Page 1 of Professor and the Seer

Prologue

I got my first vision of the future when I turned sixteen.

It happened during an eclipse. The entire school had gathered outside in the multipurpose field surrounded by bleachers and ringed by a track, the grass bearing white painted lines for the many sports played. Teachers handed out special glasses so we could observe the phenomenon without going blind.

Me, I sat in the bleachers well away from the gaggles of friend groups and classes. Apart even from my sisters, who shared this birthday with me. Triplets, born on a Friday the 13th during an eclipse. It seemed oddly fitting the same circumstance happened on what most considered a pivotal age in a person’s life. A portent, if you were the superstitious type. A dreamer like me wanted to believe it meant something. I’d always had a vivid imagination.

The fat book in my lap—a fantasy story by Brandon Sanderson about a group of kids who turn out to be special—lay unread in my lap. I couldn’t concentrate. Blame the air around me. It hummed, vibrating with electricity as if a storm approached, and yet the sky remained clear—if you ignored the visible moon creeping across.

As the time of the event neared, shadow bands began to shiver and slither across the ground, a prelude to the eclipse. Simply light and shadow making strange patterns, nothing harmful about it, and yet my flesh pimpled, my stomach wrenched, and my head felt light.

What’s happening?

Disturbed, I left my spot in the bleachers, aiming for the field, absently noticing that my sisters headed in my direction. Did they have the same gut-clenching cramps? They’d started the moment I woke and intensified as the world around me darkened.

When the moon covered the sun, creating a nimbus, my body jolted as if struck by lightning. My head went back. Pretty sure my eyes rolled back too. Everything around me stopped.

A bell chimed—a light sound—and a yellow light flashed as a voice, frightening because it filled my head, declared, It is done. The promise has been fulfilled.

What was done?

And that was when the vision hit.

A mirror showed a reflection, a woman in her thirties or so, her hair a long, wispy brown with burgundy hints.

Wait a second…

That was me! An older version, wearing an oversized light green T-shirt. In that reflection, a man appeared, half naked, his bare chest showing off some serious abs. Blond-haired, jawline unshaven, and very handsome. He saw me looking and smiled. A smile meant for a lover.

It melted my teenage heart.

Older me turned to face him, and his eyes widened, his lips parted. Blame the sword that suddenly jutted from his chest. Dream me gaped in shock at the sight of the blood.

So much blood…

I snapped out of that fugue and found myself clinging to my sisters, who looked just as traumatized. It led to me muttering, “What the fuck just happened?”

For one, we’d all gotten our periods. Poor Dina had blood rolling down her leg, at school, where, if noticed, she’d become a pariah with a horrible nickname.

We fled, headed home to shower, which was when we discovered we didn’t just get our periods. All three of us now had tattoos running up the bottom part of our spines.

And what did our mother do when she found out? Declared she’d always known we’d be special.

She wasn’t entirely wrong. Our sixteenth turned out to be the day we got our powers.

My sister, Enyo, became a warrior. Strong. Fast. Wily. She could slip into shadows and move so quietly that I nearly pissed myself a few times when she’d pop out to yell boo. My revenge? Not telling her when I knew she’d be stepping in shit.

Dina, a variation she preferred over her real name, Deino, became a witch like our mother. She could move stuff with magic, infuse potions, and do other parlor-type tricks.

Me, Frieda, short for Pemphredo—because our mother got the not-so-great idea of naming her triplets after the Graeae sisters of lore, you know the hags who shared an eyeball—I got to see the future.

Sounds cool, right?

Wrong.

I didn’t get happy visions of things to come but horrific accidents, like my neighbor’s dog getting killed or knowing our delivery guy would suffer a tragedy. Worse, I couldn’t control it. It would hit at the most random times, like when I grabbed the package of bread I’d suddenly see it going moldy because no one ate it. I hated my power most when it hit me in public and I reacted like a crazy person. Like in school, when a jock bumped into me and I screamed, not because it hurt but because he’d be in an accident that would destroy half his face. Or when I sat in a chair at school, only to bounce out of it because I mistook a vision of it breaking for reality.

The mockery at my increased weirdness had me feeling like a freak.

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