Chapter 2.1

Someone using her name downstairs roused Nyla from her nap. Even with her ring on, Nyla could clearly hear the discussion in the family room.

“Mason, go get Nyla for dinner,” Edmond barked at his daughter. There was no rustle of movement. “Now,” he hissed, his tone frigid with displeasure.

“Why do I have to?” Mason whined.

Edmond sighed. “Because I told you to. Until you are eighteen, you will do as I say.”

Mason snorted in disgust. “You’re so old fashioned, Dad. It’s not like that anymore in the real world. Imagine what the voters would think if they knew that you run your house like a prison.”

“Mason,” Veronica warned. “Do what your father says.”

“Why? I don’t want to be around It.”

“For the last time,” Edmond growled. “Nyla is not an ‘it’, even if she’s a Menhit.”

“I’ll do it,” Eason cut in, ending the conversation before his sister could say anything else. Nyla heard his footsteps start towards the stairs. Rising, she straightened her clothing so it laid the best it could on her too-tall frame. They were slightly uncomfortable, but Nyla wasn’t going to complain. At least they were clean.

The sound of walking feet stopped, and Nyla turned to find Eason standing in the doorway. His brow furrowed in question. “Did you know I was coming up to get you?”

“Yes, I could hear you,” Nyla replied.

“Did you -,” he started. “Did you hear the entire conversation downstairs?”

Nyla nodded. Eason didn’t say anything for a moment and kept his eyes focused on the floor.

“I’m sorry for what Mason said. She’s just having a tough time adjusting. She has some old-fashioned ideas just like our father, but she’d never admit it.”

Nyla shook her head. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. She was only telling the truth. Menhits are not ‘normal.’ The government hasn’t even classified us as human. It’s common knowledge.”

“But you are human, just different than everyone else.”

Nyla shook her head. “No, we aren’t. At least that’s what I was taught.” Eason stared at her, still leaning against the doorframe. Nyla wondered what she had said to make him look at her like she was a specimen under a microscope. “Did I say something wrong?” Nyla asked.

“No,” Eason said, shaking his head. “No, you didn’t. Let’s head downstairs.” He turned to leave. Nyla followed, staying several feet behind him. On the stairs, he said, “We have dinner together every night, even when Dad is campaigning. He’s very traditional sometimes.”

“I will be ready every night then,” Nyla promised.

“I’m sure if you don’t want to one night, Mom will let you pass on dinner and send a tray up,” he offered. “She’ more indulgent to us than Dad is.

“No,” Nyla said. “I will do as is expected.” Eason frowned at her again. “Is something the matter?” she asked.

“Do you always follow orders, Nyla?” Eason had never used her name before, and it reverberated through her, catching her off guard.

Startled by her own reaction, she snapped, “Yes, of course. That’s what a good soldier does.”

Eason nodded as they entered the dining room, as if she had cleared up some mystery. Nyla took in the too-large table filling up the space. It could comfortably seat twenty, but today it only had place settings for five which were all huddled towards one end. Edmond sat at the head of the table with Veronica on his right.

“Nyla, sit next to Mason,” Edmond directed. “Eason, sit next to your mother.” Mason snorted and rolled her eyes while plopping down in her assigned seat. Nyla made sure a foot of distance separated her from Mason. Humans typically didn’t like being near Menhits, and Mason didn’t seem to be an exception.

“How was work today, dear?” Veronica asked her husband.

Edmond finished chewing his bite. “It went very well. We finished planning the rest of the campaign route, and I’m excited to say that the family will be able to attend several rallies together.”

“Yippee,” Mason groaned.

“Enough from you, young lady. You know how important it is to have everyone there; the public loves a good healthy family.”

Mason snorted but didn’t respond to her father’s scowl.

“How do you like the food, Nyla?” Veronica inquired. “Is it okay?”

Nyla pushed around a bite of stuffed mushroom. “I’ve never had anything like this before. The military doesn’t serve fresh food. I’m also not used to eating this much food in one sitting.” Meeting Veronica’s wide eyes, she added, “It’s palatable, very rich in flavors.”

“Oh good,” Veronica tittered. “There are two more courses after this, though. I hope you can save some room for them.

“In this house, we eat what is presented to us without complaint,” Edmond told Nyla, his eyes flashing as if daring her to contradict him.

“Even if it’s gross,” Mason muttered under her breath.

“That’s what we do in the military as well. Thank you for telling me.” A calmness had started to enter Nyla’s chest every time the Brauns did something similar to military standards. She didn’t know what it meant, but she wished she could hold onto the reprieve. The differences between her old life and her new were overwhelming, even after just half a day.

Steaming bowls of soup replaced the plates. Just as rich as the mushrooms, the soup had an overwhelming taste to Nyla. She hated to think about how she would have felt had the ring not been dulling her sense.

How do people eat like this every day? she wondered.

Roger, the butler, handed out the steaming bowls of soup. Nyla focused on the bowl before her, trying to determine what the contents would taste like. It was vaguely green, but leaning towards brown. Suddenly, a movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Roger was standing between her and Mason, one last bowl on the tray. As he picked it up, Mason scooted her chair to the side so that it rammed into Roger. The bowl in his hands slipped. Instinctually, Nyla reached out and caught it, drenching herself in the steaming liquid as she did.

Everyone stared at Nyla who was still holding the now-empty bowl for a moment before chaos erupted. Nyla set the bowl down and stared around the room perplexed as Edmond and Veronica stood, both yelling simultaneously at Mason.

“Mason!”

“How dare you!”

“Do you know how hot that soup was? You could have burned her! You might have!”

“What,” Mason drawled, cutting off her parents, “is your guys’ problem? She’s the one that caught the bowl and spilled it all over herself. I didn’t do anything.”

Eason rose and went around the table to Nyla’s side. “We all watched you slam into Roger with your chair. Don’t act so innocent.” He ducked down to start mopping up the hardwood floor. The butler, who had jumped forward to assist, faded into the background and allowed Eason to continue. Nyla grabbed her napkin and started blotting at her arm. The soup had been scalding, and her skin had started to turn a bright red.