The Progeny: The Progeny Series, #1

By L.M. Guerin

Evie Fairhaven was just trying to get through her sophomore year of high school when her world was turned upside down. Not only did she discover that she possessed special abilities but she learned her parents were not who she always thought they were. Pulled away from her home and friends, Evie is sent to Greece to spend the summer with her immortal parents and their coven.

 

Immersed into the vampire lifestyle, Evie is completely out of her element. Uncomfortable with the cold-blooded immortals, Evie just wants to be sent home. She has no interest in vampires or their world and no matter how glamorous they try to make it look, she cannot be swayed. Against the idea of becoming immortal, her parents force her to develop her supernatural skills in order to gain approval for the transformation. Her abilities make her highly desirable to the vampire world and her parents' coven is not the only one interested in her.

 

An antagonizing prince, a too-cool-for-school mentor and a slew of teenagers in competition for the coveted spots make her ten weeks in Greece an unwelcome challenge. Evie struggles with love, hate, danger and a strict dress-code during her summer vacation in the vampire castle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L.M. Guerin
• Release date: Jul 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223974055

L.M. Guerin

L. M. Guerin has always loved books. Many nights she will be up to three or four in the morning because she can’t bring herself to put down a novel without knowing how the story ends. She lives in Cleveland, Ohio with her husband and two children.

Book preview

Chapter 1

I never liked Devon Kennedy. Before today, she was likely unaware I was even alive. She undoubtedly knows me now, much to my disap­pointment. Accused of kicking a chair out from under Devon—though no one witnessed me touch it. And as entertaining as it was to see her crash to the floor, I stand firm... I never touched her chair.

Sure... I was mad when she smacked me in the head with her over­priced backpack. Yes... I imagined unpleasant things happening to her when she didn’t apologize. Okay... I laughed out loud when she flopped onto the floor—I wasn’t the only one. Still, I emphatically maintain, it was not me.

Yet... here I am sitting outside the Vice Principal’s office, hoping to get the chance to plead my case. Devon went in first and is even now probably dramatizing the entire ordeal and detailing how vindic­tive I am.

The wooden door opens and Devon and her equally snobbish mother sashay out. Devon’s mother has had so much plastic surgery she looks like a mannequin. They both have bleached blonde hair, per­iwinkle blue eyes, and fake tans. All the opposite of my mahogany brown hair, deep brown eyes, and overly pale skin. They both take the time to tender nasty looks upon me before exiting the main office. Thankfully, neither one says a word to me.

Miss Fairhaven, come on in, Mr. Travis, the Vice Principal, or­ders me.

I slowly walk into his office and have a seat in an uncomfortable wooden chair.

So, Genevieve...

I prefer Evie, sir.

Evie... it is unfortunate your parents were unable to attend today but I have been in touch with your guardian, a Bridgette DiLizio.

My parents are traveling... I believe in Europe, sir. My parents, Delphine and Alexander Fairhaven, are always out of town. They are archeologists and from what I can deduce, their focus is the Middle Ages. We have never discussed why they are never home, nor have they ever expressed a regret at always being away. I only see them a couple times a year for holidays and other notable events, sometimes even my birthday. My nanny, Bridgette, has raised me ever since I can remember.

I hear you caused quite the disturbance in chemistry class today, he continues.

No, sir. I had nothing to do with that. I swear it’s the truth. It would be nice if someone believed me, but I don’t expect Mr. Travis will be that someone.

No one actually saw you kick out the chair, but Mrs. Robins said you were the only one close enough to move it.

I understand the logic behind their accusation, but the evidence seems circumstantial to me and would never be enough to prove guilt in a court of law.

Perhaps Devon bumped the chair on her own and doesn’t want to admit it, I counter.

Perhaps, Miss Fairhaven. You are an exceptional student and have had no other behavioral incidents. As such, I would hate to have to reprimand you this close to the end of the school year. Therefore, I would like for you to meet with a specialist. I have contacted Miss DiLizio and she has agreed. You have an appointment this evening to meet with a counselor. Meet with him and I will not hand out any further consequences.

Sure, sir. I wonder what he would have done if I declined his alternative solution. I can probably think of a thousand better ways to spend my even­ing, but if it keeps me out of trouble, I won’t argue.

Besides, I have grown accustomed to receiving the blame for of­fenses I haven’t committed. It’s been happening for fifteen years now. Unexplainable happenings are always occurring in my presence and because I can’t provide a feasible explanation, it’s assumed I must be responsible. Broken vases, pictures falling off the walls, and then there was the incident two years ago, when after an argument with my par­ents, a fire broke out in our study. The fire destroyed shelving, furni­ture, and many of the books from my parents’ library—the books they spent decades collecting. They were livid and kept telling me I needed to learn how to control myself. Of course, even my own parents didn’t believe it wasn’t my fault. No one even considered it might be the out­dated electrical wiring in the house responsible for the incident.

Go back to class, Evie, Mr. Travis sighs, and please try to get the most out of your appointment tonight, he adds hopefully.

Yes, sir. I walk out of the office, resisting the urge to scream, and head to my last class of the day, public speaking. Until recently I was good at public speaking. Lately, when I glance around the room and make eye contact with other students, I have been imagining I can hear their thoughts. I don’t know why I’m so easily distracted but my apti­tude for public speaking has started to decline as a result. Fortunately, I don’t have to present today, as I can’t imagine being able to properly focus with tonight’s counseling session looming over my head.

Today’s topic, persuasive speeches, with three people scheduled to present. First, we suffer through Ben Martin’s speech on why the Fed­eral Government should ban the death penalty. I would love to argue this topic in a debate forum. Too bad this isn’t debate class. I might have to enroll in debate next year.

And up next, we have Carley Goodman’s anti-deforestation plea. I don’t even know if Carley believes what she is selling. Her speech sounds like a bunch of facts she gathered from a Greenpeace website and is simply regurgitating back to us.

Lastly, Gabby Dolan tries to persuade us ghosts are real. The speech is surprisingly compelling. Most of her evidence is from popu­lar television shows and internet research, but she does have two per­sonal anecdotes which sound plausible.

Having been witness to many paranormal events myself, I believe Gabby may be credible. On countless occasions, I have witnessed ob­jects move and fly across my bedroom. I accredit it to the fact the house is almost two hundred years old and there are probably bodies buried in the cellar. It’s an old stone house modeled to look like a me­dieval castle. Though modernized on the inside, there are still a few rooms which retain their medieval, torture-like essence. Built in the nineteenth century, the house has remained in the family, but I know nothing about the previous generations who lived there. It’s probably one of the oldest houses in Northeast, Ohio.

Gabby finishes her presentation and everyone in the room is speechless. I applaud her for her boldness in choosing such an out-of-the-box topic. Eventually, the other students join in out of politeness and through much prodding by the teacher.

I don’t know why I’m not friends with Gabby. She seems rather down to earth, unlike all the other pretentious snobs who go to the school—isn’t overly made up like them either. Her short, naturally curly, black hair styled simply, her eyes are a pretty olive green and have only a swipe of mascara, she’s a few inches shorter than me, and she even dresses similar to my preferred style of jeans and a trendy shirt.

I don’t have many good friends at school, mostly just friendly ac­quaintances. The few students I am close with, I have been friends with since preschool. Bridgette raised me like she would her own child, not like a socialite, and my good friends were raised just like me.

Michele McNaughton is five-ten and pure muscle, into volleyball, basketball, fast-pitch softball, and would play football if her father would let her. My athletic friend, she keeps me up to date on all the Cleveland teams since I have no interest in watching sports. She is a sweetheart but doesn’t take any crap. Boys think she’s hot, with her long blonde hair and blue eyes, but she intimidates them because she is undisputedly tougher than most of them. Her father is a professional athlete, so he is often on the road and her mother died in a car accident when Michele was only four. Her nanny, Cara, and Bridgette are close friends. We have been on play dates since we were four and even now, we still spend most of our free time together.

Joel Elliot is more of a princess than Michele or I will ever be. On the outside, Joel looks average, but as soon as he opens his mouth everyone listens. He is smart, funny, musically talented, and extremely interested in fashion. He stays in impeccable shape solely so he can wear the latest runway styles. Every girl in the school loves to be around Joel, but I’m convinced he chooses to hang out with Michele and me because we are the only two girls in the school who can benefit from his vast beauty and fashion knowledge. He still can’t believe I have a credit card with no spending limit yet wear jeans daily. Michele wears whatever Joel sets out for her at the beginning of the week. Every Sunday night, he plans her wardrobe for the upcoming week because she has no interest in fashion and wears whatever he tells her to without argument. She finds it easier not to argue with him. I per­sonally like some heated debate.

Joel has given up trying to pick out my outfits and instead has sought to upgrade me to a higher end wardrobe. I believe the jeans I have on right now cost about three hundred dollars. So far, I can’t say I notice any difference between them and the eighty-dollar jeans I used to wear but Joel assures me they look great on me. I like to think most clothes do—I am in excellent shape. I am average height for a girl, and I am extremely happy with my figure. For the most part, my shape makes it easy to buy clothes. I do have Joel to thank for much of that though...

Joel was eight when other boys started to recognize he wasn’t like them—I have discovered the only time boys are meaner than girls is when it comes to other boys who question their gender and sexuality. Joel’s dad is a doctor and is never home and his mother, thinking it would be good for him to have a more consistent, strong male role model in his life, hired a male nanny. Jeffrey served as a Marine until injured during his last tour of duty. In grade school, after several bul­lying incidents, Joel’s nanny—or manny as Joel endearingly refers to him—introduced him to Aikido. Jeffrey accepts Joel will always be a princess but still insists on the Aikido lessons for his own safety.

I started studying Aikido at the age of nine, after Joel demonstrated his moves on me. I was instantly intrigued and asked Bridgette to enroll me too. It only took two months to get in contact with my parents and re­ceive their approval.

Since starting Aikido, we have also started yoga classes in the morn­ing before school, which Michele joins us for—she is unable to partic­ipate in Aikido because of her hectic sports schedule.

Aikido and yoga keep me in shape. I have found both helpful in combating my ever-changing adolescent body. In middle school, I shot up quickly in height but didn’t think I would ever get a chest. One day I looked in the mirror and there it was. And then it kept growing to the point of nearly being indecent. The guys in school have noticed as well. I know it’s no coincidence they are suddenly showing interest in me. Joel thinks I should be flaunting my assets but I keep wearing sports bras to squash them. I have not yet resorted to binding my chest, though it’s tempting.

After class, I always meet Michele and Joel outside in front of the school. Our nannies all take turns driving us to and from school. No longer really nannies, they have transitioned from childcare givers to taxi drivers. We don’t need them to take care of us as they would a child, but given none of us are sixteen yet, we need rides when we want to go places. Jeffrey will be picking us up today.

Did you really knock Devon on her ass? Joel asks as soon as he sees me.

No, it wasn’t me. I don’t know what happened, but I didn’t do it. Though, like usual, no one believes me.

I believe you, Michele says, striding up behind us.

Did you get in trouble? Joel asks.

Not really, I have to go talk to some counselor tonight. VP Travis said as long as I go, I won’t get in trouble.

That sounds horrific! I’ve been going to counseling since I was six and I always feel like everything I say is the wrong thing, and they simply don’t get me, Joel says exasperated.

Who does? I tease him as Jeffrey pulls up in his silver Yukon. We all pile in the large SUV and head to Michele’s house first. Do you guys know Gabby Dolan? I ask them.

Yeah, Michele says, she is kind of weird.

I’m pretty sure she is a witch, Joel adds. Why?

She gave a speech today, and I was thinking I might invite her to hang out with us.

Sure, until you get in a fight, and she curses you with acne, Joel jokes.

When that happens, I will finally let you give me the makeover you have always dreamed of giving me.

Should we invite her over tonight? he teases. Joel is constantly asking if he can give me a makeover. He would love to see me with mascara on. Though he assures me all the time, he thinks I’m naturally pretty, and simply wants to discover what I would look like enhanced. If I was a vain person, I might have developed a complex, but I know he is just being Joel.

I might invite her out with us sometime, I repeat, still trying to gauge their reaction.

If you’re gonna do it, you better hurry. There are only two weeks left of school, Michele reminds me.

She is correct, there are only two weeks left until we are juniors. Another year almost finished. It will be nice to have the year over. It was a rough year, and I am looking forward to summer vacation. I turn sixteen at the end of July and it will be nice to drive myself to school next year and maybe Michele and Joel.

So long as you two don’t mind hanging out with a witch, I guess I will invite her out with us Friday night, I commit to my plan.

We pull into Michele’s driveway. Her house is the opposite of mine. It’s white, bright, and beautiful, reminding me of a Greek temple. The landscaping is full of topiaries and statues. It doesn’t match her dad at all, so I can only assume it had been her mother’s style. From photo­graphs, I know her mother was a dainty and delicate woman. Michele obviously takes after her dad.

Jeffrey drops off Michele first, then we proceed to my house. What kind of counseling are you going to tonight? Joel asks me.

I wasn’t told much. Only that I’m required to go.

It’s kind of weird, though, right? he asks with confusion.

Very weird, I agree. Travis said he didn’t want to punish me this close to the end of the school year and this was an alternative.

This way he can say there are at least consequences, Joel deduces.

This better not suck! I complain as we pull into my driveway. My house is far off the road, up a steep curvy driveway. The driveway adds to the ominous feel of the house.

It’s gonna suck, Joel guarantees me, but call me when you’re done.

Chapter 2

At the top of the driveway, I exit the car and head to the house. Bridgette is waiting for me just inside the front door when I walk in. Her brunette hair is up in its usual perfect ponytail, and she is in a typical Bridgette outfit of leggings and a long T-shirt—neither one of us likes to dress up. She hands me a pomegranate smoothie and takes my backpack from me.

Thanks Bridgette, about tonight...

She interrupts before I can continue, Yes, you have to go. This was the only way to keep you from getting suspended two weeks be­fore the end of the school year. Trust me, that would not have been prudent.

Do you know what kind of counseling it is? I ask her after sipping my smoothie—it’s tasty and if I didn’t know better, I would think Bridgette previously worked at a smoothie shop.

No, but it’s nothing to worry about. Mr. Travis said it’s only an evaluation.

Ugh! I can’t believe you’re making me do this! I didn’t even do anything wrong! I grab my backpack and storm up to my room like a petulant child for dramatic flair, but then maturely begin working on the persuasive speech I’m to give in two days—still struggling for a topic. I must speak for ten minutes about something, so I should prob­ably be enthusiastic about the subject, but nothing comes to mind. Maybe my counseling session tonight will provide some inspiration. Maybe the side effects of unconventional punishments or why punish­ing people for crimes they didn’t commit is wrong.

At six-thirty Bridgette calls me for dinner. She always eats with me, so I don’t have to eat alone. It would have been nice if my parents had given me a sibling. Unfortunately, it’s just me and Bridgette unless Joel or Michele is over. After dinner, we leave for my appointment.

Bridgette drops me off at the door and says, I will be back at nine to pick you up.

You don’t have to come in and fill out any paperwork or some­thing? I ask, perturbed I’m forced to suffer this torture alone.

Nope, the school forwarded all your information, she informs me.

Okay, well, thanks for the ride, I grumble.

When I was younger, I thought of Bridgette almost as a parent. As I get older, I appreciate how much she actually does for me. In fact, she does more than most parents do. Between her, Cara, and Jeffrey, they manage to shuffle us around so efficiently, they can have days off if they desire to do their own thing, but they usually keep occupied doing for us what our parents should be doing. Especially Bridgette, who manages my parents entire house while they are perpetually gone.

I scrutinize the building. There’s no sign, no windows except for on the top floor, and the heavy wooden door leads to another heavy wooden door. I push my way through both sets, struggling to get them opened and into the foyer, where a young receptionist immediately greets me.

Miss Fairhaven, she says perkily. I find it a bit creepy she knows who I am before I can introduce myself. This way please, she directs me almost too excitedly.

She leads me down a plain hallway to a large room. The room has a classroom appearance with bookshelves and empty bulletin boards lining the walls, but instead of desks, there’s a square table in the mid­dle of the room with chairs on two sides. Go ahead and have a seat at the table and Dr. Gallo will be right in, she instructs.

I scan the room as I wait. The first oddity to catch my attention are the cameras in every corner. Is one not enough? Next, I notice there are a lot of fire extinguishers. I count two on each wall which seems like overkill unless the sprinkler system is dysfunctional. There’s an extensive wall full of shelves. One shelf full of different shaped blocks in a rainbow of colors reminding me of geometry class. Another stacked full of books. Beside the books are puzzle boxes and a section of vases with various levels of colored water. There are a few large metal trays, and stacks of wooden boards. The remaining shelves are full of boxes with different labels on them, the lettering appears Greek, so I have no clue what is inside. Lastly, and probably most bizarre, is a stack of cinder blocks. The heavy bricks simply seem out of place, and I can’t even begin to imagine what they are there for.

The door opens and an attractive man with curly blonde hair strides in. Evie, I am Dr. Gallo. He holds his hand out to shake mine and I hesitantly take his hand. He does not look old enough to be a doctor, and I’m starting to wonder what is truly going on here. He looks maybe twenty... not even old enough to legally drink.

Evie, I want you to be comfortable. Please feel free to move around the room if you would like to. I want to ask you a few questions and I need you to answer me honestly. You are not in any sort of trou­ble, and I do not want you to think of this as a punishment. Okay? he asks me with a smile.

He looks even younger when he smiles. I would guess sixteen or seventeen if I met him on the street. Maybe he looks so young because he has clearly never seen the sun. He is the palest person I have ever encountered. And I know pale, I have inherited my parents’ ivory skin tone.

To expedite matters, I nod my understanding and give him a fake smile.

Evie, I am going to start with a simple question which may seem bizarre. Have you ever observed items move without anyone touching them or without any sort of breeze? Please answer honestly, he presses.

Not where I thought he was going to start and how does he even know this? Am I crazy if I answer, yes? Does he expect me to answer honestly? Are they evaluating my sanity?

Evie, please answer the question. There is no trick here. We are simply trying to get a yes or no answer. Let me reiterate, you are not in trouble, and you will not be in trouble for anything which happens here. I repeat, have you ever seen any objects move inexplicably?

Yes. I admit simply to get him to stop trying to reassure me I should be comfortable here. As if the situation isn’t uncomfortable enough without him harping on me. Not to mention, Dr. Gallo is way too good-looking for me to ever be comfortable in his presence. Every time he smiles, I feel like I’m having one of those dreams where I show up to school naked.

I look at his eyes. They are an indiscernible color. I’m concentrating on deciding whether they are blue or green when he shouts exuber­antly, I knew it!

You know what? I ask.

Excuse me? he asks with confusion.

You said you knew it, what did you know?

Let’s circle back to that, he says, pointing at me with a confused look on his face. Keep looking at me and tell me if you can tell what I am thinking.

This is crazy. Why can’t he simply tell me what he is thinking? I glance down at the table and then back up at his eyes. Maybe hazel.

Just how gifted are you? he asks.

I am not gifted that I know of, I respond, and Dr. Gallo’s eyes immediately widen. He stands with alacrity, grabs three blocks from a shelf, and puts them on the table in front of me. I must have done something right.

Evie, stack these blocks from biggest to smallest.

Is he serious? What am I, a monkey? To prevent more reassurances that I should feel comfortable, I reach out to stack the blocks.

No touching them, he demands, and I’m forced to wonder why this man is so intense?

How am I supposed to stack them without touching them? I ask with befuddlement. I am growing increasingly aggravated, but Dr. Gallo is getting increasingly excited. I’m beginning to think he is an escaped mental patient and not a doctor. Perhaps he is impersonating the real doctor.

Visualize stacking the blocks, he instructs.

I look at the blocks and visualize them stacked. At a loss, I look at Dr. Gallo and put my hands up in the air.

Move the blocks, Evie! he demands of me.

Anger surges through me at this complete stranger yelling at me. I smell smoke and look at the shelf with the puzzles, where smoke is billowing out of the boxes. My heart jumps out of my chest. I have no idea what started the fire. Is this part of the counseling? Dr. Gallo gets up quickly and grabs a fire extinguisher to douse the now flaming boxes. A giant ceiling fan turns on and draws out the cloudy smoke.

Please make yourself comfortable, I will be right back, Dr. Gallo says, then rushes out of the room like a mad man. I am afraid to get up or even move. A stabbing pain creeps through my head.

I am not excited to be alone in the room again. What if another fire starts? Will they assume I caused it like my parents?

At a loss of what to do, I decide to get back to the reason I’m here and concentrate on the blocks in front of me. How am I supposed to stack them without touching them? Dr. Gallo said to visualize stacking them. I picture different scenarios in my mind but ultimately search around the room for devices which could help me. I find nothing prac­tical.

I study the blocks more thoroughly. I only need to move two of them. I simply must get the middle one onto the large one and the smallest on top. I concentrate on the medium block, and it starts to vibrate. Did I see that right? Did the block slide a smidgen across the table?

What the hell!

I focus all my attention on one block again and it starts to shake more vigorously. I visualize the block moving onto the larger block and suddenly it leaps up into place. Startled, I jump back out of my chair. I pick up the block and examine it for strings or magnets or anything that could explain what precisely happened. I hold the block out on my hand and try to make it happen again. It moves straight away.

Oh, wow!

I look at the smallest block and picture it moving to the top of the stack. It shakes a little before moving to the top of the pile.

I physically examine all three blocks trying to figure out what I’m missing. They seem like normal wooden blocks. They don’t stick to­gether in any way, there are no sticky sides. I examine the table for anything unusual, but it’s a normal table. I lay all three blocks on the table and picture them all stacked again. This time they stack right away. Convinced I’m losing my mind, but intrigued I may truly be making this happen, I decide to try more. I picture the blocks returning to the bookshelf. They lift and float to the shelf. So cool! The blocks move all the way to the shelf and set precisely where I direct them.

Maybe I am the witch, instead of Gabby.

I wonder what else I can do. I walk over to the shelf and concen­trate on only the blue blocks. They all float upward and levitate in the air. I direct them over to the table slowly. Halfway there, the door opens, and the blocks all tumble to the floor. Dr. Gallo stands frozen in the doorway.

Do it again! he says excitedly. I stare down at the blocks and raise them up to about eye level. I direct them over to the table and stack them in three neat piles of about five blocks each. I look back to Dr. Gallo and hear him say Remarkable without moving his lips.

I thought so too, I tell him. How am I doing this? I ask.

There are many theories, but no one knows precisely. There are a select few people who are blessed with special abilities we refer to as endowments. For instance, being able to move objects with your mind is telekinesis. Being able to read my thoughts is telepathy. Being able to start fires with your mind is pyrokinesis.

I can’t start fires with my mind, I correct him.

He points to the puzzles. What do you suppose that was?

That was me? I’m horror-struck! Does this mean I was also re­sponsible for the fire in my parents’ study? I sit back down at the table, completely horrified.

Has anything like this ever happened to you before?

I have often seen things float in the air, or fall unexplainably, and yes, one time a fire broke out, I confess, when I was angry at my parents.

Were you angry or agitated when all of these things happened?

I guess... most of the time.

It may be that it only happens right now as an emotional response, like when you experience heightened anger. Given time you can learn to control it.

Control seems like it might be an important skill to master. Can we work on that now? I don’t want to set anything else on fire.

I don’t have a working knowledge of pyrokinesis, only a theoreti­cal knowledge. I would have to request a specialist with your endow­ment to assist you.

How many people are there like me?

"There are a limited number of people with any one of these abili­ties. Less than a thousand we know of. Less