Chapter 1
The day is sunny and ridiculously humid, even for Florida. We get into the SUV and my mom secures her seat belt, turns the engine on, lowers the volume of Mr. Tchaikovsky—her favorite—and faces me. She looks to be in her mid-twenties. 'Scandinavian genes', she says when people ask her about her age. Her blonde hair reflects the sun, and her bright red lipstick, though faded since this morning, is still striking.
"You have to be more careful, Sonia," she says, teeth clenched, glaring eyes, head cocked to one side, right eyebrow raised. It's a look I hate and will do almost anything to avoid.
We just left the principal's office and it went a little something like this: I was blamed for the fight with Savannah even though she's the one who's been bullying me all year. Savannah didn't receive any punishment at all—I think Principal Jenkins has a thing for her. I ended up with a bloody nose and the only thing I did was spit in her face. And...I was sentenced to ten hours of weeding the school's premises with a guy named Anthony (probably some plant geek), starting Monday. Not looking forward to it.
"I've already spoken to you about not letting your saliva come in contact with anyone," she says with a sigh.
And she has. Just last week she told me that as I approach my eighteenth birthday, I will be going through some drastic changes. One of those changes, she said, is that my saliva will give me the ability to make humans do whatever I want them to. At first I thought she was joking, but when I laughed, she gave me a severe reprimand. She never does that.
Come to think of it, there are a few things I've never been able to explain, like the transparent silver markings on my back. I always thought they were just skin discolorations or stretch marks, but now I wonder if they aren't just some fluke birth defect.
Hell, maybe I'm just a freak of nature—an unnatural and potentially dangerous misfit. And lately, I find myself obsessing about how I can make others do what I want, even though I know deep inside that it's wrong. I wish someone would tell me what's going on and how to get rid of these strong urges.
"I know, but Savannah's been bullying me all year and I just couldn't take it anymore!" I say.
Savannah's attacks started off small, like the tacks she put on my chair and the garlic she smeared in my locker. It was a while ago, but my locker still smells, and I'm careful now to always check my seat before I sit down. I can't prove it was her, but every time I check my chair in algebra class, I see her smug little smile in the back of the room.
Lately, her attacks have escalated. Every night for a week, she called my house and left a message, saying she had seen my dad at the mall making out with another woman. My dad died eighteen months ago and she knows it. I can't fathom why anyone would be so cruel.
My best friend Ashley always encourages me to fight back, 'for the sake of bullied kids everywhere,' as she puts it. The reason she's so tough is that another girl bullied her mercilessly, and she quickly learned to stand up for herself—and others—almost a little too much.
Last time Savannah pulled my hair, Ashley snuck behind her in the lunch line and cut a chunk out of Savannah's hair. Ashley told her that if she ever touched my hair again, she'd follow her to her house and shave the rest of her hair and eyebrows off while she was sleeping. I laughed when I heard that, but then I almost got a little worried on Savannah's behalf, thinking that Ashley actually might do it.
"So I suppose tomorrow you'll have a new best friend?" My mom gets a look of pure amusement in her blue eyes.
"Is that what will happen?" I squeak, he amusement troubling.
She takes a deep breath. "Yes."
I groan. I don't want to be friends with or even associate with that crazy girl. I was just trying to get rid of her!
I'm convinced that Savannah's cruelty toward me has to do with her ex-boyfriend. Tyson has asked me out a few times, but I always decline. I don't want to date him, since he's made out with nearly half the girls in our school—girls just like Savannah. Status seems important to Savannah, and she certainly had that when she dated Tyson, the quarterback of our football team. She probably thought she could wrap him around her little finger and have him swear fidelity to her, but he quickly lost interest and moved on, asking me—a complete nobody—out instead. Oh, the humiliation.
This morning Tyson approached me in the hallway and I think he was about to ask me to the prom. I fled before he had the chance because 1. I absolutely don't want to go with him and 2. I was afraid Savannah would see us talking. Unfortunately she saw us and started harassing me. That's when I lost it and spit in her face, hoping it would stop her once and for all. Needless to say, we ended up strangling each other on the floor.
My mom says, "Savannah will come to you tomorrow, at the very least, and apologize. She'll also feel compelled to make it up to you and will try to become your best friend by doing anything you ask of her for the rest of her life."
"What?" My stomach drops like I just swallowed three gallons of sand.
"She'll become obsessed with you, stalking you day and night," she says. "I've warned you to be careful, and this is why."
This sounds way worse than her bullying. "I just wanted her to leave me alone."
"Unfortunately, that's part of what's called your flair. If one isn't careful and hasn't been trained how to use it properly, it will backfire." She smiles like she's relishing in my pain.
"Flair?" I ask.
"I'll tell you about it when you turn eighteen," she says.
I groan, and let my head fall to the headrest. "Why not now?"
She presses her lips firmly together for a moment and then she says, "In life, the test comes first, the lesson later."
I swear it's her favorite line. But she's not going to budge; my mom's as tight-lipped as they come. Clearly, I hadn't thought this Savannah thing through. "You knew what I was doing, didn't you?" I mumble.
My mom's eyebrows round upwards. "Of course I knew what you were doing. I've been playing this game since the days of Adam and Eve." She reaches her arm behind my seat, glances back, and gracefully backs out.
"Ha, ha," I laugh sarcastically.
She turns serious. "It will do you no good to disobey my rules, and I'm warning you, if you do, your disobedience will have dire consequences."
"If you would just tell me what's happening to me, and how to control myself, I'd be happy to obey," I say.
"I've already told you, all will be explained when you turn eighteen." Her voice is stern.
I drop my hands into my lap and puff.
"Don't worry, sweetie. You'll learn in time." She grows silent for a moment. "On a different note, I wanted to talk to you about this after graduation, but I think now is a better time." She pats me on the knee.
"Yes?" I say.
"It's about your graduation present."
"Yes...?" I sit up a little straighter.
She splashes the windshield with cleaner fluid and turns the wipers on, causing the splattered love-bugs to smear across the glass. Scoffing, she says, "Stupid little things. Anyway, we're going to Minnesota." Her eyes beam with excitement.
"Oh." I feel a huge scowl coming on. Somehow the thought of going there doesn't excite me. At all. "Why Minnesota?" I'd rather stay here and relax on the beach—well, if she'd actually let me do that. That's something she forbids me to do along with a whole other list of rules. But the first and strictest rule is this: I'm not allowed to kiss a boy until I turn eighteen. That rule was laid down when I was eight. Ashley says my parents are a bit extreme, and I agree. Thankfully, I've never been attracted enough to a guy to want to kiss him.
"There are things I'd like you to see and people I'd like for you to meet," she says.
"Where—in—Minnesota—exactly?" I try not to sound too upset. Things have been very emotional since my dad's car accident, and the last thing my mom needs is spoiled brat daughter. I have enough sense to at least be sensitive to that, though the loss hasn't been any easier on me.
Still, I have a hard time hiding the fact that I feel cheated—way cheated. Seriously. What could be more boring than a graduation trip to Minnesota? Ashley is going to Australia, and even the girl across the street, who never has any fun, gets to spend her summer in Hawaii.
"A small town called Kensington." She turns on the blinker and takes a left at Bee Ridge Road.
I haven't even heard of Kensington, but immediately think that the name reeks of farm country where cows and goats outnumber the human population.
"There, you'll meet my sisters and you'll officially be accepted into the Dynasty." Excitement bounces inside the curve of her lips and the centers of her eyes.
I shouldn't say anything, but the words just come out all by themselves. "Accepted into the...Dynasty?" That's another new word I haven't heard before. "Sounds—weird, like there are a lot of religious rituals or something." But it makes me wonder if being accepted into the Dynasty has anything to do with our unusual abilities.
"There, you'll learn how to appropriate what you want from humans," she says.
"What do you mean by appropriate from humans?" A mild panic attack looms inside, winding my emotions into a bundle of nervous energy.
"Let's change the subject. I'm not supposed to talk to you about it yet, sweetie—sorry."
"Yeah, I know, until I turn eighteen," I mutter. I squeeze my lips together. Is there something magical about turning eighteen? It's not like I'm going to be a different person a few weeks from now. "Can you at least tell me how many sisters you have?"
"I suppose that can't hurt. Three."
I have often wondered why I never met them. It's as though my mom has kept them from me, or me from them. "Cool."
"We'll be staying with them in Minnesota, and after we've been there for four weeks—" she says.
"Four weeks! What could we possibly be doing there for four weeks?" My summer is officially ruined.
"Shh...just listen, please. After four weeks, we'll be traveling to an invisible island just off the New Hampshire coast." She pulls into our double garage and turns the engine off. "It's called Wraithsong Island."
"Seriously? Invisible?" I say sarcastically and laugh, but stop when her expression hardens. "Why didn't you tell me before?"
"I'm telling you now." She glides out of the SUV and crosses our lawn to the mailbox.
I huff, and pull my heavy backpack out as I step out of the SUV. "Anything for me?" I ask.
"A birthday card." She holds the black envelope up and waves it.
Black? That's a strange color for a birthday card.
We enter our house through the garage and walk through the cozy, yellow laundry room to get to the kitchen. Shortly after moving in, my dad designed my mom's dream kitchen, installing white and gray marble counter tops, white custom made cupboards, and all new stainless-steel appliances. It would be the last project he completed before he died. Every time I enter the room, my eyes tear up a little. I still wake up sobbing because I miss him so much, though it's not as bad as before when I would cry myself to sleep every single night.
Dad was my best friend, always there, patient and loving, not yelling or threatening me to do what he wanted, but waiting for me to make my own decisions. I knew he would even respect my choice if I made the wrong one. Well, as long as it didn't harm anyone else, of course, or go against the no-kissing rule.
My mom said that Dad was the first man she had fallen in love with. "No one had ever been right for me before your father," she always said. Every day I see the ever-lingering grief in her eyes. Her despondent look appeared the day my dad's life was taken from her.
I study the front of my black birthday envelope. There's no return address—only a small, hand-drawn, silver-metallic balloon on the front next to my name and address. The handwriting looks like printed calligraphy and the envelope came from New York City. I start opening it.
"No, no." She grabs it from me. "Not until your birthday."
"But that's not for another two weeks!" I say.
"It's bad luck to open any presents before your birthday, and that includes cards." She stuffs the envelope in the kitchen island drawer. "How does a turkey sandwich sound?"
A smile tugs at my lips. "Sounds delicious. I'm just going to put my stuff in my room." I scamper through the kitchen, take a left into the hallway with our lives pretty much plastered onto the wall with pictures, pass the Jack and Jill bathroom, and take a right into the small hallway that leads to my bedroom. It's impeccable as usual: my dark cherry furniture is brightened by red and yellow accents throughout.
I toss my backpack on to the bed and head to the bathroom. My golden hair looks like it's been through a tornado. Stupid Savannah, but I can't help but smile a little because even though I'm not looking forward to meeting this new stalker-Savannah, I'm thrilled that the harassment will finally stop. I undo my rowdy ponytail and my hair cascades down my back. I run a brush through it a couple of dozen times and pile it on top of my head into a messy up-do.
Arriving in the kitchen, I sit down at our kitchen table. My mom sits down next to me and hands me a tall glass of ice water. Beads of condensation trickle down the sides, making my mouth water.
"So tell me about this flair," I say casually, taking a bite of the sandwich.
"Not talking about it. Just trust me, Sonia, will you?" Her face is harsh.
I'm sick of her treating me like I can't be trusted. "You know what? Forget I ever brought it up." I grab my sandwich and leave.
Once in my room, I pull my algebra out, and when I'm done with that, I start on history. There's a subtle knock at the door.
"Come in," I say.
My mom opens the door and leans against the doorframe. "I'm sorry, Sonia. I just wish you'd trust me. You'll understand so much more after you go to the...Academy."
"I have to go to school?" My eyebrows gather tightly.
"Yes. You have to learn about all of this from somewhere," she says.
"About what, Mom? You won't even tell me. This is going to be the worst summer ever! I'm not going." Fury wells up inside when I think about how she has kept this information from me my whole life. I feel lied to.
"Sonia, I'll leave it up to you to decide whether or not you want to go. I'm not going to force you, but if you turn nineteen and decide not to enter the Dynasty, you'll be on your own." She sounds very frustrated.
"Why did you wait so long to tell me about all this?" I ask.
My mom takes a deep breath and then exhales. "Some things aren't up to me. The rule is that I'm not supposed to tell you anything until you turn eighteen, and then you have a year to decide whether you want to go to the Academy or not. I've already given you a head start."
I glance at her and then back down at my homework. "I know I'm acting—not myself, sorry." Usually I'm much better at controlling my emotions, but lately, my emotions have the upper hand. It's like my mom said, I am going through drastic changes, and it frightens me.
She sits down on my bed and takes my hand. "You don't have to decide right this moment. Sleep on it, and we'll talk in a few days, all right?"
I puff. In reality, I'm afraid of the future because I have so many questions, yet so few answers and I feel like the decisions I make over the next few months will alter my life forever. "I just—"
Suddenly, my mom's phone rings from the kitchen. "Hold that thought." She runs out to the kitchen and I soon hear her talking on the phone to whoever is on the other end of the line.
Sitting alone, I wonder why there are so many secrets. My friends don't seem to have these types of secrets in their families. They all know their extended families and live normal lives, or at least that's how it seems. "Kensington," I say out loud as I try to imagine how my trip to the tiny town might be. Then I think of Wraithsong Island off the coast of New Hampshire and figure that my life will never be the same again.
"Who was it?" I ask when my mom returns.
Her face is a pale gray. "It was my eldest sister," she says. "Something has happened to one of my other sisters."
"What?" I say.
She says tearfully, "She's vanished."
"How?" Having never met my aunts, I have no real connection with them, but I can't ignore her pained expression.
"It's uncertain at this point, but the police have been notified."
"Maybe she just—ran away," I say.
"No, my sister would never run away, especially not when it's so close to—" she lets her voice trail off.
"Do you need to go visit your family? I'll be fine for a few days."
She rests her chin on her clenched fist. "I'll need to think about it."
"If you're worried about leaving me—" I say.
"No, it's not that. If there were any sign of foul play involved, I would be worried about leaving you, but there isn't."
"Even if there were, they're thousands of miles away," I say.
"I know, but you never know." Her eyes get a worried look.
"If you need to leave, I'll be fine. I can have Ashley stay with me for a few days."
"I'll think about it." She stands up, her expression extremely worried. "I need to run an errand right now, if you don't mind."
"Okay, I'll just finish my homework. Will you be all right?" I place my hand on her shoulder.
"This could change everything."
After my mom leaves, I think about what she said earlier. I have something called flair, and that has something to do with controlling people. After today, I'm certain that if used inappropriately, this ability can cause a lot of damage to others and myself, and though I want to understand it, my mom's definitely not going to tell me. I'll just have to be more careful while I wait.
My summer looks a bit bleak, and just to make my last few weeks of school miserable, I'll be pulling up weeds with a complete stranger. Anthony's probably a mean old guy who has green thumbs and fingers and toes, and spends all his free time conversing with shrubbery.