Believing in Blue

by Maggie Morton

  Table of Contents

  Synopsis

  By the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Part One Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Part Two Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  About the Author

  Books Available From Bold Strokes Books

  Synopsis

  Wren received something for her eighteenth birthday that she was fairly sure was one of a kind: sky-blue wings. But along with those wings comes the knowledge that her father had a surprisingly practical reason for abandoning her when she was eight. In his letter to her, delivered via talking raven, she learns that it’s up to her to save billions of humans and Winged Blue from a threat that’s on the horizon and closing in fast. She is to travel to the world of the Winged Blue thirteen days after her birthday, and before she leaves, an attractive winged young woman named Sia will be teaching her how to fly. Wren has to hope that her world’s prophecy is right, and that she is up for something even more challenging than growing up gay in a small town: saving two entire worlds from the Winged Red.

  Believing in Blue

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  Believing in Blue

  © 2016 By Maggie Morton. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-692-0

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

  First Edition: September 2016

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Shelley Thrasher

  Production Design: Stacia Seaman

  Cover Design By Melody Pond

  By the Author

  Dreaming of Her

  Under Her Spell

  Out of This World

  Believing in Blue

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to start by thanking everyone at Bold Strokes Books who helped me turn the idea I had for this book into a reality. Big thanks also to Shelley Thrasher—I can’t imagine that a more skilled, sweeter editor could possibly be found. Melody Pond has gifted me with an especially lovely and eye-catching cover, for which I’m grateful—after all, some people certainly do judge a book by its cover. And finally, I’d like to thank my dad for his support, my mom for support and her very useful advice on the novel, and my partner, Matthew, for believing in me and supporting me and my writing for ten years come next January.

  To Michele and Craig—both of you help, immeasurably, in keeping me aloft

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Wren was lost in the shapely arms of a beautiful girl when the bright-blue raven landed on the sill of her open window. The bird’s vibrant, rich blue color and that it was holding what looked to be an envelope made her fantasy fade in an instant, despite the fact that she’d just started kissing her imaginary partner. But a blue, mail-carrying raven excited her much more than a fantasy girl, no matter how good of a kisser she happened to be (not that Wren had much experience in the matter, or, really, any at all). She could always return to the kiss later, whereas this raven might fly off at any moment, so Wren allowed herself to be pulled back into reality…as strange as reality suddenly was. This wasn’t even the strangest thing that had happened in the last few weeks, though.

  Or at least it wasn’t until the lapis-colored raven dropped the letter and said, in an unfamiliar-yet-pleasant female voice, “It’s from your father, Wrenny. Read it very soon.” Before Wren could begin to accept the fact that a blue, talking bird had just delivered a letter, one that was possibly from her long-gone dad, the bird bobbed its head, turned, and flew off, zigging and zagging until it ducked under some low tree branches and disappeared from Wren’s sight.

  “Well,” she said to herself, alone once again, “that was weird.”

  Weird things had already been happening to her, though, things that were possibly just as weird as what had just transpired. So, with her pulse beginning to quicken, which could have been either from excitement or nerves, Wren picked up the envelope and tore it open, beginning to read.

  Dear Wrenny,

  I must start by telling you—as it is, despite what I am about to tell you, the most important fact—that I have missed you terribly these past almost-ten years. I did not want to leave your life, and I hope you believe my words. I had to, though, because if I’d brought you back home with me, you might not even have made it to your ninth birthday, much less your very important eighteenth.

  I’m guessing you’ve gotten your wings by now, and I hope it wasn’t too hard keeping them concealed. I also hope you weren’t too frightened when they showed up, because although you are from another world, you surely did not know that until they appeared. After all, how could you possibly guess that fact? I couldn’t have if I were in your shoes!

  I will be sending a girl to help you very, very soon. She will make herself known to you, and then she will teach you how to fly. It shouldn’t be too hard, as we Winged Blue always learn quite quickly, and I doubt someone as important to us as you will have a very hard time learning.

  Yes, that’s right—not just to me, but to all of the Winged Blue, you hold great importance. There is a prophecy, of course, and it speaks of you and your future.

  A future that will begin as soon as the thirteenth day following your eighteenth birthday arrives. Which is only a small number of days away, if this letter reached you when it was supposed to.

  I could not possibly be looking forward to seeing you again more. I just wish that I hadn’t needed to leave your side for all these years. I hope Denise has treated you well, and I can barely believe I’ll be seeing you in mere days!

  Much love,

  Your dad, Torien

  Wren didn’t know what to think once she reached the end of the letter. First her wings had appeared, that one late night in the woods just days ago, and now her missin
g father was suddenly back in her life…if only slightly. And then there was this prophecy, one in which she apparently held great importance. A prophecy that seemed to state that she mattered, immensely, to however many Winged Blue there happened to be.

  Now so many thoughts were all rushing around in her head that it took a while before one decided to dominate all the others and push its way up to the very top of her consciousness.

  What the…what the hell is going on?

  Chapter Two

  The weather was far too nice to be trapped inside, so Wren couldn’t have been happier to exit her high school that afternoon and start walking toward the café where she worked after school. The feel of the gentle breeze tossing about her long hair and skirt was almost as delicious as what she would be drinking in about ten minutes.

  She’d been looking forward to her before-work treat all day, an iced, blended mocha with extra whipped cream she was planning to enjoy at one of the outdoor tables in front of the café. She could enjoy the silky-warm June air and people-watch.

  And perhaps she could reread the letter from her father, which she had folded up and pushed to the very bottom of her skirt’s front pocket shortly before leaving for school that morning. There was no way she was going to leave it at home, where her mother Denise might have a chance to stumble across it…as unlikely as that was. Her mom almost never went into her room, instead vegging out in front of the TV every single night until her multiple nightcaps often knocked her out. And on those nights, Wren would need to help guide her up to her bedroom and into bed, Wren’s stepdad Tim usually nowhere to be seen. If she was unlucky enough for it to be a night where he was actually at home, Wren just had to hope that he would avoid the two of them and hide out in his gross-smelling den, filling it with the scent of cheap cigars and, Wren imagined, pent-up rage.

  Rage that unfortunately wasn’t always “pent-up.” Not when he got into an especially bad mood and took it out on Wren or her mom. He was never violent physically, but words, Wren had come to realize, could do a rather impressive amount of harm if they were chosen just right.

  But today it was lovely out, and Wren had just arrived at the café, so she turned her thoughts to sunshine and delicious coffee and away from whatever might be waiting for her at home later that night.

  Her boss Shawn stood behind the counter when she entered the well-lit, yellow-and-orange–themed restaurant. Shawn was wearing her usual uniform, a button-down, black work shirt and loose jeans, her look finished off with her favorite baseball cap, which sat on top of her close-cropped, sandy-blond curls. Wren had been confused at first, when she’d started work there two years ago, with how Shawn liked to dress. But she was also confused about why she liked looking at her pretty female classmates more than her supposedly hot male classmates, and so, once Shawn had mentioned a girlfriend, it had all begun to make more sense. After copious online research and sneaking some of Shawn’s lesbian magazines home, Wren felt fully informed, or as informed as a young lesbian like her could become without any equally thorough research in certain other areas.

  “Hey there, Wren. You want your usual? You have a nice, long twenty minutes before it’s time to start behind the counter. And I’m feeling generous today, so if your friend Nicole comes at her usual time, her drink of choice is on me.” Shawn grinned at Wren, her wide smile lighting up her tanned, handsome face.

  But as believable as Shawn’s smile was, and as happy as Wren was to see her boss and friend, there was no way she could tell her about the two supernatural events that had occurred in the past couple of weeks. She wanted Shawn to continue to think of her as sane. Even a woman as cool and kind to her as Shawn wouldn’t want to be friends with a crazy person. Or at least a person who sounded crazy, because as impossible as her new wings and the blue raven still seemed, they also were definitely one hundred percent real. And Wren figured that their realness was far preferable to her falling off the narrow ledge of sanity, a ledge upon which she’d felt quite precariously balanced ever since her dad had left.

  So she didn’t even consider telling Shawn, as much as she liked the older woman. Instead, she took the icy glass from her boss, sucked a small mouthful of whipped cream off the top, and thanked her.

  “No prob, hon. Enjoy your java, and I’ll see you back in here soon, right?”

  “Of course. Thanks, Shawn.” Wren grabbed a spoon and went outside, sitting at one of the metal tables in a chair made hot by the sun. She sighed as she relaxed into the chair. Then she saw the girl.

  She looked to be about Wren’s age, or she could have been older. It was hard to say, precisely, because she was turned slightly away from Wren. But even the half-view she had of the other woman’s face told Wren enough about her features to know that if the young woman ever looked at her head-on, she would be gorgeous. The girl had dark-brown hair with strands of garnet red, all of it pulled back into a loose bun with a few locks hanging down around her perfectly curved cheekbones. Her lips were set into a subtle smile, thinner than Wren usually liked but so nicely shaped their lack of fullness didn’t matter. Her eyes could have been either hazel or green—Wren couldn’t tell from this far away.

  Wren thought about her own looks, then: her hair, black with slight red highlights, but nowhere near the exciting color of the girl’s, and it had also never made up its mind between being straight and curly; her coffee-and-cream skin, which, while she didn’t have a problem with it, had still made her stand out at her practically all-white school, most of the Caucasian kids tending to either insult her or avoid her; and her shape, not nearly as curvy or thin as she might have liked. But despite her notably lesser attractiveness, she almost called out to the girl, hoping to get a good look at her entire face before she left or before Wren had to go back inside to work.

  It turned out that Wren didn’t need to get the girl’s attention, because said attention was headed in Wren’s direction right that moment. Wren watched as the girl stood, adjusted the gray T-shirt she was wearing over darker gray slacks, and then she felt her stomach tighten as the girl began to stride straight…toward…her.

  “May I sit here?” the girl asked in a sweet-yet-certain tone. She sounded like Wren wouldn’t possibly say no, and, well, she was right.

  “S-sure. Yes. Please.” Oh God, Wren thought, was she blushing as much as she thought she was? Her face suddenly felt much hotter than her sun-heated chair, but the girl either didn’t manage to notice or didn’t care.

  “You just looked…interesting,” she said as she moved the chair to the left of Wren’s, dragging it until it was directly across from where Wren sat. Once seated, the girl formed her perfect lips into an equally perfect smile, and Wren realized then that her eyes hadn’t left the girl’s face for a second, a fact that she quickly remedied by looking at her company’s feet instead. The sky-blue flip-flops the girl wore couldn’t compete with her looks, but their color did manage to distract Wren momentarily, as she found herself thinking of the raven from the day before.

  “Do you like birds?” the girl asked.

  Wren’s eyes shot back up to the girl’s face. But this time, instead of checking her out, she searched her for signs of hidden intent, signs of secrets or mysterious plans. “Yeah,” she finally answered, failing to see any of those things in the girl’s shockingly green eyes. “Yeah, I do. Especially…ravens.”

  “Ravens, huh? Do you like Edgar Allan Poe’s poem?”

  “Never have I liked it more,” Wren said, then took a big swallow of her mocha in hopes that a large, whipped-cream mustache would at least slightly distract the girl from her stupid joke.

  Instead of giving her a weird look and then leaving, as Wren had expected, the girl chuckled, her laughter managing to make Wren feel like much less of an idiot. “Cute joke. So, would it be okay if I told you a story my mom told me about Poe when I was little?”

  “I’d like that,” Wren said in reply. Had she sounded as excited to hear the story as she felt?

  The girl pl
aced her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her fist, looking slightly off into the distance as she began to speak. “You see, when I was about thirteen or so, I began to feel like I didn’t fit in, even when everyone my age was nice to me. I was different, you see, in a way that I didn’t want anyone to find out about, because it embarrassed me so much, how different I was. So my mom, despite me being a little too old for stories, made one up for me one night when I was crying to her about how hard it was to feel like I didn’t fit in. And so, this is the story mom told me.” She cleared her throat, glanced at Wren, and then looked off into the distance once more.

  “When Edgar Allan Poe was little, he found a raven in a field. He didn’t have any friends, my mom said, so he decided the raven would become his friend instead of the mean kids at school, the ones who always called him ‘strange’ and even meaner things.

  “The raven was always affectionate toward Edgar, nuzzling him and making soft clicking noises as it did so. So Edgar decided to see if he could help the bird out, to show it he loved it in return. He taught it how to hold a pen and how to write, and by the time ten years had passed, it had begun to make up entire stories, writing them in sloppy, loose capital letters. But they were still legible, of course. One night, Edgar came up with the idea to pass off the raven’s writing as his own, so he began to sneak its pages out of his home while the raven was sleeping.

  “After a number of years, the raven noticed Edgar leaving their home with its writing, and it followed him to the building where Poe had been dropping off the raven’s stories and poems. Once Poe got home, the raven confronted him. It told him that, although Poe had always felt different, the raven had felt different too, having all of these stories trapped in its head and with no way to let them out. It told Poe it was different in another way, too—the raven told Poe that though he was a male raven, he preferred the company of male ravens to female ones. Poe burst into tears upon finding out that he and the raven shared the horrible feeling of not fitting in within their species. He begged the raven to forgive him, but that night, under the light of a full moon, the raven left him, its feathers turning from black to a rich, dark blue as it flew off into the bright moonlight, never to be seen again. It was possible that the raven had come from another world, Edgar thought. Mr. Poe decided that night to come clean about the truth of ‘his’ writing, but he never got the chance, as he died the very next week.