In Vendetta House (The Vendetta Series #1)

Chapter 1

(Author's Note: This is a small word of warning that the first few chapters of this book was written when I was twelve years old. It does get better)

Chapter 1

I am not a morning person. If we can get one thing straight, let it be this: mornings are the work of the devil. But right now? This is the worst wake-up I have ever gone through.

My head pounds with a mind-splitting headache and my throat is rubbed raw, like I'd been screaming in my sleep. I crack my eyes open painfully; somehow, they had crusted together overnight. The world beyond my eyelids is no better. My ceiling is swirling and curving into itself.

Even I know that's not right.

My heart starts to pound several beats a second, so fast my veins pop out. The sound reverberates like a rush of water into my ears. My palms and forehead are suddenly thick with a sheen of cold sweat. There is a weird, jittery sensation dancing in my veins.

I sit up, groggy, my arms threatened to give out. My hand flies to my mouth, blocking down nausea.

Voices are echoing from the kitchen into my room. My ears start to sting and throb from every cling and clutter.

"Ariel!" Mom sings from downstairs. I gasp as the syllables ricochet and slam themselves into my eardrums. My pulse is going too fast. I can barely think straight.

I wipe my sweaty palms on my blankets, gagging. I take a few deep breaths, my heart slowing down. After a few moments, my eyes are buzzy, but they stop inverting images. I begin to feel better as the nausea settles and my ears quieten down. The headaches still pounds.

"Ariel, are you getting up yet?"

I reach for my phone sitting on the bedside table, fingers shaking. My hand whacks a notebook in the process. It goes flying into my lamp; which then falls onto the floor.

Sighing, my throat rasps painfully. I'll worry about the lamp later. I find one lone text from Lily wishing me a happy birthday and that she would call me later.

"Air!" Mom shouts again. She hates it when I sleep in, even on weekends.

"I'm up! I'm up!" I yell back. I immediately regret it, but already, my throat is getting better.

I stand up with a hunched back, immediately missing the warmth of my blankets and pad my way out my room like a zombie. The world is a cotton ball of fuzz. My muscles ache from training yesterday, along with the rest of me that aches for no known reason.

I stumble a little in the hallway, feeling cookie crumbs in the carpet. Oops, I was supposed to vacuum yesterday. And fix the garden.

Without warning, my foot catches onto something and I am jolted forward with momentum. My shin bangs into the door frame, my hip following closely and then I am sprawled on my knees. No doubt I have giant green bruises now. I plant my hands on the floor, quickly catching myself before I do a face plant.

"What the hell?" I mutter under my breath, brushing the bangs that had fallen into my face away. I twist around to squint at the thing that tripped me. It looks like tree root, thick and covered in a slimy green moss with more tiny root hairs coming off the main branch. Can I call it a branch if it was a root? The root looks like it is coming straight out of the floorboards by the hallway. Can a root even grow through the house like that?

I get up cautiously, half expecting the mutant thing to attack me. I write a mental note to get dad to deal with that.

Practically limping, I make it to the bathroom with sore carpet-burned knees. Using my hips, I nudge the door shut, not bothering to lock it since everyone is downstairs already. Absent-mindedly, I pick up a toothbrush that I hope is mine and start brushing my teeth.