Jack Parker and Maya Park were two extremely different people. It wasn't that he was twenty-nine and she was twelve or that he was male and she was female or that he was white and she was Asian or anything physical that mattered—it was all in their Gift. When Jack had first walked into the motel, he'd felt a strange sort of chill and figured out, much later, that it was haunted. Maya felt no such thing. The whispers in the vents were nothing more than a gentle whoosh of stale air, and she did not and would never realize the motel was haunted. Not unless the apparitions chose to reveal themselves, but that was rare nowadays. What Jack had seen was the result of the haunting but still only in his mind; if he'd been naive enough to stick around longer, the ghosts might have chosen to do more than mess with his dreams. Regular humans, with their inability to cope with the paranormal, were too risky to play with; they tended to scream too loudly and call services that got places like these shut down. Messing with those certain Gifted, however, was entertaining.

And if those poor, powerful souls were driven mad to the point of death, then great! How fun!

The only thing about the motel that bothered Maya was the lady behind the desk, who hid her face behind a newspaper dated back to two weeks ago and smelled of dusty old furniture. "Single or double?" she rasped.

"Neither," Maya replied.

The Sunday Times lowered just enough so that a set of dull grey eyes could peek over the edge. "Are you looking for someone, sweetheart? Is someone you know staying here?"

Maya bit her lip; she had not thought this through enough. He'd been here, she could sense that much, but how could she ask about him when she had no idea what he looked like? And would this woman—her nametag said Nancy—even tell where he'd gone? There was probably some hospitality law or whatever that said she had to keep her lips sealed about patrons unless authorities came sniffing around, and this girl in a Mets cap was no authority.

"Nevermind," Maya mumbled, glancing down the hallway. Maybe a quick stroll through the building would strengthen the connection.

Nancy's eyes narrowed. Something malicious sparked behind them. "Are you alone, sweetheart?"

It was then that Maya left. She did not take an overnight bus to San Francisco just to have a leering woman call child protective services on her—or kidnap her. Judging by the creepy look and the non-endearing way Nancy had called her sweetheart, she couldn't possibly have a good track record with kids.

Maya stopped a few blocks away from the motel and settled down on the curb. Skipping breakfast this morning might not have been a good idea. Her stomach didn't growl, but she felt light-headed and close to throwing up. Her toes scrunched up in her snug shoes—they'd start aching soon if she didn't take them off.

She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs, letting out a sigh. Something had snapped; it was like a severed connection. She knew he'd been here, but she no longer knew what direction to head in to find him. East, West, North, South. She chanted the four cardinals, hoping for even a tiny bit of tug, but nothing happened.

If the connection is really cut, maybe I won't hear him again. That's good, isn't it?

Somehow, Maya knew it didn't work that way.

Nearby, a mother was tucking an infant into the carseat, petting the baby's head affectionately. Maya eyed them until the car drove away. Guilt lay heavy on her shoulders. Her parents must've thought she'd gotten kidnapped or something—knowing there was no reasonable way to explain her sudden departure, she hadn't left a note, and she regretted it now.

Is it worth it? she wondered, resting her chin on her knees. He could be an axe murderer, for all she knew; she could be on her way to being murdered, and she would be going there willingly. Was getting the screaming to stop worth going this far?

Exasperated, she blew a strand of hair away from her face and lowered the Mets cap so that the visor blocked the sun from her eyes. Of course it was worth it. How could she live a normal, healthy life when there was screaming inside her head? It had to stop. She would go mad if it didn't.

Besides—the connection would surely come back, all she had to do was wait until it did. Wherever he'd gone, he couldn't have gotten too far. He had to be closer than home...

So may as well.

______________________

Anna van Danne didn't think she'd ever had such a bad day. She seethed with frustration, scoffing and shaking her head at her own stupidity. Oregon, she thought. He's in fucking Oregon, and I came to fucking Maine. She had found out she was on the wrong side of the country only after the plane landed, when her phone signal re-established. Her father had attempted to send a text with his old flip phone, and what had managed to get through was a late, typo-filled message that, in a nutshell, said she was supposed to have gone to the other Portland.

The next available cross country flight wasn't until tonight. She doubted he would still be in Portland by the time she got there, not with a two-hour layover in Chicago that would delay her even more, but at least they would be somewhat close to each other, as long as he wasn't dumb enough to get on a plane himself. Anna and all of the Enhanced felt uncomfortable in a confined space thousands of feet in the air—oh, the things that could go wrong—a Gifted would never dare.

Anna was grateful she hadn't gone to some dead end town. At least she was somewhere nice enough that was worth a look around. She'd never been to Maine before but decided quickly that the tourists tropes were real: there was lobster paraphernalia everywhere. Lobster in food form, lobster in soap and sculpture form, lobsters on t-shirts and tank tops and baseball caps. Her stomach growled, and she was tempted to take a picture of all the merchandise and send it to her father (yes, I went to the wrong side of the country, but look at all the lobster!) but she didn't. There were more important things to be done.

Anna sucked in lungfuls of salty sea air as she walked down a stretch of boardwalk. A good Enhanced could sense nearby Gifted—it was like a low-functioning gps with small range, but still useful. Three years of inactivity had rendered Anna's ability dull and useless. A city of Portland's size should have some Gifted somewhere, but she had no way to find them.

Instead, she had to go the old fashioned way and rely on knowledge and hope. Mostly hope.

Every boardwalk in the country had a few psychics who claimed to see with more than eyes. Most were liars, plain and simple. Very few were Gifted and didn't know it, thinking they were simply intuitive. Even fewer knew exactly what they were and chose to milk their ability for business, either ignorant or oblivious to the grave danger it put them in. Oblivious, most likely. No one in their right mind would willingly ignore the existence of the monsters that hunted them.

Monique the Mystique had the prettiest sign—gold and red, Anna's two favorite colors—so that was the one she chose to check out first. It was degrading; even the young teens of the cult could do better than having to guess and check on a bunch of boardwalk psychics, hoping to find a Gift to devour. No wonder her father was worried about her image.

Monique was a young twenty-something with a dozen glittering scarves in her hair. At the corner of each eye was a star drawn with eyeliner; the left one was smudged and the right one was lopsided. There was a rope in her hand, and she gave it a little tug, making a set of dusty old curtains fall over the door, blocking them from outside view.

Anna tried not to look pleased. Perfect.

She sat down in the chair she was offered. Something sparkled in the air, though she couldn't tell if it was the incense or the faint glimmer of power that radiated off a Gifted when an Enhanced was close enough to pick up on it. Her stomach had stopped complaining; now her senses hungered for something other than food. It was an edge-of-your-seat sensation that actually felt good. Motivational.

"I'd like a palm reading, please," Anna said, holding out her hand.

Monique had been shuffling a deck of tarot cards, which was her special of the day. She nodded with a shrug, setting them off to the side, and cupped Anna's hand in both of hers.

Anna leaned forward, holding her breath, waiting for a spark, for a hint of power. A small part of her was afraid she'd completely lost it and would never be able to regain the strength or sense she'd once had...but there it was. Monique's Gift. She had one. It was weak, but it was there, and Anna couldn't believe how lucky she'd gotten on her first try.

She grinned—it was the same, satisfied smile that took over her face anytime she successfully shot a deer.

This isn't that different, she thought morbidly, from shooting a deer.

Monique gave her a pleasant, innocent smile. "You have very soft skin, miss. I'm jealous."

Anna laughed. "Thank you."

Then she grabbed Monique's arm with both hands, latching on tight, her fingernails sinking deep into the poor pyschic's flesh. Monique shrieked, but it was too late. Anna's eyes had already gone a gentle, glowing violet; she'd already reached deep inside and started sucking out the Gift.

"Sorry, honey," Anna cooed. Her heart picked up pace as the Gift flooded into her.

Monique didn't struggle—it was a little disappointing, because resistance was futile and meant there was no risk in a little bit of play, and Anna loved to taunt. The Gifted rarely put up a good fight—the second their Gift started being ripped away from them, they went into a sort of paralysis. Monique was no exception; she'd gone pale and rigid, mouth opening and closing like a fish's. Her eyes were filled to the brim with tears, confusion written all over her face. Poor girl.

Anna wondered if it was painful, being sucked dry of something entwined with your very being. It probably was, and it made her feel good. Those who inflict pain are the ones in power.

A warm, fuzzy feeling washed over her, and she laughed in delight. It was taking longer than it should, and she'd expected as much after not doing it for so long, and she couldn't imagine why giving up this lifestyle had ever seemed like a good idea. Her senses sharpened, her heart pounding with newfound energy. This Gift was barely anything compared to what Anna had devoured in the past, but for now, it would do. Her inner radar pulsed with faint energy—there must be another psychic on the boardwalk in need of draining. She'd get to that in a moment.

"Sweet dreams, honey," she said with a smile as the last of Monique the Mystique's Gift went coursing through her. She let go.

Monique slumped in her chair, chin sagging down to her chest, dead eyes closed.

Anna stared, feeling proud. The Enhanced didn't gain any cool powers or extreme telepathic abilities—that wasn't how devouring worked (even though there were some of them who were unnaturally strong, almost to the point of being Gifted themselves). They ate essence, thrived off it, and it sustained them, made them something less than Gifted but still more than human. Still impressive, still incredible.

There was a food chain, one not taught in classrooms, and the cult of the Enhanced was at the very top, simply doing what it had done for years and years: devouring the Gifted.

And it would never stop.

Anna had taken a match and lighter fluid out of her backpack, about to torch the corpse, when a strange scent filled the air. It wasn't the incense, which had already burned all the way through. She sniffed; wintergreen. And...smoke. Not cigarette smoke, but the smoke coming off of a recently doused campfire. A warm, homey kind of feel. She looked at her unlit match with a frown. Where was the smell coming from?

There was movement in front of her, and her head snapped up. Monique had just died, but her shoulders gave a little jump. Anna stared. That was...normal, wasn't it? Didn't dead bodies twitch and jerk around a bit before settling cold and stiff?

Monique's head rose.

Dead bodies certainly didn't do that.

Anna watched, horrified and fascinated, as the dead woman's eyes opened. They were entirely black, even the whites, and in her shock, Anna remembered the words to a story she'd been told when she was younger. The black eyes of death. No permission to enter, just hostile takeover.

The mouth stretched into a smile. It was the same smile from the recently living Monique, but now there was a malicious twist to it. "Hello, Anna."

It was Monique's voice but not. There was something deeper within it that resonated inside Anna, something she knew only Gifted and Enhanced would be able to distinguish. "Who are you?"

"My name is Mary Jane, though I believe you know me under something different."

Anna bit the inside of her cheek. If finding the match and lighter fluid hadn't taken so long, the corpse would be torched already, and she would be on her merry way. Now she was stuck in a conversation she wasn't interested in, but considering the circumstances, it was probably best to comply. "You're Death."

The face lit up—well, it lit up as much as it could, being dead and all. "I'm flattered, my dear. Not everyone knows who I am."

"I've heard stories." Anna crossed her arms over her chest, slowly, as to not look hostile. "I always thought they were true but never knew for sure."

"Well." Death cocked her head playfully. "Here I am."

"Here you are." Anna sniffed the air again; the scent of smoke had gotten stronger. "What do you want?"

"It's come to my attention that you're after Jack."

"And?"

Death shook her head slowly. "It's a bad idea."

"Of course it is," Anna said briskly, not in the mood to be called stupid or overconfident. "That's no reason not to try."

"You misunderstand." Death gently placed one hand over the other. "Jack in himself is difficult to catch, but I'm talking about my interests. I'd prefer for him not to die."

Anna took a minute to let that sink in. It didn't make sense, and she wasn't going to pretend like it did. "You know, one of the stories about you says you're the one who told us about him in the first place. We never would've known he was the most powerful Gifted in the world, let alone that one so high even existed, if it weren't for you."

Death simply tilted her head further, not calling it out as a lie.

So it's true, Anna thought smugly. "Why did you ever tell us about him?"

"Because the more danger he's in, the more tired he gets. The more sick of it he gets, the more likely he is to give in."

Anna felt an inexplicable chill go up her bare arms. "Give in to what?"

Death ignored that. "If you don't care about my interests, fine. At least heed my warning. There's a reason he's managed to survive so long, and I don't think your encounter will be as easy as you think."

"I'm not planning on it being easy." Anna met the entity's amused gaze with a cold, calm one. "Why don't you go back to kissing, bitch?"

The kiss of Death: worse than what the Enhanced did, something that reached deep, deep inside and destroyed the victims completely and way, way more painfully. If the stories were correct—and Anna was beginning to believe they all were—then devouring worked differently for Death; for one, it wasn't just the Gifted she could eat, it was anyone. No one knew why, no one knew what she was, Gifted or Enhanced or neither. The cult had simply accepted her as an ancient entity, something of myth.

Death sighed deeply. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

The blackness of the eyes simmered away, like retreating shadows. The head dropped again, and the gently folded hands relaxed and fell off the table. Death had left Monique's corpse.

Anna sat still for a moment, collecting herself. That ancient bitch could've killed her, but she hadn't. Good. Death must've never messed with the cult; if she had, the stories wouldn't be tall tales told around a campfire but facts drilled into the cult children as history. Stay away from the ancient entity, they would've said, but they hadn't, so all was well, and Anna could torch the body and have some food now.

____________________________

There was something following him, he was sure of it now. Jack stepped out of his car and stood staring down the road. Seeing nothing. Hearing nothing. Still knowing there was something following him, and it wasn't the same feeling he got when the cult or Death were nearby. This was different.

Did he want to know what it was?

Not really.

Would he find out against his will?

Most likely.