. Now lying across the backseat of his dad's sedan, he tried putting the pieces together.

"Did you pass out again? Hey, are you still with me back there?"

Mark grimaced with realization. "I passed out at the wheel?"

"Yeah, you scared the hell out of me. I reached for the parking brake, bud."

Mark reached his right hand back and rubbed at the back of his neck. "You didn't have to cancel your important meeting for my headache. You came all the way to New York City for this meeting, dad."

"You passed out at the wheel of the car, Mark. Thank God we were at a red light. You started slurring your speech and a few seconds later, your forehead was blaring the horn. The meeting can wait."

"I'm just having one of my hemiplegic vascular migraines. You said this meeting was important."

"Hey," said Mr. Howard in a stern tone. "I can reschedule it. _You_come first, bud. This isn't a normal headache. You collapsed while sitting still. We're almost there," he added, referring to the hospital up ahead.

Mark felt dazed. His arms felt heavy. His father's voice, full of worry, made no sense. Words had no meaning. The strange taste on his tongue faded away. Mark stared at the center console cup-holder in silence.

"Mark?" A pause, then, "Mark, you hear me, bud?"

Mark felt too disoriented to reply. He lay in silence across the backseats, staring towards the front of the sedan. Drool drizzled from the corner of his mouth to the backseat upholstery.

"Mark? God dammit."

A strange, foreign feeling of warmth pressed against Mark's neck. He stared down his father's forearm, not responsive to the pair of fingertips against the shallow pulse beneath his neckline.

Mark sat up with a gasp, eyes wide. Sweat beads glistened on his forehead. "Watch out!" The words he screamed made no sense to him. Everything was confusing and surreal. The sound of his own voice seemed foreign.

Mr. Howard blinked. "What?"

A loud noise and jarring sensation added to Mark's confusion. He felt pain all over his body.

Mark curled his fingers but couldn't make purchase against whatever he felt. Consciousness began to return. The fuzziness faded.

Mark Howard woke up face down on the ceiling of his father's overturned sedan. Broken glass littered the area and smoke rolled in through the broken windows.

Lucidity returned with a spike of adrenaline. The ache at the back of his neck felt far away for the moment.

Mark felt around. The broken shards of glass rushed towards him. He squinted. His body felt the effects of gravity. He rolled towards the front passenger side of the sedan.

The car flipped over, up-righted onto its wheels.

Mark dropped across the dashboard, staring through a broken window. He saw a pickup truck with a snowplow attachment in the distance. It went through a red light and disappeared around the next corner.

Mark climbed into the passenger seat and rolled towards his motionless father. His eyes were half-lidded and lifeless. "Dad?"

Mr. Howard's unresponsive gaze stared straight through Mark in the most terrifying way. "Dad!" He reached up and put his right hand on his father's chin, trying to give the man a shake. "Dad! Dad!"

No response.

"Dad!" Mark took a deep breath to try and get his wits about himself. He tried his father's name. "Daniel Howard!"

Upon closer inspection, Mr. Howard's eyes didn't line up. They were slightly unaligned, gazing in two distant directions.

Mark swallowed a lump of fear in his throat. The smell of gasoline made his eyes water. The sight of his father, bruised and bloodied, brought him to full-on tears.

"Dad..."

Daniel Howard didn't respond.

Mark sat up a bit more in the passenger seat. He glanced back at the backseat where he'd woke up moments before the accident. His mind raced to connect the dots.

He heard a voice of concern at the back of his mind. At first, he couldn't be sure whether someone on the sidewalk spoke, due to the confusion in the wake of the accident.

However, between the voice he heard, and the smell of gasoline, Mark sat up in realization that the sedan was on fire. Sitting up became too painful and he slouched.

Mark reached for the door handle and pulled. The door interior bowed inward, against his hip. He pushed on the door but it didn't open.

The confusion replaced itself with fear. Mark pushed at the passenger door but it didn't open. He pivoted on his rump and tried using his feet. The door held.

Smoke rolled across the cracked windshield. Flames danced on the hood of the car.

Mark brought his feet up and winced at a pain in his gut. He tried kicking at the window, but the windshield held. The shock of kicking the window brought about a sharp pain in his torso.

He touched a lump over his stomach. It hurt. Mark pulled his shirt up and saw a dark spot over his lower left rib.

He glanced back at his father. "I think I broke a..." He trailed off, staring at the lifeless half-lidded gaze of his father's face.

Mark swallowed. "The car is on fire," he whispered. "Dad, the car is on fire. You need to snap out of it."

Somehow, he knew his father wouldn't respond. The realization caused a pang of emotional pain in his chest every bit as intense as his broken rib.

Fire flickered about on the hood of the car, catching Mark's attention. For the first time since realizing he'd been in a car accident, he saw the dashboard was torn apart where an airbag deployed.

His mind raced, connecting the dots. He vaguely recalled the car flipped, causing him to spill across the ceiling. He rolled down the inside of the windshield at the airbag struck him in the side, breaking his lower left rib.

The brief reverie faded. Mark stared at his father's lifeless face. "I should have told you to go to your meeting," he said in a soft voice. "I should have told you to go there first. Jesus Christ, this is my fault." Panic and shock set in.

Fire erupted from the dash panel, through the heat vents. It licked across the faux wood veneer, warping the interior panels.

Mark pushed against his door again. It didn't budge.

He reclined the seat and pulled himself back from the heat. With a grunt, Mark pulled himself up to the broken passenger window.

A pool of gasoline created fire on the street beneath the car door. He stared down at it and swallowed.

Mark took a deep breath and shouted out the broken window. "Somebody help me!" It felt cowardly to cry for help.

No one came running.

He climbed into the backseat and pushed against the rear windshield. It had a crack, but held together. Mark reached up, between the two front seats with a wince of pain, and unscrewed the handle of the gear shifter.

He threw the gearshift through the back window, shattering the glass. He pulled himself up, over the back of the rearview seat, trying to escape the sedan through the back.

He climbed out onto the trunk, leaving bloody hand prints in the broken glass. The trunk felt extremely hot to the touch, contrasting against the cold December air.

Mark sank back down into the back seat and glared at his hands.

His left hand felt strange. The weird taste returned. The tension in his shoulders returned, along with the nape of his neck.

Mark found himself feeling disoriented and dazed again. He slumped in the back seat, overcome by shallow breathing and an inability to think clearly.

The flames consumed the front of the vehicle.

Mark pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Dazed and babbling, he uttered words that came into his head. "Jonathan, there is a child in that blaze. Pull over."

He wasn't sure if he spoke aloud or heard it in his head as part of a hallucination.

The flames on the dashboard and passenger seat licked at the upholstered ceiling.

Mark draped his right arm across his face to protect his eyes from the blaze. The heat lessened. A cool rush of December air blew through the back windows. It felt good against his skin.

Mark lowered his arm from his face and saw a pretty woman in her mid-twenties standing over him in the back door.

"Can you move?"

Mark tried to respond but he couldn't formulate words from the intense migraine. "Messenger spirits watch over humanity because deities have been banned from Earth long ago. Their power and existence are fueled by the faith of mankind. These messenger demigods visit humanity in place of their masters, who brood over Earth from the Celestial Realm."

The woman blinked twice. Nearby fire illuminated her amber eyes. Her pupils were vertical, similar to a cat, however they were dilated from the brightness of the fire. She had long red hair and appeared in her mid-twenties.

She had what appeared to be cowlicks atop of her head. "Who are you?"

"My dad was injured in the crash," said Mark. "Help him."

She cut her golden gaze towards Daniel Howard. "Children first. Can you move?"

"I can't feel my left arm. It's all ... pins and needles. I'm dizzy."

The woman reached her hand towards the front of the car. The fire receded from the front seats and ceiling upholstery.

Mark stared at her in a blank expression. "Kitsune - a Shinto messenger of Inari. Why do you look European?"

The woman licked her lips with a frown.

"Who are you?" said Mark. "How do you know what I know?" he added. "Are you reading my mind?"

She pursed her lips. The woman leaned forward and put her dainty human hands beneath Mark's armpits and pulled.

Mark slid across the back seat of the sedan. His rump dropped, followed by his legs. He sat on the street adjacent to the car, dazed and half aware. "Dad..."

"Stand up," said the woman. "I will help you walk. The sooner I take you to safety, the sooner I will help your father."

"Sinopa, your breath smells of vomit," said Mark. "I'm ... sorry, should I call you Mrs. Parker? You're so excited to have children with Jonathan. Dr. Sokolov promised there would be two - a male and a female. Tamamo is undoubtedly jealous."

The woman continued to pull Mark from beneath his arms. She dragged him across the street to a sidewalk. "How can you know these things of my kind? How do you know of me?"

"I have these," he trailed off, trying to find the word. "Types of headaches."

"Migraines," she said.

"Yes. Those. Help my dad, please."

Sinopa turned back to the sedan in the middle of the street. The gas tank erupted, causing an explosion.

Silence.

It wasn't like a Hollywood explosion. It was more of a fireball that appeared from beneath the car and rushed upwards. Mark stared at the fully-engulfed sedan and his father within.

Mark looked down at a rearview mirror from the truck that struck his father's car using a snow-plow attachment. He picked it up and turned it over. The mirror was intact, but the housing around it was scuffed.

He lifted his gaze to the burning sedan again. "Dad..."

The woman knelt beside Mark and gently wrapped her arms around him. "I am terribly sorry."

He looked down at the mirror again. His eyes lowered further, to the woman kneeling besides him. For the first time, he noticed the European-looking redhead was wearing a Japanese kimono.

Peeking out from beneath the bottom of her kimono, he saw what appeared to be orange-furred ... tails? Mark stared at them. "How can deities and their messengers be real, but they didn't save my dad, Mrs. Parker?"

Sinopa bit her lower lip. "How do you know so much of our existence?"

Mark's tone became demanding. "Bring him back."

"He has ascended to the Christian version of Yomi-no-kuni, as it was the afterlife in which he chose to believe."

Mark tried to get to his feet but he was too shell-shocked to stand. He looked up at the burning sedan. His eyes cut to a man in the intersection, directing traffic. "Mr. Parker doesn't know how to express affection but he is deeply in love with you. He is faithful and..." Mark rubbed his face with his right hand. "What was I saying?"

"That is my husband."

"He's a thief."

"I know," she said. "He is a Master Thief."

"He steals for something called the Esoteric Council."

Sinopa licked her lips again. "Oh dear. You're telepathic."

"It's causing these headaches. If it wasn't for these headaches, dad wouldn't have taken me to the hospital. We'd still be alive." Mark looked down at the mirror in his hands. "What I can do is illegal. I made my only living family into a target. This is my fault."

Sinopa sniffed at Mark's hair the way an animal would sniff out the scent of something puzzling. She lowered her head and sniffed at his breath. "Exhale for me."

"Wh-what?"

"Breathe out. Now."

Mark took a deep breath and exhaled.

The strange, yet attractive redhead sniffed at his breath. She drew her head back with a fearful expression.

Mark spoke words aloud. "What are Alkanes and Ketones?" His eyes lifted, meeting her gaze. "Wait, you think I have cancer?"

Sinopa bit her lower lip. "I can smell it on your breath. You are 'in situ' but it is developing within you. You must go to a hospital."

Mark reached for the nape of his neck and grimaced. His shoulders felt stiff again. The back of his neck became tight. His left arm felt strange and he felt lightheaded. "I have these headaches. They're called Hemiplegic Vascular Migraines. They start at the base of my head and cause constriction of blood flow to my head. I passed out earlier. It was my worst one to date."

As he spoke, he began to sway. "It started seven months ago and it happens more often, now. My dad thinks it's caused because I'm manifesting telepathy; he says I'm not allowed to have any kind of scans, because that would create physical evidence, which would make me a target. The Esoteric Council has a law - my ability is forbidden because it invades the right to privacy of the mind. They're trying to kill us."

Sinopa grimaced. Emotion welled up in her heart. Two orange-furred fox ears lifted from beneath the cowlicks in her hair.

Seconds later, Mark could hear the distant sound of approaching emergency responders. The sirens echoed off the buildings in the area, making it impossible for him to determine which direction they were coming from.

Mark felt faint. "Head rush..." he fell back into her arms.

She guided him to the sidewalk, flat on his back. "What is your name?"

He mumbled incoherently.

The woman stood up and looked back at the fully engulfed sedan. "I will do my best to save your father."

Mark heard another woman's voice from nearby. "You will do no such thing, Sinopa-chan."

Sinopa reached for the rearview mirror by Mark's knee and gazed into the reflection. "Sensei. Let me honor the boy's wish and try to rescue his father."

"He was destined for this fate."

"Tamamo-sama, please! The boy watched his father burn alive! That is a terrible..."

"Silence, Sinopa!"

Mark looked up and saw the woman talking to the mirror, glaring at the image of a white fox with nine tails. The little white vixen had red markings upon her forehead, stained into the fur.

The woman, Sinopa, nodded deeply with a grimace of disdain.

Mark decided he was hallucinating due to a lack of oxygen to his head. He wondered if he passed out and was simply having a strange dream.

The little white vixen reached her tiny paws up and pressed the velveteen padding of her feet against the inside of the mirror. "Very well, kohai. The boy should not endure the memories of such a painful and personal loss." The bottom of Tamamo's paws flattened against the inside of the mirror, as though it were a small window.

Sinopa sighed through her nose.

"As you know, I cannot pass through, so I will require your assistance, Sinopa."

"You wish to remove his memory of the accident?"

"You heard him," said Tamamo. "You heard how he read your most guarded secrets of our kind. He will learn of all deities, from all religions, and discover the truth of humanity's power over our existence."

Sinopa nodded in silence. She brought the broken rearview mirror to Mark's fingernails.

"Iie, baka. I do not wish to possess him, kohai." The little white vixen seemingly spoke in plain English, but the overlapping dichotomy of her voice made it sound as though she barked her words. "Place the mirror to his forehead."

A twitch of emotion tugged at the corner of Sinopa's mouth.

Mark could sense that the human fox-spirit, Sinopa, felt frustrated with her teacher.

Sinopa took a deep breath to calm her nerves. "There is no need to insult me, sensei."

"There is no time to wait, Sinopa. Place me against his forehead. Now."

Sinopa looked up.

A firetruck turned into an intersection three blocks up. It approached the burning sedan.

Sinopa brought the mirror to Mark's head. She said a small prayer for the teenaged boy.

With the mirror's cool surface against Mark's forehead, Tamamo's paws made contact with his skin.

"You will not remember the details of your grief when you wake, son of Daniel-sama. You will not remember the deities. You will not remember your ability, or the practice you've had in honing your gift. Surrender to the tension in your neck, and find solace in unconsciousness."

Silence.

Sinopa bit her lower lip. "Will he remember that his father passed?"

Tamamo spoke again. "It is finished. He will not remember the details regarding the death of Daniel, only that he is orphaned. He will not remember meeting you. I have also repressed what he discovered of deities when he read you, Sinopa."

"Very well, sensei. What shall I do with him?"

"Let the humans do their jobs and put the boy into the hospital."

"He has cancer."

"Hai, I overheard your diagnoses. The human hospital will do what they are able for this boy. It is no longer your business, Sinopa."

Sinopa looked down at Mark.

His eyes were still open. He stared up through Sinopa, barely conscious.

"It is a shame, is it not, Sinopa-chan? He is an attractive human. Not as handsome as Konoe-tenno, of course, but the boy is attractive none-the-less."

Sinopa pursed her lips together. "Stop, I beg of you. My heart hurts for this boy."

"You should learn not to become so attached to the mortal race." Tamamo's image faded from the broken rearview mirror.

Sinopa sighed softly and set the broken rearview mirror on the sidewalk. She stood up and waved to her husband. "Jonathan. There is little we can do but tell the approaching emergency responders what we saw, and then continue on our way."

Jonathan approached the sidewalk. "Sinopa?" He tilted his head. "Are you crying?"

"The boy lost his father," she said. "He struck his head. He may never remember it. Tamamo intervened."

Jonathan looked down at the passenger-side rearview mirror on the sidewalk. He picked it up, but saw only his own reflection. "I know you're still watching. What did you say to upset my wife?"

"Jonathan, stop. I am not upset by the way she spoke to me - I am upset by the fact the child saw his father burn alive."

Jonathan Parker tossed the mirror on the sidewalk. The reflective surface shattered. "Fine. We'll give a statement before heading to the airport."

Sinopa nodded. She moved close to her husband. "I cannot imagine what it would be like for a teenager to live without the guidance of their parents."

"You're an orphan," said Jonathan. "My parents died before I was eighteen. The boy will endure."

"I do not want that for our children," she said. "I want them to enjoy a normal family life."

"There is nothing normal about what I do, or the fact their mother is a kitsune."

"Hai. However, I do not want our children to mourn their mother and father's death as this boy will do when he awakes."

Jonathan nodded. He drew his wife close in one arm and flagged down EMTs with his other. Jonathan gestured to the boy lying on the street.

Two responders approached with a stretcher.

Sinopa sighed into Jonathan's chest. "I will say a prayer for the boy. I wish I could offer more."

"Your trainer would not involve herself over an empathy response, Sinopa. Tamamo-no-Mae is not the kind of woman to involve herself because she felt remorse over a teenager who saw his dad killed in an accident."

Sinopa looked back at the approaching EMTs. "He struck his head in the accident," she told them. "Please make a report suggesting that the hospital perform a thorough scan of his body to..."

"Ma'am, let us do our job. The hospital will be thorough." The EMT knelt over Mark and spoke to him, but he didn't respond.

The other EMT held a penlight over Mark's eyes. "Some pupil response. Let's get him on the backboard in one, two, three..." The pair worked together and put Markus onto the stretcher.

Sinopa turned back to her husband. In a soft voice, she said, "The boy is a telepath. He read my mind."

Jonathan stared at her for a moment. "Telepathy is a myth. It's hardly even documented."

Sinopa shook her head. "The Esoteric Council has a law prohibiting it. If they knew he was telepathic, they would have killed him. The boy spoke of being a target, and causing his father to become killed."

"If the boy was a target, they would have finished the job," Jonathan said. He nodded to the broken rearview mirror on the sidewalk. "That belongs to an American model pickup truck - either a Chevy or GMC."

"Why would a telepath feel his car was struck on purpose?"

"What if the target was his father? They might not know about the boy."

Sinopa nodded. "I do not trust the council for whom you work, Jonathan. It would be best to seek the advice of Nathanial Carrington and Methos Leodonis."

"Fine. But once we tell them about the boy, it will be their responsibility. I want you to stay clear of the drama. You're pregnant now, Sinopa. You're carrying the Parker legacy. I need you to be safe, alright?"

"Hai. You have my word. We will bring this matter to the attention of Nathan and Methos. Afterwards, I will trust in them to make the right decisions regarding that boy, and I will wash my hands of the situation."

"Promise me. It's too dangerous to be near him. If the EC finds out a telepath exists, they will stop at nothing to kill him."

"Hai, I promise." She glanced back to the EMT's, fifteen feet away. Her eyes locked on the boy strapped to the backboard. She swallowed, followed by a sigh. "Thank you for pulling over so that I could save his life, Jonathan. I would never forgive myself if I did not follow my newly-found maternal instincts."

"I saw you use your ability to push the fire back. Your control over fire is becoming impressive, Sinopa."

She ran her fingers up through her hair, using the long red locks to cover her fox ears. "Jonathan, do you suppose the rumors about the Esoteric Community are true?"

"There is a lot of tension throughout the community, but I doubt it's bad enough for a civil war."

"I saw the last civil war of your kind, Jonathan. It leveled Tunguska, Siberia in 1908. A war in these modern times would bring global knowledge to the hundred thousand Specials around the world. There would be another inquisition, and with modern humanity's technology, the supernatural race would be wiped out."

Jonathan sighed. He brought his wife close and put an arm around her. "It's all politics. It's all détente and diplomacy, now. The modern Esoteric Community won't go to war with itself, Sinopa. I promise. But if a demigod, like yourself, were to become involved in trying to save that kid ... the telepathic kid ... then there would be a war between the supernaturals and the Celestial Realm. So I want you to distance yourself from that kid, okay?"

Sinopa nodded and looked down. "I understand." She rested her cheek against her husband's chest. "I will stay away from him, you have my word."

"That's my girl," said Jonathan. "Let's go home. I hate winter weather. C'mon."

X

X

Chapter -1- Advent of Iniquity

Wednesday, June 2, 1999 New York University Medical Center Downtown Manhattan ...

A teenaged boy opened his eyes and a hospital room slid into focus. Sunlight filtered in from a window. A blanket felt warm on his skin.

He turned his head toward the nearby window and stared at the World Trade Center to the south. The majestic twin towers loomed over every other building within view of his bed.

The boy heard a voice beyond the door to his room. The voice was powerful, baritone and aloof.

The speaker said, "Good afternoon, Mr. Vei. How have you been?"

The other man replied, "Dr. Sokolov. Always a pleasure. I haven't seen you since October; you're looking well." The two men carried on their conversation just outside of the hospital room door.

The boy felt groggy. Consciousness faded in and out. He could hear them talking, but his mind couldn't make sense of what they said.

The man calling himself Vei mentioned something about a council.

The one calling himself Dr. Sokolov mentioned something about 'telomeres' that were in the teenager's blood. Whatever it was, it was important, but the boy couldn't focus on their dialogue.

As consciousness faded in, and his grogginess faded away, the teenaged boy began to become more aware. The two men continued to speak to one another, their voices droned on from fifteen feet away.

The doctor referred to the boy as 'John Doe,' but the teenaged boy was fairly certain that wasn't his real name.

There was just one problem - the boy couldn't actually recall his name.

Me. Vei, stepped in front of the doorframe, so that he came into view of the boy. He shook Dr. Sokolov's hand.

Vei was well dressed, with a pin-stripe vest and nicely tailored clothing. He wore a necktie and his hair was styled to appear fashionable.

The doctor, on the other hand, was tall. He wore a simplistic black business suit with a white lab coat overtop. He had tongue depressors in his breast pocket, and a stethoscope hanging from his neck.

The boy heard Vei say, "I will discuss your request for custody of the boy with the council members. If he truly is capable of what you're suggesting ... well, needless to say, there is a reason why having that ability is illegal. It's the most dangerous weapon of all. Keep the boy sedated until the council makes their decision."

Dr. Sokolov closed the hospital room door. Their voices became muffled.

Sokolov's slightly-muted voice was deep and calming. It was baritone and powerful enough to be heard through the door. "I will make a call down to the pharmacy. I'll order a strong sedative. It should take about half an hour. I will administer it personally, Darius. Do you mind if I use your first name?"

Darius Vei replied with a jovial tone. "I suppose we've known each other long enough, Aris."

Their voices faded as the two moved away from the hospital room door.

Silence.

The teenaged boy brought his left hand up to rub at his face only to realize an IV line connected his forearm to a machine.

He couldn't help but wonder what a 'telomere' was, and why they were such a big deal to the two men.

The grogginess continued to fade. His bicep ached. A mark on his skin was red with irritation. He could see an outline of where a PICC line once occupied his inner elbow.

He reached his right hand down, beneath the blanket and hospital gown, and winced from sensitivity where a catheter tube had been inserted up until recently.

He reached for a remote on the side of his bed and stared at a group of buttons with illustrations on them.

He pondered calling a nurse but turned on the television instead. It hummed to life.

Sound came from the remote control before an image appeared up on the screen. An anchorwoman's voice came over the speaker.

"...officials say the pilot was killed on impact. It is now believed that more than five passengers were fatally injured. Sources familiar with the accident tell us the body count may be closer to nine. Names have not yet been released. The storm system responsible for the crash is now passing over the Midwest..." The image began to come to life on the television set as it warmed up.

"I used to love flying," said a woman from his left.

The boy, startled, looked at her. She was not a nurse.

She appeared to be about his age, with long blond hair, and was dressed to impress.

She wore a blouse and a knee-length skirt. She had green eyes and a matching designer handbag on her shoulder. And beneath it all, she had a voluptuous figure that left him speechless.

Her smile illuminated the room. "But for the last two years, I get these headaches and this whole vertigo thing when I fly. I'm not sure why. I'm Karla Chintzy, by the way. What's your name hon?"

"I..." He trailed off with a frown. "This is going to sound cliché, but ... I don't remember."

"It isn't all that surprising, sweetie. Have you seen your file? You've been through one hell of an ordeal." She moved toward the bed, sashaying her hips with a confident, feminine stride.

The boy licked his lips. A pit of nervousness nested in his gut. The closer she came, the colder his feet felt.

Karla dropped down onto a chair near the bed. She leaned forward and touched the mute button on the remote. "That Little Rock crash has been in the news all night. Well, on CNN at least. It's depressing. Don't watch the news; life is depressing enough without pondering other people's problems."

He nodded but didn't speak.

She withdrew a folder from her handbag and passed it to him. "We're going to need a nickname for you until you remember your name. Considering all you've been through, let's call you Chance."

"You, uh, you mean like fate or something?"

Karla replied with an alluring smile. "Exactly, sweetheart. But 'Fate' is a girl's name." She gave his leg a gentle pat and smoothed a fabric dune in the hospital blanket.

"You're really pretty," he said. His own voice sounded foreign.

"Aw, thanks. You're sweet, Chance." She paused and lowered her gaze.

He pulled his boyish hands from beneath the blanket and turned them over in the morning light. The sensation of warmth felt new. Almost alien in a sense.

She reached for his right hand and ran her thumb over his knuckles. "The sunlight feels good, huh?"

"Yeah. It feels weird, but good." He trailed off and added, "Warm."

"Do you remember my name?"

"Karla Chintzy," he said.

She smiled. "Good. Jamais vu is a bitch, honey-bear, but at least you don't appear to have what's called 'anterograde amnesia.' That's where you can't learn new stuff, like when someone tells you their name."

"Am I going to be alright? What happened to me?"

She shifted her weight on the wooden chair by his bed. "A lot of stuff. There was a car accident. The hospital discovered you had untreated cancer. You had a really bad concussion. You were in a coma for several months - that couldn't have been easy on your body. How do you feel?"

"Confused."

"Like a book with no words yet, huh?"

"I guess. Something like that."

She gave his leg a pat again. "Anything else, Chance?"

He lifted his arm and showed her where the PICC line had been in his arm. He rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, noting that the back of his throat was a bit sore as well.

Karla tilted her head.

Chance grimaced. "A few spots are a little uncomfortable." He frowned, watching her expression. The boy cleared his throat again then said, "I'm, um, just being dramatic. I'm fine, I promise."

She responded with a thin smile. "That's a start." Her tone changed. "We should get out of here. Maybe if we start connecting some dots, I can help you figure things out."

"I ... shouldn't I stay in the hospital? I mean, I'm sure they know how to handle this sort of thing."

"Oh, honey." Karla caressed his cheek with a sympathetic smile. "You have no idea what kind of crazy stuff is about to blow up today. I'll get a wheelchair."

"A wheelchair?"

"Trust me, you won't be able to walk right away. At least not very well." She glanced back at the window for a moment and said, "Actually, maybe you will with my help. Truth be told, we're running out of time."

"We're running out of time? For what?"

Karla reached across her overly-endowed chest and shifted the strap of her handbag. "YiaYia, our current oracle, said you'd wake up just as Doctor Aris Sokolov left your room. She's right on the money with her prophecies. I actually know that Sokolov guy, but don't have time to catch up with him."

"You know him? You know my doctor?"

Karla nodded with a smile. "His personality is a little stiff, but he's okay I guess. Ready to go, hon?"

"How about you tell me what's going on first?"

"I'll answer most of your questions as best as I'm able, okay? But first, we've got to move."

"I..." He looked Karla over, unsure whether he trusted her because of her charisma and appearance or because of something else. "Don't take this the wrong way ... but you just ... ooze sexuality." His eyes widened and he brought his right hand to cover his mouth. "I'm sorry, that just came out of nowhere and..."

"Don't apologize! I appreciate the compliment, sweetheart. So, what's it going to be? You wanna sit in here and get pumped full of sedatives? Yes, I overheard that. Wouldn't you rather come with me and find out what's going on and why those two guys were talking about you like you were property?"

"Uhm. He said something about telomeres in my blood. I was groggy when they were talking. What did he mean?"

"Telomeres," said Karla, "are these little things in your cells. Scientists and doctors can look at them to approximate your age by how long they are. According to your file, yours stay the same length after mitosis."

"What does that mean?"

"Dr. Sokolov works for a group called the Esoteric Council. He determined that you're manifesting some abilities that are ... controversial to the rest of our community."

"An ability? What, like flying?"

"Like immortality and telepathy, sweetie pie. And telepathy is strictly banned by the Specials. It's extremely rare to be telepathic. The last guy who had it was given a lobotomy in the 1920's. You don't want that, trust me. So!" Karla smiled again. "Did you want to stay, or would you rather come with me?"

"Just so we're clear, I don't believe in any of this."

Karla's smile changed to a grin of amusement. "No one ever does when it happens to them. So, make your choice. The hot blond who thinks you're special, or the two guys who were just talking about sedating you until they can figure out what to do with you?"

Chance bit his lower lip. "When you put it that way ... I guess I'm choosing you over the tall doctor with the creepy demeanor."

Karla grinned and held her hand up.

He looked at her for a moment and capitulated to a high-five. "You're very, uh, friendly."

She captured his hand, brought his knuckles to her lips and stood up. "What can I say? I'm a flirty Scorpio, and you have a lot to learn."

With great care, she drew back the tape on the backside of his hand and wrist, then carefully removed the IV from his forearm. She used the original dressing to catch blood that trickled from his skin. "I'm trying to be gentle."

"I don't feel a thing," he said, "except warmth from the sunlight. That doesn't seem normal."

"God knows, considering all that you've been through."

"It's bleeding through the gauze."

"I see that, Chance. They probably gave you blood thinners. They do that so you don't get a clot while you're lying there for a long period of time." She thumbed the 'off' button on his IV dispensing machine then reached down and pressed a button on his bed. It caused him to sit up more.

"I feel like I should be overwhelmed but..."

"You're doing good, babe." She smiled at him and used her other hand to brush a lock of brown hair from over his eyebrows. "I like how relaxed you are. It makes things easier."

"I just wish I knew what happened to me."

"You might want to catch up on that file once we're out of here. Hell of a page-turner." She placed her hands on his hips, helped him to the edge of the bed and guided his feet to the floor. "I've got'cha."

Chance wobbled and put his hands on her shoulders for support. "God, what's wrong with me?"

"Long story short, you have been in a coma since December. The woman who pulled you from the wreckage said you were unconscious right off the bat. Nice lady. You'll meet her soon enough." A grin tugged at the corner of Karla's lips. As a side note, she added, "I know her, too. She's pregnant, now. Hell, I hope I look as good as her if I ever get knocked up. She's got the ass of a goddess."

Chance bit his lower lip but remained quiet.

Karla withdrew sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt from her handbag. She looked back up at him and smiled. "You're not shy, are you? You're going to need my help putting on pants considering you haven't used your arms or legs in six months."

"God." He blinked and slumped back onto the bed. "Standing up gave me a head rush. That's a weird sensation." He ran his fingers through his hair and paused, feeling a scar on the back of his scalp. "That's not ... I don't think that's right. I feel a bump back here."

Karla ran her fingers through his hair. "Yeah. That's where they operated. Boy, you need a haircut, and you need to shave that peach fuzz off your face. You should get a mani-pedi with me, too. Then you'll be right as rain."

"Surgery?"

"It's in your file."

"How about giving me the Cliff Notes version?"

She offered a wan smile. "When you were brought in from the car accident, you were a John Doe. You still are a John Doe, really. You were unconscious ... in a coma. You had massive head trauma. They ran tests, you know, MRIs and stuff like that. They found a tumor in your head, along with swelling from the accident. They said it was cancer or something. They opened you up, operated, and put you on chemotherapy. According to your file, you're in remission. You were undiagnosed at the time, based on your blood counts. So, the car accident that should have killed you, by chance, saved your life."

"Talk about irony." His mind started racing again.

Cancer?

The boy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He felt overwhelming frustration welling up in his stomach but pushed it back down. He leaned forward and rested his head on her shoulder.

The closeness was a boon. A wave of confidence and acceptance washed over him. "Talk about irony," he repeated in a soft tone.

"My thoughts exactly. Cool beans, though, right? Now you can log into AOL and brag to a survivor chat room that you beat cancer in your sleep." She helped him take off the thin hospital gown. "That's something to be proud of. And look, you didn't lose your hair. Pretty cool, right?"

"I had ... cancer. This is hard to swallow." He shifted his weight to help with the disrobing.

She began to work the sweatpants up his legs. "Sorry, I didn't bring any undies. I guess you're going commando today."

Chance blushed. He licked his lips several times and swallowed. "I wish I had money so I could at least buy you dinner first."

Karla broke into silvery peels of effeminate laughter. "Cute! I like your pickup line. It's better than any of mine."

"I ... wasn't trying to..." He licked his lips again and asked, "What's your pickup line?"

"If I want to drag a guy home, I just ask, 'Hey, can you tell me if this napkin smells like chloroform?' It's a little off-color, but it works every time - well, you know, when they wake up." She offered a lame grin and helped him with his shirt. "We should hit the road. We're out of time."

"For what?" He tucked the file folder under his arm and slid off the bed. "I don't even know who you are. Where's my family? What's going on that you're in such a rush?"

The door at the end of the room opened. The man in the vest and necktie stepped through the door and shut it behind himself. He withdrew a silenced pistol and froze. "Karla??"

Chance saw the weapon and swallowed down a lump in his throat. His mouth went dry and his heart pounded in his chest.

Karla eyed the man suspiciously, but used a relaxing, sweet tone of voice. "Darius Charles Vei. What are _you _doing here, muffin? Have you come to help me?"

"What?" Vei asked in an incredulous tone. "I didn't even know you were going to be here."

"Thought so, darling." Karla's palms incandesced with vibrant pink glyphs that appeared skin-deep.

"Karla, wait, don't do this!"

She waved her left hand. A telekinetic blast knocked the pistol away. It clattered on the floor tiles. She waved her other hand back, as if swatting flies. The gun skittered across the floor and came to rest beneath her left heel. "Sorry, Charlie. It's mine, now."

Vei narrowed his eyes. "You're interfering with official Esoteric Council business, demon."

"Demon?" Chance whispered.

Vei grit his teeth in frustration. "Everything was documented by the hospital staff, Karla. When the boy spoke in his sleep last night, he recited aloud the thoughts of any lucid mundane human that came in proximity of him. You know telepathy is forbidden. He needs surgery to cure it."

Chance's eyes widened.

Karla narrowed her vibrant green gaze. "You don't just 'cure' someone of that. No one even knows what part of the brain controls it. You're not giving this boy a goddamned forty-caliber lobotomy, Darius. And Aris isn't taking him for study, either."

"Don't be a bitch. How'd you even know to get involved?"

"Oh, bitch." Karla tittered with delight. "It's even hotter when you say it out of bed, Dee."

"Aris Sokolov called me personally. I've only told my superiors. How the hell did you know about this boy?"

Karla rolled her eyes with a snort of disdain. "YiaYia the Oracle predicted it. The information was handed down to someone important, who then called me."

"Why you?" Vei demanded.

Karla's smile brightened. "Because I'm the Tits McGee." She brought her hands up beneath her bust, and gave her breast a jiggle.

Vei replied with an exasperated sigh. "Karla..."

She pointed down at the pistol by her shoe and said, "I've got your gun. That's a shame because I hear the EC doesn't tolerate screw-ups." She held her hand aloft and the weapon sprung up off the floor. The handle met her palm with a satisfying clap.

The blond girl pointed the weapon at Darius, smiled and said, "What were you thinking? Bringing a gun to a supernatural fight...? Seriously?"

"I was here for the boy." In a softer tone, he asked, "This isn't going to complicate things between us, is it?"

"Yeah, it probably will." She pulled the trigger. The silenced gun bucked with an obnoxious staccato click.

The bullet passed through the flash suppressor and stopped an inch from Darius' forehead. The round hovered in place, still spinning from the rifled barrel.

Darius flinched then pursed his lips together. "It doesn't have to be this way. You can still do the right thing. We have rules. Laws."

With a wave of her free hand, she took control of the round and moved it to his left temple. "Should I go in this way?" She moved the bullet to his chest, above his heart. "Or how about here?" She paused, as if contemplating, and then smirked. "No, I'm thinking ... here." The bullet lowered and levitated above his crotch.

"Karla..."

"Because this is all you care about. But I know better than to let feelings get in the way of sex, which is all it was to you."

"Karla..."

"Because if you felt anything for what we had, you'd be helping me instead of standing in my way, Dee. Thanks for clearing that up for me." She dropped her hand to her side. The bullet fell to the floor. "You can make it up to me by taking a seat. Put the news on. They're showing more footage about that crash in Little Rock from last night." She put the pistol into her purse.

"Karla, telepathy is forbidden. You know how the Esoteric Council feels about people who can read the thoughts of others. It's an invasion of privacy on the deepest level. No one has the maturity to handle that sort of burden. People would abduct him and torture him and force him to read the minds of their enemies. It's better to spare him of that life."

Chance bit his lower lip and slid off the bed. His legs warbled beneath him. He put his hands on the mattress to steady himself.

Karla and Darius arched their brows, sharing a quick glance between the other. Both of them turned back to the teenaged boy.

Chance glanced at Karla, admiring her confidence. He looked back at Darius Vei and fidgeted for a moment then clenched his hands into fists. "I don't know who you are, mister, but as far as I'm concerned, you're one of the bad guys. You think I'm expendable? You don't even know me. Screw you. You should be arrested for bringing a weapon to a hospital."

"Karla," said Darius with a glower, "if you help him, I cannot help you. The council does not want to risk anyone studying his ability. Telepathy is the rarest of all abilities and is dangerous. I'm not the bad guy, here. I'm acting on behalf of the Esoteric Council of Unified Sects."

She furrowed her brows. "Save your sob story for the crybaby concert they're going to throw in your benefit at Madison Square. I don't need your help with the Council. To hell with them."

"Jesus, Karla, you're in over your head. What do you think you're going to do with him? You know I have to put the Council's needs first."

She offered a dull glare and rolled her eyes. "I'm taking him and we're leaving. Heh. Good luck with your insomnia, Darius, because I'm sure as hell not tucking you in tonight."

"Karla, you can't just..."

She waved her hand at Darius. Vei flew against the wall, becoming pinned to it. "Oh, and don't get jealous, but I've already seen this kid naked. He's twice your size."

"Karla," Vei wheezed, winded from the telekinetic attack.

She hooked her arm around Chance's torso, buried her shoulder into his armpit and helped him hobble out of the room. She shut the door behind them and waved her hand, telekinetically breaking the knob off on both sides of the door.

"What, uh, was that about?" asked Chance. "Who are you people and what's going on? This is a lot to take in."

"I know, honey-bear."

He hobbled alongside of her. "Cancer? Telo-thingies in my blood, people coming after me with weapons ... and how on earth did you take his gun away from him?"

"Do you trust me, baby-boy?"

"I feel like I can trust you, but I have all these questions and you're not even telling me what's going on. And did I hear that right? You said you were dating that guy? He's, like, twice your age."

"I'm a succubus."

"A what?"

"A sex demon, babe! I get laid to stay young," she explained. "I've been holding back on my play-date feedings for that guy. I was staying exclusive to him because I thought we had something special. And how does he repay me? He points a gun in my face."

"_Your _face?"

"Yeah! What a douchebag. He has horrible insomnia problems and a toss in the sack with me is guaranteed to make my lover feel drained afterwards. I bet he just wanted me around to help him sleep. Again, he's a douchebag. Chalk it up to another failed attempt at finding romance. I swear ... I don't know why I try."

"Oh..." Chance fidgeted.

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry. I know this is a lot all at once, sweetie. I will explain everything soon. And for the record, I'm older than I look. C'mon, let's keep moving."

"Okay. Look, I appreciate your help but I'm still groggy and I'm confused and I don't know how to handle this. Any of this. It's overwhelming."

Karla put her hand on Chance's hip and focused the energy of her telekinesis into his legs. She kept her palm on his waist so that no one would notice the glowing pink side effect of her ability.

The channeled energy helped him walk, his legs empowered by telekinetic amplification.

"Wow," said Chance under his breath, "walking suddenly became easier."

"Yeah, you're welcome. It's temporary for you and draining for me. Let's hurry the hell out of here before we see any of Darius' goons. He is pretty influential. I'm willing to wager he brought a few buddies to help him out."

"So, superpowers are real? Why don't we have any superheroes then?"

"Keep your voice down," she said with a dry grin. "You're as bad as me. It's because the Esoteric Community disallows people to use their abilities in public. Public displays will catch the ever-watching eye of Big Brother. That's a huge faux pas because the public spotlight will get you killed faster than you can say, 'Diana and Dodi.' Know what I mean?"

"Who?"

"Oh, yeah. Right ... amnesia. Heh, I forgot." Karla laughed at her own pun. "Just come with me. I'll introduce you to my friend, Methos."

Chance walked with her and they stepped into an elevator. The doors slid shut with a thump and it lowered to the ground floor. "Wait, your friend is named after a character in Highlander?"

"God, you don't remember your name, nor Princess Di from two years ago ... but you do remember Peter Wingfield's character?"

"I ... guess," said Chance with a wince. He hobbled off the elevator with her. For some reason, the small talk was a welcome change of pace. It kept him from thinking about everything that happened upstairs. "So, you know characters by their actors like that?"

"Of course, he's Welsh. We were both born in Cardiff. And no, I don't talk with a dialect."

Chance opened and closed his hands several times. His joints ached from months of disuse. He swallowed back his apprehension and latched onto her carefree, playful personality. "Why? British girls are hot."

"Yeah, yeah. Back when I moved here, it attracted unwanted attention." She gave him a playful swat on the rump, walked him through the lobby and out to the parking garage. "Are you up for a road trip? We're going to take I-80 straight across the country. I promise, you'll have the time of your life."

"God that sounds insane. I just met you! I need to find my family and find out who I am and we need to call the police. That guy had a gun!"

"So, do you want to go traveling with the busty blond or stay here with the gun-toting hipsters in dress slacks wearing cheap vests from Sears?"

"We're going to call the cops on that guy, Karla."

She grinned. "What're you going to tell the cops? That I used 'The Force' to take out your attacker? They're not going to believe you."

Chance replied with a weak smile. "When ... uh, when do we leave?"

All at once, everything felt weird. Slow. Drawn out. Chance reached a hand for Karla and his wrist brushed across the swell of her bosom. He shoved her to the left, between two cars.

Time exploded forward and everything happened all at once. A muffled gunshot rang out, followed by the clang of a bullet striking a nearby automobile.

Chance spilled to the concrete at her side with a grunt.

Karla groaned in frustration. "More bad guys with silencers. Welcome to New York, baby! This is where it gets interesting."

"How... how did I know to do that? I ... I just..."

"Telepathy, remember?" She peered over the hood of a vehicle and ducked back down. "You perceived that we were in someone's crosshairs. It's impressive, considering today is your first time using it. My rental car is three lanes down - the white Avis Cavalier with the scuffmarks."

"This is all so much at once."

She gave his shoulder a firm pat. "Are you ready to make a run for it, gimpy?"

"I don't know if I can run. My legs feel like Jell-O."

Karla sighed and asked, "Do you trust me?"

"I ... I don't even know you."

"I've saved your ass once already. You returned the favor just now. Hi, my name is Karla. I'm a demon, and I like long walks on the beach - preferably not alone. Now you know me. Do you trust me or what, babe?"

"Uh ... sure. Yes. Yes, I trust you, okay?" He cringed at another clap of a bullet hitting nearby.

"I have another ability..."

"Yeah? Will it help us?"

"Maybe." She frowned and flinched at the sound of a third round striking something metal. "I'm still working out the kinks, but I'm out of options, so let's give it a shot. Here we go." She tensed up and they both disappeared.

Karla and Chance reappeared inside the rental car. She groaned, temporarily dazed. "God, that's draining with people. It's easier with objects."

She wearily put a key into the ignition and the engine turned over.

"Jesus, did we just...?"

"Seatbelt, babe." She floored the accelerator and pulled the car out of its spot. The squeal of tires echoed inside the parking garage.

"Wait, Karla..."

"Now what?"

A man came up from the backseat and put two handguns against the backsides of both their heads.

Chance felt a lump of nervousness tighten up again and swallowed it down. He licked his lips and cleared his throat. "Uh ... that, I guess. Sorry, I'm not ... I just ... now what?"

"Now you drive," said the man in the backseat. "We're taking you before the council, kid. The EC will determine what to do with you."

---

Chapter 2: https://www.sofurry.com/view/553765