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Prologue
Raven
I’ve always sufferedfrom insomnia, even before my parents died. Tonight is no exception.
After spending hours trying to go to sleep, I end up lying in bed for quite a while, just staring up at the ceiling and thinking. I have no plans of moving anytime soon until I hear the strangest noise coming from outside. It almost sounds like a fire crackling.
Confused, I get up, tiptoe over to the window, and peer outside, surprised to find that, yep, the noise is indeed exactly what I thought it was.
A fire is crackling in the middle of the field beside my house. A man stands beside it. A man who looks an awful lot like my uncle, who has been my guardian ever since my parents died.
I watch from the window as he throws something into the flames, then steps back.
What the hell?
What is he burning in the middle of the night? Whatever it is, it can’t be good. Why else would anyone burn something in the middle of the night?
My best bet is that it might be some incriminating evidence against him. My uncle may be a police officer, but he does a lot of sketchy stuff.
I stand by the window for a bit, watching as he remains in front of the flames. Eventually, he puts the fire out by shoveling dirt onto it. Then he starts back toward the house.
I hunker down to avoid being seen. Then, when I hear the front door creak open, I crawl back toward my bed and climb in. And it’s a good thing I do, too.
Moments later, my bedroom door is opened.
I keep my eyes shut, but I can sense someone looking at me. It has to be my uncle, but what the hell is he doing?
My side aches as worry creeps through me. What if he’s contemplating cutting me again? He already did it once this week, carved the wordfreakinto my side with a knife, his form of punishment whenever I do something bad, which seems to be all the time.
Eventually, he leaves my room, and I let out a shaky breath and try to force myself to go to sleep. It proves to be impossible, though, so I eventually sneak out to see if I can figure out what he was burning.
After slipping on a jacket and shoes, I climb out the window and shimmy down the tree beside it. Then I tiptoe over to the spot where the fire was. I use the flashlight on my phone to look around the area, but all I can find are embers. Whatever he was burning, disintegrated in the flames. Or, well, maybe not.
Something shiny and silver catches my eye.
I crouch down, scoop it up, and then my confusion doubles. It’s a pendant shaped like a feather.
Weird.
I’m not sure if this is what he was trying to burn, but it’s pretty, so I decide to keep it. Then I head back into the house, telling myself that, come morning, I’ll sneak out and see if I can find anything else he may have been burning.
Of course, when the sun rises, and I get up and go downstairs, my uncle announces we’re moving out of town. And not in a few weeks, but in a few days, which is odd since him and my aunt always talk about how much they love the town we live in now.
Even weirder is, when I sneak outside to check around where my uncle lit the fire last night, all signs of it are gone. Almost like I dreamt the incident. And I may have believed I had except, when I check the pocket of my pajamas, the pendant is still in there.
1
One week later
Raven
A lotof people say my name has a magical sound to it. I guess it does.
I used to love my name. Ravenlee Wilowwynter; Raven for short. It’s different. Unique. Pretty even. But it also has a deeper meaning. Or, well, an actual raven does.
Bad luck.
That’s what those birds represent. And right after I turned twelve, I realized this. Because, like those dark-feathered birds, I became bad luck. Cursed even. Because I’m the reason my parents died. I’m the reason they’re buried beneath the ground. I’m the reason they aren’t here anymore.
