Page 1 of When Embers Become Ashes

PROLOGUE

Ember

For as long as I can remember, two wolves have appeared in my dreams to shield me from my bad dreams, serving as my life's sole source of goodness.

The only other constant is my social worker, Samuel Jameson, but let’s forget him for the moment and start this story right, if not in a happy way.

My name is Ember Phoenix Ashes. I was born at 1:30 a.m. on December 31st, weighing 6 pounds 2 ounces. Other than some red peach fuzz on my head, my only defining mark was the birthmark between my shoulder blades, which is the shape of a soaring phoenix. It looks more like a brand than a natural mark, and I have some freckles that make it look like falling embers below the tail.

I only know the details because a rookie on clean-up duty found me by the firehouse's bins, wrapped in nothing but the paper lining you see on the bed in the ER. There was no diaper, only a Post-it note with the date, time, and birth weight tucked into the paper wrapping. Then, on the paper in different handwriting, presumed to be my biological mother’s, the words ‘NOT WORTH SAVING.’ Luckily for me, the firefighter who found me thought I was worth saving.

He was a rookie in his early 20s at the time, and he went by Little Ash. Now that I’m older, and thanks to one of my foster placements being in the same town, I learned his real name Ashkii Usdi Yona Hania, which translates from Cherokee toboy baby bear strong.

When Ash found me, he automatically called me Usdi Ember while his chief called child protective services. After they took photos as evidence, I was cleaned of the ashes, blood, and other newborn gunk, wrapped in a random sweater, and then tucked into a helmet to sleep.

In some places, it’s traditional that if a baby is found, the finder gets to name that baby, so Ashkii got to name me, which is probably a good thing as my shitty social worker would probably just have given me an identification number or barcode.

Unfortunately, the social worker they tried to call wasn’t available. Three towns over, another baby had been abandoned at a hospital, and the social worker was already on his way to retrieve him and take him to the named family. The mother had left a note for the baby to be returned to his father; at least, that baby's mom had a heart.

Unfortunately, I got SJ.

I was never fully put in the system because of him. If my name was searched in the database, I was adopted at six months old, and there is no trace of me after that. No DNA tests were done, no checking with hospitals if a baby went missing, or so I thought, and SJ tried his hardest to keep me off the radar – saving all my files on paper and hiding them in the trunk of a sickly yellow car where the spare tyre should be. Most Social workers use government-issued vehicles, but Jameson wasn’t a by-the-book person, so he would use his own car, when he had Children, he wanted to keep out of sight.

He collected me from the firehouse and took me to a group home. There, any time a family came to look for a baby, I was hidden away in a warded closet so that my scent would be hidden. Turns out he had done DNA after another social worker called to check if I was a missing baby, for an influential Shifter family, and the other off-book people he worked with saw an opportunity all they had to do was keep me hidden. So, for four years, this was a continuous ritual until finally, I went to my first foster home.

I spoke the truth as a child until I realized I was different. The area I had been found in was warded, so only supernaturals could enter. To any shifter, I smelled human. To Mages, my aura appeared human, not one spark of magical essence, so they had no idea how I got through the wards.

Jameson had various tests done on me as a child, both human and supe tests.

It got worse when I would automatically know what supe type people were without being told. Jameson would get angry and ask how I knew; three-year-old me would answer,

“I can see them.” It made sense to me, just like when one of the nurses asked where my pretty colored hair came from, “It grew out my head.” Like, where does yours come from?

It wasn’t until the kind lady with an odd tail told me to keep my sight a secret from those I couldn’t trust, as grown-ups didn’t like it when people didn’t fit in nice, tidy, made-up boxes, that they believed all people should fit in. Ainu was the first adult to show me what true love was at 4 years old when she became my foster mother.

CHAPTER ONE

Ember

4 years old

Jameson ushers me out of my 'room,' and I use that term loosely as it is a closet with a sleeping bag on an old comforter on the floor and a broken bookcase. He puts me in the back of his car, and we drive for four hours.

When we arrived, I’m so hungry and thirsty, he got a burger halfway, but I wasn’t allowed to as I had been bad. I’m not sure what I did, but I probably breathed the wrong way.

We arrived as the moon rose in the sky. It was another blood moon, the same as the one I was born under, or so I read in one of Cook’s magazines.

The Pack Alpha and Luna are in the main hall with visitors, so I’m quickly ushered into a bedroom and told they will deal with me in the morning. I pull the desk chair over to the window because I don’t want to make the pretty room dirty or crumple the couch.

The room is bigger than the dorm back at the group home, a huge bed in the center I would have to take a running jump to get on as it is high off the floor and has frilly cream trim on the top, flowery bedding with ruffles around the edges with loads of matching cushions, the dark wooden frame is paired with side tables and lamps with tassels hanging from the shades, there are two other doors I’m not sure what is behind them, a couch and two matching chairs sit in the window, then a desk that had the chair, that I’m now curled up on. The walls have textured floral paper; the floors are wooden, but large patterned rugs sit between them and the various pieces of furniture, and heavy dark brown curtains frame each window.

My one shower a week was supposed to be tomorrow, so I’m definitely not sitting on anything other than this chair, I hope I don’t dirty it. I fall asleep watching the moon rise, and the sky darken, but I wake to the noise of snuffling and a language I don’t understand. It is definitely a boy I can hear, but I only hear one voice. I stay on the chair as still as possible and try to keep my breathing slow so I don’t anger the voice.

“Brother, come back.”Peeking my eyes open a little; I can’t really see anything except a tiny bit of floor in front of me. I can still hear the sniffing noise. Jameson called this place a Pack. Wolves live in packs; I wonder if that’s what I can hear sniffing!

“You're going to get us in trouble! Again!”The voice didn’t sound angry; it was only annoyed. I stay where I am, not moving, peeking as little as possible, then nearly scream when a wide-eyed furry face pops up in front of me.

Two fluffy white paws are on the front of my chair, and a fluffy face with two white fox ears and a pair of big lilac eyes are looking at me full of curiosity.

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