Supernova

By Donna Dull

The last thing Chloe wanted was to be ripped out of her familiar life, yet she finds herself the new girl at a swanky boarding school near Napa Valley. On her first day she is confronted by a boy who harbors a strange hostility towards her. She meets some of her classmates and they bond instantly, but with hope comes fear. A soul-devouring fae threatens the entire student body, picking them off one by one. After an attack leaves her brother at death’s door, Cleo and her friends decide to use their fae abilities to become superheroes.

From the moment they don their masks, things start to go awry. Their first rescue ends when they have to rescue one of their own. Soon a government plot that began when they were only infants endangers them all. A twisted former soldier has them in his sights and he has no intention of letting them get away.  With the discovery the fae can control other fae, not just humans, the line between friends and enemies begins to blur, and Cleo has no idea who she can trust. Will their superhero disguises help them save the day, or end up costing them everything?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Donna Dull
• Release date: Sep 16, 2013
• ISBN: 9781540177292

Book preview

Donna Dull

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thrity-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Other Books by Donna

Copyright

© 2013 by Donna Dull

Cover formatting by Sharp Cover Designs

Cover Art by Michael

Interior Formatting by TE Formats

Edited by Red Road Editting

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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To my mom, who never gives up on my dreams. Not even when I do.

I guess I’ll start by saying I shouldn’t have to pay for the sins of my father, or in this case, my mother. Yes, my name is Ophelia Cleopatra’. I paused for the obligatory giggle. Okay, get it all out of your systems so we can move past it. I waited a moment for the laughter to die out before continuing. I hated standing up in front of people, especially to talk about myself like this. How do I sum myself up in a few words? I was only seventeen, I had no clue who I was. My mom has an unhealthy obsession with The Bard. I blinked at some of the blank expressions in the room. Shakespeare? Light dawned in their Neanderthal eyes. I used to be a ballet dancer, and I hate speaking in front of large groups.

I looked at the floor, trying not to shift uncomfortably. A frown stretched the corners of my mouth down. The heel of my right foot tucked into the curve of the left, toes pointing in completely opposite directions, the third position as it was known in ballet. I forced myself to relax, deliberately spreading my feet.

Ballet was my life. Well, it had been. Before my stepdad, Jackson, lost his job. Before the savings dried up and Mom had to choose between my dance lessons and my little sister’s epilepsy medicine. Before we had to pack up our life and move across the country to Mom’s new job in Landmark, California. Her dream had always been to teach English, so she couldn’t turn down the position here at St. Aloysius Gonazaga Academy. I wondered how many of the students even knew their school was named for the patron saint of teenagers.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not antisocial or anything. I just didn’t see the point in making someone say a few things that rarely tell anything about who they really are. Sure, I could tell them I was a full-blooded Lakota, though I’d been raised in Chicago. Maybe I could tell them I was the oldest and always assumed a lot of the responsibility at home. But would those facts really help them know me? I think more than anything I loved knowledge, and most teens avoided it at all costs. My desire to learn left me without a way to connect with what passed for my peers. And now here I stood in front of a room full of strangers, forced by the hippy-dippy history teacher to let everyone get to know me. If I wanted them to know me, I wouldn’t have spent the bulk of this hellacious first day with my nose buried in my latest garage sale paperback.

Landmark was a picturesque town, surrounded by mountains on three sides, with fertile farmland sweeping off to the south. St. Algo dominated several city blocks on top of a bluff overlooking the Sangamon River, which cut through the center of the town. The grounds were immaculately landscaped, the towering buildings designed for the land instead of the other way around. The campus looked like something out of Hollywood.

The October sun shone outside the window, promising warmth if I could just escape into it. Before too long, the rain would start I’d read, and the gloomy days would get more and more frequent. But for now the last vestiges of summer were still clinging and everything was green and bright. I tried to let the idea cheer me, but it was cold comfort as I stared into the unforgiving eyes of my peers.

A boy in the back row faked a cough. Squaw.

I raised an eyebrow at him. Really? Wow, talk about a welcome.

So leave.

Heat flooded through me, but I shoved it down. I wouldn’t let this pig get a rise out of me. Because of racist jerks like you? I’d have nowhere to go. Most the kids in the class looked confused. Apparently they had no idea he had essentially called me a dirty whore. Historically, the word had simply referred to the dutiful wife, but modern language had twisted it into a slur. My chin rose as I took a long, slow breath and spoke in a carefully measured tone. I flashed him a fake smile that didn’t touch the rest of my features. Besides, you think you have what it takes to send me running with my tail between my legs?

He stood up, I guessed about six-and-a-half feet of him. His skin was darker than mine, but with the olive undertone of the Mediterranean. His brown hair was deliberately messy, his brown eyes hard and cold. He was big in every dimension, with broad beefy shoulders, sculpted arms and legs. Dark stubble peppered the rounded chin lowered toward his chest. I think you won’t last a week here at Saint Algo.

Mrs. Reid shook a finger at him. Logan Ricci, is that any way to speak to your fellow students? We should welcome others with light and warmth.

I suppressed the fire growing inside me, resisting the urge to show him some light. I closed my eyes and took a few more deep breaths, calming myself and finding my center. My temper was getting harder to control, and with it my abilities. Whoever thought having someone come into supernatural powers at the same time they started puberty wasn’t really using the old cranium. I minimized my time soaking in the starlight, but the fire and combustion born in their fiery hearts still fought to be released.

I smoothed my brown sundress self-consciously. There hadn’t been time to get me a uniform yet. Since Mom had been offered the job here last week, they were giving me a grace period to track one down. Everything had happened so abruptly with our move here.

Mom had gone to college on a grant for her tuition, so long as she worked in an inner city school. Though she enjoyed teaching history, her true passion was the written word. The grant’s terms expired eight years after she had graduated, but we stayed until Jackson lost his job and money got tight. Then last week, just when they were contemplating giving up the house and moving all of us into a tiny apartment, St. Aloysius called and offered a position out of the blue. Not one to look a gift job in the mouth, Mom packed up our entire house over the weekend and here I was, bright and early on a Monday. She’d agreed to let us stay home, but Juliette had been so excited about this new adventure I couldn’t help but fake some enthusiasm. All my little sister had to do was bat those golden-colored eyes at me and I was wrapped around her finger.

I found my way to an empty seat near the window, thankful to be out of the spotlight. I picked up my paperback and buried my nose in it, praying Mrs. Reid would resume teaching or the bell would ring. Logan turned to stare at me several times, but I refused to acknowledge him. I’d never met anyone who could stir such a mixed reaction in me. Sure, I’d admired his solid build—any girl who said she didn’t had to be lying—but it was hard to see past the maliciousness he hurled around. Yet something about him caused a stirring in me, something primal, but not sexual. I tried to study him without attracting his attention. Each time he turned to look at me, I would dart my eyes back to my book just in time. Could he be drawn to me by the same strange magnetism my eyes seemed unable to resist?

The bell rang and I shoved my books into my leather-trimmed bag, tossing the thin tan straps over my shoulder as I bolted out the door. Away from the enigma Logan presented, I was finally able to breathe. I leaned against the wall, shaking out my dark hair. A flash of red caught my eye and relief flooded me as I spotted my little brother—I use the phrase loosely since he’s only ten months younger than me—coming toward me with a short girl chattering away beside him. Her summer-blond hair was piled on top of her head, held by a multitude of mismatched clips. Sun-kissed skin glowed on her heart-shaped face. Short and delicate, she was dwarfed next to my brother, who was a hair over six feet tall.

Though it was October already, it was still pretty warm. No one wore the sweaters and jackets I had expected when I pictured the school in my head. Instead, a crisp green suit vest with the gold school crest on the left breast was buttoned over Violet’s white cotton shirt. Instead of a tie, she wore a floppy green-striped blue bowtie. Light-blue tights under her blue-and-green plaid skirt disappeared into alternating black-and-white layered socks and a pair of worn black Chucks. I never could have imagined how much wiggle room there was to personalize a school uniform.

I arced my body away from the wall, falling into step beside him. "Misun, I’m so glad to see you!"

Me soon? The blonde tilted her head to the side, pursing her lips.

Antonio laughed, a big bellow that reminded me of our dad. I shut the thought down before it could go any further. Bad things happened when I let my mind wander down that road. Last time I had gone there, my baby sister had a grand mal seizure and wound up in the hospital for a week. I focused instead on my brother. He was good looking, or so my friends always told me. He wore his hair mussed like he’d just gotten out of bed, but he spent more time than me in the bathroom. His face was similar to mine, long and slender with cheekbones that don’t quit, though his warm gray eyes were almond shaped while mine were cat eyes. "Misun. It’s Lakota for ‘little brother.’ This is my sister Cleo, or Cuwewaya."

Chew-wah-wah-ya? The girl’s nose scrunched up as she pronounced the unfamiliar word.

Antonio nodded sagely. Just call her Chewy, like I do.

Way-wah. But please, call me Cleo. I aimed an elbow for Antonio’s ribs, but he curved away from it.

Pleased to meet you, Cleo. I’m Violet. Welcome to Landmark, the northern gateway to wine country.

I forced a smile as she rambled off the brochure. We wound our way through the hall. There were no words to express my gratitude that Antonio and I had our next class together, even if it was our mother’s English class. Violet rambled about the town, the school, her boyfriend Dominic… I think I learned the girl’s entire life story by the time we’d climbed the stairs to the second story. She flashed a genuine smile as we reached the top, studying us from the corner of her eye. So are you guys the real deal? Like real Indians?

Antonio laughed again, flashing perfect white teeth. Well, I’ve never taken a scalp, if that’s what you mean.

Violet blushed, shuffling her feet as her pointed chin drooped toward her chest. My hand connected with my brother’s arm in a solid punch. Don’t be mean. He’s kidding. We don’t really mind the word Indian, but we prefer native or just Lakota.

Someone slammed into my shoulder, making me stumble into my brother. I whipped around, my hair flying around my head as I lost control of my power. Logan stood there, a wicked grin tilting up one corner of his mouth. I considered letting a little of my explosive power loose, but I’d be on a slippery slope if I did. I knew from past experience that I must be starting to glow by now, but the other students seemed to be filing past without noticing. With more willpower than I thought I possessed, I reined myself in. Once the fires were quenched, I realized what a bad idea it would have been to let them out. I glanced around, but the only people who seemed to have noticed were Violet and Antonio.

What exactly is going on? Violet asked. She narrowed her eyes as she studied me. I…felt something. And I think you glowed.

I wanted to tell her nothing had happened aside from a confrontation with a jerk, but Logan wasn’t done being a grade-A bully.

Logan got really close, almost in my face. Fae. He spat the word like it was distasteful. And a good girl I’d bet. He packed so much malice into the words, I felt offended, despite the fact that I really was a good girl.

My brother’s strong fingers wrapped around my upper arm, pulling me back. As I took one reluctant step away from the boy who’d been trying so desperately to rile me up, my hand raised, my fingers clenched tightly in a fist I was moments from throwing. And if I lost control of myself, even for a moment, I could turn the school into a fiery inferno. I took a deep breath to calm myself as I glanced around at the students who had no idea how close they had been to disaster.

Something odd was going on here. Why weren’t the humans noticing us using magic in the middle of the hall? They should be freaking out, stampeding out the doors and reporting the freaks to the government by now. Instead they just hurried about their lives, chattering about inconsequential things as if they were life and death. I suppose to them, it was. But it was hard to imagine a formal dance as the most important event of the year when you’re standing toe to toe with a boy who wanted to hurt you simply because you were there.

You reek of good. Logan was cloaked in darkness as he spoke, shadows rolling around him like smoke. Horns curved forward out of the dark hair on top of his head, the tips curving up to his hairline. I glanced around again but the students continued to flow around us as if they didn’t see anything. Maybe they couldn’t.

My brother coughed and I could feel a surge of energy in him, a strange sixth sense we shared. I grabbed his wrist before he did something as stupid, as I tried not to do the same. I glanced around again, still expecting everyone to be standing and staring at us. Aside from a few scattered stragglers, we were alone in the hall. A boy with dark curls rounded the corner, rushing to Logan’s side. He grabbed his arm and gave him a shake.

Dude, back off.

Logan snarled at him, and the shorter boy’s eyes glowed red, moving as if the irises were made of liquid. With his jaw set, Logan stepped backwards away from me.

Is this entire school made up of fae? I asked, spinning to face forward with my hands thrown up in the air. Too late I remembered Violet walking along beside us, oblivious to the fae world.

She took the weirdness in stride. Not entirely, but we seem to have more than our fair share. I think all the teachers are, and a good chunk of the staff too.

Or maybe not so oblivious. I didn’t realize I had stopped until she turned to face me.

I’m a Zimní. I control the winter winds. What are you two? She cocked her head, her eyes flickering between the two of us.

Antonio looked at me then back at Violet, licking his lips as his hand rose to scratch his cheek. I sighed. I guess there was no real point in trying to backpedal. I’m a Stardancer, able to wield the power of the stars—fire, explosions, that kind of stuff. He’s a Skinwalker.

That’s so cool! Skinwalkers, as in the native shifters? She emphasized the world with a grin, but I could see her cheeks coloring a bit.

Antonio shrugged. I don’t know if it’s exclusively a native thing. The only ones I’ve met are, but that could be my limited experience.

Was your dad a Skinwalker too?

I didn’t make eye contact, trying not to think about his disappearance. Every time I thought about him, let myself feel it, something awful happened. Antonio shook his head and spoke through a tight jaw. Our dad is a sore subject.

Oh, I’m sorry. Messy divorce? She started walking again, not stopping long enough for us to contradict her. I hear you. Most my friends’ parents are divorced. I guess I’m lucky mine are still together.

Antonio’s lips were pressed in a firm line and the skin on his back rippled. Our parents weren’t divorced. My father’s disappearance still hurt so badly I couldn’t even think about it. I figured it was time to steer the conversation to a safer topic. Antonio is such a cliché. He’s a wolf.

One delicate hand fluttered to fuss with her hair as Violet’s brow furrowed. Aren’t all Skinwalkers wolves?

Antonio latched onto the topic the way a drowning man grabs a life preserver. Not necessarily. It’s a matter of what animal is your spirit guide. I can’t help it if mine’s a wolf. The look he shot me made me think he’d stick his tongue out at any moment.

How are you different from a shifter?

A smirk twisted up the corner of my brother’s mouth. I’m far more awesome. He laughed as I rolled my eyes. No, the difference is control. I’m not guided by the moon, and I can control the shifting. Well, mostly—someday I will be fully in control. Right now I still struggle, like most fae our age. But once I calm down I can change back. That’s the big difference.

Violet nodded. Before she could say anything else, the bell rang. Was there any way to get away with being late to class when your mom’s the teacher?

I

folded the scrap of paper on my desk, slouching in my chair and wishing the day was over already. I reminded myself I’d wanted to be here, but it wasn’t really helping. The new teacher had written her name on the board—Mrs. Graham—in neat angular letters, her long black hair swaying. Her ankle-length white sundress with some sort of knit overlay and simple kitten heels told me she was trying too hard.