The Cygnet and the Strigoi-Ch.1-First Flight
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Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective
owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way
associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement
is intended. In other words, I do not own Twilight, but I do own a friggin awesome new pair of Chucks!
Many thanks to Robin and l. tyrpyn at PTB for their awesome beta work.
Ch. 1-First Flight
My mother began to roll the windows down as she drove me to the airport. I glared at her. She turned the air conditioner to a full blast instead. It was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix and the blazing sun had driven away any clouds. I have always preferred much cooler temperatures, so even though I was wearing a sleeveless top, white no less, I was drenched in sweat. My carry on item was a sweater-I would wear it as a coming home gesture.
Home was a small town named Forks in the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State. It exists under a near-constant cover of clouds and rains more than any other place in the United States. It was from this town and its haven of shade that my mother absconded with me when I was only a few months old. It was to this town that I escaped to for a month every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year that my mother put her foot down, afraid that I would stay in Forks. For these past three years she only let me vacation with my dad, Charlie, in California for two weeks instead.
Little did she know that I had spent our last vacation convincing Charlie to tell Renee that he would sue for full custody if she didn’t let me go live with him in Forks. I loved Forks. I loved Charlie too, but more importantly, I just needed to be in Forks.
I detested Phoenix. I hated the blistering sun and oppressive heat. I loathed the vigorous, overcrowded city and its constant hum. Too many people, too many thoughts, too much heat. Just too much.
“Bella,” my mom pleaded with me once again just before I got on the plane. “Please don’t do this.”
My mother looks nothing like me other than the color of her hair and her wide, childlike eyes. I felt a wave of peace wash through me as I looked at her. For once I thanked God she had Phil now to take care of her and her hare-brained tendencies.
“I have to go,” I answered serenely. She said nothing in response, worrying her bottom lip. “Should I tell Charlie you said hi?” I tried to keep the sarcasm out of my voice but it was hard when I was still upset over her recent re-marriage.
She shrugged and looked down at her feet, looking for the entire world like a chastised child. “Will I see you soon? You can come visit us or I’ll come back here if you need me.” She seemed bereft, like she was losing her favorite toy.
I laughed. “Don’t worry, it’ll be great!” I could see a tear begin a trail down her cheek and sighed, wishing she would just be happy that I was happy. “I love you, Mom.”
She hugged me tightly for a minute, and then I got on the plane. She and Phoenix soon fell away behind me.
All together it takes five hours to fly to Port Angeles, which is where I would be reunited with Charlie for the hour long drive to Forks. I’m very fond of flying, soaring over clouds and land, but I was impatient to spend time with Charlie. He calms me. I missed him.
Apparently Charlie was equally excited about the whole thing. He’d already registered me for high school and was going to help me get a car. He had asked me what I would want in my room, to make it feel like home. At the time we had discussed colors and home décor; both of which I was sure were unusual topics of conversation for Charlie.
Despite being unusual, it wasn’t an awkward conversation. No conversation is awkward with Charlie. While neither of us could be called verbose, we understood each other on a fundamental level and could discuss anything from movies to politics to love (or the lack thereof) with ease and comfort. Perhaps though it was what we didn’t have to say that was most important. He understood perfectly well why I had made my decision to move in with him, even though my mother had desperately tried to make me feel the same disdain for Forks that she always had.
It was raining when I landed in Port Angeles. It was a welcome change from the too bright sun of Phoenix.
Charlie was leaning against the cruiser in the standby zone as I pulled my luggage out of the terminal. I smirked at him. Charlie was very proud of his status as Police Chief Swan, even if it was just for a small town like Forks. I was proud of him too, but I was also glad to be getting a car of my own. I didn’t relish the conspicuousness of driving around town with blue and red lights.
Once my luggage was tucked away in the trunk, Charlie lifted me in the air before wrapping me in a near crushing hug. For a somewhat small man it was surprising that he could still toss me around like a toddler. When I said as much he smiled widely, his cop ‘stache lifting and his eyes crinkling.
“Nah, that’s just because you don’t eat enough kid. Have you been letting your mom cook again?” I rolled my eyes. We both knew better than to let Renee near a kitchen.
His smile softened somewhat sentimentally. “It sure is good to see you, Bells. Still lovely as usual.” His smile lessened somewhat. “So just how is Renee? Oh, and… her husband.”
I held back a grimace, wishing he hadn’t asked. We were both still torn up that she could marry someone else. Charlie would never get over her. “They’re fine Dad.” I swiftly changed the subject. “I’m so glad to be here with you!”
His smile spread across his face again, lighting up his eyes. “Me too Bells, you have no idea how much.”
As we got in the car and strapped in he turned to me excitedly. “Guess what? I found you the perfect car! You’re going to love it.”
“Really? What kind?” I asked enthusiastically. He would know what I would like best.
“A Chevy truck. You remember Billy Black from La Push? Used to go fishing with us?”
“Of course!” While Billy, my dad and their friend Harry would fish with poles, I would be diving into the cold water convinced I could catch the fish with my bare hands. Billy and Harry would laugh while Charlie smiled proclaiming: “That’s my girl!”
“Well,” Charlie continued, “He’s in a wheelchair now, doesn’t drive much anymore, so he offered to sell me his truck cheap.”
I thought I could remember the truck but I wanted to make sure it was the right one. “What year is it?”
Charlie’s mouth tilted up in a teasing smirk. “Well, the engine’s had a lot of work-it’s really only a few years old…”
He was drawing this out but I knew where this was going. “Okay, but when did he buy it?”
“Oh, I don’t know… ’84, ’85 maybe?”
“Did he buy it new?” I was getting closer to an answer and he was giving in.
“Not exactly… it was probably new in the… late fifties? Early sixties?” He smiled outright.
I couldn’t contain my excitement so I briefly clapped my hands and bounced in my seat. I’d always wanted a classic car, something with a history, a personality. Renee refused to let me buy one, even with my own savings. She was sure I’d stall out in the middle of the city somewhere. I guessed I should make sure that Charlie understood that I really didn’t know how to fix a car though, before it was too late.
“That’s so awesome Dad but you do know I don’t know anything about cars, right? If anything should break or whatever, it’s not like I can afford a mechanic.”
“Nothing to worry about! It runs great. Built like a tank.” I laughed. I could be Tank Girl at my new school.
I was momentarily concerned. “How cheap is cheap? I don’t have all that much saved up.”
He looked at me sheepishly. “Well, I sort of already bought it for you, a homecoming gift.” I smiled back at him, content that he knew I was really coming home.
“Dad, you didn’t have to do that, I was going to buy my own car.” I was pretty much thrilled though. Maybe I could get some extra room décor with the money I’d saved up, really indulge my nesting desires.
“I was happy to do it honey. I’m going to take care of you; you’re going to be at home here.”
I smiled at him. “I already am.” I looked at my father, trying to discern any visible signs of ageing. It was a game I had enjoyed playing for years. Was that a new laugh line? Was that gray hair there before? Although he was nearing fifty, Charlie really looked closer to thirty-five. I think he intentionally grew out his mustache in the last few years to look older. I had tried to talk to my mom about the fact that Charlie seemed to be perpetually young but she only got quiet and her lips thinned. She doesn’t like me to talk about Charlie’s good qualities. It makes her uncomfortable, as it should.
The conversation segued to the weather, the foliage, and the fauna surrounding us. I fawned over the moss and the ferns. It was so nice to be somewhere where nice, soft, moist things could grow. Everything in Phoenix is sharp and dry; from the sun, to the cacti, to the scorpions. Washington was… well, green. Seattle isn’t known as the Emerald City for nothing.
We arrived at our cozy two-bedroom house. My heart fluttered with nostalgia; it was just as I remembered it. I let out a squeal when I saw my truck. It was big and rounded and a faded orangey red and IT WAS MINE! I hopped out of the cruiser and ran to my truck. I splayed my hands across its bulbous nose trying to hug it. Charlie laughed.
“I love it, love it, love it! Thank you so, so, so much!”
He laughed again. “I knew you’d love it! And you’re welcome so, so, so much!”
We brought my luggage into the house and upstairs to my small bedroom. I gasped when the door opened. It was similar in many ways to the last time I had seen it but Charlie had been putting in some work on it. The walls were still blue but now they had a fresh coat of a dusky grayish-blue, not the sky blue of my childhood. The antique ivory wooden twin bed was the same but now had a plush royal purple comforter and purple and blue pillows. The curtains on the window overlooking the front yard had been changed to match the bed. On one wall there were several framed black and white nature photos, a tree, a swan, a flower and on the other… “Eeeep!” I certainly was squealing a lot today. “The Smiths! I can’t believe you found me a Smiths poster!”
“Yeah, I just walked into Fork’s Pharmacy the other day and: boom! There it was,” he replied nonchalantly.
I turned to him and raised an eyebrow. He smiled back. “Okay, I had to go to a poster store in Seattle, but I was there to get the rest of it anyway.”
I was beginning to get teary eyed. Everything was turning out even better than I thought it would. Charlie smiled and lightly chucked me under the chin. “Hey, why don’t you unpack, I’ll go order us some pizza to celebrate, then you should go to sleep. It’s nearly nine already and you do have a big day tomorrow.”
I smiled back and nodded my head. “Sounds good.”
He walked out and I thought about the next day and all it would entail. I was glad that Forks High was small, as in less than four hundred students small. I had always felt crushed at Paradise Valley High in Phoenix. It seemed like you could barely move without trampling on someone. I did feel slightly uneasy about being the new girl though. Even at P.V.H. the new girl was stared at and contemplated like a new discovery. I hoped that with my pale skin and dark hair I would fit right in at Forks High like I never had in Phoenix. Maybe everyone would just overlook me since I wasn’t tanned and highlighted.
After we ate our pizza (my side all veggie, Charlie’s all meat) I went upstairs to take a shower. I smiled when I saw that Charlie had bought the strawberry shampoo and conditioner and the freesia body wash and lotion like I had requested. After the shower I felt tired but excited. A nervous energy ran through me and I hoped I’d be able to get some sleep because I was positive I’d need it for the morning. As it turned out I didn’t need to worry. As soon as my head hit the pillow I was out.
At some point during the night I began to dream. At first I thought it was real. I thought something had woken me and I felt the need to get out of bed.
Every sense seemed heightened. The purples and blues of my room were vibrant, even in the darkness. My faux silk comforter rasped against my skin and I gasped as tingles shot through me, something low inside of me tightening. I stepped onto the carpet and the tingling began again. I curled my toes trying to increase the sensation.
Even with the fascinating sensation I was distracted when I realized I felt a pull on my chest. It was as if there was a fishing hook in my heart and someone was reeling me in, one slow jerk at a time. I looked down at my chest but saw nothing. I put my hands up and felt nothing, but I did notice that the color of my hands seemed different; almost iridescent, like an oil slick. Before I could think about it I felt the pull again. It seemed to be coming from the window.
I opened the window and leaned out slightly. It was raining and the wind stirred my hair. My hair seemed shinier too. I felt tingles again but this time they were different, not as pleasant. It wasn’t an altogether terrible sensation. I was reminded of watching my grandmother stitching. Her needle would slide into the cloth so easily, with barely a mark, and then come up again pulling a long thread in its wake. The threading feeling started at my shoulders but before long had reached my fingers when it suddenly stopped.
I was afraid to look at my arms, afraid I would see blood. I didn’t like blood… or did I? It seemed like maybe I used to not like it but now… now I can’t think of anything better, more appetizing. So I looked. Maybe I could lick my arms if I was indeed bleeding.
I wasn’t bleeding at all. To the contrary, my arms had never looked more pristine, more perfect, because now, they were covered in feathers. Beautiful white feathers covered my arms, long at the top and smaller at my hands, or at least, the place where my hands once were. I felt like I had just remembered something, or gained something back. It was as if my arms had once been wings a long time ago but I had forgotten and now here they were again, right where they should be.
This however made me think about the rest of me. I shouldn’t have long legs and a short neck. I should have a tail, where was my tail? With these thoughts my body complied, just a slight stretch here, and some tucking and shrinking there. My pajama bottoms fell to the ground as my waist and legs changed but my camisole stayed on. It was loose but annoying. I couldn’t pull it off with my wings so I would have to pluck it off with my mouth.
As my human teeth bit at a strap I wished I had a nice, sharp beak to bite through it: and then I did. Oh beak, I think I missed you.
Once the camisole fell to the ground I turned back to the window. I should probably go outside. I don’t think Charlie would want a bird in the house. I hopped onto the windowsill and looked down at the ground through the rain. It seemed like quite a distance but I didn’t feel afraid. I would just fly down. So I did. It was simple, and it felt wonderful, the wind and the rain ruffling through my feathers.
I looked up and wondered if I could fly back up. Yes, I could. So easy. Why hadn’t I done this before? Maybe I had, I couldn’t remember. When I flew down again I landed closer to the sidewalk. I heard the flapping of someone else’s wings and looked up at the tree branch above me. A large brown owl sat sheltered in the tree. He tilted his head at me, almost upside down and blinked first one big yellow eye, than the other. “Who?”
Good question. I didn’t know. I tilted my head back at him then looked down at myself, seeking some kind of answer. Swan, I was Swan. I remembered being called that. It seemed right. It looked right. The reflection from the downstairs window confirmed it. I looked back up to Owl to tell him so and to thank him for asking. I opened my mouth but I couldn’t speak like I remembered. This throat just sings and trills and chirps. Good enough for me. I’ve never been verbose.
I decided to explore. I remembered I was thirsty: my long non-speaking throat burned. Owl swooped down near me and caught a mouse. Good for him. The scent of Mouse’s blood fanned the flames in my throat but I knew it wasn’t really what I wanted. I began to waddle down the sidewalk searching. Even with webbed feet my walk was still awkward. I’ve always been a creature of water.
Three houses down a man got out of his car. When he shut his door I could smell him. This was what I wanted, not Mouse. In a blink I had soared to him without thought. As I landed with a slight flutter he turned and jumped, clutching his chest. He stared at me, eyes wide. I stared back, eyes narrowed. Hello, Dinner.
His moment of fear turned to awe. He smiled at me, enchanted. If I still had lips, I would have smiled back, salivating. “Hello, pretty thing. What are you doing out here like this?”
I didn’t like some old man calling me “pretty thing,” especially as I contemplated eating him. I reached my neck up and snapped my beak close to his arm to let him know how I felt. He jumped back, frowning and started to walk to his house. I started to waddle toward him slowly, hoping that he wouldn’t run before I could get my beak on him. When I was about a foot away I heard wings again and Owl landed in front of me. He spread his wings out and opened his beak, as if he were protecting Dinner.
I glared at him. He had his Mouse, let me have Dinner! As I watched Owl his beak seemed to grow and elongate, changing texture and color; no longer a beak but a toothy, reptilian jaw. Owl had an alligator’s mouth. I had always been afraid of alligators when I had seen them at the zoo. I remembered zoos! I closed my eyes and shook my head and fluffed my feathers. When I opened my eyes again Owl was just Owl, with an Owl shaped beak. I sighed and turned away. I guess Mouse would have to do.
When I wasn’t thinking about Dinner anymore I could concentrate on the pull again coming from my chest. I followed it down the road but it was further than these feet felt comfortable taking me. I soared into the air. The pull took me down the highway; I watched cars go by below me. In the dark and rain there weren’t many. Most of the Dinners were home, tucked in safe somewhere. Oh look, there goes a Happy Meal: pink-cheeked children sleeping in the back seat of a Suburban.
The pull took me down a long winding driveway, past a large white and heavily windowed house where thousands of Swans looked back at me as I passed. Hello, lovelies.
It took me through some woods and down a stream. The pull throbbed. I was close, I was almost reeled in. I landed near the stream and lifted my head to sniff my surroundings.
There was someone out here. No, two someones. They smelled so much better than Dinner. They were Dessert. They were Dessert and flowers and rain and happiness and everything wonderful curled up into one big happy scent. The one that was furthest away smelled the best though. They were coming towards me. I wondered if they were hunting the deer who were sipping at the stream a few yards away. Who hunts deer in the dead of the night in the drizzle? Dessert, apparently.
I turned to the stream and grabbed a fish in my beak while I waited. The fish didn’t know what was coming. Nor did the second, or third, or twenty-first. I decided to stop then so I wouldn’t be too full when Dessert made an appearance which would be any minute, judging by the sounds in the nearby undergrowth.
In the blink of an eye Dessert Number One appeared and took down one of the deer. After a second blink the other two were goners. He was fast, much faster than a human should be. I thought he had used a knife on the deer but apparently he somehow bit through their hides. The air was rich with their quickly cooling blood. He paused hunched over the third deer, his back to me. He slowly stood and turned to face me.
I wondered if he was perceptive enough to feel me watching him, planning his demise. He looked around me, behind me, but not at me. I was somewhat disappointed that he thought me less than dangerous. I almost felt like kin with him. It would be hard to eat him feeling that way. Maybe my disappointment was showing on my beak because he finally looked at me with surprise.
He wiped the blood off his face with the back of his sleeve. What a waste. “Hello,” he said to me. I couldn’t answer back, he should know this. His blonde curls wavered slightly in the wind and he smiled then shook his head. “Foolish,” he whispered under his breath in a slight southern accent. Yum. Before I could take a bite out of him another voice called from the forest.
“Jazz? Are you ready to head back?” This voice, this velvet voice, was trying to rip my heart out. The pull on my chest became unbearable. It was painful and wonderful at the same time, like eating too much birthday cake and knowing you’ll feel like throwing up later but you just can’t stop yourself.
Dessert/Jazz had turned his head towards the voice when it called but snapped it back towards me like he could feel my torture/elation. I closed my eyes hoping when I opened them I would be awake. I wasn’t but Dessert/Jazz was gone, leaving barely a trace of broken grass and twigs through the undergrowth behind him.
I walked a little ways down the stream, catching a few mice and swallowing them whole before I took to the air, flying my way back home. I flew straight into my window and curled up in front of it despondently. I tucked my beak beneath one wing and if I could have cried, I would have.