Storm: Dawn of a Goddess

Random House Children’s books is a division of Penguin Random House.

Autorentext

Tiffany D. Jackson

Klappentext

Before she was the super hero Storm of Marvel's X-Men, she was Ororo of Cairo—a teenaged thief on the streets of Egypt, until her growing powers catch the eye of a villain who steals people's souls. An epic origin story that will blow you away, from the New York Times bestselling author of Monday's Not Coming.

Few can weather the storm.

As a thief on the streets of Cairo, Ororo Munroe is an expert at blending in—keeping her blue eyes low and her white hair beneath a scarf. Stealth is her specialty . . . especially since strange things happen when she loses control.

Lately, Ororo has been losing control more often, setting off sudden rainstorms and mysterious winds . . . and attracting dangerous attention. When she is forced to run from the Shadow King, a villain who steals people's souls, she has nowhere to turn to but herself. There is something inside her, calling her across Africa, and the hidden truth of her heritage is close enough to taste.

But as Ororo nears the secrets of her past, her powers grow stronger and the Shadow King veers closer and closer. Can she outrun the shadows that chase her? Or can she step into the spotlight and embrace the coming storm?

In her first speculative novel, New York Times bestselling author Tiffany D. Jackson casts a breathtaking spell with one of Marvel's most beloved characters, and brings the superhero Storm to life as you've never seen her before.

Leseprobe
One

Ororo Munroe stood on the steps of her primary school, little six-­year-­old fingers splayed, glancing up at the sky, willing the gates to open so she could escape.

A group of girls behind her giggled, whispering in Arabic. She wasn t familiar with the language yet, but their voices echoed in her ear. Just that day, she had asked a teacher to translate a word she often heard thrown in her direction during recess, and it now made her want to vomit.

White jungle monkey, they taunted.

Back straight, eyes puffy from crying in the wash closet, she stared down the street, anxiously waiting for her mother, wondering why she ever thought her hair was something beautiful. It wasn t like the other girls , long silky brown or rich black. It was nothing but a frizzy rain cloud.

She wanted to go home and never leave again. Despite what her parents insisted, this school was nothing like her American school, with its colorful playgrounds and classrooms, where she could wear whatever she wanted. In America, she had chicken nuggets with Tater Tots and cookies.

Here, in Egypt, she had to wear a dark blue jumper over an itchy white-­collared shirt. At lunch, she had two pâtés, biscuits, and a slice of flaky date pie. Though, if she was honest, she loved the date pie. If she was honest, she loved the lessons on hieroglyphs and the teachers. She was learning so much.

But the kids . . .

There she is, Mommy! The freak!

Ororo winced, peering over her shoulder, spotting two little boys pointing at her. Pointing at her thick, silver-­white hair that came down to her tiny waist, covering her like a coat.

The boys mother glanced over, blinking back in surprise.

My, what the devil is that? she mumbled, hurrying them along.

Ororo bit her lip, fighting back tears, and combed her hair down over her face, using it as a shield.

If she was honest, the kids in her school were just like the ones in America.

You have eyes like the sky, child.

Ororo startled at the deep voice, looked up through the gate bars, and gasped, pushing away from it, eyes cast down to the ground. A large man stood on the opposite side, so large he blocked out the sun, his beige skin covered in a thin layer of sweat.

Hello, dear one, he said. What is your name?

She shook her head, refusing to look at him.

Oh, come now, hmm? Surely you have a name.

Ororo studied his shadow on the ground, noticing he was wearing a hat with a tassel that swung. Her tummy ached, like the time she d eaten bad hummus. She couldn t explain it, but the man s very presence made her ill. She wanted him to leave.

I m not allowed to talk to strangers, she mumbled, turning her back to him.

Well, that is a shame. I just noticed you crying, and, my, what extraordinary hair you have. He breathed in deep, sniffing the air around them. His lips smacked. And your energy . . . Wherever did you ­

Ororo!

Ororo whipped around to see her mother, face bright, waving at her through the crowd.

Mommy! she shrieked, and ran. She dove into her mother s waist, nuzzling into her stomach, feeling at ease for the first time all day.

Oh my. Her mother laughed, nearly falling back. I am so sorry I m late! Still getting lost in our own neighborhood.

Hello, the same strange, raspy voice said from behind them. The hair on Ororo s neck stood up. The large man must have followed her through the crowd. I was just keeping your lovely daughter company. She seemed rather upset.

Ororo buried her face in her mo