Even though Taryn Kerr wasn't particularly interested in genetics, she knew everything about the Twenty-Fourth pair of chromosomes. Humans had twenty-three. The magical DNA addition created a hybrid species, beings who didn't qualify as supernaturals but were gifted with an arsenal of extra abilities. In science class Taryn learned only thirty-percent of the current United States population was pure human...and that number would probably decrease by next year.

She fell into the larger percentage. Since her parents both had Twenty-Fourths, it was biologically impossible for her to be born without one. She'd seen her magic before so it was definitely there...hiding, beyond her reach. Taryn repeated this in the back of her mind while she sat on the doctor's examination table, leaning against the doctor office's back wall. Plenty of illnesses inhibited magic from developing properly. Whatever she had would be cured in less than a month. She expected the doctor to tell her this, and only this, when she got back from looking at the test results.

There was nothing else the doctor could tell her. The other option...it just didn't register. Taryn started taking some antibiotics after she went for initial testing, and while the medicine didn't seem to affect her, she had confidence it was working somehow. Soon she'd walk out of the office with a refill in her hand, and her issues would resolve themselves shortly after. She never doubted this in the two weeks since that appointment. Life-changing, social-status-destroying news like "the other option" wasn't on her radar.

Taryn glanced at the clock. She'd been waiting for almost a half hour but refused to complain. Complaining implied that she was impatient or nervous. She wasn't, because the results would not disappoint her.

Her mother Iris was in the chair to the left of the cold exam table, where Taryn sat hugging her arms around her body. Why was this office always so freaking cold?! She should have anticipated this, but she'd worn her usual tank top and shorts because of the sweltering June heat. "I'm going to wait in the hall," she said as she hopped off the table. "It was a few degrees warmer out there."

Code for – If that doctor doesn't come back soon, I'm tracking her down myself and you can't stop me. Fortunately her mother spoke fluent 'Taryn'. Iris gave her a small smile, a brief display of understanding that eases her daughter's anxiety. "She'll be back soon, honey. The vent is right under the table though, so why don't you sit here?" She patted a chair next to her that was closer to the door.

Stay calm. You're doing great. Don't worry. Taryn understood; her mother didn't need to say anything else. "It's okay, I'm good." At that point, she'd rather pace the room. But it wasn't nerves. That frozen exam table was very uncomfortable. "Like you said, the doctor will be back soon."

Subtly glancing at the clock, Iris lowered her eyes back down and tried to keep her tone casual. "So, where do you want to go for lunch after this?"

Taryn loved that her mother didn't ask about her feelings, or any topic remotely related to the reason they were in that doctor's office. "Well..." she began. "There's a cafe around the corner that makes an amazing caramel latte." She offered the suggestion almost as a joke – her mother thought fifteen was way too young to start a caffeine habit. She did give in once a while, though.

Iris tilted her head as she considered the idea. "I guess we could go. Those fancy things don't have real coffee in them anyway."

Taryn smiled, but the small victory didn't distract her from her surroundings. However, before she could stare at the clock some more, Doctor Sophia Beckman entered. The friendly sixty-year-old practitioner looked at Taryn apologetically and indicated the table. "I'm sorry that took so long," she began somberly. "Please have a seat."

Though she complied, Taryn set her eyes in a challenging stare, silently daring the doctor to say anything other than what she wanted to hear. "So...you just need to give me a refill, right?"

The doctor sighed as she pulled over a stool that had been near the exam table. "I did write a prescription for you. But first I'd like to do another TK test." Telekinesis was the most basic power, usually the first sign of magic in a Twenty-Fourth. How well they mastered it commonly indicated the caster's overall potential.

Taryn suppressed a groan. Her previous appointment involved an entire day of rigorous exercises that she almost hadn't been able to complete. The nurses' generic comforting words had been a form of utter humiliation. But still, she couldn't whine it about to the doctor. If she managed to pull this off, Beckman might tweak her diagnosis in Taryn's favor. "Fine," Taryn grumbled. She could be a good patient without showing enthusiasm for it.

Not affected by Taryn's attitude, Beckman ignored it and went over to a tall storage cabinet in the corner of the room. From one of the middle drawers she pulled out a toy model airplane made of flimsy cardboard. Taryn caught a glimpse of at least a dozen others in the draw before Beckman closed it. Last time she was there, Taryn had accidentally sent a plane flying into a shelf full of medical supplies. Nothing was broken, or even knocked over, and Beckman had simply tossed the remains in the trash. (Taryn did activate her power on several occasions throughout the day. It still ranked far below average for her age.)

Already focusing her energy, determined Taryn watched Beckman place the plane on the desk next to the cabinet. Another reason they used planes was because of the mental connection – real planes were supposed to fly. Imagining a model of one flying around the room didn't require much effort.

No instructions were necessary since she'd gone through this before. Letting out a few deep breaths, Taryn closed her eyes for a brief second to clear her head. Then she opened her eyes and concentrated so she was only aware of that plane. Doing what she'd been taught in her magic technique class at school, she held up her hand, her palm held outwards. All she wanted was for the plane to float up from the desk.

Thirty seconds passed. Then a minute. Aware that her mother and Beckman doubted she was capable of moving the plane at all, Taryn mentally pushed away their negativity. She thought of all the agony she'd gone through lately, the disappointment, teachers labeling her a magical failure. Instead of feeling sorry for herself, she slowly became angrier, her temper building until...

The plane shook. After almost five minutes, it finally shook. Test takers were usually given five minutes. She probably had about thirty seconds to use the momentum she'd gained. But she couldn't just get rid of all that anger, even if it was manufactured. Taryn visualized her emotions flowing out of her hand toward the plane. Regular Twenty-Fourths her age used the same technique, but in a more refined manner that didn't use up nearly as much concentration.

Now sputtering constantly, the plane didn't do any more than that for another ten seconds. Then...without warning...it shot up in the air, crashing into the ceiling with so much force that it flattened into a one-dimensional, indiscernible figure. Then, since Taryn had lost her telekinetic grip, the object sank slowly to the ground.

Without comment, Beckman immediately began writing down some notes on her clipboard. Meanwhile Taryn fumed, clutching the edge of the table until her knuckles turned white, disgusted with herself and her severely-lacking control. The plane went up, but not like she'd intended. And at her age she should have been able to move that plane in five seconds instead of five minutes. Iris looked liked she wanted to comfort her daughter somehow. But she kept quiet, waiting impatiently for the doctor to speak.

The doctor finally sighed, attaching her pen to the clipboard as she began to give her diagnosis. "Taryn...your Twenty-Fourth is extremely weak. The antibiotic we gave you after your last appointment didn't change anything, which further proves that the problem is genetic, not viral. A strict training regimen could eventually lead to some improvement, but...it won't be much more than what you've shown here today. I'm sorry."

Iris had paled, but to Taryn the information wasn't devastating. She'd been right all along – the gene was there. To her, that meant she could still hope. "How can you be sure?!" she insisted, keeping her indignant tone in check. "I've had at least one or two episodes of TK every month since first getting my magic. They can't stay that way forever. I've already managed to change direction, or adjust an object's speed while it was in the air." Once or twice.

"But whatever you did was always triggered," Iris added quietly. Embarrassed Taryn lowered her eyes. When a caster first gained their powers, emotions often "triggered" episodes of supernatural tantrums. The fallout from a bad one could resemble the aftermath of a self-contained earthquake. After a few months, they typically evened out. Taryn tried the hardest she could, but even though a year had passed, she still couldn't gain any kind of control. The frustration overwhelmed her, knocked her confidence down to nothing and gave her nightmares. It drove her to this doctor's appointment.

The doctor nodded at Iris, as if they both agreed that Taryn was in deep denial. Taryn was infuriated but Beckman didn't let her speak. "Taryn, I understand that this is extremely upsetting. Unfortunately I've seen many in your situation react the same way. They never accept their limitations until they've pushed themselves too far. However, I have prescribed a more potent medication for a little while just to see if it works. Patients have seen slight improvement after taking it."

"Thank you, Doctor," Iris said, putting the prescription note in her purse. "Now, do you think a training camp would do any good?

"Mom!" Taryn protested sharply, her heartbeat quickening the mortifying possibility. "Those camps are for underachievers, okay? Slackers who blow off their regular magic classes all year long. If I really apply myself, maybe get a tutor, I'm sure it would be the same as going to camp. Why would you ruin my reputation like that if it's not absolutely necessary?!"

Iris gave her daughter a warning glance. "Your sister went to a camp, and plans on going back again. Do you consider her an 'underachiever'? She never 'blew off' any of her magic classes."

"I meant other people besides her," Taryn mumbled. Her older sister Delia also struggled with her powers, but she was given a better diagnosis. And she didn't care about her social standing nearly as much as Taryn did about hers. A stubborn, opinionated future lawyer, Delia had the confidence to do what was best for her, even when classmates talked about her behind her back. While she recognized that going to a camp would lump her in with the loser crowd, she dealt with it because she believed it was the only way to "cure" her magic.

Taryn did not share her sister's independent spirit. She had to admit that a camp probably would be beneficial, but she didn't see it as her only chance for success. She would explore every other treatment out there before resorting to a training camp.

After clearing her throat, Beckman said, "I agree with your mother, Taryn. Tutors or learning centers are for Twenty-Fourths with less severe cases. It really would be in your best interest to sign up for a camp this summer. If you wait until next year, you risk further magical damage."

"Thank you," Iris said again. "We'll look into it. Are there any you recommend?" She went over to Beckman and took a notepad from the desk, ready to write down contact information.

Watching her mother and the doctor confer about her life, Taryn was hit with an onslaught of total helplessness. Listening to the doctor with rapt attention, her mother didn't even notice her daughter jump off the table. Taryn muttered a quick "I'll meet you outside" as she rushed out the door.

Taryn forgot about her promised latte. Sulking while she drove, her eyes glued to the road in front of her, she never even saw the cafe when they passed by on their way home. Just as well – stopping would have meant more time with her traitorous mother. Iris acted supportive before the diagnosis, but she immediately sided with the doctor over her daughter's objections. Sure, strengthening Taryn's powers was important, but...at the cost of her social life? This didn't need to be an "either/or" situation. She could save both.

They pulled up to their three-story house. The facade was entirely red brick, wrought-iron railings on the top two floors, a small turret on the left side of the attic. Taryn's friends affectionately called it a mansion. It blended with all of the other mansions in her neighborhood, a gated community with beautiful landscaping and a pool in every backyard. Both of her parents were inventors and entrepreneurs. Iris and Allen created companies, built them up, then sold them for a lucrative profit. They often adjusted their ventures to include the latest technological or magical advances.

None of it compared to supernatural wealth. Money was secondary currency, only for those who weren't born with the alternative. For instance: older Twenty-Fourths were able to vanish from one place and reappear at another, so they gave up their cars as soon as they got their transport licenses at sixteen. Taryn had to drive to the doctor's office because her mother didn't even remember how to turn on an ignition. The car was even hers – a restored classic Cadillac she picked out herself three years ago, right around the time she aced her permit test. Everyone she knew got their licenses at thirteen.

She heard that some states still had the age set for sixteen, but those who had a majority of Twenty-Fourths were beginning to accommodate transport licenses. Both car enthusiasts and the industry itself argued that driving would become irrelevant unless the age was pushed back. Why would kids bother learning if they could transport? Roads were much safer anyway. Only a fraction of the population drove, and accidents couldn't even occur most of the time since vehicles had magical safety features.

With her sixteenth birthday less than a month away, Taryn had already outgrown the car she used to show off. Almost all of her classmates had their transport licenses...and she couldn't be more jealous. As she stepped out onto the driveway, closing the door gently so she didn't make any noise, Taryn glared at her mother. "Don't forget to put it on Invisible."

"Taryn, people are going to see it eventually." Shaking her head, Iris pointed the remote at the Cadillac and said, "Pallium." The car let out a beep that made Taryn wince, then slowly faded until it disappeared. Spells were usually tailored to both the caster and the intended outcome. Since this was a purely functional, used to activate a feature that was already attached to the car, it acted as more of a password than a spell. Most electronics and appliances around their house had the same feature. No matter how much she tried in the past, though, Taryn had never been able to get one to work.

Shoving open the large mahogany front door, Taryn composed herself as she made her way to the basement. She wanted nothing more than to crash in her room. While she would eventually calm down and figure out a plan, at the moment she could feel the tears in her eyes.

Still, Taryn marched to the basement and put on what had to be the worst fake smile she'd ever attempted. The door was open but she hesitated. Her parents almost never left the door open, whether one or both were there. "Dad?" she called.

"Down here, Rynie!" His personal nickname for her. Her dad was the only one who got away with such a ridiculous interpretation of 'Taryn'. "Tell me all about the doctor's appointment."

Good, he wanted to talk. Closing the door behind her, Taryn ran downstairs to the spacious, finished basement...then nearly had a head-on collision with a high-tech toy spaceship. "Dad!" she yelped, jumping back on the bottom step as the ship sailed around the room. It didn't look like Allen was making any effort to control it either, just flicking his wrist to switch direction every so often. Noting that the toy had been in her basement since she and Delia were kids (when her father unsuccessfully introduced them to sci-fi), she knew it wasn't an invention. He must have a massive case of inventor's block. "Something wrong?"

He was lying back in his comfortable, cushioned desk chair, wearing an old t-shirt and jeans. One hand was scratching the back of his head, ruffling his sandy-colored hair. Her mother's was more of a dark chestnut, so Taryn wound up with a pronounced mix of medium brown and light blonde. During the summer her natural highlights tended to be lighter, which she preferred because they contrasted more with her deep brown eyes.

Meanwhile her father's hazel eyes had been following the ship. At her question though, his attention was diverted and the ship crash-landed into a pile of paperwork. "Oh, it's this new spell app your mother and I designed," he replied. "I'm having trouble with the corporate end but the product itself is very cool. Other spell writers are extremely basic, so we used smart software to develop a more intuitive program. It was more for us really. Other programs were so awful, we couldn't believe companies expected us to use them. Some even had the nerve to charge money!"

Taryn laughed as she sank into the bean bag chair next to his desk. "Well, your new app sounds awesome. Everyone uses Spell Writer '13, but it's just a form you fill out. They all say the spells don't even work most of the time."

"Exactly!" Allen exclaimed. "And that solves part of my problem. I wasn't sure about marking. Maybe if I promote it as a trendy, advanced spell mixer, it will catch on almost like a game. Thanks, Rynie." Inspired, he wrote down some notes on a legal pad, then refocused on his daughter. "Now come on, enough about work. What did Dr. Beckman say?"

"Nothing good." Taryn's answer was purposely vague. She thought about this talk while driving home from the appointment. Her mom never changed her mind after forming a plan of action, no matter how quickly she'd settled on it. Sometimes Allen could make her see reason if the argument was strong enough. But even then her chances were slim – convincing him to back her up wouldn't be fun either. "Daddy..." she began quietly. "You and Mom looked at tutors for Delia before she decided on the camp. Would you say that tutors are just as good as camps, if not better? You were impressed with the tutors you saw..."

Allen frowned and narrowed his eyes, instantly suspicious that Taryn was selling him an angle. He didn't call her on it though. "We were," he admitted. "But it's different for everyone, honey. Yes, for some people, tutors are enough. I don't know what Dr. Beckman's diagnosis was, but if she recommended a camp...you'll have to go."

"Not necessarily," Taryn retorted. "We can get a second opinion. And maybe I can work with a tutor for a few months on a trial basis. It'll have to be the best one we can find. My guidance counselor said there are agencies that have contracts with highly-respected Twenty-Fourths, or I could be an apprentice to a witch, or..."

Shaking his head, Allen leaned forward in his chair and looked her directly in the eye. She hated herself for glancing away. "Taryn...just tell me."

Taryn stared at the floor, ordering herself not to cry. She couldn't break down yet. "It's...genetic," she said, doubt in her voice. She still didn't accept the diagnosis as fact. "Dr. Beckman said I'll never get any better than I am now. But Dad...she's wrong, she has to be wrong. This can't be it."

Allen's cynicism was immediately replaced by sympathy. Though his daughter put on a brave face, he caught on that she was scared and needed reassurance. "Of course she's wrong," he said confidently. "And we'll definitely get a second opinion. There are medications, tutors...however, I really believe a camp is the way to go for your situation. That is why Delia went, remember? She had a few sessions with tutors and went through a bottle of antibiotics, but in the end..."

"Wait, she did?!" Shocked Taryn always believed her sister skipped all other possibilities and chose to attend camp right away. Maybe she blocked out Delia's struggle to give herself some false hope. Now she had to answer the one question she wanted to avoid - if the alternatives didn't cure her sister, what chance did she have? What scared her even more was that Delia basically had the same Twenty-Fourth issues she did.

Allen wrinkled his brow, confused that she could forget something so major. "How can you not remember? It was a huge ordeal for her, caused a lot of upsetting drama. She tried everything she could, met with a tutor for at least six months and took over a dozen different antibiotics. Then she only went to camp because she failed the school's magic requirement."

Speechless Taryn could only sit there with a hand over her mouth. Suddenly she felt nauseous. Even though he'd recapped past events, it all sounded like a prediction of the future...her future.

To cheer up her daughter, and win some brownie points, Iris made an old favorite meal for dinner that night. Normally Taryn would have polished off her moussaka – a Greek dish consisting of eggplant and Bechamel sauce – without even pausing to drink her soda. In her frazzled state, though...eating anything turned her stomach again. After talking to her father, she'd lied down on her bed until her mother persuaded her to join the family at the kitchen table.

Delia watched her dejected sister move food around the plate. "It's not the end of the world," she said, her voice gentle and encouraging. "I'm a Counselor again this year, so we'll get to spend the summer together." Her curly dark blonde hair perfectly framed her narrow face, bright green eyes revealing compassion. This had to bring back some awful memories.

"Yeah, can't wait," Taryn muttered, sarcasm slipping into her words. She sighed at her parents' raised eyebrows. "I'm sorry. Actually going to the camp and hanging out with Delia all summer would be fun, but coming back to a wrecked social life? Not so much."

"I managed to recover," Delia pointed out. It was true – her circle of friends welcomed her back with open arms when she returned from camp. Making Counselor also earned her respect, and scholarships to choice law schools.

But Taryn's situation was different. She had an elevated status in her class, admired by everyone with very few enemies. As soon as word got around about camp...her esteem would fade away just like her Cadillac. People might not hate her, but they'd "lose" party invitations, and phase her out of clubs she'd been helping since freshman year. Guys might date her, but she could never be a long-term girlfriend. Everything she ever built would crumble. It didn't matter how much her personality sparkled – no one associated with destined losers.

Thankfully she didn't have to answer. "So Mom," Delia said, shifting attention off her sister for the moment. "Dr. Beckman recommended Silver Compass, right? I kind of guessed..." Silver Compass Recreational Training Facility was where Delia improved her own magic, then went back to be Counselor. The renowned organization had gorgeous surroundings and cabins that were practically hotels. Alumni were often very grateful. Even though their patrons needed a fortune behind them to pay the steep tuition, donations from former campers made up a decent chunk of the budget.

"Taryn would be going there anyway, but yes, she did bring up your camp," their mother replied. "Dr. Beckman suggested other camps too though, along with some tutors." From Iris' viewpoint the decision had already been made. Taryn knew from experience that whining would only discredit herself further. She'd still argue, but her best shot was to show drastic improvement before camp in a few weeks. Most tutors offered accelerated schedules for this very reason. They taught one student almost every waking moment, teaching both after school and for hours on each weekend day. Taryn didn't mind if it meant avoiding camp. Besides, her weekends would free up as classmates heard about her ineffective powers.

Sitting there in silence with her arms folded, not even bothering to look like she was still eating, Taryn got the impression that this discussion could easily continue without her. However the family rule said that members couldn't leave the table until dinner was over. "We're going to hire a tutor tomorrow, right?" she asked loudly, interrupting her mother and sister. "Camp doesn't start for another six weeks, and some tutors have literally worked miracles. It's possible that my magic could..."

"Maybe you'll benefit from tutoring, but you are going to camp," Iris insisted. Suddenly she noticed that her husband was unusually quiet. "Allen, honey?"

Allen sighed. Like his daughter he'd been in the background, listening to Iris and Delia talk. "I agree, Taryn probably will end up going to camp." He almost never argued with Iris, or even expressed a different opinion, in front of the kids. "But I also agree with Taryn that we should hire a tutor soon. Remember the dean we met with, from the local university? He was in charge of political science, too."

"Political science?!" Taryn exclaimed, her voice high-pitched with enthusiasm. Shes wanted to follow that career path since middle school, where she'd been class president. This year she was the first sophomore ever elected treasurer.

"I figured you would be able to learn about government from him too," Allen replied, happy that to see Taryn's face brighten. "Maybe he can give you a recommendation letter when you start applying to colleges. Most tutors do."

Taryn beamed at him. While he hadn't fought with Iris outright, he still used "probably" in a sentence about camp. It wasn't a sure thing yet. Iris must have sensed the dissonance too – she glared at the both of them. "To be clear, I don't have anything against a tutor." Her tone indicated otherwise. "I'm just worried about raising false hope. What happens if Taryn actually progresses?"

Insulted by the lacking confidence, Taryn almost objected but decided not to bother. Her mother's lecture mode was all-consuming.

"She'll be overconfident," Iris went on. "We will too. Then she'll try to convince us that she doesn't need camp. Speaking of Delia, remember some of the other students we met at camp orientation? They went through the same heartbreak in the end, because they relied on their tutors and failed magic class even with extra help. Tutors are mostly for those who can't concentrate, or have trouble with certain spell-casting. When the problem is more complex...they'll teach the best they can, but the student has to be capable of learning."

Taryn folded her arms. "So I'll suddenly be capable at this camp? What can they do that tutors can't?"

"It's the atmosphere," Delia supplied. "It relaxes you, takes you out of your regular environment. You'll be more receptive and ambitious." She paused, giving her sister a knowing grin. "Here's a hypothetical question. You have a six-hour session one day, but there's a party on the beach. You can't honestly tell me you'd choose to study."

Pouting, Taryn acknowledged her sister was right...to herself. "Technically that wasn't a question," she retorted. "And going back to school after camp would just undo everything. There would be intense pressure to reconstruct what's left of my social life."

"Which will be easier to do when classmates see that you have control of your powers," Delia argued. "And honestly, camp might ruin you now but it's inevitable either way. They'll realize what's going on if you don't have a Dance." She was referring to a Witch's Dance. Since magic achieved full maturity around the mid-teens, many girls formally announced their power boost with their version of a human's Sweet Sixteen. Official Dance season was late sophomore year to early junior year.

Taking in her sister's warning, Taryn opened her to eyes to the signs she'd been shutting out for months. Everyone was asking for her Dance date so they could put it on their calendar. Most of her friends already had their parties, or were at least in the planning stages. Her missing transport permit was an even bigger hint than the Dance. Putting her car on "Invisible" only fooled acquaintances from school and prevented rumors from spreading. Her close friends vocally wondered why she couldn't get her transport permit yet, leading to tension if they didn't let the subject drop. Even if she kept denying the truth...they wouldn't be duped for long.

Taryn had been looking down at her full plate. Finally lifting her head up, she found all three family members staring at her intensely. "I'll think about it," she said quietly. "But I want a tutor at least until then. The political science professor." Her parents nodded, and dinner was finished without anymore fighting about camp.

At school the next day, Taryn had a message in her locker. The holographic scene that filled most of the interior displayed her best friends. Lotti Eldrin and Ciara Wyatt waited for her in the back parking lot, leaning against a random car. Ciara concentrated on the spell as Lotti waved at Taryn.

The whole bit was a little insensitive. Taryn had called her friends the night before to tell them all about her doctor's appointment, seeking consolation. They'd been appropriately sympathetic and promised they wouldn't ditch her. Full-blooded witch Ciara loved to show off her advanced power, but Taryn had stupidly hoped that her so-called friend knew enough to be subtle. Not that Taryn was jealous. Sure she envied how easy magic came to Ciara, even Lottie, but it wasn't the main problem.

This projection spell represented the new division between them, a drastic imbalance of power Taryn might as well get a name tag that said "Missing Link." Before, she and Lottie often were perceived as Ciara's sidekicks, but the trio always considered themselves evenly matched and equally formidable. They'd been inseparable since dominating student council in middle school. Both girls managed Taryn's high school treasurer campaign, and she would help them run for council next year. Now though...now they were rubbing their magic in her face.

Maybe it was childish of her, but Taryn slammed her locker door the hardest she could. She hoped Ciara and Lotti could hear it.