Devour

Prologue-Errol

"For centuries psychics like myself have protected England from internal and external threats. Of course, other nations have utilized people like us----not usually as effectively. And while our abilities allow us to keep peace and save lives far more effectively than any technological means, that does not mean we are---harmless," I look down at my fingers as I usually do when speaking, but I force myself to lift my gaze to the young woman standing before me, holding her child protectively. The baby, a few days shy of his year birthday, suspiciously regards myself and the five policemen who are casually guarding the door and windows.

"I know, I've been to school. I took a whole course on you----all first responders have to," she says, looking down at her child with obvious affection. The baby has dark hair and amber eyes. It's the eyes that are odd. One his green in it along with gold. The other brown and gold.

"Because you aren't to approach even if we are injured, correct?" I ask, raising my eyebrows though she can't see them past my mirrored glasses. I take them off.

"Right. Because you might hurt us by accident. That why that happened to you? Third degree burns, how long until they treated it?" she asks, staring unashamedly at the obvious injuries to most of my right side.

"Three hours, before someone with any, any equipment at all was able to get to me---I was the only one of my party to survive and— a normal person approached, because I was screaming, begging them to help me. finally someone did," I say, feeling muscles tighten in my neck as I try to push away the memories of the searing pain.

"What did it?" she asks.

"I was doused in gasoline, set on fire, a protest against people like us, sort of backfired," I'm not at all ashamed to say those people didn't live very long after doing that to me.

She nods a little, looking back down at the baby. "Telekinesis was all they told us about but they said some of you could see thoughts. Are you one of them?"

"I have been able experience some telepathy, not much----few of us can," I say, shrugging a little. There are tales of a psychic who could slow time. But that was centuries ago. I don't tell her that. "It's the telekinesis that is dangerous---particularly because we can typically access it on instinct. You may have observed your son moving toys, or desired objects such as food—closer to himself."

"No," she lies. Her mind flashes to a memory of finding the baby clutching a teddy she locked up because it made noise. And he was sitting there in his crib shaking it. Later she had seen him happily lifting toy blocks in the air. And I notice all the knives are locked up. Not a sharp object to be seen in this kitchen. "In the studies I've read it said they're not that good if it's not inherited."

"Who is his father?" I ask.

"I don't know. But you people are pretty easy to spot," she says, looking directly at my eyes, which of course contain the typical flecks of gold. One of the easiest ways to tell. Other than the not at all subtle tattoo of a star on the middle of my throat. That was incredibly painful and took several hours because I kept breaking the machine in anticipation.

"Fair enough," I say, shrugging a little. I think she knows who the father is but I'm sub human why not tell me? Does this matter? Not particularly but I'm curious. I'm going to spend the next fifteen years with the child. I'd like to have something to tell him.

"What did the reports say? The blood tests---- they wouldn't give them to me. I asked after he was born," she says, stubbornly.

"Do you work at the hospital?" I kind of hope she's seen them.

"Yes, nights, that doesn't mean I got to get his records," she says, annoyed, understandably so. The police are annoyed as well that's distracting. They don't like my little speech. I do. I think it's important to explain to parents. "My mom watches him during the day."