by Margaret Iuni
As I walked into the kitchen, two people I had never seen before were having a cup of coffee. In my half-asleep, closed-eyed stupor, I stumbled right past them and darted to the already hot coffee pot. I poured myself a cup, took a sip, closed my eyes, and slowly turned around, finally processing just exactly what I’d so casually ignored before. Two men sat at the heads of my kitchen table, one dressed in formal business attire the other in pajama pants and a tee shirt. They stared at me for a moment, taking me in in all of my “just rolled out of bed” glory.
“Good morning, Ms. Keeton. We were just about wondering if you’d ever wake up,” the first said lightheartedly. I stood there, dressed in my “My Little Pony” pajamas, hot cup of coffee in hand, and sighed. I put the steaming mug down on the counter behind me and leaned up against it, now sure that this was going to be a longer morning than I originally had planned.
“Good morning, boys. What can I do for you?” I mumbled as I lifted my hand to my hair and ruffled it through. “I’m sure you’re not just here for the home-brewed coffee.” Each word I said was heavy, dripping with sarcasm and the dashed hopes of crawling back into bed for a few more minutes.
“How terrible of us not to introduce ourselves,” grinned the second, “I’m Uncle Target and this here fine gentleman is Uncle Sears.” Uncle Target had long salt and peppery hair and defined frown lines in his face. His hands were rough and calloused from years of experience in the field and his posture clearly indicated that he was in charge. Uncle Sears was much younger. I was going to have a hard time calling him “uncle.” Taking into account his windblown, short brown hair, youthful facial features, and height, I estimated Sears was about eighteen. Not to mention the fact that he looked as unaccustomed to being wide-awake this early as I was.
“Where is Uncle Costco?” I asked, thinking of the kindly man who I had grown to like over the past few weeks.
“Momentarily… delayed.” Sears said, looking a little too distressed.
Now, you are probably wondering why two grown men in my house, seated at my table, and drinking my coffee were not causing me any more concern. Not to mention the fact that they were claiming to be long lost relatives of mine. Well, for one, this was most definitely not the first time this had occurred. The whole “uncle” business had absolutely nothing to do with blood and a lot more to do with the fact I was living in a safe house. As for the running joke on department store names because of my own name, it was so not funny anymore. I had also found out about a week before that I’d be having “uncles” that day. I just didn’t realize it would be so early… or that they’d be strangers. I most certainly had not been aware one would be so attractive.
“Delayed. So he’s dead?” I sighed. That was the third agent I had been assigned that year and it was only April.
“But you already knew that, didn’t you, Macy?” said Uncle Target. “We’ve heard all about you. You know everything.” For the record, I never said I knew everything. In fact, I knew I didn’t. I just knew way more than I was supposed to about, well, a lot.
“If you actually read your files instead of skimming them, Uncle Target, you’d know that I don’t know everything. I only know slightly too much about certain things that certain governments wish I didn’t,” I said pointedly.
Here is about the time where some sort of explanation is probably called for. My mother is a psychic. As a kid, I was really good at guessing at what people were thinking, but I just always assumed that was the extent of my supernatural prowess. Last summer, though, when I talked to my mother about this weird dream I’d had about the assassination of some pretty important people by some other pretty important people and it all happened, we knew I was a little more extraordinary than originally believed. I was put into a safe house shortly after that for a number of reasons such as personal training, general observation, and safekeeping. Mostly, though, it was for knowing the truth.
Just then I heard the shrill ringing of my alarm clock on the third floor – the fifteen minute warning before I had to leave for school. “Look, boys, it’s been swell. Really. But that’s my warning I need to be almost out the door and I haven’t even had my coffee. My mother wouldn’t be pleased.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that. Uncle Sears is taking you to school today, Ms. Keeton. You’ll find he’s now a transfer student into your year. Perhaps it’s better if you just call him Sears. You have an excused lateness so you have all the time in the world. We need to talk. Sit,” Uncle Target hissed, nodding his head toward the vacant seat at the table. Uncle Target was most definitely a no-nonsense man.
I had a distinct feeling this meeting was not going to go my way. I plopped into the seat and looked at Uncle Target exasperatedly. “This had better not take too long. I have a Spanish test second period that I am not missing.” Sears cracked a crooked grin and looked as though he was about to say something, but Uncle Target cut him off.
“House rules are about to get a lot stricter, Macy Keeton. Costco was the third agent taken out of commission while watching you and some are starting to think this job is cursed. That you’re cursed. Your mother is working in the capitol for the next few months due to her specific set of… skills,” he said disgustedly. “Sears will be taking you to and from school and you will be with one of us at all times. Any and all psychic activity will be reported to me. Do you understand?” The condemnation in his voice was clear and I shuddered to think what living with him would be like the next few months. His aversion to my mother and me was evident due to the animosity seeping into every aspect of his speech. “Get used to it. Now go get ready for school, the two of you.”
“Call you later, sir!” Sears reported. He stretched as he stood up, showing off his full height for the first time. He was tall, about six foot one, and thin, but muscular. His superman pajama pants might have been embarrassing in any other situation but since I was wearing much more humiliating nighties, I couldn’t really be bothered to blush for him. I looked down at my own outfit and noticed that my shirt was caught on the top of my pants. I glared at the Applejack figure on my shirt and pulled the hem down. I hated mornings to begin with. Monday mornings were always the worst. For two uncles to show up now was definitely some sort of hellish torture only they would come up with. Sears walked over and grabbed a duffel bag that had been off to the side. As he threw it over his left shoulder he strode over to me.
“So, which room’s mine?” he smirked.
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