A few more muttered 'good nights' and I followed Nat and Wren back to a beach cottage only a couple blocks from the beach.  They circled the house and stopped at a tree near the back door.  In the branches was a showerhead with a triangular pull handle.  Wren handed Nat her towel and beach bag, then stepped under and pulled the handle.  Nat stepped into a screen porch and placed her stuff plus what he'd carried on to the dryer.  From a cabinet over the washer he pulled out a couple of those thick towels you only see in movies.

"Just go on in," Nat said.  "We gotta get the salt and sand off.  Kick off your shoes and brush off before you go it.  Bathroom to the left, guest room the next door up the hall also on the left.  We'll be in in a few minutes."

"Help yourself to anything in the refrigerator," Wren called from under the shower.

After my last adventures in a place where no one was around, I was a little leery.  I made sure I did as I was told and kicked off my shoes, then dusted my ass, my legs and my backpack free of sand.  When I was satisfied, I stepped in.

It was just a house, a small one, but clean, with hardwood floors, and several vibrate paintings hung in the hall.  I did need the bathroom so I took the first door on the left and stood for a full minute gaping at the 'bathroom'.

I'd never seen anything like it!  First, it was bigger than my room in San Francisco and nearly as big as the place in Detroit.  Second, it was huge!  A giant corner tube big enough for two, or one Nat and maybe one Wren was placed between two bay windows that easily covered half of each wall.  Across those were gauzy curtains that I couldn't say blocked anyone from seeing inside.  But then, behind the curtains, on the bay shelf, were plants which would probably act as a better screen than the curtains.

There was also an open shower that was nothing more than a six foot long filigred mirror with a single wide shower head that sprayed down on a wooden slatted floor.  Across from that, a wide counter with a hand-painted porceline sink, well-lited mirror and rows of perfume, creams, makeup and who knew whatelse.  I finally found the toilet.  It was placed between two half walls with smoke glass panels providing some semblence of privacy.  Took me a second to remember why I'd come in … it was like a bathroom from some mansion.  I was almost afraid to use it but necessity must …

I washed my hand and use some soap that smelled like … I got no idea, I mean … flowers or something?  Then I dry them on a towel so white I was afraid I'd leave grime all over it.  Who were these people and how could they afford this kind of luxury?  The 'guest' room didn't help much.  It was like the bathroom, size-wise anyway, again with hardwood floors and a weird paint job that looked sloppy but was somehow fastinating.  The base color was white but it looked as if a painter had just thrown paint all over the place, but only used primary colors.  Red, yellow, green and blue, that was it and none of it mixed, just overlaid the color under it.

There was a MASSIVE bed with a cover that looked like the ocean, a dresser with a mirror and a surfboard hanging on the wall.  Like the hall, the art on the walls was brilliantly colorful and of ocean sunsets, or sunrises, mixed in with a few posters of surfing contests.  I sorta go the impression that Nat might surf a little.  There was a light knock on the door behind me and I turned to see Wren, hair wrapped in a towel, and wearing black yoga pants and a pale yellow top, smiling at me.

"What did you think of my bathroom?" she asked.

"I've never seen anything like it!" I had to admit.  "Are you guys rich or something?"

"Or something," Nat said, appearing behind Wren and wrapping one arm around her waist.  "Well, she is, I just own the house."

Wren gave a most unlady-like snort.  "Would you care to join us in the living room, or would you rather take a bath and get some sleep?" she asked.

"I think I'd like to talk a bit," I replied.  I needed a lot of information and they both seemed ready to provide it.

"I'll make some coffee, then," Nat said and disappeared.

"He is so very good at coffee," Wren observed with a smile.

"Other things too, I'll bet," I said before I could stop myself.

She smiled, "Oh, yes."

She unwrapped her hair and left it fall, fluffing it with her fingers.  It was more tightly curled than it had been but I figured that was because it was still damp.

"Go on in and have a seat, I'll just drop this in the hamper."

Nat called "You like coffee, Amelia?"

Coffee, in a speedster?  Well it appeared they didn't have THAT much experience with my kind.

"Um … tea?"  I suggested.

"Yeah, just like Brit," he said as I came abreast of the kitchen.  "It wired her and she was already pretty high strung to begin with.  She preferred tea or cocoa or orange juice … we do have all three."

We puttered around for a couple more minutes, Wren joined us, Nat added some homemade cookies to the mix then we sat down in the living room.  Like the res of the place it was almost spotless, with three surfboards on a rack next to the kitchen.  The living room had a huge bay window with a pair recliners place on either side of a coffee table stacked with a dozen hardback books.  Nat placed the coffee/tea service, actual China, there and served for us.  Across from the window was a heavily build couch, a cream with dark wood thing that looked comfortable.  Wren gesture to the recliner on the left and I accepted.  She sat opposite me on the couch.  Once Nat finished serving, he joined her on the other end of the sofa.

"Would you rather I give you the spiel, or would you rather just ask questions?" Nat said, once he'd settled.

"Quick speil?" I suggested.

"Okay," he paused to a take a deep breath.  "Metahumans are a growing population that people are afraid of.  A metahuman knocked the Washington Monument over on July 4, 2001, killed over 2500.  President authorizes the creation of a metahuman team sponsored and trained by the government to react to any further threats.  Finds no active metahuman type is willing to work for the government after years of contention.  Think tank says 'recruit kids', train them up, give them school, college of their choice.  Pay them, back them up, support them.  We get any college, a hefty paycheck, transportation to anywhere, have our own training vacility, we are US Marshals, we are not military, we are not used outside the country, we have an amazing doctor, you'll meet her tomorrow, we get housing if we want in a secure area and we are pretty much only subject to orders if a metahuman starts making trouble."

I actually couldn't believe that not only did he get it out in one breath, but also at nearly my speed.  He HAD been around a speedster for some time.

"Now, Legacy," he said, slowing. "We were asked by an earlier generation of metas that fought in World War II to take up this Legacy and help the people the government deems too insignificant to allow their precious metahuman teams to deal with.  It is this program I ask you to join and work to help everyone we can … behind the scenes."

"Like what have you done?"  I had to ask.

"Nothing of this ever gets ing to the news, you understand," he told me.  "But we help with things like missing people, we rescued one of our own from a survivalist group that found out she can heal with a touch. They were planning to exploit her powers which could have killed her.  She is an empath and has to take the injures off the person that is hurt, then heal her own body."

"We have stopped a coven of vampires in Olde Town, save seven children and three teenage girls from acting as cattle for them," Wren said.

I had to stop her.

"Vampires," I snorted.  "Right."

Neither of them cracked a smile.

"You're kidding, right?"  Both shook their heads.  I had to sit back on that. "Blood sucking, undead corpses drinking blood?"

"Basically just like in the movies … but not that sparkly one, the old ones like Hammer Films," Nat said.  "That's what Chris does, she hunts vampires and demons."

"Wow, demons?  Like Satan and all that stuff?"