Super Natural: The New Super Humans, Book Three Read online

  Copyright © T.M. Franklin, 2019

  Published by Calava Press

  Portions previously published as The Talisman Chronicles (2016)

  The right of T.M. Franklin to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000

  This work is copyrighted. All rights are reserved. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover images by: ©NeoStock - www.neo-stock.com/

  ©mast3r – www.depositphotos.com

  ©konradbak– stock.adobe.com

  Cover design by: T.M. Franklin

  Visit the Author’s Web Site at

  www.TMFranklin.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Special Thanks To…

  About the Author

  Also by T.M. Franklin

  Dylan Kennedy stared into his empty tea cup as if he could find the answers to his many questions in the few scattered leaves sitting in the bottom. They were blurry—he'd gone on his sleepwalk without his glasses, unfortunately. He could feel the gaze of the others on him—Chloe and Miranda; Maia, who was aimlessly wiping the kitchen counter and acting like she wasn't listening to every word and waiting for his reaction.

  He realized he'd been silent for some time, but he couldn't be blamed for needing a few moments to take it all in. It was a lot.

  More than a lot. It was . . . ridiculous. Outlandish. Impossible.

  Finally, he took a deep breath and let it out, inadvertently blowing a few errant cookie crumbs across the table.

  “So, let me get this straight,” he said, eyes still focused on the bottom of the cup. “You're telling me some mysterious evil is being unleashed on the world and a group of . . . we . . . we're—”

  “The Order,” Miranda said quietly.

  “—supposed to use powers given to us by an old cedar chest to defeat it?” He looked up finally.

  “Technically,” Miranda said, “it’s more like a small steamer trunk—” Chloe elbowed her and she glared. “What? Just trying to be clear.”

  Dylan huffed. “Clear. Right.” He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “And my dad is somehow involved in all of this?”

  “Yeah,” Miranda replied. “He’s been helping us with the journal. And, you know, with the fighting . . . stuff . . .” Her voice drifted off at Dylan’s stunned expression.

  “Right,” he said flatly. “The fighting stuff.”

  “Look.” Chloe pushed her own cup out of the way and leaned forward on the table. “We're still finding our way ourselves. There are—not to sound overdramatic or cliché—forces at work here beyond our understanding.”

  “Yeah, that's not overdramatic at all,” Miranda muttered.

  Chloe rolled her eyes. “This fight dates back thousands of years—maybe longer,” she said. “You know, good versus evil, yin and yang, Chaos and—”

  “Order,” he said.

  “Right. Or in this case, The Order.”

  Dylan lowered his head to his hands, clenching his fingers briefly in his sleep-messy hair. “What am I doing here?”

  “It's okay,” Miranda said, reaching out tentatively, before snatching her hand back. “We know it's a lot to take in. You don't have to do anything right now. I can give you a ride home and you can get some sleep and—”

  “No.” He sat up straight.

  Miranda blinked. “What?”

  “I don't need sleep.” He stood up and stretched, rolling his shoulders a bit. “I need to see this chest.”

  “Oh.” Chloe sat there for a moment, stunned, then jumped to her feet. “Okay, yeah. The chest. Right. Come on.”

  He followed her out of the kitchen, and they went up the stairs in single file, Miranda and Maia taking up the rear. Chloe pulled down a folding ladder and glanced at him once in question before leading them up into the attic.

  She clicked on a bare bulb in the middle of the ceiling and Dylan blinked against the harsh light. It was an ordinary attic, from what he could see—a circular window gave him a glimpse of the darkness outside—the typical boxes and old furniture casted moving shadows by the swaying light bulb.

  He spotted the chest on the far side of the room almost immediately, and took a few steps toward it before he even realized what he was doing.

  “I've . . . I dreamed—”

  “Yeah,” Miranda said wryly. “We get that a lot.”

  Dylan still wasn't sure what he thought about all of it—Chloe's crazy story and the weird dreams leading him to that moment. He'd always been more of a scientific sort, examining all angles of a situation before making a decision based on evidence and proof.

  But he also believed there was more to the world than what science could explain. And this? This didn't make any scientific sense at all, but he couldn't discount the fact that he'd seen that chest before, even though he'd never actually seen it.

  With another deep breath, he crossed the room in quick steps and threw open the lid. A glint of metal in its depths drew his attention and he leaned in for a closer look.

  “Well?” Maia asked, and he realized the three of them flanked him, watching him closely.

  “You guys don't see it?”

  Chloe shrugged, her shoulder bumping his. “We can see the chest,” she said. “But it seems like the item inside only appears to the person it’s intended for.”

  He nodded slowly, absorbing that, then turned back to the metallic object.

  “Looks like a shield of some kind,” he said, categorizing the item. “Circular in shape. About two feet in diameter, made of silver metal with a gold kind of braid running along the edge. It looks old. Lots of scratches, couple dents.” He was absently aware of Miranda scribbling something in a notebook. He squinted at the embossed image in the center of the shield—interlocking spirals running up to the gold braid—then lowered the lid of the chest slightly so he could see the top.

  “The image carved on the chest is the same one on the shield,” he said, running a finger over it before shoving the lid back once again.

  “It's the symbol of The Order,” Miranda said.

  The girls were watching him wide-eyed and he reached out, hesitantly. “I guess I'll pick it up?”

  They looked at him blankly.

  “Right,” he said. “Picking it up. Here goes nothing . . .”

  Dylan leaned down and picked up the shield, the scarred metal somehow warm to his fingertips. He flipped it over to find two worn leather straps, and without hesitation, slid his left arm into the loops.

  He couldn't tell what happened first, Maia's gasp or the bright white light that filled the room, making him squint. The shield shimmered for a moment, the warmth seeping into his arm, an electric pulse working its way up into his chest, then out through his body, the glow enveloping him in a blinding flash.

  Then the shield just . . . vanished. The light di
sappeared, leaving a slight incandescence glimmering along his arm before it, too, faded.

  Dylan let out a shaky breath and realized his whole body was trembling.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  The girls exchanged a glance and winced.

  “Well, that's a good question,” Chloe replied. “Now we have to figure out what exactly your gift is, and then you have to figure out how to use it.”

  “Can I make a suggestion?” Maia asked, smothering a yawn. “It is the middle of the night, so maybe we should all get some sleep and work on that tomorrow. Maybe after class?”

  “Shit, yeah,” Dylan said, rubbing his eyes. “I have a Chem exam tomorrow. I almost forgot. And I'm leading a Physics tutorial.”

  “Chem and Physics?” Chloe asked.

  He shrugged. “Double major.”

  “Wow,” Miranda said. “And you have a job, too?”

  He smiled, preening a little at the awe in her eyes. “I'm a bit of an overachiever.” He winked, and she blushed.

  “Okay,” Maia said slowly. “Dylan, instead of running you home, why don’t you stay here? You can sleep on the couch. We’ll all get some sleep and deal with this tomorrow.”

  They climbed down the ladder and Chloe stopped to dig in a hall closet, pulling out an extra pillow and blanket. She handed them to Dylan. “There's another blanket on the couch, if you need it,” she said.

  “Thanks,” he said, taking the load from her. “Crap, I should text my parents so they don't freak out when they see I'm not there, but I don't have my phone.”

  “I have your dad's number,” Maia said. “You can text from my phone.” She went into her room to retrieve it.

  “You still live at home?” Chloe asked.

  “Yeah, I'm going to be in school a long time,” he replied with a laugh. “Gotta save my pennies where I can.”

  They headed downstairs and Dylan placed the blanket and pillow at the end of the couch. Maia gave him her phone and he smiled his thanks.

  “I guess I'll see you guys in the morning,” he said. “Not that I'm going to be able to sleep after all of this.” He lifted his own hand and flexed his fingers, wondering if it had all been a dream.

  “You're not the only one,” Miranda replied. “But we'll help you figure it out. You're not alone.”

  “Thanks.” Despite his confusion and anxiety, it helped to know that. At least a little.

  They left him in the living room and he typed and erased several texts to his dad before he finally sent a short and to the point message that hopefully would alleviate any worries and not raise too many questions. He stretched out on the couch and blinked up at the ceiling, wondering how his life had led to that particular moment. And how the world as he knew it had suddenly turned upside down.

  Despite the thoughts whirling around in his mind, exhaustion quickly claimed him, and he was asleep moments after his head hit the pillow.

  “Dylan.”

  A poke in the shoulder dragged him out of a sound sleep and he groaned, pulling the pillow over his head as he tried to ignore it.

  “Dylan. Wake up!”

  Whatever annoying person was determined to bother him ripped the blankets from over his legs and he shot up, blinking sleepily.

  “What. Is. It?” he growled at his tormentor. Tormentors, actually. Chloe and Miranda stood over him, fully dressed and looking fresh as daisies.

  Dylan hated daisies.

  “We've figured it out,” Miranda said, bouncing on her toes.

  “Figured what out?” He couldn't even figure out what was happening. Why wasn't he in his bed? Why were Chloe and Miran—

  In a rush, the night before flashed back to him and he held up his arm, half expecting it to be glowing.

  It wasn't.

  He sat up, scrubbing his hands over his face to muffle a yawn. Chloe and Miranda plopped down on either side of him.

  “See, with Wren, it was a watch,” Chloe said. “And she could freeze time.”

  Miranda nodded. “Then with Beck, it was a glove—”

  “—a little more abstract, but you know, a fist—” Chloe clenched her own.

  “—strength, you know. Kind of symbolic.”

  “And then for Maia, a cloak—”

  “—and it hides her, makes her invisible—”

  “—and any others she can wrap up in it,” Chloe pointed out, “metaphorically speaking.”

  “Okay, hang on . . .” Dylan stood up and stepped over the coffee table. “This is way too much to keep up with when I've been up all night and haven't had any coffee.”

  “In here!” Maia called from the kitchen.

  Chloe and Miranda both opened up their mouths to speak, but Dylan cut them off, pointing at them with both hands. “Wait,” he ordered, and they slammed their mouths shut in unison. “Coffee, then metaphors.”

  They nodded and got up to follow him into the kitchen. Maia, surprisingly calm, handed him a steaming cup while taking a sip from her own. He could feel the tension behind him, though, from Chloe and Miranda. It almost vibrated around him as they sat at the kitchen table. They watched him drink his coffee, and he fought back a smile, maybe enjoying their anxiety just a little bit.

  Hey, it had been a long night.

  “Oh, you've got to give them a break,” Maia said with a half-laugh, tucking a curling lock of flaming red hair behind her ear. “You're killing them!”

  “What about you?” he asked.

  “I'm exceedingly patient,” she said, taking another sip of coffee. “Plus, I already know what they're dying to tell you.” She got up and grabbed a plastic container of muffins from the counter, taking one for herself before placing the rest in the middle of the table. Dylan picked one up and took a huge bite, chewing and swallowing before gulping down the rest of his coffee. He held up the cup for a refill when Maia wiggled the pot, and ignored the others while she poured.

  Chloe and Miranda looked like they were going to kill him, but they split a muffin and waited.

  “So,” he said finally, “you think whatever's in the box indicates the type of gift you get.”

  Chloe let out a relieved breath, the words spurting forth. “Since you got a shield, it makes sense your gift is some kind of protective power.”

  Miranda nodded, twisting a strand of hair between her fingers. Dylan noted absently that it was bright red now, but underneath he could make out streaks of green. She must have changed it for Christmas. Miranda was always changing her hair.

  Not that he noticed.

  Okay, he noticed.

  “—stop bullets or—”

  He'd obviously missed something. “I'm sorry, what?”

  Miranda rolled her eyes. “I said maybe your shield can keep people from hitting you—or maybe even stop bullets or . . . fire.”

  “You think someone's actually going to set us on fire?”

  “You never know,” she said stubbornly.

  Dylan frowned. “It could be a lot of things, I guess.” He toyed with the handle of his cup, lost in thought.

  “What is it?” Maia asked.

  He shrugged. “It just seems kind of weird. I mean, why so many defensive gifts?” At their blank looks, he took another swig of coffee before continuing.

  “You have invisibility,” he said to Maia. “Wren with the time thing. Even you, Chloe, with the visions. And now me. A shield.” He spun his cup slowly in front of him. “If we're supposed to be in this big battle, why not something more useful, like—I don't know—energy bolts or—”

  “Telekinesis . . . or mind control,” Miranda said, nodding as she caught on. “More offensive weapons. Sure, we have Beck's strength and speed, but really, that's about it.”

  “Is there anything in the journal about that?” Chloe asked.

  “I'm still working with Dylan's dad to translate the earlier parts,” Maia replied. “But from what we've read so far, we do know that the gifts given are proportionate to the threat.”

  “It'd be nice for it to
be weighted a little more heavily on the side of the good guys,” Dylan muttered.

  Miranda snorted. “Seriously. But it's all that Yin/Yang, balance of good and evil stuff, you know?”

  “So you're saying we have what we'll need,” Dylan said. “We just have to figure out how to use it?”

  Maia picked apart her muffin, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Maybe we have so many defensive gifts because we're not supposed to actually fight anyone.”

  Chloe nodded slowly. “The people causing all the trouble so far are being influenced, and it makes sense that the people in the clearing—the people from my vision—are, too. Maybe that's why. We're supposed to protect them—get them away from that influence?”

  “And we use these gifts to protect them,” Maia replied. “Not to hurt them.”

  Dylan crumpled up his napkin and got up to throw it away. “Well, that's all well and good, but we still have to figure out how. And even if we get them all away from the—what are we calling it anyway?” he asked Miranda.

  She shrugged. “Big black chaos smoke monster?”

  “That's a mouthful.”

  Miranda smirked. “The journal calls it all kinds of different names, but I think Chaos will suffice.”

  “Chaos. Right. So, once we break the connection, we still have to do something about him—It—whatever.” He swished a mouthful of coffee around for a moment, then swallowed.

  “And we still have the more immediate problem of—excuse me for being self-indulgent for one moment—not having any idea what my shield actually does.” He sat back down. “Any idea of how—”

  The doorbell drew all their attention and Miranda got up with a quiet groan. “I'll get that. Pour me some more?” She slid her cup across the table toward Maia. “I'm going to need it to get through my classes today.”