Super Powers: The New Super Humans, Book Two

by T. M. Franklin

  “Before time, before all that is, there was chaos. But chaos was tamed and all that is came into being. Still, it remains, chained in the depths, awaiting its opportunity to return, to regain its power. It feeds on discord and strife, and when it grows strong enough, it emerges to wreak havoc and destruction on all creation. The balance must be reclaimed, and so the forces of order are called forth.”

  Miranda tapped at her keyboard. “Order and chaos,” she mumbled.

  “Yes,” Professor Kennedy said. “Good and evil. Yin and Yang. Whatever you want to call it, according to this, the balance, or whatever is in charge of keeping the balance, calls The Order together when it is needed.”

  His words hung in the air, an uneasy tension pulsing around them. Maia could almost feel eyes on her—the professor's, curious and expectant. Miranda's, nervous and hopeful.

  Maia snapped her laptop shut. “Well, this is very interesting,” she said, panic making her voice a bit higher than normal. “We don't want to take up any more of your time, Professor.”

  “Maia—”

  “I mean, the mythology is quite intriguing. Duality is a common theme in many belief systems worldwide, and this text definitely casts a new light on it, but I don't know. Perhaps it's a bit too complex for my paper.” She stood up abruptly and crammed her laptop into her bag. “Miranda, we should go.”

  To her credit, her cousin didn't argue, but packed up her things as well.

  “Maia,” Professor Kennedy said sharply. “Hold on a moment.”

  “I really don't think—”

  “Why don't you tell me why you're really here,” he said, looking at her, then at Miranda. “What do you really want to ask me?”

  Maia snatched up her bag and grabbed Miranda's arm before she could say a word.

  “Nothing,” she said. “I don't want to ask you anything. I think I'll find another topic for my paper. Thank you for your time, Professor.”

  His jaw tensed and he gave her a tight nod. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

  Maia practically dragged Miranda from the house, stumbling a little in the driveway. She threw her bag into the back seat and slammed her door, her heart racing.

  “What's wrong with you?” Miranda asked as she started the car. “How long are you going to ignore this?”

  “I'm not ignoring anything,” she snapped.

  “Maia—”

  “Can you just drive? Please?” she asked, closing her eyes and taking a steadying breath. “I know we have to talk about this. I know I—I know okay? But can we get out of here first?”

  Miranda sighed and turned around quickly, spewing dirt as they sped down the driveway. She didn't speak, but Maia could feel her glancing at her every few seconds.

  “What do I have to do?” she asked finally, watching the passing scenery. “I mean, if I decide to buy into all of this . . .” She waved a hand to indicate the insanity of it all. “What do I have to do?”

  “You don't have to do anything,” Miranda replied quietly. “But if Professor Kennedy is right, we need you. We need you for what's coming. Whether you join us or not is your decision.”

  “And if I do? Decide to join you?” The words almost stuck in her throat.

  Miranda tapped the steering wheel with a finger. “You open the chest in Chloe's attic. There will be something in there that will give you a gift of some kind.”

  “Like freezing time?”

  “Well, that one's already spoken for,” Miranda said, her lips quirking slightly. “But yeah, something like that, maybe. We don't really know.”

  She turned to look at her cousin. “And what about you? Do you have a gift?”

  “Me? Nah.” Miranda shrugged. “I don't see anything in the chest, but after talking to the professor . . .” She chewed on her lip.

  “What?”

  “I think, maybe . . . maybe I'm the Scribe? I'm supposed to keep a record or whatever, for future generations? I don't know. I’ve kind of been doing that already, you know? Maybe that’s why.”

  Maia nodded slowly. “You realize this is crazy, right?”

  She laughed. “Oh, yeah. Definitely.” She turned to look at her. “But it's real, Maia. It's totally real. I swear.”

  Maia turned to look back out the window, her mind whirling with thoughts, but her heart already knowing what she had to do.

  “Let's go home.”

  When they pulled to a stop at the curb in front of the house, Maia sat and stared at it for a long moment.

  “What is it?” Miranda asked.

  Maia sighed. “I saw this in a dream,” she said. “A rather frightening one, to be honest. When I woke up, I found myself standing right here in the street. I walked here in my sleep.”

  Miranda's brows shot up. “That ever happen before?”

  “No.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Yeah.” She huffed out a laugh. “I guess there's no denying that I'm in this, whatever this is. Everywhere I turn, there's something else drawing me in. The journal. The dream. The sleepwalking. This house—” Maia gestured toward it. “I can't really run away from it anymore.”

  Miranda reached out and squeezed her hand. “No, I guess not. I mean, you have a choice. But it looks like you have to make it.”

  “No ignoring it.”

  “Nope.” Miranda shot her a sympathetic smile before getting out of the car.

  Maia followed her up the steps and into the house, unsurprised to find Chloe waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. She turned to lead them to the second floor, and up a pull-down ladder at the end of the hall. They emerged in the attic, and Maia's eyes immediately settled on the chest in the corner.

  It looked pretty ordinary, actually. Maia wasn't sure exactly what she'd expected—maybe some ancient runes or sparkling fairy dust—but other than the spiral engraving on top, it looked like something you'd find in anyone's attic.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  Chloe and Miranda stood behind her, flanking her as if for moral support. The air in the attic was slightly stale and musty, dust motes floating in the glow from the window.

  “Just open it up,” Chloe said. “And tell us what you see.”

  “Don't you know?” Maia asked her with a sharp look. “I thought you could see the future.”

  Chloe smiled softly. “I see possible futures, sometimes. But not everything and not always in detail.”

  “Sounds frustrating.”

  “You have no idea.”

  Maia inhaled slowly and let it out just as slowly, then straightened her shoulders and approached the chest. Done with delays and indecision, she wasted no more time and lifted the lid. Inside, she spotted a mass of red fabric wadded up in a corner.

  “What is it?” Miranda asked.

  “I'm not sure. Some kind of cloth.” She glanced at her. “So I just pick it up?”

  Miranda shrugged, and she took that as a yes.

  Maia reached in and grabbed the fabric, surprised that it seemed almost warm, the threads silky between her fingers. She held it up and gave it a shake.

  “It's . . . I think it's a cape.” She looked at Chloe and Miranda, who were watching her wide-eyed. “You really don't see it?”

  They shook their heads.

  “What do I do now?” Maia asked.

  Chloe frowned. “The others only had to touch it. Maybe . . . put it on?”

  Maia nodded and swept the cape up around and over her shoulders. The instant the fabric settled, a bright light filled the space, as warmth and a kind of electric hum pulsed through her body. Then the light dimmed and the cape just . . . vanished, the light shimmering along her skin before it too disappeared.

  “What happened?” Maia turned around in confusion, but when she looked up at Chloe and Miranda, their mouths were open, their expressions stunned.

  “What?” Maia asked.

  “How do you feel?” Miranda asked. She took a step toward her, and reached out, somewhere to Maia's left. “
Can you hear me?”

  “Of course I can hear you. What's the matter?”

  Miranda looked back at Chloe, who laughed. “You're invisible.”

  “I'm . . . what are you talking about?” She held up a hand, wiggling her fingers. “I'm not invisible.”

  “Here. Come over here.” Chloe crossed the room and ripped off a dusty sheet covering an old dresser and mirror. “See for yourself.”

  Maia's heart thudded heavy in her chest as she approached the mirror. But when she looked into it, she could see Chloe . . . Miranda, behind her, but no . . . Maia.

  “Whoa.” She touched her face and it was there. She could feel it. But she couldn't see it. “This is completely freaky.”

  She stared at the mirror and slowly she faded into view, transparent and colorless, but growing more solid with every breath. Maia stared, wide-eyed at her reflection and poked at her cheek, unsettled. “Do you see me now?” she asked Chloe.

  “Yeah, you're back,” she said with a smile. “Pretty cool power. Now you just have to learn to control it.”

  “But don't worry,” Miranda said, throwing an arm over her shoulders. “We have a lot of experience with that now.”

  The sun was setting by the time Miranda could get out of the house without Maia asking any questions. Her cousin had been working on accessing her power all day with Chloe—and Wren, who'd come by as soon as she'd heard that Maia had opened the chest—and was exhausted, lying half-asleep on the couch watching some mindless television. Miranda had muttered something about wanting ice cream and Maia had waved her off without asking any questions.

  Which was good. Miranda had always been a terrible liar.

  She drove to the edge of town, retracing her path from earlier. A police car and two fire trucks raced by going the opposite direction, toward town, and she pulled off to the side to let them pass before continuing on her way. She wound down the long driveway and paused in her stopped car, breathing deeply.

  What was she doing? Maybe she was losing it—seeing things that weren't really there. It wouldn’t be the first time Miranda had exaggerated things in her own mind.

  But no, she knew deep inside that this was what she needed to do—where she needed to be. So she got out of the car and made her way to the front door, lifting her fist to knock before she could change her mind.

  It didn't surprise her that Professor Kennedy opened the door himself, almost as if he'd been waiting for her.

  He nodded slowly. “I thought you might be back. At first I'd assumed it was Maia, but no, this makes more sense.” He stood back, waving her inside. “Come on in.”

  She passed in front of him and headed toward the library, feeling him behind her as she went. She stood right inside the door, shifting from one foot to the other nervously as he walked behind the desk, and moved a stack of books off a shelf to access a safe behind them.

  Miranda had a feeling she knew what was in that safe, but she didn't speak, the hush in the room solemn, almost reverent, as if something important were taking place.

  A click echoed and Professor Kennedy reached into the safe and withdrew a stack of papers and set them aside. Then he pulled it out.

  The book.

  The original book.

  It was a deep red, darker than it had looked on microfiche, the pages yellowed with age, but undamaged—no cracks or tears in the paper or the leather cover. He turned around and held it out toward her, the embossed spiral on the cover identical to the one on the chest in Chloe's attic.

  “I thought perhaps it was Maia,” he said again when she stepped forward for a closer look. “But I've been wrong before.”

  Her gaze flicked up to meet his. “How do you know it's me?”

  He shrugged. “You know, don't you?”

  Instead of replying, she focused back on the journal. “It's thicker than I expected.”

  “Well, the most recent entries were not transferred to microfiche.”

  She pursed her lips thoughtfully and picked up the book, flipping through to the last few pages, relieved to find modern English in a clean, block script. “So, you're the Scribe?” she asked.

  “No, not me,” he said with a quiet laugh. “My brother, Liam. He got the book when he turned sixteen, passed on by the former Scribe—a man from back East somewhere. He never told me the details. Liam passed away two years later. Leukemia.”

  “I'm sorry.”

  He dipped his chin in acknowledgement. “He asked me to take the book, said the next Scribe would come to me when the time was right.”

  She skimmed a few pages, stopping at a familiar name. “Therese?”

  “Hmm?”

  She pointed to the book. “There's a reference here to someone named Therese.”

  “Ah, yes.” He leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. “The Seer at the time. She's the one who saw you coming.”

  “Chloe's mother's name was Therese,” she said quietly. “I highly suspect that's no coincidence.”

  His lips quirked. “I would assume so. Chloe has inherited her mother's power, perhaps?”

  “I don't know,” she replied. “If Chloe's mom had visions, I don't think she knew about it.”

  “Well, I suppose it could be another Therese.”

  Miranda laughed. “Oh, I doubt that. After everything we've experienced lately, I would be more surprised if it was someone other than Chloe's mom.”

  He smiled, his eyes on the ceiling as if puzzling out a mystery. “If so, it's interesting. The connection between the generations. Chloe inheriting her Seer's gift from her mother. You, her best friend, are the Scribe. Maia is your cousin—” He gave her an expectant look.

  “She, uh, can be invisible.”

  “Ah, yes—one of the rarer gifts. And the others?”

  “We go to school with Beck. He's got strength and speed. Wren moved into town a few months ago. She can stop time.”

  He sat up. “That's five.”

  “Yeah. But according to Chloe's visions, there are a couple more, I think. We haven't met them yet.”

  Professor Kennedy frowned slightly.

  “What? Is that important?” she asked.

  “Perhaps,” he murmured, half to himself. “It's just that there are only two instances in the journal of an Order that large. And none has been bigger than six members.”

  “What does that mean?” Miranda's stomach churned, already suspecting the answer.

  “Well, from what I understand, it means the threat you're facing is big.”

  “How big?” Miranda asked.

  The professor rubbed a hand over his face. “Bigger than it's been in a very long time. Stronger, too.”

  “Perfect,” Miranda muttered. “How did I know you were going to say that?”

  The professor rounded his desk and sat back down. “I can help, you know. I don't have a gift, but I can help.”

  “How?” She sat down across from him, her fingers trailing absently over the book cover.

  “Help you prepare,” he said. “Teach you some defense. Guide you as best I can. I'm pretty familiar with the contents of that.” He tipped his head toward the book.

  Miranda nodded. “I suppose we could use all the help we can get.”

  He placed his elbows on the desk, tenting his fingers and tapping them on his lips as he thought for a moment. “You and I, we may not have special abilities, but we have a part to play in all of this, you know?”

  “You make it sound like a game.”

  He huffed. “No, it's definitely not a game. But there are rules. And between the two of us, we can help figure those out. Interpret what those who came before us have learned and use it to our advantage.”

  Miranda flipped through the pages in the book. “So, the answers are all in here?”

  “Not all of them, no,” he replied. “But it's definitely a place to begin.”

  She paused for a moment, not meeting his eyes . . . not wanting to ask the question, but knowing she had to. “Can we win?” she whispere
d.

  “We can.”

  Miranda looked up finally, needing to see the truth in his expression. “Will we?”

  He met her gaze, fervent and sure. “It's not a matter of can or will,” he said finally. “We must. There is no other option. Everything depends on it.”

  She shook her head with a wry smile. “But no pressure, right?”

  Professor Kennedy's lips quirked and he relaxed a bit. “Sorry,” he said. “I've been waiting for a long time. I get a little worked up.”

  “Understandable,” she replied as she tucked the book into her bag. “You should join us for training. But, Professor?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tone it down a bit on the fate of the world depends on us stuff, okay? At least with the others?” she said. “It's kind of a lot, and we're all still finding our way here.”

  The professor nodded. “Duly noted.”

  Her eyes strayed to a pair of worn boxing gloves on his bookshelf. “But if you can teach me to throw a punch, that might be helpful.”

  His smile widened. “I do believe that can be arranged,” he replied.

  Gina Talbot stood in the deep shadows outside, down the driveway from the Kennedy house, smacking loudly on a piece of gum as she leaned against a sleek, black car she'd liberated in town. It wasn't happy, and it made Gina jumpy . . . uncomfortable.

  She liked when It was happy.

  “We'll have to step up our timeline,” It said, sending a shiver down her spine. “I didn't expect the Scribe to find the journal so quickly.”

  She spat out her gum and rubbed her aching jaw. “Do you want me to stop her?”

  It laughed. “The girl is inconsequential. She's only to keep a record. And this time, the record will show my inevitable victory.”

  Gina shrugged. It didn't matter to her one way or the other, really.

  “The Order is growing,” she said quietly. “My son—”

  “Your son was an unpleasant surprise,” It snapped, irritated. “Stronger than I anticipated. I underestimated him. That won't happen again.”

  “Will there be more?”

  A surge of anger shot through Gina, pain radiating from her core through her limbs—an electric shock hitting every nerve ending. She fell to the ground and curled in on herself, whimpering in pain.