The Elders (7 page)

I have to give her credit for style. The whole rescue runs on large monetary donations contributed by the pets’
former owners (Guided by Hillary), who also comprise the workforce. I appreciate the irony of these people cleaning up the dung of the very animals they abused. Even if I don’t feel as strongly about it as my aunt does, the idea that these abused creatures finally get to roam in spacious habitats is comforting. Also, not that I was ever going to get a cat, but if I did, I wouldn’t declaw it, not
if it’s the equivalent of cutting a human finger at the knuckle.

Realizing that Hillary’s gotten to me, I reflect on how my aunt is good at influencing people, even without needing to resort to Guiding.

Hillary becomes more subdued the closer we get to our destination. As we wait to be let into the Palm Haven private community, she’s completely silent. I understand why. She’s never forgiven
her parents for disowning Margret, her older sister and my biological mom. I think part of her may even blame them for Margret’s murder, even though we know Kyle was really at fault. I have mixed feelings about meeting my grandparents, so I can’t even imagine what it’s like for Hillary.

“You don’t have to join me,” I say as the security guard Hillary must’ve Guided lets us through. “You can wait
in the car.”

“That’s insane,” she says, turning right at the first intersection. “You can’t just walk in and say, ‘Hi, I’m your grandson.’”

“Why not?” I glance at her. “That’s exactly what I’d do.”

“I know.” She parks the rental car next to a faded pink house with a large, dry palm tree next to it. “That’s why I’m doing all the talking.”

“Okay.” I slam the car door closed a little too strongly.

She walks up to the house and rings the doorbell.

No one answers for a while, so Hillary knocks on the door with her tiny fist.

The door opens.

A man stands there. He has a look of utter shock, but quickly hides it. Hillary must be the last person he expected to see on his doorstep.

Who is he? He looks too young to be Hillary’s father, let alone Margret’s, who would’ve been older than this
dude. He looks to be in his mid-thirties, at most. The only thing that makes me think this guy is older is his eyes. They look weary from life, like the eyes of some elderly people.

“George,” Hillary says, her voice like dry ice. “What are you doing here?”

“The same as you, I imagine,” the man—George—says.

“I doubt we’re here for the same reason,” my aunt says.

“Wait.” George frowns at her.
“You mean you didn’t hear?”

“About you being one of the Ambassadors? I did. Congratulations.”

He sighs. “No, about Ronald.”

“What about him?”

“You better come inside,” George says and opens the door wider.

As we enter, I get a sense of déjà vu. It’s as though I’ve walked into Gamma and PopPop’s house. My mom Sara’s parents also live in Florida, and their house has the same dated furniture,
is similarly dusty and unkempt, and has the same musty smell. There’s also a faint hint of garlic, not unlike Nana and Granpop’s house—Lucy’s parents. I’m glad those two live in Queens, as it would be beyond odd to have four sets of grandparents living in Florida.

Having three is strange enough.

George leads us into the kitchen, where an old woman is standing with a cup of tea. When she sees
Hillary, her eyes widen, and she shakily puts her cup down on the counter.

When she speaks, her voice sounds bitter. “Is this what it takes to get you to visit? One of us needs to suffer?”

“Nice to see you too, Anne,” Hillary says coolly. “Can you tell me what you and George are talking about? What’s wrong with Ronald?”

“You won’t call him Dad, even now?” Anne picks up her tea again, her withered
hands cradling the cup as if deriving comfort from it.

“
Mom
, what’s wrong with
Dad?
” Hillary asks, managing to make those usually warm words sound empty.

“Come, I’ll show you,” Anne says. “But leave your Unencumbered plaything in the kitchen. Seeing him will upset your father too much.”

Is she talking about me? “I am not—”

“He’s not Unencumbered,” Hillary says. “He’s actually a powerful Guide
that
Daddy
would approve of.”

Shaking her head in disbelief, my newfound grandmother walks out of the kitchen.

As we go deeper into the house, a new smell permeates the air, that of some kind of medicine. We enter a large master bedroom. In the middle is something that looks like a hospital bed, with an old man lying in it, his expression that of a scowl.

“You’re too early,” he says to Hillary,
his voice raspy. “I’m not dead yet.”

“Hello to you too, Dad,” Hillary says. “Can you tell me what happened to you?”

“You really don’t know?” Anne furrows her brow at her daughter. “You didn’t come here to gloat at your father’s pain?”

Hillary looks as if her mother slapped her.

“We came here because I need to meet with the Elders,” I say, getting aggravated.

Hillary puts a hand on my arm
and says, “We think his Reach is high enough to be considered—”

“He’s a potential?” Her father’s expression visibly softens. “Are you telling me you married someone who suits your station?”

“We’re not—”

“—going to discuss anything until I learn what happened to you,” Hillary says, this time squeezing my arm.

“What’s there to tell?” Ronald says bitterly. “I fell.”

“And broke his hip,” Anne
adds. “Don’t forget that part.”

“I see,” Hillary says, her small face unreadable. “How bad is it?”

“He had surgery,” George says, stepping closer to the bed. “After some physical therapy, he might be able to walk again.”

“Did you want to tell us anything else?” her father asks. “Besides this lad”—he glances at me—“being a potential?”

Hillary’s jaw tightens. “What do you want to hear, Dad?
That I found someone better than George?” She casts a derisive look at the man in question. “Yes, I have. I have a man, and I’m happy.”

She squeezes my arm again, but at this point, I know to keep my mouth shut.

“That’s good,” Ronald says, his eyes watering. “We always wanted—”

“—to make sure that I didn’t embarrass you,” Hillary says. “That I did my duty.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing,”
my grandmother says.

“I think we should let Ronald rest,” George says. “Let’s go back to the kitchen.”

“I’ll stay here with my husband,” Anne says, approaching the bed. “I’m sure George can help with this Elders business better than I can, since I would’ve had to call him for you anyway.”

“It was nice to see you,” Ronald says to Hillary. “I hoped I’d get the chance to before . . .” He swallows.

“I’m sorry you’re hurt,” Hillary says, her usually expressive face showing almost no emotion. Before they can say anything else, she follows George into the other room.

When we’re back in the kitchen, I phase into the Quiet. Then I make my way back to the bedroom and take a closer look at my new set of biological grandparents. I see the familial resemblance. I share Ronald’s blue eyes, and Hillary
and I have the shape of his nose in common. And Anne’s cheekbones are very much like those of my aunt’s.

I don’t know how to feel about these people. They disowned my mother and, being Traditionalists, they’d probably find my hybrid self to be some kind of an abomination. I should be angry with them, but for some reason, I’m not. I feel a sense of regret, mixed with sadness. These people managed
to alienate their only remaining daughter with their stupid prejudices. Still, in a weird way, I owe my existence to them. Had they not been such assholes to my biological mom, she wouldn’t have rebelled and married a Reader to possibly spite these very people.

If I ever see my shrink Liz again, she’ll want to talk about this.

Having had enough of staring at my grandparents, I decide to snoop
around and find a family album in the second drawer of the ancient oak dresser.

Jackpot.

Leafing through it, I see pictures of Margret. She was a beautiful young woman, though she looks sad in many of these photos. Younger pictures of George, the guy who opened the door, show up throughout the album as well. Is he a relative? But there was a hint that he had been Hillary’s suitor or something.
Weird.

Time to learn more about that, I decide, and return to the kitchen.

I approach my frozen aunt, who looks as emotionless as before. We need to have a private conversation, so I touch her forehead.

“Darren,” Hillary’s animated double says. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to pull me in.”

“And how did I do, compared to your expectations?”

“You exceeded them all with your
patience.”

“Right, okay. Can you tell me who the hell he is?” I point at George, making sure I don’t accidentally touch the man.

“He’s your great-grandmother’s cousin’s grandson.” As she talks, Hillary walks to the stairs in the middle of the house.

“Wait a minute.” I follow her up the stairs. “If he’s a relative, why did your parents want you to marry him?”

“He’s a distant enough relative
where it wasn’t his blood that I had a problem with. I just didn’t care for him one iota.” She stops on the second floor and looks around.

I think about George. Height is the only trait we share. He’s a bit taller than me, probably six-one. With his brown eyes and hawkish nose, he could just as easily have been Bert’s relative. This reminds me of what Hillary said earlier about finding a man,
and I smile. Her parents probably thought she was talking about me.

“Would you like to see my old room?” Hillary asks, nodding her head toward the door on the right.

“Of course,” I say. “I’d love to.”

She gingerly opens the door and walks in, waiting for me to catch up.

“I didn’t peg you for a metal head,” I say, examining the Metallica posters plastered all over the walls.

“It was a phase,”
she says, looking around. Her eyes suddenly well up. “I’m sorry. This was a mistake. I think we should go back,” she says, but doesn’t move. I guess the dingy bed, the stuffed toys, and those posters are bringing back some unpleasant memories.

I feel like an intruder, so to lessen the discomfort, I ask, “What’s an Ambassador? And while you’re at it, what’s an Unencumbered? Also, why did you lie
about me?”

Hillary walks up to a desk and sits down in the rotating chair. Then she picks up an old hairbrush and absentmindedly says, “
Unencumbered
is a condescending term Guides came up with when referring to regular people. My circle of friends doesn’t use it. The insinuation is that people without powers are not encumbered by the weight of the decisions we, the mighty and chosen ones, have
to make. Baloney, if you ask me. The only good thing I can say about the term is that it’s better than something like ‘Powerless.’”

“Okay, and what does it mean for George to be an Ambassador?” I watch as she runs the brush through her hair.

“An Ambassador is a fancy term for people who do business for the Elders. There aren’t many of them, which is why you’ve never heard of them.” She opens
the desk drawer and takes out a photo album.

“How many are there?” I ask, watching her.

“I’m not sure. I doubt there’s very many, though I don’t know much about it. I only recently found out that George became one. I thought he’d grow up to be an Elder, not one of their lackeys, but given his temperament, it figures.” She leafs through the pages of the photo album, almost tentatively.

“His
temperament?” I walk deeper into the room and almost trip over a dusty teddy bear.

“The Elders are a very solipsistic bunch, and George always held strong opinions about the outside world and its people. The fact that he’s here visiting a sick older relative is very typical of him, but no Elder would deign to leave their secret hideout for anyone outside their little circle.” She stops on one
page and her expression hardens.

“Would they bother helping me then, if they’re so self-absorbed?” I inch closer to see the image she’s looking at.

“If they think there’s something in it for them, sure, but there’s only one way to find out what they’ll do.” She flips the page, preventing me from seeing whatever it was that upset her. “Let’s get George to arrange the meeting.”

“And we’re still
pretending to be a couple? I’m not sure how comfortable—”

“No. That lie was for my parents. If they learn the truth about you, they might each get an aneurism.” She keeps her finger inside the photo album to save her spot, lifts her eyes from it, and gives me a wink.

“And George is more open-minded?”

“I have no idea, but it doesn’t matter. It’s pointless to lie to him, and even more so to the
Elders. More than that, it can be dangerous. A lie is not a good way to start a relationship.” She reopens the album and moves to another page.

“But what if the truth is worse than the lie?”

She stops her leafing. “They have the resources to learn the truth anyway. I wouldn’t be surprised if somehow they, or one of their Ambassadors, already know about you. And besides, saying, ‘I’m a Guide
who doesn’t know his heritage,’ will simply pique their curiosity.”

“So I tell them everything?”

“You can omit a bunch of things—that’s not lying—but you should tell them who your mother is and about the Enlightened taking your friends and family, especially since that will likely motivate them to help you. Just don’t talk about your Reader father unless you absolutely have to, and don’t mention
it to George. If they don’t know about that, so much the better, but even if they do, why raise a sour topic voluntarily?”

“What about the Super Pusher? Do I tell them about her?”

“I don’t know,” Hillary says. “Do whatever allows you to best investigate who might be behind this. You can withhold the information at first, like an ace up your sleeve, but if the situation calls for it . . .”

She turns another page, and a pained look overtakes her.

“What is it?” I ask, unable to resist.

“It’s a picture of
her
,” Hillary says. “Come over here. It’s not fair for me to hide it from you.”