The Deceivers

By Elizabeth Mitchell

Cami's troubled life as a motherless teen can't seem to get any worse, but shortly after she turns seventeen, it takes an unexpected turn. She discovers a vintage necklace, along with a hidden note vaguely warning her of Deceivers. Thrust into the enchanted world of Olmerias, she's greeted by a family she never knew she had, and she finds herself drawn to a young teen with an effervescent personality who challenges her every chance along the way.

Distracted by the evil Deceiver and his followers, the clock is ticking as Cami confronts her unresolved feelings of the past. With hidden truths revealing themselves at each turn, Cami finds that the Deceiver is closer than she could have anticipated. But how do you defeat an entity that disguises itself in the mask of shadows? Will Cami's newfound strength keep her and those she loves from harm, or will the Deceiver's deadly game be her undoing?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elizabeth Mitchell
• Release date: Oct 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9780578322582

Elizabeth Mitchell

A Florida native, she writes fantasy fiction and bits of realism while using her creativity and imagination to dream up and pursue new works of art. When she's not writing, Elizabeth enjoys Target runs, non-essential drives to get coffee, and peace and quiet while listening to music. Her other talents include juggling a houseful of kids and a husband of 8 years, stumbling over her own words, loving a huge black lab, suffering from RBF, unintentionally coming off as abrasive, and running late to everything. Elizabeth is currently working on her next novel, the sequel to The Deceivers.

Book preview

Prologue

The rays broke through the overcast sky and filtered through the skylight above the two men sitting in the dining hall.

It’s days like this that remind me of one of the worst days of my life, Maxwell shared, lifting the coffee mug to his mouth. He gazed up through the wide transom above them, lost in thought.

A newspaper crinkled across the table. Why do you say that, Your Majesty? Kelan asked as he laid down the paper he’d been reading and took a sip of his own steaming coffee.

The king seemed too uncomfortable to answer the question and sat the fragile cup down. He propped his leg up and leaned back in his oversized chair with a thoughtful expression. Reminds me of the day my wife gave birth.

The newspaper began to crunch as the narrow-faced man lifted the reading material back up. Sounds like a happy occasion, he commented dryly.

Maxwell drummed his fingers on the table and shot a thoughtful expression over at his comrade. Ah, Kelan. Always the optimist. He let out a slight chuckle. Quite the opposite.

Kelan jerked the paper down, peering over it at his king with one eye. How so? His streaked raised brows and abnormal, discolored patch that surrounded his left eye only encouraged the king to tell more of his story.

My wife had been poisoned; my daughter not yet born. I had just received word that she had fallen ill, and our son was at her side, but he was much too young to be there alone in all of that. When I rushed to her side and asked her what happened, she was barely able to tell me that my brother and someone posing as a handmaiden had tricked her into ingesting the poisoned spring water. The King leaned in over his coffee before continuing, I was faced with a decision—a most difficult one. My brother had betrayed me—betrayed our family. He’d committed treason. But I had no choice … He trailed off, lost in thought again.

Kelan smirked as he smoothed the paper over the table and folded it neatly in half. Wise decision. One I would have made, Your Majesty.

That doesn’t make it any easier. Antonia was—is—the love of my life. I’d give my life for hers. My brother had to be brought to justice for his crimes, even if meant weakening our kingdom with his loss.

Kelan crossed his arms holding his coffee mug out in his hand while he asked, So how’d the poor bastard die?

King Maxwell sharply glanced his way. Kelan’s hand shot up, immediately abandoning his question with the aversion of his prying eyes.

A slow smirk formed on the king’s stubbled face. I couldn’t bear to do it anywhere around here. I took him to somewhat of a daunting place that we had become familiar with as boys growing up. We stood up on the cliffs with my best guards at my side, and he admitted to his plans to dethrone me, to take the power as his own. He said that I was not the rightful heir, that it was our father’s wish that my brother rule our kingdom. He proceeded to share that if I killed him, his ambitions and the plans he’d made would not die with him; that there would be others who follow in his footsteps. One of the last things he told me, I never forgot. He told me to be careful when the darkness fell upon the kingdom, that I would never be able to sleep soundly again knowing that those I love would never be safe from him, even in death.

Kelan took a sip of his coffee. Intense. He mustered up a deep frown and an inquisitive brow. What did you do?

I grabbed him by his throat lifting him from the ground. I told him he was right to envy me because I was capable of more strength, love, and power than he’d ever have the privilege of knowing. And then I threw him over the cliffs into the Skeleton Sea.

With his long arms crossed, Kelan finally asked, Do you regret it?

Maxwell thought a moment before responding, Once, I thought I did, but no, I don’t. If I hadn’t done what I did, it would have been at the expense of myself, my family, and my legacy.

Sounds like you made the right choice then, Kelan snickered.

Chapter 1

My stomach was filled with butterflies, the kind that fluttered around so much it made me feel like puking. I gulped back the lump of emotions in my throat long enough to make it to the detective’s desk. I was sure he was tired of seeing me. I intertwined my fingers in front of me to keep from unnecessarily tugging at my clothes. They were appropriate enough, dark-washed jeans and a burnt orange top my grandmother allowed me to get from a thrift store. It was comfortable enough and not anything to draw attention, but the patronizing man recognized my face right away.

His wide grin cut dimples into each cheek, revealing overly whitened teeth. Back again already, sweetheart? He barely paused to give me a second to answer.

Yes. I—

Yeah, I’m sorry … he began, leaning back in his seat, throwing his feet up to rest on the scattered papers across his desk. We don’t have any new leads, sweetheart. As many times as I’d heard it before, I didn’t think the news would come off as disappointing, but it did.

Oh, I waited to say something more, but I wasn’t fast enough.

I know you want to find your mom … what’s her name? He snapped his fingers. I was certain he had to know it by now. I’d been sneaking up to the station every month for the past two years in hopes of hearing good news.

It’s— I attempted again.

Ah, yes, that’s it. An … Give me a second.

I cut my eyes at him. Antonia, I blurted, sensing the tension in my jaw.

Precisely. Antonia Knight. As I was saying, we want to find her too—that’s part of our job. I’d love to get rid of another one of these. The condescending man placed both feet on the ground long enough to pat on the stack of folders that towered over on the edge of his desk—a lot more than most of the desks around him. I wasn’t sure if it was because they assigned more work to him or if he had a very poor work ethic. I was inclined to go with the latter. But I’ll call you if we have any new developments in the case. There’s really no need for you to keep coming down here, sweetheart.

I rubbed my fingers together in a poor attempt to keep myself calm, eventually moving up to wring my wrist. If he called me sweetheart one more time, all bets were off the table.

I-I don’t think you understand, Sir. Th-this wasn’t like her. She would never—

The way he cocked his head to the side and deliberately scratched his nose stopped me mid-sentence. He scoffed, What? Leave you? He intercepted my thoughts and stood up. His short chair rolled from underneath him. With his back as straight as a board, he angled himself until he towered over me. His eyes had the ability to shrink me down to feel shorter than normal. I get it, and I’m not saying she would, but then again, when you’ve done this job as long as I have, nothing is out of the question. Heck, she could’ve just wanted a long vacation for all we know, he snorted, without you.

I found myself hugging my arms now, trying to keep it together. With a smug, satisfied smirk, the detective fell back in his chair carelessly. Intertwining his fingers in his lap, he shoved the chair back from the desk, and dipped backwards. It made my skin crawl the way he didn’t have a care in the world. I wasn’t debating that there weren’t other cases. From where I was standing, the place was bustling with activity. People rushed in and out and the waiting room was scattered with discouraged faces. I briefly glanced at the other detectives. Everyone else sat upright, busy on their phones, staring at the printed black and white papers in their hands. Their voices sounded professional; helpful. I struggled, trying not to succumb to the indifferent, sharp words of the informal detective, all while keeping in mind how many witnesses there would be if I spontaneously jumped across the desk and punched him. It would feel pretty good to knock his lazy ass out of that stupid chair. My hands kept moving up my arms until I basically had myself wrapped up in a hug. Despite being so upset, I managed to keep the appearance of being calm and collected. It was probably for the best since I was in a police station and all. Assaulting a police officer seemed like too big a jumpstart for a criminal record.

Thank you, I managed through gritted teeth, attempting my best fake smile.

"Anytime. I’ll call you when I have more information."

There was nothing more for me to say. The looks of pity and mumbles from those who were within ear shot followed me as I headed for the closest exit. I hung my head. Counting the tiles from his desk to the double doors was my only attempt at saving face and holding back the tears that were threatening to break through. I dismissed it as just another side effect of being heartbroken and lost.

Before I hailed another twenty-minute cab ride back home, I plastered flyers that depicted the last photo of my mom on the telephone poles and convenient store windows. Most store owners were more understanding than others, but I didn’t waste time arguing or trying to convince them otherwise. All I could do was hope that someone would see the missing posters and come forward with useful information—no matter if it was bad news, as many already expected. I tried to keep those thoughts from entering my mind. As I came to the last window, I stopped and stared at the customers inside. Regulars filled their seats at most tables and booths. I hesitated. If only I could slip through the door unnoticed. The owners at this diner had become good friends and I’d hate to leave without visiting. The uncertainty in my big eyes showed in the glass. With a deep breath, I caught the door as another woman was leaving. A few of the customers looked up when the door chimed and then went back to drinking their coffee.

How are you, dear? Come—have a seat. Mrs. Mayweather didn’t miss much, and I was no exception. She was placing a steaming plate of food in front of a local. The sweet, plump woman always insisted I come inside and sit awhile. She’d give a welcoming smile and begin to ask questions about my mother. The busy woman would take time to listen as I’d share memories and recollections that made me happy. Mrs. Mayweather was the only one I really confided in. I was always grateful for our small visits. She was currently behind the counter wearing her usual apron. Putting a dab of whip cream on top, she slid over a slice of pie and smiled.

Any luck today?

No ma’am, not yet. I said as I picked at a piece of the apple that fell out from between the piecrust.

She wiped off the counter and put her hands on her wide hips.

Did you talk to the same detective again?

I stabbed the pie.

Well, I’m sure they’ll find her soon. Don’t pay his attitude any mind, dear.

I almost believed her optimism.

This is on the house until then. She winked at me and went back to clearing off a table.

I stared out the window at all the people passing by, watching them as they stared at their phones or carried on conversations with one another. No one was paying attention to the flyers. Why would they? It wasn’t their loved one. Mrs. Mayweather was right. I’d hang onto the ember of faith I still had deep inside—the one that told me my mother was out there somewhere and that I was meant to live a better life.

Cami! My mother stretched out her arms toward me, straining, her face twisted in agony. She tried tirelessly to grasp my fingertips. Help, please Cami! Help me! The shadows enveloped my mother or at least what I remembered of her, adding to the distance between us.

Mom! Mom! I cried out, willing my legs to move forward in hopes of reaching her in time, but the air was too thick. I choked on the grey fog that filled my lungs, gasping, grabbing at the fire that I felt fueling in my throat.

My eyes shot open. I fought to breath, pushing myself up, aware of my racing heart thudding in my chest. My dreams always felt so real. One of the beads of sweat that had collected on my forehead dripped down my burning cheeks and landed on my already soaked tank top. My curls stuck to the back of my neck but when I tried to tie the unruly strands up to cool off, my fingers became entangled. It was too early in the morning. Not wanting to exert any more energy than I needed to, I gave up in defeat and pulled my knees to my chest. I waited for my body to calm as I sat staring into the open country through the bars on my window.

What I couldn’t figure out was why I kept having these nightmares. My mother was the one who left me without warning, or at least that is what the police report indicated. Even after years of her absence, the last months of my life had been the most depressing. I missed the woman in the faded black and white photo hanging on my grandmother’s worn wall in the living room. The faint memory of my mother’s comforting arms wrapped around me, holding me a second longer than expected, plagued my thoughts each morning I awoke. I’d give anything to hug her again, and this time I wouldn’t pull away the way I normally did when people tried to embrace me. My dreams had been clouded with memories of our time together, but the hurt and betrayal of abandonment tainted them. No matter how much my mind argued its case, subconsciously my heart believed it was her choice to leave me here.

Being left in the dark with no letter and no explanation added to my heartbreak, feeling unwanted, whether intentional or not. I wanted to hear my mother’s loud laughter from the other room, to watch her push her ebony hair from her olive face as she muttered that she was going cut it again. She’d listen to my rambling about the school day, and how I didn’t want to do my homework, but now I had no one except my grandmother, and that wasn’t saying much. The old woman hated me. Truly.

I tugged once more on the knots of my hair as I watched the array of colors shift from the dark night blue to the orange and yellows that burned in the morning sky. The serene horizon was more comforting to admire than the dryness of the land we were situated on. The trees were bare, with nothing more than the bark chipping and peeling from the branches, flaking from the drought that had syphoned all the remaining life from its roots.

One tree stood outside my confining window, barely out of reach. Its branches were once full, but since my mother left and the drought worsened, the tree lost all appeal. Some mornings I’d wriggle my arm between the cold steel of the black bars just to see how far I could stretch. The action only reminded me of how imprisoned and neglected I considered myself to be. The colors of the sunrise eventually penetrated the dense fog that washed over the property. I sat for a moment longer waiting. Waiting for the only friend I felt I had in the world to come within arm’s reach. Then I saw it. A white spec flashed across the tree line and soon the familiar bird landed on the lone branch that extended outward toward my window. It hopped toward my hand offering its company.

Hi there, I softly greeted. The overgrown bird skipped across the branches, shaking the entire tree, its light color a stark contrast against the dreary scenery I was subjected to every day. Short bursts of gurgling croaks erupted from the raven’s beak, returning my salutation. I could hear the stress in the cracking from the unexpected weight and light movement of the rather large bird. Usually, a bird this size would have frightened me, but not this timid friend. It had never given me a reason to fear it. Its small eyes shot over at the sun cresting on the horizon, and once satisfied, it turned and blinked back at me. The feathered being must have sensed that I would be awake, awaiting its return. In the last couple of months, it had begun making its visits more frequent; so frequent that I looked forward to seeing this albino bird at the start of every day.

Since the start of my junior year, I had the freedom from reliving the same mundane and awful sweaty days that I would have otherwise spent at home. The seven classes a day in a school full of kids that would gossip and pass rumors about the stuck up girl, and the stories they were told or overheard from their parents about my mother’s abandonment of her only daughter, filled the school with additional drama it needed to fulfill the high school experience. Surprisingly enough, I preferred enduring the side looks and whispers than being stuck at home. With the small size of this Texas town, a missing woman with an orphaned daughter held its spot as front-page news for everyone to chime in with their opinions and explicit renditions of what may have happened. I accepted the idea that the chatter and whispers would follow me around until graduation or until I moved. After graduation, I could turn my back on Dripping Springs and seek out a place where I could start all over—or until my mother returned, if she did.

I stared at the bird clasping the limb with its sharp talons. The fresh, damp air felt good on my arm and the tip of my face. It didn’t matter that it was much cooler outside than it was in my room. I had become accustomed to the heat and the awful living conditions over the years. Recently, the 100-degree summer had notably cooled, and I knew with school starting soon, the summer weather would soon end. I couldn’t be more grateful. My grandmother treated me worse during the summer months. She’d find entertainment in delegating chores, most of which consisted of outdoor work. Toiling the hard ground with no shade in sight, she’d grin while enjoying iced beverages on the junk-filled porch as I winced from the sandspurs that pierced my ankles as I worked. Not once did she ever offer me a refreshment. I felt more like a working scarecrow the way the scattered black birds would watch me from a distance. Maybe they were waiting for me to collapse from heat exhaustion.

Between the heat and lack of air conditioning, my window remained open beside my bed during the day for ventilation. Every night, a prayer was said to send the cooling drafts of thunderstorms for added air flow. Those were the nights I slept best. Asking for a fan would be out of the question. The miserable woman refused any request that would make my life more comfortable. Staring out the single window and through the thick bars at night only served as a reminder that she essentially owned me, but it never kept me from frequently dreaming of escaping this awful place. I’d often fantasize that a long-lost relative would knock at the door and whisk me away to a better life, or I’d wake up with an incredible type of super-human capability that would enable me to break from my confines and fly away, but no one and nothing of the sort ever happened to fulfill those school-aged fantasies. I knew they were silly and impossible, but it offered me a small break from my harsh reality.

I grasped the rough bars, watching over clenched hands as the sun crept over the tops of the dead Blackland prairie trees. That was my signal—it was time to start my day. I braced myself for my smooth, feathered friend to fly away, as most did, but this one didn’t flinch. Instead, it leaned its head toward me in response, its eyes inviting me to pet it. I inched my hand closer, ever so carefully, unsure of my action. I hesitated. With no way of knowing if I should continue to move or remain still, I feared I would scare off my frequent visitor. Then I’d have no one.

You must have better places to be than this, I said as I gently rubbed its pale chest with my bent fingers. I wish you could tell me the stories of the sky—all the sights you’ve seen from up there. I took a moment to glance at the hazy sky that was now more dominantly brushed with reds and glowing oranges. It cocked its head to the side. The raven seemed to understand what I was saying, relaxing at my touch, keeping its surroundings in view. I frowned at the sympathy reflected in the creature’s eyes. It must have struck the bird as ironic to see a human caged, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it had seen anything as odd on its travels.

Funny that I’m the one locked behind an enclosure of sorts, huh? I kept my words slightly above a whisper. My mother would think the same thing, too. You know, I wonder every day what happened to her. I still think that she’s alive. Insane, huh? I paused. You see so much. Do you know?

A breeze ruffled the raven’s long feathers, but the burst of wind didn’t seem to touch my face. It made me remember my knotted hair and I felt gross. The dampened, frizzed strands refused to be parted with just my fingers alone. It would be a challenging task to fix before leaving for school. I still felt groggy. My heart felt as heavy as my legs. Maybe I’d just lie back down and play sick. No, I decided. I’d force my body to cooperate. That’s not me and going to school was much better than staying cooped up inside this musty home. Staring at the four walls only made me miss my old, air-conditioned house and my normal life that much more. The memories prior to moving here began to flood my mind. My eyes felt moist, and I could feel the sunken despair blemishing what I had left of a rosy complexion. I choked back the tears that began to overpower my throat. The strength of them made it hurt to swallow the feeling away.

I wish I could have gone with her, wherever it was. I hope she’s okay, I confessed to the raven. Do you think if my dad is out there somewhere that maybe he’ll find me? Maybe I’d be much happier with him than I would be here—if he wanted me that is. What do you think? Is it silly? I rubbed its head, tracing my fingers along its back as far as they would go.

I really wish you could tell me what you thought. On that note, the raven decidedly relocated closer to me. The movement made the branch bow down even more, but it lifted its wing to rest upon my arm as if in answer. I smoothed the bird’s white feathers together again, rhythmically stroking it in appreciation. A smile broke across my face, temporarily shattering the inconsolable grief I refused to resolve or address. The animal noticed and hummed pleasantly at the distinct change in my attitude. I wasn’t aware that our moment of bonding wouldn’t last much longer.

Chapter 2

Startled by the rattle of the brass knob, I jumped. My door flung open, hitting the wall behind it. The commotion sent my friend flapping into the air, and my arm barely squeezed itself back through the bars in time.

What are you doing? My grandmother stood in the doorway sneering at me. She always knew how to make an appearance, complete with makeup much too bold for a woman her age. Not to mention her outrageous hairstyle. It was almost impossible not to laugh at how ridiculous she looked. I pressed my lips together.

I heard you talking. Who were you talking to?

I shrugged, pretending that I didn’t know what she was complaining about. Maybe it was the radio.

I don’t hear a radio on in here. Her brow wrinkled doubtfully at my explanation. I’d have to do better than that.

I … uh … turned it off. I’m sorry. Was it too loud?

I could have been a little more convincing, but either way the crabby woman would find a reason to be upset with me. My grandmother began searching my room for someone. I found it hilarious since there was absolutely no way anyone could slide through the tight gaps of the bars on the window. Even if they managed, with a room so small, I didn’t know where they would hide.

After she turned up nothing, she spun back to face me. Get up and get ready, you lazy parasite. She slammed the hollow door behind her, shaking the thin walls.

I let out a groan and returned my attention to the friendly raven, only to find that it had flown away. My head fell in disappointment. It most likely wouldn’t return until the following day. Great. Now I had to get up. Finding motivation was hard to do, and besides, I’d need to muster up some energy. I threw aside the thin, ugly blanket. The itchy material and brown coloring gave me even more reason to dislike it as much as I did. Its only purpose was to protect me from being drained of blood by mosquitos at night.

Through the flimsy walls I could hear the faint sounds of my grandmother stirring about. She was getting ready for the day, all made possible with caffeine and tobacco. The aroma of coffee brewing, in addition to the smoke belonging to one of the many cigarettes she would burn through today, was in the air. I couldn’t understand how someone could inhale so many harmful chemicals and still stand. The fifty-something-year-old woman was like a walking chimney, spouting clouds of poisonous smoke wherever she went with no regard for anyone else’s health. I wanted to blame the poison as the reason she lacked empathy and compassion, but I knew better to believe that. The defect was in her heart, if she had one. She never spoke of my mother—her own daughter. Nor did she search for her. Not once did she ask me how I was coping with the loss of my mom, and she failed to follow up with the detectives assigned to the missing person’s case. I was the only one who seemed to care.

She did, however, manage to complain to me about it on several occasions. I should have known she would find another loophole to avoid taking care of you, especially as a teenager. Who in their right mind would want to be stuck with that job? She got rid of you just in time. I was just the unsuspecting victim in it all. My grandmother would pause to drag a long puff from a green-striped cigarette.

I know why she dumped you off on my doorstep, with the occasional predicaments she would find herself in and all, but it’s not fair to me. Her tone would be almost whining. I don’t know why she would think someone else would want you, but at least it’s not without its benefits. You’re better off I suppose—just at my expense. Her conclusion would confuse me since it was the furthest from what I felt—unwanted, neglected, lonely, and entrapped are the words I associated with being stuck here with her. She made sure of it. It was useless to press for an explanation on what she meant by predicaments. I asked once and never bothered to ask again after that.

It doesn’t matter, does it? It won’t fix anything … unfortunately for me. Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to, she’d snip. Then she’d pucker her wrinkled lips together and blow a stream of smoke into my face, patting me on the head with her ring-stacked fingers.

I was happiest when that wretched woman was gone; even better when she left for days on end, no doubt splurging money she didn’t have to spend. Normally those trips were preceded with no notice, but it didn’t really matter. I’d have to fend for myself either way, but I was able to relax a bit more in her absence, and I had the freedom to leave as I pleased. That’s typically when I would go to the police station to follow up on my mom’s case.

I stumbled to the dresser mirror, disgusted by my reflection. My face always appeared much rounder in the mornings. The toll of the nightmares apparent in the dark circles that had taken their permanent place under my eyes, my drained complexion only making them even more noticeable. I reassured myself that there was still time to improve my appearance before catching the bus to school. There was no reason to give the other kids more of a reason to talk. Each day I was a walking target for whispers and insults, and those who might have been friendly with me shied away, no doubt because of the absurd stories they heard floating around town. I decided I didn’t care enough about my complexion after all to put that much effort into fixing it. I spotted my favorite hoodie that had been tossed in the poorly upholstered chair in the corner of my room and pulled it over my tangled curls. Time to start another day without you, Mom.

The poisonous fog of cigarette smoke leaked into my room as I opened my bedroom door. It forced its way up my nostrils, and I coughed uncontrollably, waving my hand in front of my face. It was such a nasty habit, and not one that I could ever imagine taking up. It only complemented my grandmother’s unpleasant demeanor. I hadn’t even made it across the hall to the bathroom before my grandmother’s voice could be heard calling demands from the living room.

Make sure you do your chores before I get home. I mean it. I have company coming this evening to pick me up, and I don’t want the house a mess. I glanced around. The place would look like a shack no matter what kind of magic I was able to conjure up. Narrowing her eyes, she added, That includes you hanging about. Make yourself scarce. Do you hear me? There are leftovers in the fridge. She paused to study me with a scrutinizing stare. I blinked, waiting. No doubt, she was trying to find something to critique. Why don’t you just make a salad instead? The clasp of one of her many gold bracelets was giving her a hard time, which distracted her, but not long enough for me to tiptoe away.

Drink water; the soda is mine, she snidely instructed, dismissing me with a disgusted scowl before turning on her heel. I waited until she got to her room before I rolled my eyes. It was too early for this, and I hated soda anyway. I gave myself a once over in the mirror. Over the years she’d subjected me to humiliating comments and suggestions that picked apart every feature of my physical appearance. Since I began living with her, I’d wear loose clothing as much as possible, especially when she was around. It was better than her harassing me for the way my curves looked under things that fit. I was glad that she wouldn’t be home until late—if she came home at all. With the foul company she considered friends, I’d put chains on my bedroom door if I could. I would hear them at night, stumble in through the front door. Their conversations were loud mumbles, obnoxious even. I’d make out the shadows of people passing by through the crack of light that broke through the opening underneath my door. If my grandmother had been a better person, I might have been tempted to peek. But it wasn’t worth my safety. I assumed anyone that kept company with my grandmother had to be just as bad or worse.

I tossed my backpack over my shoulder, closed the front door, and pushed the steel bars to latch in front of it. I never bothered to lock up. After my foot slid off the last piece of gravel in driveway, I glanced down the road that ran in front of our fenced in yard. As usual, it was empty. After I adjusted my backpack straps, I stared towards my blurred destination. I trudged the same hot, tar colored pavement each morning to the nearest bus stop about a mile away. The walk wasn’t as bad in the fall, though it was still hot on some days. At least the heat from the concrete wouldn’t soak through the soles of my shoes and burn the bottoms of my feet like it did during the summer.

Morning walks were usually quiet, but today was different. The eerie silence was interrupted by a sound similar to shuffling cards that traveled down the street until my ears tingled. Unwillingly, my head lifted to the sky. Black wings peppered the heavy fog. With poor visibility, I was only able to make out a few birds at first. Their methodical flapping, rarely broken with smooth glides, neither matching the sound of the shuffling cards I heard was the only thing that broke the grey residue left in the sky. But then the patches of haze began to lift and the commotion of harsh, squalling voices pierced through me. A nervous spasm crept up from my toes and started churning in my stomach, worsening as I watched a few crows multiply into hundreds. My legs moved faster, with one goal—to get to my bus stop. The ruffling of marbled feathers began to congregate in rows on the power lines, stretching into the distance as far as the eye could see. One by one, they fluttered from out of the clearing patches of grey fog, finding a place between their kind. Although I did my best to control it, I couldn’t. My body shook. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw so many birds of the same species grouped together, especially with such unfavorable weather conditions. It was a miracle the white raven even bothered to visit. I scanned the rows, but my pale friend was missing. I’d first noticed the dark birds months ago, but there were only a few at a time that traveled by, never stopping. Slowly, more crows had begun to perch, and then before I knew it, more joined. I’d never seen so many. It was quite intimidating.

The unruly flapping persisted, and when I glanced up to study the electrical lines once more, I gasped. The warm-blooded creatures were lined up, attached to the wires all the way down the street. Arranged like soldiers, their onyx bodies appeared linked, side by side, and the trail of crows didn’t seem to taper off at all. Swiveled heads turned in my direction. I trembled as I nervously tucked my hair behind my ear. Out of the hundreds, only one bird stood out as it awkwardly landed nearby, extremely too large and heavy for one of the wires. More than several birds took flight as they lost their footing on the sinking line. I watched the crows flutter, eventually landing again, as the dominant bird fiercely retreated to a spot atop a lonely pole overlooking all his other subordinates.

I grabbed my backpack straps for comfort, aware that hundreds of tiny eyes were on me, unable to see or hear anything more than the cacophony of my own thoughts and the sound of my feet pounding on the pavement. Being isolated and feeling just as alone is a heavy burden and paves the way to a troubled mind. There was nothing but the deserted road ahead—and birds, lots of birds. Nerves took over when I heard their unsettled feathers ruffle. I decided to keep my head up. But it was the way their eyes followed me—like I was their prey. I shivered, an overwhelming uneasiness traveling down my spine the more I dwelled on the thought of how spooky it was to be the only human walking this long stretch of road with the potential predators hovering above me, especially the freakishly oversized crow as their leader. My pace quickened until I reached the stop sign at the fork in the road. Thank goodness for the yellow bus barreling toward me. It might have sounded strange, but I had become locked into a staring contest with that unnerving stalker. They were intense and a lighter shade of black—like they were dipped in dirty milk. Weren’t all birds’ eyes dark? Maybe it was just the lighting from the rising sun. The brakes of the bus finally broke the visual standoff when came to a screeching halt in front of me. The crow’s long feathers fanned out violently, wide enough to wrap me twice around, revealing razor-sharp talons. Were my eyes playing tricks on me? The stopping of the bus and the opening doors broke the line of sight between us. I climbed up the stairs and ducked from side to side hoping to catch another peek through the windshield or small windows once more, but the monstrous bird was gone.

A little woman with short, spiked hair greeted me with a rushed but cheery Good mornin’, good mornin’. C’mon, have a seat.

She pressed on the gas, accelerating faster than my body could handle. I stumbled toward the back, zig-zagging down the aisle holding onto the seats, not wanting to fall down. Mrs. Gonzalez was always in a hurry. I glanced out the back window and the birds that ornamented the electrical lines were gone. Maybe the bus scared them off, too.

Where’s the other kids at? Mrs. Gonzalez asked. It wasn’t a surprise that she preferred the giggly girl and the cute boy that occasionally waited with me, but they mostly got rides with friends, and most of the time they skipped school. I never bet on them showing up at all.

I don’t know, I yelled back as I found a seat. Guess she’d have to do without the blathering from her young friends this morning. Once situated in my stiff seat, I leaned my head back and relaxed a little. Anything that took me a little further from home infused a little more joy into my aching heart. The remainder of the trip I’d press my forehead against the cool glass and fantasize about a different life—being a completely different person with another family, except that my mom would still be there. No one could replace her. I stared at the passing farmland and the livestock, and the few simple homes until we reached school of 2,000 students. The quiet, bumpy ride offered a bit of a recharge of peace, something I would need once I got off the bus.

Don’t you leave anything in my seats or on my floor! Mrs. Gonzalez yapped as we pulled into the parking lot. I mean it. I do. You’ll walk this afternoon if I find so much as a candy wrapper left behind. The short woman’s threats came out in a single breath. Every word was spoken with conviction, and I knew I wasn’t the only one who believed her. The anxious faces of the other kids suggested they took the little woman’s warnings seriously, too.

Chapter 3

One of my first classes of the day was math. I loathed anything having to do with numbers but was grateful to get the torture over with immediately. Listening to Mrs. Lawrence drone on in her monotone voice bored me, and I wondered whether the lesson ahead would stress me out or put me to sleep. The sound of her high heels click-clacked across the tile floor as she passed out the marked-up tests we had taken the week before. My eyes felt heavy, so I slouched in my chair and waited for my marked-up paper to land in front of me. I knew I’d have