Next, Emily checked the bathroom. It was clean as well.
Whoever had been in there had done a great job of cleaning her room.
“What the hell is happening here?” Joanna muttered. “Like, who’s so messed up that they clean up your room but destroy the rest of the house?”
It’s a statement, The Owl said. This is more dangerous than I anticipated.
“How so?” Emily asked. She’d meant the question for The Owl and not for Joanna. But Joanna replied nonetheless.
“How so, what?”
Emily grunted.
To have done something of such magnitude required time, The Owl continued. Someone should have called the cops, yet no one did. This is unnatural . . .
Emily’s heart climbed up her chest as she realized what The Owl was aiming at.
“Could it be the same people that sent the message?”
“What message?” Joanna, by this time, was frustrated. “Who are you talking to?” she squawked, but Emily ignored her.
It could be, The Owl replied.
“I’m going to call the cops!” Joanna turned and fled out of the room before Emily had a chance to say a word.
Stop her! The cops mean vigilantes and vigilantes mean you’re ousted!
Emily didn’t need to be told twice. She ran after Joanna, screaming her name. She found the young woman standing stunned in the living room.
“Joanna, you cannot—” Emily paused as she saw that Joanna’s attention was on the living room wall beside the doorway. She had to walk to Joanna’s side to take a look at what had captivated her friend’s attention.
It was a five-lettered word written in scary handwriting with a red substance that looked distinctly like blood.
It said: FREAK.
17
Emily could think of nothing, absolutely nothing, as she stared at the writing on the wall. It was written directly above the couch, facing the main windows bedside the front entrance. Sunlight glinted through the windows and illuminated the writing, revealing its liquid viscosity.
It was definitely written in blood. The word was dripping in many places—trickling down the wall until it dried some. Still, it maintained its form.
FREAK.
Emily stared at the letters in front of her. The word rolled over and over in her mind. She’d been called many things in school, especially when growing up—what kid hasn’t? But never freak. Not in school. Not anywhere.
Emily was loved in school. She was cherished by those who knew her. She’d been good. She’d been kind. The writing on the wall had nothing to do with her behavior. It had everything to do with her nature.
Only pro-vigilante people called supernaturals freaks. It was a distinctive word that meant something distinctive in the town. Any Tom, Dick, Harry, or Chase knew that when someone was called a freak, it meant they were being branded a supernatural. And being branded a supernatural was like being branded a witch in Salem during the witch hunting era.
Emily had never known just how powerful one word could be. The fact that it was written in blood was doubly scary.
Yet, the question remained, who did this? It certainly was the same person who’d sent her the message the night before, right? If he or she knew her secret, then they knew she was a supernatural—a freak.
And if they had gone through all the trouble of vandalizing her house and making up her room to make her stand out during police investigation and then writing that damning word in the living room, they were out to get her. This was their intention. To expose her.
Not quite, The Owl said.
Emily was about to respond to The Owl when Joanna made a croaking sound like she was struggling to swallow.
Joanna, too, was shocked beyond her wits, staring with horror-filled eyes at the blood on the wall. She held her phone in her hands. Emily could see from the phone’s screen that she had typed 911 on it and was moments away from pressing SEND.
Emily couldn’t let the cops come. Not when there was FREAK splayed across her house in blood. Not even when her father was missing. Her life was complicated as it was. The vigilantes getting wind of this intrusion was only going to spark renewed interest in her.
She gently reached out a hand to Joanna. Joanna flinched at being touched and turned to look at her.
“I need to find my father,” Emily expressed with pleading eyes.
“What does it mean?” Joanna asked, ignoring her. “The writing on the wall. What does it mean? Why was your house attacked? Why is nobody calling the cops?”
Emily had not a single answer for the questions Joanna fired at her. She, too, had those same questions. All she had on her mind now was to get Joanna to calm down. She didn’t want the billionaire’s daughter pressing her panic button. She didn’t even want the girl calling the cops.
Emily also needed Joanna to call off the party.
No! The Owl screamed in her mind, so much so that Emily jerked a little. This drew Joanna’s attention, who cross-examined her with a curious gaze.
I know what you’re thinking. Do not call off the party. Ask yourself, why did they attack your house now? Why today of all days? Why not tomorrow? Why not yesterday?
Emily saw where The Owl was going with this. If they had attacked her house today, she thought, and written FREAK on her wall, then, aside from making her worried sick, they didn’t want the party to happen. They probably figured she would call off the party because she was scared of her identity being revealed.
Well, they weren’t wrong.
But don’t you see? Now’s the opportunity to force them into exposure. We must proceed with the party.
Emily struggled to converse with The Owl while staring Joanna in the eyes.
“What’s going on, Emily?” Joanna sounded alarmed. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Emily knew that trying to avoid Joanna’s questions was only going to arouse suspicion. If she was going to get Joanna to back off a bit, at least until she figured out what to do about whoever was doing this, she had to give her something to go on.
“There’s a lot I’m not telling you,” Emily admitted.
Joanna tried to stay strong, nodding in understanding, but it was obvious that Emily’s revelation was hurtful. After all, they had just gone through an ordeal as a result of Joanna’s deception.
“Last night, I received a threatening message,” Emily continued. “I can’t tell you what the message was. Maybe someday I’ll tell you—”
Joanna shook her head. “Your life is in danger, Emily. You’ve got to give me much more than that.”
“I know, and I promise I will,” Emily lied. “Just don’t call the cops. I think whoever did this is the same person who sent me the message.”
Joanna and Emily both looked at the writing on the wall again. Then they took a minute to peruse the living room. The TV screen had been smashed. The chandelier was shattered on the floor. The dining room had all but been destroyed.
“How can you ask me not to call the cops after all this?” Joanna asked. “Whoever did this—”
“—is trying to scare me,” Emily finished Joanna’s sentence, cutting her friend short. “I’m not going to give them that. I’m not going to empower them.”
Joanna’s eyes were wide open now. “Emily, this isn’t some talk show or movie. This shit is real. There might be a predator out there, and if we don’t get the cops involved now you might get hurt.”
Emily’s resolve hardened. “Let them try.” As the words came out of her mouth, a boldness she’d never felt before rose up within her. She also felt the stirring of her Owl power within her limbs.
This response surprised Joanna. She looked at Emily again and said, “Who are you, and what have you done with Emily?”
“We need to get this place ready for the party,” said Emily. “Do you know someone you can call to fix this place up like nothing happened?”
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Joanna raised both eyebrows in surprise.
&
nbsp; “To fix up the house?”
“No, to continue with the party like your house wasn’t invaded.”
“Yes.” Emily placed her fists on her hips defiantly. “I’m not going to be turned into a social pariah just because someone had the gall to wreck my house and run away.”
Joanna nodded. “I know a crew. They can have this place back in shape within six hours. Three if we pay double.”
“Great, let’s get them in. They can help with setting up for the party. You’ll supervise.” Emily started to withdraw into the hallway.
“Where are you going?”
“To find my dad.”
“Won’t you need the cops for that?” Joanna tried one last time.
“No, I think I know where he is.” Emily didn’t believe that her father had been abducted or harmed. If so, she would have seen signs of a struggle. It seemed, however, that whatever had been done in the house took place after her father was removed from it.
They weren’t after him. They were after Emily. And this wasn’t about hurting or harming her. This was about using and exposing her.
“Won’t proceeding with the party enrage them?” Emily asked The Owl when she was out of Joanna’s earshot.
That is precisely what we want, The Owl responded.
“It is?” She had left the house and stopped at the broken-down fence to look at it. She was still amazed that her house could be in such a state yet no one had said anything or called the cops—or even called her.
This certainly wasn’t natural. There was a supernatural at play. Emily was starting to believe that now.
Yes, it is what we want, The Owl snapped Emily’s attention back. Whoever is doing this wants to get your attention. When he or she sees you’re ignoring it, this person will be angry. So we can shift our focus to anyone displaying these signs. That’s how we’ll force whoever this is to come out of hiding.
Emily could see the sense in what The Owl proposed. She just didn’t like the fact that she was courting danger without knowing who the danger even was. Heck, she would have preferred not to have come under the crosshairs of this mystery person at all.
At least we know one thing for sure, The Owl brought up after Emily had been making her way through the dense woods for some time.
“And what’s that?”
This mystery person isn’t Rina or Michael.
At the mention of Michael’s name, Emily stopped dead in her tracks. A sharp, cold feeling of fear washed over her entire body. This was exactly what she’d been trying to avoid. What if Michael found out about the FREAK message?
18
Emily stood there, aghast. “What am I going to say if someone mentions that message?”
Even The Owl had no answer for her. It was certainly going to make life more difficult for Emily. She’d have to explain why the perpetrator had written such a thing. And she might not be explaining it in class, but in front of a squad of vigilantes.
Emily shook her head and continued walking. Single-minded focus was what she had to keep now. She knew it was as a result of part of The Owl’s powers bleeding into her physical body. When The Owl hunted, it hunted with single-minded focus. Nothing could deter it from its goal. Nothing could distract it from its mission. Nothing could remove it from its prey as it swooped down from a thousand feet to snatch it.
That was what Emily had now. She could not let herself be bothered by the thought of Rina or Michael somehow seeing that message. She trusted Joanna’s crew to do a great job and clean up the house—the message, too. If Michael somehow found out about the message, she’d deny the heck out of it. And if she ended up before an investigation panel at the vigilante’s ill-famed facility by the lake, she was going to deny it until her last breath.
Emily found tire tracks close to the marshy areas of the woods. She immediately recognized the thin tires of Dad’s wheelchair. It wasn’t that the man couldn’t walk. It was just that he preferred not to nowadays. He was so lifeless that sometimes she’d find him slumped over on the floor because he’d lost interest in walking to his destination.
“What if it’s supernatural?” Emily asked The Owl.
If what is?
“My dad,” she replied. “The doctors said there’s nothing physically wrong with him. What if it’s not a case of physiology? What if it’s a case of supernatural?”
You think your dad was hexed or cursed by a witch or warlock?
“Is it possible?”
Yes, it is. Then The Owl fell silent in a brooding sort of way.
Emily knew The Owl was considering something, so she asked, “What are you thinking about?”
Witches and warlocks are extremely rare in these parts. I doubt one would stray too far away from their ancestral grounds. You see, that’s how a witch or warlock draws power—from the spirits of their ancestry.
“Are there no witches around?” asked Emily. “Would you even know?”
No, I don’t know any more about that than you do. The Owl paused. But I do know a few more things you don’t . . .
“Like Nadarog—”
The Owl’s fear became very palpable. Emily could feel it in her bones.
“We are going to talk about it,” Emily assured The Owl. “Just not now. Now, let’s survive the party, the perpetrator, and the Winters.”
What if they’re all connected? The Owl asked. What if there’s a witch or warlock involved?
“You just said witches or warlocks draw their energy from the dead,” Emily said. “Witches haven’t existed in town ever since the vigilantes started killing supernaturals. If there was a witch here, it would have been killed by the vigilantes. Or it came from out of town and is powerless.”
The Owl shuddered. Unless it’s a rove.
“What’s a rove?”
Before The Owl could reply, Emily started when she caught sight of her dad. He was kneeling by a tree and sobbing to himself. His clothes looked torn, not by hands, but by something sharp. Probably the brambles fencing the woods.
Emily approached slowly, careful not to frighten her father. Who knew what he’d had to endure? She kept her eyes peeled for trouble.
The tree he kneeled against was on the crest of a small hill. It overlooked the rest of the woods and a portion of the other part of the town. Diffused light broke through the spare trees beyond the crest, casting a soft glow on the crumpled man.
He was rocking against his knees, seemingly absorbed in intense emotion. His hands rattled terribly.
Emily hadn’t seen him like that since the night Mom had died. In fact, he’d been like that for several hours even before the news came that Mom was dead. Emily remembered having the distinct feeling that maybe he’d seen a ghost or something. Then the news of Mom’s death came later in the morning, and he had a nervous breakdown.
Emily found it curious that Dad should be having the exact same experience he’d had the night of Mom’s death. She remembered how she’d stayed with him in his room, holding him like he was a small child.
This is not normal, The Owl warned. Check his pupils. Are they orange?
When Emily got closer, she bent to her knees in the grass and gently approached her father.
“Dad?”
The man flinched, pushing away from her voice.
“It’s me. Emily,” her heart breaking. “It’s your daughter, remember?”
“Emily?” Dad muttered, sobbing and rocking on his knees.
“Yes.”
He had yet to look up at her. But he allowed her to touch him and then to wrap her arms around him.
“Sorry you had to go through all that,” Emily soothed in reference to their home invasion. “I’m so sorry you had to be alone.”
Dad whimpered. “‘Twas him . . .”
Emily’s heart caught in her chest. She froze, looking around as a sudden feeling they were being watched came over her. The woods were getting eerily dark. Shadows were lengthening. “Who, Dad?”
“That night . . .”
&n
bsp; Emily was surprised her father was partly lucid. He was never able to form words anymore. He was always silent or babbling.
Check his eyes.
“Why?” Emily said to The Owl. “His eyes are normal. Deep blue.” To prove her point, she cupped a hand underneath his chin and pulled it up.
Staring back at her were not her father’s deep blue eyes. They were eyes that glowed a strange orange color. Emily almost bolted away from her father.
It’s as I feared, The Owl said grimly.
“Dad?” Emily choked out. “Dad, why—”
“He was in the house,” her father interrupted her. “Just like he was in our house the night your mother died.”
Tears formed in Emily’s eyes. She was beset with confusion. Confusion about why Dad’s eyes were shining a sick orange color. Confusion about why he was so remarkably lucid. Confusion about what he was saying about a man from the past.
Dad reached out and caressed her cheek. “My daughter, I’ve always wanted to tell you. Ever since—” He began to seize as the orange glow in his eyes faded.
“Dad!” Emily cried out. “Dad!”
Hmmm . . . , The Owl mused.
“It’s him,” Dad croaked, struggling with the seizure. The orange light was almost gone. Just before it twinkled out, he sputtered out, “Run.” And then he slumped into docility.
“Dad?”
No response. Dad was back to his normal self. Deep blue eyes. Docile.
Emily was horrified. “Dad?!” She didn’t know what to think about all that had just happened. “Dad?!”
Emily wept over him fiercely. For a moment, she had interacted with her real dad—the version of him from before Mom’s death. Now he was gone. It was a bitter reminder of what she’d lost.
When she was done crying, she helped him into his wheelchair and started wheeling him back to the house. As she did, she thought hard about the man Dad had talked about. So there had been a man in her house when Mom had died. She never knew that.
Could he have something to do with Mom’s death? Mr. Winter had killed Mom, hadn’t he? He’d admitted to it in school just that morning.
Adopted by The Owl: The Owl Shifter Chronicles Book One Page 9
