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You’d think genetics would be fair when you have a vampire father and a werewolf mother, especially when their firstborns could literally manipulate space and time.
You’d think their third child would be another supernatural powerhouse.
But no.
Kivera looked like a hairy vampire, couldn’t go out in the sun, and worst of all, her family’s raw food diet was actively trying to kill her.
She tried to fit in, she really did. But her stomach had other plans. One night, after yet another dinner featuring raw beef in blood soup, she snapped.
“I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE,” she yelled, knocking over her chair as she stormed out.
Her family barely looked up.
“Teenagers,” her father muttered.
Out on the streets, clutching her betraying digestive system, Kivera was guided by fate.
Or, more accurately, by the smell of something magical. Something warm.
That’s how she discovered the holy invention of the microwave.
That’s also how she found The Basement Club, an underground society of supernatural outcasts who ate cooked food in secret.
For the past month, Kivera had lived a double life.
By day, she suffered through her family’s expectations, poking at slabs of raw meat with silent dread. By night, she snuck out, embracing the forbidden joy of cooked food.
Tonight was no different.
Kivera casually attempted to sneak out again, stuffing a raw chicken breast and a packet of salt into her bag. She would have made it, except when she stepped into the living room, her family was waiting.
“Kiv, we need to talk,” her father said.
Kivera froze. Did they smell the chicken?
“Dear,” her mother tilted her head, “We’ve noticed you’ve been sneaking out a lot.”
“Yeah, and you smell...” One of her siblings wrinkled their nose, “Weird.”
Kivera’s stomach sank. She turned on her heel, ready to bolt.
But her siblings grabbed her arms.
Her mother pulled out a book, flipping to the first page:
“How to Communicate with Your Rebellious Supernatural Teen”
Kivera stared in horror.
“Kivera, we care about you,” her father folded his hands, “We don’t want you to go down the wrong path.”
Kivera scowled, “Is this… a fucking intervention?”
“You could say that.”
She tried to yank her arms free, “For what?!”
Her father sighed, “See, Kivera, we understand, you’re at that age where you feel the need to experiment. To break the rules.”
Her mother nodded. “It’s normal for teenagers to go through phases.”
“I HAVE DIARRHEA EVERY TIME I EAT ANYTHING RAW.”
Her mother smiled patiently, “It’s just a phase, my dear.”
One of her siblings held out a hand, “Now, take out the chicken in your bag. We can start slowly from there.”
Kivera screamed.