A Single Night Holding Eternity In Its Hands II

I have always been special, even for a hunter. That much was apparent almost immediately after I was born.

At first my parents, brothers, sisters, and all the family's Elders (grandparents, great-aunts, -uncles, etc) thought I was born with an extremely strong, highly abnormal sixth sense. Because whenever I was about to be left alone, especially when I was hungry, I would voice my unhappy opinion. Whether the move was not to be made for a while or not. Even if I was in a deep sleep. I could also tell when someone (yes, in my own family) didn't like me and was mean to me behind my back--and at such a young age!

My parents, Richard and Hannah Renard, were very proud of me. I had a bright future ahead as far as they could tell. Even the plethora of Elders actually still alive at that time--Granny Hamilton (the matriarch; my father's mother), Gramma Yanos (who was mentioned before; Hamilton's grandmother), Nana Poppy (Yanos' daughter and Hamilton's mother), Auntie Lockeley (Poppy's sister) and Uncle Joseph (her spouse), and Grandpappy Chester (Poppy's husband)--predicted a bright and industrious future for me. My two older brothers were fond of me, my three older sisters a mixture of overjoyed, apprehensive, and spiteful.

That changed to mournful, nervous, and gleeful when the revelation came.

They thought my sixth sense was superb. The falsity of that statement was revealed when they realized my sixth sense *sucked*. It was hardly even good enough when I was five to pass for a newborn's. Whenever something was going to fall on me, for example, it was almost as if my sixth sense was negated, because if I was walking, I would stop and *wait* for it to crack my head open, or so it seemed.

Nancy, my meanest and oldest sister, found all these moments hilarious. I swear she kept records.

Slowly the truth dawned on my parents and the Elders left at *that* time (I was three), Granny, Gramma, Nana, and Auntie. When it came to some*one* (Nancy, for example) trying to hurt me I dodged it long before it even started to happen. I'd move out of the way or behind an adult. She always thought this was odd, because she hardly ever got to finish *thinking* a cruel thought before I reacted to prevent it. Even when I was sleeping.

Then, one day, she was in an especially nasty mood (damn monthlys). I was six at the time. And sitting in the kitchen downstairs and across the house from her room. I looked up from my coloring to scowl, flush red, and scream, "THAT'S NOT NICE!!!"

That scared the shit out of her; she wondered what was going on, *sure* it couldn't *possibly* have been directed at her deserving self.

Jeneva, the middle sister, ambivalent towards me, was the first to realize the truth, although Sierra, her other half and the sweetest of my older sisters (as well as the youngest), was the first to voice it. "She's a Reader! She can read minds! That's how she knew! She *knew*!"

I didn't understand what they were talking about.

My entire family was in the room at that time, and it was as if time and space had frozen in their shock. All of them went wide-eyed and slowly turned to stare at me (except Gramma, who was too old and too blind to do any such thing). I, as the youngest and least adept in *everything*, just looked dumbfounded and confused.

Patrick, my older brother, was the first to speak again, trying to be cheerful. "At least she's not a Seer."

Jacob, my other brother, his twin, was the next to speak up after that, adding to his statement in aide. "Yeah. Seers usually just fuck things up. Readers are more useful; what they 'see' is real, and they *usually* don't go insane..."

Nowadays I don't appreciate his stress on the word "usually".

That night the Senior family members held a confrence. Not even the of-age Patrick, Jacob, and Nancy could attend, much less Jeneva and Sierra, who are usually treated as such despite their younger ages. Nancy looked happy in that mean, sickly sort of way, Jeneva anxious and fidgety as usual. Sierra was holding me in her lap as Patrick and Jacob sat on either side of her, as if protecting her (and me, I hope) from the rest of the family. Even the six-year-old (which would be moi) could sense that something big was happening. I made no sound all night.

Everyone, even Nancy, had fallen asleep waiting for the meeting to come to an end, unable to interrupt, unwilling to wander off. Finally the door opened and out stepped my father, the Head of the Household and Second-in-Line for Head of the Family (after my *now* dead Granny Hamilton). He looked somber and serious, looks he wears even more forebodingly than anger, especially with his half-dead, hard blue-gray eyes. He also looked awfully pale.

"She will stay," he said clearly, his voice hardly above the volume of a whisper, but heard throughout the room crystal-clear. After those three simple words he turned and walked off.

We, meaning they not I and not the Eldests, just stood there, frozen, until the rest of them walked out, Granny Hamilton emerging first. My mother, Hannah, was fussing over her arms, the sleeves of her tunic rolled up and white bandage being rolled around them repeatedly. She looked slightly but not as pale as my father.

"The Rite Of Leadership..." Sierra whispered reverently. She stood up slowly, her petite frame sturdy as a rock even with me in her arms still.

Jacob and Patrick shot to their feet, almost ready to pass out. It was then that the others noticed the drops of blood indicating the path my father had taken; his split-open arms were not to be closed by any outside forces.

Gramma Yanos nodded faintly. "So mote it be," she murmured.

"Blessed Be," everyone else chorused, except me, my mom speaking the loudest of them all.

And no more was said on my existence...until somewhat recently. But to explain that I need first to explain my childhood.

Despite the end result of that day, the final verdict, my entire immediate family, mother and father included, outcasted me. Although it wasn't their fault. It wasn't even the once-matriarch's, my grandmother's. Our kind, Hunters, are *supposed* to outcast their own family from one another and from theirselves. True emotional attachment to parents, brothers, sisters, friends, even spouses and children, lead to reckless behavior on behalf of revenge or grief should some sort of accident occur. Our enemy is impartial, and so must we be. They hunt for food, we hunt for them.

We are supposed to grieve more for humans *we don't even know* that are killed by our enemy than we should grieve over our own flesh and blood. We are their *slaves*. Our lives mean *nothing* in comparison to theirs. We are *nothing* compared to them. They must *never* be harmed.

Maybe that's why we have yet to win the war.

*Bullshit* I say. That's all all of this is made of. -Bull-shit-.

But, then again, I am a freak of nature. Which is why I was sent away.

Although...I believe that Gramma and Nana secretly agreed with me. They were old enough and I was young enough, so mote it be.

Once my family got past the fact that my sixth sense was shit and I could read minds (well, as far past it as they ever got) they realized I wasn't any different from them. Of course I wasn't! It's not like I have two heads and pink hair, people! (Not that I ever said such things aloud. Your Elders are always right, and I had no one inferior to me by age, much less prowess.) I had the strength, and the speed, the senses, the sharp mind, and the ability to learn quickly and thoroughly, as well as improvise, which takes creativity, which a lot of hunters do in fact lack.

Nancy, for example. I swear I'm surprised she didn't kill me in my sleep. Probably wanted a vampire to get me. I'm sure all my near-death experiences were the highlights of her life.

So I was trained, mostly by my older brothers, who I was very close to. Jeneva needed Sierra, Sierra was needed by Jeneva, mom and dad fit together quite nicely, Auntie Lockeley had her own daydreams and memories to keep her company, and Granny Hamilton was the Black Widow of the family, as well as the preying mantis, after whom Nancy must have been hoping to take after. Sure, Patrick and Jacob had one another, but a little sister did them good.

Gramma and Nana were getting old, afterall, Nana dying when I was around ten. Gramma taught me much of what she knew and could still remember, each bit of knowledge a priceless pearl, until she passed on when I was thirteen.

I was just as smart, and strong, and fast, and attentive as all of them. Along with that added advantage; I knew where all my family was at all times, when they might be ambushed, where the vampires were, how many were coming, what their plans were, etc.

My downfall was that damned sixth sense of mine--or rather the lack thereof.

My mind-reading powers was almost enough to make up for my negative sixth sense...*almost*. It didn't help that my oldest sister was a fucking psychopath! And that my grandmother encouraged her!! And that no one else was willing to do *shit* about it!!! Not once Gramma passed on...

Life isn't fair.

Plus, my heart was never really into the life I had been born to embrace and worship. Which is why I always seemed so much weaker; it was the mentality of the thing, and the fact that no one believed the true truth. I had always felt as if being a hunter was pointless and stupid--mostly because of our way of life. I couldn't help but question it and argue with my grandmother about the mechanics of it. Although I shouldn't have, I really shouldn't have, I did. Maybe if I had stayed silent...but then I wouldn't have been me, honest with myself and all the rest. I would be a disgrace to what Gramma Yanos once was and I hoped to become. Then I wouldn't have met the most amazing woman in the world and changed the lives of so many for the better.

...Oops, getting ahead of myself there!

As I was saying...

On my sixteenth birthday, my coming of age year, I was given a test as countless others have before me. A test on my weakest skill--for a fighter is only as good as that at which they are worst. So, of course, mine was my sixth sense. If the test was failed I would be exiled (which is better than the old days, where the offender was killed--it happened less often back then). But no matter how much I practiced this *vital* skill was simply missing from my genetic makeup.

As I was getting ready to leave, Granny Hamilton *had* to say something. Even though she was no longer the one in charge, she always *had* to act like a fucking matriarch. She gathered the entire family into the living room (Auntie Lockeley had finally passed on a couple of years before; quite happily, I could tell; finally able to love her husband as was *natural* and *right* and *beautiful*) and stood before them.

Her eyes were cold as she regarded me.

"I knew we should not have kept you here," she said evenly, as if she was not speaking of her own *granddaughter*, for Hell's Sake! "But your father was thinking so-called 'practically'--saying that you should be given a chance, that all fighters are needed, that every drop of family blood is essential, that your gift was worth something, and so on--and his time for leadership was at hand. I could do nothing about it, though I tried. I always I knew as only a woman can know."

That was the first I had heard of any of this bullcrap.

"You are unnatural, child dear." (See how she slips in the false endearment?!) "You are unnatural, too weak, and too dangerous. You would have us all killed for your love for others. But you will not be able to hide as a human forever. Humans are too fragile and too cruel for the likes of you. You will hurt them and they will kill you. As we may not. And you will die. As you should."

She snarled, a moment of truth before a sweet calm washed over her, even more grotesque and cruel than the animal growl. At least the bared teeth weren't lying to me.

"You are an outcast. A half-breed. Never to fit in. -Never- -to- -be- -loved-."

No one was sad to see me off. Nancy was joyful and my parents relieved. Not even Patrick, or Jacob, or Sierra, really missed me. Despite how they had cared for me and helped me and defended me. It was harder for them to keep detached when it came to me, though, but in the end none of that mattered.

I was dust in the wind, a long-lost loved one hardly remembered...which was wrong. They shouldn't have taken it so easily!

But that's just me talking crazy again.

Like a *human*.