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1 | Kate and Zeno
Kate was playing chess with her harp seal friend when men with guns entered the house. No phone call or text message preceded their appearance; they just arrived.
The other kids at her school would have been frightened if two policemen knocked on their front door, but Kate wasn’t surprised by anything that occurred at the Noland house. She was a project that the Nolands had taken on like finding a leak in the basement or killing a mole in the vegetable garden, and they clearly weren’t pleased with her behavior. Sometimes she would be eating dinner, and they would announce a new rule. Nothing was ever explained.
The only way she could stay safe was to sneak around the house and eavesdrop on what was going on. And that’s what she was doing after she came home from school—spying. The Nolands’ house in Scarborough, Maine, had been built more than a hundred years ago by a wealthy man who liked the Queen Anne style of architecture. The two-story house had a turret, gable roofs, and a porch facing the street. While the two police officers were miles away, turning off the interstate highway, Kate sat at the top of a curved staircase and listened to every word coming from the living room.
So far, it wasn’t a very interesting conversation. Mrs. Noland was in the living room entertaining a solid-looking woman with frizzy hair who had looted the homes of families who had died during the Stem-flu pandemic. She had just sold Mrs. Noland a set of six cups and saucers, and now they were using them to sip tea in the living room.
“So, where did you find these, Darlene?”
“Beautiful, aren’t they? Bone china is thinner and smoother than regular porcelain. A set was left on the top shelf of a kitchen cupboard in an old house in South Portland.”
“I know you have glassware and plates,” Mrs. Noland said. “What else are you selling?”
“Silverware. Pots and pans. Anything that can be found in a kitchen or dining room.”
“Clothing? Shoes?”
“Practical clothes. Nothing too fancy other than fur coats. Most of my customers are looking for jeans, woolen shirts, work boots, and cotton underwear.”
“What about children’s clothing? It’s getting cold and Katherine needs a warm jacket.”
“No problem. If I don’t have the right size, I can call a few friends.”
A cup clicked down on a saucer. “Is there anything you won’t buy and sell?”
“Nothing chipped or broken. No family photographs, trophies, or diplomas. Oh, and no Bibles. There are millions of Bibles left behind, after the Fall, and no one wants them. A dealer I know in Waterville ended up with boxes of Bibles and hymnals from three abandoned churches. He stuffed them between layers of Sheetrock and insulated his garage.”
“What about games?” Kate called out from her hiding place.
The two women looked surprised when they heard Kate’s voice coming from the staircase. “Katherine? What are you doing up here?” Mrs. Noland asked. “I thought you were outside.”
“I was outside. Now I’m inside.”
“You need to stop creeping around the house.”
“Lizards creep, and I’m not a lizard.” Kate climbed down five steps and leaned over the banister so they could see her. “Do you sell board games?”
“Don’t answer that question,” Mrs. Noland said. “My daughter already has boxes of games in her closet.”
“And you play with her? Really?” The frizzy-haired lady raised her eyebrows. “I wouldn’t have the patience for that.”
“Of course I don’t play them. Those ridiculous games go on forever, and they bore me to tears. She plays with her IT.”
“His name is Zeno,” Kate said. “He likes it when you say his name.”
“Go back to your room, Katherine. You’re not part of this conversation.”
As Kate clomped up the stairs, Mrs. Noland sighed loudly. “Katherine doesn’t have any friends.”
“Buy a nubot nanny.”
“She has her silly old IT. That’s enough.”
∂
No baby pictures of Kate existed, but she had seen a photograph taken seven years ago when she first arrived at the Noland house. The three-year-old Kate stood alone, clutching Zeno. That meant they had known each other before she met the Nolands. Zeno was an Interactive Toy, but an IT wasn’t like a kite or a soccer ball. He was a harp seal with an artificial intelligence program that was linked to a database in the Cloud. Kate knew that Zeno was a computer stuffed into a plush toy, but he was also her best friend. When the sun was shining, they worked on their fort in the woods or played board games. At night, when the wind moaned and tried to push through cracks in the window frame, the seal told her elaborate stories.
Kate had seen fairy-tale movies with singing and dancing and a happy ending, but she preferred Zeno’s darker, older versions. In the original Cinderella, the wicked sisters went to the royal wedding and birds pecked out their eyes. In Snow White, the evil queen was forced to wear red-hot iron shoes and dance until she dropped dead. In the kid movies, people always had a reason for their actions, and they usually sang a song about the reason. In Zeno’s stories, people were either rich or poor, good or bad, and then they walked out of their house and had adventures.
Earlier that year there was an IT Day at Kate’s school, and kids brought their toys to class. The new generation of Interactive Toys had eyes that blinked when they looked at you and mouths that moved when they talked. Zeno’s voice came from a little speaker in his chest, and his fake fur was matted and stained. Her classmates took turns showing their toys in front of the group. The dolls and stuffed animals sang songs and told silly jokes, but when it was Zeno’s turn he just watched everything and refused to speak.
Late that night, when the Nolands were asleep and Zeno was lying near her pillow, she asked Zeno why he had stayed silent.
“I’m your friend, Katherine. I don’t perform for people. It’s vulgar to show off in front of others.”
“I’m sorry, Zeno.”
“We’re both learning about each other. That takes time.”
∂
Rounding the corner into her bedroom, Kate found Zeno where she left him, charging his body through a data port under his nose. Her friend had a silver-gray coat with black spots. Although the harp seal couldn’t move any part of his body, his bright yellow eyes saw and analyzed whatever appeared in front of him.
“Are you charged?”
“Thanks for asking. I’m in fine fettle. You may unplug me if you wish.”
Zeno spoke with a British accent. Kate felt that it made everything he said sound more thoughtful and precise. It annoyed the Nolands when Kate said “brolly” instead of umbrella and tossed her gym clothes into the car’s “boot.”
“How was school, Katherine?” he asked. “Did anything interesting occur?”
“I was gobsmacked by a math quiz. Did I use the word right?”
“ ‘Gobsmacked’ means utterly surprised or astonished.”
“I was astonished when Ms. Dahlen reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a test.”
“Is any adult near this bedroom?”
“Nope. Mrs. Noland is downstairs talking about silverware.”
“Check the cell phone for messages. You haven’t done it for several days.”
∂
The phone was the only secret that Kate possessed, and Zeno shared it with her. On her sixth birthday, Kate asked the Nolands what she looked like when she was a baby, and they told her that they didn’t have any pictures because her real parents had died during the pandemic. A year or so after their death, an organization called Safe Haven had put her on a chartered bus and shipped her to Maine. Kate wanted to know more, but that was all the Nolands were going to tell her, because children didn’t have to know everything.
After Kate rode her new bicycle and ate one slice of birthday cake, she went upstairs, crawled into bed with Zeno, and cried. When she was done, the harp seal told her a story about an ugly duckling who hid in the marshes and turned into a swan.
Over the next four years Kate felt like she was changing, but her life was still the same. She went to school, stood in line with the other kids, and sat scrunched down in her desk.
Everything would have continued in the same boring way, but then something happened that made the ordinary world shatter into pieces.
On the afternoon of her tenth birthday, Kate stood outside her school waiting for Mrs. Noland. As little kids swirled around her playing tag, Kate noticed an older woman with braided black hair walking slowly across the grass. The woman stopped nearby to check her phone, then turned her head and spoke to Kate.
“Kait-ta. Mi chiquitina,” she said. “I am Paloma Flores. Do you remember me?”
“No.”
The woman held up her phone and displayed a photograph of the three-year-old Kate sitting on a playground swing with Zeno on her lap.
“I was your niñera after your parents died. I was very sad when you went away.”
Kate felt like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. Her normal life had been in shades of drab gray, then suddenly the world appeared in different colors. “Why am I here? I don’t want to be with the Nolands.”
“It was dangerous for you to stay in New York City, so your guardian decided that you should live with people who had a different name. The Nolands used to email photographs of you, but they stopped two years ago. It’s your birthday. I wanted to make sure that you were sana y salva.
“I don’t like the Nolands, and they don’t like me.”
“Your guardian will find a way to bring you to New York City. That’s where we live. . . .” Paloma glanced over her shoulder, then handed Kate a note card with an address scrawled on the back. Then she pulled a cell phone and a charger out of her purse.
“This is a prepaid phone. If you are in danger, we’ll text you. If there’s an emergency, call one of the three contact numbers stored in the phone and leave a message. Don’t use this phone for any other purpose. And never show it to the Nolands.”
“I understand.” Looking over Paloma’s shoulder, Kate saw a blue sedan turn the corner and head down the street. “That’s Mrs. Noland’s car. She’s going to pick me up.”
“Do you still have Zeno?”
“Of course. He’s back home in my bedroom.”
“Don’t ever lose him or give him away. Zeno is important to you.”
When the Nolands’ car reached the curb, Paloma turned away and walked quickly up the sidewalk. Kate had slipped the phone and charger into her backpack.
When she got into the car, Mrs. Noland gave her a critical look. “Why was that woman talking to you?”
“She has a kid my age and wanted to know what I liked about the school.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I like recess and lunch.”
“Why are you smiling so much?”
“It’s my birthday.”
“I met Mrs. Taggart at the grocery store. She said that you told everyone in your class that you were going to get a pony for a birthday present.”
“I said I could get one. Anything is possible.”
“Once again, you’ve made up a story and lied.” Mrs. Noland locked the car doors and headed down the street. “You will never, ever be given a pony as long as you live with us.”
∂
Kate stood up, opened the bedroom door a few inches, and heard the two women chatting down in the living room. Moving quickly, she knelt and crawled over to the closet. The prepaid phone was hidden beneath a patch of stained carpet that covered the closet floor. The LCD screen glowed when she touched a button.
“No messages, Zeno. There are never any messages.”
“That means that you aren’t in danger, Katherine. Let’s play a game.”
“What about chess? It’s difficult, but I’m getting better. Right?”
“You have improved.”
Zeno preferred to look down on objects, so Kate placed the chessboard on the floor and then set the harp seal in the middle of a big pillow.
“You’re white, Zeno. You go first.”
“Move my king’s pawn to the e4 square.”
Kate moved Zeno’s piece first, then moved her king’s pawn forward so that the two pieces were facing each other.
“Now move my king’s knight to square f3.”
Kate moved Zeno’s piece and placed her queen’s knight on square c6. “This looks like the Ruy Lopez opening.”
“Correct. You’re an excellent student, Katherine.”
“If I’m a good student, then why was Mr. Noland angry about my report card?”
“Don’t worry about grades. You notice details and remember. Those two qualities are very important skills. Now move my bishop to b5.”
Kate made a whooshing sound as she moved Zeno’s bishop on a long diagonal. She crossed her legs and studied the board. “I’m going to move my other knight to f6.”
Copyright © 2026 by John Twelve Hawks. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
