Spectr 2, tome 2 : Dancer of Death

John dumped the dustpan into the kitchen trash and paused to survey the condo. There—the downstairs was picked up, dusted, and swept. He had to admit, one thing about riding a desk for the last few weeks meant far less dirt and blood tracked on the floors at the end of the day.

The dryer dinged. As he gathered the laundry into the hamper, the sound of the front door closing echoed through the condo. “How was the meeting?” he called as he carried the hamper back into the living room.

Caleb kicked off his shoes—a pair of ratty sneakers starting to come apart at the sole—beside the door. A tie-dyed shirt, thin from a thousand washings, clung to his slender frame. Long black hair hid his face for a moment as he leaned over to peel off his socks. “It was good,” he said. “Everyone was nice.”

“I didn’t know Nigel well when he worked for SPECTR, but he always seemed like a good guy,” John offered. “I’m glad it worked out for you. I guess you’ll be going back?”

“Yeah.” Caleb paused, chewing on his lip thoughtfully. “I felt like they understood me.” He shook his head. “Which is dumb, because they don’t understand anything. They can’t ever know about Gray, so I spent the whole time…not lying, but letting them assume it’s the ordinary discriminatory bullshit against paranormals.”

“But you have faced that,” John said, trying to be fair. “At least a little.”

Caleb had spent most of his life under the radar. Unregistered, his TK weak enough he could pass for normal. He’d never marched in a Paranormal Pride Parade, or been refused service in a bar because of the state-required listing of his paranormal ability on his ID.

Or been sent to “therapy” by his parents, which was supposed to somehow cure him of his ability, if he only prayed hard enough.

But that wasn’t a fair way to look at things, John reminded himself. Caleb had lived a paranoid life before registration, and Goddess knew he had plenty to deal with now.