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

by Emily Martha Sorensen

“Do you want cookies?” Mom called. “I made your favorite, peanut butter chocolate chip!”

  “Maybe later!” I called, and then I thought better of it. If I said “later,” Annette would eat them all. I headed to the kitchen and loaded up on a bunch of them.

  “Hey!” Annette protested with a mouthful of warm cookie. She already had a pile on a plate beside her, and there were crumbs in the milk glass in front of her. “You said later!”

  “I thought better of it,” I said, making a face at her.

  “What’s that?” she asked, pointing at the book under my arm.

  “It’s a library book,” I said, and couldn’t resist smirking. “You know what a library is, right?”

  “I know what libraries are,” she glowered. “I visit them more often than you. But why did you check out that?”

  I glanced down at the cover, and it was horrifying enough that I shuddered again. “Because,” I said, but then decided I should give her a real answer. “Because I want to figure out why there are no werevulture clans anymore.”

  Annette stopped eating her cookie and stared at me.

  Her seriousness was making me uncomfortable, so I grabbed my stack of still-warm cookies and headed upstairs. I shut the door to my room, flopped onto my bed, and started reading.

  The introduction was super, super, super dull, so I skipped past it. I didn’t need to know about the American Revolution, blah blah blah, because I’d already studied that in class. I got to chapter one, which was about his early childhood.

  That was actually interesting, because it described the werevulture clan he’d been born into. His parents had been wealthy merchants and very respectable, which implied that werevultures hadn’t been considered disgusting back then.

  I read some of the passages twice, and I felt a pang of longing. If I had to be a werevulture, I would have liked to have been born into a family that could get me prepared for it. After the point where he was turned, I waited with bated breath to see whether he had eaten out of the garbage at any point, but the book didn’t say.

  The author clearly had never been a werevulture, because they would have seen how important this question was.

  After that, his dad had become an alcoholic, and his family had lost all their money, yada yada yada . . . I was getting bored.

  I skipped to the point where the Revolutionary War started, and he was a war hero and stuff. The battles and the war tactics were boring, so I skipped ahead, wanting to find the point where he got tainted.

  Then I found it.

  Little is known about when Benedict Arnold got tainted, though it was thought to have been one of the times when the group of vultures and buzzards under his command went to retrieve a tainted turning stone, the book said. All that’s known is that, by 1779, he was clearly in the early stages of taint . . .

  “Oh, come on!” I shouted. “The most interesting part of the story, and you brush it off with ‘little is known’? What kind of a historian are you?!”

  I was furious with the book for wasting my time, so I slammed it shut. I needed a break, so I headed back to the kitchen just in case there were still cookies left.

  There weren’t.

  Annette was on the computer, though, and it looked like she was reading news sites.

  “What’s up?” I asked, standing by her chair and reading over her shoulder. There was a bunch of text about a vulture who had won a National Merit Scholarship . . . huh. Must have been one of the ones in New Yeti City.

  Annette turned around with a funny look on her face. “Lisette,” she said, “did you know there used to be a werevulture clan?”

  “Yeah,” I said, “in Benedict Arnold’s day. He was born into it.”

  “No,” she said, “I mean recently. In Sky City.”

  “Huh?” I was startled. “How recently? You mean last year?”

  “I mean in the 1980s.”

  I snorted. “That’s not recent.”

  “Look,” she said, shifting over to another window. “In the 1980s, there was a serial killer who was specifically targeting vultures. He wiped out most of them across the country until he was caught. It says he was insane but still put on Death Row, which kind of implies . . .”

  “… he was tainted,” I said slowly. “But why would a tainted person specifically go after vultures?”

  “I don’t know,” Annette said. “He was killing buzzards, too, so maybe he thought they were all the same. The buzzard clans recovered, probably because they had a useful power that the police needed. But the vultures . . .”

  “The vultures didn’t,” I said slowly. “Because anyone who might have wanted to become a vulture became a buzzard instead.”

  “Yeah,” Annette said. “I was just reading about one of the victims. Oh, by the way, do you know what else I found?! Apparently there’s this conspiracy theory that John F. Vampireclanrakshasa was assassinated by the Secret Service because he’d been secretly tainted by —”

  “That’s nice,” I broke in, determined to not have a second history lesson shoved down my throat today. “So what happened to the vulture turning stones? They’ve gotta still be around somewhere. If I can get one, I could restart the clan in Sky . . .”

  I stopped, realizing it.

  “They’re gone, aren’t they?” I said slowly. “Destroyed. That’s why nobody’s ever tried to restart the clans. If the killer was tainted, he must have found their turning stones and touched them. Once they were tainted, they’d have to be destroyed. He wasn’t just killing people, was he? He was trying to extinct both species from the country.”

  Annette swallowed. Her eyes were huge.

  I took in a deep breath and breathed it out. I didn’t know if this made me feel better or worse. On the one hand, vultures hadn’t been considered so disgusting that people had just randomly decided to stop turning into them.

  On the other hand, the 1980s weren’t that ancient history. There were adults who’d been alive then. Adults who might have been in league with that guy. Or who might have tainted him in the first place and given him some reason to hate buzzards and vultures.

  How old was Rodrigo?

  I had to find a way to talk to the police again.

  Chapter 13: Undercover

  “Yay!” Kegan squealed, prancing into my bedroom with an armload of bags. “I’ve been wanting to dress you up for ages!”

  “Don’t get too excited,” I said. “This is only so I can go into the police station without anybody realizing it’s me.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Kegan grinned, her eyes sparkling. “We’re like spies in a movie.”

  I grinned back. Okay, she was right, this was pretty cool.

  “Did you do what I said?” I asked.

  “Yep,” Kegan said. “I bought loads of clothes at American Wereeagle, then I brought them all home and filled up the bags with my stuff instead. It’ll look like I went shopping and brought you loads of stuff to try on, just like I said at school.”

  “Perfect,” I said. “All stuff you haven’t worn in weeks?”

  “Duh,” Kegan said. “They might have been watching me and remembered anything I’d worn recently.”

  We thought so alike. I loved it.

  “Here’s some stuff from my closet!” Annette said, barging in.

  I stared my sister’s horrible offerings. Her clothes were boring and sensible and . . . preppy. You’d think a school for vampires would have fashion that was more exciting, but no, it was all sensible shoes and button-down blouses. With collars. Who wore shirts with collars?

  “You have terrible taste in clothes,” Kegan said.

  “You’re one to talk!” Annette said huffily. “Anyway, we have a dress code.”

  “You wear these things outside of school, too,” I snorted.

  “They’re comfortable!” Annette shot back.

  “Okay,” I said, holding up my hand. “We’ve got one hour to make Annette look like Kegan with clothes she can easily swap to look like me. What�
�ve we got?”

  Kegan emptied her bags of clothes onto my bed. There were ruffles and frills and loads and loads of lace and artful shreddings. It looked like an entire clan of 1800s draculas had disrobed in my bedroom.

  “I want this one,” Annette said immediately, scooping up a black lace corset.

  “Ooh, good choice,” Kegan said. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

  “I . . . I just picked it because it looks like it fastens and unfastens easily,” Annette said, shifty-eyed.

  Uh huh, you liar, I thought.

  “In that case, we should definitely go with something loose underneath,” Kegan said, sorting through her clothes. She pulled out an artistically shredded white dress with threadbare spots and seams that looked barely held together. “It might disguise the fact that our body shapes are different.”

  “Wait a minute,” Annette said. “Did you just say you want me to look like Kegan?”

  “Uh, yeah,” I said. “Didn’t you listen to the plan? Kegan leaves the house insubstantially, traveling underground, while you and I head to the mall. At the mall, you switch clothes with me, I switch clothes with Kegan, and Kegan switches clothes with you. That way, it’ll look like Kegan and I are shopping the whole time I’m actually at the police station. It’s brilliant!”

  “It’s idiotic!” Annette shouted. “Kegan is white!”

  “I thought of that,” Kegan said cheerfully. “That’s why I wore these on the way here!” She pulled a pair of long gloves and a veil out of her pocket and held the veil over her face. It was opaque.

  “See?” she said, her voice muffled by the thick fabric. “No one will be able to tell the difference!”

  “I don’t even know where to start,” Annette muttered. “No, wait, I do. You don’t even need me for this moronic plan. Lisette could impersonate Kegan just as unconvincingly as me.”

  My mouth fell open. I hadn’t even thought about that.

  “Yeah! We could be each other!” Kegan squealed.

  “Awesome!” I cried.

  We slapped each other five.

  “Not awesome!” Annette shouted. “Stupid! It will not work!”

  The doorknob turned, and Collette poked her head in the door. “… What are you guys doing?”

  “Nothing,” Kegan said immediately.

  “Uh huh.” Collette looked around. “Why are Kegan’s clothes all over the room?”

  “We’re dressing up like each other to see if we can fool people,” I said.

  Collette burst out into giggles.

  “It’ll work!” I said defensively.

  Collette giggled harder.

  “I think you might be shorter than me,” Kegan said, kneeling down to look in my closet. “Do you have a pair of platform shoes?”

  Collette doubled over, gasping for breath. “Height? You’re worried about height? Really? That’s your primary concern?”

  “Collette, tell her she can’t sneak out to the police station that way,” Annette said huffily. “It’ll look more suspicious than if she doesn’t try to hide that she’s going at all.”

  “Annette!” I cried furiously. I couldn’t believe she was such a blabbermouth!

  Collette gasped for breath, her eyes watering. After a moment, she managed to straighten, still bursting out into a wild snort every few seconds.

  “Okay,” she said at last. “That is . . . let’s just say that’s not going to work. Why exactly do you think you need to visit the police station, Lisette?”

  “Why would I tell you?” I demanded. “You laughed at me!”

  “We found out there was a serial killer specifically targeting werevultures in the 1980s!” Annette blabbed. “Lisette thinks the evil clan might have been working for him!”

  “Working with him,” I hissed.

  “And Lisette thinks Rodrigo might have been alive then and be still wanting to kill vultures,” Annette blurted out, “and if she tells the police there might be something they can do about it, but you can’t tell Mom and Dad, because they’d freak out —”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Collette said, holding out her hand. “First of all, I think you’re giving Mom and Dad way too little credit, and the police way too much. What exactly do you think they could do that they aren’t doing already? They’re already trying to find Rodrigo.”

  “But —” I began. But I’d feel better if I could talk to them!

  “Second,” Collette said, pulling something out of her pocket, “if you really want to talk to the police without being seen, and you think you’ve learned something useful that they don’t already know, there’s this magical little invention called a phone.” She dangled it in front of my face.

  I swatted it away.

  “They might be listening to Lisette’s phone calls,” Kegan said. “Duh.”

  “Then use my phone,” Collette said, wiggling it. “Or use your principal’s phone. Or use one of Kegan’s neighbors’ phones. You have a lot more options than showing up in person. Especially with a really dumb plan that would catch Rodrigo’s attention if he’s watching for sure.”

  I glared at her.

  “Okay, are we done here?” Collette said. “Yes? Good. Don’t try to leave the house, because I’ll stop you.”

  She left the room and shut the door behind her.

  I flopped onto my bed and fumed. Several of Kegan’s dresses slid onto the floor, and there was a corset with sharp metal hooks right under my rear. I moved and yanked it out from under me.

  “So . . . what are you going to do now?” Annette asked.

  “Apparently I’m going to do my homework,” I said sourly.

  “We can still dress up!” Kegan said.

  “No,” I said. All the fun had gone out of it now that I wasn’t allowed to sneak off undercover and go find out what was going on with the Rarity Clan investigation and whether I was in danger and whether there was anything I could do to help.

  “Hey, I know!” Annette said. “Why don’t you call some of the other people from the clan and find out how they’re doing?”

  “Can’t,” I said. “I didn’t get their phone numbers.”

  “It shouldn’t be hard to find them,” Annette said, “if you remember their species. If they were all rare clans, how many people with their last names could there be? I can find their numbers online. You can find out if any of the ones who got turned with the tainted stone are okay.”

  I brightened somewhat. That was a good idea. There was only one name I remembered, and . . . ugh, I didn’t want to think about Alex Basajaunclanmothman right now, or what had happened to him, because it would terrify me all over again. But I could remember a lot of their species.

  “There was a hot guy,” I said. “He was a vampire pumpkin. There was a vampire girl, I don’t remember which clan. There was a kapre that was a poisonous tree. His name might have been Alex or Jordan. There was a wereechidna. There were a few more that got turned by the tainted stone, but those are the ones I remember.”

  “Okay, I’ll check for the poisonous tree,” Annette said. “Kegan, you search for the wereechidna —”

  “Hot pumpkin guy,” Kegan corrected.

  “Okay, fine,” Annette said, rolling her eyes. “And Lisette, you check for the wereechidna.”

  I was already unhooking my phone from the charger. Kegan pulled hers out of her pocket, and Annette left the room to go downstairs to the kitchen.

  I went straight to Wereconnection, where I searched for “echidna.” Unsurprisingly, there were no clans in Sky City, though there were a few around the state. I went to search again, and accidentally clicked on the wrong country.

  Whoa, I thought, as about a billion new hits came up. Why are there so many echidna clans in Australia?

  Never mind that. I searched for “porcupine,” since that was her parents’ clan that she’d decided to join instead, and found three clans in town. Terrific. I saved the phone numbers of the three clan leaders so that I could narrow it down by talking to each of them.
/>   “How’s it going?” I asked Kegan.

  “Do you have any idea how many jubokko clans there are in town?” she asked peevishly.

  “One?” I asked.

  “Seven,” she complained. “All different subspecies.”

  “Seriously?” I wrinkled my nose. “Who’d want to be a vampire tree?”

  “It probably beats a pumpkin,” she said.

  “True.” I nodded.

  I called the first phone number, and a woman’s voice answered. “Hello?”

  “Hi,” I said. “My name’s Lisette, and I’m a friend of . . . uhhh . . . I know the wereechidna girl from Rarity Clan. Is she in your clan?”

  “I think you might have the wrong number,” the woman said. “This is a porcupine clan.”

  “No, I know that, but her parents are porcupines —”

  “There are two other porcupine clans in town,” the woman’s voice said. “Why don’t you check with them?”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I will.”

  I ended the call and tried the next number.

  “Hello?” a grumpy man’s voice said.

  “Hi,” I said. “I’m Lisette. I met a wereechidna girl at Rarity Clan —”

  “HOW DARE YOU CALL THIS NUMBER?!” the man’s voice screamed.

  “I’m not from Rarity Clan,” I said quickly. “I met her at Rarity Clan. She’s one of the ones who got her species changed, and I’m wondering how she’s doing —”

  “NEVER CALL THIS NUMBER AGAIN!” the man’s voice screamed and hung up.

  I tried to call back, but he didn’t answer. Maybe he’d already blocked me.

  “Okaaaaaay . . .” I said out loud. “That could have gone better . . .”

  “You should’ve lied,” Kegan said, putting her phone to her ear. “Hello? Yes, I’m trying to get in touch with one of my classmates and I lost his number. He’s a vampire pumpkin whose parents are in a jubokko clan. Is that your clan?”

  Even though I was sure I’d gotten the right clan the second time, I gave the third porcupine clan leader a call. I got another polite denial that a wereechidna had belonged to their clan.

  “Great,” I sighed, staring at my phone. I’d found the right clan, but now how did I get in touch with the echidna?