Free Lightning Rider by Jen Greyson

face before now.
    Ilif holds up his hand to me, and Papi settles his on my arm. Silver tentacles of lightning crackle between our skin, and he jumps. I tug my arm free. This isn’t about my issues. Papi eyes me, a promise of a later discussion marked by the stern set of his lips.
    “Lightning riders play a critical role in the existence of all things,” Ilif says. “It’s not a power to be taken lightly. And it’s the reason a guide is necessary. Your ancestors have prevented disasters and altered history for generations. You travel via lightning and—according to our tests—via a genetic mutation that allows you to manipulate the energy as your own personal time portal.”
    “And what about the fountain-of-youth thing happening on his face?” I ask.
    “A benefit. The toll on the body is immense. It must remain in pristine condition.”
    Papi chokes. “I’m going to look like this forever?”
    “You’d never survive otherwise.”
    I drum my fingers in my lap. “Guess I’m already pristine.”
    “I’m not sure how it works with females,” Ilif says.
    “What? What does that mean?”
    “There’s never been a female rider.”
    Papi and I look at each other, and I puff up. There’s nothing cooler than being the first. I have so many questions. “How do we decide where to go?”
    “You don’t. I watched you both today.” Ilif studies us and shakes his head as if some detail about us troubles him before inclining his head toward me. “I was unaware of your relation until my arrival here. In Spain, I thought your friend on the motorcycle was the rider. I assessed you as a mere traveler. You both exhibited interesting anomalies.”
    “Like?” I ask. Seriously, getting details is like pulling teeth.
    “First, you’re a female. Second, I’ve never had a beginning rider return without completing the alteration.”
    I grin. I have no idea what that means, but it seems I’m abnormally gifted.
    “And you.” He shifts his attention to Papi. “What you managed in New York was outstanding. Such a different set of talents. You both have a natural ability I’ve never encountered in all my years.”
    “What did you do?” I ask Papi.
    He shrugs and shoots a look at Ilif. He doesn’t want to tell me in front of our new guest. Fine by me, but he’d better not think he’s getting out of including me again.
    “Such modesty.” Ilif turns to me. “He manifested a complete existence. Riders have always shown up as themselves, but somehow Victor understood an alternate version was necessary. It makes me quite proud.”
    “So we just pick a place?” I ask. “And create a—what did you call it—an alteration?”
    “No, lightning riders don’t know when or where they’re needed. Similar to how we never know precisely where lightning strikes, a lightning rider must be ever watchful and ready to arc at a moment’s notice.”
    “Arc?”
    “The arc is the movement between places.”
    Papi stands and paces. “Let me get this straight. I’ve had a virtual superpower, quite possibly a dangerous one, with obvious physical and historical implications, and no one bothered to tell me? My parents didn’t think it was worth mentioning, and you were . . .” He turns on Ilif. “Where were you, exactly?”
    Ilif looks away. “I suppose I owe you that.”
    “Oh, and don’t think that’s the only question. I have lots,” I add.
    “Me, too,” Papi says. “Not to mention the New York thing. It was far from what you described.” He walks to my side of the couch and glances at the seat cushion beside me, then the arm, then the chair. Finally, he folds his arms and leans a hip against the corner of the couch. He grimaces, and I wonder if his guts ache, too, or if he’s just frustrated. I wish his face was the old Papi’s.
    “You would have been about eight,” Ilif says. “Your brother had just been killed, and your father wasn’t taking it well. He asked for some time. We knew how to turn off the