Josh jerked his head back. The kitchen was at the very rear of the house; there was no way he should be able to hear those things. And then he realized that the faintest wisp of golden smoke had gathered in his palm. Bringing his hand to his face, he wondered at the physical evidence of his aura. It looked like the dry ice he’d seen in chemistry class, except that it was a faint golden color and smelled strongly of oranges. As he watched, the foglike vapor sank back into his palm and disappeared. Josh closed his hand into a fist, squeezing hard. He’d watched his sister create a silver glove around her hand, and in the street, only a few minutes earlier, he’d seen a similar gauntlet appear over his own without even thinking about it. But what would happen if he deliberately focused on seeing his left hand encased in a gauntlet? Immediately, his skin sparked, glittering with speckles. The faintest impression of a golden glove surrounded his hand. As he watched, a studded metal gauntlet formed around his flesh, the fingers tipped with pointed golden nails. Josh made a fist again. The glove closed with the sound of metal rasping on metal.

“Josh Newman!”

Aunt Agnes’s voice on the other side of the door made him jump. He’d been concentrating so hard on creating the glove that he hadn’t heard her come up the stairs. His aura dissipated, the glove drifting away in curls of golden smoke.

Agnes pounded on the door. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

Josh sighed. “No,” he said truthfully.

“Well, I’ve made some tea. Come down now before it gets cold.” She paused and added, “I made some fresh muffins this morning also.”

“Great.” Josh felt his stomach rumble; Aunt Agnes made the best muffins. “I’m just getting changed. I’ll be right down.” He waited until he heard his aunt shuffle away, her flat-soled shoes rubbing the carpet. Then he looked at his hand again and smiled broadly at a sudden thought. If he was able to mold his aura without training, then that meant he had to be more powerful than his sister.

Settling his backpack over both shoulders, he inched open the door and listened with his enhanced senses. He could actually hear his aunt pouring tea from the pot into a cup, could smell the tannin of fresh black tea and the richer odor of warm pastry. His stomach rumbled again and he felt his mouth fill with saliva: he could almost taste the buttery cake. He wondered if he could stop for just one… but that would mean sitting down with Aunt Agnes, and she’d want to know all the details of the past few days. He’d be there for an hour-and he couldn’t afford to waste the time.