drilled her in accounting, negotiations, and business etiquette, right down to how to establish her dominance from the first handshake and how to take command of a room from the moment she walked in. She learned how to dress, how to walk, how to deal with a sexually aggressive boss or an asshole coworker. She was equipped to claw her way up the ladder.
She didn’t even want to set foot on the bottom rung.
On the day the girl became a woman, she looked at the witch and, in a vision, foresaw her future. In a voice warm with delight, she told the witch a horrible death awaited her.
The girl was a seer. That was her gift.
Determined to evade her fate, the witch set up an altar to her master, the devil, and prepared to sacrifice the girl. But as the girl had grown up, the woman had grown old. The girl took the knife and plunged it into the witch’s heart.
The devil himself took form.
He scrutinized the girl, as beautiful as her mother yet not heartless. No, this girl was steeped in anger; and with her gift, she would be a worthy instrument in his hand. So he showed her his wonders, promised her a place at his right hand, and commissioned her to find others like her, and teach them to do evil in the world. Around her, she gathered six other abandoned children—warped, abused, and special—and they were the Others. The Others used their powers to cut like a scythe through the countryside, bringing famine and fear, anguish and death.
Genny should have insisted on her right to pick her vocation. But her mother was gone, her father was all she had, and he seemed so sure he knew what was best for her . . . when she wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
So she applied to NYU, but told her father there was no way she was going to make the cut.
Her father told her he could still pull strings.
She was accepted.
Then the bills arrived. The bills for tuition, housing, and books.
Father couldn’t pay them.
But he negotiated a loan for her, one that guaranteed the money for her education—all the money for her education. All she had to do was sign this contract, one that made her promise to do the lender a simple favor sometime. . . . This time she looked at Father as if he were speaking Martian, but he said, “For shit’s sake, Genny, the Agency screwed me over. Did you think they don’t know that? They owe me. They owe me. ”
She stared at him, picked up the pen, crossed out the “favor,” figured an approximate amount her education would cost, added a fair interest, ordered herself to pay it back within five years of graduation, and signed the amended contract.
So through ages and eons, through low places and high, in the countryside and in the cities, through prophecies and revelations, the battle was joined between the Chosen and the Others, and that battle was fought for the hearts and souls of the Abandoned Ones.
That battle goes on today . . .
Genny wasn’t a complete dummy.
On that summer day six years later, when her life fell apart, that was her only comfort.
Chapter 3
“W ould you take my picture with Father?” Genny handed her camera to Chloe, her roommate for two years, and hurried back to her father’s side. He’d bought a new suit for her graduation, a really nice one, and with his gray-streaked hair and distinguished air, none of her friends knew Kevin Valente drove a UPS truck for a living.
Not that it mattered to Genny, but he’d forbidden her to tell them. He was ashamed of being blue collar. He would always be ashamed. She accepted that, dodged the questions, and right now didn’t worry about him. Because after six years of hell, four working for her pre-law degree and two in grad school, she’d finished NYU Business School Summa Cum Laude, landed a job at CFG, the preeminent brokerage account management firm . . . and her father was proud of her.
Several cameras flashed as they posed for the photo—she’d made friends here—and voices called, “We’ll forward the
She didn’t even want to set foot on the bottom rung.
On the day the girl became a woman, she looked at the witch and, in a vision, foresaw her future. In a voice warm with delight, she told the witch a horrible death awaited her.
The girl was a seer. That was her gift.
Determined to evade her fate, the witch set up an altar to her master, the devil, and prepared to sacrifice the girl. But as the girl had grown up, the woman had grown old. The girl took the knife and plunged it into the witch’s heart.
The devil himself took form.
He scrutinized the girl, as beautiful as her mother yet not heartless. No, this girl was steeped in anger; and with her gift, she would be a worthy instrument in his hand. So he showed her his wonders, promised her a place at his right hand, and commissioned her to find others like her, and teach them to do evil in the world. Around her, she gathered six other abandoned children—warped, abused, and special—and they were the Others. The Others used their powers to cut like a scythe through the countryside, bringing famine and fear, anguish and death.
Genny should have insisted on her right to pick her vocation. But her mother was gone, her father was all she had, and he seemed so sure he knew what was best for her . . . when she wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
So she applied to NYU, but told her father there was no way she was going to make the cut.
Her father told her he could still pull strings.
She was accepted.
Then the bills arrived. The bills for tuition, housing, and books.
Father couldn’t pay them.
But he negotiated a loan for her, one that guaranteed the money for her education—all the money for her education. All she had to do was sign this contract, one that made her promise to do the lender a simple favor sometime. . . . This time she looked at Father as if he were speaking Martian, but he said, “For shit’s sake, Genny, the Agency screwed me over. Did you think they don’t know that? They owe me. They owe me. ”
She stared at him, picked up the pen, crossed out the “favor,” figured an approximate amount her education would cost, added a fair interest, ordered herself to pay it back within five years of graduation, and signed the amended contract.
So through ages and eons, through low places and high, in the countryside and in the cities, through prophecies and revelations, the battle was joined between the Chosen and the Others, and that battle was fought for the hearts and souls of the Abandoned Ones.
That battle goes on today . . .
Genny wasn’t a complete dummy.
On that summer day six years later, when her life fell apart, that was her only comfort.
Chapter 3
“W ould you take my picture with Father?” Genny handed her camera to Chloe, her roommate for two years, and hurried back to her father’s side. He’d bought a new suit for her graduation, a really nice one, and with his gray-streaked hair and distinguished air, none of her friends knew Kevin Valente drove a UPS truck for a living.
Not that it mattered to Genny, but he’d forbidden her to tell them. He was ashamed of being blue collar. He would always be ashamed. She accepted that, dodged the questions, and right now didn’t worry about him. Because after six years of hell, four working for her pre-law degree and two in grad school, she’d finished NYU Business School Summa Cum Laude, landed a job at CFG, the preeminent brokerage account management firm . . . and her father was proud of her.
Several cameras flashed as they posed for the photo—she’d made friends here—and voices called, “We’ll forward the
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