Discovered (The Shalean Moon)

  Discovered

  Shalean Moon Book 1

  J. Lilley

  Lycaon Press

  Calgary, Alberta

  www.lycaonpress.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or

  persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Discovered: The Shalean Moon Book 1

  Copyright© 2012 J. Lilley

  ISBN: 978-1-77101-813-5

  Cover Artist: Mina Carter

  Editor: Laura Godsoe

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations

  embodied in reviews.

  Lycaon Press

  www.lycaonpress.com

  To Rach. Happy Belated Birthday

  CHAPTER ONE

  Rach stood in front of the full size mirror.

  Who on earth thought a navy and red kilt was a good idea for a school uniform?

  She twisted back and forth trying to get a better angle; there wasn’t one. All she saw was a more red than burgundy shirt worn with that disgusting kilt.

  Ugh. There were not even tights! Instead, knee-length socks covered her pasty white legs. To her, the uniform was a big no-no.

  She grabbed her hair and pulled a few strands down to match it with her shirt. Just what she suspected—it clashed. It was really red, not like the nice auburn color of Nicole Kidman’s hair, and there was a stupid twisty curl in it. Her pale Celtic complexion stared back at her. Not an ounce of tan on her, but boy did she have freckles; she bet she’d make a fortune if she could invent a way of getting rid of them.

  So this is what Pippy Longstocking would look like if she were in Scotland. She chuckled to herself.

  She could not understand why they couldn’t have moved to a place where the school had normal pupils, instead of nerds who didn’t mind looking like a horrible fashion statement gone wrong. She realized she probably wasn’t being fair though. For all she knew they weren’t nerds and they all hated the uniform as much as she did. She groaned.

  I’m being horrible about people I haven’t even met.

  She couldn’t help but blame this cold, damp, and bug-infested place that was filled with midges. They bit her so badly that she had the map of Australia in bites on her tummy. She was thankful that if she got bit anywhere showing, they might pass as freckles. She squinted at the bite-map, and tucked her shirt into her kilt. She had to admit that the school had an excellent reputation; the facilities looked great; and the science lab was to die for—it was just that stupid uniform.

  If it wasn’t for the fact that she knew her dad was worried she would have moaned out loud. Instead, she sighed. She turned her head to the side, but remained focused on the mirror. She wondered if she could convince him that she should dye her hair. Just then, her dad’s worried face appeared in the doorway of her room.

  Hmm, maybe not.

  She knew that they hadn’t had much choice about moving. His new job was a real step up the ladder, and she was proud of him. It was strange, but she was almost sure he hadn’t been too keen about moving to Scotland at first, even though she thought that was where he met her mum.

  But, maybe that was why … Her thoughts trailed as she looked back at the mirror to attempt to stare her uniform down, but it was no use; it was just as stubborn as she was. Red and defiant! Grr.

  Her mum had been dead for over ten years now, and her dad said they’d never actually lived in this country even though her mum had been born here; she’d moved to England when she was a teenager. So she didn’t think he could be reminded of bad—or sad—times. They’d spent all their lives in Northampton.

  She was born in the house they’d lived in. She had fond memories of playing outside with both of her parents. Up until her mum’s death everything had been perfect. Her dad, even though she could tell how upset he was, had really done his best for them both. She’d been happy until they’d moved last week.

  Now, there were times when she wished she could run to her mum; like the time she had her period and her best friend’s mum had to help her through it; or, when she’d had her first kiss from a boy at a school dance and didn’t know what to do—kiss him back, or hit him. In the end, she’d sort of kissed him back, and if she was honest, it had been a big non-event; their noses had been in the way.

  She smiled to herself. It was true, you do get better with practice.

  Meg, their housekeeper, had often been there when she needed her. She hadn’t asked her about kissing though; instead she’d giggled with her best friend, Stacy.

  Meg always went with her to do things that required a mother figure, like shopping for her first bra; or the Christmas concerts at primary school, but it was never the same as having your mum there. If only she had decided to move with them. At least there would be someone to talk to about stuff she didn’t want to worry her dad about; but Meg’s family was in Northampton.

  Sometimes, Rach reflected, life sucks.

  If she was honest, she knew they didn’t really need a housekeeper anymore. They were doing fine, and shared all the things that had to be done around the house. Luckily they both liked gardening; and her dad had a cool sit-on lawn mower. He wouldn’t let her use it though—she did the weeding.

  She glared at the mirror as if to disapprove and rebel one last time. Her emerald green eyes agreed with what her mind protested. She was always told she had her mother’s features and temperament. Her mum had been a pale-skinned, freckled redhead as well.

  Rach often wished she could remember more about her. She remembered her voice—sort of—a gentle, soft Scottish burr singing to her as she was cuddled in, and the scent of the perfume she always wore. She knew her mum had also hated liver; loved banana milkshakes; and according to her dad, neither of them could spell for toffee! Maybe her mum would have agreed that these colors didn’t like her, and laughed when she told her the feeling was mutual.

  She picked up the cuddly toy leopard that sat on her bed and stroked the silky fur. She wished she had more memories of her mum; wished she was still alive, and with her now. She was sure she’d have understood how she felt.

  When her dad had told her about this new job, and explained that it was too good for him to turn down and it would be a good move for both of them, it would have been great to have her mum to talk it over with; to tell her how she felt about moving away from her friends; and the life she was accustomed to with London on her doorstep, loads of things to do, and great places to go. Her dad said she’d soon make friends, and she figured there was probably a lot to do up here as well, but...

  It was all right for her dad, he was an adult. Adults were supposed to take everything in their stride; one of those strange grown up statements that meant nothing to her. She was fifteen and according to Stacy’s mum, supposed to argue and moan! She smiled to herself. Well, she’d do the argue bit anytime, but she didn’t really want to moan too much. Her dad had enough to worry about without her acting like a spoiled brat. At fifteen she supposed she should be mature enough to behave.

  Her dad always treated her like a partner in life; he didn’t make decisions without talking things over with her. They’d searched for this house together, and both decided it was the one based on the way it looked. The estate agent had described it as a traditional Scottish house. All that meant, she thought, was that it had a door in the middle of the front wall with a window on either side, and three windows on the floor above that. The best bit, according to Rach, was even higher
up where the two dormer windows were for the bedroom and bathroom that now belonged to her. She had a whole floor all to herself.

  She was pleased with what they had done to the house, and especially to her room; but she still didn’t feel everything was quite right. She didn’t know what was wrong; just that something was. She’d been having strange dreams lately. She didn’t think it was because of her new bedroom or her new bed; but something was causing them.

  The dreams—which were mostly about boys—made her start wondering whether she’d ever meet someone she fancied in a more than friendly way; they had her waking up with an achy body. Then, there were the dreams about running; not like in a marathon, but in a group or a pack. She ached in a different way after those.

  Maybe I’d better cut out the cheese late at night, isn’t that supposed to make you dream?

  “Are you ready, Chicken?”

  “Gah, dad! Not chicken please … cluck, cluck!” She rolled her eyes. At least that took the worried look out of his eyes.

  “Ah Rach, I just hope we’ve done the right thing moving here.”

  Now he has second thoughts? She laughed to herself. I’d better try and reassure him … though shouldn’t it be the other way around?

  “Why not? It’ll all be good. You’ll drive around in that flashy new car your work has given you, and I’ll keep on asking for a new phone …” She gave a coy look in his direction, fluttering her eyelashes. “I know, I know, that one is fine,’” they said together, laughing.

  “Okay, let’s get into that flashy new car and I’ll drop you off at school. After tomorrow it’s the school bus though.”

  ***

  All her worst fears had come at once; in spades. Never had she met such a miserable lot of people. The year tutor, Doctor McIntyre, was slimy and totally unhelpful, and the class teacher, Mr. Spedding wasn’t much better; they just gave her a timetable and let her get on with it. If it hadn’t been for one of the really friendly girls in her class, Leira, she’d have been absolutely stuck.

  “They’re both crap,” she was told as the two men walked off together after she’d been shown to her registration class. “I’ll keep you right. Honestly this is the worst Regi class I’ve ever been in. It sucks! Thank heavens, it’s only ‘til tomorrow, then we change into the Regi classes for next year, and we’ll lose half of them into a different class.”

  Rach knew she must look confused and she felt it. She’d no idea what her new friend was talking about

  Cheerfully, Leira explained. “They sort us into next year’s registration classes before the end of term; something about making a good transition, whatever that means. Personally, I think it’s so we don’t skive off the last few days of term. Who we’re in class with will all depend on our options. I’ve looked at the lists, you’re in with me.”

  Thank goodness for that.

  She sat through a double period of French totally bored and fed up. She was pleased that Leira promised to meet her after class. The rest of the class seemed to be led by a slimy boy with pale almost transparent eyes, called Struan. He put the shivers into her. Apart from staring at her, it was almost as if he was making sure no one spoke to her. She wished the day was over.

  By lunchtime she felt like crying, and by the end of the day she’d never been so happy to bolt out of the door and run down the school drive.

  Gah, this place is the pits.

  Even her new friend had disappeared fast at the end of the day—she’d apologized, but she’d still dashed off. The only other good thing, apart from meeting Leira, had been the quick sight of a fit looking boy as he walked past the window of the Home-Economics room. He’d been tall, dark-haired and dressed droolingly in a Rugby shirt and black, knee-length shorts. That was it, just one quick glimpse; she hadn’t seen him again even though she’d kept her eyes open.

  She saw her dad waiting for her. Okay, Rach, time to act.

  “Hi Dad, had a great day, how about you?”

  Liar, liar, pants on fire! Surely tomorrow has got to be better? Thank goodness it’s nearly the holidays.

  ***

  For the second day running, Brios Parde walked along the corridor recognizing the familiar scents of school, thoroughly fed up and ready for the holidays. He shouldn’t even be here; usually after exams he was done. This year they’d decided to bring back everyone going into their higher year and start classes early. So while the rest of the pupils were playing games and doing quizzes, the students in his year were stuck doing their exam curriculum—

  not fun.

  As he turned the corner his nose flared. Shalean. A new Shalean. Here? How?

  Brios had sensed something yesterday. He had looked hard and long, but found no one. Today he was determined, and he set his mind to it.

  He looked around frantically; the corridor was empty. He shook his head, and smelled that distinctive scent again.

  There has to be another one here! It was definitely someone new.

  His sense of a fellow Shalea wouldn’t lie. He knew all his fellow Shaleans in the area, and this scent was different. It called him on a primal level with the promise of a friend. That’s all it could be until he was eighteen. He had nine long, agonizing months to wait before he could act on that promise. Those with Shalean life force lived by the creed: ‘Shift as necessary; fight for the good of all; mate for life.’ He repeated it over and over in his head. Sometimes, like now, the responsibility of who he was—what he was—was almost too much to bear. It was as if someone was sitting on his shoulders, and thumping him, saying ‘Future Patriarch, remember your position.’ Then someone else was kicking his shins and laughing at him; mocking the fact that while he knew what was expected of him, he didn’t always appreciate his particular burden.

  It seemed like he had always known he was different; always understood he was a Shalean. Just like some people were Catholic or Native American, it was part of him. As he’d grown older he’d begun to understand more about what being Shalean meant. The first time he’d projected his thoughts to his dad, who was the Patriarch—the head of the Sept—without realizing what he was doing, and his dad had answered in the same way, he had freaked, screamed, and ran to his mum. He’d been five.

  His parents had sat down with him and talked. They’d told him how lucky he was to be chosen to have special gifts. Over the years, as more and more gifts were revealed, he’d begun to understand just what it meant to have so many, and at such a young age.

  When he’d first shifted at twelve and changed from a gangly boy whose voice had only just broken to a sleek powerful young leopard, he finally knew how great it was to be Shalean; to run and stretch; be a member of a peaceful Sept living in the glorious countryside of Scotland; and have the forest on his doorstep. With other Shaleans his own age to talk, change, and run with his life was good. The only thing missing was the presence of a special partner; a mate. Now, he sensed she might be near.

  When he was asked to stand before his dad and the other elders, and was told that when the time was right he would be asked to become Patriarch himself, he’d been humbled— and very proud. It was not usually a role passed from father to son, it had to be earned. From the very first man who had protected the Goddess Shalea from her enemies throughout the years, whoever was chosen to lead the Sept—whether it was as a Patriarch or a Matriarch—was chosen for their strength of character and dedication to uphold the creed. The Sept had never discriminated against someone due to his or her sex.

  Looking back, it seemed some of his misdemeanors had been missed; or maybe they were just dismissed as childish pranks. Either way, he had to smile to himself as he remembered the stink bomb in the Home Ec. room, and the superglue sticking his English teacher’s desk drawers together; then when he was older, hiding in a cupboard with Maddy McKellen at a party—that thought made him really grin, she’d been his first real girlfriend. He’d been the envy of several of his friends for the whole two weeks they dated before she left him for the captain of the deba
ting team. He also couldn’t forget his first—and last—cigarette; he’d thought he was going to cough his guts up. No way was he going to persevere with that.

  In all the years he’d been at Lochglenn High School he’d never had a hint of any Shalean who was either not related to him, or already known to him. In this part of Scotland everyone knew everyone else; so to scent an unknown was almost unheard of. In fact, he wasn’t sure it had ever happened to him before; but, there was no mistake. There was someone else, someone new; an outsider. He turned his mind inward.

  It’s a female; young, not yet sixteen; but in body—an adult.

  His spirits rose—a friend? It would be nice to have someone he could talk to, connect with, and not have to screen everything he said or did. He could be himself.

  True, with his fellow Shaleans he didn’t have to hide any facet of who he was, or what he did; but as he got older and his future role drew closer, those he could totally relax with became fewer. If, as his senses suggested, this new Shalean was possibly his one—the person who would be by his side as he held the Sept together, and followed the wise and trusted tenets of those Patriarchs who had ruled before him—he wanted to see her now.

  It couldn’t be someone from his chapter—The Felidaean Chapter—the chapter that was head of all the Shalean Septs. If someone new had arrived he would have been among the first to know; so who, and where?

  He wondered if this sense of someone new, someone who might be important, meant his guides had heard him. They are never seen, and are rarely heard; but, a Shalean always knows that in times of great need or important decisions their guides would be there to help. The last time he had felt their presence was when he had to decide whether to accept his role in the hierarchy of the Sept. Now, perhaps they were giving him the opportunity to bond with someone special. If so, he gave his thanks.

  He looked behind him. That way.

  The thread led towards the cafeteria. Even over the smell of chili, curry, lamb stew and fish he could sense her. When he walked into the room, the din of voices threatened to overwhelm him. He focused carefully and closed his eyes.