by Alex Hayes
Dad leans back and rolls his eyes. “Idris, you could have told this science fiction to Pamela last night. Why are you feeding this garbage to me now? Just tell me the truth, so we can deal with it and move on.”
Ahh! I clench at the hair on top of my head. “It’s not fiction.” Science or otherwise.
Okay. I need proof. I grab a glass from the wet-bar in the corner of Dad’s office and fill it with tap water, then thunk it on his desk.
Let’s hope I don’t douse him like I did Cadi and me.
I focus on the water and release a resonance from the depth of my chest, a low hum that’s barely audible. The water shivers and begins to swirl. I create a water dragon, a miniature of the one I used to lift Cadi out of the hidden lake. The water rises from the glass in a single unit, twists and turns like one of those red Chinese dragon kites, then dives back into the glass. Not a single drop spilled.
Yes!
Dad’s lips are parted, his face frozen until he shakes himself out of it. “Go on with your story, Idris.”
We’ve reached a state of suspended disbelief. I’m hoping.
I walk him, as quickly as my summarizing skills will allow, through the rest of the tale, including meeting my biological father for all of ten minutes before he’s reduced to a pile of dust.
Chugging the contents of the water glass, I try to push away that image, and the loss. My real dad, rediscovered, only to be torn away again.
The swirling sensation in my gut rises, but I beat it back, swallow and go on to tell how I shut down the wormhole after an intense fight with a four-armed, four-eyed alien.
Dad steeples his hands above the desk. “An interesting story that conveniently ends with no physical evidence whatsoever.”
Guess the water dragon doesn’t count then. “Well, I did take a few pictures.” Not sure how good they are, but…
I show him one of Valdar and Cadi. “That guy there is my, um…other dad. And that’s Cadi.”
He crosses his arms. “Your girlfriend? She’s a lizard?”
I frown at the way he says it. “She’s a Livran, like me.”
Dad’s lips twist. “I thought that scaly business was a genetic disorder.”
Shape-shifting into my Livran form, I smile and spread my arms. “Surprise.”
Dad jumps out of his seat, a look of horror on his face. “Idris. Change back!”
But I don’t. Not yet.
“Of all the kids I could’ve adopted, I chose one from another planet.”
Thanks, Dad.
I straighten in the guest chair. “Look on the bright side. Maybe it’s a lucky run and you should start buying lottery tickets.”
He calms down enough to sit again, then picks up the now empty water glass and examines it. “You’d make a good magician, I’ll give you that.”
I lean forward, still katydid green, and eye him, eagerly. “I’d make a much better musician.”
Dad’s eyes darken. “We discussed the whole music thing. I gave you a choice.”
Some choice. “I’m good, Dad. Mrs. Jones heard my compositions and said so.” And she’s the closest thing I have to an authority. “Making music isn’t an option for me. You can take my instruments away, but you cannot stop the music playing in my head. I might as well do something useful with it.”
He looks me over in all my scaly green glory.
I squirm and swipe a hand over my head. Its smooth surface feels nice. Though I still love my hair. Guess that means I’ve got the best of both worlds. Literally.
After a long silence, Dad’s head rocks, side to side, not quite a nod, or a shake. “And what about the public speaking?”
“I’m done with public speaking.” I didn’t win those competitions because I was good. I won them because of my like me signals, and I’m not using them to manipulate people ever again.
Dad leans back in his chair, a smirk playing across his lips. “Well, Idris, if music is really what you’re all about, I guess you’re going to have to prove it.”
My eyes narrow as I study his face, measuring him up.
He folds his arms across his chest. “Pamela Rivera invited me to an event in LA next month. Something to do with her husband. Guess he’s in the running for an award.” He shrugs. “It’s an after-Grammys party or something.”
My lips part. Did Dad just say Grammys?
His head nods slowly. “It would be a good place to start meeting people in the music industry. Maybe you should come too.”
Is he serious?
An inquisitive eyebrow pops up and his smirk shifts into a meaningful smile.
I blink twice. “Uh, yeah… Sure, Dad. Absolutely!”
46
Cadi
A knock reverberates through the Thorny Rose. As I jog upstairs, my crystal hums in my chest. Odd. The gem seems excited, but Idris isn’t around. I can feel the light tug of his crystal coming from the direction of his house.
Still rubbing my breastbone, I peer through the iron bars of a glass-shattered front window. Mr. Scrim. His massive head of hair and square-frame glasses fit, in a funky way, with his slim gray suit and red tie.
I open the door.
He glances around the place, eyeing the remnants of broken glass on the nightclub floor and the bar shelves empty of alcohol.
Maybe this wasn’t the best place to meet my social worker.
His eyes find mine and he smiles. “Had a little adventure, Cadi?” His voice is baritone. I’ve always found it comforting. Ironically so, because the only time he shows up in my life is when something bad happens.
I smile back, feeling awkward. Maybe because I’m no longer the foster kid without a past. I have a history to look back on, and the memories of a man, who chose me to be his son’s life partner, written into my brain.
If I were human, being denied the choice to find my own mate might’ve offended me. But as a Livran, I get it. Dre and I are compatible in almost every way. That’s why our parents raised us together, so that not just our adult lives, but our whole lives would be intertwined.
At least, that was the idea, which leads me to wonder at the wisdom of the carers who separated us in the first place.
“Well,” Mr. Scrim says, breaking into my thoughts. “Good to see you back and looking well.”
Back, as in…? How’d he know I went anywhere other than Hopper?
He studies me for a moment. “And happier too.” He’s got that right.
“Much happier, thanks. Mama and Papa Jacobsen are the best foster parents ever.”
Mr. Scrim nods. “And you found Dresandar.”
What? How does he know about Dre?
Wait. My crystal hums like it’s picked up another stone, but not Idris’s. My eyes narrow at the social worker.
“Haven’t seen him in years,” he says, “not since his adoption. I intended to pay him a visit, but there was always something more pressing.”
Mr. Scrim heads over to a table with two chairs. They’re dusty because I never made it up here to clean. “Why don’t we have a seat?” He sets a leather briefcase on the table and pulls out a tissue to brush the chair cushion before settling.
I follow, wondering if this is some kind of test. “Um…how do you know about Dre?”
In response to my question, the social worker shape-shifts into a Livran. I jump backward and knock against the bar. Mr. Scrim is Livran? I’ve known him, like, forever and never guessed anything was different about him.
Eyes still blinking with surprise, I check him out from head to foot. Who’d have thought a lizard-man would look so good in a suit. “You’re one of the carers.”
“Yes, and an apology is in order. I haven’t managed you all as well as you deserve.” He shakes his head. “But being responsible for twenty-two children with psychic abilities is challenging.”
“Twenty-two?”
Mr. Scrim leans an elbow on the table and props his chin on a fist. “Since Redantar died, we’re down to three carers. I’ve been responsible f
or the twenty-two of you in the Americas. We spread you far and wide to make it harder for the Evatenon to find you.”
Is that why he hadn’t found time to tell us who we were or teach us anything?
“Is that why you separated Dre and me?”
He nods. “Yes. All of you. Forty-two kids in total. The remaining twenty are scattered across Europe and Asia.”
Forty-two kids and no way home for any of us. I swallow. “Dre closed the wormhole.” Telling Mr. Scrim makes the whole experience seem all the more strange.
“Yes. I received an alert that the cosmic bridge had been shut.” He slumps a little. “Which means Daïzani is lost.”
“Valdar was the last one. And then he…died too.” Tears well behind my eyes. The memories he shared with me are a weak substitute for the real person, but that’s all I can offer Dre now.
Mr. Scrim closes his eyes and his lips move through a well-wishing to the dead. I recognize the motions and recall the words from Valdar’s memories.
The social worker’s eyes pop open again. They’re grayish-green. “A devastating loss.” His low voice rumbles softly. “And so we must move on.”
He sounds so sad. I grope for what I hope will be some good news. “Valdar gave us an ar’n bala tree cutting. It’s downstairs.”
The carer’s chin jerks up and his eyes brighten. “Then we have hope.” His shoulders straighten and his fingers curl over the edge of the tabletop. “The chance for our people to start again.” He smiles. “But first, let’s talk about you.”
Me? Does he plan to separate me and Dre again? My crystal trembles at the thought.
“Your foster mother filled me in and put me in touch with Mrs. Lakewood.” He pulls a file folder from his briefcase and flips it open. “Who, as it happens, owns this place.”
Seriously? “Mama’s agent is Marek’s mom?”
Mr. Scrim smiles. “I believe Marek is her son, yes. You know him?”
“He’s Idris’s…I mean Dre’s best friend.”
“Indeed. Then I can see why Earth is often regarded as a small world by its inhabitants. Mrs. Lakewood gave me the directions to Mrs. Jacobsen’s property, where you’re to live temporarily with a Mr. and Mrs. Smith. I’ve updated your records to reflect the new address and contacted the local high school concerning your enrollment.”
I drop into the chair across from him, disturbing a thick layer of dust. “Hopper High?”
He glances up from his paperwork and nods.
“So I’ll be going to school with Idris…I mean Dre.” I want to cheer.
Picking up on my happiness, the social worker’s smile deepens. “Indeed. A good opportunity for you to spend more time with Dresandar.”
“Then you’re not planning to separate us again?”
He lets out a sigh that’s laced with determination. “No, Cadi. It’s time to bring you all back together. We must find a safe location to plant the ar’n bala cutting. Once the tree buds with a new generation of crystals, we can begin to build a community here, on Earth.”
47
Idris
Three weeks later…
I slam my locker and glance down the corridor, eyes seeking Cadi. She stands by hers, burdened with a massive blue-green textbook. I’m glad she’s so committed to studying because she’s my project partner in physics — we’re going to design a saser — but she’s better off leaving that book at home. Nobody reads textbooks at school. I need to acquaint her of that fact.
School is for socializing. Homework can be done in bed. Well, when there’s nothing better to do there.
Reaching her side, I relieve her of the book.
“Hey, bro, wait for us.” Marek catches up with Brianna at his side. They make a damn nice couple. He high fives me.
Brianna smiles. “I heard you won the Miles Davis music award, Idris. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” I glance at Cadi, then Marek. “Wouldn’t have been able to do it without these two though.”
Smiling, Cadi puts an arm around me and leans in for a hug.
Marek rolls his eyes. “How’d your dad take the win?”
Cadi laughs. “Like the proud father of an up-and-coming superstar.”
Embarrassment creeps in. “Not really, but he did say he’d buy me that electric guitar.”
Given that I had to use my Christmas money to cover the insurance deductible for replacement windows at the Thorny Rose, the promised guitar is awesome news. And Marek’s mom said I can still use the nightclub to practice.
Since Cadi’s foster parents are retiring from farming and coming out to live with her at their cabin, the Thorny Rose will be a welcome get-away for two Livran teenagers who need a chance to catch up on their bonding.
And I don’t just mean making good use of the gangster pad. According to Mr. Scrim — a.k.a. Klavendar — Cadi and I need to practice using our abilities, and the hidden lake is the perfect spot.
It’s also a pretty cool place for a picnic. Tall glasses of lemonade. PB&Js. Serenading my girl with the song I wrote for her…
Hey, what can I say? I’m a romantic guy.
Perfect Pitch
The Chameleon Effect - Book 2
SAMPLE CHAPTERS
1
Cadi
I sprint up the dusty slope to a sandstone ledge, my chest bursting with anticipation. A smile overtakes me because half of that anticipation belongs to Idris.
Ahead, a cliffside rises fifty feet. The narrow ledge is blocked part way along by a granite boulder resting against the cliff’s vertical face.
Behind the boulder is a cave.
I know this because I rolled that ginormous rock to one side and discovered the hidden chamber.
Idris catches up and laces his fingers into mine. “Great location, Cadi.” His head shifts, side to side, as he takes in the towering pines that crowd the forest around us.
“A hand, please, Idris,” Mr. Scrim calls up the incline behind us. He guides a floating metallic travel case. The device levitates, but it doesn’t do so well on steep slopes.
Idris backtracks and grabs the handle on top to steady the case as Mr. Scrim pushes from behind.
Mr. Scrim’s my social worker. Over the years, he’s settled me into and rescued me from countless foster homes—until I found the perfect parents. He also comes from a planet called Daïzani. Yeah, and so do Idris and I. But more importantly, he’s a Livran carer, someone trained in the nurturing of Livran children. And ar’n bala trees.
More commonly known as a crystal tree, the ar’n bala produces the symbiotic crystals that all Livran receive at birth.
Mr. Scrim scans the rock wall and nods. “Looks good.” He’s currently in human form, boasting a mass of curly black hair and impeccable taste in charcoal gray Canali suits. Mind you, even in his scaly green Livran shape, he rocks in business attire.
He adjusts the sleek leather backpack on his shoulders. “Okay, Cadi, you’re up.”
With a quick nod, I hold out my hands, palms forward and eyes focused on that SUV-sized rock. Then I reach out with my mind and push.
The stone moves. Loose dirt tumbles down the slope as the granite boulder rolls sideways, revealing an opening wide enough for us to pass.
Idris flashes me a smile, his dark eyes twinkling.
The first time I used telekinesis in his presence, I threw him across a parking lot, after which, I passed out from exhaustion. Since then, I’ve learned to throttle my energy.
Mr. Scrim pockets his thick-frame glasses—which I suspect he wears solely for the look—and draws the shiny floating case through the gap.
Idris gestures me after the man and follows.
We gather in the cave center, which is about the size of an average living room. The echoey drip, drip, drip of water into a stone hollow reminds me of a leaky showerhead from a past life, but I can’t remember from which foster home.
The cave smells musty and its details are hard to make out. I squint through the shadows toward Mr. Scrim.
“Should we shift now?”
“Yes.”
Coolness flushes over my scalp, slides down my throat and into my chest. My extremities tingle as pale skin and dull blonde hair transform into well-defined cheekbones and delicate green scales. I breathe in deeply, feeling a momentary rush, as my chest expands, drawing in oxygen more efficiently than human lungs.
Infrared vision enhances my view of Mr. Scrim and Idris as they shape shift, bodies shimmering like quicksilver, into their Livran forms. My eyes stick to Idris, whose short black curls and tawny skin have been replaced by smooth cranial ridges and short preocular horns.
Cream and sea-green scales, caught by the light slanting through the cave entrance, form chevron patterns that angle up his throat, and golden rings circle the inky depths of his larger-than-human pupils.
He is definitely my kind of eye candy, and the thought of reaching out to touch his silken skin makes my toes curl.
Mr. Scrim clears his throat.
I jump, realizing I’m practically drooling over my boyfriend.
A hairless eyebrow twitches on Idris’s face and his lips stretch into a smile.
I blink. “What?”
I can’t hide my feelings because Idris can sense them through our twin crystals, but that doesn’t stop me trying.
“Your hormone levels just spiked,” Mr. Scrim comments dryly.
Ugh. I put on a disinterested shrug. “So what?”
The carer chuckles. “Mating season.”
If my cheeks weren’t green, they’d be glowing hot pink. I like to think I’m chill when it comes to sex talk, but I’m discovering that’s not so much the case when the talk is fixed on me.
Idris rubs a ridge on his head. “Um, does that mean we need to be careful?” He says it like he’s talking about crossing the street.
I seriously want to disappear under a rock.