Chapter 1 Charlie Greer was nothing special. Charlie had known from the time she could talk that the world was full of things wilder and stranger than most people could ever imagine. Her parents worked for the Division of Extranormal Research and Investigation, after all, dealing with all the strange and inexplicable things--extranormal things-- in the world. That meant everything from ghosts and lake monstersto witches and weird science to mysterious disappearances. Then there was Charlie's mother. She could see what was hidden, know what was secret, even catch glimpses of things that hadn't happened yet. You couldn't have a mom like Leigh Greer without knowing there was more to the world than met the eye. For a while when she was very young, Charlie had been convinced that she had inherited her mother's gifts. She had run her fingers over the treasures in the local antique store, certain that she felt something, a whisper of memory clinging to wood and tin. She had picked her dreams apart for meaning and tried to match them to the things that happened when she was awake. She was sure, oh so sure, that she was special, too. "We'll see when Grandpa Rupert visits," her mother had told her, snuggled up in bed at night. "He can always tell." And she tapped Charlie on the nose and smiled. Then Grandpa Rupert arrived, tall and white-haired, smelling of licorice and wool. He'd looked down at her, suitcase in hand, and said, "So this is the girl. Entirely ordinary, then." And Charlie crumbled. Mom never let on that she was disappointed, but Charlie saw her behind Grandpa and saw the way her smile faltered, just for a moment. A few months later, Mom and Dad brought Matty home. Matty was special. So was Opal, who drifted in the door the next year, the light shining right through her. And Gideon, who arrived the year after, four years old and already making books fly off the shelves when he threw a tantrum. "You and me, we don't have any special powers," her dad told her, sitting under the shade of the old oak tree in the backyard. "Heck, when I got assigned to the Division, I didn't even believe in all this stuff. But in all the cases your mom and I have worked, we did it together. As partners. Not having powers doesn't mean you can't do amazing things." "I guess," she'd said, digging a toe into the dirt. He put a hand on her knee. "Listen. People like your mom and your brothers and your sister, they can do amazing things, but the world is a very dangerous place for them. It's the job of people like you and me to look after them. And that's pretty special, too." So Charlie worked hard to keep her family safe. She checked the fire extinguishers to make sure they were always full, in case Opal had a panic attack. She sat outside the basement door and read stories to Matty during the full moon while he barked and scratched at the walls. When all the spoons in the drawer were bent into pretzels, she sighed and got the plastic ones from the cupboard and didn't give Gideon a hard time. And she told herself over and over again that she didn't mind being normal. Sometimes she almost believed it. Something smashed against the wall outside Charlie's bedroom as she pulled on her socks. The smack was followed by the distinctive sound of shattering glass, and then an angry growl. Charlie sighed as she pulled her red hair up into a sloppy ponytail. Hopping over her abandoned lacrosse stick and backpack, she hurried out into the hall. Her brother Gideon stood outside, hands balled into fists, glaring at her other brother, Mateo. A picture frame, glass broken, lay against the wall, answering the unspoken question of what had made the sound. Charlie glanced at the nail where it had been hung on the opposite wall. "What now?" she asked, signing to Matty, who was Deaf, as she spoke. Gideon did the same as he responded. "He needs to watch where he's going," he said angrily, his gestures erratic with emotion. "You need to watch where you're standing," Matty signed back dismissively. Matty had light brown skin and brown eyes with big, full eyelashes. His mom had been from Brazil originally, but she died when he was really young--years before he got turned into a werewolf and came to live with the Greers. He was almost a whole year younger than Charlie, but he was already half an inch taller, with long, gangly limbs and tightly curled brown-black hair that added a couple of extra inches. That meant he towered over Gideon, who was eight years old and short for his age. "How does that make any sense?" Gideon snapped, his sharp, angry signs matching his tone. Gideon was round faced, with straight, silky black hair and warm brown skin. Unlike Matty and Opal, he wasn't technically an orphan, since he didn't really have parents--just a bunch of DNA from lots of people that had been combined to make a baby with special powers. Right now, those powers were making the air around him waver like a heat mirage. Charlie stepped up quickly. "If you two get in a fight and make Mom and Dad miss their flight--" she started warningly, fixing Matty with a look. They sprang apart guiltily. "I didn't do anything," Gideon muttered, pushing his glasses up and looking sullen. "Not my fault I can't see him when he's so short," Mateo signed grumblingly, but Charlie put up a hand. "You know how stressed Mom and Dad have been. This vacation has already been canceled three times because of us." "Because of Matty," Gideon muttered. "Because of us ," Charlie repeated. "We have to convince them that we are totally on top of things and nothing will go wrong if they leave us alone, or they will cancel at the last second again and they will keep on getting more and more stressed until they pop like stressed-out balloons. Which means that we need to keep it together for another . . ." She checked her watch. "Twelve minutes. Can you do that? For Mom and Dad?" They glared at each other. Matty's eyes flickered a brief, faint amber. Finally he signed a quick "fine" at her and turned on his heel, stomping down the stairs. Gideon gave Charlie a plaintive look. "I didn't do anything," he said again. She sighed and put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "You know how Matty gets this close to a full moon. Just hang in there." He made a little noise of understanding. At that moment her mother's voice called from downstairs. "Charlie! Could you come here a minute?" "I'll take care of the glass," Gideon said. "You're sure?" Charlie asked. "It's my fault it broke anyway. I lost control," he said, head hanging. "I'm the one who was supposed to make sure those were secured better," Charlie pointed out, guilt twisting in her gut. Everything had to be earthquake-proof with a telekinetic eight-year-old in the house. She'd meant to get around to securing the pictures, she had, but there was always so much to do. Charlie wasn't sure if Mateo was actually grumpy because of the full moon or because of preteen hormones. He sure had seemed grumpy most of the time lately, and when losing his temper meant shape-shifting into a four-legged menace to society, moodiness was a serious issue. Of course, they had to keep the furniture nailed down in case Gideon got upset, and when Opal had nightmares, she almost burned the house down, so maybe Charlie shouldn't complain about Matty too much. Even if he always seemed to destroy her shoes when he went on a chewing spree. Which was why Charlie puppy-proofed and earthquake-proofed and fireproofed the house and checked the fire extinguishers every week and made sure Gideon took his meds and that all their food was safe for his allergies and that Opal was never alone for too long, and she had an app to track the phases of the moon just in case because somehow Matty always forgot. Her mom called her name again. Charlie clattered down the stairs into the hall, where her mom was digging through her enormous purse and muttering feverishly. The door was open behind her, and through it Charlie could see Agent Pendleton and Agent Baxter helping her dad load the car with luggage. "Could have sworn I had them. They were right here. In the zipper pocket, where I couldn't possibly forget--there you are," Charlie's mom said, looking up and beaming at Charlie. Mateo had stomped off into the kitchen. Probably for a snack. He always seemed to be eating, and he only ever got skinnier and taller. "Charlie, darling, you wouldn't have seen the passports, by any chance?" Mom asked. Charlie winced. "You lost the passports?" "No, no. Of course not. I just don't have them," her mom said in a bright tone, her English accent making her sound all the more chipper. Leigh Greer was a petite woman, her blond hair cut in a long bob, a pair of reading glasses dangling around her neck. People usually expected her to dress in flowy, drapey fabrics or wool skirts and high collars, depending on what they pictured when they heard the word psychic . Instead, she was in her usual brightly colored T-shirt--this one featuring a doughnut with a halo and the words I'm So Hole-y! --and mom jeans, an unzipped hoodie hanging from her shoulders. "Did you check your desk?" Charlie asked. Her mother gave her a look. "Charlie, if I put it in my desk, it has been devoured by the black hole of chaos and entropy that has taken up lodging there and we are doomed before we begin. I know I had them in my purse. And my purse was right here all night." "I found them," a small voice said from above them. Charlie looked up. Opal's head was sticking through the ceiling. "Opal, you know the rules. Use the stairs when there are guests," Mom chided. Opal floated downward. "Agent Pendleton and Agent Baxter aren't guests," she objected, alighting on her feet. "I suppose there's an argument to be made for that, but the front door is wide open, and a little bit of discretion wouldn't go amiss," Mom said, wagging her head. To all appearances, Opal was a normal six-year-old girl with blond hair, pale skin, and a delicate array of freckles across her nose. She'd even learned to change her appearance enough that she was wearing a flowery dress and leggings instead of her usual white nightgown. Though if you moved your head right, you could see a few little wisps of smoke in the air around her, and when she got tired, she could go a bit transparent. "You said you found the passports," Charlie prompted. "Miss Sinister has them," Opal said meekly. "Up in the attic." "Miss Sinister has what now?" Charlie's dad asked, stepping in from outside. He was in casual mode--jeans and a black T-shirt. His dark brown hair was starting to get some gray in it, and there were deep lines at the corners of his eyes. There was a scar on his cheek and more under his shirt, souvenirs of his and Mom's work. "I believe she has absconded with the passports," Mom said, giving him a chagrined look. The sigh that seeped out of him was one of deep resignation. "This is why I keep saying we need to keep her contained at night. Get her a crate or something." "I'm not putting her in a cage, Kyle," Charlie's mom said firmly. "We could make it nice. Some newspaper, a blanket. We could even give her some of the kids' homework to shred, keep her occupied," he said, giving Mom his you-can't-resist-me smile. Charlie rolled her eyes. "I'll get the passports," she said. She didn't exactly love dealing with Miss Sinister, but at least she wouldn't have to watch her parents flirting. "Quickly," Dad reminded her, tapping his watch. "Seven minutes and we are out of here." Charlie waved a hand in acknowledgment and trotted back up the stairs, then down the hall, past where Gideon was picking up the last of the glass, to the narrow door that led to the rickety stairs up to the attic. She scaled them with some trepidation. The attic was dark, and when she reached for the light switch, nothing happened. The only light came from a dingy window. The dust was thick, and Charlie's nose started itching immediately. "Miss Sinister?" she called. Something scuttled in the corner of the room. "Miss Sinister, is that you?" She pulled her phone out of her pocket and turned on the flashlight, shining it toward the corner of the room. It was empty except for an antique rocking chair, the wood faded and splitting. Under the chair was something dark, like a crumpled pile of fabric. The pile of fabric twitched and twisted, and a small, pale face glared out from under the chair. It belonged to a doll wearing an old-fashioned black dress and a white bonnet. Patchy gray yarn stuck out from under the bonnet like hair, and the face was crudely carved, with lines beside its mouth where its chin could move up and down. Its eyes glowed red in the flashlight beam. It uttered a horrible hiss, wooden mouth clacking. Poking out from under the doll's dress were the missing passports. "Miss Sinister!" Charlie said sternly. "Bad doll. No stealing." Excerpted from Extra Normal by Kate Alice Marshall All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
