Turned (Book #1 in the Vampire Journals) Read online

turned

  (book #1 in the vampire journals)

  morgan rice

  SELECT ACCLAIM FOR TURNED

  "TURNED is an ideal story for young readers. Morgan Rice did a good job spinning an interesting twist on what could have been a typical vampire tale. Refreshing and unique, TURNED has the classic elements found in many Young Adult paranormal stories. Book #1 of the Vampire Journals Series focuses around one girl…one extraordinary girl!...TURNED is easy to read but extremely fast-paced....Recommended for anyone who likes to read soft paranormal romances. Rated PG."

  --The Romance Reviews

  “TURNED grabbed my attention from the beginning and did not let go….This story is an amazing adventure that is fast paced and action packed from the very beginning. There is not a dull moment to be found. Morgan Rice did an awesome job bringing the reader into the story. She also made it easy to root for Caitlin and want desperately to her succeed in finding her truth….I will be looking forward to the second book in the series.”

  --Paranormal Romance Guild

  “TURNED is a likable, easy, dark read that you can read in between other books, as it is short….You’re sure to be entertained!“

  --books-forlife.blogspot.com

  "TURNED is a book to rival TWILIGHT and VAMPIRE DIARIES, and one that will have you wanting to keep reading until the very last page! If you are into adventure, love and vampires this book is the one for you!"

  --Vampirebooksite.com

  “Rice does a great job of pulling you into the story from the beginning, utilizing a great descriptive quality that transcends the mere painting of the setting….Nicely written and an extremely fast read, TURNED is a good start to a new vampire series sure to be a hit with readers who are looking for a light, yet entertaining story.”

  --Black Lagoon Reviews

  Morgan Rice

  Morgan Rice is the #1 bestselling and USA Today bestselling author of the epic fantasy series THE SORCERER’S RING, comprising seventeen books; of the #1 bestselling series THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS, comprising eleven books (and counting); of the #1 bestselling series THE SURVIVAL TRILOGY, a post-apocalyptic thriller comprising two books (and counting); and of the new epic fantasy series KINGS AND SORCERERS, comprising three books (and counting). Morgan’s books are available in audio and print editions, and translations are available in over 25 languages.

  Morgan loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.morganricebooks.com to join the email list, receive a free book, receive free giveaways, download the free app, get the latest exclusive news, connect on Facebook and Twitter, and stay in touch!

  Books by Morgan Rice

  KINGS AND SORCERERS

  RISE OF THE DRAGONS (Book #1)

  RISE OF THE VALIANT (Book #2)

  THE WEIGHT OF HONOR (Book #3)

  THE SORCERER’S RING

  A QUEST OF HEROES (Book #1)

  A MARCH OF KINGS (Book #2)

  A FATE OF DRAGONS (Book #3)

  A CRY OF HONOR (Book #4)

  A VOW OF GLORY (Book #5)

  A CHARGE OF VALOR (Book #6)

  A RITE OF SWORDS (Book #7)

  A GRANT OF ARMS (Book #8)

  A SKY OF SPELLS (Book #9)

  A SEA OF SHIELDS (Book #10)

  A REIGN OF STEEL (Book #11)

  A LAND OF FIRE (Book #12)

  A RULE OF QUEENS (Book #13)

  AN OATH OF BROTHERS (Book #14)

  A DREAM OF MORTALS (Book #15)

  A JOUST OF KNIGHTS (Book #16)

  THE GIFT OF BATTLE (Book #17)

  THE SURVIVAL TRILOGY

  ARENA ONE: SLAVERSUNNERS (Book #1)

  ARENA TWO (Book #2)

  THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS

  TURNED (Book #1)

  LOVED (Book #2)

  BETRAYED (Book #3)

  DESTINED (Book #4)

  DESIRED (Book #5)

  BETROTHED (Book #6)

  VOWED (Book #7)

  FOUND (Book #8)

  RESURRECTED (Book #9)

  CRAVED (Book #10)

  FATED (Book #11)

  Listen to THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS series in audio book format!

  Now available on:

  Amazon

  Audible

  iTunes

  Want free books?

  Subscribe to Morgan Rice's email list and receive 4 free books, 2 free maps, 1 free app and exclusive giveaways! To subscribe, visit: www.morganricebooks.com

  Copyright © 2011 by Morgan Rice

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Jacket Image ©iStock.com/Bliznetsov

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  “Is it physical

  To walk unbraced and suck up the humors

  Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick,

  And will he steal out of his wholesome bed

  To dare the vile contagion of the night?”

  --William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter One

  Caitlin Paine always dreaded her first day at a new school. There were the big things, like meeting new friends, the new teachers, learning new hallways. And there were the small things, like getting a new locker, the smell of a new place, the sounds it made. More than anything, she dreaded the stares. She felt that everyone in a new place always stared at her. All she wanted was anonymity. But it never seemed meant to be.

  Caitlin couldn’t understand why she was so conspicuous. At five foot five she wasn’t especially tall, and with her brown hair and brown eyes (and normal weight) she felt she was average. Certainly not beautiful, like some of the other girls. At 18, she was a bit older, but not enough to make her stand out.

  There was something else. There was something about her that made people look twice. She knew, deep down, that she was different. But she wasn’t exactly sure how.

  If there was anything worse than a first day, it was starting in mid-term, after everyone else already had time to bond. Today, this first day, in mid-March, was going to be one of the worst. She could feel it already.

  In her wildest imagination, though, she never thought it would be this bad. Nothing she had ever
seen—and she had seen a lot—had prepared her for this.

  Caitlin stood outside her new school, a vast New York City public school, in the freezing March morning, and wondered, Why me? She was way underdressed, in just a sweater and leggings, and not even remotely prepared for the noisy chaos that greeted her. Hundreds of kids stood there, clamoring, screaming, and shoving each other. It looked like a prison yard.

  It was all too loud. These kids laughed too loud, cursed too much, shoved each other too hard. She would have thought it was a massive brawl if she didn’t spot some smiles and mocking laughter. They just had too much energy, and she, exhausted, freezing, sleep-deprived, couldn’t understand where it came from. She closed her eyes and wished it would all go away.

  She reached into her pockets and felt something: her ipod. Yes. She put her headphones in her ears and turned it up. She needed to drown it all out.

  But nothing came. She looked down and saw the battery was dead. Perfect.

  She checked her phone, hoping for some distraction, anything. No new messages.

  She looked up. Looking out at the sea of new faces, she felt alone. Not because she was the only white girl—she actually preferred that. Some of her closest friends at other schools had been black, Spanish, Asian, Indian—and some of her meanest frenemies had been white. No, that wasn’t it. She felt alone because it was urban. She stood on concrete. A loud buzzer had rang to admit her into this “recreational area,” and she had had to pass through large, metal gates. Now she was boxed in—caged in by massive metal gates, topped by barbed-wire. She felt like she’d gone to prison.

  Looking up at the massive school, bars and cages on all the windows, didn’t make her feel any better. She always adapted to new schools easily, large and small—but they had all been in suburbia. They had all had grass, trees, sky. Here, there was nothing but city. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. It terrified her.

  Another loud buzzer sounded and she shuffled her way, with hundreds of kids, towards the entrance. She was jostled roughly by a large girl, and dropped her journal. She picked it up (messing up her hair), and then looked up to see if the girl would apologize. But she was nowhere to be seen, having already moved on in the swarm. She did hear laughter, but couldn’t tell if it was directed at her.

  She clutched her journal, the one thing that grounded her. It had been with her everywhere. She kept notes and drawings in every place she went. It was a roadmap of her childhood.

  She finally reached the entrance, and had to squeeze in just to walk through. It was like entering a train at rush hour. She had hoped it would be warm once she got inside, but the open doors behind her kept a stiff breeze blowing down her back, making the cold even worse.

  Two large security guards stood at the entrance, flanked by two New York City policemen, in full uniform, guns conspicuously at their side.

  “KEEP MOVING!” commanded one of them.

  She couldn’t fathom why two armed policemen would have to guard a high school entrance. Her feeling of dread grew. It got much worse when she looked up and saw that she’d have to pass through a metal detector with airport-style security.

  Four more armed policemen stood on either side of the detector, along with two more security guards.

  “EMPTY YOUR POCKETS!” snapped a guard.

  Caitlin noticed the other kids filling small plastic containers with items from their pockets. She quickly did the same, inserting her ipod, wallet, keys.

  She shuffled through the detector, and the alarm shrieked.

  “YOU!” snapped a guard. “Off to the side!”

  Of course.

  All the kids stared as she was made to raise her arms, and the guard ran the handheld scanner up and down her body.

  “Are you wearing any jewelry?”

  She felt her wrists, then her neckline, and suddenly remembered. Her cross.

  “Take it off,” snapped the guard.

  It was the necklace her grandmother gave her before she passed, a small, silver cross, engraved with a description in Latin which she never had translated. Her grandmother told her it was passed down by her grandmother. Caitlin wasn’t religious, and didn’t really understand what it all meant, but she knew it was hundreds of years old, and it was by far the most valuable thing she owned.

  Caitlin lifted it from her shirt, holding it up, but not taking it off.

  “I’d rather not,” she answered.

  The guard stared at her, cold as ice.

  Suddenly, a commotion broke out. There was shouting as a cop grabbed a tall, thin kid and shoved him against a wall, removing a small knife from his pocket.

  The guard went to assist, and Caitlin took the opportunity to slip into the crowd moving its way down the hall.

  Welcome to New York public school, Caitlin thought. Great.

  She was already counting the days to graduation.

  *

  The hallways were the widest she’d ever seen. She couldn’t imagine that they could ever be filled, yet somehow they were completely packed, with all the kids crammed in shoulder to shoulder. There must have been thousands of kids in these halls, the sea of faces stretching endlessly. The noise in here was even worse, bouncing off the walls, condensed. She wanted to cover her ears. But she didn’t even have elbow space to raise her arms. She felt claustrophobic.

  The bell rang, and the energy increased.

  Already late.

  She scanned her room card again and finally spotted the room in the distance. She tried to cut across the sea of bodies, but wasn’t getting anywhere. Finally, after several attempts, she realized she just had to get aggressive. She started elbowing and jostling back. One body at a time, she cut through all the kids, across the wide hall, and pushed the heavy door open to her classroom.

  She braced herself for all the looks as she, the new girl, walked in late. She imagined the teacher scolding her for interrupting a silent room. But she was shocked to discover that was not the case at all. This room, designed for 30 kids but holding 50, was packed. Some kids sat in their seats, and others walked the aisles, shouting and yelling at each other. It was mayhem.

  The bell had rang five full minutes ago, yet the teacher, disheveled, wearing a rumpled suit, hadn’t even started the class. He actually sat with his feet up on the desk, reading the paper, ignoring everyone.

  Caitlin walked over to him and placed her new I.D. card on the desk. She stood there and waited for him to look up, but he never did.

  She finally cleared her throat.

  “Excuse me.”

  He reluctantly lowered his newspaper.

  “I’m Caitlin Paine. I’m new. I think I’m supposed to give you this.”

  “I’m just a sub,” he replied, and raised his paper, blocking her.

  She stood there, confused.

  “So,” she asked, “….you don’t take attendance?”

  “Your teacher’s back on Monday,” he snapped. “He’ll deal with it.”

  Realizing the conversation was over, Caitlin took back her I.D. card.

  She turned and faced the room. The mayhem hadn’t stopped. If there was any saving grace, at least she wasn’t conspicuous. No one here seemed to care about her, or to even notice her at all.

  On the other hand, scanning the packed room was nerve-wracking: there didn’t seem like any place left to sit.

  She steeled herself and, clutching her journal, walked tentatively down one of the aisles, flinching a few times as she walked between unruly kids screaming at each other. As she reached the back, she could finally see the entire room.

  Not one empty seat.

  She stood there, feeling like an idiot, and felt other kids starting to notice her. She didn’t know what to do. She certainly wasn’t going to stand there the entire period, and the substitute teacher didn’t seem to care either way. She turned and looked again, scanning helplessly.

  She heard laughter from a few aisles away, and felt sure it was directed at her. She didn’t dress like these k
ids did, and she didn’t look like them. Her cheeks flushed as she started to feel really conspicuous.

  Just as she was getting ready to walk out of the class, and maybe even out of this school, she heard a voice.

  “Here.”

  She turned.

  In the last row, beside the window, a tall boy stood from his desk.

  “Sit,” he said. “Please.”

  The room quieted a bit as the others waited to see how she’d react.

  She walked up to him. She tried not to look up into his eyes—large, glowing green eyes—but she couldn’t help it.

  He was gorgeous. He had smooth, olive skin—she couldn’t tell if he was Black, Spanish, White, or some combination—but she had never seen such smooth and soft skin, complimenting a chiseled jaw line. His hair was short and brown, and he was thin. There was something about him, something so out of place here. He seemed fragile. An artist, maybe.

  It was unlike her to be smitten by a guy. She’d seen her friends have crushes, but she’d never really understood. Until now.

  “Where will you sit?” she asked.

  She tried to control her voice, but it didn’t sound convincing. She hoped he couldn’t hear how nervous she was.

  He smiled wide, revealing perfect teeth.

  “Right over here,” he said, and moved to the large window sill, just a few feet away.

  She looked at him, and he returned her stare, their eyes fully locking. She told herself to look away, but she couldn’t.

  “Thanks,” she said, and was instantly mad at herself.

  Thanks? That’s all you could manage? Thanks!?

  “That’s right, Barack!” yelled a voice. “Give that nice white girl your seat!”

  Laughter followed, and the noise in the room suddenly picked up again, as everyone ignored them once again.

  Caitlin saw him lower his head, embarrassed.

  “Barack?” she asked. “Is that your name?”

  “No,” he answered, reddening. “That’s just what they call me. As in Obama. They think I look like him.”

  She looked closely and realized that he did look like him.

  “It’s because I’m half black, part white, and part Puerto Rican.”