Autumn Rose: A Dark Heroine Novel Read Free Page A

further just to emphasize my point, I placed a hand on the door.
    “Then at least take a coat, it’s supposed to rain today.” She unhooked one off the rack and held it out to me. I stared at it like it was an explosive object until she let her hand fall, allowing me to glare at her instead of the coat.
    “It’s not going to rain.”
    “You should take one anyway.”
    “It’s not going to rain,” I repeated, still glaring.
    “But the weatherman predicted—”
    “Mother, I take my magic from the elements; I’m sure I know whether it’s going to rain or not!” I snapped, a spark of fire flickering to life on the tip of my index finger. Quite used to my volatile emotions, my mother simply placed her hands on her hips and I knew I was in for a lecture on fire safety. Not wanting to stop and hear it, I opened the door and navigated my way between the overgrowing fuchsias alongside the path, neglected over the past weeks.
    “I do not want such an attitude in this house, Autumn Rose Summers! I’m tired of your lack of respect!”
    Closing the low, whitewashed garden gate behind me, I stepped out onto the oak- and maple-lined pavement, leaves already surrendering to my namesake. I paused as the latch dropped and clicked shut.
    “My name is Al-Summers, not Summers.”
    She disappeared behind the maple tree in our front garden, the slam of the door telling me she had heard me.
    Your mother is not like us, Autumn. She is human. Sagean blood does not run in her veins like it does in your blood, or your father’s blood.
    But Father cannot use magic, Grandmother.
    Carrying on along the sidewalk, I felt my spirits drop. The prospect of the first day back to school was not a happy one.
    Magic sometimes skips generations.
    Castigation was the name of the game at Kable, and it had left me despising every jibe-filled hour, flourished and garnished with stares, whispers, and an aura of fear that followed me like the wind chases the rain.
    But why, Grandmother?
    The curriculum was slow, too, but I had learned one thing: adaption was a means to survival.
    It has good reason, child.
    “Red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning!” my batty neighbor Mr. Wovarly called over his fence, gesturing to the peach-tinted sky. “It’ll rain later. Be careful you don’t catch a chill, m’dear!”
    I forced a smile and nodded my head with unneeded exaggeration. “I will, Mr. Wovarly.”
    I dodged his tiny terrier, Fluffy, who was leaping at the gaps in the fence, barking his small head off. Letting the smile fade, I ran the last few steps of the street and leaped into the air, feeling the familiar thrill of taking to the skies. Gaining height, wind whipping my hair back into a mess, I soared higher and higher, leaving the trees of my road far behind.

CHAPTER THREE
    Autumn
    D ropping into a crouch, I steadied myself as I made a less-than-graceful landing in the school parking lot. I straightened up, brushing myself down, gazing toward the entrance. I must have made good time; the school seemed to be quiet. Deciding I had better go examine the damage done to my hair, I set off in the direction of the girls’ restroom. Astounded stares followed me—from a few of the new students, judging by their height and white socks, still adorned with frills, hair pulled back into regulation buns. They gawked as I walked past, shuffling back as though I carried an infectious disease, but I knew better: if they weren’t local, this could be the first time they had seen a Sage, let alone seen one fly.
    Bless their oversize school jumpers.
    Yet as I skirted the edge of the school, I began to feel uneasy. Pent-up nerves I had stifled all summer began to surface, reminding me of just what I was returning to. I was also drawing more unwanted attention. Girls, almost always girls, were watching me with disdain as I passed by, their lips curled until they turned and muttered furiously to their friends, glancing at me when they thought I was not