Masks We Hide

Kismet wasn't known for being the most positive of people. It was something of a fact for her as she'd gotten older. At eighteen, she already had a dark humor, and no hope it would get better. After getting in hot water with the press at a red-carpet event, Kismet's uncle, who the model had been living with since her mother passed away ten years ago, had sent her to the happy little town of Halvet to try and improve her temper. Kismet actually preferred the peace and quiet of Halvet, where no one knew the famous English model. But it wasn't making her any less fiery.

She pulled her silver umbrella from her purse, careful to click the button to open it. A person looked at her strangely. The sky was cloudy, but it didn't seem to be stormy weather.

Kismet ignored him.

Good that she had, as the moment Kismet had her umbrella safely overhead, it started to rain.

The rain was only a sprinkle now, but Kismet knew it would get worse as the night got on. She walked down main street of Halvet, her open-toed sandals giving her about three inches of height over the forming puddles.

People scurried from the rain as she strolled leisurely to her apartment, an old brick building that had been renovated in the years before. The previous owner had sold it cheap because his first wife had scratched up the wood floor. He didn't tell her, but he didn't need to.

Being a psychic, Kismet already knew.

"Kis!" Henry Balvon ran up to her, sheltering under her umbrella. "There you are." Kismet looked at him, slowly turning her head. She was often at the coffee shop that Henry's mother owned, so she knew him well. They'd become tentative friends, even though he was years younger than her.

"I didn't know you were looking for me." She responded. Henry smiled, not put off at all by the way she talked, her words short and always biting.

"At first, I wasn't, but I saw you, and had to say hi. It's only polite." He tipped his head, the strictly regulated schoolboy haircut turning dark by the rain. Kismet snorted, looking ahead once again.

Everyone in this town was so polite, it was almost upsetting. Sometimes, she wished these people had the ability to get mad. Next to her, she could feel Henry frowning, his thoughts reflecting his annoyance. "Are you good, Kis?"

"When am I ever?" She questioned. Henry's frown deepened.

"No, like are you really okay?"

"I just told you, Henry." Kismet deftly avoided a puddle and the question, as she walked up to her front door. "I'm fine."

Henry opened his mouth, about to object, but Kismet was already in the house, and had shut the door.

"This," Kismet's mother, Arah, said, holding up the ornate cup to the fluorescent light. It was a glass cup, but shining metal, either silver or platinum, had melded to it. Kismet stretched her stubby fingers up, but Arah lifted it out of reach. "This," she repeated, although with her accent it sounded like 'tis'. "Is very important to us. We must protect it. Do you understand, Kismet?"

A young, chubby-cheeked Kismet, her olive skin glowing in the same light as the cup, looked at her mother in wonder. "Yes, mama." She responded in awe. "I understand."

"Good." Arah smiled, kissing Kismet's baby-soft forehead. "That's very good." And Kismet knew it was good, because her mama's thoughts were glowing with happiness, even if Kismet didn't understand all the words that flooded through her mother's mind.

Kismet was psychic, just like her mama, but hadn't learned how to fully control it yet. Luckily, Arah knew enough to keep most of her thoughts concealed.