A San Francisco posh restaurant, sometime in 1937:

"Just what do you mean, by 'you folks'?" asked Judson.

"How long has it been since you had a cold?" asked Fen, jabbing in his direction with her fork. "Or any other illness? I'm willing to bet several years, at least. I'm also willing to bet that your bullet wound was completely healed in about a week, and that after the first day it hardly bothered you. That you have better vision and hearing than other people. That things most folks find difficult you find easy, and that things they find impossible you find merely difficult. I have already remarked on your youthful appearance, and you on mine. Shall I go on?"

"I hadn't thought about these things in a while," said Judson, slowly. "There was a time when it seemed to me that there was, indeed, something special about me. I didn't follow up on the concept, though. It seemed... immodest. I also had more urgent matters to attend to."

"You're what I refer to as a Type One," said Fen. "Young Janis is a Type Three. Dutch is a Type Two."

"How many of - 'us' - are there?" asked Judson, intensely curious.

"At least several thousand, scattered across the world, and the number is increasing," Fen informed him. "In fact, it is increasing far faster than the world's population. I have traced - with varying degrees of certainty - some of these characteristics back several generations. Speaking of which, it tends to run in families. You ought to hear Dutch talk about his grandfather on one side and his great aunt on the other."

"Then this 'something' is hereditary," Judson said, thinking of his own mother and half-sister.

"I don't know," Fen admitted. "Some people seem to be born strange... while others may have strangeness thrust upon them."

Judson rolled his eyes at her paraphrasing of the Bard.

"Anyway, some people seem to be able to do more than others practically from birth, while others live normal lives for decades, then suddenly discover that they can start fires with a dirty look, or something equally odd."

"No-one knows what is causing this?"

Fen was quiet for a long moment, then sighed.

"So these abilities run in families, and there are more people who have them every year," said Judson. "That sounds distressingly like evolution."

"To some extent," Fen agreed. "However, even people who had unusual abilities twenty years ago have them more strongly, now. Take me, for instance. I first incorporated telekinesis into my routine in nineteen-ought-two. At first it seemed like a miracle when I could lift a pencil stub with thought alone. Today, I can lift more than my own weight."

"That explains something I noticed about your loft," said Judson, nodding. "The kitchen counters and table are built to your height, but the upper cabinets are situated at the normal level above the floor. With nary a stool or stepladder in sight."

"That was very observant," said Fen, sounding pleased. "You are the first person to notice the discrepancy. Yes, I can put things into or bring them out of the cabinets with telekinesis. Or I can levitate myself. The latter takes a great deal of effort, though."

"Something very disturbing just occurred to me," said Judson, his tone the sort which most people would use for discussing a minor quirk in the weather. "Regarding Big Eddie..."

"You think he might be one of us."

"He is unusually large, unusually strong, and unusually good at controlling his criminal empire."

"He may have whatever it is that makes us different," said Fen, with a shrug. "Or he might just be big and strong and smart. You can't blame everything on this."

"Still, if he is..."

"It might explain why you and everyone else have had such a difficult time getting rid of him."

"How do we tell?" Judson asked. "How do we determine just who is one of 'us?'"

"With some people it's obvious," said Fen. "We do seem to have distinguishing features, though those are not always something physical. Ever meet someone who had 'the look of eagles?'"

"I take your point," Judson replied, remembering several individuals he had known who qualified.

"Then there's whether they have any persistent debilitating injuries, or ever get sick, both of which would tend to eliminate someone from our rather exclusive club," Fen continued. "Also, if someone can place a hex or do something else which should be impossible, that is a dead giveaway. As for being certain, well, my research might reveal some specific factor which can be tested for."

* * *

"Inventiveness runs in my family, though not necessarily practicality," said Fen, chuckling. "One cousin, around fifty years ago, decided he was going to build a sidesaddle bicycle. What scared people was that he almost succeeded."