Trials of a Teenage Werevulture (Trilogy of a Teenage Werevulture Book 1)

by Emily Martha Sorensen

  Trials of a Teenage Werevulture

  by Emily Martha Sorensen

  Copyright © 2017 Emily Martha Sorensen

  Cover art by Rebecca Frank

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: The Turning

  Chapter 2: A New Clan

  Chapter 3: Matching the Banshee

  Chapter 4: First Full Moon

  Chapter 5: Flying Lessons

  Chapter 6: Rarity

  Chapter 7: Those Exist?

  Chapter 8: Taint

  Chapter 9: That Secret

  Chapter 10: Baobhan Sith

  Chapter 11: The Aftermath

  Chapter 12: Danger

  Chapter 13: Undercover

  Chapter 14: Not the Problem

  Chapter 15: Born of the Water

  Chapter 16: The Choice

  Chapter 17: Luckily

  Chapter 18: Home Base

  Chapter 19: Technically All True

  Chapter 20: Rescue Mission

  Chapter 21: The Last Resort

  Chapter 22: An Awesome Power k12

  Next Book

  Chapter 1: The Turning

  My shoulderblades itched.

  Around me, relatives were crowded in close. Somebody was breathing on the back of my neck, while somebody else was stepping on my foot. I wished they’d stop it.

  Mom’s eyes glinted in the glow of the turning stone. So did Collette’s, my older sister. My father was crowded in behind them, so I couldn’t see his eyes, but he was probably calm, as usual.

  I, on the other hand . . . I was a nervous wreck.

  And I wondered who was stepping on my foot.

  The light winked out, and thirty-five people around me let go, many of them exhaling a long breath at once. Hands disengaged from the stone, and Uncle Johnson backed away. The pressure disappeared from my foot.

  Thank you, I thought, glancing back to give him a swift glare. He didn’t seem to notice.

  “There it is,” Mother said. “Now try to transform.”

  I swallowed, and then swallowed again.

  It had been one thing to beg my parents to let me turn early, and to throw a fit when they had refused. It had been one thing to join my friends in counting down the days until my birthday, and to envy Kegan for turning six months before me, and to brag about my clan and how I could hardly wait to be part of it.

  What if it hadn’t worked? Approximately one person in a thousand failed to turn. What if I was stuck forever as a human, essentially a hopeless cripple, one of those pitiful figures that oh, no, you’re not supposed to discriminate against, but everybody did anyway?

  There was also a higher chance that I might have turned into something unexpected. The older you got, the better the chances of turning, but the higher the risks of becoming something other than your clan. That was why most clans favored seventeen as the turning age. I had a great-aunt, unfortunately named Dorothy, who had turned into a dodo.

  Everyone called her Aunt Dodo. She couldn’t even fly.

  “Come on, Lisette,” my father said, his voice perfectly calm. “Let’s see those wings.”

  With thirty-five werehawks to program the stone, I told myself, it couldn’t possibly have gone wrong. It’s not like this is one of those tiny clans with only five or six people to show the turning stone the desired form.

  I focused in the way my parents and teachers at school had described to me. Deep inside, somewhere between conscious thought and instinct, I felt the form of a bird. With my stomach clenched nervously, I released the form into my body.

  My shoulderblades stopped itching and began to burgeon outwards. I gasped and reached for someone’s hands to steady myself. The sprouting wasn’t quite an unpleasant sensation, just . . . weird. I looked up at the face of the person whose hands I’d grabbed, and it was Alec.

  My stomach flipflopped for an entirely different reason.

  Alec was one of the few people in the clan that I wasn’t related to. He and his family had moved to Sky City just a few months ago, which meant he wasn’t even a distant relative. A werehawk who was my age, the opposite gender, and not even distantly related to me — was it any wonder I had a crush on him?

  Okay, so he was kind of a jerk. People could change.

  I let go quickly, and feathers sprouted all over my new limbs. It itched like crazy for a minute, and then the softness was barely noticeable. It was like hair: you barely noticed it unless you moved, and then a breeze would catch it slightly.

  “Perfect,” one of my mother’s cousins said into the silence. “She has a perfect half-form. Nothing but wings.”

  “Better than mine, anyway,” a man’s voice joked from behind me.

  That had to be Uncle Horus. His half-form gave him an entire bird head. His middle name was Horace, so it had taken approximately two days for the clan to give him the nickname.

  My arms were itchy, so I rolled up my left sleeve to look at one of them. It was covered in tiny feathers. I checked my right arm, and they were there, too.

  “Not so perfect,” my older sister said, sounding satisfied. Her half-form gave her bird feet, and her nose got beaky.

  “That’s odd,” Mom said, walking behind me. “There ought to be black and white bands on the wings. And they ought to be more variegated. Look at this: they’re all light at the top and dark at the bottom.”

  I craned my head to look back. It was hard to see, so I stretched my wings out and flapped them. Relatives dodged out of the way, and Uncle Johnson didn’t quite make it in time; he got whapped in the face. I didn’t mind that.

  Mom was right. My wings were a soft tan at the top, the color of browned butter, and dark mahogany at the bottom. They were solid colors, not like any red-tailed hawk wings I’d ever seen.

  I was starting to feel nervous.

  “We got a subspecies drift,” Grandma Irma grunted. “It happens. At least it’s better than Dodo.”

  “Might be a little more than that,” my father’s cousin said, surveying my wings. “Think she might be a kite, or eagle?”

  Oh, no, I thought. Both of those species had their own clans. I’d be thrown in with a bunch of strangers. Granted, they were both huge, not like Aunt Dodo’s pathetic little three-person clan, but . . .

  “There’s no way to know for certain,” my father said, “unless she shifts all the way.”

  I pulled my wings in, feeling tense. I wasn’t sure I wanted to now.

  One of my cousins pulled out his cellphone and started swiping the screen.

  “What’re you doing?” my sister asked him.

  “Pulling up Werepedia,” he said.

  “Oh, good idea,” Collette grinned. “She might be something obscure.”

  I was starting to feel ill. If I was a different subspecies, I could still stay in the clan, but I wouldn’t be a very valued member. I wouldn’t get to touch the stone to turn my younger sister, which might confuse it, and I could kiss impressing Alec goodbye.

  I wasn’t sure what would be worse: being thrown into a new clan, or being a second-class werehawk in my old one.

  “Right,” my cousin said, swiping the screen of his phone. “Not that one. Not that one. Not seeing anything here. Hey, Lisette, transform all the way.”

  I didn’t want to. I really, really didn’t want to.

  Dad came over and patted my shoulder. “You’re not stuck human. You have a beautiful half-form. You even have wings. How bad could it be?”

  He had a point. I nodded.

  I tried to ignore my sister, who had gotten ou
t her cellphone to take pictures, and I tried to ignore Alec, who had a faint expression of scorn on his face. I felt the bird inside me, and I pulled it outward.

  My torso shrank, and my neck elongated. I didn’t shrink as much as I expected, and my wings grew and grew and grew. My feet became webbed, and my arms disappeared.

  My sister aimed her phone and took a picture.

  I was very annoyed, so I raised my long neck and let out a long screech. It didn’t sound like the high, shrill cry that I was used to. It sounded like a cross between a squawk and a growl.

  My cousin’s eyes widened, and the phone slipped from his fingers.

  “What is it?” I tried to ask. “What am I?”

  But no actual words came out. My voice rose in a terrifying, unbirdlike snarl.

  “What am I?” I asked, panicked.

  My unintelligible voice growled like a wolf, and then roared like a T-rex I’d seen in a movie. What kind of bird made a noise like that?

  My relatives were backing away with horrified faces. Even my father, and my mother. Even my sister, who was normally unfazeable.

  My grandfather stepped forward, his eyes wide and his arms shaking. “Bad news, Lisette,” he said, seeming to try to keep his voice level. “You’re a vulture.”

  Chapter 2: A New Clan

  A vulture.

  I was a vulture.

  I’d never even heard of a werevulture. The clan was probably pathetic, like Aunt Dodo’s. If I had been a specter, or a giant, or a kapre, it probably wouldn’t have mattered so much. But weres took their clans seriously.

  “A vulture?” I tried to shout. “How can I possibly be a vulture?”

  It came out as a hoarse, angry-sounding squawk.

  Grandpa leapt back, throwing his hands in front of his chest as if to protect himself.

  I reached for the human inside, and pushed myself back into half-form.

  “How can I possibly be a vulture?” I shouted, as soon as I had a mouth again. “I’m a hawk! We’re all hawks! This is my clan!”

  My relatives said nothing. Even my sister was deathly silent.

  “I’m sorry, Lisette,” Mom said, stepping forward. “I know this isn’t what any of us wanted . . .”

  “Wanted!” I shouted. I spun around to kick the turning stone, but somebody had already moved it out of my reach. “You were all scared of me! The only reason you’re willing to come near me now is that I shifted back! Admit it!”

  Mom said nothing. She didn’t deny it.

  “It’ll take some getting used to,” Dad said, as if that weren’t the understatement of the century.

  I clung to anger because I was scared that if I surrendered to any other emotion, I would be terrified. I might even start crying. And I was not going to do that in front of my relatives — or Alec, who had made fun of my best friend just for being a banshee.

  It wasn’t like there was anything wrong with being a banshee. It was just that they were . . . you know . . . considered omens of death. And it wasn’t easy to be popular in high school when your clan had a reputation like that. Then again, Kegan could easily have chosen to be a nymph, but she’d picked her mother’s clan over her father’s. So in a sense, she’d brought it on herself. Not that she minded.

  She won’t mind me being a vulture, I told myself. I didn’t back away from her, and she won’t back away from me.

  But it was hard to summon enthusiasm, because in one key way, we were different: she had chosen her clan, and I had not.

  So, my seventeenth birthday ended badly, and not at all as I’d planned. I went home, chose not to speak to either of my parents, and ignored my History homework. Then I went to bed early, still giving my parents the silent treatment, and hoped that when I woke up, it would turn out to all be a dream.

  Of course it wasn’t.

  Still, a good night’s sleep had done wonders for my mood. At least I wasn’t human any longer, and I hadn’t wound up furry. I disliked werewolves and werebears; they were so cliquish and snobby.

  I stood in front of the mirror, modeling the new outfit I’d bought specifically for today, with gigantic slits in the back of the shirt just in case it might turn out my half-form would have visible wings.

  Well, I thought, why not?

  I had no reason to be ashamed, and as long as I didn’t act embarrassed, I probably wouldn’t get teased. Kegan’s usual response to people making fun of her was to stare at them with aloof contempt until they walked away in confused discomfort. I’d always admired how well that tactic worked for her. I figured I’d try it if I needed to.

  I considered wearing long sleeves, just to cover the arm-feathers, since I might as well show off the best of my half-form on the first day. But our principal was a kapre and a total wimp about cold weather, so he would probably have the heat running full blast at the first chill breeze. Given that it was October, that meant the building would be sweltering by lunchtime.

  “‘It makes my sap run chill,’” I muttered under my breath, going through my closet to decide what else I would wear. “Honestly. How does he think the basajauns feel? They can’t help being hairy.”

  I had originally bought a skirt for today, one that was long in the front and short in the back, just in case my half-form had a visible tail. But since it didn’t, I was not going to walk around in something short enough to show off my underwear. Skirts like that were meant for people with bushy tails, and I had a human backside. I finally settled on my usual staple, jeans.

  Once I was dressed, I swallowed nervously and stared at the mirror. One last thing to do, to make sure everything matched well. I reached deep inside, and pulled out the vulture within.

  Huge gobs of flesh protruded from my back, and I shuddered as they stretched out into something vaguely fingery. There were bumps all over the flesh, like warts or pimples. Then the bumps burst into little downy feathers, looking a little like fur. Then the enormous dark brown flight feathers grew in, tough and strong.

  I spread my wings out slightly — not far, because my wingspan had a far reach — and stared in the mirror.

  I had always thought vultures were hideous things with black wings and bald red heads, but these were pretty gorgeous wings. The down that grew down my arms was creamy white, and you could just barely see the medium brown of my skin underneath. The tips of my wings matched the brown of my face, and the tan of the upper feathers was a nice in-between.

  These weren’t the hawk wings I’d expected, but they would do, I decided. I wondered what subspecies of vulture I was. It clearly wasn’t the black kind I’d seen in movies. What would the rest of the people in the vulture clan look like? Would they look like me?

  I had to shift my wings away to fit through the doorway, which was kind of inconvenient. Then I discovered that I’d left my cellphone charging in my room after I’d pulled them back out in the hallway. I stood there, debating whether I wanted to go a whole day without it.

  My little sister’s door opened.

  “Perfect timing!” I said, pouncing. “Go get my cellphone!”

  Annette stared at me. “You have wings,” she noted.

  “I do?!” I gasped, looking back in mock bafflement.

  She made a face at me and rolled her eyes. Then she strolled into my room and unplugged it from the wall. She ambled out of my room and tossed it to me.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I owe you one.”

  “You can pay me back by convincing Mom and Dad to let me turn early,” she said seriously.

  “Won’t work,” I said, tucking the phone into my pocket. “Believe me, I started trying when I was fourteen.”

  “But you hadn’t skipped two grades,” she said. “Everyone in my class is turning this year.”

  She had a point. Annette went to a special genius school, Dracula School for the Gifted. Half her classmates were vampires, and vampires were the most lax about turning their kids early. She likely had a lot of classmates who had turned years ago.

  “I’ll see wh
at I can do,” I said, “but don’t get your hopes up. Especially after, you know . . .”

  “That’s exactly why this is the perfect time,” she said solemnly. “You can tell them that the chances of me turning into something that’s not a hawk go up with age. After last night’s debacle, they should be ripe for persuading.”

  “Don’t bet on it,” I said. “Knowing Mom, she’ll just say, ‘This is why it’s so important to wait until the traditional time,’ or something. And go on about how much worse it could have been. You know that theory that people who would have failed to turn at a young age are the same ones who’ll turn into the wrong thing when they’re older.”

  Annette nodded. “It’s invalid, though. The statistics don’t match.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I said. “Mom will bring it up. She did a whole lot with me. She’ll think this was just vindication.” I pointed at my wings, and waited for Annette to say something about them, or the fact that I had not become a werehawk. She didn’t.

  “Just ask them,” she said.

  I went down to the breakfast table, where I found Collette glugging a chocolate protein shake.

  “You had better not be dieting again,” I told her. “That won’t help you fly better.”

  “For your information,” she said huffily, “being more lightweight does help one fly better.”

  “Yeah, but lack of energy doesn’t,” I said.

  Collette made a face at me and put her foot up on the table. Her body shifted, and her bird foot seized the glass while she used her arms to put on her backpack.

  “Hey, can I fly to school with you today?” I asked excitedly.

  “You don’t have your flying license yet,” she said. “You don’t even have a learner’s permit. Mom and Dad would kill me.”

  “Aww, c’mon,” I wheedled.

  “Nuh uh,” she said. “You’re gonna have to sign up for Flyers’ Ed, just like I did when I was junior.”

  I sighed. Why did I have to take a stupid class? How hard could it be?

  “Trust me,” she said, collecting the empty glass from her bird foot and moving it to the counter behind her, “it’s not as instinctual as you think it’ll be. Plus there are rules of the sky. It’s not just birds who are up there, Lisette. It’s also tellems and vilas and some vampires.”