Soon the dish regressed to an empty state. Zack squeaked a finger across the pristine surface.
“Mia, what’s the term for the thing I just did?”
“I think that’s called zilching.”
The others studied Zack in wonder. More surprising than his table trick was the bright look on his face, his first smile in days.
“Zilching,” he said. “I like that.”
—
The rain went away that night and didn’t come back until the first of October. In the nine-day space between storms, the Silvers spent a lot of time thinking about temporis. They endeavored in their own unique ways to become better acquainted with their peculiar talents. Their results, like the weather, were a mix of scattered clouds and sunshine.
No one was surprised to see David blaze his way to the head of the class. Rarely a day went by without him demonstrating a mind-blowing new aspect of his weirdness. On Thursday, he created miniaturized ghosts of the group at dinner, displaying them on the table like a shoe-box diorama. On Sunday, he filled the backyard with constructs made of last night’s darkness. On Tuesday, he summoned five real-time projections of himself. They surrounded him like bodyguards, matching his every move and sound.
The next night, he premiered his greatest special effect yet.
“Bear with me,” he said, as the others watched from chairs and sofas. David stood by the fireplace, pressing his temples with squinting concentration. His friends chuckled at his comical intensity until the air around him rippled like pond water. Suddenly the boy was gone.
Five grins melted away to hanging gapes. Theo shook his head in bafflement. “What . . . ? How did you . . . ?”
A disembodied laugh rang from the front of the room. “Guess it worked then.”
“Yeah, you’re completely invisible! Can’t you tell?”
“No. I see myself just fine over here. I can’t see any of you though.”
Once Theo stood up and saw the oddly skewed perspective of the fireplace, he understood the trick. David had created a flat ghost image of an empty living room and cast it in front of him like a movie screen. Hannah poked her head through the illusive wall and now glimpsed David clear as day.
“Obviously the deception falls apart under scrutiny,” he admitted. “But in a pinch, it could get us out of a tight situation.”
The actress didn’t share his success in breaking new ground. After two hours of running in high-speed circles and one afternoon skimming Temporis in a Nutshell, she lost her urge for higher knowledge. She soon fell back into the joys of cooking and sibling harmony.
“I’m fine with what I already know,” she told her sister as they diced vegetables together. “I’m not in the mood to discover any new complications. I sure as hell don’t need another case of time lag.”
Amanda shared her reluctance. She spent one hour moving paint cans around the basement before she realized the futility of practicing her tempis. She had perfect control of it when she was calm. It was stress that made her dangerous. She enlisted Hannah to teach her some relaxation techniques. They spent an hour each day on theatrical breathing exercises.
Annoyed by the Givens’ denial-and-yoga approach to handling their powers, Zack found Hannah in the kitchen and placed an open book on her cutting board, a mid-chapter spread from Temporis in a Nutshell. Hannah balked at the gruesome photos of people with rotted limbs. One poor casualty was mummified from the neck up.
“Eww. God. That’s disgusting. Why are you showing me that?”
“They’re all victims of rifting,” Zack explained. “You and I work with loose temporal energy. We’re like microwave ovens without the door. If we’re not careful, we’ll make more victims like this. It might even happen to someone we like.”
“What do you want me to do, Zack? I tried practicing. All I have is an on/off switch and a gas pedal.”
“If you’re stuck, go talk to the sensei.”
Hannah grudgingly took his advice and told David about her impasse. He scrutinized her from the porch swing, stroking his chin in scholarly contemplation.
“It’s an interesting issue. I have a theory about this temporic field you create. I’d like to test it, with your permission.”
“That depends,” said Hannah. “What does it involve?”
“A swimsuit, if you’re modest.”
An hour later, she soaked in the claw-foot bathtub, feeling self-conscious and skeptical as David watched her from the edge of the sink.
“Okay. Shift.”
She turned the key in her mind. Time slowed down all around her. The water in the tub took on the sluggish consistency of a milkshake. When Hannah dragged her arm across the surface, the liquid near her skin still rippled normally.
“Wow. You were right. I can see the field. It’s barely . . .”
David was still lost in a hazy blue languor, unable to comprehend her. She de-shifted.
“You were right. I saw it. All the water within a half inch of me was moving normally.”