Adopted by The Owl: The Owl Shifter Chronicles Book One

by Qatarina Wanders

  This time Emily didn’t reply to The Owl. She’d learned her lesson the hard way.

  After Mr. Alonzo’s class, they had a brief ten-minute recess before the next class with another teacher. In that time, Jamie came over to her side and stroked her hair.

  “Are you okay, Babe?” he asked her, his voice full of genuine-sounding concern. “I’ve been watching you from the back of the classroom. You look a bit on edge, and . . . well . . . you’re talking to yourself.”

  “Yeah, are you okay?” Joanna muttered from behind, obviously eavesdropping on their private conversation.

  Emily squirmed. That wasn’t the kind of reputation she wanted to have: the girl who talks to herself often.

  “I had a very rough night last night,” Emily confessed. It wasn’t really a lie, and it made it easy to sell. “I didn’t sleep well, so it has me a bit delirious.”

  “Oh, sorry to hear about that,” Jamie said. “If you want, I could talk to Principal Stevens for you. I bet he would give you today off if we asked him nicely.”

  The thought was precious. To get a day off sounded appealing, but she had to find out the truth about the text message. She had to accost Michael in the hallway.

  “I’ll be fine.” Emily looked at her feet as she spoke.

  “Are you sure?” Joanna kept pushing. “Take the offer.”

  “Thanks, Joanna, but this is a private conversation.” Jamie glared at Joanna. Emily suspected her boyfriend had never really liked her bestie.

  “Noted,” Joanna replied, not at all fazed, and continued as though Jamie didn’t exist. “Take the day off, Emily. You look like shit.”

  Always so tactful. Emily shrugged. “I’m good. Thanks guys. But everyone’s coming over today. I’ve got lots of work to do.”

  The next teacher came in, and it was Michael’s father—the chief of the vigilantes. Emily felt her spine freeze up.

  What. The. Hell?

  7

  The first question to cross her mind was, What is he doing here?! Emily checked the timetable frantically. It said they were supposed to have Mrs. Rightway for Spanish right after Mr. Alonzo, not Mr. Winter.

  And what was he even doing there to begin with? He wasn’t a teacher.

  Emily glanced around. Everyone else looked surprised, too—everyone except Michael, who was smiling to himself. Emily had a sudden feeling that this had something to do with her. She had been found out. This was it. This was when they sprung their trap and exposed her to her whole class.

  They were not only interested in catching her and killing her. They were also interested in humiliating her, which is what Mr. Winter was about to do.

  Emily felt her heart begin to beat at a thousand miles per second. Her instincts for preservation ratcheted up to the maximum. She could even begin to feel the magic of The Owl fill her being with power. She wanted to escape.

  She had to escape for her life.

  Calm down, Emily, The Owl soothed, though she had no real conviction in her voice. Emily could hear the fear in The Owl’s words, which meant she was thinking the same thing Emily was.

  No, you’re wrong. I’m just not overly fond of being in the same room as the number one killer of my kind, that’s all.

  Emily held herself in her chair as she started to plot her escape route. She wondered if she could turn into The Owl and break through the glass window to the left.

  Bad idea! The Owl stopped Emily’s thought in its tracks. You’ll be giving away your life. You’ll be giving them a reason to hunt you down and kill you!

  Then maybe she could fly out. Pick up Dad. Take him to Anastacia’s. Since her life would be practically ruined by then, she could go on a witch hunt to find the people who’d killed her mother, and deal with them, too.

  Stop this nonsense! The Owl boomed. You are not throwing away your life!

  Emily was about to yell at The Owl when Mr. Winter’s voice cut through the confused buzz of the students. Thank goodness. She would have trouble explaining an outburst like that.

  “I know you’re all wondering why I’m here.” Mr. Winter smiled as he spoke. For a man who made a living killing innocent people because they were different, his voice was awfully sweet and had a nice ring to it.

  “No kidding, Mr. Winter,” boomed a voice from the back.

  Everyone laughed, but not Mr. Winter. His face looked as if it had been chiseled from a piece of rock. His jawline was sharp, his cheekbones high. He had a muscular frame although was not overly bulky.

  He seemed to be in his late thirties or early forties. Wearing a black jacket and a sidearm holstered to his right, he stood with all the assuredness of the chief of the town’s local vigilante group.

  “I’m sure your humor is well appreciated by your teachers and maybe even popular among the girls,” Mr. Winter said in a deadly voice. “But I swear to God, if you interrupt me one more time, I’ll cut off your fingers like we do warlocks.”

  A dread-filled hush fell upon the class. No one dared to challenge the man. No one dared to move, even though the man had brazenly confessed to aggravated violence.

  It wasn’t exactly legal to run a vigilante group because vigilantes weren’t police officers or sheriffs or rangers or any of the other law enforcement agencies. They were outlaws because their activities were not covered by any part of federal or state legislature. In fact, their methods were often counter to the law.

  Nonetheless, the town’s vigilante group had been operating with impunity since before Emily was born. They were so strong and powerful that the law enforcement officers stayed away from them.

  That meant the citizens had no power against them. The vigilantes practically owned the town and ran it like their own. On top of that, all the top power holders in the state came from that little town. The police chiefs of neighboring cities owed allegiance to top forces from New Haven.

  If Mr. Winter wanted to make good on his threat, he could. He didn’t even need to do it in hiding. It didn’t matter if there was video evidence of his crime. If he wanted to chop off somebody’s fingers in public, he could. And nothing much could be done against him.

  Emily thought nobody should have so much power. Not as much as to harm an individual without consequences. Not to mention killing someone and getting away with it.

  “For those of you wondering why I’m here, wonder no more,” Mr. Winter spoke again, his voice much calmer. “I’m here to take your last morning period before break to teach you about the battle we’ve been facing in this community.”

  To the far right of the front, Rina, the school newspaper reporter, raised her hand. Mr. Winter motioned for her to speak.

  “I’m Rina Shay,” the young lady said. “I’m a reporter for The Keaton Chronicles. When you say battle, do you mean the way the town’s vigilantes acquire supernaturals and kill them without trial?” The tone in her voice suggested malice, such that Emily understood Rina also hated the practice.

  Weren’t you suspecting her to be the one who sent the message? The Owl’s voice returned.

  The Owl was right. She had three people in mind: Jamie, Michael, and Rina. Rina was a reporter, and reporters found out the truth and published it. Recently, Rina had been doing a lot of articles on the town’s ‘illegal’ activities concerning supernaturals. Naturally, she was hunting for the truth, even trying to find supernaturals to tell their side of the story. Publishing that Emily was a supernatural would forever seal Rina’s name in the school-newspaper hall of fame.

  Mr. Winter looked the young reporter up and down for a moment. When he made his reply, he looked at the whole class. “When I say battle, I mean the battle for our identity. I mean a battle to prevent the extinction of the human population. I mean a battle for the preservation of our culture.”

  Mr. Winter held his hands out to the sides. “If we don’t fight this battle, if we don’t defend ourselves in a steadfast way, we will lose our homes, we will lose our lives, and we will lose our parents and loved ones. Because, I tell y
ou, these supernaturals will one day rise up against us if we let them exist—if we do nothing but let them thrive.”

  Emily had to give it to Mr. Winter. He was a convincing orator. The passion in his voice was undiluted and raw. Emily actually believed they were doing the right thing for a moment. But, when the man was done talking, she snapped out of her reverie.

  She saw that a few of her classmates didn’t agree with Mr. Winter either.

  Rina had her hand up again. It was smart not to simply speak out of turn. Mr. Winter saw her hand, sighed slightly, and nodded.

  “Sir, you talk about preserving our identity—preserving who we are,” Rina started. “But does your belief not contradict what you’re doing?

  “How can the underpinning philosophy of the vigilantes be to protect our identity when it goes around extirpating the identity of others?”

  Rina paused for a moment to allow her words to sink in before she continued, “Supernaturals aren’t just the things you imply they are. They are also humans. They’re like black people or Asians or gays or transgenders. They’re people with different identities. Killing them is just like killing Asians because they aren’t Caucasians, or killing the LGBTQ people because they’re not straight.”

  Emily tried to lean in closer to hear better. While Rina wasn’t particularly eloquent in her political correctness, she still had a good point.

  “We are destroying the very foundation that makes us a diverse people,” Rina went on. “And we’re doing it under the guise of protecting our identity. What do you have to say about that, Mr. Winter? Hmmm?”

  The whole class was charged with anticipation. Everyone glanced at Mr. Winter. Michael, too, who looked uncertain. Emily was sort of proud of Rina’s gumption.

  Emily had thought Rina weird most of the time. However, some of the time, she was poised. Smart. Intelligent. And courageous. Standing up to Mr. Winter like that was almost suicidal. The man did just threaten to chop someone’s fingers off, after all.

  Before Mr. Winter could reply, another hand went up somewhere toward the back, which dragged Mr. Winter’s attention away from Rina. The man nodded.

  “Sir, why do we really hunt supernaturals?” David, one of Jamie’s buddies on the football team, spoke up, his voice cracking slightly. “What’s the real reason? Because we never hear of a supernatural causing mayhem or killing someone, even though they can. The vibe we get from these people—or most of these people—is that they just want to lead a happy life. So why do we go after them?”

  The entire class buzzed their agreement.

  Joanna raised her hand but started speaking before Mr. Winter even called on her. “Most of these supernaturals are family people. Some are mothers. Fathers. Daughters. They just want to lead normal lives. They want to go to school. They didn’t choose to be shifters or vamps or werewolves or what have you. Some of them got attacked, some of them were born with it. Why kill someone for . . . existing?”

  8

  There was a silence in the class. Mr. Winter looked around at all the faces peering back at him. He ended up settling his gaze on Emily’s face, which made her cringe within her skin.

  His eyes slid off without revealing a hint of recognition before he started to speak.

  See? He’s not here for you! The Owl let out a sigh of relief.

  Emily didn’t respond with words; she just squeezed her eyes shut and gave an almost imperceptible nod of her head.

  “Most of you believe that what we do is inhumane then, is that correct?” Mr. Winter asked the group.

  Most nodded. Emily didn’t. She didn’t want any attention brought on her or, consequently, her monthly visits to Dallas.

  “It’s only natural,” Mr. Winter went on. “I, too, was like you. Young. Idealistic. Opinionated. Foolish.” He held out his arms to the sides again.

  A few in the crowd scoffed at his backhanded comment.

  “I thought we could live in harmony with the supernaturals. And for a time, we did live in harmony. I was ten then. During that time, it was normal to see magic displayed on the streets. Shifters prowled our alleys. Vamps and werewolves slugged it out on the streets.

  “There was fear, of course, because there were a few dissident factions,” the man continued. “But mostly, we lived in peace. Deaths were down to one or two the whole year, and every time, the culprit was caught and brought to justice.

  “It was in bringing these culprits to justice that we learned the different ways to kill supernaturals. It was in bringing these culprits to justice that we developed rituals we use today to dissuade others from following the same path.”

  “Like disemboweling shifters and scattering their pieces across the town’s center?” A female voice escaped the crowd—Joanna again.

  “Yes, Ms. Russo,” Mr. Winter replied without the least bit of animosity. “At the time, the town came together to start the vigilante task force. It was to be made up mostly of trusted supernaturals but headed by humans.

  “That’s how the task force was started,” Mr. Winter said. “My father was the head of the task force. As the threat to our existence increased, the powers of the vigilantes increased. While some other towns with a strong affinity for supernaturals were ravaged by war and death and violence, ours remained an oasis of peace. But it came at a great cost: the lives of members of the task force.”

  Mr. Winter let out a sad, sarcastic laugh. “When I see some of you kids, and listen to you talk, I can only marvel at your gross ignorance, which wouldn’t be a problem, except you seem to want to revel in it.” He shot them a look of disgust. “When the use of a thing is not known, abuse is inevitable. When the history of a thing is not known, nasty recurrences are guaranteed.”

  With a sigh, Mr. Winter abandoned his position in front of the teacher’s desk. He paced the front of the class, his right hand against his back, appearing deep in thought. But there was also something else. There was anguish. Something had happened. A kind of loss. Emily could tell because that was the same expression she saw on her father’s face when he learned of Bernice’s death.

  “As other cities like ours went into the ground, more and more dissidents trooped into our community,” Mr. Winter spoke up again. “At first, we tried to incorporate them because we wanted to be fair. We wanted to be just.” He let out a snort. “We were wrong and foolish. The supernaturals took our love and turned it against us. They took advantage of our hospitality. In one night, over a hundred hosts had been slaughtered in their sleep by their supernatural guests.”

  Emily shuddered. Why was Mr. Winter rehashing this tragedy? She already knew this story and assumed all her peers did as well. It was now called Black Day—a day to remember those tragic events. A “holiday” when schools and businesses were closed throughout the town. A day to be remembered and feared.

  “When we rose up against these bad supernaturals and demanded death as justice, our teammates turned against us. They wanted a fair hearing. My father refused. He was killed by his very own deputy. A shifter. A man who could shift into a massive white owl.”

  Emily’s heart froze. As if on cue, both father and son glanced at her. Emily felt like melting away into nothing. Her blood roared into her ears. Her heart pounded so hard, her body rattled and vibrated.

  Uh-oh, The Owl muttered. Don’t do anything stupid. Stay put.

  “This was a man my father had saved multiple times,” Mr. Winter said. “This was a man my father would have gladly laid down his life for. But that Owl gutted my father like a pig and left him for dead in his office.”

  The class gasped. This was a part of Black Day none of them knew about.

  “We learned that day that supernaturals are instinctively creatures of horror and darkness. God made no monsters. The devil must have created them with his unholy seed of violence and death and destruction,” Mr. Winter sneered. Spittle flew from his lips as he became more and more worked up.

  “The war that followed lasted for a year. We almost lost. But people came
from all the other towns that had been destroyed by the activity of supernaturals. They came to fight alongside us. They came to ensure that what happened to their towns did not happen to ours.

  “It was a long, arduous war that spanned the four seasons, but we won. On a cold winter night, the leader of the pack, The Owl, was captured. He wouldn’t talk. He looked indignant. He wouldn’t recant his sins. The only thing that came out of his mouth was—”

  “Nadarog Maragog,” muttered Rina, who stood close enough to Emily for Emily and a few others to hear her.

  Emily frowned—but not because of Rina’s words. It was the flare of terror she felt from The Owl. The Owl knew about the phrase, whatever it was. Emily glanced at Michael. His face was the picture of terrified. Even Mr. Winter seemed intensely intense.

  Rina looked up at Mr. Winter. “I heard about his capture. I thought it was a nice fable—”

  “I was there,” admitted Mr. Winter. “I was barely eleven when I joined the vigilantes. I wanted revenge for my father. I was right there when he was strung up in the town’s center. He didn’t plead for his life—even though he would have been spared. He only said the words, ‘Nadarog Maragog. We did it to prevent Nadarog Maragog.’”

  “A man who is about to be executed would say anything to save his skin,” Jamie noted from the back.

  “That’s what we thought,” Mr. Winter replied. “But you see, we told him he would be spared if he recanted his position, for he still had a great many followers, and we knew we could end the devastation if we got The Owl to recant.”

  “So he had a way out,” Emily blurted. “Instead, he told you about Nadarog Maragog. What’s that?” She immediately felt wild flapping in her mind—The Owl was upset again.

  Mr. Winter squinted at her. “It’s a warning of the coming of an immensely powerful being to the earth from the world beneath. He is a foe to supernaturals and an even greater foe to humans. He is the one fated to bring about the end of the world.”