Randersen

The scent of Welsh pine was fading, replaced by the sharp, metallic tang of hot asphalt and diesel fumes.

Marika Randersen pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the passenger window, her fingers tightly interlaced in her lap. Outside, the green, rolling hills of Newport were shrinking in the rearview mirror as the pale yellow Fiat 500 rattled its way onto the M4 motorway. It was a tiny, cramped bubble of a car—a faded yellow tin can that smelled perpetually of artificial vanilla air freshener and damp upholstery. Right now, to Marika, it felt like a cage.

She took a slow, deliberate breath, but the air was heavy. For someone with her genetic makeup, the world didn’t just look different; it smelled, sounded, and felt louder than it did for ordinary humans. The hum of the tires against the highway vibrated right through the soles of her worn sneakers. The exhaust from a passing freight truck hit her nostrils like a physical blow, making her throat tighten.

Tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear, she reached down, fumbled for her plastic water bottle, and took a small, careful sip. The cool water washed away some of the metallic taste, but it did nothing to ease the heavy knot of anxiety sitting in her stomach.

Moving. Again. For the third time in her short life.

She timidly shifted her gaze to the front of the car, observing the two people who shared her tiny, chaotic world.

In the driver’s seat sat their mother, Arianne. At thirty-two, Arianne was still a striking woman, possessing the sharp, effortless grace that came with her full-blooded werewolf heritage. But today, the grace was masked by a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. Her knuckles were white where they gripped the steering wheel of the Fiat, and her eyes, ringed with faint purple shadows, were fixed blankly on the road ahead. Ever since their father had passed away a few years ago, a quiet, heavy fog of depression seemed to hover over Arianne. She was trying—desperately so—but the cracks in her strength were showing.

Next to her, slouching in the passenger seat with her knees pressed against the glove compartment, was Nicole. At thirteen, Nicole was already a force of nature. She possessed a fierce, sharp-willed independence that Marika both admired and feared. Right now, Nicole was casually flipping through a small, leather-bound notebook.

Marika’s heart did a small, panicked flutter. Her personal diary.

"What?" Nicole snapped suddenly, her voice cutting through the hum of the engine. She didn't even look up from the pages. "I can feel your eyes boring into the back of my head, Mari."

"I... I am nervous, sister," Marika admitted, her voice barely a whisper against the noise of the highway. "The last place we lived in was a disaster. I haven’t been able to make any friends, and... what if this place is exactly the same?"

"I am sure this time will be different, Hun," Arianne interjected from the driver’s seat. She offered a quick, strained smile in the rearview mirror, trying to inject some warmth into her tired voice. "We are in Wales—well, we're just leaving it, but we'll be close. The few times I went to the border lands with my mum and dad when I was young, it was beautiful. Quiet."

Marika leaned forward, gripping the back of her mother’s seat. "But if it's so beautiful, why don't we just go to our grandparents? Why can't we live with them?"

The atmosphere in the tiny car instantly froze. Arianne’s smile vanished, her posture stiffening as she stared rigidly at the asphalt. She hesitated, her lips parting but no words coming out.

Nicole let out a loud, dramatic huff, slamming the diary shut. "Oh, come on, Mari. You know exactly why. Stop asking stupid questions. The Alpha order is in place. We aren't welcome, and we never will be."

Marika sank back into the rear seat, the reminder hitting her like cold water. She looked back out the window as the yellow Fiat rumbled onto the massive expanse of the Prince of Wales Bridge. Below them, the River Severn stretched out like a gray, muddy ribbon, separating the sanctuary of the Welsh hills from the sprawling, smoky horizon of England.

Ahead of them lay Bristol.

Okay... let me pause for a second and introduce myself properly.

My name is Marika Randersen. I am eleven years old. If you met me in a classroom, you’d probably think I was completely unremarkable. I am shy, quiet, and I tend to blend into the wallpaper. Some people might even call me boring. I don't raise my hand in class, I don't like loud noises, and I tend to hide behind my sister when things get loud.

But there is one thing you should know: I am not an ordinary person. Not even close.

You see, my mum—the stunning, exhausted lady driving our cramped yellow Fiat—is a wolf. A werewolf, to be exact. A full-blooded, powerful creature of the pack. By all rights, my sister and I should have grown up in the deep forests, running under the moonlight, learning the ancient ways of the wolves.

But we didn't.

Before Nicole and I were born, our mother broke the Pack's most sacred law. She fell in love with a man who wasn't a wolf. Worse, she fell in love with a man who carried the blood of the Summoners—an ancient, magical lineage that the wolves had distrusted and feared for centuries. Because of that union, because my sister and I were born as hybrids with two warring bloodlines in our veins, we were cast out. We are not allowed on wolf lands. The Alpha's decree was absolute: exile.

And as for the summoner magic we inherited...

Nicole’s fingers were twitching against the notebook, restless energy vibrating off her. She looked bored—too bored. With a sigh, she held up her right hand, her eyes narrowing in concentration. She wasn't trying to summon a creature—she couldn't even if she wanted to. She was just trying to spark a simple, harmless ember to pass the time.

She focused, her jaw tight, a bead of sweat forming on her temple despite the cool AC. For a second, nothing happened. Then, a tiny, jagged spark jumped from her index finger. It sputtered, danced for a brief moment in the cramped air of the backseat, and died before it could even fully form into a flame. It was weak—pathetic, really—and barely bright enough to be seen in the daylight.

Nicole let out a frustrated huff, her shoulders slumping. It was the same as always. She pushed, she willed, and she got nothing but static.

"Nicole!" Arianne gasped, her head whipping toward the passenger seat, her eyes wide with a frantic, sharp terror. She swerved just an inch, correcting the steering wheel instantly. "Stop it! Right now!"

"It was just a spark, Mum," Nicole snapped, though her voice lacked its usual bite. She looked down at her own hand with pure frustration. "It didn't even catch. Don't be so dramatic."

"I don't care how small it is!" Arianne hissed, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger. "We can be seen! The human world is not safe for us, and the wolves have eyes everywhere. If anyone sees a spark of magic—even a flicker—we won't even make it to the Bristol city limits. You stop that, or so help me, as soon as we reach the new flat, you will be grounded until you turn eighteen!"

Seeing the genuine, raw panic in her mother’s eyes, Nicole’s rebellious expression crumbled into something resembling shame. She crossed her arms, turning her face toward the window, her jaw set stubbornly to hide the fact that she was upset—not because she was scolded, but because her magic had failed her yet again.

Arianne didn't say anything else. She just let out a long, ragged breath, her shoulders sagging as she guided the yellow car off the bridge and onto the busy, congested roads leading into Bristol.

Marika watched the quiet space where the spark had died, her heart still hammering against her ribs. She looked at her own hands. They were trembling. Unlike Nicole, who desperately wanted to command her summoner blood with an effortless, defiant pride, Marika feared it. She feared the wolf inside her, and she feared the unpredictable magic that slept in her veins.

As the towering, soot-stained brick buildings of Bristol began to swallow their tiny yellow car, Marika closed her eyes and made a silent wish to whatever spirits were listening.

Please, let us just be normal this time.