Transformed by the Moon

by Sierra Storm

  Transformed by The Moon

  Midnight Valley, Book 2

  Sierra Storm

  Dark Star Press is an imprint of Automaton Industries.

  Dark Star Press and Automaton Industries logo are official labels of Automaton Industries.

  Transformed by The Moon

  Copyright © 2019 by Sierra Storm. All Rights Reserved.

  Published by Dark Star Press.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of very brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  About The Author

  Dark Star Press

  Chapter 1

  My mom has a tattoo on the inside of her right wrist. It’s a Chinese character, a symbol that she says means courage. She got it for her eighteenth birthday, and sometimes I think about it when I want to be brave. My mom isn’t like me at all in other respects. She has frizzy brown hair that she always ties back, and the first thing she does when she gets back from her job in the bank is change into sweatpants and a hoodie. I get my appearance and my sense of style directly from my dad. Tattoos aren’t my thing, either—chokers are.

  When I enter the kitchen for breakfast, I glance at her in her pants suit and pumps, and I quickly cross her to grab a bagel.

  She looks at me from behind the lit screen of her laptop. “Good morning to you, too, Violet,” she says. “Do you still live here? I haven’t seen you all week.”

  “Good morning,” I mumble, turning away from her and thinking of her tattoo. And my stomach twists itself inside me. There’s no way I can begin to tell her about this.

  Over the past three weeks, my life has been turned upside down. I don’t even know what to think anymore. The truth is that my friend Tristan basically disappeared from my life after he joined the cult in the forest, and I don’t know how I feel about that. It doesn’t feel real. I mean, I still see him every day in class. And it’s totally true that he changed. Tristan has lost a lot of weight, and while people chalk it down to his being sick, I think he’s starving himself. Not intentionally, but I think he’s forgotten what hunger even is. He never eats. He’s grown pale as well, deathly pale. He looks sick. But he’s still on the football team, and he still appears to do well with his work. He just hasn’t spoken to me since the incident split us up, and until yesterday, I assumed that was the worst it was going to get.

  I don’t mind being alone. I've never cared much for crowds anyway. I also never categorized myself into any clique or stereotype. I never saw a reason back when Tristan and I were together.

  It’s not that there was ever anything specifically romantic between us. There didn't need to be. I'd never thought much about it, until this morning. Midnight Valley High is a small school, and I can take in all the students at a glance. But beyond Tristan, I’ve never had any kind of a group. Neither did he, which makes his sudden change all the more uncomfortable.

  Tristan claims he’s a born-again wendigo. I don’t know if I believe him. I was skeptical at first, but after running into their group and basically falling flat on my face wih all the strangeness and unfamiliarity and possible evidence, I started having second thoughts. I don’t know about vampires. The wendigos themselves could have passed for anything human, but there was that other man who was with them.

  Vince.

  I only met him once. Twice, if you count the time he walked me back to my house when he was a wolf. There’s nothing kooky or creepy about Vince if you talk to him. Not like the wendigos. They’d talk about killing me or attacking me or something, but Vince admitted that they were all pretty crazy. He stood up for me even when Tristan failed to, and when I remember Vince and his vivid gray eyes and the soft look he passed me as he asked me why I always did what I always needed to do, I feel. . . . I don’t know. Wistful? Like I want to know more about him and what he’s doing with those people, and I want to run into him again around town. But I haven’t seen Vince since he told me to leave the Exigency three weeks ago. I’ve had to pretend to know nothing.

  My mom studies me while she eats. “Your shirt’s on backward,” she says.

  I glance down and can feel the color rushing to my face instantly.

  “Seriously, I haven’t heard more than a word from you in days. Is there something you want to talk about?” she asks.

  “No,” I say.

  “Are you having a good year?”

  “I’m looking forward to graduation.”

  And that’s the absolute truth. I can’t wait to leave school right now because yesterday, when I stepped into that building, I learned that I have a new classmate, and her locker is right next to mine. Natasha Rowell—self-proclaimed bloodthirsty wendigo who converted Tristan.

  Is there any wonder as to why I hate my life right now?

  Forty minutes after I change my shirt around I see her again, and she smiles when she sees me like she can’t wait to sink her teeth into me or burn me on a pyre. “Hi Violet,” she says.

  I want to slap her for appearing so bright and innocent. I still don’t know how she pulls off the smile, but I recognize the clothes. Tristan works at the Valley Outpost store in town, and right now that jacket is thirty percent off.

  Natasha is (or at least appears to be) a couple of years younger than I am. She's small with curly black hair and cold, angular features, but when she tries, she looks normal. And she was really obnoxious in all our classes yesterday. It was her first day, but she had no problem raising her hand, volunteering to read a portion of The Scarlet Letter when no one else was even awake, and debating the impact of the conquistadors on early American culture, which I hadn’t even known was a thing. The teachers fawn over her, ask her about her life and her afternoon plans like no one else is present. I even saw Principal Woods give her a thumbs up and a chipper, “How’s it going, Natasha?” The principal of our school is usually a serious and quiet woman. I’ve never seen her cheer for anyone before. But Natasha doesn’t appear to want anyone’s company but Tristan’s. And mine.

  I pull my books from the locker shelf and wonder quietly if the world plans to burn up any time soon.

  “Did you do the reading last night?” she asks in a hushed voice.

  “I skimmed it.”

  “I just can’t imagine what that woman went through,” Natasha says, her eyes glittering. “And you know the father of her child is totally one of the characters.”

  I want to gag. I’m sick of it—the perfection, the pretending, the elaborate moves. The perfect student act that only makes me hate her more. Instead, I widen my smile and nod. “Yeah, well, I’m sure we’ll find out soon.” I have no idea what the book’s even about.

  “I just need to talk about it, you know? Get it out of my system. We never have enough discussion time in class.” She huffs. “I know, I probably seem like a big nerd next to you.”

  "Tristan's over there if you want to talk to him," I say, pointing.

  "I’ve already talked it over with Tristan," says Natasha. I've never seen anyone with such a fake smile before.

  I pull out my books and start down the hallway.

  “I just love this place,” she continues. “Everything about it. I’ve never had teachers I could talk to before. Have you seen the cheerleading squad tryou
t signup? I really want to do it.”

  "Over there," I respond, pointing to the bulletin board and almost too thrilled to be rid of her.

  But no, Natasha bites her lip. "Um, could you show me, please? There's a lot over there that I'm having trouble seeing."

  I can't help rolling my eyes. I would slap her if it wouldn't get me into trouble right now. Natasha needs a slap. "Come with me," I say, matching her fake smile and leading the way.

  I don't know how Natasha does it. She has all her classes with me. Her schedule matches mine almost exactly, even more than Tristan’s, and though I keep looking around for someone else to socialize with, no one is interested. I'm just the shy girl who's hanging out with the new transfer for lack of nothing better to do.

  I suffer through the rest of the school day in silence with Natasha innocently clinging to me every step of the way. After the final bell rings, her lips part in a devious smile. “I’d love to get together some time and study.”

  “I’m afraid I’m busy,” I say.

  “With what?”

  “With—with—” I lose any words I was going to say as Tristan suddenly slams his locker down the hall. I think of how close we used to be, and for one moment all I can do is freeze and feel the regret twisting in my heart like a cold blade. He looks up. Eye contact. He’s avoided eye contact for me since he changed so much. His gaze is darker now, colder and meaner. Now he straightens and approaches us.

  “Hey Tristan, I was just asking Violet here if she’d like to join us for a study group,” says Natasha.

  I step back and almost lose my footing in the hallway.

  “Are you free?” asks Tristan.

  I shake my head quickly. Then I turn and run. I press my way through the streaming crowds of students, so small but so cramped in the space of these hallways, and I run past the parking lot and ignore the honks oncoming drivers give me for interrupting their route. No, I’m not free. I’m never free, apparently. The image of my mom’s tattoo flashes through my brain for one second as I wish I were just a little bolder.

  I could have said something. The answers accost me at full force now. I could have told Natasha to leave me alone. I could have chided Tristan for hanging out with her so much and becoming such a deadbeat. I could have done anything. I hate the way my mind does that sometimes, like all the thoughts just vanish for one second, and there’s nothing I can do to offer an intelligent response to the situation.

  I stop running near a forested patch on the far end of the parking lot, and I inhale the crisp fall air as I try to get a grip on myself. Fresh air is better than nothing.

  "It’s Violet, right?"

  It's Vince. He's a werewolf, the only one I've ever met. Silvery blonde hair, wide and mysterious gray eyes, and a laid back attitude. He saved me from the Wendigos one time when I went in to bring Tristan back. "What are you doing here?" I ask.

  He fits his hands in his jean pockets casually, studying me all the harder with those large eyes. "Just hanging out. You?"

  I don’t even know how to answer Vince’s question, so I give the most eloquent response I can. “Um.”

  His brows lower. “Is it about your friend?”

  “No,” I say. Then I hesitate again. “It’s that girl Natasha.”

  Vince’s eyes widen, and he looks briefly back at the school. “She enrolled, didn’t she?” he says.

  “In every one of my classes,” I add. “She’s stalking me.”

  Vince presses one hand to his forehead. He knows about this—he knows, and he regrets something. “I told her not to go. I told her it wouldn’t work. She just needed to move on. Do you know what she’s doing?”

  “What?” I ask.

  “Just exactly what you said,” he says, straightening. “She’s stalking you.”

  “Why?” I ask, shifting my backpack over one shoulder.

  “Because she thinks she has to,” he says.

  “Why?” I ask again.

  “I can’t tell you much beyond that,” says Vince. “But she’s mentioned it to me before. Natasha’s flighty, and she has moods that she slips into sometimes. She’s been lonely at the Exigency ever since her parents dropped her off. Natasha’s the only teenager we’ve got.”

  “So she wants a friend?”

  “Not necessarily,” says Vince. “Maybe she wants a friend. Or maybe she’s jealous because she thinks you stole the only friend she had. You’ve had Tristan around your neck since before she came around. You have a good school and a good life.”

  “It makes sense,” I say.

  “Yeah, I don’t know,” says Vince. “Maybe it’s time for you to relocate. Maybe she's hungry and really wants to eat you. She only transformed herself a few weeks ago. That’s hard on wendigos."

  "Seriously. There's no way you can't be in on her plans," I say.

  “I’m nobody’s spy," Vince says. "Natasha's a secretive girl; she doesn't let everyone in on her plans, not even the Exigency.”

  We stare at each other in silence for a long moment. Vince is surprisingly attractive. He averts my eyes and scratches behind his neck lightly. “She’s jealous,” he says.

  "I'm not Tristan’s girlfriend," I say.

  "Maybe, maybe not,” says Vince. “But she decided to enroll to keep an eye on you either way. And on Tristan. She doesn't want anything unfortunate to happen."

  Great. So now I'm being stalked by a jealous teen wendigo who wants nothing better to do than lick the meat from my ribs. I'm going to need to find a way to put an end to this mess. I gently slit my eyes as I look at Vince. I can play this game too. If I can convince Natasha that she has no reason to fear me, maybe she'll leave me alone. I can hatch a scheme just as well as she can. Sure I’ll stop messing with the affairs of the Exigency. But only after my own are taken care of.

  Chapter 2

  I wait a few hours before I decide to confront her. I know where to look for Tristan and Natasha—either hanging out at Tristan’s house, where his mom certainly won’t mind letting me in, or out in the woods. In that clearing forbidden to me. I can’t go at night because that’s when they’ll all step out, and I don’t want to face a full lair of wendigos. But I need to see Tristan. I need to tell him what’s going on, and why I’m not okay with this. And I need to tell him that if he doesn’t get Natasha off my back, then I won’t be responsible for my own actions.

  When I cross by the front of Tristan’s home, I only briefly glance in through the living room windows. The house is laid bare at this time of the day. I can see everything in the room from here, but Tristan and his mom are both gone.

  My resolve shakes a little. I could turn back. I could run to my own bedroom and cry until I felt better. But no, the sooner I get this over with, the sooner my situation will improve. I force myself to smile through the anxiety. I’m on top of this. Natasha won’t know what hit her, and Tristan will run back to me with open arms.

  Soon I hear a girl giggling. It’s totally Natasha. “Pon-chay de Leon,” she says in an exaggerated voice.

  “Ponce de Leon,” Tristan’s voice echoes.

  Seriously, who would review American history at a time like this?

  I found them, and now I’m sick to my stomach. I duck briefly behind the rusted van.

  Confidence. Courage. My mom’s tattoo.

  I say a prayer under my breath, and then I straighten and walk into the clearing that belongs to the Exigency. They’re both here. Backbacks on the sandy ground, tam-tams pushed aside to wait for the night. Natasha’s sprawled out on the ground without a care in the world, and Tristan leans on the nearby cave: her prince charming, transformed. As soon as they see me they rise and straighten.

  "Vi. . . ?" asks Tristan. He sounds disappointed. He thought he was done with my attempts at continuing our friendship.

  "Hi, everyone," I say as casually as I can, glancing at Natasha just long enough to make eye contact. I can almost physically feel the frustration oozing from her as she brushes the dirt from her new jeans. She'
s paler than usual, holding a slip of paper with notes for a report about the conquistadors, and she’s speechless.

  "So, how's everything going in the wendigo world?" I ask, pacing around in a broad circle around the firepit.

  "What are you doing here?" asks Tristan.

  “I decided to join your study group on the conquistadors,” I say, ignoring the way my heart pounds. “Ponce de Leon.”

  “You could have said something,” huffs Natasha, narrowing her eyes at me in a dramatic pout.

  “Vi, you can’t come here,” says Tristan. “It’s dangerous. They’ll come after you.” He sounds almost sympathetic, almost like his old self. Though as far as I’m concerned, his old self might as well be rolling around in a cold grave right now.

  "I want to be friends with you,” I say. “Still. And I feel like we haven’t seen anything of each other in weeks and. . . I don’t want anything to come between us."

  Tristan smirks. “I’m terrible company right now, Vi,” he says. “You’re better off without me.”

  Beside him, Natasha is strangely quiet, studying him with her large dark eyes.

  "I don't believe that," I say.

  "I'm sorry if you get hurt by any of this in the end," says Tristan. He sounds sour and mad, mad at me. The breeze grows colder around my shoulders. Then Tristan stiffens.

  I turn my head to see Vince walking forward. "Some say that wendigos have no soul," he says. “From this display, I’m inclined to agree.”

  "Wait, so now you're with her?" asks Natasha, breaking her silence for the first time since I entered the clearing. She wraps her hand around Tristan’s arm protectively. "Since when did you side with the humans on this?"

  "Since the rest of you decided to leave me in the dirt," he snaps. "You think you can carry on like this without my noticing?”

  “I wasn’t doing anything,” says Natasha.

  “Ask Natasha about that,” he says. “I’ve been watching you, Natasha, and you won’t leave the poor girl alone. Are you really low enough to groom your meals before you dig in?”