Free Originator by Joel Shepherd Page A

Cresta but saw that she didn’t and left it alone. “Kiri, I forgot to say how much I liked your play yesterday. I thought you were terrific.”
    â€œYeah, it was fun,” Kiril admitted. “Mrs Shula was really happy. And then, after you left? We did all kind of photos and stuff, and . . . and Mishi Roberts got poked in the eye.”
    â€œPoked in the eye? With what, was she okay?”
    â€œJust a trident.”
    Sandy nearly grinned and stopped herself. “You mean a paper trident.” Kiril nodded.
    â€œJust as well it was just a paper trident, Kiri!” said Svetlana, never missing a theatrical opportunity. “Otherwise she’d have become like that one-eyedmonster in your book! GRRR!” With her face all screwed-up, one eye closed. Kiril laughed.
    â€œNow come on,” Sandy told them, “don’t laugh at someone who had their eye poked out.”
    â€œIt wasn’t poked out,” Kiril reassured her. “She just cried a lot.”
    Svetlana rolled her eyes. “Yeah, gosh, what a baby.” On some things, her kids were always going to be judgemental. Last month Svetlana had given herself a genuinely nasty cut with a kitchen knife, lots of blood, and had nonchalantly said it was nothing, she’d had much worse. Because she had. Sandy had seen the fading scars, had listened to Danya’s horrifying account of pulling the rusty nail that had gone right through her arm, then another of nursing her through bad concussion after she’d fallen from a wall. And had listened to Svetlana’s account of how Danya had gotten that scar on his leg, and how she’d had to sew skin and flesh back together from the razor-wire cut. And other equally horrible tales that had nearly made her cry to hear. The thought of that happening to her kids was unbearable . . . and yet, those experiences had made them who they were, for better and worse. Kiril, thankfully, they’d managed to keep relatively safe, and as the baby of the trio had been kept away from risky adventures.
    â€œI’m sorry I had to leave, Kiri,” said Sandy. “I really wanted to stay, but it was an emergency.”
    â€œThat’s okay,” said Kiril. “I told Mrs Shula that you were a superhero, and sometimes you had to go and save the world and stuff.”
    Sandy grinned, arm around him. “Yeah, well. I wish I could put that on my tax forms.” And then she noticed that Svetlana was looking through her wallet. Sandy felt in her pocket. Nothing. Svetlana grinned at her. Sandy gaped. “You didn’t! When did you . . . ?”
    â€œI’m not telling! It’s a trade secret.” She tossed the wallet back. Sandy caught and looked through it suspiciously. “I didn’t take anything!” Svetlana laughed.
    â€œWow, Svet, that’s amazing. First time.” She’d tried before, but it was nearly impossible to pick a high-designation GI’s pocket.
    â€œShe’s been practising so hard,” said Danya. “She’s met this guy on a VR forum—it’s okay, Ari checked him out, says he’s fine. Professional pickpocket, has a big stage act on Ramprakash Road, says Svet’s got talent, showed her some tricks.”
    â€œHe’s amazing though,” said Svetlana. “He invites people on stage and steals their clothes while they’re wearing them, and they don’t even notice.”
    â€œWell, that’s great, Svet,” said Sandy. “But don’t get carried away, because this is my safe zone, and my guard is so down at home with you guys.”
    â€œI know,” said Svetlana. “It’s actually more about minds than hands. You need good hands, but mostly you need to know what the other person’s thinking, and what they’re paying attention to. It’s all a mind trick. I think it works better on you because I know you so well.”
    â€œSo you can pick your