Breakfast was fluffy eggs, breakfast sausage, and crispy waffles, as usual. The girls of cabin 12 sat together. Terra sat especially close to Cindy, eyes red. Emilia wondered if something had happened. Neither said much. Nadia and Alexandria likewise sat close, chatting amiably but quietly. Rosa sat quietly, keeping her eyes on her food.
Emilia ate her eggs with a little extra pepper and her waffles with butter, but no syrup. The breakfast sausage was greasy for her taste but was by no means bad. She washed it all down with cold milk and was feeling ready for the first full day at Camp Arrowhead. She debated what to do first. Morning hikes were nice. Few if any people would be at the lake yet. It was a chilly morning for swimming, but she could definitely go fishing.
She wondered if Mrs. Wright would be around much this year. The forge on the west side of camp wasn’t always open. Mrs. Wright, a large woman known as much for her mohawk as her biceps, would show up sporadically through the summer to teach a few classes and let campers make nails and hooks and really bad horseshoes. Emilia had liked blacksmithing the few times she’d gotten the chance to try, though her skinny arms weren’t well suited to the task.
Emilia was just about to take her tray back to the kitchen when Frankie showed up. She’d been escorting them all to the Main Hall when Mrs. Fir called her aside. Now she approached the denizens of cabin 12 accompanied by a sullen-faced girl with vibrant purple hair.
Emilia recognized the other girl immediately. Her name was Maria Jordan, and they’d just had freshman year together at Parkdale High School. She was the girl Emilia had knocked down during PE. Her hair had been dark brown then. Now it was vibrant purple. She was dressed in a ragged t-shirt and knee-torn jeans. Emilia didn’t speak much to Maria at school, and for a moment she thought the other girl wouldn’t recognize her. Then their eyes met and Maria acknowledged her with a curt chin thrust. At least she didn’t scowl.
“Hey girls. I’m glad you’re all together,” Frankie said. “I want to introduce you to our eighth cabin-mate. This is Maria.”
Maria gave a disinterested wave.
“Hi, Maria,” Rosa said, her shy voice coming out a squeak. She blushed and there was a round of gentle chuckles. Cindy patted Rosa’s back.
“Emilia, why don’t you show Maria to the kitchen, introduce her to Ms. Amy, and we can all have breakfast together. Then, I was thinking we could go to the archery range. I already got permission from Mr. Northam to open it up. I know not all of you think you’ll like archery, and I don’t expect cabin 12 to do everything together, but as this is the first full day, I was hoping you would indulge me just this once.” There was a round of nodding and Frankie seemed so excited Emilia didn’t have the heart to refuse even though archery hadn’t been on her list.
Emilia led Maria across the cafeteria to the counters separating it from the kitchen. The hot trays were still filled with food and campers continued to trickle in.
“You’re Emmy, right?” said Maria.
“Emilia. I don’t really like having my name shortened.”
Maria snorted.
Emilia ignored the derision. She grabbed a tray and handed it to the other girl. “It’s self-serve. Breakfast and lunch don’t change much, but Ms. Amy does a good job. Dinner’s the best. That’s where she gets creative.”
Maria shrugged. “Cafeteria food is cafeteria food.”
Emilia stood awkwardly nearby while Maria put food on her tray. The girl took half a scoop of eggs and a waffle and iced tea. “I don’t suppose there’s coffee.”
“I think Ms. Amy brews some in the back, but campers aren’t supposed to have it.”
Maria snorted again. She collected some silverware then squared her shoulders and gave Emilia a direct look. “Is it true you’re neither a boy or a girl?”
Emilia bit her tongue in surprise. She was used to being hassled at school where she’d built a tolerance to being around rude people her own age. But at camp, no one sneered when she was boyish, no one giggled when she was girlish, and no one had ever asked that question. She’d let her guard down. She was certain it showed in her expression.
“It was just a question. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Maria shook her head. “Whatever.” She brushed past and walked back to the girls of cabin 12.
Emilia put a hand to her cheeks. They were dry.
After several moments of indecision, Emilia returned her tray to the kitchen and rejoined the girls of cabin 12. Nadia was introducing everyone to Maria while Frankie ate quickly. Maria nodded to everyone congenially, but Emilia noticed she hardly touched her food.
When Nadia was done with introductions, Frankie cleared her throat. Her plate was empty. “Who’s ready to fire arrows?” She clapped her hands and gave the delighted giggle of someone half her age.
• • •
The archery range sat behind the Main Hall. The range itself was separated by a half wall on either side, and a twenty-foot backstop of wooden planks behind bales and bales of straw. It was sturdy if patchwork. A sloped ceiling protruded several feet from the backstop in an effort to corral errant arrows and the space behind the range was fenced off to keep unwary wanderers from being struck by any horribly misfired arrows. The targets were foam blocks painted with a traditional bullseye on each side. They were stacked atop and backed by yet more bales of straw.
Frankie pulled a bunch of gear from a nearby shed: armguards, bows, bowstrings, and bundles of arrows. The arrows were blunt. They wouldn’t pierce flesh though they’d definitely bruise and would easily punch into a foam block. The bows were simple fiberglass and the strings nylon cords. The armguards were plastic and velcro.
Emilia tried to forget what Maria had said and focus on Frankie, but every time she caught sight of purple hair, she felt a stab of irritation that made her clench her teeth. She touched the guitar pick in her back pocket and felt a little better.
Frankie warned them never to point an arrow at anything other than the targets. She warned them that shenanigans would get them exiled from the range if not camp entirely. As she continued her safety lecture, Emilia was strongly reminded of Mr. Northam.
Once everyone was clear on the safety of the archery range, Frankie lifted a hard black case onto a table by the shed and opened it, withdrawing her personal archery gear. Her armguard was attached to a snug nylon sleeve. She put on a pair of fingerless gloves, then withdrew her bow. It was far nicer than the simple bows provided by Camp Arrowhead. She secured the bowstring to the bottom of the bow, stepped through the bow, bracing the bottom on her back leg, and pulled the bow across her body to bend it enough the string slipped over the top and secured.
“Once you’ve learned how, archery is simple.” She nocked an arrow, took a breath, lifted the bow and pulled back, sighted her target, and released. She hit the foam cube, just left of center. The girls of cabin 12 applauded. “That’s all there is to it, but it takes a lot of practice to get good. I’ve been doing this for years and I’m still trying to perfect my shot.”
Emilia waited for Maria to choose a spot near one end of the range, then made her way as far from the purple-haired girl as she could.
Emilia strapped her armguard to her left arm then looped the end of the bowstring over one end of the bow. She tried to do as Frankie had done, but other than putting one leg between bow and string, she couldn’t quite remember how Frankie had done it. She tried to bend the bow and pull the string, but didn’t get very far.
She looked up and found Frankie at the other end of the range, making sure armguards were snug and helping string bows. Emilia watched Nadia fumble with her bow for a bit before handing it to Frankie. Frankie held the top of the bow in one hand, the top of the bowstring in the other, stepped through the bow, braced it, leaned, and strung the bow.
It made so much sense watching Frankie do it.
Emilia tried again, doing her best to copy Frankie. She tried to pretend she was Frankie: strong, tall, confident. Rather than pulling the string to the bow, Emilia leaned, bending the bow across her hip. The looped end of the bow string slid easily over the other end of the bow.
Emilia held up her strung bow, looking it over with pride.
“Hello there,” said Frankie, voice bright and cheery. “Interested in trying archery?”
“Um, yes please.”
Emilia recognized the voice and looked away from her bow to find Eddie, shoulders hunched, expression uncertain.
“That’s great. Welcome to the range.” Frankie looked around and saw Emilia had her bow strung. “Emilia, show him how to get set up, would you?” Frankie gestured at the extra gear piled on the table. Emilia flushed to be given responsibility and nodded.
Eddie approached Emilia with a shy smile. “I may never be as good as Vigilante, but it’s a start, you know?”
Emilia showed Eddie how to secure the armguard, then took a bow and a string. They felt awkward in her hands, so she took a moment to close her eyes and think about Frankie. Enthusiastic confidence for archery filled her chest, like iced tea on a blistering day. As before, she strung the bow like she’d been doing it for years. When she opened her eyes, Eddie looked at her, eyes wide.
“What?”
Eddie cleared his throat. “Your hair, it... um...”
Emilia pulled a fistful of shoulder-length hair forward. It was the same uninteresting brown it had always been. She frowned at Eddie.
“For a moment, it... Maybe I’m seeing things.” He didn’t sound like he believed it.
Emilia handed him the bow. “What…” But she didn’t finish the question.
Frankie walked up and down the line behind them as everybody nocked an arrow and tried to fire it at the target. In a haphazard hail, blunted arrows buried themselves into bales of straw. Somebody nicked one of the target cubes. Emilia looked down the line to see it was Nadia, who raised her bow above her head in victory and received a smattering of applause.
Emilia smiled, warm at the good mood. Glad to have the pall cast by Maria’s callous question dissipated. Perhaps Maria really hadn’t meant to be rude. Perhaps it had been legitimate curiosity. She couldn’t see how it was any of Maria’s business to ask such a question, but perhaps it had been innocent.
Next to her, Eddie drew his bow tentatively and when he released, the arrow skidded into the dirt, making it only halfway to the straw bales.
Emilia was determined to at least do better than that. She drew the arrow and released. The bowstring snapped against her armguard and she was glad Frankie had insisted upon it. The arrow went high, losing itself in the straw. Emilia picked up another arrow, drew, and released. The bowstring rasped against her fingertips. The arrow went high again.
Frankie took a position in the middle of the group. “Remember. Take a deep breath, draw, sight, release. Then let the breath out.” She demonstrated, her grace like slow motion. A moment later, another arrow buried itself in her foam block. “Don’t let yourself get frustrated. You’re going to miss a lot before you start hitting consistently. Failure is the first step to success.” From anyone else, it would have sounded like platitudes, but Frankie was genuine and enthusiastic. She walked up and down the line, murmuring encouragement and suggesting improvements.
Emilia nocked an arrow, took a breath, and lifted her bow as she drew the arrow back. She tried to sight down the arrow to the target. She hadn’t taken a deep enough breath and let it out before releasing. She went off balance and jerked back. The arrow went way high, but not quite to the top of the backstop. The blunted arrow thunked off the wood and everyone jumped. Emilia looked down the line to see startled faces turned toward her.
“Sorry.”
Cindy giggled. Maria snickered. Everyone else went back to firing arrows.
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Frankie came down the line toward her and Emilia blushed.
“It’s all right,” Frankie said. “Try again. Let me see you.”
Emilia selected an arrow, took a breath, deeper this time, and hesitated. She felt her grip tighten and the bow waver, and when she released, she was wide to the left.
“Not bad,” said Frankie. “Try broadening your stance a bit, and ease your grip. You don’t need to strangle the bow.”
Emilia spread her feet, then a bit more when prompted. She felt her stance was too broad, but trusted Frankie’s instruction.
“Now I want you to take a moment. I want you to visualize the smoothness of your draw and release. I want you to imagine you’re hitting the target in the center.”
Emilia did as she was told, imagining a perfect shot. The cynical part of her scoffed at the notion of imagining a perfect shot. What good would it do? But Frankie was the expert.
“Can you imagine it?”
Emilia nodded.
Next to her, Frankie drew an arrow, nocked, and fired. Her arrow struck true.
Emilia took a deep breath, held it a moment, and let it out. She tried to imagine she was Frankie: effortless grace. She nocked an arrow, and tried again. Though her arrow didn’t strike dead center, it did strike the foam cube.
A round of applause scattered down the line.
Frankie smiled at her. “Keep it up, kids. The sting you’re starting to feel in your fingers is the building of callouses. Soon the archers of cabin 12 will have the strongest hands of anyone at camp.”
Emilia felt more graceful, more competent, when she imagined herself as Frankie. And though she still missed half the time, each shot was progressively easier. When she was out of arrows, she stopped to admire her success. There were arrows scattered about the targeting block, but five had struck true.
She looked at Eddie who looked at her, expression strange. Again.
“Something wrong?” Emilia asked.
“Did you dye your hair?”
“No.”
“It’s definitely lighter.”
Emilia grabbed at her hair again. It might have been a trick of the light, but Eddie wasn’t wrong. Her normally brown hair looked a shade paler. For that matter, so did the hand holding the hair. Emilia was shades of brown from tip to toe, but, just then, she definitely looked paler. Startled, she dropped her bow and her hair, extending her arms to look at them. As she watched, her skin darkened back to its natural color.
Her chest tightened and she was unable to speak.
“Wow,” said Eddie. “That’s so cool. Can you do it again?”
Emilia looked at him, eyes wide, and shook her head. “I... What...”
“It’s okay,” said Eddie. “I have an idea.” He dropped his bow, clutched at his stomach, and groaned. No one seemed to notice, so he did it again, louder, more obvious, clearly faking it.
A few girls looked over and Frankie looked up from where she helped Rosa with her stance. Rosa was so small her bow looked oversized. With a concerned frown, Frankie approached.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t feel so good,” Eddie said. “I think I got a bad sausage.”
Frankie looked around in indecision and Eddie gave another groan, more dramatic.
“All right ladies, I need you to unstring your bows—“
“Wait,” said Emilia, catching on. “I’ll take him to the nurse.”
Frankie looked relieved. “Are you sure?”
Emilia nodded. She took Eddie’s arm and helped him toward the Main Hall. The central building’s ground floor was largely taken up by the cafeteria and kitchen, but there was a side door to a pair of rooms that had been converted to the camp’s infirmary. They were a fifteen-minute drive to the nearest town, so Mr. Roberts, a nurse practitioner, kept his infirmary well-stocked.
She took Eddie around to the far side of the Main Hall where the infirmary was. Mr. Roberts was setting up for a CPR class and looked up as they came round, but as soon as they were on the far side, Eddie quit the act.
“Come on,” he said, taking her hand and leading her through the courtyard to the Commons. Emilia gave Mr. Roberts a quick wave and he nodded in turn. When they passed the stone box, still hidden by a tarp, she spared it a glance, but it seemed no different. They hurried through the empty living room of the Commons, Emilia could hear a few kids in the next room playing pool, to the third-floor library.
“Now we’ll have plenty of privacy,” Eddie said
“For what?” Emilia couldn’t help the discomfort in her tone.
“To talk about what just happened. You saw, it right? I’m not going crazy? Your hair and skin changed color. Your eyes too, I think, but I didn’t get a good look at them. I thought I saw it on the bus, but I wasn’t sure, so—“
“What do you mean?”
Eddie looked at her imploringly. “I realize this is scary. And we just met and there’s no reason you should trust me. But I promise I won’t tell anyone. I just want to help. To be part of something awesome.”
Emilia clenched her jaw and closed her eyes. She knew what she’d seen, and now she knew Eddie had seen something too. She’d changed. She had a power.
Why deny it?
Because everyone back home already thought she was a freak. Because if she changed color without meaning to, what happened when she changed shape without meaning to? Because acknowledging it meant everyone who ever called her names was right.
Emilia unclenched her jaw. “You knew.”
Eddie made a noncommittal sound.
“You saw something. On the bus. And you didn’t tell anyone. You didn’t push it.”
“Well, I figured, maybe you didn’t want it spread around. Or maybe you didn’t know yourself. I don’t tell other people’s secrets.”
Emilia opened her eyes and nodded.
Eddie led her to the back room on the left. A grey upholstered couch was wedged into the closet and Eddie knelt on one end and reached into the space between the arm of the couch and the wall of the closet. There was just enough room to snake his hand down and pull out the battered backpack he’d had at movie night.
“Are you keeping that here?” Emilia asked.
Eddie nodded. “Keegan said he’d burn my cards if I brought them to camp.”
“Why?”
“Cause he’s an asshole.”
“Then why not just leave them at home?”
Eddie set the backpack on the floor and unzipped it. “Because this is the only thing I’m good at, Emilia. I know about parahumans and superheroes, and that’s it. And I think I can help you.” He pulled his binder out of the bag and opened it to an early page. “May I show you something?”
Emilia swallowed the queasy feeling in her throat and sat next to Eddie. Her heart thumped in her ears.
“This is J. Smith. That’s his superhero name. He was a metamorph for Keystone Justice after the war.”
Emilia looked at the plastic, nine-pocket page to see a series of faded trading cards that were otherwise in impeccable condition. Each card was laid out the same: the phrase “Keystone Justice” in red at the top, the name “J. Smith” in blue at the bottom, and a color photograph taking up most of the space. In the bottom right, printed in black was: 1 of 9.
The card in the upper left pocket depicted a white man with brown crew cut, brown eyes, narrow nose, and bland smile. He was clean shaven and had a strong, square jaw. He wore a plain, navy suit and reminded Emilia of an extra in an old spy movie. The next card was of an brown-skinned woman with long, black hair, dark eyes, and the same bland smile. She wore the same suit as the man. In the bottom right was printed: 2 of 9.
Emilia blinked at Eddie. “They’re not...”
Eddie nodded at Emilia. “They are.”
Emilia looked back at the trading cards. The third card on the top row was of a man with brown skin, pale brown eyes, and a bald pate. He had a large nose, thick jowls, and a cleft chin. Like the two before him, he had the same smile and wore the same suit. And down the page it went: a white woman with vibrant red hair, shining green eyes, and freckles; a ruddy-skinned man with reddish brown eyes and a full beard; a black woman with wide nose and crinkly hair. Each of them with the same smile and the same suit.
“J. Smith could change to look like anyone. He could change his voice, height, weight, even his sex. He could impersonate anyone or become someone entirely new. There’s no official record of him being a spy, obviously, but I imagine he was great at it.”
“Which was the real him?” Emilia asked.
Eddie tapped the trading card on the top left, of the white man with the crew cut and strong jaw. “This one. Though there’s plenty of speculation that he, or maybe she, was born looking different, and that he took this face as his default to keep his true identity secret.”
“And you’re showing me this because you think I...”
Eddie shrugged. “Maybe. Parahuman powers tend to fall into categories: speedster, tank, flyer, and so on. But there can be peculiarities, uniqueness. One speedster might be able to run on water while another can’t. One tank might also be immune to disease and another not. Just because you can change your skin color doesn’t mean you can change your shape.”
Emilia bit her lip and looked away.
“Unless... can you change your shape?”
Emilia cleared her throat. She didn’t want to feel embarrassed. She hated feeling embarrassed. Nevertheless, she had to swallow before she could speak.
“If I tell you this, you have to promise to never tell anyone. You can’t even hint at it. Understand?”
Eddie nodded; Emilia saw it from the corner of her eye.
“I’ve always felt like I was kind of, somewhere in between. I mean, sometimes I feel very girly, like makeup and face cream and dolls. And sometimes I feel boyish. Like sports and cars and camping. But sometimes I feel in between. And that’s fine. My parents have always made it clear that no one is in charge of how I feel but me. That gender expectations are silly at best. But... You said this parahuman, J. Smith...” she tapped the trading card in its pocket. “He can change sex? Like, he doesn’t just have the face of a woman in these pictures?”
Eddie nodded. “That’s what he said. But it’s not like I’ve ever seen a picture of him naked or anything.”
Emilia realized she was twisting at her fingers and made herself stop. “A few months ago. After gym. I was, um... I was… and I, um...” She couldn’t make herself say it. She looked at her hands in her lap trying desperately not to cry. She berated herself for feeling like she might. She wasn’t ill, just different. And who cared what Eddie or anyone else might think?
“That is so cool,” said Eddie.
Emilia blinked up at him and a few tears tracked down her cheeks. “What?”
“Yeah. I think I’ve made it pretty clear how cool I think it’d be to have superpowers.”
“But you don’t think it’s weird that I...”
Eddie shrugged. “Parahuman powers are weird sometimes. That’s what makes them interesting. But you, Emilia, aren’t weird. At least, no weirder than me or any other teenager.”
Emilia laughed and more tears escaped. She cried from relief as much as anything. She hated when she cried and tried to will herself to stop. “I don’t know why I’m so upset by this. I should be excited.”
Eddie put a hand on her shoulder. It was awkward, but Emilia didn’t care.
“All those videos they show us in school have made it clear to me this is supposed to be an awkward time in our lives,” Eddie said. “Yours just gets to be extra awkward with a dash of awesome. If you like, I’ll help.”
“Help how?”
“Do you know how to train a metamorph?” Eddie asked.
Emilia shook her head.
“Me neither, but I’ve got some ideas.”
Emilia cleared her throat and sat up straight. “All right. What’ve you got?”
Eddie closed his binder and put it away. His tongue poked between his lips. For several moments, he was quiet, eyes going far away behind his glasses. Eventually, he said, “Tell me what you were doing. What you were thinking. How it felt.”
“Um... you mean which part?”
Eddie blushed. “Archery.”
“Right. Okay. Well.” Emilia explained about pretending she was Frankie, how confident and graceful it felt, how visualizing Frankie’s ease with a bow made it easier for her as well.
“Interesting. That’s not at all how J. Smith ever described his powers.” He pulled his feet onto the couch and sat cross-legged, resting elbows on knees, chin on hands.
Emilia looked at Eddie looking at nothing, waiting for him to continue. Eventually she poked his shoulder and he started.
“Sorry. Thinking. Emilia, would you be interested in trying a few things?”
“Like what?”
“Try to do it again.” He gestured at the middle of the room.
“To... change?”
“Yeah.” He looked at her, suddenly concerned. “Unless, did it hurt? I didn’t mean to...”
“No. I’m just...” Emilia sighed and got to her feet. “I should be... But I feel all fluttery.”
“That’s fine. We can stop whenever you want. I just want you to pretend to be Frankie again.”
Emilia stood, walked to the center of the room, and faced Eddie. She closed her eyes and tried to remember what it had felt like on the archery range. Tall, graceful, strong. She could feel the tickle of it in the back of her mind, but without Frankie there as an exemplar of that enthusiastic skill, it remained just out of reach. After several moments, Emilia sighed, exasperated.
“Sorry. I feel stupid.”
Eddie pursed his lips. “What about when you sounded like Mr. Northam on the bus?”
“I told you, that’s just a trick. I’ve always been good at mimicking voices.”
Eddie nodded. “Can you show me?”
Emilia blushed and cleared her throat
She didn’t like having expectant eyes on her. It made it hard to feel anything other than embarrassed or nervous.
She took a deep breath, trying to imagine Mr. Northam’s deep, sonorous voice, a voice that could carry across a soccerfield, that could fill a gymnasium, that could stop horseplay in an instant. If only she could see him, hear him, she knew she could do it. But here, with just Eddie, it was no good.
“I can’t,” Emilia said, voice small.
Eddie nodded. “Are there any voices you can do right now?”
Emilia’s mother’s grandfather was a friendly, outgoing, physically expressive man who often lapsed into dialect and had a story for everything. He would wave his hands and scrunch his nose and waggle his fingers and eyebrows alike when telling a tale, much to the delight of his only great-granddaughter.
The first time Emilia had mimicked him, they were in his kitchen, her parents cooking breakfast. She’d been small, maybe eight or nine years old, but she’d made up a story about a bright red, time travelling pony using her great-grandfathers voice and expressions.
He’d howled with laughter and asked for another.
As soon as Emilia thought of her great-grandfather, his face, voice, and expressions came to mind. She gestured expansively. “Let me tell you, young man, about doing a voice, yeah? You have to know the character, you understand?” She took a step toward Eddie and tapped the tip of her nose with her left forefinger. Her great-grandfather was left-handed but spoke with both. “If it’s someone you know only once in a while,” she shrugged with her shoulders, her hands, and her mouth. “But if it’s someone you know, really know...” She smiled wide and raised her eyebrows. “Then there it is.”
Eddie applauded. “That’s awesome.”
Emilia touched her face and looked at her hands. “Did I change?”
“No. But now I’ve got a theory. People you know well, who you think about a lot, are fixed in your mind. A mnemonic. Like when I want to recall something about a parahuman, first I think of the trading card, and that helps me remember the information on the back, which might remind me of something in one of Dr. Roybal’s books which will remind me of an article on the Internet, and so on.”
“So, why didn’t I change into great-grandpa?”
Eddie shrugged. “Maybe your powers are just now working themselves out. We should do some experiments.”
“What kind of experiments?”
“How close do you need to be to copy somebody? How well do you need to know them? How much of them can you copy? Can you look exactly like them? What about height and weight and age? Do you suppose getting better with archery was because Frankie was there?”
Emilia held up her hands, eyes going wide. “Okay. That’s, um, that sounds great. But let’s take it slow. And subtle. If you’re right, I don’t want everyone to know. Not everyone likes the idea of parahumans existing.” She didn’t mention the kids back home who would delight in knowing she really was different.
Eddie stopped, but his grin was enthusiastic and infectious. “We’ll be circumspect. I promise.” He stuffed his backpack in the space between the couch and the wall.
“Wait,” said Emilia. “There’s something I didn’t tell you. Last night, when I got that headache, it wasn’t a headache really. I mean, it was, but it was more than that.”
“Oh. Okay.” Eddie straightened from hiding away his backpack. “What else was it?
“I knew some things I’m not sure I knew before.”
“You’re a shapeshifter and a telepath?”
“I have no idea. But you were talking about parahumans and suddenly there were details. The diary of an old religious person. Maybe I’d read some of that before. But…” she shrugged. “It was kind of hard to see and that’s when I started not feeling so good. You’ve been really understanding, and I want to make sure there are no secrets between us.”
Eddie took off his glasses and cleaned them, squinting at the floor. “Thanks.”