Feathermore (Feathermore Trilogy, #1)

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locations are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2012 by Lucy Swing

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

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Book Cover design by Kat Savage

ISBN: 9781470020873

I knew what was happening, even though I could not understand why. I was falling; that much was unmistakable. The air rushed around me, buffeting me.

What would I do once I arrived? Would I even remember this past existence? I closed my eyes and resigned myself to the feeling of peace that the wind beneath me always brought.

Soon it would all be over.

I finally reached the ground. A shiver of energy ran across my skin and back as each cell began its transformation. I was being born. I opened my eyes and glanced around at the strange, colorful world. The trees stood tall, casting shadows like great carpets unrolled from their bases. The sky above me was like a dome closed over a music box. I had never seen anything more beautiful… had I? I shook my head to clear the haze.

I tried to balance myself on a fallen tree trunk. I wasn’t used to walking on these feet. I looked down, wiggling my toes, and let go of the tree and took a few steps forward. My body felt heavy, and then darkness fell over me.

Jade! I swear, if you don’t get up now . . . Mom closed the bedroom door, trusting the threat of the unsaid to throw me into motion.

I groaned and kicked off the warm covers, as I stretched.

I’m up! I called back to her.

I sat up on my bed and dangled my feet over the edge. It was the first day of senior year, and I was dreading it.

I moved over to the closet, where I scolded myself for being too lazy to pick the perfect beforehand. I grabbed my favorite pair of denim shorts and my old AC/DC long-sleeved T-shirt, and made my way to the bathroom. I was almost done with my morning routine when I heard the door creak.

Jade? Are you almost ready? My best friend’s high-pitched singsong voice called from behind the door. Are you decent?

Yeah, come in. I’m almost done. I leaned closer to the mirror and applied the black eye-liner to my lower lid.

Are you excited? She had one of those voices that are sweet like honey, but still manage to be high pitched. She sat on the edge of the bathtub, playing with a strand of loose hair. She was wearing a white blouse embroidered with pink flowers that flowed weightlessly over her body, accentuated only by the glimmer of her tanned skin. She seemed to always look effortlessly perfect.

Summer had been uneventful; we mostly spent our days at North Beach, lying around and soaking the sun, cooling off with the occasional dip in the ocean. Granted, after the first week of doing absolutely nothing, things got kind of boring. There is so much one can do in a sitting position at the beach. I shouldn’t complain though, watching half clothed boys play beach football was very, very enjoyable. Instead, we opted for something a little more active, hiking.

Hollow Falls is entrapped by long miles of forests, so finding the right spot took us close to three weeks. It was worth it. Our favorite spot became what we began calling as ‘Fantasy Land’. The tall, maple trees casted shadows on the forest floor. The magical silence that seemed to weight upon us was only interrupted by the creaking of leaves, branches and bark under our feet. Beyond the three mile walk there was a glittering creek, surrounded with gravel banks, where we enjoyed the rest of our afternoon splashing about.

Not really, I answered.

You mean to tell me you’re not ready for another fun-filled year of schoolwork? She met my gaze in the mirror, and I left the memories of sunny, carefree days behind as I rolled my eyes.

It’s going to be torture, I said, putting my makeup bag back in the drawer. But at least it’s our last year.

I picked up the messenger bag from the floor next to my bed and gave my room another quick glance. I shouldn’t be in a rush to get out of Hollow Falls, but somehow I needed to. Hollow Falls is home to 5,385 people, and, as the song goes, where everybody knows your name. I felt suffocated in such a small town. I had dreams of going places, things I wanted to do that I couldn’t see myself doing in this pesky, minuscule town.

Claire followed me downstairs. Mom was in the kitchen, busy packing my lunch. On the table were two plates of pancakes, eggs, and bacon.

Claire was as big a presence in this house as I. We seemed to be attached at the hip, and she practically lived here—mostly because of Trent. He was another foster kid in the Langley’s’ house, and a total creep.

Mom, I’m not really that hungry, I said.

You’re going to need all the energy you can get, just to stay awake after last night.

Claire’s eyebrows scrunched in puzzlement.

Mom, it was just a nightmare. I said dismissively. Not precisely the truth, but as close as I was willing to let things get. It wouldn’t go well if I told them what really happened—what had been happening all summer long.

Claire and I sat down at the table, and I was surprised at how hungry I actually was. After I had stuffed myself, I pushed around what was left on my plate. Deep in thought, I felt my eyelids get heavy, and that quickly I was lost in the darkness behind them.

"Ki-sikil-lil-la-ke," came the whisper that only I could hear. As the word rolled softly out, a flash of red burst in the darkness. I gasped and open my eyes in shock.

Are you okay? Claire’s voice was distant, as if muffled by an invisible water bubble around me. It was the cool touch of her hand on mine that brought me back to reality. She was staring at me.

I wanted to tell her everything. All about the eerie yet wonderful dreams of a gorgeous dark-haired stranger who kept me awake night after night, haunting my sleep. And about the nightmares of being chased by the dark figure with fire instead of hair. How I woke up night after night gasping for air the moment the figure caught up with me, its icy fingers digging into my arms. But how could I? They were just dreams. I gave a low, soft sigh and went over to the kitchen sink, dropping my plate in it and giving Mom a kiss.

Ready? I asked Claire, ruffling her perfectly styled blond bob in passing. I giggled and ran to the door to keep a safe distance from any retaliation.

‟Bye, Mom," I yelled, running outside and down the driveway, where I waited until Claire caught up.

I am so going to get you later, she said as she pulled out her compact mirror and fixed a few loose strands of hair.

There, there. All perfect now, I said as we began walking. I felt a little twinge of jealousy. She was perfect. Between her golden hair that seemed to shine like ripe wheat, and her perfect almond-shaped gray eyes, I sometimes had a hard time being next to her.

Brushwood High was only a few blocks from my house, and the weather was nice, so we walked. The sky was bare of clouds, and the temperature was perfect. The streets were quiet. Only the soft eep, eep of a chickadee, staking out his turf in the rhododendron bushes, broke the silence. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, absorbing the last bouquet of summer smells: honeysuckle and chamomile and horsemint and new-mown grass. Once winter came and the cold started seeping into our bones, we would be forced to take Claire’s yellow Beetle to stay warm.

Brushwood was different from any other school I knew. It was privately owned, and mostly only well-off parents could afford the tuition. I had often wondered why my parents worked longer hours just so I could go there. An even bigger mystery was how Claire’s foster parents managed it.

The school was ancient. Its gray limestone walls made it seem cold, but the inside was anything but. The building had once been a mansion, and the owners kept it that way, though with a few add-ons, such as the cafeteria and a brand-new west wing. The rooms were big, considering that they had to accommodate only about twenty students each.

We were walking along the narrow hallway, deep in conversation, when someone banged into my shoulder, knocking the few books I was carrying to the floor. I looked back, even though I knew who would be standing there: Amy Crayhill, all-American mean girl. She grinned at her minion, Savannah, and mouthed a fake Oops! My way before spinning on her heels and walking away. Typical.

When I turned back around, there he was! Tall, muscular—and holding out my books. Hello, Muscles! My eyes worked their way up to his face. As if that body weren’t enough, his face almost made me melt. No way. Gorgeous!

Claire was staring at him, her mouth slightly open. It seemed she agreed with my assessment.

Here you go, he said, handing me my books. His low and deep voice sent ripples of intensity through my body.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even make my mouth utter a simple thank-you. I just stood there gaping like an idiot.

Claire exhaled loudly and took the books from him. Thanks, she groaned as she pulled me toward our lockers. What’s gotten into you?

I glanced back and was surprised to find him still in the same spot, looking back at us. My lips pulled at the edges, and I managed to smile back at him.

You know him? I asked Claire, failing in my feeble attempt at nonchalance.

No, she said. Then she brightened. Oh, look, there’s Nate! She let go of my arm and handed me my books before hurrying away.

I shamelessly stole another look down the hallway, but he was gone. There was a weird buzzing energy inside me. Excitement, maybe? No one ever moved into our nowhere little berg; it was usually the other way around.

As usual, Nate was leaning against our lockers, his nose in a car magazine. He lifted his eyes from the page just as Claire launched herself at him. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. One week apart, and they acted as if they hadn’t seen each other all summer.

Gross. I glanced around, scouting to make sure no teachers were looking. When they finally came up for air I said, I don’t know how you do it, Nate. She spent the whole week whining about you being gone. I slid my books into the locker and arranged them neatly by height. Oh, I wonder what he’s doing now, I said, mimicking her. Oh, I hope he’s safe. I rolled my eyes.

You’re just jealous, she said, sticking her tongue out.

I laughed, mostly because of the mouse like way her nose wrinkled up. I walked past them and toward class. I lost myself in thoughts of the encounter with the new kid, hearing Claire’s giggles coming from behind.

First period, the class I paid the least attention in, was world history. The first day of the year was always rough, and today would have been no exception, but the exciting prospect of seeing him again kept me awake, alert, and alive, ready to listen to Mr. Morris’s every droning word about pre-Roman Europe.

Nate, Claire, and I had been inseparable since the beginning of high school. In fact, those two were already glued together well before I even met them. People often made fun that I was the eternal third wheel on their bicycle built for two.

I found my way to the last row and took the seat closest to the window so I could enjoy the view of the clear blue water in the bay. Wishing it were still summer, I gazed out at the boats on the water.

Can’t we sit closer to the front? Claire hissed. We look like hermits back here.

Be my guest, I said, my eyes still glued to the boats. I like it back here. It was true. Being able to see everyone gave me some sense of control—no sneak attacks could come from behind. Maybe being tormented by Amy all these years was starting to leave a scar after all. Claire sighed loudly, prompting me to look at her as she sat down at the desk in front of me, pouting. Nate took the seat beside her.

As I busied myself pulling out my notebook from my backpack, I caught a glimpse of Claire and Nate. Their mouths had dropped in unison, and their eyes were locked on something in the hall, seen through the glass of our now closed classroom door. There was nothing but a blank wall outside.

Are you guys okay? I asked.

They closed their mouths and nodded, trying to make it seem as though all was well. Claire opened her notebook, while Nate leaned back on his seat, entwining his fingers behind his head. But their expressions remained strange. They were always the very picture of calm, peace, and tranquility, but right now their eyes showed a mixture of surprise and anxiety. Almost crackling with tension, they looked at each other but didn’t say a word.

Seriously guys, I said, what’s up?

The abrupt opening of the classroom door captured everyone’s attention. I jumped in my seat, banging my knees against my desk, half expecting to see a blood-crazed zombie come lurching in. But it was only Mr. Morris, fumbling through an apologetic explanation instead of enjoying his prerogative to be late.

The clamor subsided as Morris began the usual introductions and explanations, with the usual little chirps and flutters from the class interrupting his routine speech. A minute or two into this, the door swung open again, and he walked in, with his backpack slung over one shoulder.

I looked down at my notebook and tried to hide the smile that crept over my face. From the corner of my eye, I saw Nate and Claire staring at me, but I was too excited to pay them much attention. The latecomer handing in his tardy slip was far more interesting.

Oh, so the new kid is late on his very first day, Mr. Morris joked as he placed the slip on top of some scattered papers on his desk. He looked over his roster. Don’t worry, you get the standard punishment: staying awake for the rest of class.

A few alert kids, including me, chuckled, but we all stopped when he spoke again: All right, everyone, he continued while the new kid stood next to him, looking a little self-conscious. Our newcomer’s name is Avan Thomas. Someone, please let him sit down without making him feel awkward. Avan took a step forward.

I gave him a quick overall glance again, and then my eyes ran back to his face, where, to my surprise and discomfort, they met his. I turned away, pretending to be casual, pretending that his being here didn’t faze me in the least, but I still felt strangely embarrassed. I was relieved when he put those eyes to work scanning for an empty desk—which happened to be the one beside mine.

Before sitting down, he smiled and insolently saluted everyone who had been staring. I giggled under my breath as Mr. Morris went on with his droning.

After searching his bag, Avan reluctantly turned my way. I felt every muscle in my body stiffen up. He was about to tap my shoulder when Claire grabbed my arm so hard, she almost pulled me out of my seat.

Way to go, Claire—make me look clumsy! I thought. Though I have to admit, if there was a wall in front of me, it was a good bet I would walk straight into it.

What! I hissed in an exasperated tone.

Pay attention to class, she said, giving my arm a final squeeze.

I looked at Avan and gave him an apologetic smile. I waited for him to continue with what he was going to say, but instead he looked away and at Nick Frost, who was sitting on his other side, and leaned over.

After a short whisper, Nick dug into his backpack and pulled out a pen, which he handed nervously to Avan. No one ever talked to Nick. He had transferred from Hollow Falls public school in sophomore year and had instantly been treated like a leper. I guess the curly red hair, acne, and thick-framed reading glasses didn’t help his case.

As I looked forward, trying hard to listen to what was in store for the rest of the year; I could see some of the girls in class turn around and bat their mascaraed eyelashes at Avan. Some were whispering to each other, while others just happened to look his way. Could they perhaps be a little more obvious? He had been in the room for all of three minutes, and he already had half the girls drooling over him. I looked at him from the corner of my eye. He was dreamy.

It was pretty clear that he would not be another Nick Frost.

Close to the end of class, while Mr. Morris was still busy scrawling unreadable hieroglyphics on the chalkboard, Avan finally spoke to me.

Hi.

I turned to find him smiling at me, his dark hair falling over his blue eyes.

Hi. My voice trembled. Why was he making me so nervous?

You’re still awake, he said, doing a mock stretch and messing up his hair with his hand. He had a thick black leather bracelet on his wrist—the very one I was always eyeing at the local