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

by Emily Martha Sorensen

  “Could be . . . dangerous,” I managed. “Don’t want to hurt you!”

  “If you try to attack me, I’ll distract you with the kitchen trash can,” she shrugged.

  I glared at her. That wasn’t funny. Then I felt my shoulderblades crunch. My wings were growing.

  “Last . . . warning!” I cried. My voice garbled into a chirping growl, like a sparrow mixed with a diesel engine.

  Annette didn’t blink.

  I crunched into a much smaller shape, and I flapped my wings wildly. I smacked something out of the human’s hands.

  “The remote!” she cried, diving for it.

  I ignored her. I had no sense of smell, but I knew this hallway, and I knew what was beyond it. There had been food in the kitchen. Delicious food. Dead food. I had no sense of smell, but I didn’t need one, because I knew I had seen carrion in that room. I had eaten some for dinner earlier, and for some reason not picked the bones clean. I had dumped them into a black round bin. Why? It must have been for later. Yes. For later.

  There was no space to fly down the tiny hallway, and there were no thermal air currents to use, anyway. So I stalked into the kitchen and found the black round thing that had my food in it. I used my downy head and neck to shove it over. It toppled across the floor. The slick tile floor felt strange under my claws, but I ambled across it anyway, gleeful to discover bones that were not entirely picked over yet.

  Delicious food! Yummy food! My food!

  “Gross, Lisette!” Annette cried from behind me. “Don’t push over the trash!”

  I buried my head in the carrion, ignoring the plant matter and the irrelevant plastic.

  “So . . . that’s a no to trashy talk shows?” she asked. “Just trash?”

  I gobbled down another small bit. The hawks that had slain this prey hadn’t finished it off. So shortsighted. All for me. Me, me, me! The leftovers were all mine!

  “You had better take a bath after this,” Annette said. “Or before you get on the couch to watch TV.”

  She walked away and left me to enjoy my spoils. The food had barely even rotted. Incredible that there were no other vultures here to eat it.

  An incomprehensible loneliness washing over me. I should have been triumphant that I didn’t need to scramble in a wake of other birds to get to my prize, but it felt like there was something wrong about that.

  I dove my head back into the garbage, determinedly eating. I would eat, and then I would sleep until the sun was high in the sky. I seemed to recall there was some reason to get up before then, but that was silly, because there was no point to awakening early. I needed currents of hot air to fly.

  Gorged on my spoils, I wandered at last into the fuzzy-carpeted room where the human was watching something with bright lights on a box. I let out a low, chuckling sound.

  Annette turned around. “Bath,” she said. “Really.”

  I wasn’t sure exactly what the human was suggesting, but it didn’t sound like something I wanted any part of.

  I flapped my wings to perch up on the armrest of the soft, fuzzy rock she was sitting on.

  “At least wash your feet before you put them on the couch!” the human complained.

  I had no need to put water on my feet. I had my own way to clean my feet. I didn’t think the human would want me to do it. It required defecating. So I ignored her.

  “Oh, fine,” Annette sighed. “But you’re cleaning the sofa later. Okay, so here’s what’s going on in the show. That guy’s wife has been secretly dating his sister . . .”

  The doorbell rang. I peered around behind me, startled by the strange cry. It sounded familiar, but no bird I knew of sounded like that. Was it a human greeting?

  Annette sighed loudly and hopped off the sofa. She walked over to the front door, unlocked it, and opened it. Curious, I fluttered down and walked after her to peer at the stranger.

  It was a . . . not a human, I was certain of that, but it looked just like one. A heavyset woman, about middle-aged. There was something about her . . . why did I think she ought to have fangs? She had no fangs, and didn’t move by hopping, but I thought that one or the other of those things ought to have been the case.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” the woman said apologetically, removing her coat. “I have a terrible time getting places on time once the full moon rises. Are your parents still here?”

  “No,” Annette said. “But we’re fine. I’m Annette. She’s Lisette.”

  “So I gathered,” the woman said. “Your parents said you were a werebird,” she added to me. “I didn’t ask which kind, and I clearly should have. I was thinking sparrow.”

  I let out an evil chuckle and rustled my wings.

  “… Yes,” the woman said, looking taken aback. “Quite.”

  “She’s a vulture,” Annette said proudly. “The only one in the city. Isn’t that great?”

  “A vulture?” The woman’s eyes widened, and I could see her take a noticeable step backwards.

  I couldn’t remember why that annoyed me, but I remembered it did. I let out a lawnmower-like growl to show how I felt about it.

  “She’s not dangerous,” Annette said impatiently, shutting the door behind the woman just as a moth flew in. “Vultures don’t attack live prey.”

  “Yes,” the woman said, swallowing. “Yes. I . . . knew that. Yes. I’m sorry. Nice to meet you, Lisette.”

  I let out a high-pitched squawk, which was as close as I could come to replicating the greeting.

  The woman peered into the living room. “What are you doing? Watching soap operas? I thought your parents said you had more important things to be doing.”

  “We’re just killing time,” Annette said evasively. “My teachers never assign homework on full moon. All my classmates are already turned.”

  “Is that so? I’ve never had problems killing time,” the woman said equally evasively. “Is this a whole family of werevultures, then?”

  “No, just Lisette,” Annette said. “The rest of us are hawks. I’m considering becoming a vampire instead.”

  Was it just my imagination, or did the woman look a trifle relieved? Apparently she was still afraid of me.

  I rustled my feathers and stalked back to the living room, determined to ignore our supervisor. The glowing box with pictures on it was familiar, and there was some kind of argument exploding from the screen. I thought, if I focused, I would be able to understand it.

  “Being a vampire is good,” the woman agreed. “Vampires have all kinds of advantages.”

  “I’ve thought about being a dracula, but I’m leaning towards rakshasa, if I do become one,” Annette said casually. “That way I could could use illusion magic.”

  “True, but draculas can fly,” the woman said.

  “Yeah . . . I’ve thought about being a jiangshi, too . . .”

  They continued debating the merits of various vampire species. I could follow the conversation, but only barely. Mostly, I shook my feathers and watched our baby-sitter closely. She was a vampire, I was sure of it. But I couldn’t figure out which clan, and Annette kept on not asking.

  “What’s your name, anyway?” Annette asked during a break in the conversation.

  I paid attention closely.

  “I’m Loretta Vampireclanjiangshi,” she said.

  “Cool, I thought you were a vampire,” Annette said, nodding happily.

  Liar! I thought. Jiangshi walk by hopping during the full moon, and you were walking normally!

  The human who I more or less remembered was my sister wasn’t stupid, at least.

  “How do you walk without the hop?” Annette asked. “That’s one of the things I don’t like about jiangshi. If it’s possible to do without it, that would be great.”

  The woman chuckled. “Lots and lots of practice. And steel-tipped boots.” She showed off her footwear, which covered her legs up to the knees and had silvery tips. “Don’t expect to be able to do it immediately. I’ve been a vampire since I was twelve, so I’ve
had a lot of time of practice.”

  I still wasn’t satisfied with that explanation, but when I watched the woman’s footfalls later, I did spot a trace of something odd. Not quite hopping, but . . . something.

  Despite my feeling of wary suspicion, the evening passed surprisingly quickly, and I fluttered up the stairs to my bedroom not feeling tired at all. I roosted in my bed, which seemed as comfortable a nest as any, and then tried to fall asleep.

  It seemed like barely an hour later when the sun rose, and I heard my parents and sister flapping in with the first thermals. I felt muzzy-headed as I heard voices downstairs, and then realized it was because I was still a vulture. I shifted back, and found my neck aching from a position that was comfortable for vultures, but not so much for humans.

  I slid out of bed, still wearing my jeans and T-shirt from last night, and went downstairs to hear the voices talking.

  “Thank you so much for coming on such short notice,” Mom said. “Were they any trouble?”

  “No trouble at all,” the woman said. “The time passed very quickly.”

  It really had, I reflected silently. I felt like I’d had only four hours of sleep.

  “We might call upon you again next full moon,” Mom said, “if that wouldn’t be an inconvenience.”

  “I’d be happy to,” the woman said.

  Over my dead body! I thought indignantly. I’m going to Kegan’s for the next full moon!

  Remembering dead bodies put me in mind of my vulture-snacking last night. I felt sick. Was I going to have to avoid every trash can during every full moon from now on? How many of them was I going to eat out of?

  Speaking of which . . .

  Oh, gross, I realized in horror. I smell like rotting meat juice.

  I ran to the bathroom and looked in the mirror, and was appalled to see that my black curls were caked in dried gunk from the night before. I ran my tongue over my teeth, and was disgusted to realize I hadn’t flossed last night. I immediately locked the door, shucked off my clothes, and got in the shower while flossing my teeth.

  It was a good thing school always started at noon on days after the full moon. I probably wasn’t the only one who needed the extra time to recover.

  Chapter 5: Flying Lessons

  Even though school started at noon on the day after a full moon, it had as many hours as always, so we had to stay until seven pm. Which meant I had to start Flyers’ Ed on a cold, darkening evening outside on a school field with zero thermals. Not a promising beginning.

  “I know you might think this is a bad place to start learning,” Ms. Specterclanaura said, one of her two chins wobbling, “if you’re a species that relies on thermals. But I assure you, you can learn just fine using the heated fans. Vilas and auras, as well, will discover that the fans are plenty to produce the speed of wind that they need.”

  She gestured to the sidelines of the football field, where four enormous fans lurked. I had never seen them used before, and hadn’t even known what they were used for. Apparently it was Flyers’ Ed. I sidled over to turn one of them on.

  “Not so fast!” Ms. Specterclanaura barked. “Get back here, Miss Wereclanvulture!”

  Reluctantly, I skulked back.

  Ms. Specterclanaura waved her flabby arms as she continued. “We won’t be using the fans today. Instead, we’re going to focus on the basic rules of flying etiquette. If you all have those learned by the end of the lesson, we might have time to go over the proper launching posture for your species.”

  Are you kidding? I thought incredulously. Head down, wings spread above you, tail fanned outward . . . what else could there be?

  Okay, maybe it was different for specters. My mind wandered as I wondered whether Kegan would have chosen her father’s clan if he’d been one of the two types of specters that was able to fly.

  Probably not, given what she’d told me. The ability to fly made both vila and aura pretty popular clans.

  Ms. Specterclanaura was still talking, and she’d started pacing around the field, enormous belly jiggling with each step. I’d heard rumors that she’d started out as a Phys Ed teacher, which seemed completely unbelievable. One of the seniors had assured me that her older sister had had Ms. Specterclanaura as her softball coach ten years ago, though, and she hadn’t been any smaller back then. I shuddered to think.

  “Isn’t that right, Miss Wereclanvulture?” she snapped, stopping in front of me.

  I gulped and cast my mind back to remember what she’d been saying. Blah blah blah, Department of Mobile Volants, something something something, written examinations, yada yada yada, six directions . . . oh!

  “Yes, you must always look up, down, right, left, in front of you, and behind you, in that order, before changing altitudes,” I said promptly.

  Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she let it go and went back to pacing and walking. “The DMV is very strict about this rule. When you take your flying test, if you fail to look up or down before you change altitude, it will result in immediately failing. This is true even if you’re an aura, because while auras are both invisible and insubstantial while flying, two insubstantial specters are, in effect, substantial when they collide into each other, so colliding with another flying specter would be . . .”

  I tuned her out, wondering if Ms. Specterclanaura would ever have been able to get off the ground if she hadn’t been an aura. Vilas were usually skinny in movies, which was probably because they couldn’t turn insubstantial for flying.

  Actually, there was an interesting question. Did vilas keep all their weight when they flew? Nah, that was impossible, because even a light breeze could propel them. But maybe it was a fixed percentage like a hundredth of their normal weight or something, in which case Ms. Specterclanaura would still have been too heavy if she’d been a vila. I made a mental note to check Ghoulgle as soon as class was over and I could pull out my phone.

  Come to think of it, did draculas turn into vampire bats, or just normal bats? If it was just normal bats, what if they spent the entire full moon in bat form? Would they get sick because they couldn’t drink blood, or would they be fine? I was pretty sure they’d get sick, because if there were some sort of loophole, there wouldn’t be a need for Red Cross blood donations. My fingers itched to pull out my phone . . .

  “Miss Wereclanvulture!” Ms. Specterclanaura called in frustration. “Would you please pay attention?”

  “Is it time to practice launching postures?” I asked hopefully.

  She didn’t look pleased. Her wobbly arms folded in front of her enormous chest. Really, it was incredible to believe this woman could go insubstantial. If I hadn’t known she was a specter, I’d have guessed she was a werepig.

  Before she could refuse, I shifted into vulture form and spread my wings and tail properly. Then, a tiny bit because of instinct and mostly because of impatience, I launched myself straight into the air.

  It was beautiful! It was glorious! It was . . . oh, wow, no wonder raptors usually launched from high places with thermals.

  My arms — no, wings — were killing me. My body felt as heavy as Ms. Specterclanaura looked. I veered downward . . .

  “That’s not the proper way to land!” Ms. Specterclanaura screamed.

  … and crashed straight into the ground, left wing first. I heard a horrible cracking sound, and jerked back into human form, gasping with pain.

  “Every class,” she muttered. “Every single class.”

  I hurt too much to respond. I let out a horrible moan.

  She raised her voice and bellowed, “As I’ve been saying for the past ten minutes, you werebirds need to work on toning your arm muscles before I’ll allow you to practice flying! This is the reason why!”

  I whimpered, holding my left arm. I was pretty sure I had broken it. The pain was unimaginable.

  “Get to the nurse,” Ms. Specterclanaura growled. “Then come back here as soon as you’re healed.”

  Trying not to weep, I staggered to my feet and stumble
d towards the nurse’s office, which was, not coincidentally, at the end of the field. This wasn’t the first time somebody had been injured here. Football games were practically a bloodbath.

  The nurse, Miss Vampireclandracula, looked utterly unsurprised when I pushed open the door and stood there, holding my left arm and crying.

  “There’s always someone,” she said, opening a drawer and pulling out a straight razor. “Come here.”

  I shuffled forward, sniffling pitifully.

  She sliced deep into her wrist and held it out over a paper cup. I flinched as the blood sprayed out, but the wound healed almost immediately. Wiping her arm with a paper towel unconcernedly, she walked over and handed me the small paper cup.

  “Drink this,” she said. “And next time, listen to the instructions before you go off headlong on your own.”

  I shuddered as I stared at the blue-black liquid within the cup. The last time I had tasted vampire blood was when I’d been six and I’d decided it would be a good idea to jump out of a tree with sheets attached to my arms, pretending I was a hawk. I remembered the taste vividly: like rotten cabbage mixed with salty charcoal.

  Still, my arm hurt too much to complain. I pinched my nose and downed it.

  The taste was even worse than I remembered. I gagged and tried to spit it out, but the blood had already shot down my throat on its own. Pins and needles spiked down my face and into my belly. I shuddered and convulsed, and then a terrible CRACK! came from my arm again.

  I felt two ends of a broken bone scrape together, and I gasped at the pain. Then it felt like something cold was pouring over where the break had been, and there was nothing. I jerked my left arm to the side. It was okay.

  I closed my eyes in relief, and then I opened them. Now I was feeling dizzy, and my vision was blurred. I could barely read the Donate to your local Red Cross! poster on the door.

  “All better?” Miss Vampireclandracula commented. She took my arm and felt along the bone, then nodded briskly. “Good. That seems to have been enough. You’ll probably feel lightheaded until whatever your body didn’t use burns itself out. Don’t do any heavy lifting or fly again today.”