​     "Noel's in that direction," Brock said, pointing to his right. "He's north of us."​

     "Let's get moving, then," Estelle said. They looked an odd group, even when not displaying their powers. Gramps couldn't be seen at all, of course. He was still invisible. He walked behind Shawnacy, who moved through the crowd like a movie star weaving her way among a throng of adoring fans. She smiled. She flirted with her eyes. She did everything but parade wave. Then there was Brock, who looked like nothing but a young man sitting in a wheelchair, a thin, cloth blanket over his legs. Estelle pushed it, although she really didn't need to. It was a motorized wheelchair. She looked this way and that, almost daring people to stare at her ugliness. No one did. More often than not, they recoiled in horror and averted their glance immediately.

     They moved north. One problem: A pavilion was in the way, an exhibit, a pavilion as big as a tent for a three ring circus. So, the next question: 

     "Left or right?' Gramps asked. "Or over?' 

     "We can't go over," Brock said. "We'll get shot at again." 

     "How about right through the exhibit?" Estelle asked. 

     "Which of the exhibits are we talking about?" Gramps asked.

     A sign over the entrance read: ADULTS ONLY. ABSOLUTELY NO ONE UNDER 18 ADMITTED.

     "Dear God," Gramps muttered.

     "We'll move fast," Estelle said. "Remember, we're not here to actually see the exhibit. We're just going through it."

     Shawnacy smiled, like, yeah right.  

CONTINUE