Excerpt

Dad stopped speaking mid-sentence.

"Hi, Mr. Brown. I was just leaving," Christopher said.

Dad nodded.

Christopher climbed out the window, but he turned around at the last moment. "I almost forgot." He reached into his pocket and held out his fist. "You'll need this to open it." He dropped a small gold key in my hand and glanced down at the box before mouthing bye.

Dad walked over and shut the window. "Phyre, it's time."

"But I just got home."

He handed me a new phone to replace the one that broke in the accident. "If you need anything, call me. Grandma Betty said she'd drive you in Mom's car."

Grandma Betty? Grandma Betty. "No, she's not. I want to ride alone," I snapped.

His shoulders dropped. "Phyre, you don't need to be driving."

To be honest, I wasn't really sure I ever wanted to drive again. "If I have any problems, I'll pull over. But please, I want to be alone." I glanced around Octavia's room, at the succulent on her dresser, next to the oil pastels and charcoal pencils she would never use again. "It can't get any worse. Just let me drive." I paused. "Please."

He swallowed. "Fine."

Wow. No argument. I hadn't noticed earlier, but dark circles lined his eyes. Had he slept at all?

"Is that what I'm supposed to call her? Grandma Betty?" Even her name was weird.

He shook his head. "She prefers Gram." His brows drew in as he cleared his throat. "You have five minutes to see if there's anything we forgot to pack for you. Meet us in the living room." He glanced back before disappearing around the doorway.

I didn't need to check if they forgot to pack me anything. I didn't want anything. I was numb.

Octavia's death box loomed at my feet. Shiny trim lined the edges of the wooden box, and a gold lock dangled on the front. I didn't want to open it, but I also didn't want to leave it behind either, so I scooped it up in my arms.

Entering the living room, I held the box and wore my sister's ring, the only thing I had of hers.

Gram greeted me. "Hi, Phyre." She raised her hands and stood from the couch and came toward me.

Did she want a hug? I didn't move. Her arms wrapped around me, and I stiffened. She released her grip and stepped back. Gramps stood beside her, a foot taller than her but surprisingly fit for his age, with broad shoulders and good posture that made him look bigger. Something about the way he glanced in my direction gave me the feeling he was as unsure about me as I was about him. Who were these people?

"So … where am I driving to?" I asked, wanting to get this little introduction over with.

Instead of answering, the two of them sat on the other side of the sectional.

I rubbed my nose and sniffed. "Where's Mom?" I asked.

Dad and Gram glanced at each other.

"She's lying down. But she wanted me to tell you that she loves you." He paused. "We need to talk." He patted the spot next to him. I swallowed and sat, scooting to the outer edge of the couch cushion.

Gram and Gramps stared at me, with unblinking eyes. Dad averted his attention to the windows across from us, rubbing his hands back and forth on his pants, and bounced his knees. The anxiety seeping off him clung to me like sticky residue from surgical tape.

He rubbed the back of his neck and turned to face me better. "There's no easy way to say this. Have you ever wondered if you're different from other girls your age?"

I turned my head and squinted. "What do you mean by that?"

A bead of sweat ran down his temple. "I'm going about this all wrong," he muttered.

Gram leaned over and laid a hand on his knee. "Sweetheart, what your dad is trying to explain is that you're special because you come from a family who is special. Our DNA is different than others who live here on Earth."

I bit my lip. "What?"

"This isn't helping," Gramps said.

"She should've been told when she was younger like everyone else," Gram said. "She's not going to believe you now. Why would she?"

"Here," Gramps said, standing up and walking over to the fireplace. He picked up a small vase from the stone-lined mantle. "Watch my hand."

I replied, "O-o-kay?"

He held the vase in front of the mantle. His hand faded into nothingness. His arm was still there, but it ended at the wrist. Fingers and palm had vanished. It seemed like the vase floated freely.

My eyes widened. "That's … a neat trick."

"It's not a trick," he said.

I put my sister's box on the ground next to my feet and slowly made my way over to him, needing to see this for myself, to understand what had happened. Reaching toward the vase where his hand should be, my fingers brushed up against something that felt like skin. I yanked my hand back, as if I had just touched something hot.

Then his hand reappeared.

"How … how did you do that?" I stumbled back to my spot on the couch.

"I can't hold it very long," Gramps said.

Dad rubbed his forehead. "There's no easy way to say this, so I'm just going to say it …"

"Say what? Gramps is a magician?"

"You aren't human," Dad said.

I sighed heavily and rolled my eyes. "That's dumb. Why are you playing around like this? Now of all days." My patience evaporated.

"You're an alien," Gram said. "There, now she knows."