"You are so dead!"
Nighttime wind whipped through the air, the cold slicing through the thin fabric of my t-shirt and jeans, stinging my cheeks. My hair flapped wildly in all directions. Why hadn't I worn a hat? Preferably a ski cap. I'd worn all-black clothing for low visibility, but I'd forgotten to cover my sunshine-blond hair. I was practically waving a yellow flag, with red highlights. A flag that was extremely easy for my pursuer to follow.
"DEAD!"
I resisted the urge to yell back a sarcastic comment; I needed all my breath for running. Each inhale was a strangled gasp; I sounded like a dying fish. Note to self; I am not a night owl. This would have been so much easier at a reasonable hour.
Still… couldn't complain, really. I had, in a roundabout way, kinda sorta contributed to this mess.
"You can't run forever!"
Sadly, he was right. I was a decent runner at best, and he was a running back for our middle school's football team. Plus, he had much better night vision than I did. Another factor I probably should have considered.
"You little freak, I'm gonna-"
Right, that did it.
Turning around, I slapped the hair out of my face and opened my mouth to yell a snarky reply.
And that, of course, was when the toe of my sneaker snagged on the leg of my jean and sent me tumbling backwards.
Why did Mom have to refuse to buy me skinny jeans?
With practiced reflexes born from years of painful falls, every muscle in my body relaxed as I waited for the moment of impact.
Which seemed to be taking longer than it should.
Why wasn't I in pain yet?
And why did it smell so strongly of smoke?
And why was it so dark all of a sudden? What happened to the stars?
Oh my holy crap I just fell down the chimney.
Correction; I'm still falling down the chimney. I am currently in the process of falling.
Stopping would be good.
I thrust out my arms and legs, wincing as the rough edges of the bricks scraped against my palms. My descent slowed. Thank gumdrops.
"MEG, YOU IDIOT!"
His roar was still echoing off the sides of the chimney when something very large and heavy struck my stomach. Choking desperately, I lost my tentative grip and went pinwheeling to the ground, arms and legs colliding painfully with the flailing limbs of whatever was above me.
Sadly, the large pile of wood in the hearth did little to soften my-correction, our-fall.
"Ow," Cal muttered. Wincing, he dragged himself onto our living room carpet and lay there for a moment before pulling me roughly to his side, dragging me over the logs. So much for chivalry.
His blue eyes gleamed indignantly as he stared down at me. "You have lost your tiny little mind, Megs!"
The hiccups I was letting that one pass. Glaring at him fiercely, I opened my mouth to give him a piece of my actually quite large and intelligent mind, thank you very much, drawing myself up with ramrod posture and steely but unwounded dignity.
And then, of course, I inhaled and began choking on soot.
"Meg!" Cal's large hands enclosed my waist as I doubled over, and an electric current ran down my spine. My airways instantly cleared, my watering eyes stopped streaming, and I fancied my hair even got a little less tangled. (Okay, maybe that was my imagination. Chances of Cal being thoughtful for once and including that? Slim.)
Wow. Cal was the one to use his Fey powers, for once? Highly unusual.
But then, this was hardly the most typical of times.
"Thanks," I muttered.
Cal glared at me. "Give it back."
I gave him my best innocent expression, which is pretty dang hard to pull off when you're fresh out of a chimney. "What?"
The glare intensified. "NOW."
Sighing, I pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and slapped it into his hand. "Fine. You happy?"
"No," Cal told me, stowing it firmly in the shirt pocket of his pajamas. "Did I mention you're completely insane? You sneak into my room, steal my phone, and then you jump out the freaking window and start running around the roof like a chicken with its head cut off, and it's MIDNIGHT, Megan, MIDNIGHT!"
"Ooh. Megan. Full first name. We're all serious now."
"Are you even listening to me?"
"Of course I am! And you left several key factors out of that summary."
"Like what?"
I rolled my eyes. "Oh, I don't know. The fact that you threw a lamp at me, thus forcing me to climb out the window if I didn't want a concussion, and then chased me onto the roof?" No wonder he got a C on his last book report. "I could have been concussed! Mom and Dad are still paying medical bills from the last time you fell out of the Tree of Hope, do you really want to put that burden on their shoulders? Cal Eric Turnleaf, I am really very disapp-"
"You can just shut up!" Cal hissed. "You are not going to confuse me. You snuck into my room and stole my phone in the middle of the night-"
'It's actually twelve-fifteen now and-"
"You had absolutely no good reason to do that, Megan! Give me one good reason why you are acting so strange and maybe-"
"Harmony."
Cal snapped his mouth shut, and a dark blush spread over his face. He inherited our mother's blushing genes. Unlucky for him, but great for me. "W-w-what?"
"You heard me." I grinned, savoring my brother's discomfiture at the mention of Harmony Jean Zipes, my best friend and his (not-so) secret crush.
"W-what does she have to do with a-a-anything?"
"You've been texting her. Kind of a LOT."
"Who I text is my business, Megs!"
"Not when it's Harmony. I'm not convinced you'd treat her right."
"I would so!" Cal's blush deepened. "No! I mean-"
"Save your breath, brother mine." I crossed my legs and sat back. "So, that's my good reason. You wouldn't let me see your texts, so I was going to take your phone, look at what you've been saying to Harmony, and pass the final judgment on whether I would approve the relationship. But you were awake and…well, you know the rest."
Cal opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again.
"Are you going to say something, or just continue with your fish expression? I'm starting to doubt you'd have the intelligence to hold a conversation with Harm."
"What makes you think I like her?"
"Oh, puh-lease. If I tell you every way you're so totally obvious about it, it'll take the rest of the night."
Cal opened his mouth a final time, then sighed. "I hate you sometimes, little sis."
My eyes widened. "Little sis? Excuse me, dude? We're Fey fudging twins! I'm eighteen minutes older than you, actually!"
"But you're shorter."
"HOW IS THAT RELEVANT?! And only by an inch!"
"An inch and three-quarters."
"Detail freak."
"Drama queen."
"What's going on here?"
Uh-oh.
We spun around in unison to see our mom and dad standing in the doorway, giving us both The Look. You know the one. That parental look.
Mom's eyebrows skyrocketed as she stared at the pair of us, covered in soot and welts, me in my ninja-Goth-burglar outfit and Cal in neon orange boxers and a shirt advertising some heavy-metal band. I really must speak to my bro about his "fashion sense." Someday soon, before he scares Harmony away permanently.
"Did you two go out and fight a dragon?" Dad asked. Sometimes, when he was particularly happy or amused, decades dropped off his face and he looked more like Cal's twin than I did (if you ignored Cal's hazel eyes). Now was not one of those times.
"Bed," Mom said brusquely. "Now. Both of you. Wait- shower, then bed. And in the morning, you're explaining everything, in detail, and probably getting grounded afterward." She pointed up the stairs. "March! And don't wake up your sister!"
I am Megan Hadriane Turnleaf. I'm one-quarter Fey (you might have guessed something like from the name), half-Character by bloodline, and all child of two of the most famous names and faces of the fairy-tale world.
Ever heard of Rory Landon and Chase Turnleaf? If you haven't, you're probably living under a rock. They were part of the last triumvirate, along with my honorary aunt, Lena LaMarelle. They're the ones who defeated Solange, the Snow Queen. Yep, that Snow Queen, the one who caused the Cold War, the bane of Characters everywhere until they took her down.
My mom told me that when she was a kid, she found it pretty near impossible to step out of her parents' shadows. (My grandparents-grandma's a famous actress, grandpa's a director. We're named for them, Cal and me.) But she managed it. Boy howdy, did she ever manage it.
And at thirteen and a half, I had the exact same problem as my mother Rory Landon before me.
Not that it wasn't nice, being the kid of (unofficial) celebrities. I wouldn't have traded it for anything. Still wouldn't. But it did get exhausting once in a while.
My teachers used to accuse me of acting out. Both kinds of teachers, if you know what I mean. My math teachers gave me months of detention. A certain Canon member who shall remain nameless called me "a twitterbrained, snake-tongued wench with the attitude of a slavering hyena." (Get him mad enough and he forgets what century we're in.) And…I'm not going to say that they were wrong about me. But it was the only way to get noticed sometimes. Noticed for who I am, me, as a person, as a living breathing being, as something more than the offspring of the world's most famous "happily-ever-after."
This is the story of how I finally left the shadow of my family, stepped out into the metaphorical sunlight, and found a legacy of my own.
It's not just my story, of course. That would be pretty boring, even with someone as riveting as me directing this show. It's a story about lots of stuff, as most great stories are; but no one else seems inclined to write it down. So I think I'll do it myself, and wait for them to find out after it hits the bestseller lists. Call me overly optimistic, but what is life without a little belief in yourself?
My name is Megan Turnleaf, and this is the story of how I lived.