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Overview
Fern communicates with her dog, blisters from just moments in the sun, and has correctly predicted the daily weather for more than two years. Even so, she's always seemed to be a normal twelve-year-old girl . . . until one day when Fern closes her eyes in class and opens them seconds later on a sandy beach miles away from school. When Fern disappears again, this time to a place far more dangerous, she begins to realize exactly how different she is.
With the help of her twin brother, Sam, Fern struggles to gain control of her supernatural powers. The arrival of a sinister vampire in town—who seems to have an alarming interest in Fern's powers—causes Fern to question her true identity. Who is she? More importantly, who can she count on? Soon Fern finds herself in the middle of a centuries-old battle—one that could destroy Fern and endanger everyone she loves.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780061903816 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | HarperCollins |
| Publication date: | 11/01/2011 |
| Sold by: | HARPERCOLLINS |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 400 |
| Lexile: | 800L (what's this?) |
| File size: | 7 MB |
| Age Range: | 13 Years |
About the Author
Jennifer Anne Kogler is the author of The Otherworldlies, Ruby Tuesday, and the upcoming The Death Catchers. Born and raised in California, she has a twin brother who is a minute older but, according to Jennifer, acts ten years younger. She is a graduate of Princeton University and attends Stanford Law School.
Read an Excerpt
The Otherworldlies
By Jennifer Kogler
HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.
Copyright © 2009
Jennifer Kogler
All right reserved.
ISBN: 9780060739614
Chapter One
The Breakfast Sunglasses
The bird swung lifelessly by a silken string from the corner of the wooden eave of the house. The McAllister twins craned their necks upward to get a closer look.
"I think it hung itself," Sam said, unable to take his eyes off the swallow. Moments before, Sam had spotted the lifeless songbird hanging from Lee Phillips's shingled roof and insisted his sister accompany him to investigate.
Fern's bird knowledge was no greater than that of most twelve-year-olds, but she would have recognized a swallow anywhere. After all, the swallows were a big deal in San Juan Capistrano. Each March, they would make the six-thousand-mile journey from Goya, Argentina, to San Juan Capistrano. San Juan was world famous for its weeklong celebration of the swallows' return, the Fiesta de las Golondrinas, which included the Swallows Day Parade. This particular swallow, though, was lost—the swallows weren't supposed to arrive in San Juan for months.
As Fern looked up at the dead swallow, a wave of panic swept over her. Taking a deep breath, she told herself that getting her brother worried wouldn't help. She filled her head with dewy morning air, fighting to regain her poise. She glanced at Sam; he hadn't noticed any change in her demeanor.
"It is a littlespooky," Fern said, looking at the dead bird, "but birds don't do that kind of thing, Sam."
"How do you know that? Have you ever been a bird?" Sam asked.
"No, but neither have you."
"Exactly. So we can't be sure it didn't hang itself."
"Birds fly, chirp, lay eggs, and poop on people. They don't commit suicide."
"I think you've got a pretty narrow-minded view of birds. You're a bird bigot."
Fern smirked despite herself. "You're crazy, Sam, you know that?" she said, looking at the lifeless swallow through the dark tint of her sunglasses.
Sam pivoted away from his sister and returned his gaze to the bird. His mood darkened instantly.
"Think about it—if you migrated all the way from South America to California and then realized that your friends and family were gone, you'd be feeling pretty desperate."
Sam shaded his eyes from the sun so he could have a better look. Its puffed-out white chest made the swallow appear defiant in death.
"Look," Fern said, pointing at the half spiderweb that was loosely attached to a nearby branch. "It flew into that web and got part of the thread caught around its neck."
"A spiderweb isn't strong enough to hold a bird up," Sam said.
"Maybe it's a wire from the roof," Fern offered.
"We should say a few words," Sam said, eyeing his sister.
"A few words?" Fern questioned.
"You know, to commemorate its life or its journey or something."
"And people say I'm the weird one."
Sam halfheartedly scowled at his twin sister. "Yeah, well, I'm way better at hiding it." He smiled, picked up a stick, reached up, and tapped the bird with it. The swallow began to swing like a miniature piñata.
"Come on," Fern said, desperately wanting to take her eyes and mind off the small creature. "We'd better start walking or we're gonna be late." She hoped Sam couldn't tell how distracted she was. "I don't want to give Mrs. Stonyfield another reason to hate me."
"She doesn't hate you," Sam said. Fern rolled her eyes at him.
He paused.
"Fine, you're right, she kind of hates you." Sam laughed and ran across the Phillips' lawn, down La Limonar. Fern, happy to run from her worries for a few moments, chased after him.
The twins made their way to St. Gregory's Episcopal School, passing the house where their mother grew up, known as the Moynihan home. There, they were often told, their mother was instilled with the severe Catholic discipline of her deceased Moynihan parents, both Irish immigrants. Once past the old Victorian house, the twins made a sharp left and took their usual shortcut through Anderson's Grove. Fern, dressed in her brother's hand-me-down blue corduroy pants, slip-on Vans, collared polo shirt emblazoned with the school crest, and Breakfast Sunglasses, slowed to a walk. She was consumed by thoughts of the Voices.
That's what Fern called them—the Voices—probably because whenever she heard them, there were no bodies attached. They came to her out of the dry San Juan air, as if someone—and not always the same someone—was whispering in her ear through a funnel.
That very morning, Fern had heard them again, louder than ever. She had been lying in bed, waiting for her alarm to ring. Her spine had stiffened when she realized that, once again, she was the topic of conversation. This time, though, there were specific details. Maybe, she told herself as she tried to calm down, the dead bird was just a strange coincidence. As she and her brother continued toward St. Gregory's, Fern replayed exactly what she'd heard in her head.
"Vlad is in town." The male voice was so loud and so near, Fern thought its owner must practically be next to her. She frantically scanned the room and realized she was utterly alone. The Voices were back.
"How can you be sure?" the second, more familiar voice questioned.
"Scores of birds have been dying unnaturally—flying into windows, plunging into pools, electrifying themselves on power lines."
"Maybe it's a coincidence," the second voice offered.
"It's no coincidence. Every single instance of birds acting irregularly has meant one thing: Vlad is close by. He's in San Juan and he's after the girl."
"You mean Fern McAllister?"
"Yes."
"You can't be certain of that! He'd have no way of knowing she's here or that she's an Unusual. Blimey, we don't even know if she's an Unusual!"
Had Fern been in a more advanced stage of transmutation, she might have been able to hear the whole conversation Mr. Joseph Bing and Mr. Alistair Kimble were having, nearly four miles away in the law offices of Kimble & Kimble. Fortunately for her sanity, she was like a radio with a broken antenna, receiving only patches of signals and broadcasts.
Continues...
Excerpted from The Otherworldlies by Jennifer Kogler Copyright © 2009 by Jennifer Kogler. Excerpted by permission.
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