Daughters of Men: Chapter 1
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A closet psychic, a genius tween, a mysterious young man…and four generations of secrets.
This paranormal-meets-science-fiction novel is Book 1 in the Daughters series. Paid subscribers have access to the entire book.
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(Thirty-one years later)
He watched openly, but the knot of humans fretting for their espressos and no-foam-skinny-double-lattes did not react to his attention. He preferred it that way. To most humans, he was as indiscernible as their own silvery fractals, while to him, humans were barely worth seeing compared to the gleaming forms in motion.
Like moonlight on streaming water, the fractals shimmered and reflected from their humans in an endless spectacle of luminescent individualism. Stepping free of their originators, most gestured in exasperation or walked away from the long line. Two opened insubstantial mouths as if to engage the humans in voiceless conversations, but as always, none of the fractals were cognizant of each other.
One impulsive fractal disregarded the drink being handed to its human and instead wrapped lucent fingers around a plate of pastry samples. Idly, he counted “One…two…” before it faded away. Whatever mundane impetus prompted the separations, fractals never lasted long, always dissipating into nothing within seconds.
Of course, that was not technically accurate. The humanesque energies transmuted into more than nothing. And sometimes it was more of a flicker, like a dancing flame sputtering its last burst of heat and light. But the familiar spectacle could not hold his interest today.
His head pivoted toward the entrance.
She had arrived. Fractals generated by two of the male patrons sauntered in her direction before vanishing—yet neither human did more than look at her. The contrasting behaviors were explicable. She had attractive features, but her manner reminded him of a closed circuit, with the subtle lift to her lips indicating a live current, while her unfocused gaze prevented a connection.
Her stance was equally neutral—arms crossed, body slightly angled toward the crowded room. She maintained a border of personal space at the end of the jostling line; then, with a barely perceptible glance at her left shoulder, shifted closer to the woman in front of her. Before he could discern why, the door was violently thrust open, and a desperate addict lurched across the threshold.
“Long line!” the rough man complained to her back. When he spoke, nothing in her demeanor changed, yet when his fractal leaned around her in search of the substance it craved, she moved aside.
Definitely noteworthy. A seven-year-old child able to detect him among a crowd of people was a curiosity, but not without precedent. Children were often more aware than their conditioned guardians. However, this woman was obviously unique, and for the twelfth time in as many days, he wondered why he had neglected to research her.
No. Lying to himself served no purpose. He knew why he had not. The true question was, what else had he overlooked?
The line moved forward again, but as she settled back into her stillness, an iridescent fractal stepped from her body and faced him. Fascinated, he realized that he had become the examinee as it studied him for several long, considering moments before disappearing.
The guy in the gray sweater was getting on my nerves. Even from the corner of my eye, I could tell he was handsome, but seriously. Hadn’t his mother taught him not to stare? I’d never seen him in the coffee shop before, but it didn’t matter whether he was a wannabe stalker or my long-lost soulmate; I hated being stared at. And he was so obvious about it. I kept my crazy behind closed curtains, and his was just out there on the front porch for anyone to see.
Except no one else seemed to notice him at all. Amid the chaos of energies surging around me, the space he occupied felt like a void. There were too many people in here this morning, too many emotions and thoughts and interactions. The barrage was overwhelming, yet I could sense none of it was directed at him. Or emanating from him. As exhausted as I was, part of me found his lack of aura comforting. It’d be nice to sit near him and take a nap. Except that I was rushing to work. And he was still staring. Definitely not normal.
A tiny spitz of orange light flashed in front of me, confirming my assessment. I needed to get my coffee and get the hell out of here.
Jesus, get a grip, Lila. Smile and take your latte.
Right. “Thanks, Tessa! See you tomorrow!” The pretty barista frequently spent her paycheck in the boutique.
Thankfully, the sidewalks were clear, and after a quick trot south to Market Street and a short scurry west toward the river, I reached my comfort-zone and the welcoming thwunks of bamboo chimes.
Maureen looked up from blueprints spread across the counter. “Another bad night?”
“Not really, why…?” Her answering hesitation lasted a beat too long. “So…more changes to the layout?” I should’ve at least tried to de-puff the bags under my eyes, but I’d put the last of the cucumber in my daughter’s lunch bag.
Perfect brows lifted behind artfully blonde bangs. “The ceiling’s high enough for a mezzanine…? Are you sure you’re—”
“Sounds fancy. Marble staircase or glass elevator?”
My boss scrunched her nose and resumed studying the plans. “If we build out a loft, we could have an office up there.”
Her attention successfully redirected, I stowed my purse and joined her. “Good idea. Then we could expand the accessory section here…”—should’ve asked for an extra shot of espresso—“…and add another display for local work.” The new location would open in a couple of months, and I needed to rally my energy. “Your margin is greater on the jewelry from the Kure artists’ collective. Or you could—”
The chimes interrupted to announce our first shopper, saving me from further brainstorming. Helping elderly Miss Kate freshen her wardrobe was simple, and an hour later I had hope that the rest of the day would be just as easy. But right as she settled the plump shopping bag at her bony elbow, the door opened again. Gray sweater man.
His muscled body filled the entrance, yet he seemed completely oblivious to Miss Kate’s cheeky, wrinkled grin as the diminutive lady edged around him. Once on the sidewalk, she peered back through the storefront window with an exaggerated “Oh. My. Gawd!” and a theatrical hand flutter at her chest. There isn’t a sheet of glass in existence that’s thick enough to block her Southern drawl, and Maureen struggled to turn a giggle into a welcoming smile for the man.
My own smile, however, was as false as a streak of lipstick. Had he followed me here? Maureen glanced my way, no doubt wondering why I wasn’t greeting the new customer, but she recovered brightly.
“Welcome to The Urban Nymph! May we help you find something special?” Her tone was too vibrant—and why’d she look at me again?
I busied myself with rolling up the plans, centering the rubber band over the A in the contractor’s name.
“Perhaps a gift?” she prompted, walking over to join him.
“No.”
My head bobbed up at his monosyllabic answer. Manners!
“Well, you’re welcome to look around….” she offered.
His attention shifted to me, and then back to Maureen, a small frown marring his features. “I appreciate your invitation…?”
“Of course! We’ll be right here if you need anything.” Maureen seemed happy to let the moment slide and turned to straighten a blouse; but I kept an eye on him.
As if memorizing a maze, he spiraled outward among the displays, occasionally trailing one finger down a sleeve, or across a fold like he was incorporating a tactile sensation to mark his path.
“He’s hot,” Maureen whispered when she rejoined me.
“He’s not.”
“No ring…”
“No manners.”
“Oh, come on, Lila!” she hissed, flashing a warm smile in his direction. “Even Phil says you should—”
“Not. Interested. I’ll be in the back if you need me.”
Heavy curtains separated the storage and dressing area from the rest of the shop—and blocked Maureen’s exasperation quite nicely, too. Here in the Historic District, retail footage was limited; but a renovation had exposed pipes and ductwork and raised the ceiling to shadowy heights. The dressing area was off to one side, and the entire back wall was for storage, with rows of shelving and an antique wheeled library ladder.
The massive oak ladder creaked as I climbed, propelled along its track by my emphatic kick. The cast iron wheels rumbled on the rail overhead, thunderously announcing that I was working on inventory; and, with any luck, Maureen would have returned to her blueprints by the time I finished.
I was closer to forty than thirty and had a thirteen-year-old kid, but my boss was determined to share her faerie-tale good fortune and find me a Prince Charming—which was problematic on many levels. I didn’t need matchmaking. I needed to concentrate on raising my daughter, so I’d hopefully not screw up her life.
Jaw clenched, I stretched to reach a large box. My daughter would have a happy life, so help me. The ladder shifted, but my mind was on more important things. Like making sure Eileen’s college fund wouldn’t need to be used for therapy. How was I supposed to be a good example if I—
“Be cautious.”
Startled, I twisted to find the stalker looking up at me. “Sir!” I admonished, “This is a ladies’ dressing area.” I waited, but he didn’t even have the courtesy to look embarrassed. Who did he think he was, following me in here? Bet he’d back off with a kick at that pretty head.
His eyes widened, and he stepped back.
Jesus. What was with me today? I wasn’t usually violent, even in the privacy of my own head. “Did you need help with something?”
He scowled, his gaze sweeping across the upper shelves, and I held in a sigh. Maybe he was afraid of heights. I climbed one more rung, so my head was level with the top and I could get a grip on the bulky container. From his lack of response, he must’ve gone out to Maureen. Why in the world had she let him back here, anyway? I leaned to the right and braced my hip against the ladder’s frame. We were a few weeks into spring, but nights were still chilly. She’d agree to a flash sale on sweaters.
A faint squeal tickled my ear, and I paused to watch the rail peel free of the shelf. But before my brain could process what that meant for me—with head and shoulders a dozen feet in the air—the ladder’s wheel slipped off, and I fell.
The box hit the floor, spewing sweaters and tissue paper—but I’d been stopped mid-air. Strong hands had thwarted gravity, and I found myself peering down into crystalline gray eyes blinking through my hair. One of the stalker’s hands was stretched upward, splayed under my right armpit; and the other was planted, palm flat, over my left breast. Nice.
My legs were hopelessly tangled in the tilted rungs, and I had no choice but to be gracious as he pulled my torso against his face and freed me. Just perfect. Now I was indebted to the stalker. At least I was blessed with small boobs. Not much of a thrill for him there. My face burned from a volatile mix of anger, gratitude, embarrassment—and the pain of a wrenched ankle. I was lucky he hadn’t gone away, yet supremely irritated he’d ignored my hints. And why were my hands still clutching his shoulders?!
I staggered back and straightened my clothes. Damn, his body was hot. My palms prickled, and my blouse felt iron-crisped.
“Thanks.” I attempted to sound more sincere as I looked up, “Lucky you were…” Way the hell up.
The guy was a giant. At least seven feet tall, but with a physique so well-proportioned that his height didn’t seem extreme—until he towered over me. And his face…I hadn’t looked closely before, but it was flawless. As in zero natural imperfections. No beard stubble, no laugh lines—not even a stray eyebrow hair. He looked as smooth and beautiful as a baby, but with the strong features of a man. He even had wavy, pale gold hair like you usually only see on toddlers. All together, he was perfect. Ancient-Olympian-with-a-laurel-wreath perfect.
He stepped back. “The screws there…” he gestured toward the damaged track, “…are different.” His hand dropped, and his gaze swept across my shoulders and down to my feet. “You are injured.”
“I’m fine.”
“Your leg.”
“Is just fine, thank you.” I breathed into the pain and settled my weight evenly.
“I…did not want you to be injured.”
His awkward sympathy sent a strange quiver rippling through my stomach, and a tiny light burst into the space between us. The same lava-orange I’d seen earlier, the angel sparked and pulsed, demanding attention. What do you want?
“What do you see?”
Maureen swept the curtains aside. “See anything you like…?” she cooed, confirming that she had, indeed, orchestrated this scenario. Except the part where I almost smacked the floor with my face.
“What happened?!” she exclaimed.
“Ladder slipped. He caught me.” I offered him a rueful shrug, but he was frowning at Maureen. Now I just felt sorry for the guy. I was crazier than usual from lack of sleep, and he’d only come back here because she’d shoved him in my direction. “Do you mind helping him while I clean this up?”
I kneeled amid the mess, using my long hair to hide my chagrin. Not that it was thick enough to muffle her sigh. If only my boss was upset at the merchandise pitched across the floor! But no, my lack of cooperation in finding a man was infinitely more frustrating.
I’d folded two sweaters before she finally led him away with “Did you have someone special you were shopping for today?”
Please. A man who looked like that? Dream on, Maureen. He was definitely younger than me. A lot younger. And he was too pretty. There was no character in his face. And his eyes were so focused. Like lenses dialed-in to study an insect or something.
A brilliant speck of red flared in front of me, but I shook a sleeve at it and kept folding. And when had I become so incredibly neurotic? I used to be able to talk to people like a normal human being!
Hadn’t I?
Well, I couldn’t remember that far back right now, but the point was that my behavior was ridiculous. I stood up, shook my hair from my face, and marched back out into the store.
“Too late, Lila.” Maureen turned from the window and jabbed a fuchsia-slicked fingertip at me. “You. Are. Hopeless. Tell me, do you enjoy being alone?”
“Actually, yes. I do.” Please, dear God, let it be time to get Eileen from school. I glanced at the watches in the display case, but it was only a little after eleven.
Today was clearly going to require more coffee than usual.