"These six children were born as a result." Bill went on, sweeping out a hand to encompass the six teens. "And no, it is not romantic to be a child of an alien race. That's what they are—they are not native to this world." Ashe blinked at Director Jennings' words—there'd been other clinics and other kidnappings or killings. That had come as an unwelcome surprise.
Director Jennings' statement brought another spate of overlapping conversations—Ashe even heard a bit of profanity—before the Director restored calm.
"You're saying that my dad isn't my dad?" a girl asked tearfully.
No, your father is your father. You are a half-human, half-Elemaiyan child. Ashe, will you come up here, please?"
Ashe rose reluctantly and walked unsteadily toward Director Jennings, turning to face the crowd when he arrived. "Ashe is what you are," the Director stated. "With a few differences, I think. Ashe, tell them about your parents."
"My mother is a shapeshifter," Ashe began nervously, his blue eyes betraying a bit of concern over spilling his parents' secrets to humans. His first admission caused a ripple of murmurs throughout the room. "My father—my dad—is a vampire." The room exploded.
"That has to be a lie," a mother stood and pointed a finger at Ashe.
"No, ma'am, not a lie," Ashe shook his head, nearly quaking before the disbelieving crowd.
"Ashe is also a shapeshifter," Winkler, who'd leaned against the wall beside the television screen, straightened and came to stand beside Ashe. "Show them, Ashe, what you are." Ashe gulped anxiously before allowing his clothing to drop. Fluttering and hovering as the bat, his audience sat in stunned silence for seconds before riotous discussion began. People pointed at him and spoke in incredulous whispers to others. It made him uncomfortable. Once conversation died down a little, Ashe flapped toward Trace and Jason at the back of the room.
Now what? Ashe sent to Trace as he dipped and bobbed before the tall werewolf's face. Without a blink, Trace snatched Ashe's tiny bat from the air and tucked him onto the top of his shirt pocket. Thanks, Ashe said mentally, folding his wings and getting comfortable on Trace's shirt.
"No problem, kid," Trace said softly, grinning.
"We are moving you to a special, paranormal community in Oklahoma," Winkler informed the crowd while attempting to hide a smile. He'd witnessed Trace's quick grasp of Ashe's tiny bat. "It is inhabited by shapeshifters, vampires and werewolves."
* * *
"Just when I think my life can't get more messed up than it is," Philip grumbled as he climbed into a van with his mother.
"Director Jennings assures me it is safe," his mother hissed, climbing onto the back seat with her son.
"Why can't we ride with Luanne?" Philip muttered.
"For safety," the agent in the passenger seat turned and said. "It'll take four hours or more to get there. We'd prefer not to make any unscheduled stops on the way." He turned back in his seat, accepting no argument from Philip.
* * *
"Mom, this can't be happening," Luanne Jansen shook her head in confusion as she huddled in the back seat of a van between her parents.
"Honey, don't worry about it," Linda Jansen soothed. "This is to throw those people off our trail. Director Jennings says we'll leave at the end of summer and go somewhere else—somewhere normal." The driver cleared his throat, causing Linda Jansen to fall silent.
"I think our driver is one of them," Luanne whispered.
"He is and can hear better than you ever will," the driver retorted, backing up to allow the lead van through. Luanne gripped her father's arm, suddenly terrified.
* * *
"That bat was so cool," sixteen-year-old Edward Pendley loaded into a van behind his father. "Dad, do you think I might be able to do that? I'm half, too."
"Son, I don't know," Steven Pendley replied distractedly. "Talk to that boy—he may know."
"I will," Edward declared and clicked the lap belt around him. "Do we still have to finish our lessons?"
"If you want to graduate, you do."
"Darn." Edward had always been homeschooled—his mother died shortly after he'd turned three and with pointed ears, his father had little hope that his son wouldn't be ridiculed at a public school. Using the insurance money from his wife's death, Steven Pendley had worked evening jobs and schooled his son at home. Now they both knew the source of what Edward's doctors had thought a slight deformity; Edward had inherited his pointed ears from another race.
* * *
"Mom, I want to go shopping," Elizabeth Frasier pouted, her arms crossed angrily over her chest. "I haven't gotten new clothes in forever." She'd watched enviously as they'd passed shopping center after shopping center on their way through Dallas the day before. Now they were leaving all of it behind.
"Lizzie, hush, this is hard enough for your mother as it is," Francis Frasier helped his daughter into a van. Mary Ellen Frasier attempted to control the shaking in her hands, but wasn't having much success. "Come on, hon, get in. We'll be all right," Francis did his best to calm his frightened wife. Elizabeth wasn't helping, whining about shopping when she should be worried for her safety. Francis sighed over the whole thing and climbed into the van after his wife and fifteen-year-old daughter.
* * *
Sixteen-year-old Keith Caldwell stared out the window as the van drove away from the huge mansion. A Denton, Texas, city limit sign blurred past as the vehicle drove northward toward Oklahoma. Keith thought of himself as practical and still had trouble believing what he'd been shown and told earlier. Another race? That had to be a trick of some sort. Leaning back in his seat, he convinced himself that he was part of an experiment—the government was testing the effects of stress on teens or something. That had to be it. His half-brother, Bryce, sat in the third row of seats in the van. Older by two years, Bryce had cast puzzled glances at Keith after they'd received the information earlier. Keith took one look at his parents' faces—Jeanine and Michael Caldwell appeared pale and worried. Leaning against the locked door of the van, Keith closed his eyes to sleep during the trip.
* * *
Macy Hill gripped both her parents' hands as they sat in the back of a van speeding toward Oklahoma. Of all six children, she'd been closest to capture—if the car full of drunken college students hadn't hit one of the men trying to take her, she'd be gone already. Her job at a pizza parlor in Athens, Georgia, kept her out late on weekends. One Saturday evening six months earlier, she'd been walking toward her car when the two had attempted to abduct her.