Excerpt: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

 When we got to Divine's, it was brightly lit. Usually Divine's wasn't open after the dinner hour, but Angela made an exception for the start and end of the school year, and during Christmas shopping season. She had hung lights on the wrought iron fence that ran along the sidewalk. They looked like strings of Christmas tree lights, until we got close enough to see something spinning slowly inside the tiny glass globes. Stars and comets and planets.

The gate hung open, and as I started up the flagstone walk, the front door swung open. A couple people noticed there was no one visible in the doorway, and they made "Huh?" and "Whoa!" and other sounds. Nobody freaked out. Maybe they were such movie geeks, so used to special effects and watching behind-the-scenes specials, they just assumed that was another special effect.

Nope, just Divine's Emporium welcoming the new students. I took that as a good sign. The door probably wouldn't have opened automatically like that if there was even one person in the group who didn't quite fit with the spirit of Neighborlee.

I was relieved when the reactions of the people spilling through the doorway into Divine's and immediately spreading out through the rooms were completely positive. No freaking out. No mutters or frowns of disdain. No one giving the telltale signs of discomfort that meant they were already getting hit with the subliminal "go away, you don't belong, we don't want you here" message. Divine's Emporium liked these kids.

The best sign? No one flinched or got wide-eyed or even blinked when Angela just seemed to appear from nowhere. One minute the area behind the counter was empty, the next she was there. Maybe they just assumed she had been behind the counter, bent down and working on something.

Looking back, the signs that everyone belonged should have been a warning. Angela sensed something unusual about us, and I can't fault her for not warning us of impending trouble. All she sensed was the potential, and she spilled out the welcome from Divine's. At that point, the very first day we were all in the dorm, everything was potential and possibility. The choices we made going forward would refine our path for the rest of the year.

"Aren't you supposed to be busy with college activities?" She stepped up and rested her arms on the thick marble counter.

"All moved in and free for the evening." Zach fluttered his eyelashes at her and made his good-doggy-begging gesture, with his hands curved up under his chin.

Angela laughed and reached back for one of the enormous old-fashioned candy jars, where Zach's favorite candy waited. Semi-hard diamonds of salted black licorice. Yeah, sounds kind of yech, doesn't it? I finally gave in and tasted some. Surprisingly good, but still an acquired taste. That broke the ice. Angela got everyone's name as they stepped up and spotted a jar of the candy they liked the best. In all the noise and laughter and chatter, nobody noticed when she reached for a jar before someone asked for it, or knew someone's name before they told her. She asked a few questions and directed people to various rooms where "you might just find something you'll like."

"Very interesting," she commented as she settled down at the little bistro table with me and Clarice and Tyrone after about twenty minutes.

Voices rang through the shop, people calling out to each other that they just had to come see something. I was positive at least one new room had appeared since the last time I was at Divine’s, a week ago, looking for a really cool backpack for going to class. Of course I found it, a combination of army surplus olive canvass with colorful embroidered patches all over it, looking like I had been all over the world. I had the hope that it would turn out like Mary Poppins' bag and hold everything I wanted and needed to put into it. Hopefully with the added benefit of not being any heavier.

"Do I want to know how you gathered so many like spirits in just a few hours, before orientation even officially started?" Angela nodded her thanks as Tyrone took over to empty the tray of our floats made with caramel ice cream and cream soda.

"They're all on the same floor with us," Clarice said.

"Really? What are the odds of that?"

"Pretty big odds," I said, meeting Clarice's gaze. She nodded. As if I really needed permission to tell Angela?

I went on to relate what Pop had learned from Mrs. A, and shared with me, because I had a right to know what people were doing to me and my classmates. Even if that knowledge might skew the results of whatever research the psych professors were doing. Maybe lab rats didn't know what was happening when they ran through mazes and suffered through all sorts of tests and experiments, but we weren't lab rats.

Our club members among the freshmen had discussed the experiment, whether it was weird or dangerous. I thought about pretending to be an anonymous tipster and let the Neighborlee Tattler know what was up. We agreed not to tell anyone before school started, because honestly, what could anyone do about it? Demand to change floors within the dorm? Try to get into different dorms? We basically, and vaguely, agreed to wait to see what happened with the people on our floor and in the dorm before we said anything.

However, this was the perfect time to take the conundrum to Angela. As a guardian of Neighborlee, I had a responsibility to take questionable circumstances to her, or at least present them to other known guardians. Just in case weird things happened from fiddling with demographics, and I was too close to the middle to notice.

"Okay, now that we can see what they did to us, it's kind of weird," Tyrone said. "They sure weren't putting us together with the other geeks and nerds to be nice, so what do they think will happen? Why not other statistics or similarities or whatever you call it? Other than the art and drama kids, we're not grouped together by our majors, like on the other floors and the other dorm. Is it just me, or do you feel like we're being singled out?"

"If you are…" Angela's gaze went unfocused and her eyelids half-lowered.

I could almost hear that sound I sometimes caught just on the edge of sleep, or when it got very quiet inside Divine's Emporium.

Sometimes it was the hint of wind chimes playing in some incredible, vast garden in the very core of the house, as if the walls were thinner than paper, thinner than air. If I turned at just the right angle, I might finally see the garden, and wind chimes made of incredible jewels, with sunshades made of tapestries woven to show otherworldly, ancient scenes. Other times, like now, I had a sense of music being played somewhere far away, just below the audible level, on instruments I had never imagined. This was basically the sound of Angela thinking very hard, and the magic of Divine's Emporium coming into play.

"I must believe that if anything is to come of having so many similar, imaginative souls gathered in one place," Angela said slowly, "then Neighborlee itself might be very glad that several of our own are among them."

Excerpt: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

 

Before we left the cafeteria, the Freshman Orientation team got on the loudspeakers and offered us options of what to do that evening. It was a free evening. The official activities started in the morning, including competitions and times for visiting our advisors and checking out different departments, in case people changed their minds about classes once they saw their schedules.

Our group filed out of the cafeteria, and there in the lobby were tables filled with flyers and coupon books for local businesses, and little introductory goodie bags. I felt like I was cheating, getting a goodie bag that was supposed to persuade me to come visit. I knew all the stores in town, after all.

"Divine's has a coupon!" Clarice announced.

Okay, that was too good to pass up.

"What's Divine's," Babbie Winslow asked. She was three doors down from us on the floor, and stood behind us now, looking through her coupon book.

"It's no good telling you. You gotta experience Divine's." I shared a grin with Clarice and we turned around to see if our gang was still in the cafeteria lobby. "Hey, guys, if you haven't heard yet, Clarice and Tyrone and Zach and Aldo and I are from Neighborlee. Instead of going to a movie we've all seen before, how about a walking tour of town before it gets crazy?"

"And use our coupons before other kids get to the stores, and the good stuff is gone?" Sheri Carter said with a chuckle. She riffled her coupon book, and others laughed.

"You can do whatever you want, but you need to find Divine's Emporium before you do anything else. How you survive your first year here will rest on your first impression of it."

"Think they'll be able to see the Wishing Ball?" Clarice asked. Tyrone laughed. Zach and Aldo laughed louder, trying to sound mysterious, when a few people asked what the Wishing Ball was.

"Just come on along and see, okay? I'm not going to tell you anything more, so you're not prejudiced," I added.

That got the interest of some people who didn't look all that thrilled with taking a long walk after an exhausting day getting moved into the dorm. It seemed like a third of the entire dorm came with us as we headed down the sidewalk.

In the end, twenty-some people went to Divine's. As we passed through town, Tyrone pointed out places of interest, such as Miller's Diner and various shops where they could use their coupons. We lost some people. Clarice and Zach made note of who stayed with us for the walk of several blocks. Every single one was a fandom person of one kind or another. The freaks and geeks, as some of the arrogant jerks referred to us. We basically left the art and dance and music students behind—unless they were also science fiction and fantasy and horror people, too. Had to wonder if that was accidental. After all, there was already something strong building up on our dorm floor, with all the fandom gear people had brought with them to college.

YeOldeDragonBooks.com

Excerpt: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

 

Someone must have been teaching Sylvia boxing. She got in a good right hook between my left temple and eye socket before I realized she was getting physical. Sylvia hadn't tried to inflict capital punishment on those who crossed her since fifth grade.

While I didn't use my telekinetic power to shove her away, pin her to the wall, maybe even shove her through the wall, honesty compels me to admit that Harry saved me. Maybe he had a little ability to fly, or least do the long jump fast, and hard. He body-slammed Sylvia from behind while she was spinning around and coming back in for another strike. I was still catching my breath and seeing stars. Then suddenly the male five percent of the faculty and staff stormed into the room and got hold of Sylvia.

Dr. Butterfield had heard everything, and proved he had a future writing political speeches with the great spin he put on the whole encounter. Without repeating a single word that either of us said, he put everything on Sylvia. She was a resident at the school and I was a guest. She had come back to the chapel when she should have been heading to her next class. It all worked against her.

The headmistress came to apologize while we were sitting in Dr. Butterfield's private quarters. He was digging some very old ice from the back of his tiny English refrigerator to put on my eye. She assured us that Sylvia had gone "beyond the pale" (yeah, they still said that in Jolly Olde England) and had wasted the last of many second chances granted her.

Whatever that meant, it didn't mean Sylvia returned to Neighborlee High for the rest of our junior year. Unfortunately, she did come back for our senior year.

I couldn't wait to get home and report to the "We loathe Sylvia Grandstone club." It wasn't really an official group, although a number of people in our graduating class confessed they had looked into voodoo dolls and sending requests to the State Department to keep her from coming back into the country.

No, that wasn't very mature of me. It also wasn't very mature that I let Mum and Pop praise me for not using my powers to slam Sylvia into the wall, or through a window, or just hold her up in the air and spin her around like a WWE wrestling champion. I didn't use my telekinesis because I didn't get a chance. Ten-plus years of self-imposed "never use our talents where other people can see" made me hesitate. Even when it came to a chance to work out my frustrations on Sylvia Grandstone and get payback for all my friends at school.

So I really didn't deserve any of the kudos I got. Sympathy for my black eye, yes, I earned that. Praise for not slamming that spoiled brat snot into a greasy makeup smear on the stone wall of the chapel? Nope.

YeOldeDragonBooks.com

Excerpt: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

 

"How did you con them into adopting you? Like, you're gonna be rich when they kick off. Both of them are so old. You have got to tell me how you did it."

Why? So she could con someone into adopting her?

"I didn't do anything. I was only six when they adopted me." I barely managed to hold back "remember?" because of course, the only time Sylvia paid attention to me back in school was when I stood between her and what she wanted. "Right place, right time, right people, I guess." I couldn't really say my parents were warm, loving people who were looking to share their love. Sylvia would not understand at all.

"Some people get all the luck." She straightened up and shook her head, with that calculated, slow kind of movement that I swear she had to practice in the mirror. How else could she get her curls to respond like that and lay just so on her shoulders? "You're rich. Who would have thought it? I mean, you don't act it."

"What does acting rich mean?"

"Well … not dressing like that, for one thing." She fluttered her fingers at me.

Then she stopped, frowning. My deceptively casual outfit was brand new. Mum and I spent half a day at Selfridges with a personal shopper, putting together outfits. Mum liked casual, but she also liked quality. She liked stuff that lasted. Yes, sometimes she wore jeans so heavily studded with rhinestones that she almost couldn't lift her legs to walk, but she also liked good quality, casual fashion. For the first time on the trip, I wasn't wearing my usual comfy jeans with an overshirt and T-shirt.

"What's wrong with my clothes?" I had to ask.

"Better get your money back from that shopper chick who was helping you spend all Pop's money," Harry said, leaning into the doorway. He crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out, then straightened out his expression when Sylvia turned to look at him.

"You have a personal shopper?" she drawled, her disbelief so thick in her voice, the pitch slid up the scale about an octave. "What is your problem? Why are you acting like you're a stupid poor hick all the time?"

"How should I act? Like a spoiled brat arrogant snot who thinks she should run the world, and just makes herself look like a brainless twit?"

"Like you?" Harry added.

Sylvia let out a steam whistle shriek and launched herself at me. How unfair was that? Harry said it. She never would have realized I was talking about her until he said it.

Excerpt: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

 

I always had to keep in mind the rules Kurt and Felicity and I had made up to protect our talents or powers or whatever let us do what we did. Hide what we did, hide what we were, hide from trouble. There was no telling when the weirdness factor of Neighborlee would fail us, and those people who spied on the children’s home would return, notice us, and make us vanish.

So it was good that Sylvia didn't catch me kinda-sorta flying.

"Am I supposed to ask what you were thinking?" I asked, after we stood there for a few minutes in silence.

Sylvia was the one Grandstone who had learned some patience. Where just staring down her cousins, Reggie and Freddie would get them to mouth off and get themselves in trouble, silence didn't get under Sylvia's skin. She could stand there and smirk, or give indications of the mental gymnastics she was going through, and wait for someone else to talk.

The smart tactic was to take control of the pseudo-conversation when Sylvia was involved. Besides, the more time she had to think, the better the chances she would twist the situation around entirely in her favor. For instance, if I made her stand there long enough, by the time an argument arose and she started screaming, she would have convinced herself that I had tricked her into staying behind after the Q&A. Since I had survived ten years of attending school with her, the odds were good that I could predict what she would say and do, and even how she thought. If the mental gyrations in the gray matter of a Grandstone brain could be called "thinking."

"Just how long did you think you could keep that secret?" She adjusted her stance so the other hip was cocked out and she leaned against the other side of the door.

"Uh, it's a secret to me, I guess."

That got one of her trademark squeal-snorts. "Your parents."

"It's no secret that I have parents."

I fully expected her to harangue me with the fact that I was one of the Lost Kids of Neighborlee. Former resident of Neighborlee Children's Home. A reject. A throwaway. Sloppy seconds.

"They're famous!" Sylvia came out of the doorway, jamming her fists into her hips. "Your parents are big-time, famous writers! How long did you think you could hide it? Some people!" Another squeal, with only a touch of snort.

"Uh, I never tried to hide it."

What I tried to hide was my grin. Until that first booksigning where people were lined up halfway around the block, it never really registered that my parents with twenty books to their names were indeed popular writers. People paid good money and waited eagerly for first editions in hardback.

"I can't believe I never made the connection." Sylvia tipped her head to one side, letting her hair fall in her face. "I mean, yeah, they're the weird, hippie Zephyrs, but they're famous. They've got about a gazillion books that people buy. You are rich."

Uh huh. So that was her problem. Nobody in town was allowed to be rich other than the Grandstones.

YeOldeDragonBooks.com

Excerpt: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

 

Too bad his theory was wrong. Sylvia came strolling in among the last of the first group for question-and-answer. She didn't look happy about being there. Maybe because she strolled in entirely alone. No followers, no admirers, no co-conspirators.

I paid attention to the Q&A because these select academy girls asked smart questions. Maybe because the students who came to the first session wanted to be there. They were interested in writing and doing research and what else they could do with their study focus on language and writing skills when they got out of school. I listened instead of turning down my mental volume control. There were no multiple repetitions of the same inane questions, proving nobody was listening to anyone. I liked listening to my folks talk about writing, about research, about fun and freaky things that happened to them or that they discovered. Mum made them laugh when she admitted how she tried her hand at writing paranormal romances, and while doing research on druids she learned about the Roman occupation of Britannia.

She then related how researching the Roman occupation led to learning about Boudica, the tribal queen who united the tribes in revolt against the Roman overlords and destroyed ancient Londinium. Yeah, nothing like infuriating a warrior queen by declaring that since her husband was dead and there was no male heir, the Romans were going to disband the tribe. Excuse me? Her husband was king because he married her. That was how some Celtic tribes handed down the leadership: the man who married the previous king's daughter became king. When you think about it, a very sensible way of handling things.

Mum never did write her story set in ancient Britain, but she got the girls interested in doing research and just having fun learning bits and pieces. From some of the comments I heard as they passed under the balcony on their way out, she got them interested in Boudica and their own history, too. That was Mum.

Harry escaped while the girls were still filing out. I waited until everyone was gone before I came downstairs. Pop went back to the archives with Dr. Butterfield, and Mum walked off with a knot of girls with specific questions about resources and searching.

There was nothing to pick up and move after the Q&A, not like other talks where Mum and Pop had books or visual aids. I wandered around the room, looking at the stained glass, the chimneys on the lanterns with all the fancy brasswork and colored glass, the inlay on the ends of the benches. There was a lot of history in this little room of ten rows with two five-seater benches in each row.

"Thought so," a familiar, whiny voice said, punctuated with a snort.

I looked at the door. There was Sylvia Grandstone, arms crossed, head tilted to display her golden curls. I wondered who she was trying to impress. Ninety-five percent of the staff were women, and this was a girls-only school. That was followed by a sense of "whew!" Her entrance stopped me just in time, before I acted on an idea of floating up to look at some writing in the stained glass panel at the front of the chapel. While I didn't really care what Sylvia Grandstone thought of me, I wasn't stupid enough to risk her making a fuss that the wrong people might listen to.

YeOldeDragonBooks.com

Excerpt: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

 

Four days before we were scheduled to leave England, we made a stop in Cornwall at a "select academy for young women" that shall otherwise remain unidentified. Don't for a moment think that description makes it easy to identify, because in England they grow select academies like the average Midwestern front lawn grows dandelions.

The academy was supposed to be one of our first stops when we arrived in England, to go through the archives. Just before our flight, we learned our visit would have to be either postponed or canceled. The academy's librarian, Mum and Pop's contact, Dr. Butterfield, had to take care of an emergency in New Guinea. Nobody else on the staff was qualified to oversee the search. We learned later, that actually meant no one was willing to work with Yanks. They changed their minds fast enough to make Linda Blair's head spin in the opposite direction, when Dr. Butterfield returned and the staff found out who they had snubbed.

We had planned to spend the last day in England doing the shopping-tourist thing (Harrod's, Selfridges, other landmark and famous stores). Instead, we packed up and zipped down the coast to a truly beautiful and rocky and wild section of Cornwall. From the top of the cliff that bordered the school grounds, we could see the coastline and the crashing waves. If it had been near dusk, I might have taken a chance of floating down to the water's edge, maybe get some water-smoothed rocks for souvenirs.

We spent about eight hours at the academy. Dr. Butterfield had already done the preliminary work, narrowing down the specific hand-written, ancient books and loose-leaf stacks of records. My folks "only" had five books to look through out of the enormous, nine-hundred-year-old archives.

Once again, the Zephyr reputation worked for and against my folks. The academy administration finally linked Dr. Butterfield's long-distance research friends with the authors who, according to the papers, had been taking England by storm. The humanities and arts teacher begged Dr. Butterfield to bring my folks down to the school immediately, for an extended stay. She claimed she wanted to provide a "delightful educational experience for the girls," but based on her fan-girl reaction to Mum and Pop, the real reason was for her to go nuts. She was just giddy enough to confess, giggling, that she had “mistakenly” considered them "filthy, foreign intruders, unable to appreciate the treasures of the academy's archives." Until Dr. B returned and revealed his friends' identities.

YeOldeDragonBooks.com

New Release Sample: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

"How should I act? Like a spoiled brat arrogant snot who thinks she should run the world, and just makes herself look like a brainless twit?"

"Like you?" Harry added.

Sylvia let out a steam whistle shriek and launched herself at me. How unfair was that? Harry said it. She never would have realized I was talking about her until he said it.

Someone must have been teaching Sylvia boxing. She got in a good right hook between my left temple and eye socket before I realized she was getting physical. Sylvia hadn't tried to inflict capital punishment on those who crossed her since fifth grade.

While I didn't use my telekinetic power to shove her away, pin her to the wall, maybe even shove her through the wall, honesty compels me to admit that Harry saved me. Maybe he had a little ability to fly, or least do the long jump fast, and hard. He body-slammed Sylvia from behind while she was spinning around and coming back in for another strike. I was still catching my breath and seeing stars. Then suddenly the male five percent of the faculty and staff stormed into the room and got hold of Sylvia.

*****

I couldn't wait to get home and report to the "We loathe Sylvia Grandstone club." It wasn't really an official group, although a number of people in our graduating class confessed they had looked into voodoo dolls and sending requests to the State Department to keep her from coming back into the country.

No, that wasn't very mature of me. It also wasn't very mature that I let Mum and Pop praise me for not using my powers to slam Sylvia into the wall, or through a window, or just hold her up in the air and spin her around like a WWE wrestling champion. I didn't use my telekinesis because I didn't get a chance. Ten-plus years of self-imposed "never use our talents where other people can see" made me hesitate. Even when it came to a chance to work out my frustrations on Sylvia Grandstone and get payback for all my friends at school.

So I really didn't deserve any of the kudos I got. Sympathy for my black eye, yes, I earned that. Praise for not slamming that spoiled brat snot into a greasy makeup smear on the stone wall of the chapel? Nope.

New Release Sample: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

What I tried to hide was my grin. Until that first booksigning where people were lined up halfway around the block, it never really registered that my parents with twenty books to their names were indeed popular writers. People paid good money and waited eagerly for first editions in hardback.

"I can't believe I never made the connection." Sylvia tipped her head to one side, letting her hair fall in her face. "I mean, yeah, they're the weird, hippie Zephyrs, but they're famous. They've got about a gazillion books that people buy. You are rich."

Uh huh. So that was her problem. Nobody in town was allowed to be rich other than the Grandstones.

"How did you con them into adopting you? Like, you're gonna be rich when they kick off. Both of them are so old. You have got to tell me how you did it."

Why? So she could con someone into adopting her?

"I didn't do anything. I was only six when they adopted me." I barely managed to hold back "remember?" because of course, the only time Sylvia paid attention to me back in school was when I stood between her and what she wanted. "Right place, right time, right people, I guess." I couldn't really say my parents were warm, loving people who were looking to share their love. Sylvia would not understand at all.

"Some people get all the luck." She straightened up and shook her head, with that calculated, slow kind of movement that I swear she had to practice in the mirror. How else could she get her curls to respond like that and lay just so on her shoulders? "You're rich. Who would have thought it? I mean, you don't act it."

New Release Sample: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

"Am I supposed to ask what you were thinking?" I asked, after we stood there for a few minutes in silence.

Sylvia was the one Grandstone who had learned some patience. Where just staring down her cousins, Reggie and Freddie would get them to mouth off and get themselves in trouble, silence didn't get under Sylvia's skin. She could stand there and smirk, or give indications of the mental gymnastics she was going through, and wait for someone else to talk.

The smart tactic was to take control of the pseudo-conversation when Sylvia was involved. Besides, the more time she had to think, the better the chances she would twist the situation around entirely in her favor. For instance, if I made her stand there long enough, by the time an argument arose and she started screaming, she would have convinced herself that I had tricked her into staying behind after the Q&A. Since I had survived ten years of attending school with her, the odds were good that I could predict what she would say and do, and even how she thought. If the mental gyrations in the gray matter of a Grandstone brain could be called "thinking."

"Just how long did you think you could keep that secret?" She adjusted her stance so the other hip was cocked out and she leaned against the other side of the door.

"Uh, it's a secret to me, I guess."

That got one of her trademark squeal-snorts. "Your parents."

"It's no secret that I have parents."

I fully expected her to harangue me with the fact that I was one of the Lost Kids of Neighborlee. Former resident of Neighborlee Children's Home. A reject. A throwaway. Sloppy seconds.

"They're famous!" Sylvia came out of the doorway, jamming her fists into her hips. "Your parents are big-time, famous writers! How long did you think you could hide it? Some people!" Another squeal, with only a touch of snort.

"Uh, I never tried to hide it."

New Release Sample: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

Harry escaped while the girls were still filing out. I waited until everyone was gone before I came downstairs. Pop went back to the archives with Dr. Butterfield, and Mum walked off with a knot of girls with specific questions about resources and searching.

There was nothing to pick up and move after the Q&A, not like other talks where Mum and Pop had books or visual aids. I wandered around the room, looking at the stained glass, the chimneys on the lanterns with all the fancy brasswork and colored glass, the inlay on the ends of the benches. There was a lot of history in this little room of ten rows with two five-seater benches in each row.

"Thought so," a familiar, whiny voice said, punctuated with a snort.

I looked at the door. There was Sylvia Grandstone, arms crossed, head tilted to display her golden curls. I wondered who she was trying to impress. Ninety-five percent of the staff were women, and this was a girls-only school. That was followed by a sense of "whew!" Her entrance stopped me just in time, before I acted on an idea of floating up to look at some writing in the stained glass panel at the front of the chapel. While I didn't really care what Sylvia Grandstone thought of me, I wasn't stupid enough to risk her making a fuss that the wrong people might listen to.

I always had to keep in mind the rules Kurt and Felicity and I had made up to protect our talents or powers or whatever let us do what we did. Hide what we did, hide what we were, hide from trouble. There was no telling when the weirdness factor of Neighborlee would fail us, and those people who spied on the children’s home would return, notice us, and make us vanish.

So it was good that Sylvia didn't catch me kinda-sorta flying.

New Release Sample: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

As soon as the first green plaid skirt and black sweater trimmed in gold strolled into the meeting room-slash-former chapel for the first question-and-answer session, I got that sick feeling of impending doom. Harry was sitting with me in a small balcony where we could see and hear everything, but we weren't on display like Mum and Pop. He was busy with a pretty cool hand-held video game Dr. B gave him, and he didn't pay any attention to the students filing into the room and jockeying for one of the sixty seats, until I groaned.

"What?" He scooted over on the bench seat and rested his elbows on the balcony ledge, to look down on the growing audience. He frowned at the girls filing in, then at me. "What?"

"Don't you recognize the uniforms?"

He shook his head and shrugged.

"Remember the Tower of London?"

"I remember that Grandstone… Oh." Harry patted me on the shoulder. "Maybe she's sick today."

"Grandstones are always sick, but it's not the kind that gives us any relief." I slid back on the bench, away from the ledge, even though chances of anyone looking up and seeing us were slim.

"Well, you think she's going to come here to listen to Mum and Pop if it's voluntary? I bet the only thing she reads is a supermarket gossip rag or else something about Hollywood. That's why she got sent over here, because she wanted to go into acting. Right?" He waited for me to nod, then bent his head over his video game again.

Honestly, my little brother was a really smart kid.

Too bad his theory was wrong. Sylvia came strolling in among the last of the first group for question-and-answer. She didn't look happy about being there. Maybe because she strolled in entirely alone. No followers, no admirers, no co-conspirators. 

New Release Sample: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

We were climbing around in the attic and our folks were downstairs, going through boxes of crumbly historical documents, when a delegation from the village came in to speak with them. They wanted a progress report on what they had found after only one full day of investigating. I heard the door creak-bang open and signaled Harry to be quiet. He was in the middle of leaping from one rafter support beam to the next. Kind of hard to land on the next beam without making noise, but he managed.

He didn't land square, though, and started to fall backwards. Not a problem if this was an ordinary attic, built by sensible people, with plywood sheets stretching from one rafter to another, to provide a solid platform for storage. Keep in mind, Harry and I had to jump from one rafter to another because there was nothing solid between them. A layer of fluffy gray stuff that was more likely to be dust than insulation was all that lay between Harry's backside and the thin sheet of plaster and paint that made up the ceiling of the room below us.

Fortunately for Harry, his big sister had telekinetic power. Unfortunately for said big sister—moi—it isn't that easy to catch a husky nine-year-old going through a growth spurt, either with hands or with mental powers. Something gets strained, muscles or brain. Harry yelped. I snagged him so he metaphorically skidded to a halt in mid-air, with his bottom about three inches from breaking through. I let out a muffled yelp-argh. Sorry, but that's the only way to describe the involuntary sound that came from the sensation of a spike going through my left temple and out my right eye. Fortunately, only a temporary sensation. We froze in that position until I could regain my breath, while my stomach settled back into place after trying to come out my nose.

Down below, the five people with Mum and Pop all froze and looked upward at the ceiling. Mum knew what had happened, because she had seen us in action about twenty minutes before, when she came upstairs for the last crate of historical records. Don't even get me started on her fury over the deplorable state of those records. Mum froze, and Pop took his cue from her, even though he didn't know what was going on. He didn't notice the delegation at first, immersed in deciphering a document that later turned out to be over three hundred years old.

Mum said everyone just stood there, looking up at the ceiling, waiting for something to come through. She waited a few seconds, then asked them what was wrong. Mrs. Guttersnatch declared that was proof the building was haunted by the spirits of children who had died there when it was a pauper's prison. Mr. Wimbly said it was the spirit of a schoolteacher who had been driven insane by the imbeciles he had to pound learning into, and who had committed suicide. Note: she was an advocate for prison reform and believed in communication from the Great Beyond. He was a teacher who had been forced to retire after a nervous breakdown. Miss Wilson-Smythe countered that the rats had come back, despite the promises of the rat catcher.

New Release Sample: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

As soon as Mr. Cloverdale opened the door, the woman's volume dropped and she turned to him, pointing at Harry and me. We weren't afraid, just kind of stunned, and ready to laugh about some of the rabid fans of Mum and Pop's books. Mr. Cloverdale jammed his fists into his hips and glared at the big, angry, noisy woman. She quieted down and seemed to shrink about ten percent in height and width. He ushered us inside and locked the door, then told us not to mind her, Beatrice was a wonderful lady who loved books. She simply hadn't had her first pint of the day yet.

Yeah, that's right. Pint. As in Guinness. First thing in the morning. The sandwich shop/pub next door connected to the bookstore by a door about halfway back in the shared wall. The lock was on the bookstore side of the door. The sandwich shop opened at ten in the morning, and when the bookstore opened the connecting door, Beatrice got her first pint of the day. That was her routine. Step into the bookstore, get copies of all the morning papers, and cross into the sandwich shop and pub. Get her first morning pint, then cross back to the bookstore and settle into the big easy chair next to the fire to read for the next hour.

Well, that morning, her routine changed slightly, because she wanted to get Mum and Pop's newest book before she got her newspapers and pint. As she told us later, over the most incredible meal of gazpacho, goulash and chocolate soufflé, in her old age the slightest change set her off. Hormone therapy didn't help, lithium didn't help—only set routine, and her morning pint. Yes, we had dinner with her. By the end of the day, she was Auntie Bea, and we laughed a lot over our first encounter.

Bottom line: Harry and I had a blast. The coolest part of the whole adventure was seeing Mum and Pop as other people saw them. Charlie and Rainbow Zephyr were loved by both sides of the whole debate over the weird and wonderful. On one side were the cynics who lived their lives to debunk mysteries and wonders and miracles. They admired our folks for their honesty. On the other side were people who wanted desperately to believe in the weird and wonderful, in miracles and aliens, doorways to other dimensions, reincarnation and ancient astronauts. They also admired and respected Mum and Pop because they didn't mock or set out to shred whatever the extremist radicals held dear. No matter what conclusion our folks arrived at by the end of their investigation, both sides were at least happy with the rational and respectful treatment of the issue or question or mystery or theory.

Back home in Neighborlee, they were just Charlie and Rainbow. In England, they were celebrities, somewhere between priests, philosophers, and explorers. Back home, Harry and I were just the Zephyr kids. In England, we were envied and admired. Despite being Americans. 

New Release Sample: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

Being Charlie and Rainbow Zephyr's kids got Harry and me into places that ordinary tourists couldn't go. Armed with cameras and digital recorders, we were official assistants. When that didn't smooth the way, the incredible luck or unbelievable coincidences that usually surrounded our folks came to our rescue. Once people got over a graying Hippie, an Asian woman with emerald or amethyst hair, a brunette teen with hazel eyes, and a husky little Latino boy being a family, they ignored the background weirdness.

Being the Zephyrs' kids got us some frustrating and slightly embarrassing moments, too. We were nearly trampled five times by fans in search of autographs. You'd think we would have learned the warning signs after the second near-death experience.

Or the time Mum and Pop had a booksigning in this cool little bookstore north of London. This huge woman at the front of the line nearly shattered glass, yelling at us, when Harry and I showed up and tried to get into the bookstore before it officially opened. The bookstore owner, Mr. Cloverdale, was a little man who Harry and I both swore had slightly pointy ears. Like some of Angela’s friends who dropped by Divine’s Emporium. He was watching for us, since we'd left the inn a good half hour after Mum and Pop that morning. He didn't see us trying to sidle through the crowd to get up to the door at first, because the crowd had grown to about forty people by then. Plus, that huge woman was right in front of the door. While the bookstore had enormous picture windows, we were hard to see because the windows were full of books on display or posters of Mum and Pop and information on the booksigning.

The big woman's voice, raised in a shout that would have stunned a dinosaur, alerted him that we had arrived. The British are supposed to be so reserved and dignified, but this woman…? Maybe she was also a soccer fanatic when she wasn't going into ecstasies about Mum and Pop's latest investigation. As soon as Mr. Cloverdale realized Harry and I were there, jammed between the locked door and the woman, he came running. The old-fashioned roll-up blind covering the door zipped up with a rattle-clatter-hum-bang and the keys chimed as he unlocked the door. I could hardly hear all that through the woman's furious lecture on the rudeness of the two of us trying to get to the head of line and sneak in ahead of people who had done the sensible thing and gotten there two hours ahead of opening time. Seriously? She was waiting there two hours?

Coming Title: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

Neighborlee, Ohio Book 2

July 1 release

www.YeOldeDragonBooks.com