Orphan's Egg (A Castor's Grove Young Adult Paranormal Romance): Castor's Grove, #1

By A.J. Renwick

AN ORPHAN WITH A MYSTERIOUS EGG. 

 

Frances West returns to her birth city of Castor's Grove, searching for answers about who she really is. Her only clue: a purple and gold Fabergé egg that was a gift from her biological parents. On her own for the first time, Fran is determined to prove that she's capable of succeeding without anyone's help. 

Until she discovers that Castor's Grove is teeming with magical creatures, and she might need a guide after all.

 

A FAIRY WHO JUST WANTS TO GET INTO A FRATERNITY. 

 

Ivan Dream isn't from an elite noble family like most fairies, but he's determined to make something of himself by becoming a Phi Eta Gentleman. To get accepted, all he needs to do is steal a badge from the Knights, an order devoted to the destruction of all things magic. 

 

EACH HAS WHAT THE OTHER NEEDS.

 

Fran is willing to trade, but only if Ivan provides information about her family. 

 

But when Ivan discovers more than he expected, will he be able to tell Fran? Or are there some truths about ourselves that we're better off not knowing? 

 

Explore the city of Castor's Grove with Fran and Ivan in this sweet paranormal romance that's sure to keep you turning the page.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Plotworks Publishing
• Release date: Jun 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9781960936127

Book preview

1

FRANCES

Frances West stood, frozen on the sidewalk, staring at the familiar gray door.

It was the first thing she’d recognized since returning to Castor’s Grove three weeks ago. Though she’d been born in the city, Fran’s time in it had felt less like a homecoming than she’d secretly hoped. The streets were easy to navigate with buildings organized in square grids, her temporary apartment on the edge of downtown was clean and conveniently located, and there was nothing lacking in the environment. With the ocean on its south and east borders, forest to the north and west, and dense urban high-rises in its center, Castor’s Grove was a city that boasted something for everyone.

But there was nothing special about a city that everyone could enjoy. Fran liked it, but it was in the same way any visitor might. While waiting to hear back from the adoption agency, she’d wandered the streets, avoiding the usual tourist activities, waiting to see something that sparked some long-buried memory or wander into someone who would recognize her.

Now, it was happening.

But instead of the sense of belonging she’d imagined, Fran’s chest tightened, and her breath caught. Her anxiety buzzed in her brain.

There was an image of a sword burned into the door. It stretched almost the entire length of the door, its hilt hovering only a few inches above a sunflower welcome mat that looked far too normal in the context. Who lived in this house?

Your foster parents. Fran grappled with her anxiety to take control of her own thoughts. They’re probably into Dungeons and Dragons, or one of the kids they cared for did it.

Either way, it was nothing to worry about.

Fran took a deep breath and pushed her hands into the pocket of her large black jacket. It wasn’t cold, but she wrapped it around her as she walked up the steps. There was no doorbell. She tapped her elbow against the wood.

No response came from within. Fran could’ve tried again. It had been a light knock.

This is too weird. They might not even live here anymore. What was I thinking just knocking on their door?

She should just leave a message. There was paper in her pocket; she could buy a pen somewhere nearby, write a letter, and slip it into the mailbox.

Upon my honor.

Fran spun around to see a thin middle-aged woman with olive skin. Short gray hairs frizzed around her temples, narrowly escaping the band that pulled the rest into a black ponytail. She wore an oversized green dress with a canary yellow jacket that matched the shopping bag in her hand.

The woman took a few steps closer, keeping her eyes on Fran. There was a wariness to her expression.

Um, I was just—

There was nothing suspicious about knocking on someone’s door in broad daylight, but Fran felt suddenly guilty. Do you know if the Franklins still live here?

We do. She narrowed her eyes, glancing between Fran and the door as though she thought the teenager was blocking her path. Is this a university project? Are you doing a census?

Fran was tempted to lie, tell Mrs. Franklin yes, and bolt, but she’d made it this far, so she shook her head. No, I’m not with the university. I’m actually, well I was, one of the kids you fostered. It was like fifteen years ago. You probably don’t remember—

Frances Buckler.

The sound of her original name rang like a bell in Fran’s ears. Her lips mouthed the word Buckler, trying to wrap themselves around the harsh first syllable and the slur of the second. She’d whispered it to herself every night since she’d learned it, but it still felt like it belonged to someone else.

It’s Frances West now, actually.

You’ve dyed your hair. Mrs. Franklin reached toward her, and Fran flinched away, but she was too slow to stop the woman from grabbing a clump of black hair. She ran a finger along it as though testing if the dye would rub off. Then she dropped the hair, pulled a set of keys out from her bag, and turned to the door. Come inside. You shouldn’t be out here.

Oh. Fran pulled her jacket tight again. Her first instinct was to refuse. Stranger danger and all that. But how did she expect to get information about her parents if she didn’t talk to Mrs. Franklin? Maybe for a minute, but I can’t stay long.

The strange yet familiar door led to a normal and therefore relatively forgettable living area. There was a fireplace in the corner with olive green couches and a squat brown coffee table. Paintings of flowers hung on the walls.

Fran’s stomach tightened as she stepped in. Why doesn’t it match the door?

Sit. Mrs. Franklin instructed, pointing at the couch.

Fran hesitated, but the woman kept smiling and staring. Eventually, she gave in and sat on the edge of one of the chairs. Mrs. Franklin didn’t join her.

You must tell me about your life, dear. What’s brought you back to the city?

Nothing in particular, Fran said, fingers crumpling stray pieces of paper in her pockets as she tried to guess what Mrs. Franklin’s angle was.

There’s no angle. She’s just a nice older lady who took care of me for six months when I was a toddler. Don’t listen to your anxiety.

Although, I was wondering if you knew anything about my parents, Fran forced the truth out. I wouldn’t bother you about it, but there’s no record of them anywhere, no birth certificate on file for me, but you’re the one who recorded my last name as Buckler, and my dads said you sent that gift with me, so I just thought, maybe you’d known them?

Fran held her breath as she waited for Mrs. Franklin’s response. This was it. Her former foster parents were her last chance of learning the truth about her birth parents. Who had they been? What had they done? Had they loved her?

The woman before her might have those answers.

Mrs. Franklin’s smile faltered. What gift?

You know, Fran said. If the woman had been able to recognize Frances after fifteen years, she must have remembered it. The Fabergé egg. It’s purple with gold details.

Mrs. Franklin’s smile stretched so tight that it looked like her skin would snap. You still have that?

Obviously. Sarcasm leaked into Fran’s voice before she could stop it. Did the woman really think she’d have thrown away the only gift she’d ever received from her parents?

It’s here with you? In the city?

Fran stiffened, feeling her heart thump in her chest. That was a strange question. It wasn’t just her paranoia.

No. I left it back in Lansing.

Excuse me a moment. I need to make a call. Mrs. Franklin spoke with the smile frozen on her face.

Fran nodded. Her eyes flicked to the front door. It was close, but not so close that the older woman couldn’t grab her before she got to it.

Mrs. Franklin didn’t leave the room. Eyes trained on Frances, she pulled a phone from her pocket, pressed a button, and raised it to her ear.

Fran struggled to keep her breathing steady as she stared at the woman.

Dammit. Mrs. Franklin’s smile finally dropped as she lowered the phone. She knelt on the carpeted floor before Fran and rested her hands on the teenager’s knees.

Fran was small, but the woman before her was frail. She could push her off. But her body was frozen. All she could think about was the fact that she should’ve hidden her knife in her pocket instead of her boot.

Listen, Frances, I have the answers you want, okay? But we need to be honest with one another. What’s the address of your home in Lansing?

There was no way Fran was telling her that.

Never mind. Two dads, West? I’ll look it up. Just wait here until I’m back, okay? I’ll tell you about your parents then.

Before Fran could fully process what the woman had said, Mrs. Franklin had raced out of her own house. The tension in Fran’s body slackened as she realized that she was alone, but her heart continued to quiver. This was all far too weird, and try as she might, Fran couldn’t pierce through her anxiety to come up with a logical reason for Mrs. Franklin’s actions.

I need to leave.

But Mrs. Franklin knew her parents. Fran could finally learn who they were, who she was.

The longing burned within her, begged her to stay, just as her anxiety screamed at her to run. The result was that Fran sat on the olive chair for a lot longer than most sane people would have. And she might have remained there until Mrs. Franklin returned were it not for the noise.

A loud twang shook the floor beneath Fran’s chair.

That settled it. She leaped up and grabbed the door handle without hesitation. But it wouldn’t budge. Mrs. Franklin had locked her in.

Crap.

Trustworthy people didn’t lock teenagers in their houses. Whatever claims Mrs. Franklin made about her parents could easily be false. She couldn’t stick around.

But how could she escape?

The Franklins’ house had only one entry, and there were bars on all their windows. Except for the ones in the basement.

It was the design of all the houses in this area. Fran had noticed it while walking through the neighborhood. But the strange noise had come from the basement.

Fran reached into her boot and pulled out her knife. Fingers trembling, she managed to get the blade free. She held it before her, afraid to breathe as she searched for the basement door.

It didn’t take her long to find it in the kitchen.

Cold sweat trickled down Fran’s back as she stared down a long flight of steps. There was no sound now save Fran’s own pounding heart.

Maybe the noise she’d heard was a cat. People owned those. They knocked things over. At least, they did in television shows.

And I think I’m too smart to die in a horror movie? This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.

But waiting for Mrs. Franklin would’ve been just as foolish. So Fran tiptoed down the stairs, knuckles white around her knife.

A stream of light from a high window illuminated the bottom of the staircase. The tension eased from Fran’s body. It was too high for her to climb through, but there might be a ladder or something she could stand on down below. Maybe she wasn’t about to die.

Dust! a boy’s voice exclaimed.

Or maybe she was.

Couldn’t you at least give me a few minutes to try to escape? Maybe we could make a trade?

Fran’s legs turned into metal rods, anchored to the ground, unable to move. Her heart did its best to escape them. It took all her effort to turn her head toward the voice.

Her mouth dropped open. The only thing that stopped her from gasping was that her chest was too tight to let the breath escape.

Trapped underneath a silver net was a boy about her own age with a mass of red curls. But it wasn’t the net or the color of his hair that made Fran feel as though she were about to faint.

He had wings.

2

IVAN

Ivan’s eyes flicked to the silver badge glittering on the edge of the table. He could just make out the edge of the sword’s blade engraved in the metal. The badge was his ticket in. The entire reason he’d broken in. And it was just a few feet away.

But it didn’t matter how close it was. With the stupid net on him, Ivan couldn’t move. And now, someone was here.

Dust it all. This was precisely why it was pointless making plans. They always went to shit.

Of course, Daisy would tell him that spending two days watching the Franklins didn’t count as planning. But that was because his sister wouldn’t factor in the twenty-four hours he’d spent searching for a knight’s house, or all the effort he’d put into rushing the week prior. Gaining acceptance to the Phi Eta Gentlemen wasn’t all partying and drinking. They were the most exclusive fraternity at Castor’s Grove University and pledges had to pass a series of dangerous tests to prove their worth.

Getting a knight’s badge was the final one.

And it should have been so easy. Ivan was a fairy. With the Franklins gone, all he had to do was fly through the basement window, grab the badge, then fly back out.

But he hadn’t anticipated the anti-magic net. Despite its name, the weapon was itself enchanted. Most knights wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole. All the planning in the world wouldn’t have saved Ivan.

Still, the net was a minor issue. He might’ve been trapped, but like all enchanted items, his current prison had a weakness. Ivan just needed a few minutes to figure out what that was, and presto, he’d be free.

But now someone had come into the basement.

Howard and Bethan Franklin lived alone. They didn’t have children. So either the sudden intruder was a visiting cousin, one of the knights, or another burglar.

Given that his wings were out, Ivan was really hoping for the last option. He didn’t think any knight or relation of the Franklins would be very sympathetic to a fairy.

Ivan shuffled the net before him so that the strings didn’t obscure his vision. He got a clear glimpse of the person before him, and his eyebrows rose. You’re a girl.

In profile, her black hair had blended into her oversized jacket, but now he could see her face, the statement seemed obvious. She had a small chin, dark eyes, and trembling cupid bow lips that she’d painted black.

Yes. She licked her lips. The makeup stayed on. What are you?

Ivan breathed a sigh of relief. A knight would have recognized a pair of fairy wings. This was just a normal human girl. And that meant, he still had a decent chance of making it out of here with his wings intact.

I’m a boy. Actually, nineteen is probably too old to be called a boy, isn’t it? I suppose I’m a very young man. Ivan gave her his most charming smile. I love your lipstick. Very empowering.

The girl stared at him, lips still parted. Ivan wondered if his compliment had left her speechless. Normally, he had to do a bit more work, but he had been told he was irresistibly charming many times, and at least once by a woman other than his mother.

I don’t have time for this. She stepped away from Ivan slowly, almost as though she was concerned he would jump at her, despite the very obvious net holding him in position. Something glinted in her hand.

She had a knife. It was so small Ivan almost hadn’t noticed it.

Forget about finding a clever way to free himself from the net. It was mostly string. Can you cut me free?

The girl didn’t answer. One eye still on Ivan, she approached the table with the knight’s badge. The silver must’ve caught her eye. She picked it up, staring at it for a few seconds as though she’d been teleported to another world.

Hey, maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Ivan. What’s your name?

She jumped at the sound of his voice, almost as though she’d forgotten he was there. Her fingers closed around the badge, and she slipped it into her pocket. The knife trembled in her other hand.

Perfect. Now she has both the things I need.

Would you believe me if I told you I was your fairy godfather? Ivan tried.

She snorted. No.

Great. But at least she’d responded. That was an improvement.

I’ll grant you three wishes if you free me. It was a lie, but once Ivan was free, he wasn’t planning to let the girl remember the encounter anyway.

That’s what a leprechaun would say. The girl turned away from him, focusing her attention on the table where the badge had been. She rested her hands on one side, bent over, and grunted as she began to push.

I could help you if you let me out.

Don’t. Need. Help.

Ivan opened his mouth to argue, but the girl’s stubbornness paid off as the heavy metal legs finally inched along the floor. The corners scraped the wallpaper with a screek like an out-of-tune violin.

He covered his ears until the girl finally stopped. She’d positioned the table underneath the window.

Hey come on. For real, it’s not cool to just leave me like this. I mean, you’re obviously not supposed to be here either. Just help me out. There’s loyalty among thieves or something? That’s a code, right?

Clearly not one the girl followed. She jumped up and managed to grab the corner of the window with her hands.

She’s seriously stealing the badge and leaving me here? What kind of sociopath is she?

At least toss me the knife?

The girl kicked her legs against the wall, trying to use her feet to help her climb.

It didn’t work. She lost her grip and slipped back onto the table.

A smile spread across Ivan’s face. She didn’t have the upper body strength to pull herself out.

Ready to make a deal now?

The girl turned toward him. She climbed down from the table and approached, stopping only a few inches shy of Ivan. Her shoulders rose with unsteady breaths. She pulled the knife out of her pocket. How do I know if I can trust you?

Ivan laughed before he realized that she was serious. What did she think he was going to do? He was a fairy, not a creature humans typically associated with danger.

You don’t know. That’s how trust works. You kind of have to offer it blindly. His wise, philosophical words didn’t move the knife any closer to the net. Ivan groaned. And I don’t see what other choice you have here if you want to escape. I need you, and you need me. That’s a brilliant foundation for trust.

As if to accentuate Ivan’s point, Mrs. Franklin chose that moment to return. The front door creaked open, and they heard her call out, Frances, where are you?

Standing in front of me, I presume.

Frances grabbed the net and pressed the knife to it. Still, she didn’t start sawing. Instead, she turned her dark eyes to Ivan. If I free you, I don’t just want help escaping. I want answers. Agreed?

Yes, Ivan hissed. Just hurry up.

Mrs. Franklin’s footsteps thumped against the basement ceiling. Ivan’s blood pumped in his ears, fingers itching. Frances needed to work faster.

There was a click as the basement door opened. The hole in the net was almost big enough.

Frances, are you down here? Your mother is on her way.

The girl froze.

What are you doing? Don’t stop now. But Ivan’s words didn’t affect her.

Frances’ head turned toward the stairs.

Dust! So much for all her concern about trust. She was the one betraying him! Frances was giving up when they were seconds away from escape.

Which meant Ivan was going to lose his wings if he didn’t take matters into his own hands.

3

FRANCES

My mother is coming here?

The room around Fran vanished, swimming into a blur of grays. The only sound was her heart pounding in her chest.

She’d spent years imagining her mother. Now, she was on the cusp of meeting her.

Ivan swiped the