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Overview
Fourteen-year-old Emily Prince has just moved to Windsor, Ontario. As if trying to make friends in a new school is not stressful enough, Emilys abusive mother does not care if she ever fits in. Emily is her victim.
With a vanished father and a mother who hates her, it seems there is no one who can rescue Emily from her fateuntil she meets her neighbor across the street. Dean Bouche is drop-dead gorgeous and blessed with an intoxicating laugh. Better yet, he attends St. Gervases Catholic High School, just like her. As Emily and Dean begin a complicated relationship, her secret life is exposed and she discovers that Dean is not who he appears to be. But when all her new friends suddenly become obsessed with the bird-like birthmark she sports on her shoulder and Dean goes missing, Emily suddenly realizes that something is wrongvery wrong.
Shapeshifters Mark is the gripping story of one girls struggle to overcome abuse as she is unwittingly immersed into a strange new world where she soon discovers the truth about her destiny.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781469792651 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | iUniverse, Incorporated |
| Publication date: | 05/14/2012 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 168 |
| File size: | 209 KB |
| Age Range: | 13 - 17 Years |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
SHAPESHIFTER'S MARK
By Taylor Clavette
iUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2012 Taylor ClavetteAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4697-9264-4
Chapter One
I woke up to my mother slamming on the brakes, causing me to fly forward. She was yelling at some idiotic driver for cutting in front of her. I think it was just her being the idiotic driver, though. She never did know how to drive. I looked out the window of her custom pale-green Chrysler 300, and all I saw was a million buildings with only a tree here and there. I rolled down the window, breathed in the spring air of Windsor, Ontario, for the first time ... and coughed, my long, straight black hair flying out the window."I still don't see why we need to move here," I complained in my best high-pitched, whiny voice, hoping maybe she'd turn around and go home. I highly doubted she would, though. We had already packed everything and paid for the house. "The air smells like death, there're almost no trees, and all my friends are back in northern Ontario. Besides, Windsor will give me a heart attack because of no fresh air," I complained, pulling my layered hair back inside the car and rolling up the window.
"Emily! I told you a thousand times! We are here because I said so. A new start, a new life. You are just going to have to get over that fact, okay? Your old life is gone and lost back there. We live here now," my mother replied in the same harsh tone as always, her eyes flickering at me every now and then before returning to the road.
"Yes, Mother. Anything you want, Mother. I'll be your slave, Mother," I mocked. I admit, that was rude, but I was upset. She did make me leave my home in the middle of the night without letting my friends know we were leaving. Only Sarah knew why I couldn't say goodbye.
I knew that mocking my mother really upset her, but the next thing she did still caught me by surprise. She slammed on the brakes, making me fly forward once again and causing the cars behind us to blare their horns as she skidded to a stop in the middle of the road.
"You listen to me, Emily May Prince! You are not a slave! You are the most spoiled little brat that I know, and you are going to suck it up, and you are going to live! One little move won't kill you! You are fourteen now! Suck. It. Up!" She turned to face me, her eyes off the road. My mother spat as she yelled, and I quickly wiped my cheek with my sleeve to get rid of it. The cars behind us were still honking like there was no tomorrow, and her eyes were piercing me, expecting an answer, so I just squeezed out a very small, "Okay."
Next thing I knew, we were speeding again, as if my mother was trying to get back to her spot with the cars. Like a fan-girl getting cut in line for her favourite band with the tickets nearly sold out, running back in line and shoving everybody who gets in her way. I shook my head. She was so stupid; she needed to either get caught by the cops or get her licence revoked. As far as I was concerned, her licence expired about 15 years ago. Whatever. I lay my head against the cool window and closed my eyes. I needed some rest; I hadn't slept in a while.
I thought back to the dream I was having about the last night with my friend—completely ruined when Sarah's mother called mine. Tears threatened my eyes, and I started to blink, trying to keep them away. I wouldn't cry, I refused to, especially in front of my mother. My mind started to drift off into other thoughts, and I don't remember when, but I just fell back to sleep. The last thing I saw was the ugly Caesars Casino building and people flooding the entrance.
Once again, I woke to my mother yelling at some poor driver. I jumped awake and shot her a rude look, but she wasn't looking. She was still paying attention to the road. I sighed and looked around to see where we were. We'd ended up on a small road with a lot less traffic but still a decent amount. I noticed we were at some intersection when my mother slammed her brakes as the light turned red. She tapped her fingers impatiently as she waited for the red light to turn green again. She turned around and noticed that I was awake, and then she sighed and looked away.
"You know, Emily, moving here isn't all that bad," she said, even though it was obvious she didn't want to say it. She still had that sneer in her voice, plus that eye roll didn't help. "You'll get used to it here. Besides, you owe me anyway." The sneer was especially evident in that last part, like she was also going to make me build the new house we were staying at, as if leaving my friends while covered in mud without saying goodbye wasn't enough. She never did care if I fit in or not. My opinion never mattered to her.
The light finally turned green, and my mother slammed on the gas, tires squealing in protest. The car raced forward, and if it wasn't for the headrest I'd be dead from my neck snapping backward. I turned around and watched as the other cars disappeared behind us, and then there was nothing to see but endless fields for another hour or so. My mother turned right, completely going through a stop sign, not slowing down at all during the turn. I was almost sure that the car would flip over, but it didn't.
My eye started to water all of a sudden, and I knew something was in it. I pulled down the mirror in the car and looked into my grey eyes. Everybody always said that they were blue or a bluish grey, but I keep saying they're grey. I looked closer and used my long nails to take out the eyelash that was sitting in my eye. I examined my eye more closely, for I had nothing else to do. I had a bit of a starburst pattern in my ugly grey eyes, and my eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep. I had long, thick eyelashes, the kind that never need mascara. I backed up a bit and examined my face. I had a nice shape to my eyes, like a sharp egg but still soft. I never plucked my eyebrows because I never needed to; they were always thin and pretty. I had an oval-shaped face and a soft nose. My lips weren't too full, but neither were they thin. I had a face and body that any girl would die for. I flipped the mirror back up.
I looked over to my mother and examined her next, wondering how in the world we could be related. She had nice posture and the same eyes as me. Her eyebrows were plucked to look like mine, too. Her lips were really full and covered in dark red lipstick. Her hair was shoulder length with layers, and it was a brownish red. Her face was a sharp oval, and her nose was fat. I must admit, she still looked sexy, especially in a brown leather jacket. Her skin was white—not albino, but pale enough to stand out against my olive tanned skin.
My mother made a sharp turn onto some road that had some "Dead End" sign on it. The sign was bent over like a car had hit it—probably someone who drove like my mother. I held in a giggle, knowing that my mother would be angry if she knew the reason behind it.
The road that we turned onto was small enough that if there were two cars going in opposite directions, one would have to be halfway on the grass on the side of the road to pass without being hit. The houses looked pretty good, I guess. Two-story, front yard and backyard, enough room for large outdoor parties. There weren't very many houses, and I assumed that everybody on this street kept close tabs on each other.
As we sped down the road at about 80km/h—even though the sign clearly said 50km/h—I was looking at the yards, searching for things like soccer, basketball, or any type of net, to see if there were any kids in the area. The only kind of net I saw was a huge fishing net on a boat; other than that, lots of nothing except pretty flowers. I couldn't even see any signs of little kids out here.
My mother suddenly took a very sharp left turn into a driveway, which nearly sent me flying out the side window. Thankfully, I had my seatbelt on. The house on the lot was very tall. It had two stories, but the ceilings were definitely high. I had thought that our house wasn't built yet. Oh well, I guess I don't have to build the house after all. I smiled to myself. The grass was dead, which was probably what she was going to make me work on—after, of course, cleaning the house, putting the furniture away, and doing chores galore. She slammed on her brakes as we got to the end of the driveway. Honestly, I thought, she needs to go and redo her driver's licence. She does not know how to drive. I was still rubbing my neck from that green light.
"Well, we're here." My mother sighed. "That was a very long drive. Emily, because I've been driving for a very long time"—as she said this, she opened a beer bottle that she somehow had with her the whole time and took a long sip—"and I'm now drunk, would you please start unpacking?" I was just about to protest when she said, "I wasn't asking, Emily. Go now." Her evil tone kicked in once again. Who was I kidding? That tone never went away. We got out of the car, and my mother slammed the car door behind her so hard it should've made the car alarm go off. I nearly laughed out loud when it actually did.
"Shoot. C'mon, shut off," she cried, pressing all sorts of buttons on her car keys. I just raised an eyebrow at her. She looked up at me and tossed me her keys. "Shut it off!" she yelled, hitting the poor car. I looked down and pressed the panic button, and sure enough, the alarm went off. "How'd you do that?" she demanded, holding her hand up, wanting the keys back. I tossed them to her, nearly hitting her eye. She gave me a look.
"The panic button, Mother—and you know," I said with a lot of bravery, "you should go and renew your licence. You could get caught by the police."
"Are you suggesting that I'm such a terrible driver that the cops would actually pull me over?" she asked in her tone.
Yes. "I'm just saying if some idiot were to crash into you ..." I left the rest of the sentence blank. She knew what I meant anyway. She just nodded and took another long sip of her beer.
I turned to study the house. It had beige siding and a poop-brown roof. The back had a deck and, diagonally above that, a balcony. The house still smelled of sawdust. I let out a very long sigh, turned around, and started unpacking.
"And when you're finished unpacking everything"—the emphasis on the everything meaning her clothes, all the dishes, and whatever else you can think of—"I want you to call the mover people and ask them to bring everything else. Tell them to bring someone who knows how to unpack dishwasher stuff so he doesn't drop it. I'd hate for him to pay for a new one." I highly doubted that she'd regret it; our dishwasher and laundry machines were highly outdated.
"Yes, Mother," I replied in an exasperated voice, dragging out the reply in a long, exhausted sigh. I walked around to the trunk of her car and tried to open it.
"Mother, the car's locked," I said. She was walking over toward the neighbours, who were standing in their backyard, watching curiously. She turned around and pointed her keys at the car. I heard a click, and I opened the trunk.
"Don't forget to close the trunk when you're done, Emily-pie!" she shouted back. Emily-pie? I looked at her and noticed she was near other people. That made a lot of sense. Whenever we were alone, she'd always blame me for everything. She hated me, and you could tell she never liked me or wanted me. My father probably convinced her to have me. Remembering my father made my throat hurt. I shook off the memory and continued.
I grabbed all of the bags that were full of her expensive clothing first, six at a time, three on each arm. I hauled them in up the three steps to the deck and then three more steps to the back door. I shoved the door open.
The first thing I saw was a huge room. It had to be big enough to squeeze six small cars into it, except there was a counter separating a third of the room from the rest. I could tell this was going to be the kitchen and dining room. Right in front of me was a half wall with a hole in it, creating a small ledge. This would separate the back foyer from the rest of the house. The flooring was is already nicely finished, it's a fine wooden floor. I was surprised to notice that. Wasn't the house just built? Whatever. I started walking forward.
The front foyer was to the right of the counter, just in front of it. I walked over there. To the left was the front door and, beside that, the closet. To the right of me were two steps going down, leading to what I assumed was the living room. The two walls in the back and to the left had large windows in them. Beside the living room was a door. I decided to put the bags of clothing down and open the door. Before me were steps leading down.
"The bedrooms are upstairs, Emily! Hurry your ass up!" I jumped as soon as I heard her voice. I quickly grabbed the bags and ran up the stairs that were next to the front door and other door—I think it was the basement door. I got upstairs and ended up in a hallway. There were two doors on the left, two on the right, and one at the end of the hallway. I opened the first door.
It was definitely my mother's room. It was big enough to fit a good-sized pool. Plus, it had a balcony. I dropped the bags on the ground, creating a loud thud. I didn't care; her clothes couldn't break from being dropped. I turned around and examined the rest of the house. Nothing interesting, really—the two rooms on the right were just the laundry room and another bedroom. The end door was the bathroom, and the other door on the left was another bedroom. I ran downstairs and continued unpacking.
When I was finished, I was sweating. My mother was chatting with the neighbours, putting on a good face, pretending to care about their names, their lives. Man, I hated her. I slammed the trunk closed.
"Hey, Mother? Do you have a phone?" I shouted out to her. She turned and looked over at me.
"No, sweetie-pie, maybe one of these sweet neighbours will lend you one!" She put on a huge smile, turned around, and talked to the neighbours. I was walking over to the neighbours to ask them when she called out again.
"They'll let you use theirs, pumpkin!" she yelled over at me. I ran over to the pine trees that separated our two yards to meet the neighbours. They were an elderly couple, bright smiles on their faces. They were wearing shorts and T-shirts even though there was a slight chill in the late spring air.
"Thank you very much for letting us use your phone, Mr. and Mrs. ..." I trailed off , expecting them to fill in the blank with their last name.
"Coushing. Mr. and Mrs. Coushing," the elderly man said. He sounded like he was still young.
My mother handed me a piece of paper and said, "Here you go, pumpkin; this is the number for the movers. Remember to be polite!" She smiled as she was saying the words, but her smile was forced and so were the words. I was surprised the elderly couple didn't notice. Weren't they supposed to be wise and notice this kind of thing? Weren't they supposed to notice that she had a fake smile? That she didn't care about anybody but herself? The woman just smiled and nodded and then gestured for me to follow. I did.
I went through the gap between the pine trees that separated our houses and entered her yard. I loved her yard! There was a pool in the back with a large deck, a big garage, a shed right next to the pool, and nicely cut green grass. Her house looked one-story, but I was sure they'd have a basement. There was a hot tub right up against the white brick house.
She opened the sliding door and stepped inside. As big as her house looked on the outside, it was pretty small inside. There was a small kitchen with enough room for one, a table for four, a crystal chandelier over the table, two rocking chairs by the white fireplace, and a couch facing the fireplace. They didn't even have a television. The carpet was so white I would've thought I was walking on snow, except it must have been 100 degrees in there.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from SHAPESHIFTER'S MARK by Taylor Clavette Copyright © 2012 by Taylor Clavette. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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