Daughter of Zeus ✔

1.2

As a teen, Ada had known to keep questions about her father to herself. If and when her mother was reminded of him, she cursed him.

"Motherfucker deserves to die."

Her mother thought Ada never heard the muttering, but of course she did.

What she lacked was the reason why. Why did he deserve to die? Her mother never divulged this. She leaned on her anger, only letting go of it later after meeting someone else.

Ada recognized the anger because it belonged to her now. And she had her reasons.

Theoretically, Ada could have driven from Tranquility Hospital to Atlanta. She had the information she needed, and she could have moved on. Something held her back, but nothing as blah as morals. No, her real problem was money.

Six months with a part-time job equaled stone-broke. Her empty pockets barely funded a trip to Tranquility. Atlanta would have to wait, unless she was willing to cross a few more lines, even further than putting a man in cardiac arrest.

Ada could have asked her family for the money, like a normal person, but she no longer cared to rationalize as a normal person. Asking for money would raise questions like:

What's it for?

Where are you going?

and

Why haven't you been eating lately?

Better to get the money her way. Her mother was already worried about her behavior. The rest of her various aunts and cousins followed her mother's example, pestering her with questions. Regardless, Ada had braved the nearness and manipulated them for information on Corentin.

It had taken her months of tedious conversations to extract the right names, but finally, she had found a lead in Corentin's old work-friend, Dorrie.

Suddenly, the automatic collision feature kicked in, and the car swerved to miss something darting across the street. Ada's body jerked with the car, and she nearly slammed into the windshield.

She brought the driver window down, fully intending to curse at the idiot, when a group of children ran by. They were in pursuit of the woman who had darted in front of the car. Now, she clutched her face, running in a zigzag pattern to avoid her captors. The woman's jaw line seemed deflated, hanging off her face like wax dripping from a candle. Probably an anti-aging gone wrong, or a demotion from Prominent to N.A.

As they were taught in school, the children were intent on berating the Undesirable citizen.

A Reversal.

Anyone who appeared out of the ordinary was to be mocked and subjugated. Perversion was shameful, and so it was discouraged.

Whimpers sounded from the victim the brats relentlessly tracked. Ada flashed back to her childhood Reversals and cringed. It wasn't until she'd gotten married that she'd found anything wrong with them. Her husband, August, had watched her laughing at a Reversal, only to question her on it.

Everyone does it, she had answered.

But does that make it right? he had asked.

She waited for the street to empty. Then, she pointed a finger outside of the window, releasing a zap of electricity. The bolt hit the pavement, sparking the children's shoes. They crumpled, grabbing their feet, crying out when the soles burned their hands.

Guilt nudged her, but mostly she worried about being reported.

One of the kids, a dark haired girl, stayed silent. Fat tears rolled down her chubby cheeks. Ada tossed a first aid kit out the window.