Page 1 of Kiki

Chapter One

This foster home is neither the best nor worst of the ones I’ve been in. My foster mom is not mean or physically abusive, but neither does she go a step out of her way…

Having been found as an infant, left at a fire station without any identification or even a note with the tiniest bit of information, the county had no way to find my mom. And since I was left at a fire station, it seemed the safe surrender laws came into play. So, there was no need to look for her or my dad, I guessed.

Closing in on aging out, I questioned more than ever how things had gone for me over the years. Why was I never adopted? Instead, I had been through way too many foster homes, group homes, and just about any kind of homes, except for one with parents who were my own.

I had, over the years, encountered lots of kids who were trying desperately to keep their siblings together or at least in contact, and while I felt awful that they were having to do that, I envied them for having some measure of family. If I had any, would they be glad to find out about me? More than one kid I’d met over the years had managed to contact their bio family only to find out that they were either disinterested or suspicious or outright hostile.

Maybe I was better off not knowing anything more than I did.

“Did you order something?” Amy, my foster mother, opened my bedroom door. She didn’t knock…ever. But she also never paid attention to what I was doing, so it didn’t matter. Not that I had that exciting a life, but I did spend a lot of time on screens with no supervision.

“No.” Where would I get spare money? “Why?”

“You got a package.” She stayed in the doorway and tossed a small box at my bed where I was sitting with my laptop, deep in a shoot-’em-up video game. It wasn’t as good as a real gaming system, but I’d saved for a year for this renewed computer. The throw fell short, so hopefully this mystery delivery did not contain glass.

Amy disappeared back to whatever she was doing, and I leaned down to grab the package. Who would send me something? Obviously, my foster mother had not bought it. Not only was it out of character, but, if she had done something nice, she’d have stuck around to bathe in my gratitude.

Could it be something bad, like a bomb? Poison? I turned it over in my hands, looking for a return address and musing over the fact that I spent way too much time reading murder mysteries and espionage stories. Who would send me an explosive device and why?

It was probably some sort of promo thing.

I reached out to toss it at my waste basket then stopped. One of my classmates got into an MLM last year. Perhaps she’d given them some of our information as well? Or was trying to get all of us into her downline? I couldn’t remember what she was trying to sell because I dodged all that stuff, but maybe I had a box of makeup or something here?

I shook my head at how lame my life was that I’d spent several minutes contemplating a plain brown box not much bigger than a book and wondering what wonders or horrors might be contained within. Dramatic much?

I found the end of the beige tape holding it closed and yanked, opening the flaps of the box to find a lot of crumpled-up brown paper. All that thought for nothing? Then a bit of white caught my attention, and I tossed the paper to the floor to find a white envelope and an even smaller box with an array of animals in vivid colors across the top. Holy Alice in Wonderland. Was there going to be an even smaller box within or maybe a note that said eat me or drink me?

No…it was a shifter DNA kit, the words emblazoned along the side. But why would I need this? I was a wolf, had been shifting into one long enough to be well aware of that fact. Maybe someone was gathering information for a data bank?

If so, did I even want to be involved?

I slit the envelope and found a short note saying that they believed I might have some family out there, and they wanted to help me connect if so. Would I consent to the DNA test with results to be returned to me soon?

Family? They couldn’t have used a better term to attract my attention. Money and success…I probably would have scoffed at. But family? I couldn’t spit in that tube and seal it in the enclosed padded envelope along with the short form they wanted filled out fast enough.

The return came less than a week later in the form of an email. I had sisters. Two of them. And they attended the Werewolf Academy who, based on my ancestry, wanted to offer me a full scholarship.

Chapter Two

I set the alarm earlier than normal. I wanted to rise with the sun and get ready for my new life. There were still a few days until I was legally an adult, but today would be my start. I was leaving, even if I got in trouble for it.

After a long, hot shower, I got dressed and went out of the kitchen to start the coffeepot. Even before my foster mom showed me to my bedroom, I was given the lowdown on how she liked her coffee made and that she expected it to be ready by the time she woke up. Fortunately, that was rarely early. And since I was leaving, the only reason to make it was to keep up the illusion that today was like any other.

I’d given my notice at the music store where I’d worked since moving in with Amy. She had all kinds of job applications on the bed when I arrived. She said she would pay for my necessities, but that was it. And the woman’s idea of necessities was one or two pairs of jeans and only one pair of pajamas. The rest of my clothes were things I brought or bought myself. Her idea of hygiene essentials was a bar of plain soap and a toothbrush. I’d been in the system long enough to know what she should have been doing, but I was willing to buy my own shampoo and tampons in order to enjoy her lack of supervision. Not that I was a problem teen, but I hated being watched over constantly. No danger there with Amy.

She had done me some good in prepping myself for the real world. For taking care of myself and not relying on others. I did worry that she might get a younger kid and ignore them, so I planned to put in an anonymous report on her once I was safely out of the system for a while.

I threw some sausage patties into the cast-iron skillet and started breakfast, determined to kill Amy with kindness this last day.

“What are you cooking?” She stumbled into the kitchen while I plated up sausage, egg, and cheese sandwiches for two.

“Sandwiches.” Less words were better with Amy, especially before her first cup of coffee.

“Good. I’m hungry.”

She poured her coffee while I moved around her in this tiny kitchen. She did keep things tidy, but I suspected it was because of the pop-up visits from CPS and not because she was good like that. We ate in silence before she sat back, putting her empty cup on the table. “Today is the day?” No emotion in her tone. Nothing. A blank page of a person.

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