1

Flown
a novel by Sixtus Laveville

Prologue

They were gone, all gone. Darius, his mom, his dad, his two brothers and

baby sister. All gone. And everything else was gone too. Every stick of furniture,

stitch of clothing, and scrap of paper had disappeared leaving not so much as a dust

bunny from under a bed. All that was left was me, in my sleeping bag with my MP-3

player and my pillow. Do I need to describe how creepy it was, falling asleep in the

middle of one of Darius’s stories in his family’s TV room, and waking up to a

completely empty house? Whatever had happened here, I coma-ed through the

whole thing.

What was there to think? I sat on my sleeping bag for a long time. I didn’t

have a cell phone, and the house phone had gone into the same black hole as the

furniture, so I couldn’t call my mom to come get me, or call the cops. It was at least

six degrees below zero outside, and somehow my jacket had disappeared with

Darius’s clothes. And where was my backpack?

I decided, at that point, to panic. With my heart pounding, I jumped up so I

could scour every square inch of that house, from floor to ceiling, from closet to

basement. My backpack had gone the way of my jacket, and pajamas do not

insulate against wet, rainy mornings. Nothing to do but wait until 9, when my mom

was supposed to pick us up. Only now, just me. When my panic was over, I

realized I was getting cold, so I crawled back into my sleeping bag to wait.
 2

I slid my legs into the top of the bag—you know how the zipper always gets

stuck and you wind up having to slither in feet first—and I snuggled down as far as I

could. I wanted to cover my head, but something was in the way. Something hard,

and nearly flat. Something I hadn’t felt before when I woke up. It took a lot of

wriggling, but I managed to turn myself around so I could grope in the dark place at

the foot end of the bag. I grabbed the thing and crawled out of the sleeping bag

backwards.

Darius’s laptop.

There goes my heart again, I thought. With my chest pounding, I flipped it open and

pushed the power button. It sang like a canary! Fully charged! I took deep,

cleansing yoga breaths until it finally booted up.

The wallpaper had been replaced. Instead of Darius’s U.S.S. Enterprise picture,

there was a perfect deep blue screen with a message typed on it.

Loose-E: We are fine. Don’t worry about us. Don’t look for us. Your best

friend, Dare E. Us.

Of course, I’m Loose-E, (Lucy). And I knew right then, as I read it, that I could

not, and would not, do as he asked.

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Flown
Chapter 1

I didn’t notice Darius at all when I first knew him. I was too busy adjusting to

my “new normal” (my mom’s words). My new normal was light years away from my

old normal. I’d gone from a sleepy k-8 school in a little Texas town to an overpacked

junior high in Gallatin, another pink stucco ghetto disguised as a bedroom

community for Los Angeles. Too many bad surprises made me jumpy and irritable.

First, my dad got blown up by an IED in Iraq. Then we had to move, even though

my mom was seven months pregnant with my second sister. We wound up selling

almost everything we owned, even down to our computer. It was the last thing to

go, and Mom cried when it went. She saw it as our lifeline and her ticket to a new

job somewhere out there on the West Coast. All we had left filled the back of our

old Subaru wagon the day we drove away. We moved in with my grandparents in

Gallatin, whose house no longer seemed as roomy and full of light as it did when we

visited. The day my littlest sister was born, there were no celebrations. We were

too tired. All of us. Even Gran and Grandpop.

Sometimes you get so exhausted with sadness, there isn’t any energy left for
being happy.

And on that first day of school, it was obvious how poorly I fit in with the West

Coast kids. I hugged my notebook to my chest, shuffling from class to class. It was

October. School had been in session since August. I was behind in everything. The

teachers called me “Lucille.” I hate being called “Lucille.” One of the Golden Boys

(you know the type: athletic, taller than everyone else, painfully good-looking, and

popular) gave a sort of snarking noise in the back of the room when the math

teacher said my name. He holler “Looooooseeeee!” in a fake Desi Arnaz accent that
 4

sent the entire room into a fit of snickering. Unfortunately for me, the current fad

among the popular kids was old “I Love Lucy” reruns on TVLand. Variations of the

Desi voice followed me the rest of the day, crooning “Looooseeee.”

Add “totally miserable” to the list of exhausted emotions I had that day.

My days went on like this. I did what I could to protect myself from the

endless teasing. I sat by myself at lunch—eventually winding up in the library. My

tormenters thought exposure to books would cause nerdity, so they did not follow

me. I sat in the last row, closest to the slivers of light that passed for windows at

that school, in every class. Sometimes the teacher made us sit in groups, and when

that happened, I just retreated into my head.

The first progress reports were sent in the mail. I didn’t know this, and was

unprepared for my mother’s reaction. My “new normal” mom was distant and

unemotional, except when she was hiding in the guest room, weeping.

We were lucky in one respect: We had Gran and Grandpop. Gran was raising

the baby, registering us in school, taking us to get school clothes, and all the other

things Mom was supposed to do. Gran listened when I told her about my day

(although I was careful to give her the upbeat, hopeful version), and Grandpop

helped us with our homework, when we asked.

I didn’t ask very often. I was ignoring homework.

But the one day I came home and encountered my mother at the front door.

Her face was cherry red, and she was madder than I’d ever seen her.

Later, it occurred to me that mad was an improvement on no emotion at all.

She waved a paper in front of my face.

 5

“Explain this.” She snapped. I took the paper—my progress report. I was

failing everything. Of course, I knew this in advance, but had never understood it as

something that might be put in print.

In my “new normal,” I’d gotten used to saying absolutely nothing in the face

of my tormenters, so this was the tactic I adopted for my mother.

She snatched the report back and spun around.

“We need to talk.” She said. I followed her into the kitchen, watching as her

shoulders relaxed. She pointed to a kitchen chair, and we sat across from one

another at the table.

“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “This is my fault, too. I haven’t been here
for you.”

I shrugged. We stared at one another.

“When this came, I realized I can’t hold onto my grief like a security blanket.
I have three beautiful daughters to take care of, to protect. So I’m going to crawl
out of my hole and do what needs to be done, now.”

I waited. Could this be my “old normal” mother, coming back? Taking

charge, mastering the challenges ahead.

“We have time.” She began. “And I have things I need to do so we can give
Gran and Grandpop their lives back.”

A little spark of hope grew in me. I swallowed, and finally whispered, “Can I
help?”

She smiled. “Of course. And the best way you can help right now is by
taking care of you.”

I nodded. I knew exactly what she meant. “I’ll work on my grades.” I said.

“I was a good student before Dad died, and I can be a good student again.”

“I know.” She said. “I’ll talk to them at school and find out if you can get
some counseling as well.”
“Mom, I’m not crazy.” I bristled.
 6

“Don’t be so sensitive. I’m going to do the same thing. And I’ll see about
Ella, too.”

“It won’t help.”

“It won’t hurt either.” She looked me in the eye. “Promise me you’ll give it a
good try.”

“Okay.” I said. “I promise.”

But the spark of hope seemed to die out when I set foot on campus the next

day. The Golden Boys and their buddies were still there, and I still had to hide out in

the library. I snaked through the crowd at lunch, slipped through the door and found

an empty table in the Fiction section. For a few seconds, I just sat there. Then I

noticed a boy my age sitting at the table next to mine, leaning over a page of math

problems and working his pencil furiously. I knew of him, but did not know him. He

was the smartest kid in math, and maybe even the smartest kid at school. He was

the poster child for nerdity, and he was my upgrade ticket out of the failure class.

I gathered up my things and approached him slowly. He was so immersed in

his work, he didn’t notice at first that I was standing directly over him. I cleared my

throat, and he stopped. He put his pencil down and looked up at me.

“David? Daniel” I offered.

“Darius.” He corrected. “And you’re Lucy.”

“I’m really behind in everything, but especially math. Do you think…would

you….?”

He moved his books to one side. “Sure.” He said.

I sat down, and for the next twenty minutes we worked on my math for the

day. Every day after that, I sought him out. He was always in the library before me,

and he always left me space. Even after I caught up, we still worked together. But
 7

it took me about six months before I realized he was my friend. My only friend. My

best friend.
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Chapter 2

As Iwas staring at the message Darius left for me on his laptop, I was startled

by a knock at the door. I glanced down at the time on the screen and realized it was

five past nine. The knock was my mother!

“Just a sec!” I yelled, scrambling to snap the top down, shove the laptop

down to the bottom of my sleeping bag, and roll everything up.

“Why so breathless?” Mom asked when I got to the door. “Oh….?” She

looked around the empty room.

I shrugged. “It was like this when I woke up.”

She shook her head slowly and walked around, examining closets and

cupboards. Nothing. Anywhere. Just me and my pajamas, sleeping bag and pillow.

I was still debating whether or not to tell her about the laptop.

“Well, it doesn’t look like they were kidnapped. Nobody gets kidnapped with

all their furniture.” She surmised.

“That’s what I was thinking.” I agreed.

“Where’s your backpack?” she asked, giving me the eye.

“I think it got mixed up with stuff when they were leaving.”

“I don’t think we should call the police.” As she spoke, she kept glancing

back at me, as if to find some sort of evidence hanging from my nose. “And you

didn’t know anything about this?”

“Not a thing. I was totally shocked when I woke up and everyone was gone.”
 9

“Geez.” She became thoughtful. “Well, let’s just go on home. Maybe we can

talk about it later.”

When my mom put the phrases “maybe” and “later" together it usually

meant more sooner than later.

We stopped for donuts and coffee on the way home. As I stepped out of the

car with my arms full, Ella bounced out of the house and threw her arms around me.

“I missed you so much!” she cried.

“Geez. I was only gone overnight.” I mumbled.

Ella and I have a love-hate relationship. We mostly get along, when she’s not

being annoying, or when she gets all drama-queen.

Ella was all drama queen right then. She let go of me and followed me into

the house and into our room.

“I was sooooo lonely in this big room all by myself.” She went on.

I put my stuff down on the giant bed I shared with Ella in the guest room.

She had definitely not been by herself. Mom slept in a foldaway cot in one corner,

and the baby occupied a crib along the far wall.

“Sure.” I muttered.

She scrunched up her eyes and examined me. “Why are you still wearing

your pajamas? “

“Nunya beeswax.” I replied. On the way home, Mom and I had decided not

to tell Ella about the disappearance.

I learned over the years that if I ignored Ella when she was being annoying,

she’d eventually go away and find something else to do (or someone else to annoy).

I exaggerated a yawn and threw myself down on the bed next to my sleeping bag.
 10

“Did you stay up all night?” Ella asked, throwing herself down on the foot of

the bed and leaning her face on one hand. “When I was at Madison’s sleepover, we

stayed up all night.”

“Nunya beeswax.” I said again, yawning hugely for effect. “I need to sleep.”

“I’m not stopping you.” She smiled.

“Suit yourself.” I responded. I rolled over and curled up so she could not see

my face and pretended to sleep. Ella watched me for a few minutes, until Mom

cracked open the door and hissed at her to get out and let me sleep.

“Oh, all right.” She moaned. But she did as she was told and I was finally by

myself.

In the back of my mind, I was struggling with the idea of telling Mom about

the laptop. Part of me wanted to keep it a secret, but I was practical enough to

realize that I could not successfully hide the thing in our room.

The thing I missed the most about living in Texas: having my own room.

That thought hung in my head as I drifted off to sleep.

I woke an hour and a half later. The gentle aroma of homemade cookies

drifted into the room, and I could picture Gran in the kitchen wielding her pancake

turner and sliding fresh, hot chocolate chip cookies onto the cooling rack. I

made up my mind then and there to invent and alarm clock that would wake people

up to the smell of cookies in the oven.

In a few minutes, I was dressed and ready to face my mother with the laptop

under my arm. I found her in the laundry room, folding clothes.

“Where’s Ella?” I asked, looking to avoid any interruptions.

 11

“She’s down the street, playing with…Hey, what’s that?” She stopped folding

and nodded to the laptop.

“It belonged to Darius.” I answered. “He gave it to me.”

“Just like that? A laptop?”

I nodded.

“Hon, that’s too expensive. You shouldn’t have accepted it. You..”

“Don’t get all upset, Mom. I didn’t know. Wait.” I interrupted her.

I placed the laptop on the washing machine and started it up.

“I found it in my sleeping bag this morning.” I explained as the computer

booted up. “Darius left me a message.”

Mom stopped folding clothes and watched as the computer went through its

startup routine. Finally, the desktop appeared that I’d seen earlier. Mom read it

quickly, then looked at me and heaved a sigh.

“I guess you can’t give it back, then.” She said.

I shook my head. “I guess not.”

She folded some socks while she thought about the situation. Finally she

folded her arms and looked straight at me.

“Okay. You can keep it until Darius comes back. Then you have to give it

back.”

“All right.” I agreed.

“That means you have to take good care of it.” She cautioned me.

“Don’t worry. I will.” I promised. Then I added. “And Ella can’t touch it

without my permission?”
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“None of us can. Including me.” She declared. “Shut it down and put it in a

safe place for now. I’ll talk to Ella. In the meantime, I need you to help with the

laundry.”

Right then, I felt I could help her with anything. A laptop to keep! All to

myself. Then a thought occurred to me: Mom needed a computer to help with job

hunting. I swallowed hard.

“Mom, if you need to use it for job hunting…”

“I know.” She smiled at me. “I’ll ask. Don’t worry.”

She gave me a quick hug. We finished folding clothes just as Gran took the

last dozen cookies out of the oven.

Boy, they were good.

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Chapter 3

We always helped Gran with housework on Saturdays. If we all helped, it

took half a day, so I was finally free to explore my new computer after lunch. Ella

came back from her friend’s house at about one o’clock, and she was way too

curious about it. But Mom let her know that when I was using it, I had to have

privacy. Ella whined a little, but there wasn’t much she could do.

So right after we gobbled up a dozen of Gran’s cookies and cleared the table,

I had the kitchen all to myself. I got my laptop and opened it up. Just as before, it

sang it’s little opening jingle and went through its routine. But when it finally got to

the desktop, I was in for a big surprise.

The message had changed.

Loose-E

We accidently forgot Omelette. Please take care of him while we are gone.

D.

How did he do that?

What’s more, if he was able to send me messages, how would I keep that a

secret?

The computer beeped loudly. I glanced back down and read PLEEEEESE.

Then the screen was blank, except for the normal icons and task bars. I heaved a

sigh of relief and stepped out to find my mother.

She was taking a nap in our room. I’d have to wait.

But could I?
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Omelette was the family cat at Darius’ house. He was completely yellow. I

mean banana yellow. With stripes that went from yellow-white to pure white the

closer you got to the tip of his tail. Darius often spoke to the cat as if it was a

human being, and the cat often responded in kind. I liked Omelette, but I was

reluctant to run out and get him. I wasn’t sure how my mother would react, since

we simply did not have our own place to live. Gran and Grandpa did not have pets,

and Ella was allergic.

What would I do with a cat?

I went in to the living room, where I found Grandpa sitting in his big chair

doing a crossword puzzle.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. Somehow, he could always sense my moods.

“I think I need to go check to see if Darius forgot his cat.” I answered.

Grandpa chewed on a pipe he kept handy. He didn’t smoke it now, but had

for so many years that now it was his security blanket. It smelled faintly of tobacco,

and the mouthpiece was often crinkled up with chew marks. He replaced the

mouthpiece from time to time.

“Let’s say we go over there and take a look. We can decide what to do if we

find it.”

“Thanks Grandpa.” I sighed.

“We don’t need to wake your mother up. Let her sleep.”

“Where’s Gran?”

“She took most of the cookies to the homeless shelter. She usually stays

awhile, talking to people. The two of us can go on over.” He explained.

So Grandpa and I got into his 1972 Dodge Charger (he kept it like new, and

sometimes snuck out to drag race with high school kids—don’t worry. I never told
 15

on him). He’d never been to Darius’ house, so I had to give him directions. We

parked in the driveway and got out. The morning chill was gone, and it had even

gotten warm.

“Hooray for April.” Grandpa said as he took off his jacket and put it behind

the driver’s seat. “Freezing one minute and roasting the next.”

We both smiled.

“Tell you what,” he advised. “You look in the back yard and I’ll look in the

front. I’m assuming he’s an outdoor cat.”

“Indoor-outdoor.”

“Do they have a cat door?”

“Not that I noticed.” Strangely enough, it seemed as though Omelette could

get in and out without the help of cat doors.

But it didn’t take us long to find him. He was sitting on the front step, big as

life, washing his face. When he heard us coming, he stopped and stretched. Then

he sat again, waiting.

I walked up to him and picked him up. Grandpa reached over and gave him a

scratch between the ears, which resulted in a satisfied purr from the cat.

But as we settled ourselves in the car, I was in for another big surprise.

A voice, in my ear but not in my ear. Gravelly and low.

“Took you long enough.” Said Omelette.

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Chapter 4

I am Omid, Prince Regent of Ashurbanipal.

It has been my task, and my privilege, to oversee the education of Darius,

High Prince of Ashurbanipal and Heir to the Throne of Xerxes.

Lucy knows me as a fluffy yellow cat. Omelette. And like Lucy, I am left

behind, but not forgotten. It was Darius’ idea to leave me here. He is a young man

full of old ideas; a credit to the education I have given him and the guardians I have

selected for him.

So who are we, and better yet, what are we? I must first explain what we

are not. We are not vampires, and we are not demons. Further, although we

develop certain sensibilitieswith age, there is nothing particularly magic about us.

And, except for one or two minor bits of coded embedded in our DNA, there is

nothing that distinguishes us from other human beings on this planet.

We never get sick. Never. We live extremely long lives because of this. I

can’t say we are immune to death. We can die, and often do. Look at Lucy’s father.

He was one of us.

Lucy’s mother, however, is not one of us. But my job is to watch and wait;

whatever Lucymay become won’t be evident for some time. She seems to be, by

all accounts, a normal thirteen-year-old girl. More HS-2 than her father, and more

HS-2than me. That’s one reason why I had to stay, to observe her development and

report it to the Council. Just because she grows up HS-2 doesn’t mean she will age

like an HS-2, and doesn’t mean she won’t possess the same sensibilities as her

cousin, Darius.
 17

Ah, so you caught that little anomaly. How can a cat look like a human? Let’s

just say, my appearance belies my physical nature. My own sensibilities enable me

to present myself in a form most useful to the tasks I possess. You see, until I’m

given specific instructions to the contrary, Lucy is not to know about her special

family tree, her true relationship to Darius, and especially her unique position.

After all, should something happen to Darius, Lucy is in line to take his place.

So now, you see, I must take charge of her education and prepare her for what

might come to pass.

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Chapter 5

All the while the banana yellow cat was pushing at my chin and purring, his

voice filled my head. I glanced at Grandpa, who apparently did not hear anything

that passed between me and the cat.

“They call me Omelette.” The cat explained. “but really, my name is Omid.

I’m under cover.”

Undercover? This cat watches too many crime shows.

“Okay.” I said cautiously (or rather, thought back).

Before this, I didn’t know it was possible to think with an accent, but

Omelette did. I could not bring myself to call him Omid, which is definitely not a cat

name. He explained himself, more or less. But when I asked what happened to

Darius and his family, Omelette shook his head.

“I was as clueless as you, my dear girl.”

He said things like that. Dear girl. His voice was like one of those English

guys on Masterpiece Theater that my Gran was always watching late at night.

“How come I can hear you but Grandpa can’t?” I asked.

“You’re….a friend of Darius’.” He purred.

“Is that all?”

Grandpa pulled the Charger into a supermarket parking lot and began looking

for a convenient place to park.

“What are we doing?” I asked him.

“It looks like we’ll need some cat food.” He replied.

“No! Don’t worry about me. I’ll eat what you eat.” Omelette’s prissy voice

invaded my head.
 19

“Hush!” I snapped.

“What did you say?” asked Grandpa. He gave me a sidelong glance as he

braked his way into a space close to the entrance.

“Nothing. Just a sneeze.” I smiled sheepishly.

“I’ll only be a couple of minutes.” Grandpa advised. “Wait here with

Omelette.”

I did not know most of the words Omelette transmitted to me, but their tone

sounded a lot like cursing.

“He’ll get Friskies or Whiskas or some other cardboard garbage.” Omelette

hissed.

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid it’s part of your cover now.” I said, trying to mollify

him (Yes, I know mollify is an Omelette word, but he does kind of grow on you if you

hang with him long enough). “I’ll slip you something from time to time, but it helps

if I know what you like.”

Omelette sniffed and turned his head away. That was the end of his purr

festival. Until Grandpa returned to the Charger with a bag of Purina Cat Chow, the

cat just tucked his front paws under his chest as sat there, staring with narrow eyes

at the glove box.

I was somewhat relieved. It’s bad enough losing your best friend without

having to deal with the idea you might be just a little bit loony tunes, as shown by

your extended Vulcan mind-meld with a banana yellow cat.

By the time we got home, Mom was up from her nap and Gran was home.

They were sitting on the front porch, iced tea in hand, talking. They waved as we
 20

got out of the car, but Mom’s hand froze in midwave when she saw Omelette in my

arms.

“Dad?” she eyed Grandpop with one brow raised.

“I know. Ella’s allergic. But we’ll just keep him a couple of days and see what

happens.” He soothed her.

“Oh, poop.” Omelette meowed.

“What do we do if you make Ella cough?” I asked him, all the while smiling at

my mother and grandmother.

“I’ll have to take on another persona.” He groaned.

“Persona?” I wondered?

But he couldn’t explain right then, with everyone falling into conversation and

settling in on the porch.

“He can be an outside cat.” Gran suggested.

“Maybe.” Mom agreed, sor t of. “We can try it.”

Omelette glared at her.

“I will NOT be an outside cat.” He growled at me.

Mom heard the rumble in his throat. “I hope he’s friendly.” She said.

“He’s friendly enough. Besides, we’ll only keep him until Darius comes back.”

I explained.

“Uh huh.” She gave me a look that said “and we all know when THAT’S going

to be.”

Suddenly, two small hands reached into my lap and snatched Omelette.

“Oh, I just love kitties! Can we keep him, Mom? Pleeeese?” crooned Ella.

She cuddled him right up to her face! Right up to her nose! Mom reached out to

take him, but she danced away.

 21

“Can’t he be mine? Please, Mommy! Please, please, please.”

Omelette’s eyes were the size of silver dollars, and his tail had fluffed out to

four times its diameter. I couldn’t tell if he was surprised or outraged. Other than

that, he went completely limp and allowed Ella to squeeze, cuddle, nuzzle and

pretty much do whatever she wanted to him.

The rest of us were frozen in place, waiting for the disaster to happen.

Sneezing, coughing, wheezing. Swollen face, closing throat. I could see by my

mother’s expression that she was trying to remember where Ella’s Epi-pen was—

you know, the one you have to use to give the Ultimate Allergy Shot if someone has

a crisis.

But nothing happened.

“Ella, you know you’re allergic to cats.” My mother began.

“Not to this one.” Ella declared. She held Omelette up and examined his

underside. He looked as if he could die right there. Later, he told me he was

mortified, which I think means the same thing. “There’s so much fur,” she

observed, “I can’t tell whether he’s a boy or a girl.”

“Oh, we’re pretty sure he’s a boy.” I quickly grabbed Omelette back.

“We’ll let him stay a couple of days to see how Ella handles it.” Gran

suggested.

Mom nodded cautiously.

As it turned out, Ella was not allergic to Omelette, and never would be.

Perhaps because Omelette was never really what he appeared to be.

 22

Chapter 6

A week passed. I went to school every morning, as usual. Out of habit, I

looked for Darius in his usual spot in the library, but of course he wasn’t there.

Some of the teachers asked about him, but I could only shake my head and say I

didn’t know. Because I didn’t.

There were no new messages on the laptop, and Omelette reported no word

from him as well. We were both beginning to worry. Finally, the next Friday

afternoon, I rushed home, pulled the laptop out and opened it on the bed. I found

one single word, written in 500 point across the screen.

HELP

Nothing else. No explanations, not even a signature or an initial. I opened

my mouth to call Omelette, but he hopped up next to me as if he already knew.

Of course he did. It was taking me a long time to get used to his sensibilities,

as he called it.

“I have to go away for a day or two.” He murmured, narrowing his eyes at the

monitor. Then he leaped down and was gone. No discussion, no itinerary. Just

gone.

When Ella came home, she wandered all over the house calling for him. She

came in to the room and got down on the floor to look under the bed.

“Have you seen Omelette?” she asked, her bottom lip quivering.

“Not for a while.” I replied. I’d been playing solitaire on the laptop in an

attempt to kill time and NOT think about Darius until Omelette came back. “Don’t

worry. He’ll be back.”

 23

But she began to wail anyway, a tactic that caused my mother to come in to

the room.

“What are you doing to her?” she barked at me.

I held up my hands in surrender. “Hey, it’s not my fault she can’t find the

cat.”

“You know where he is. I know you do!” Ella bawled.

This was one of her high-drama moments. I gave my mom a “help me” look,

and she sighed.

“Come on, Ella. Let’s look in the back yard.” Mom took Ella by the hand and

led her out. As she left she glanced over her shoulder. “Could you put that away

and peel potatoes for Gran? She’s making Irish stew for dinner.”

It was better than playing solitaire, I guess. I couldn’t go on line because we

had no internet connection in the house. I could have started my Language Arts

paper, but my head and heart were not in it right now. Not with the word “HELP”

hovering at about 2000 points between my ears.

Ella cried the entire weekend, until Omelette finally showed up meowing at

the front door, looking a little worse for wear. Fortunately for him, I was the only

one awake at the time. I opened the door to let him in.

“What happened to you?” I asked. His left ear was torn, and he had come

pretty big tufts of fur torn out of one side.

“When one is in deep cover, one must be aware of what the subjects expect.”

He sniffed.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning when a tom cat disappears for a few days, it’s reasonable to

assume he had some social interaction with the opposite sex.”

 24

“You?” I nearly fell over.

“Not really. I just needed to return with the suggestion of what I was up to.

Hence, the…. costume, I could say.”

“Costume?” I raised an eyebrow.

“I had to mix it up with an alley cat or two.” He explained.

I picked him up and took him to the kitchen.

“Find me something in the refrigerator, will you. I am not in the mood for

kitty crunchies right now.”

“A little leftover Irish stew?” I offered.

He sighed. “I suppose it will do.”

I heated a bowl of stew in the microwave and put it on the floor for him,

hoping he would gobble it down before anyone else got out of bed.

“So did you find out anything?” I asked him.

“It’s rude to make conversation while one is eating.” He sniffed. So I had to

wait.

A few minutes later, he finished and asked to go out on the front porch.

“The kitchen is way too public, and it’s early enough the neighbors won’t be

out and about. We’ll hear if anyone else gets up.”

I took him out there and sat on the porch swing. He climbed out of my lap

and settled himself on the rail next to me, so we were face to face.

“I went to the Executive Board. They believe that Darius has been kidnapped

by his surrogates.”

“Executive Board? Surrogates?” I was puzzled.

 25

“The Executive Board is a sort of coordinating body. Not really a government,

but there are times they have the force of government. They represent us.”

Omelette explained.

“Okay then. Who are ‘us’ and what are ‘surrogates.’?” I was getting irritated.

“The Board was a bit annoyed that I had not yet informed you of your special

status. So I’m …”

“What special status?”

So Omelette finally filled me in. He described the whole set up to me, and it

took about a half hour. He had to tell me to quit asking questions, since they

interrupted his flow of thought. When he was done, I was certain I was either crazy

or dreaming.
 26

Chapter 7

Lucy’s head was so full of questions, I could not tell one thought from

another. I finally talked her through a mind-clearing exercise so she’d be able to

make sense of what I had to tell her. I’m not sure I succeeded.

First of all, I had to explain about her father, and about her relationship to

Darius.

“Brother!” she shouted (yes, you can shout in mind-speech). It took all the

strength I had to calm her down after that one.

“It’s true.” I went on, after she’d finally achieved some degree of relaxation.

“Darius is your twin. He was taken at birth, and your mother was never aware of his

existence.”

“Who took him? Why?”

“Settle down. Just listen.” I insisted. “Your father took him, to protect him.

If Darius turned out to be one of us, then he’d be heir to Ashurbanipal. After all,

he’s the oldest. And your father was the King.”

By that time, I’d gotten used to the flow of questions and was able to answer

them before she could effectively articulate them.

“We live in the world of normal people—we call them HS-Twos for homo

sapiens, second generation. We are HS-Ones, the first generation. But we also live

in our own world, with our own conflicts, our own problems, and our own triumphs.

There are two big differences between HS-Twos and HS-Ones. First, HS-Ones are

born with sensibilities. Not magic powers, but special talents, shall we say. Second,

HS-Ones cannot get sick. We have special immune systems that block all attacks
 27

on our health, from bacteria to viruses to cancers. Because of this, we tend to age

very slowly and live a long time. I myself am 2, 237 years old. Your father was

1,350 years old when he died. Yes, we can die. We can die of catastrophic injuries.

And we often do.” I took a breath. Lucy was a lot calmer in her mind, but she was

giving me all kinds of distress signals with her body. Her heart beat was too fast,

her arms were folded across her chest, and she kept shaking her head.

“I don’t believe it.” She finally said, out loud. “What about Darius?”

“Darius was taken and raised by surrogate parents. Your father always knew

where he was, and received regular reports on his progress. He even visited Darius

from time to time.”

“Did Darius know?”

“When he was ten years old, we determined that he was mature enough to

handle the truth, so we told him.”

“You were with him the whole time?”

“It was my job with Darius. It’s my job now, with you. Now that he’s no

longer protected…”

Lucy was getting pretty good at hearing my mind-voice change. “Do you

think you failed him?”

“I didn’t see it coming. I’d gotten complacent. I wasn’t watching for the

signs.” I told her.

She was quiet for a little while, both verbally and mentally. Finally, she

looked at me and asked, “What about me? How do you know I’m HS-One and not

HS-Two?”

“Have you ever been sick?” I pointed out. She shook her head.
 28

“Never. Even when the flu goes around school, I don’t get it. I don’t ever

remember feeling bad.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“What about Ella and the baby?”

“Ella has allergies, and the baby was jaundiced at birth.”

“Jaundiced?” she knitted her eyebrows together.

“Yellow skin, yellow eyes. She had to be placed under a special light to adjust

her bilirubin—that’s a hormone she needed for her liver to function better.”

“Oh.” She thought some more. “Okay, so I’m HS-One, and my sisters are HS-

Two. What about my sensibilities.”

“You’re using one now, I believe.”

Her eyes got a little wider. “I didn’t think of it that way.”

“You may have more. You just need time to develop them.” I explained.

“Wow.” She murmured out loud.

“Wow what?” her mother said, totally surprising both of us.

“Uh..this morning. It’s totally beautiful.” Lucy replied, thinking fast.

And it was. But now we had to find a way to gracefully move on to the issue

at hand.
 29

Flown

Chapter 8

Transcript: Emergency Session of the Executive Board of Human Beings, HS-

One

Date: 14th Year in the Reign of Darius the Two Hundred and Twenty Fourth,

Supreme Leader and King of Ashurbanipal, under the Regency of Tamrin the Elder

(House of Ashurbanipal). 300th day by the Common Calendar.

Presided by Tamrin the Elder, President of the Board

Attended by Orestes Major, Remin of Gibraltar, Aethelred the Enormous of

Great Britain and the Isles, Margrethe of the Low Countries, Par the Excellent of

Siam, An-Tho the Tracker of the Southern Island, the Oracles of Leyte (three of

seven), and Mike the Barber (HS-Two, nonvoting member).

Called to the Board: Omid, Prince Regent of Ashurbanipal, tutor and

bodyguard to the King.

************************************************************************************

Oh, all right. I’m not going to make you read the transcript of an entire Board

meeting. It would be torturous, and a monumental waste of time. But what I will do

is summarize my part of it in so many words.

First, you might be confused by Tamrin the Elder’s position as Regent to the

King versus my own as Prince Regent. That’s easy: Tamrin the Elder is Darius’

Regent, while my title is purely honorary and only designed to help me get attention
 30

when attention is needed. I can also get pretty good seats in four-star restaurants if

I flash the title a bit, but that’s another story..

The Board is made up of prominent HS-Ones from all parts of the world, with

the exception of our HS-Two member, Mike the Barber. Of course, Mike the Barber is

more of a title than a name. The first HS-Two representative was Mikhael the

Barber, and since then it has become a title conferred upon selected HS-Two’s who

occupy the position. I also want to note that even though Mike the Barber is a

nonvoting member, and even though he has none of the sensibilities of his fellow

Board members, he (or she, as the current case may be) has a highly developed

intellect and is able to solve problems that might otherwise stymie the Board.

Our current Mike the Barber is Emily Kaplan, a homicide detective out of

Kansas City, Missouri. As I walked into the Board Room, Emily was holding forth to

the rest of the Board.

“Of course you can’t. You all rely too much on mind-speech to really be able

to judge our motivations or explain our actions. HS-Twos have learned to notice

body language, tone of voice, and other details that help us find the underlying

message in any communication.” She was saying.

But the President of the Board noticed me as I walked in, and interrupted her

to begin the meeting.

When the introductions and rituals were complete, Tamrin turned his

attention on me.

“Well, Omid. You failed again.” He pointed out, with a smirk.

“Even with my extraordinary sensibilitities it is difficult to be two places at

once, Your Excellency.” I countered with a bow. I often referred to the Board as the

Committee for Impossible Tasks, Mixed Messages, and Contradictory Directions.

 31

“Nevertheless, it is a mystery to me why we keep you in your current

position.” He went on.

“Perhaps because you can find no other volunteers for the job.” I postulated.

The board laughed, and I could hear Emily’s voice chortle above the rest.

“We have received a communication from Darius’ kidnappers.” He continued.

“As we suspected, his surrogates were involved.”

“Were?” I asked.

“According to the message, they have been disposed of. Permanently.”

“Let him see the message.” Emily suggested.

HS-Ones are enamored with modern technology, so I was able to see the

message loudly and clearly as it was projected onto a huge screen in the conference

room.

WE HV UR BY. PRNTS DD! U WNT HM BK U MST SND 50 MIL TO….

a long string of numbers appeared, followed by the name of an offshore bank.

“The kidnappers were HS-Twos.” Tamrin continued. “Just like the surrogates.”

“How did they know about Darius?” One of the oracles asked.

“We don’t know. And we don’t know how much they know.” Tamrin replied.

I shook my head. “I think there were HS-Ones involved.”

Tamrin scowled. “What makes you think so? Your Spidey Sense?”

The Board laughed, except for Emily. They were recalling an assignment two

or three hundred years before when I had chosen the form of a red velvet spider in

order to spy on a nest of traitors during the Great Rebellion—another time, another

story.

I ignored him. Over the millennia, I’d become used to being the butt of

Tamrin’s jokes. “It’s quite simple. At the time of Darius’ disappearance, everything
 32

in his house was---dissolved, I think is the technical term. The only things left were

Lucy and whatever she was attached to. And me, of course. I managed to stay out

of the way.”

“Go on.”

“Plus, Darius sensed something was happening. That must have been why

he ordered me to stay away.”

“What exactly did he tell you?”

I pulled out my written report. “It’s all in here.” I said. “Did you read it when

I sent it?”

They hemmed and hawed, but Emily piped in, “I did.”

Two days prior to his disappearance, Darius had detected something

disturbing in the characters of his surrogates.

“They’re not normal.” He complained to me. “I can normally read them, but

right now they are shut up. I try, and I get a headache. It’s like pounding my head

on a brick wall.”

I told him not to worry, that I’d try myself. My mind-speech is better

developed than his.

It was excruciating, like having your fingernails ripped out while you draw

them across an old-fashioned blackboard. I sent a caution to the board and, as

usual, it was ignored. Except for a message from Emily.

“Take notes.” It said. “Might come in handy later.”

Emily normally communicated with me through Darius’ e-mail.

Mind-speech is the primary way most HS-Twos communicate with one

another. They can also use it to “read” HS-Ones, although the practice is

discouraged and thought by many to be unethical. Most HS-Ones are quite easy to
 33

read, with the notable exception of sociopaths—people born without conscience.

The fact that Darius could no longer read his surrogates should have been a signal

to all of us: that they had been replaced with Changelings.

A Changeling is an HS-One who chooses to use his or her sensibilities for

selfish or evil purposes. They first separate themselves from the HS-One

community and blend in with HS-Twos. Typically, they rarely use mind-speech (it is

not possible to lie in mind-speech, a fact revealed by our last Mike the Barber who

was a science fiction writer). Rather, they practice “bricking,” a mind-speech

blocking method. This enables them to use HS-Twos as tools in their plans without

being immediately detected by HS-Ones. They often “dissolve” HS-Twos and

assume their identities as part of whatever scheme they are hatching.

Darius was “bricked.” And so was I.

And no one was paying attention. As always, except Emily.

Flown

Chapter 9

Omelette was about ten minutes into his explanation of the Executive Board

meeting when I held up my hand and made a chopping motion.

“Stop.” I said. “Stop, stop, stop.”

“What?” Omelette asked, a little annoyed at my interruption.

“It’s making me dizzy.” I replied. “All the names, all the details…”

Omelette sighed and made a big production out of washing his tail.
 34

“Okay, fine.” He said, imitating one of my favorite expressions. “I’ll (lick) give

it a rest, as you say (lick), but remember: time is of the essence!”

We were pretending to watch manga cartoons, and Omelette was sitting on

my lap. I still hadn’t developed the skill of conversing with Omelette without

actually speaking to him, so my heart jumped when I saw Gran walk into the room.

“There you are, dear. There’s a policeman at the door for you.” She said

sweetly. I heard my mother’s voice bark out from the kitchen.

“A what! Now wait just a minute---“ she hollered.

She appeared next to me just as I approached the front door. The cop was

tall, handsome, and apologetic. He looked through the screen door at my mother,

and then at me. Mom was holding the baby, who looked as though she planned on

sleeping through the entire conversation.

“Cute baby.” The policeman said. He looked at me. “Are you Lucy….” His

eyes glanced down to a cell phone in his hand. “Lucy Baines?”

I nodded, but my mother stepped in front of me.

“I’m her mother. What’s this all about? Is Lucy in any trouble?” she

demanded.

“No, ma’am.” He shook his head. “We just have some questions. There was

a report of a disappearance…It’s hard to explain. May I come in?”

Gran was baking cookies again and I could tell by the look on his face that he

had high hopes. Mom gave him a cautious smile and opened the screen door.

“Come on in. This way.”

We followed her into the kitchen. Good job, Mom, I thought. Get him feeling

nice and relaxed—just in case. My mind was filled with pictures of me in handcuffs,
 35

behind bars, and all kinds of other unpleasant scenarios (see, another Omelette

word).

When all of us were seated, Gran appeared with a plate of cookies right out of

the oven. Oatmeal raisin, this time. Who says HS-Twos don’t have sensibilities?

Gran can sense a stranger’s favorite cookie hours before he shows up at our door.

The policeman grinned from ear to ear and asked politely if she had any milk.

Once we had the policeman appropriately supplied, he paused for a few

moments to enjoy his treasure.

“Oops.” He said, finally. “My name is Officer Rick Stamp.”

“And I’m Mrs. Baines.” My mother offered in return. “And this is Lucy.”

He wiped his mouth with one of Gran’s linen napkins, asked if he could record

our conversation with his cell phone, and continued. “We received a request from

another police agency to check out the disappearance of an ….Asher…? Yes, an

Asher family. Your daughter’s name was given as a possible lead.”

I wasn’t sure whether to say anything or not, but a question popped into my

head.

“From Missouri?” I asked.

“What?”

“Missouri. A police agency in Missouri.” I said.

“As a matter of fact, yes.” He nodded. “How did you know?”

Thinking fast, I replied. “Darius Asher is my best friend. He has relatives in

Missouri.”

Officer Stamp nodded. “Anyway, I wanted to ask what you know about this

alleged disappearance.”
 36

I told him about how I went for a sleepover and woke up to an empty house.

He listened intently.

“Now the landlord says they took everything. The house was completely

empty and, well, clean.”

“Yes. When I woke, it was like that.” I agreed.

He glanced around the room.

“We didn’t steal anything.” My mother cut in.

“Sorry. Just looking. Anyway, the landlord also says they were paid up six

months in advance, and nobody has contacted him for a refund.”

My mother and I didn’t say anything. We just waited. He cleared his throat

and continued. “The relatives in Missouri says they haven’t heard from them in

several weeks—that this is not normal—and they asked for a welfare check.”

“Did you find anything?” I asked.

“The landlord let me in the house, and I couldn’t find a thing. I mean literally.

Just bare walls and a rather nice hardwood floor. No sign of forced entry, no

footprints, no fingerprints—that’s the crazy part—none at all, nothing. You say you

were in the house that morning?”

“Yes.”

“There were absolutely no fingerprints. How do you explain that?” his eyes

narrowed.

“I don’t.” I snapped. “You do.”

“How come you didn’t report it?” he asked.

“I tried to.” My mother replied. “No one would take the report. The officer I

spoke to said it looked like they left out of personal choice, and that people have a

right to disappear if they want.”

 37

She hadn’t told me this! In fact, we hadn’t taken the time to talk about the

incident at all!

“When did you make this call?”

“That morning. In fact, I not only called, I got online and reported it through

your e-hotline. Wait.” Mom got up and headed into our bedroom. She had Darius’

laptop in her hand.

“Sorry hon, I figured you wouldn’t mind me using it to make this report.” She

said with a shrug. “May I?”

I nodded. She opened the laptop and started the computer.

“I had to take it to Dandy’s Coffee Shop and use their free WiFi to do it, but

here it is.” In a few minutes, we were looking right at a copy of the report she’d

made to the police. “I even made a copy for you on this.” She added, pulling a 2

gig flash drive from her hip pocket. Smiling, she handed it to Officer Stamp.

“Well.” He said. “I guess this will do it.”

The flash drive went into his pocket. He thanked us, and he left.

We watched as his patrol car pulled out and away from the house.

“You didn’t go to Dandy’s to use their WiFi, did you?” I asked her.

“As a matter of fact, I figured out that one of the neighbors has it. All I have

to do is turn the computer on, and it’s there.” She said.

“Have you used it very often?”

“Only twice. Once to send in the report and another time to write my

resume.”

I knew about the resume, but I felt more than a little annoyed that she’d used

it for the police report.

 38

“I’d be mad at you, but it sure was convenient that you had that flash drive.”

I observed.

“Sorry.” Mom offered, sheepishly.

“Just ask. That’s all.” I said. “Or if there’s an emergency and you have to use

it, tell me after, okay?”

“Okay. Fair enough. I just forgot.”

I briefly thought about not speaking to her for the rest of the day, but I was

pretty sure I might be marching down to the police station for an interview right now

if not for Mom, so I put aside my irritation for the moment.

Besides, it was time to finish my talk with Omelette.