“I’m— I’m not— How—” Papa lost his words. He’d gone pale as a ghost, freckles standing out against his skin.

  “We’ve got maybe ten minutes before I’m inside or Carl’s out here,” I said, talking fast. “It’s okay, I’m not telling anyone, I’d be telling them about me.” He didn’t need to know about everyone who already knew my changeling status, the whole family of Chandlers with their knacks and nigglings. “But I can feel you, so I know, and it’s not fair that you don’t know that I know.”

  “You can . . . What? Feel me?” his words had come back, at least. I nodded.

  “I’m, my changeling transformation was physical rejuvenation but I’m also an empath.” And I realized that was literally true now. The surge of panic I was feeling wasn’t mine; I’d brought my own emotions but I’d prepared for this. I took a breath. Mom had prepared me for this, too, or tried to; I pictured settling those big heavy noise-canceling earphones over my ears, pushing the panic away, and it seemed to soften and fade. Was that me “covering my mental ears” as Mom put it, or just Papa calming down?

  “I can feel other changelings when I focus on them,” I explained. “And at Delia’s party— I was really listening hard for you, back there in the garden. Now— Now I can feel you up to a mile away.”

  And God, I felt for him and that was my feeling; when Grace had told me what she knew I’d freaked out just as badly at first. But I’d been glad she had, which was why I’d had to do this. I put my hand on his where it rested between us on the parking brake. “Nobody else will know,” I promised. “Not from me. Hadley Girl’s honor and all of that.”

  Some of his color had come back and I was almost tempted to remove my “earphones” to feel how he was handling it, but if they were really working I wanted them to stay that way. “I never heard of changelings being able to do that,” he said, and, fair, I hadn’t either.

  “I think that you might be able to, yourself, whatever else you can do. I could be a universal changeling knack?” If Mom and Carl were telling it straight about there being no difference between changelings and human-form People, and most of them could get at least something, then he probably could and he’d just never triggered it.

  “You’re a changeling,” he repeated the obvious and I nodded. If there was one thing I was doing right, it was this.

  “I used to look a lot older, my rejuvenation fixed my bad health but, well, it did this. The Seevers are . . . blood relatives.” Absolutely true, now. “They took me in, helped me become April. May, Mom, even talked me into school for these years while I regrow into being someone passably adult.”

  “You’re an adult?”

  I dropped my head back against the headrest. “God, not anymore. I can’t begin to tell you how different a teen brain and teen hormone levels are. All my calm is just, gone? My head is a weird, weird place.”

  “How old—”

  “Not gonna say. I just have more experience, is all. And can’t say I was thrilled to go back in school—the first time around it purely sucked. But worth it for the fixed body, right?”

  “You won’t tell me anything about who you were?”

  “Nope.” And sitting there in his car, I realized I was smiling; curiosity had at least pushed him past his freak-out. “First, none of your business. Second, I’m not that person anymore and I don’t want you to— Have you ever seen that optical illusion, Young Woman Old Woman?”

  “Young what?”

  I pulled out my cellphone and, texting a quick search, turned the screen to show him an image of the famous ink drawing. “There’s a young woman there, can you see her? This line’s her necklace, here’s her chin, she’s looking away from us. See it?”

  He took my cell and squinted at it. “. . . Yeah, I do.”

  “But look, she’s an old woman.” I pointed again. “That line’s her mouth, and that’s not her chin and jaw, that’s her nose and her chin’s down here. See?”

  “Woah.”

  “Yeah, freaky, right? The one you see is the one you’re looking for.” I took back my phone. “Sometimes I feel like her, but mostly I’m the girl, now. So just think of me as someone who’s real experienced for her age—less experienced than you’d think, though. Can’t say I led an exciting life. Mostly wasted it, really?”

  And that was as honest as I was willing to get, but it seemed to settle him. “So can I ask about you?”

  “What— Oh, yeah. I guess? I’m not—it’s not anything physical. I wish it was? It’s . . .” He took a deep breath and pulled out his wallet, one of those ultra-thins that was just a leather sheath for holding multiple cards and a few bills with your driver’s license displayed behind plastic. Looking over at me, he gave it a little toss, straight up. Where it stayed, floating. I sucked in a breath.

  “Woah . . . TK, right, telekinesis? I have so many questions. Does your family know?”

  He nodded. “Changeling fever’s kind of hard to miss, so yeah. Well, my parents anyway. It happened a couple of years ago, my baby sister was away at summer camp. She can’t keep a secret to save her life, Dad and Mom want to wait to tell her until she’s graduated.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Now, that I could understand; we hadn’t talked about it, but I’d be shocked if Mom and Carl were going to tell Steph anything about her family history until she was at least in middle school. But— “Oh, my God.”

  “What?” Papa asked.

  “Nothing. Or maybe everything?” I’d only been thinking about Papa, but thinking about secrets and disclosure, what was happening with me could help Grace, too. Mom had said she could help Grace to cover her ears as a telepath, same as she was helping me—if only she could tell her about herself and the Chandlers weren’t allowing disclosure. But what about me? Mom was teaching me, Grace knew I was a changeling, and if I mastered my gift then I could teach Grace without telling her about Mom. I could find texts on biofeedback techniques to explain it.

  And if I could get her permission to share her secret with Papa, I could give her one more person she’d know and could talk to about everything, even if his gifts were very, very different. I sighed, crossing mental fingers; I really, really wanted it to work out.

  “It’s just— I’ll tell you later, if it happens? Good things. But, are we good?”

  He groaned, running a hand over his face and through his hair, mussing its curls even more. “Yeah? I mean, wow, a lot to take in. I’ve been keeping it in for years, and— We’ll talk? I mean, yeah, we’ll talk. Right?”

  I laughed, feeling better seeing him as unsure as I was about the whole thing.

  “We’ll talk. And, thank you? For the rest of it. I had a fun night.” And it was true, I had.

  A funny look crossed his face and he chuckled. “It was all about this, though, wasn’t it? The date?”

  “Do you mind?” I hadn’t thought he would but—

  “Hey, no.” He grinned. “Most interesting date I’ve been on yet.”

  And maybe some of his lightness was leaking through my “earphones”, but I felt almost giddy. “Goodnight, Papa. I’ll see you Monday.” Leaning in without thinking, I dropped a light kiss on his cheek and then I was opening my door and out of the car. Scooting up the walk and steps, I made it to the door and, turning for one last look, ducked inside, shutting it behind me.

  And turned and screamed.

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

  “Fuck!” In the darkness of the foyer, Carl and Mom sat at the foot of the stairs and now I sagged against the door with all the adrenalin running through my veins. “What, are you waiting to pounce?”

  Carl snickered. “No, but this was a bonus.” Mom swatted him gently, mouth twitching.

  “I felt the spike of panic and jumped before I realized it wasn’t you. Then Carl was already right here so we decided to wait. But sweetheart, he’s the boy, isn’t he? The changeling you met at the party. And you told him you knew?”

  “I— He— We—” What, was I going to say No, he panicked because I jumped his bones right there in his car? I imagined lifting my earphones off but didn’t feel anything except my own residual pulse-hammering fright, so obviously I wasn’t hearing less loud emotions yet. They didn’t look angry, or even disappointed in me, but still— “What the fuck?”

  “Language, old man,” Carl chuckled, standing and tugging Mom up with him. “We’re not going to have to worry about him, are we?”

  I shook my head.

  “Then if he is the boy, and you told him about you, you did the right thing. And since I’m not going to have to see him for any other reason, I’m going to bed. You girls have fun.” He kissed Mom, pinching her butt and whispering in her ear, ignoring her swat as he went up the stairs.

  I'd shut my eyes much, much too late. “Oh, God, now I know how every child feels, are you going to—” And nothing, nothing, could ever compel me to finish that sentence.

  “You’ll want to put on your earphones if you need them,” Mom laughed and I groaned, pushing off from the door.

  “I felt Papa. In the car. The panic. Just for a moment and then I might have blocked it?”

  “Oh, honey.” She opened her arms as I walked right into them, arms at my sides. “I’d hoped you’d have a little more time. You think you were able to cover?” I nodded against her shoulder and she sighed. “That’s something, anyway. Get ready for bed and I’ll be up. We’ll see what you can do and what we need to work on this weekend.”

  I let her guide me up the stairs and kept going up to my room. I’d done everything I’d set out to do, and now I was losing power with every step. In my room, pulling my hair out of its tail I stripped off clothes and makeup and showered and did my skin care regimen and put on my nightshirt and shorts pretty much on autopilot, sitting at my vanity. A few minutes later she knocked on my door and let herself in.

  Taking up the hairbrush, she started her strokes, giving it a minute or two before saying anything.

  “Good news, sweetheart,” she sighed softly. “I just poked you a couple of times and you didn’t budge from your hairbrush purring.”

  “Purring?”

  “The sound your thoughts make when I’m brushing your hair. It’s almost as restful as listening to Steph when she’s content. I pushed some thoughts your way and you didn’t pick them up, so I’d say you’re not approaching full sensitivity yet.”

  “But I felt Papa.”

  “I did, too, and I wasn’t listening for him. The fight-or-flight response is one of the strongest, loudest, mental acts. Did you feel anything else?”

  Had I? My face heated and Mom stopped her brushing. “Oh, now you have to tell me.”

  “Can’t you just tell?” I tried.

  “We’ve discussed this, Grace told you this. It’s not mind-reading, it’s mind-feeling. Most of the time it tells me nothing more than watching your face or hearing your voice would, and it absolutely doesn’t tell me any more than you know since it’s your head. So, I know a thought embarrassed you. You don’t need to share if you don’t want to.” She went back to brushing while I thought about my thought.

  “I felt giddy, at the end,” I said finally. “I don’t think it was me?”

  “Hmm, no, that was you. But you might have been reacting to his thoughts still, focusing on someone can create a deeper resonance. Mind telling me what his last spike of surprise was about?”

  I covered my face and groaned. I’d surprised him, alright. “I kissed him. Because of the feelings.” Dozens of affectionate kisses I’d rained on the little goblin over the weeks, warming kisses Mom laid on me as a matter of routine, and it had been pure impulse with the way Papa had looked and what I felt and maybe my relief at how well he’d taken it? Why did I do that?

  The brush stopped and I felt her rest her head on my hair, and she was giggling. “Ah, well. That may have sent mixed signals.”

  “Gee, you think?”

  “I think the full debrief on your date can wait until tomorrow, sweetheart.” With a last couple of strokes and some playing with my ends, she put the brush down and pulled me up into another hug before kissing my forehead and pushing me at my bed. “Get a good night’s sleep, honey. And practice your mental earphones, just in case. I don’t think my husband is going to let me sleep any time soon.”