A Trace of Something Stranger

1

TEMPEST

Pain explodes against my temple as it smacks into the cool glass of the window. I immediately wrinkle my nose, unimpressed by the bus driver’s ability to navigate the bumpy road, and less impressed with myself. If I had been paying attention, I would have noticed that the pavement before us had given way to dirt. But I got lost in my head, and now it hurts nearly as much as my stomach does.

The nausea has little to do with the driver pretending that the long, yellow vehicle we have been trapped in for more than three hours now is a bumper car, though. The obvious answer to my illness is the same as it always is: anxiety. At least that’s what my therapist would call it. My parents would have said it was intuition. My mom would have punctuated her thought with a mischievous wink. My dad would have ruffled my unruly hair.

The bus jerks again and my head whips towards the glass from the force of it. I dig my elbow into the vinyl covering below the window and grit my teeth, still bracing for impact. Thankfully, I’ve done enough to prevent any further threat of brain damage. For now.

Scowling, I look to my left where my friend Talia sits beside me. She snickers, then shakes her head.

I still can’t believe you decided to come to this thing. She crosses her legs and regards me up and down, as if something in my slouched appearance will reveal the secret reason for my eventual concession.

This thing is the Crescentwood High School’s annual field trip to Camp Kenwick. All seniors in good standing are eligible to attend, for two days of connecting with nature. Complete with outdoor activities, campfires, and communal living spaces in rundown wooden cabins. Or, what my classmates are most excited about: no parents, minimal chaperones, and an unlimited supply of marshmallows. It isn’t paradise, and it certainly isn’t Disney World, like where every neighboring high school goes for their senior trip at the end of the year. It is a step up from a half-day at the Baltimore Aquarium, though. Considering how little fundraising our class did last year, that was a very real possibility.

I’m likely the only member of the student body not looking forward to this excursion. My issue isn’t the threat of physical activity or camping. For me, the only problem is spending two full days pretending to be normal.

The prospect is daunting.

I’m not sure if I’ll ever feel normal again. Since my parents died, so many emotions have been muted to the point of nonexistence. Even now, I’m only half-listening to my classmates’ excited chatter about the latest high school gossip. I’m apparently the only one who doesn’t seem to care that Jenny is dating Sam, even though she went out with his best friend, Nick, last year.

There are times when I feel like this is just a funk, and I’m just one day away from being the girl I know I had to have once been. But most of the time, I feel like an alien. Or a half-witted skeleton in a very convincing skin suit.

Dissociation, my therapist called it. Or, depersonalization-derealization disorder. Brought on by acute emotional distress and grief. Check and check. It’s characterized by episodes of feeling detached from the world, as if watching a movie on the misadventures of my life, rather than living it myself.

At first, I was thrilled to get any sort of diagnosis. It felt so validating to have a real, scientific explanation for how unreal my life was starting to feel. A legitimate reason for being so estranged from everyone else. But the more I’ve learned about it over these last few years, the less accurate I feel it is. It’s not that I feel unattached, just displaced. I’m still connected to my thoughts, feelings, and experiences. My life doesn’t feel unreal by any means, I just don’t feel real living it.

I’m surprised your aunt even let you come on the trip, Tempe, Talia continues, knocking her braided Bantu buns against my head to regain my attention.

My lips twitch into a frown. Between my parents’ tragic accident and Aunt Laura spending so much of her time as a nurse in the emergency room, she’s absolutely terrified of me getting hurt. I understand, of course, even if I don’t always agree.

I may have implied that this was more of a camp, like camping, than day camp, I admit.

Talia’s eyes go wide. You lied?

No! I say quickly, then add, I just didn’t show her the brochure.

You’re going to be in so much trouble if she finds out.

I sigh. She’s probably right.

I just wanted to give Laura and Brian a night alone for once, I confess. They’ve been together for—what? Two years, now? I don’t think he’s ever spent the night.

I wouldn’t worry about that too much, Tempe, she says with gravity. "They’re nurses. That’s what on-call rooms are for. Haven’t you seen Grey’s Anatomy?"

I feel my face flush. "That is not what I meant."

I again set my attention out the bus’s large, smudged windows. There is nothing but miles of dark-green forest ahead of us. I always thought of New Jersey as industrial, but the northeast is surprisingly mountainous. It’s so different from Maryland’s mostly flat terrain.

My parents and I moved around a lot when I was young, but Maryland is as far north-east as I’ve ever been before. They were adjunct professors at several universities across the country, hence our nomadic lifestyle for the first decade of my life. I can’t help but wonder, and not for the first time, why we ended up planting roots in Crescentwood, of all places.

Despite my parents’ interest in academics, I still have no idea what I’m going to do with my life come next year. Talia has it all figured out already; she was just accepted to a university in Boston and is declaring a major in marketing. I can’t think about college just yet, not when getting through this year with my sanity intact feels like a behemoth of a task in itself.

When the bus pulls into the parking lot thirty minutes later, there are other students already lugging their bags towards the cabins. Even watching their nondescript backs disappear into the tree line, I can see there are more than a hundred kids—too many to be just from Crescentwood. I don’t know why it surprises me that there are other schools here for a field trip as well. We unload from the bus, ordered by Mrs. Terce to stay together until a camp counselor can give a welcome speech to our late party.

The bus shifts into reverse, kicking up plumes of dirt in its wake. My stomach twists again as it finally pulls away, but this time the feeling is closer to pain than discomfort.

The sun is setting by the time we return from the hike. The obstructed sun casts eerie shadows against the woods, and every time I catch a glimpse in my periphery, I nearly jump out of my skin. Settling into camp did little to lessen my senseless anxiety. I can feel myself starting to spiral in a way I know is indicative of a full-blown dissociative episode. I’m trying my best to keep it at bay until later, when I can work through it in the solitude of the night.

We jog across the soccer field, the ground now patchy and sparse from an early autumn frost, to a wood pavilion where one of the camp counselors waits for us.

Welcome back, campers! How’d you do? Remy calls out with a goofy grin.

Talia whoops in response. The two girls from the field hockey team (Jenny of the school scandal among them) and the guys they dragged along join in with hoots and cheers. The hike was more of a scavenger hunt than anything, and it put us all in a festive mood.

We’ve got a winner here, Remy! Talia exclaims. She simultaneously shoves me forward and jumps on top of me, squeezing my shoulders.

Oh yeah? You guys got everything on the list?

Talia proudly presents her phone to the counselor for comparison. The list contains twenty natural features or creatures that could be found on the trail. Each group was instructed to discover as many as they could, as fast as they could.

Our girl, Tempest, killed it. She found nearly everything by herself. There wasn’t a robin, chipmunk, or aspen that went undetected, she assures him.

I smile, a little embarrassed by the attention, but happy to see my friend so proud. Really, it isn’t nearly as impressive as Talia is making it seem. While the rest of the group was too busy chatting amongst themselves or horsing around, I watched. My senses felt sharp out in the woods, the fresh air doing me a lot of good. It even quelled my cramping stomach for a short time. Anyone could have spotted the robin perched on the aspen tree’s branch if they had been paying attention.

Remy flips through the images, oohing and aahing under his breath as he makes his examination. He seems truly thrilled with our discoveries even though he must be sick of seeing the same wildlife all the time.

Maybe I should become a camp counselor instead of going to college. I don’t know how long I could endure Remy as a coworker, but organizing scavenger hunts and hiking for a living doesn’t seem half bad.

So, we won right? Jenny asks. Her white sneakers, an ill-advised fashion statement, are somehow caked in mud despite how dry the path had been.

Oh, it’s not a competition, Remy informs us. Everyone who completes the scavenger hunt is a winner, and this is a mighty fine collection you’ve brought me! Let me get your prizes.

He leans down to the yellow wheelbarrow beside him and seeks out a couple bags of marshmallows. Talia’s face crumples.

That’s such crap! she argues. Did we come in first or not?

Remy frowns and presents her with the goodies as his only reply.

Second? she demands, undeterred. A box of graham crackers and a four-pack of Hershey chocolate bars follow.

Oh, come on! Just tell us, Jenny insists.

With a sigh, Remy finally concedes. You came in fifth.

Fifth! Talia shrieks.

I did not sweat off fourteen dollars’ worth of makeup for fifth place, Jenny’s friend agrees.

How is that possible? We practically had a bloodhound on our team. Talia shoves her thumb in my direction to make her point.

You were the first from your school, Remy says, seeming relieved to have good news to deliver us. You even beat out Hartfield High, but the Versi Academy kids flew through the challenge. Don’t feel bad about it, though. They’re here every year.

I forgot about the other schools since we hadn’t seen them after our late arrival. The mandatory safety brief before the hike had been isolated to the Crescentwood kids, and during the welcome speech, we were warned that since the dining hall could only occupy so many people at a time, this evening would be full of activities while the different groups rotated around the campus. Luckily for us, we get first dibs on dinner, so instead of waiting for the rest of our school to finish, we are welcome to head right to the dining hall. Jenny and her friends opt to freshen up in the cabins first, so Talia and I make the trek across the camp by ourselves.

Talia, still fuming from the ego blow of fifth place, tears into the bag of marshmallows as we walk.

Hey! Save them for tonight, I say. I try to snatch the bag from her hands, but she lunges away from me, taking the bag with her.

We just spent an hour in the woods getting eaten alive by bugs, I think we deserve a few marshmallows. She finally wrestles one from the bag and regards it appreciatively before popping it into her mouth.

I shake my head. I don’t actually care too much about spoiling my appetite for dinner, but we are quite actually in route to the dining hall. That, and I am still so nauseous, thanks to my nerves, that a mound of sugar might actually make me sick.

Thinking about my stomach ache seems to have willed it back with a vengeance. My abdomen cramps painfully, and I have to wonder if maybe it’s not anxiety this time. Maybe I’m actually coming down with something.

I’m starting to think this trip was a bad idea, I mutter, more to myself than to my friend. Despite my words, I don’t want her to realize how bad of a mood I’m in. I don’t have anyone to blame for signing up but myself. Talia may be my closest friend, but she has plenty of acquaintances she could have hung out with had I decided to stay home.

Thankfully, she’s oblivious to my turmoil and beams like she’s having the time of her life. It helps to quell the pain—at least a little.

Trust me, she says. I have a good feeling about it.

2

JET

High schoolers are idiots. I know because only a few months ago, I was one—though I like to think that I skipped the bumbling-idiocy phase of my life.

For the last thirty minutes, I’ve been watching a horde of kids head-butt a volleyball over the net, try to spin the ball on their noses, or stick it up their shirts and wail as if they are going into labor with baby Wilson. Brody, at my side, is snickering at their antics, but I’m hardly amused.

Brody notices my expression and nudges me with his shoulder. Lighten up, Jet.

I don’t bother looking back at him. I’ve been counting the number of Versi Academy students every five minutes to ensure that there are still thirty-six of them. I just finished my count a minute ago, too soon to start again, so now I watch the crowd with rapt focus.

I’m working, I tell him. He rolls his eyes.

You realize we’re not actually protectors yet. We’re basically interns.

We’re cadets, I argue.

The official co-op program starts in college, while pursuing a degree in law & protection at Versi University. There is a high school extracurricular program too, available to seniors who think they may be interested in pursuing the profession. That’s how I’ve gotten so much exposure to protecting already, though I’ve only been a cadet since college started in August.

Yeah, exactly. I asked you to come because this is supposed to be fun.

I am having fun, I say in absolute deadpan. I’m not actually, but I’m not downright miserable either, so it doesn’t feel like too egregious of a lie.

Brody is wrong, though. We are here to represent the League of Protectors as chaperones. Sure, this assignment is as low stakes as they come, hence why they allowed a few cadets to take on the responsibility. But it’s standard, on an excursion like this, to have some sort of protector presence.

The campus where we all live and go to school is heavily warded to keep anyone unwelcome out, but that means that students are typically kept in, too. Since no one wants to feel trapped, these supervised trips give students a taste of life outside the Versi borders. But anything can go wrong in the human world. Especially now, in the age of social media, when the only thing standing between a teenager and the rest of the world is a photo posted on the internet. It’s the League of Protectors’ job to ensure that our students are safe and our society stays hidden from curious human eyes. We can’t afford to make a single mistake.

Brody is meant to be leading the trip since he’s in his second year of the co-op program, though Andre Gonzales was assigned to join us too. I like Andre enough, even though we’ve never clicked in the way I had with Brody as kids.

It feels close to the five-minute mark now, so I start my scan again, this time mouthing the count under my breath.

Brody shakes his head. Jet, if this is what it looks like when you’re having fun, then you need an intervention even more than I thought. You should really try being a normal college student at some point. Maybe go to a party. Or even, he mocks a gasp, date.

I frown, but not at Brody’s words because I’m not truly listening to them. I start my count again.

I’m sure Elisa would set you up with one of her friends. Though they’re all a little on the wild side, which would probably stress you out. Maybe we could find you someone who is⁠—

Thirty-five, I say.

Brody’s brow pinches, though his smile never falters. Okay, I didn’t expect that, but if that’s what you’re into, no judgment here. We should probably just get you on an app, in that case, though.

I roll my eyes. "No, Brody. Thirty-five students. We’re missing one."

Missing one? he echoes. How could we be missing one?

I put my hand on his shoulder and give him a sweet smile. Because their chaperone is an idiot. It takes him a moment too long to understand and look properly affronted, therefore proving my point. Keep a close eye on the rest of them. I won’t be long.

You know who it is? he asks. I give a sharp nod.

Isaac Grant.

It’s not a great sign that I know his name so early on in the trip, but it does benefit me in this case. Since I know who it is, and have already committed his trace to memory, it will be easy to track him. Which is good.

If he’s unsupervised for too long, he could risk exposing the entire preternatural world.

Isaac couldn’t have gotten far considering the intervals of my scans. Even if he was moving at an inhuman speed—which despite his pesterance so far this trip, I truly doubt he’s that stupid—I can move just as quickly, away from prying human eyes. I pass into a thick pocket of woods behind a large shack they call the dining hall. There is a buzz of excited chatter from inside that I have to tune out to get focused on the task at hand.

Tracing is not much different than tracking a wild animal. It requires every sense to be on high alert, and a quick processing of every new morsel of information to make fast and accurate decisions. One wrong choice will have you following the wrong path, costing valuable time.

I don’t make the wrong choice, though. I never do.

I step onto a path that would look almost indistinguishable to the untrained eye. I was led there by a whiff of a scent that is unique to Isaac. Not a bad scent, and nothing a human would ever be conscious enough to notice, just a hint of something in the wind that has my instincts pulling me this way, instead of that. There is phantom heat clinging to the trees too, as if a warm body just passed through.

Once I’m locked in on Isaac’s trace, his scent becomes strong enough to taste. I can see a shimmer of his trace in the air, a perfectly laid out path for me to follow. There is a humming too, faint over the call of birds and scurrying feet of woodland creatures, though the volume of it increases with every step I take in what I know is the right direction.

This skill is a blend of the physical and the metaphysical. It is one that I learned in the Protector Program, though my affinity for it goes far beyond the norm, even for what we are.

My next step brings me into a clearing where the carcasses of three bonfires lie. There are long logs of wood embedded into the ground, as if to be benches, facing each fire. It’s nearly abandoned now, still too early in the evening to begin preparations, I presume, but it won’t be that way for long.

Isaac is on the far end of the clearing, looking up at a large oak tree. It’s the perfect kind for climbing, thick and sturdy, with well-spaced limbs. You could easily secure your foothold on one branch while reaching for another. Guessing from the introspective look on his face as I approach, Isaac’s considering that same thing.

Not that it really matters to him. Since Isaac can shapeshift into a monkey, he can successfully climb almost anything in his animal form.

Don’t think about it, I warn, my voice a low growl. The kid stumbles back as if I appeared from thin air and had not made many large, though admittedly silent, strides towards him.

Woah, where did you— his question dies out as he realizes who he’s talking to. Then he takes a large gulp of air. Listen, man, I wasn’t going to, uh, do anything. Okay?

Right, I say, my tone clipped. I’ve been more irritable than usual today, a fact that unnerves and—yes—irritates me all the more. I can’t pin down what has me so on edge, which won’t serve Isaac well for this conversation.

Except that I’m certain he has no malicious or criminal intent—he’s just dumb and fifteen. He likely resents that he has to remain human for the duration of this trip, but I don’t think exposing our secret society is his goal. He just wants to let loose.

I get where he’s coming from, I really do, but it’s the one rule all students must swear by before being allowed on one of these supervised excursions. It’s not the only rule, of course, but it’s the most important rule in our world.

I decide to let him off with a sigh, though the sound still slips into a rumble of a growl that happens to bare my canines.

Let’s get going or we’re going to miss dinner, I tell him. "And no shifting. I’m serious, Isaac. If I hear even a whisper about werewolves tonight, you’ll have me to answer to."

He swallows hard. Yes, sir.

I put my hand on his shoulder to push him forward. He takes off in a jog, putting several feet of distance between the two of us as we make the short trek back towards the dining hall. When we break through the woods back into the view of the volleyball courts, Isaac lumbers away from me and back towards his friends with his tail between his legs—figuratively, thank the Universe.

Across the open space, I see Brody talking with one of the camp counselors. A moment later, the counselor leaves and Brody cups his hands in front of his mouth to call the high schoolers to attention.

Alright, Versi Academy, it’s time for dinner. Let’s line up to give the Crescentwood kids some breathing room, yeah?

He is immediately ignored, not that he seems to mind. The hoard of students barrel towards the dining hall at the same moment the kids on the other side throw open the doors and pour out. I shake my head, now a bit amused, though I maintain my watchful perch on the other side of the disarray. I’ll do a count the moment I’m inside, though I don’t think a single one of the thirty-six students would dare miss dinner.

I’m still overseeing when a shimmer catches my eye. It’s not like the trail I saw before when I tuned into Isaac’s trace, though it’s not dissimilar enough for me to ignore it either. It’s like the aura of an ocular migraine, a small floater in my vision’s periphery.

I turn to the shimmer, looking for the source, but see nothing unusual. Some are still fighting their way in and out of the dining hall with an equal amount of thoughtless conviction. A new group has entered the mix too. The Hartfield High students are coming to play volleyball while the Crescentwood students are corralled into a corner where they are being given instructions for the third activity in the rotation.

Perhaps the strange shimmer I saw is nothing more than the residual effects of having just tapped into that talent for Isaac a few minutes before. But then I remember the sensation I’ve been feeling most of the day: on edge, as if standing on the cusp of a cliff and being unsure if the fall is five feet or five hundred.

Again, there’s that shift in the atmosphere as the three groups converge, and it’s enough for me not to risk ignoring the shimmering warp in my vision. I know I have a job to do inside and that I’m wasting my valuable time by standing here, observing insignificant humans, but something about this situation suddenly feels off-kilter and I find myself rooted in my place. My eyes scan the crowds of kids for whatever the offending thing may be that has me in such a state, but there is still nothing to go off of. No shimmering trail or obvious hum, that’s for sure.

I’m not sure how, when, or why I start to trace, only that I find myself doing it. My eyes rake over each person in the clearing while I try to taste a hint of something unfamiliar. There is a confluence by the dining hall door, most of which are fairly unfamiliar given that I don’t know all the Versi Academy students personally.

Still, there is one that is stranger than the rest. It is a bit sweet, like the