After the Golden Age (Golden Age 1)

“Everyone is so amazed by them, so awestruck. To be able to move so fast you can fly, to create fire from your bare hands, to knock down walls, to have the power of gods … but I grew up with it. It wasn’t special to me, it was just normal. It was Mom and Dad. I don’t see what everyone else sees. I wish I could, sometimes.” She looked at the ceiling, then scrubbed at her eyes to keep tears from starting. Stress. It was just stress.

“I’ll tell you something,” Arthur said. “Until a certain age, everyone thinks their parents are heroes. Then they grow up a little, start to understand a little more of the world, and they realize their parents are just people. It destroys them, just a little bit. But it’s part of becoming an adult. Everyone goes through it. You, on the other hand—your parents really are heroes, at least to everyone else. It’s a bit remarkable, really. You never went through that disappointment of finding out your parents are just people.”

Except they were just people—she saw the side of them that no one else did, the bickering over supper and cooking pasta at the stove. She was the only one who understood that they were just people—that was where her frustration lay.

Arthur smiled his impenetrable smile.

Celia answered it with a wry grin of her own. “Are you psychoanalyzing me again?”

“Would I do such a thing?” He turned on his heel and left the room.

Mom arrived to check on her. Dad wasn’t there. He’d already left. Celia didn’t ask why. Mom would say “work,” and then Celia would have to ask what kind of work—West Corp work or the other work—and she didn’t really want to know. Suzanne offered her a ride home and Celia accepted because her mother had driven herself—her own car, not the limo, which was awfully conspicuous. She didn’t want anyone noticing her right now.

Mark was waiting in the corridor that led to the courthouse’s back door. He was leaning on the wall, arms crossed, shoulders hunched sullenly.

Something’s happened, Celia thought.

Straightening, he moved to the middle of the corridor, blocking their path, and stared at her.

“Hi, Mark.”

He didn’t say anything. Just glared hard at her, like he could peel back skin and see what was underneath, or become a telepath through sheer willpower. Yeah, something had happened, all right

. And it was all centered on her.

“What’s wrong?” she said, unable to keep a neutral tone. Her muscles had clenched defensively.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was tight, like he was holding back anger, keeping his temper in check. Like she was.

Suzanne remained a step behind Celia, watching.

“Tell you what?” she said, with willful ignorance.

“What you said in there. About you and the Destructor.” Like he could barely say the words.

She stared at him. “What exactly was I supposed to say?”

“You should have told me.”

“Why? I don’t tell anyone. Before now I could count on my hands the number of people who knew about it. It was a long time ago.” Mark was just standing there, seething. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “You’re angry,” Celia said, trying to prompt a response.

“Of course I am! This is like finding out you’re … you’re—” Evidently, he couldn’t think what it was like. “I mean, you’re with the Destructor—”

“Was,” Celia pointed out. “Was with him. Briefly.”

“That isn’t some petty shoplifting rap on a juvenile record. I—” He glanced at Suzanne and closed his mouth. “I’ll call you later.”

He shouldered past them, keeping space between himself and Celia as he did.

“Mark!” She called after him, mostly as a matter of form, even though she knew he wasn’t going to turn around. He had principles and he liked to stand by them.

She sighed tiredly.

Her mother put a hand on her shoulder. “He’ll come around,” she said. “He’s had a shock, that’s all. He’ll understand after he’s cooled off.”

“Are you sure you want him to come to dinner?”

Smiling wryly, Suzanne hooked her arm around Celia’s and guided her out to the car.