

## by

### Published by

### Little Prince Publishing

Copyright © Death Calls by Courtney Vail  
Published by Little Prince Publishing  
Cover Design: Amy Rooney  
Cover Photo: istock

Font: Bleeding Cowboys, commercial license acquired  
First Smashwords Edition, 2011

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, photocopy, recording, scanning or other—except for brief quotations in reviews or articles, without written consent from the publisher.

**Publisher's Note:** This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

**License Note:** 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 person you share it with. If you're reading this and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

Each piece in this collection touches on life's journey, death or dying in Courtney Vail's own freakish way. Some works are quirky, some funny, some gross, some resonating, but all pretty weird. Enjoy!

###

###

### Carousel ~ a short story

### The Chill ~ a villanelle

### Songs to Avoid on American Idol ~ a poem

### No Flowers ~ short story

### Forgotten You ~ a sonnet

### Life in Paris ~ a short story

###  Time ~ a haiku

### Creative Burst ~ a poem comprised from search terms from blog visitors

### That Look ~ flash fiction

### Sweet Justice ~ 55er, a story structure that descends from ten words to one

### Excerpt from Kings & Queens

### Meet the Author

Though the cherry chip cupcakes topped with pink icing and sprinkles—not the sugar crystals, but the little ball ones that come in five colors and crunch when you bite 'em—tempted her from the game table, gobbling one would have to wait. The birthday freak-show about to unfold in the leisure room of her mansion would surely be more delicious anyhow.

Aubrina grinned devilishly. Her unsuspecting pajama-clad friends were right where she wanted them: Holly flat on her back, Madison and Claire kneeling at Holly's sides, Evie at her feet. They waited with fingers underneath Holly, preparing to hoist.

Aubrina had chosen the red-headed, freckly Holly as the mock-corpse... because she was the meatiest and the homeliest. Definitely harder to raise. Definitely the most hilarious imagining up in the air.

She knelt down at Holly's head. "We can begin."

Her twelve-year-old guests all giggled from nervousness or silliness. Aubrina figured silliness. _Of course._ The fools had no idea what to expect, but obviously they assumed this was some kind hoax or child's play. They'd soon learn it wasn't.

"Come on, guys, stop laughing. This is serious. It won't work if we're goofing off." Buzzing with anticipation, Aubrina added, "Now... close your eyes and _concentrate_."

When they obeyed and adopted gravity, she beamed, admiring her authority over them. She was, after all, the only one thirteen. She noticed Evie peeking with one eye open and her bottom lip quivering. "Come on, Evie, stop being a baby. You'll spoil it."

All eyes popped open.

"I'm not so sure about all this," Evie bleated.

_Why's she scared?_ Aubrina squinted at her, wondering if she knew. _She couldn't possibly._ "It's my birthday party. This is what I want to do. Do it, or go home!"

Evie tucked her black hair behind her ears with shaky hands and wheezed, "But, it's two in the morning."

"Right! No one can take you home now. Looks like you're doin' it then." Annoyed that everyone was delaying the fun, she barked, "Come on! Stop breaking the circle. Now we have to hold hands again to draw in good energy."

When the players held hands and closed eyes, Aubrina nodded in approval. The stage was perfectly set. The lights glowed dimly. The pillows lay scattered like headstones. Her parents slept soundly in the east wing. Even a full moon lit the night sky. Everything was perfect... except for the absence of rumbling thunder and flashing lightning, which would've added tremendously cool atmosphere.

The only unsettling thing was the eye staring back at her. Glossy and black, evil and crazed, nearly glaring in disapproval. The dusty, old carousel unicorn she'd drudged up from the basement for charity seemed to ogle from the corner where it had been standing erect all week, awaiting pickup. Aubrina wasn't especially charitable, but her parents left her in charge of cleaning out the basement to make space for the home theater she wanted. The stupid, colored catastrophe with its twisted golden spike had been a gift from them on some past birthday. The sixth one maybe. _Why'd I want it?_ She'd begged for it but had hardly touched it since the initial gasp of surprise. It was large enough to sit on, but she'd never done so. _Can't remember. Oh well. Now it can clutter up some other kid's basement._ She couldn't wait for the creepy thing to disappear. Especially now.

Hopefully, Sarah wouldn't mind it. She was sensitive. Aubrina should have considered that, but it was too late to move the carnival reject now.

Aubrina shrugged. "Okay. Let's begin. Concentrate and believe. Everyone repeat after me... Light as a feather. Stiff as a board."

After they chanted, "Light as a feather. Stiff as a board... Light as a feather. Stiff as a board," for a couple of minutes, Aubrina muttered, "Now, raise her up as we say it."

The girls easily lifted Holly about a foot off the carpet and cheered their success.

"You did it," said Holly from her bed of fingers.

"No. The spirits are here," Aubrina whispered with her gaze roaming. "I'll prove it. Lift her some more."

Evie started to quiver and cry. "Stop it," she sobbed. "Please. This doesn't feel right."

"Shut up, Evie. Or you'll make them leave. Lift her, I said."

Aubrina smiled as the twits inched Holly up until she was over all their heads. Aubrina lavished the astonishment and awe of her friends, except Evie, who was still shaking.

"Guys," Madison shrieked. "Her weight's off me. Look." Madison lowered her hands from Holly's side with palms outstretched, fingers wiggling.

All hell broke loose. Screams erupted as everyone let go of Holly, who remained stuck in the air, held there on some invisible platform, despite all her squealing and flailing and kicking. She pretty much resembled a trapped pig.

_Definitely hilarious up in the air._ Aubrina burst out laughing as Madison tried to help Holly. Even with all the grunting and groaning, pulling and tugging, she wouldn't budge.

_Best birthday present ever._ Sarah had definitely delivered the spookfest she'd promised.

"Okay, that was awesome. You're so cool, Sarah. Let her down." Aubrina expected Holly to drop like a side of cow, but she stayed where she was. And stayed.

Aubrina cringed.

It should have been funny, a joke on them all, but the lack of lowering began to feel eerie. Aubrina's arm hair stretched for the heavens in tingly goose-bumps. "Sarah, put her down!" _It's not supposed to be like this. Sarah said she'd scare the guests, frighten them a little._ She knew what this was. She'd wanted it, planned for it, begged for it. So why couldn't she keep her teeth for chattering?

The lights flickered. The neglected piano played. A biting chill slithered into the room. Unable to see Sarah, not even as indigo mist, Aubrina shivered, more from terror than heat's descent. She could sense Sarah's fury.

Sarah spun Holly spun around and around like a record. Holly screamed and wailed in terror. The girls ran and hid wherever they could find cover. Aubrina knew there was no place to hide. They'd just have to wait out Sarah's tantrum.

"I knew something bad would happen," Evie bleated. "I told you."

"Shhh. Quiet. She's never this bad."

Aubrina and her guests bellowed when Holly zipped across the room into some unseen wall.

Holly levitated above the unicorn until invisible hands jerked her down onto the horn with tremendous force, impaling her through the upper back before crashing the hideous thing to the floor.

Aubrina couldn't believe her eyes. A bloody horn stuck out of Holly's tainted chest.

Holly's eyes widened to saucers. Her mouth remained agape, frozen with a scream that never found voice. Her body convulsed and then ceased moving, leaving her in a ragdoll slump.

It was the most gory sight Aubrina had ever seen... but also just a little bit cool.

As Sarah departed the game room with a door slam, the draft followed.

The girls ran up to Holly shrieking. Claire puked and peed on the carpet as Madison grabbed Holly and shook her, sobbing for her to still be alive, even though she was clearly in some hereafter.

A shudder shook Aubrina from shoulders to knees. _Apparently Sarah hates unicorns... or redheads._

The lights stopped flickering. The concerto ended in the off-key high notes. But the screams persisted, Aubrina's especially. Not only had she witnessed her friend's demise in a most gruesome way, but she was also quite peeved that her pretty, pink cupcakes now bore sprinkles of blood. _I'm never ever asking for presents again... Not ever._

Though warmth of sun doth not end nights

As haunting voice springs from the tomb

Love's whispers break the chill that bites

My broken wings don't soar in flights

At dawn you come and fill my room

Though warmth of sun doth not end nights

You raise me up to higher heights

Replace my frost with heat in womb

Love's whispers break the chill that bites

Your presence here rids all my frights

The darkness fades along with gloom

Though warmth of sun doth not end nights

Fret not, my love, the call to lights

Find warmth inside, beyond the doom

Love's whispers break the chill that bites

I'll miss your touch, these hints and sights

But peace has now become my groom

Though warmth of sun doth not end nights

Love's whispers break the chill that bites

Hello  
Imagine  
Yesterday  
I Am I Said  
Dust in the Wind  
Welcome to My Life  
The Long and Winding Road

I Feel So  
Like a Virgin  
Cherry Pie  
I'm Too Sexy  
Born to be Wild  
Girls Just Wanna Have Fun  
(You Gotta ) Fight For Your Right (to Party)  
It's My Life

I Drove All Night  
I Want Your Sex  
Eight Days a Week  
Time After Time  
Any Way You Want It  
All I Want Is You  
Faithfully

I'm On Fire  
Burning Love  
Outta My Head  
Hungry Like the Wolf  
Crazy for You  
My Immortal  
Desire

I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For  
Livin La Vida Loca  
It's All Wrong, But It's All Right  
Is This Love  
Love Bites  
Love Is A Battlefield  
Fallin'  
Going Under  
Bring Me to Life

Devil Inside  
Highway to Hell  
Some Like It Hot  
Inside the Fire  
I Have Nothing  
Total Eclipse of the Heart  
Smashed Into Pieces  
Helplessly Hoping

I Wanna Know What Love Is  
Wake Me Up Before You Go Go  
How Do I Live  
My Life  
Good Enough  
Empty Me  
Save a Prayer  
Pour Some Sugar on Me

A Change is Gonna Come  
Karma Chameleon  
Today  
Macarena  
Shake Your Love  
Shout to the Lord  
Dare You to Move

I Believe  
I'm a Believer  
Travelin' Thru  
The Greatest Love of All  
Jesus Christ Superstar  
A Perfect Love  
Love of a Lifetime  
Stairway to Heaven

Tomorrow  
I'll Fly Away  
High Enough  
Inside Your Heaven  
To Be With You  
Forever  
Always  
Somewhere Over the Rainbow  
Goodbye Yellow Brick Road

As soon as I exit my house and step into the sunshine, I gasp.

Wearing a patchwork sunhat, fuchsia daisy flip-flops and pantaloons, Mrs. Davenport is spraying rainbows on the brown zone of nothingness uglifying her otherwise perfectly manicured yard. Why someone fortyish would risk being mistaken for seventy is beyond me, but that's so not the shocker.

The lack of flowers is what leaves my mouth open like it is. I mean, not even one sprouting bud decorates the spot where previously no dog, kid or rabbit could come within feet of without getting hosed. Now, I know I'm only fifteen and supposedly don't know squat, but I swear she has a corpse buried in that bloomless bed.

She twists the spigot increasing the flow, then sees me and waves. "Hidey-ho, Kylie."

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Davenport," I reply with my eyelids sinking into a squint.

My suspicion arose two nights ago, when Bobby and I were on my tree house balcony watching the sun set. It wasn't customary for us to be up there dressed so nice, but we were waiting for my mom to get off the phone and bring us to a dance. I kept eyeing my red gown. Way too much lace and sequins. And definitely more tomato than scarlet. Gross! I should've gone with the simple, sky blue one I'd adored, with the spaghetti straps, but it went beyond my $80 price cap. Regrettably, in the travesty I bought, I appeared far more gypsy than diva. Definitely _not_ the look I was going for. Florescent lights lie; that's all I have to say. The seventeen bucks extra would have been worth it.

Bobby, my best friend since preschool, didn't seem to care about my orangey mega-frill, and I could tell because he'd tried to kiss me. After telling me I looked hot, he leaned closer and gazed into my eyes. Delighted, I moved in too. I'd never been so near to the freckles on his nose without a football between us. Our lips almost touched, but the sound of a crash halted our magnetic pull.

Bummer! Our neighbors again.

They always fought. Yelling and slamming doors were familiar echoes on the street, but this battle raged on a much grander scale. Even the normally unfazed dogs in the vicinity voiced their agitation.

After hearing trash talk about money and whose things were whose, between the cars and the winter home to where they migrate when frost bites their noses, Mrs. Davenport released a blood curdling scream.

She shouted, "Frank! Don't you dare!" as she ran onto her or his enclosed porch. I'm not sure who actually owns it. Anyway, he followed her and threw a television in her direction. Not a big one... just a thirteen inch. She was able to dodge it, but it tore through the screen and smashed on the driveway into like a million pieces. She went ballistic, flailing her arms and hollering words I shouldn't repeat, but she looked pretty ridiculous in her pink, fuzzy robe with green goop on her face. A little hard to take seriously in that state.

He apparently thought so too. He howled in laughter.

She snatched a broom, which was pitched against the wall, and swung at him, but he ducked, grabbed it from her and twisted her around. He held it against her neck threatening to choke the life out of her. He said he should beat her with it, then maybe she'd be more obedient. She started laughing. So did he.

She turned around, and he lowered the broom and held it against her back vertically. She looked like she was in the middle of a tripod, but she didn't seem to mind being trapped. She kissed him on the lips, and he reciprocated and let the broom fall to the floor. They started mauling one another, and his face became goopified too before he picked her up and carried her in.

Yeah. Yeah. Anyone would assume they had sex, and maybe they did... but that was the last time I saw Mr. Davenport. I haven't heard fighting since. Not even one slammed door. He's always coming and going, but there's his car, right in the driveway, and so is hers. They haven't moved one inch. And the newspapers he reads every day are collecting on the stoop. I'd bet today's makeout session with Bobby, she choked the life out of him with that broom. Looks to me like she now has everything to her name except her beloved garden.

"What happened to your flowers, Mrs. Davenport? I thought the begonias, tulips and such were your babies?"

"I got sick of 'em," she says, watering the grave with the biggest smile I'd ever seen the lips he paid for make. "Wanted to start fresh."

"That's what I thought," I reply with a squinty nod. I knew it! My instincts are never wrong. I sigh in dismay... I really should've gone with that blue dress.

Alone on this well-trodden path I stride  
I strain for mem'ries I can't seem to find  
Stories of yesterday melted inside  
Music fails to play in my cloudy mind  
I recall some kisses in pouring rain  
And steamy nights in strong arms by the fire  
The hugs and caresses I'd think would stain  
Are fluttering off like fairies of Ire  
I can't just look over and see your eyes  
Shadows have swallowed the treasures I've known

I can't seem to find you or hear your voice  
Where and who are you, who once was my own  
If I could only see you, hold you again  
I'd know my last walk would end with a friend

Streams of purple, green and turquoise light replaced red and yellow as the pit DJ's next song selection pulsed out of the speakers.

Even across the noisy, low-lit club and through the crowd of gyrating fools, Stefan drew her attention by simply mouthing her name. His power was stronger than ever... because of his need to feed.

Beyond hypnotist, beyond car salesman, beyond Siren, Stefan could seduce with mere thought and beckon the most hardened soul to his, when his thirst was strong enough, like it was tonight. In his 500-and-some-odd-year existence, he'd never spotted anyone, be it royal or vagrant, with more beauty, sparkle and life. He licked his upper lip, anticipating a resurgence of fervor and the pure taste of her.

In his white, button-down shirt with a black Japanese flower scrolling up the left, he knew he looked sharp. He straightened his collar to draw attention downward, but she never broke eye contact. He had her.

With her eyes locked on his, Stefan timed his steps with the bass as he made his way over to the laughing goddess.

Her golden hair changed like a kaleidoscope under the spinning globes and reflected more colors than he could count. She waved her body like a snake, one charmed to follow his mental choreography and music. He smirked. By the time she knew what was happening to her, it would be too late. He could already imagine her gasp of shock and alarm, but he would muzzle her scream with the scarf in his pocket, the silk one he'd picked up at Versace just for her.

"Hi, Gorgeous," she shouted, clutching his arm and pulling him around two entangled lesbians to stand less than a foot away from her.

A mini-dress in hot pink hugged her body in much the way he hoped to. As she flipped her hair over her shoulder, a waft of jasmine, lavender and spice swirled into his nose.

"Hi. I'm Stefan. You're Paris Hilton, right?" He shook his head, not used to the bangs in his nicely trimmed dark hair.

"Of course. Gonna ask me to dance or what?" He must have hesitated too long for her liking. "I'm used to the cat-got-cher-tongue look, but I can't stand shyness. So not hot."

He laughed and wrapped his arm around her waist, clamping her against his body. "More to your liking?"

Her eyebrows raised as did the corners of her lips. "Definitely."

All the closer, he inhaled the fragrance in her hair, now ringing of honeysuckle in its floral bouquet, and moaned as though he'd consumed the richest chocolate. He quickly cleared his throat to cover his involuntary response.

On television and in magazines, he'd spotted a rare essence in her, one that drove him mad with lust. Passion for her consumed his every waking thought.

He stole his way on a private jet and followed her around for days with the slink of a cat, shielded by a swarm of paparazzi. Then, he muscled his way in here with his aqua eyes, piercing a massive bouncer into compliance.

In person, her eyes, combined with her aroma and her body pressed against his in this dirty dance, had him nearly bursting through his jeans and aching to suck her dry.

"Man. You're stunning'," he said, trying to match his appearance of twenty-five.

She nodded while batting her lashes, long and faux. "Yeah, I know. You live around here?"

"No," he yelled as the music picked up. "Just visiting, taking in the sights. I have business to attend to also."

She leaned toward his ear. "Oh. That's cool, Stef. I'm in a new movie so I'm too jammed to show you around, but if you need help, I have people who do that... for my friends."

_Friends? I'm in!_ "Yeah. Doesn't surprise me. What's the name of your movie?"

" _Dead of Night._ I'm playing the head vamp in a, what's it called, urban fantasy or something like that. I get to kick ass. Cool or what?"

_Ha! The irony!_ Stefan burst out laughing, not meaning to do so right in her ear. He bit his lip.

"What's so funny?" she said, followed by a sneer and narrow eyelids. "Don't you think I'd make a good, ass-kicking vampire? Sure, at first, I was kind of goofing off, but I'm getting better and want to do more films."

"No. I'm sure you will. It's just, uh, Hollywood never gets it right. Perception's so narrow and wrong."

She shrugged and circled her hand in the air like she was casting off a fly. "I guess. I get to fly around on one of those zipping harness thingies and learn some fight moves. I can't wait." Her hands shimmied down his back to his butt and she rubbed and squeezed both cheeks. "I like the way you dance. It's hot."

"Years of practice."

She tilted her head and smiled. "I'll bet. Wanna go somewhere to play around some? A place that's more... private and not so noisy?"

Stefan couldn't believe his luck. He didn't even have to coerce her, stare her down or anything. _She_ was asking. Maybe he'd make her like himself instead of taking all of her. They could be eternal companions. _Two beautiful people... immortal... absolute perfection._

"Love to, baby," he said. "This is crazy. I never expected to be talking to Paris Hilton let alone taking off with her. Got a place in mind?"

"I've got a special suite in the hotel upstairs? They totally love me here."

"Really? You actually stay somewhere that's not a Hilton?"

"Ha ha. Ye-es. Very funny." She elbowed his arm and pointed to the other side of the lounge. "We can leave out the VIP exit. Come on." She collected her hair in her fist and stripped out static electricity. He longed to lick her palm to catch any sparks. It pained him to lose out on any of her zest. She laced her fingers around his and appeared to look at their joined hands. "Your hands are so cold."

He shrugged. "I know. They won't be for long."

"Yeah. I'll warm you up. It's one of my many talents."

Stefan's pulse quickened and a dizziness filled his head. Her luscious essence intoxicated him. He couldn't wait to get her all hot and bothered on a bed on ivory satin or something, then jam that scarf into her mouth, only to see those eyes widen in a plea for mercy. Too bad she'd covered those orbs with blue lenses tonight, because the terror in her natural brown would be spectacular.

Paris ushered him to a wall, ran her hand along a seam and did something he couldn't see. Soon the wall sprung open to reveal a hidden hallway. After they stepped into the low-lit hall, she closed the door behind them and lead him through a labyrinth of flickering, zapping florescence. The music and noise dulled behind him and faded to pulsating thumps.

After reaching the end of a hallway, they climbed an iron staircase, and at the top of the landing, she opened another door, which opened directly into a hotel suite through a bookcase.

"Ta da. Welcome to _my_ Princess Suite."

"Wow. It's so... perfect."

"I know, right?" She closed the door.

Stefan had seen his share of palaces and ritzy resorts, and this stood toe-to-toe in elegance. He was right! He nearly cheered in glee.

Here it was! A bed of ivory satin. So perfect for love and birth and death.

Against golden walls, draperies, linens and furniture cushions gleamed in monochromatic tones of cream and beige. Paintings, vases, flowers and fruit added bursts of color as did a red and gold oriental chandelier over the bed.

He noticed a fruit platter and a bucket of chilled wine on the coffee table near the Victorian couch, which would come in handy if loosening up was needed. The more surrender in the prey, the sweeter the essence.

He shook his head in disbelief as she walked him to the bed, which shone like the purest altar for sacrifice.

Paris turned to him, her face so angelic, soft and kind. It held self-assuredness but not a hint of the cockiness that so many jealous girls assumed of her.

"I'm not normally loose or anything, but you're totally sexy and you caught me on a horny night. My guy's out of town. Hope you don't mind."

"No. We can do whatever you want. Just kiss even. I really don't care. Doesn't he mind?"

"Nope. He loves my impulsive streak and is completely understanding. He knows how I get."

Stefan drew her into a kiss and she eagerly opened her mouth for him. He explored her and caressed her tongue with his. Her skill stirred him to arousal, distracting him from his primary need. With her so eager, Stefan decided to quicken things. He picked her up and half-dropped her on the bed, clumsier than he'd meant to. They laughed and she yanked his head down, reconnecting their mouths, before he even had a chance to lay on top of her. He joined her on the bed and after they kissed in a frenzy of crazed grabs, she unbuttoned his shirt and ran greedy hands along his chest and fingernails up his back.

Paris complimented him on his muscles and the feel of his skin. She flipped them over and straddled him and kissed his forehead and ears and neck as she unbuttoned and unzipped his denim fly. When her hands wandered in, he gritted his teeth and focused on the funky chandelier, trying to ignore the sensations firing off below his stomach.

He had to move. Now! She was driving him insane and avoiding his gaze too much.

Stefan slid his hand into his pocket, and wave after wave of his fingertips, he gathered and wadded the scarf into a tight ball.

He'd switch positions, pin her down and get the job done. He'd gaze into her fake-blue eyes, then drink her in until she was clinging to life by a very thin thread. Maybe he'd show her mercy and give her the choice. He wanted to give her the choice. _To be or not to be? That is the question of life._

She ripped away his shirt, popping the last two buttons she had never bothered to undo. She devoured his chest and neck in wet kisses and bites, some sharper than others.

_What the hell. No harm in letting her go to town first._ He grimaced and winced whenever she seemed to be going for a kill.

After she did figure-eights around his pecks with her tongue, she traveled back up to his neck. He could have sworn sharp teeth not just bit, but drove in, deep, puncturing his flesh. The anguish! He gasped and tried to scream, but his mouth was suddenly jammed with some filthy rag. A rag! Not a $3,000 scarf carefully selected to match a handbag. A rag. A stinky, used rag, drenched in Lemon Pledge.

His mortal cry emitted like a sour note from the distant depths of hell. Pain threatened to burst his head and heart. Breath evaded his flaring nostrils. She was draining him faster than he could regenerate and replenish. He fought to push her off himself, but her strength was unbreakable and he weakened more with each second. His arms felt glued to the bedspread. He clammed his eyes shut as blood burned like scorching fire, racing through and leaving his veins, replaced with an icy chill. She drank not just his life-force but his essence and his supposed immortality. The scent of earth and iron choked him.

A jostle at the door and a solid bang into the wall made him jolt and peek through his heavy lids. Paris pulled away from her task to look, her mouth framed with glorious red. No spectacle or wonder on earth, and he'd seen countless, had ever awed him more than that. He longed to kiss her lips again and taste his own essence mixed with hers. _Must be like honey straight from the hive._

"Huuuukkk!" rattled the blond, who'd entered through the actual door. "Finally! I've been looking all over for you... Fabulous! Another one? Thought you said you were good to go for a week or so."

"Yeah. But _he's_ a psychic vampire. Unbelievable! He's gotta be at least 500, Nic _._ "

Nic? Right. Lionel's anorexic brat.

Paris waved her hand and said, "Do you know how rare one like this is? He's absorbed so much beauty and energy in his lifetime... only to be a gift for me. The tastiest thing ever. I'm feeling kind of generous. Want some?"

"Hell no! I'd never take your crappy scraps. I was able to snag a sitter. Hurry up, bitch. A bunch of us are going to The Green Door."

"Kay. Gimme a sec."

Nicole left the suite as noisily as she'd entered.

"Sorry about the interruption, Gorgeous. She really needs to get her own lair. I tell her all the time to knock, but she freakin' never does! Uuhh! Hate her sometimes."

He tried to speak but lemony dirt swallowed his one word.

She ungagged his mouth. "What, hun?"

He gasped for hair, his lungs seizing as much as possible. "Question," he muttered.

"What? I can't hear," she said with her eyes squinted. She bent down, putting her ear close to his mouth. He stretched his tongue and licked the blood at the corner of her lips.

She jerked away and slapped his chest. "No, no. Uh-uhn, bad boy."

"Do I get... mercy?"

"Sure, baby. I'm totally sweet like that." She returned to his neck, taking a fresh bite on the other side. He screamed but it exited as a hoarse, girly shrill.

His mind zipped back to that day forever ago at age twelve when his uncle showed him the secret of total energy absorption, which would allow him to never get sick, heal rapidly, live forever. _Forever? What a joke!_ His youth spent gathering energy here and there from any passerby had been child's play. He'd waited until the perfect age in adulthood to partake in a total feed, to drain a human of life to prolong and improve his own.

He froze. He'd forgotten age. He'd forgotten love. He'd forgotten time, pain, the fear of death. And he felt them all in this moment.

Paris slid off him, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and licked off the blood.

_To be or not to be?_ "Thank...you," he whispered as she straightened her dress with a shimmy.

"I know, right?" She waved her fingertips and blew him a kiss. "Bye, Gorgeous. That was hot. Thanks for the party."

She set her phone at her ear, and after a moment, said, "Jimmy! Need another clean up, but give him ten... Yes! A spectacular feast... No, not _that_ messy. Thanks so much. Mwah. You're the best."

She sashayed to the door, hips and arms swaying. She looked energized and refreshed, and somehow, more beautiful than before.

The taste of their mixed essence clung to his tongue like nectar of the gods.

The lights went off, the door closed, and darkness engulfed him, symbolizing the end of his earthly existence.

He closed his eyes.

His body suddenly felt as old as it was. The minimal blood that was still in his decaying shell pooled in his throat and lungs. He was drowning. His skin wrinkled and pulled taught. His bones splintered and snapped, tearing through muscle.

He fell and kept falling into some abyss. He couldn't scream. He wanted to sing and rejoice.

On a bed of ivory satin, he lay dying in agony, and he never felt more alive.

To be.

*This contest entry had to include a vampire, werewolf or zombie and a celebrity

Time dies like heartbeats

Hands race and spin so quickly  
'til they tick, click, cease

listening ears  
find a symphonic zone  
while running  
falling in love  
crying on a pillow

in the dark of night  
during wild sex  
in fits of mania  
from yesterday  
beyond twilight

be weird and crazy  
stir curiosity  
stretch for greatness  
be passionate  
find artistic voice

you superstar  
queen of hearts  
sex goddess  
homeless man  
child born with pen

to be or not to be  
that is the question  
find the story  
the untold story  
poetic license

deep within

springing out  
like glorious angels  
like soul's fire  
in a creative burst

The Saturday morning buzz whirls by as I'm trapped in quicksand, wearing my brand new heels. I was awakened by a drip...drip...drip. A leaky faucet, a mere whisper to most, screams, contrasts the silence. I fled my home, did the day spa, got a coffee - black, but now I'm stuck in this sludgy line amidst a commotion of scanner beeps and price checks.

Just my usual.

Something resembling jam adorns some chick's collar like a ruby brooch and ghastly runs streak the left leg of her nylons. The stranger turns and gives me _that look_...as if to illuminate some bond of sisterhood to gain my sympathy and understanding. I have none.

Just my angst.

I flick my blond hair off my shoulder and sneer, but my left eye's squinting more than the right. She pivots away pink and huffy. Well too freakin' bad! I don't give a rat's ass! I know her mussed hair tells of the day she's had, but the man who accompanies her sparkly finger probably considers such a wind-blown disaster sexy.

Just my luck!

I realize she has three momentary itches. One's crying. One's trying to flee. One's whining for something...maybe candy. I don't know, nor do I care. I wanna punch her in the face so bad because she just doesn't get it. Instead, I blink away dew and embrace the cans in my hands, containing some substance that might be meat. I can't stop thinking about that look.

Just my mirror-image.

Or what used to be...barely past yesterday, when such aggravations weren't quite seen as treasures...when sneakers needed to blink, when the tires were worn, when the ruby was all stain. I'd do anything to get back that look.

Kid-tousled, sparkly, frustrated, spent.

That was mine.

Before the fire.

She slips into the shadowy room where I'm waiting...aiming.  
Cheaters deserve the fire of steel, coldness of death.  
Sweet justice was commissioned; it beckoned me here.  
Who'd disregard candlelight dinners...midnight beach romps?  
Hmph...I'm not judge, just executioner.  
So why am _I_ bleeding?  
 _She_ deserved the bullet.  
She's smirking, leaving.  
She knew!  
How?

## – 1 –

## Bad Plans

When the spindly finger of doom first poked Majesty five months ago, she'd shrugged it off with a "yeah, right," only to have her father end up near-headless in a ditch under a blanket of safety glass. These days, her shoulders stayed put. _Knew something would happen. Knew it!_ She clamped her jaw to quiet her stupid teeth. Should she whistle? Shout for help? Would that startle the dude and make him fall or even be heard over the celebratory clamor at the new baseball diamond beyond the hills? Tension rolled down her back as she searched for assistance and came up empty. She was his only hope. God help him.

Though his eye color remained a mystery, since he quivered on a ledge thirty feet overhead, and she was pretty sure she'd never more than glanced at him before, those windows to his soul bulged like half dollars, minted with fear. Fear was good. That meant he didn't _want_ to die, right? At least not with a face-first plummet into blacktop.

Cool wind swirled around her and whipped her chestnut locks into her face, yet she broke into a sweat and her limbs threatened to melt. She clutched her hair with trembling fingers and shoved it into the back of her shirt as she sought a gem of inspiration. _What's his name even? Crap!_

He, who was like three pounds heavier than the Crypt Keeper, and honestly not much cuter, shuffled his foot. Grit rained down and pricked Majesty's face, making her grimace and step back several feet into a parking space. Knuckling sand out of her eye, she strained to locate his moniker in some dusty, mental file _... Nothing!_

This guy seriously melted into the walls, which was probably why he wanted a splattery exuent. But, he appeared to be second-guessing his death wish, clinging to the backside of Cedar Creek High, fingers spread wide like the blue ones on a strawberry poison dart frog.

After every win, the baseball players, coaches and she—the team manager—played assassination hide-and-seek in the woods behind the school, feigning death from fatal shots of colored water and other wet substances. But _this_ was no game!

Blasting outta the building in her just-fetched slicker, she'd glanced back to silence the niggle that said she was being watched. Well, she was! And now his life depended on _her_ , a hot mess of seventeen who'd worn out more running shoes in recent time than birthday candles. _Her_ , rather than someone who could actually think under duress without needing to rattle off the fixings in various pints of Ben & Jerry's.

Unable to whip up a decent plea or anything motivational, Majesty opted for the opposite. She raised her plastic sleeve and glanced at her watch. "Well, jump already. What are ya waitin' for? Haven't got all day. Hear the frenzy? I've got a winners' battle to attend to, managerial duties to punch out, you know, the usual, 'cause we're rockin' a most glorious, undefeated season."

"What? You think I should jump?"

"What do I know. Call a hotline. I can barely handle my own turmoil, never mind yours. Unless you're holding a bat or glove, can't help ya, sorry. Crisis aversion's not in my job descrip." In case he could spot her tremors, she leaned back on one leg, then planted her other foot strong to keep it from tapping in time to her frantic pulse. Hopefully she wasn't playing this hand of Death all wrong. "What do you got to live for anyway?"

"Nothing. I'm so ... tired."

"Take naps then. Less permanent."

"I mean ... of having no friends."

"I thought you did. That Prince of Darkness guy? Warren Niles?"

"Yeah. One friend. Lucky me. As good as none."

"Oh, please. If you hate your situation, stop playing SimSuicide and change it. Find what you're good at. Make friends outside of school. I hear cults are very welcoming. Besides, geeks get girls... _eventually_."

"Right. Every day is such a nightmare. You have no idea."

"Oh, really? Do _you_ wake up, heaving from bloody dreams that promise destruction like some crazy street guy forecasting the Apocalypse? Did _you_ slam a door in your dad's face hours before he died? Does everyone, cops included, think you're a pestering loon 'cause 'accident' doesn't sit right with you, nor the many other freakouts, like the car that keeps showing up on your street, with someone sitting in it, doing like, nothing? No? Oh no? Didn't think so. Life sucks for everyone. Jump or deal with it."

He held a moment of silence, hopefully, reconsidering having gravel embedded in his brain. "You really slammed the door in your dad's face? On _that_ day?"

Majesty closed her eyes and took deep breaths to ditch the barbed truth for something more benign like the weather. _Yes_ , she nodded, it was quite windy, the frickin' clattering leaves on roller coasters of gnarled branches proved it. She listened to the soft percussion and fled from the pain trying to needle its way in.

"Man," he said. "So, even your best friends, Alec and Derek, think you're nuts?"

She winced that he knew who her best friends were, while she couldn't even recall his stinkin' name. Surely she'd heard it at some point. She scratched her cheek. All she could come up with was Wheels, but that couldn't be right. She reopened her eyes and looked back up at his vibrating knees. "Yep. BFFs can break your heart too."

"Must suck to be you, oh, Queen of Misery."

"Most days."

He edged along the thin lip, and she slapped her chest with splayed fingers. His toes hung over, body swayed.

Despite her best effort to play cool cat, her shrill shriek as he wavered to catch balance throttled that guise to death. "No! Don't!" She exhaled with a shudder when he steadied. He stayed there for several seconds, then ducked in through an open window _. What? Over?_ Seemed so, but her wracked nerves still had her shaking like crazy. "Hey! You gonna be all right?"

He was gone from the vicinity of the window and didn't reply.

Well, Death was one nasty S.O.B., but at least her disastrous life was good for somethin'. Smiling at her success and not paying attention, she spun right into someone and wobbled, stepping back. _Oh gothic lord._ She pointed up with both hands. "Oh my gosh! Your fr—"

"Let me guess. Jase?" Her gaze pinballed from his dark lips to his crown of gelled daggers to his demon garb.

"Jase? Oh. Jaaase. Jason Wheeeeler." She ground her jaw to stuff the braggery on her tongue, as his lack of shock and narrowed eyelids insisted he could more than one-up her. "Yes. He's safely off the brink now, but—"

"Though I gotta lock him up some days, he wouldn't have jumped. He likes to ponder in peril. A splat just isn't glorious enough... Speaking of glory, your victory annihilation is about to commence," Warren said brusquely.

"My lame game? Screw it! I wanna go check on him, make sure he's okay."

"Don't worry. I got it... Go on. Knock 'em dead. You shouldn't mess with superstition."

"What?" Before she could voice more concerns or say anything closer to kind, he scuffled away, hands in pockets. _So weird._ Hopefully he'd get his friend in check. She watched him until he reached the building, then took off for the woods. From the trunk of rejected weapons, she selected the best looking spray gun, though cracked and paltry. _Oh well. I never lose_.

Arm-shoved from behind, she jumped and spun to find Derek's light blue gems darkened in a glare. "Jerk. Looking to die faster?"

"Took you the hell long enough."

"Just saving another neck. My bad."

"Come on, let's go. I'm It."

"The _Shit's_ more like it," Alec said, walking up to them, laughing. "Had to make him wait for ya."

Derek clenched the bloody-looking splotch on his shirt. "Only scored 'cause I wasn't looking, loser. You're _all_ goin' down. Calling it now. First total wipeout ever, by _one_ It."

"Yeah? You still gotta get me." Majesty swept her finger over one of the drops on Derek's arm and sniffed it. "Wow! Huge step up from the watered-down ketchup we tried. This looks and smells so real."

"Right. Goat's blood usually does," Alec said flatly, though the jest in his eyes gave him away. Her bloody dreams were no joke! They just didn't get it.

"Ooo, it's real? Delicious." Majesty slid her finger onto her tongue, closed her lips around it, then pulled it out clean with an erotic moan. "Mmm." It was real! _Nasty!_ But her nausea was well worth it, with every hint of glee dissolving in their eyes. "Epic fail trying to sickify me. Watch out. I fight hard and dirty."

"Alec'll fight ya. Dirty or not. Betcha could take him down in three seconds."

"Mmm hmm. Poor thing. I'll be gentle."

"No way, baby," Alec whispered in her ear. "I like it rough." He left a kiss on her temple.

"Good to know." She winked at him.

They waved her off and dashed deeper into the thicket.

She tested her ammo, squirting her hand, gawking at the streaming ribbons of red. _Blood for everyone? It's fine. Don't be such a baby._ Considering the capacity of these adjustable-nozzle super soakers, she didn't even want to think about how many buckets they'd bought or where or how?

Drawing closer to the rowdy warriors, she whistled through her fingers to get this party started. What an impressive cry of the wolf! Her loudest ever. She lifted a soaring whoop again, but it fell far short of the first's magnificence. As she looked over her shoulder for the perfect place to hide and make Derek eat crow, movement caught her eye by the school. She shivered and froze in her tracks. _What the heck's he still doing out here?_

Two seconds later, Warren turned and entered the building... but not before she'd sensed a fury that swore he could slay her beloved Colts with will alone. Maybe he could. Maybe that's why her chills wouldn't die.

. . . .

Finished with player updates, an article for the team site and most deliciously, the _call_ , Majesty laughed, dropping her office phone into its cradle in her office off of the gym. Getting to gloat to the Wasps' Athletic Director thrilled as a definite managerial perk. The Colts and Wasps usually faced off in the regionals, but the Dragons just scorched the lousy buzzers, 12-5.

But, every ounce of funny was suddenly slain by the lingering sting from nearly being taken out by Derek. Cornered in the brush, the last one standing, and "Time's up!" was what had saved her? _Disgraceful._

She groaned at the unfamiliar taste of loserdom while tucking her hair under her cap, then snatched flavored water from her mini-fridge and kissed the school goodbye. Exiting out the back, she thought of Jase and prayed to the ears in the air that he'd find peace or something.

She dashed to the front and down the driveway and turned left toward the town center, and away from homes with yippy purse dogs and diamond-studded mailboxes.

A sprinkle of storefronts, a second-run cinema, St. Mark's, one restaurant, one gas station and Spanky's—a mini-golf/ice cream shop-gone-wild—made up Cedar Creek's hub.

Banners put up for the St. Paddy's Day parade still hung on utility poles and she searched for surprise additions amongst the bunnies and flowers. _No screwing dogs or puking rats yet? Boring, people. Get with it!_ These sugary spring-things always flapped in the wind beside mini American flags until the day after the Independence Day fireworks, which was not necessarily on the 4th ... or even in July. She'd have to be on the lookout for the perfect demented treasure to tack up before then. Little sound was lovelier than a chorus of old lady shrieks and tsks.

She passed Fisher Price village and the lions guarding Markie's cathedral and booked it into The Common, a fancy name for an ill-equipped park. Woods laced through town, but the strip behind The Common aroused whispers. Three kids, holding hands and singing _Ring around the Rosie_ , stopped and gawked.

One cried, "She's goin' in! Must not be ascared a the spooks."

Entering the shadowy land, Majesty snickered that Alec's urban legend about those people-turned-creatures endured. _"They grow more fierce each day, waiting in the woods for their kings and queens to come and lead them to overtake the area, the country, and eventually, the world."_

Six years ago, a girl disappeared. Theories abounded, but most of the children believed, "The spooks got her."

Crows griped about the invasion and the drooping sun spilled beams through the evergreen towers, creating an inky leviathan war deep in the thick. Majesty took a deep breath as anxiety weaseled in.

Near the tripod, where three towns converged and a coven reportedly danced nude, she slowed to a stroll. Birds departed the treetops in a flurry of flapping wings, but one crow remained, voicing stern warnings to friends ... or maybe her. She gulped her drink, enjoying its grape hint. When glitchy male voices found her ears, she froze, bead of water dripping from her mouth.

"So, everything's set?"

"Yep. Got the guns, supplies. It's a go."

Majesty searched. _There ... little over ten yards._

"Hope ... doesn't blow up in our faces. Thought we were gonna kill one. Those people won't know what hit 'em."

_People? Can't see anything!_ Imaginary ants tingled her neck and her legs wobbled with each step she took toward a concealing tree. She braced herself and peered around the trunk. But the closer look didn't help, since fatigues, bulky vests and face-engulfing Buffs obscured them. _Great!_

"That's the beauty ... They'll learn how dead and buried their Jesus is when ... doesn't help ... start shooting up the church. Haven't ... how many I wanna off yet. Needs to be sick... national coverage. Let's snatch our gear ... do this lame paintball thing, get back to our real deal."

They headed for the even deader town of Megan's Corner. _No. Wait!_ Majesty leaned forward, shifting her weight. _If I could just..._ A stick snapped underfoot. The taller one stopped and whacked his buddy's arm. She cringed and jerked back.

"Shh. Hear somethin'?" They were likely debating the noise she'd stupidly made in the whispers she couldn't make out, but the clatter of them moving through the woodland was deafening.

Sweat dripped from Majesty's temples and frightened fairies fluttered beneath her skin. She stood motionless but the rustling drew too close. Shoved into flight, she took off like a sprinter at the shot. Water sloshed on her leg, awakening goose bumps with its chill. She chucked the bottle and cap into reaching shrubs.

Muddled threats nipped at her heels, but agility and swiftness aided her evasion, as well as knowing the woods, not well, but well enough. Majesty bolted through the clearing, rounded a bend and deserted the path.

Busting through brushwood as fast as she could, she spotted a hollow. She jumped into its bowl of dead foliage with way too much crunch, slid under a bush and clammed her mouth with her hands to prevent gasping. She swallowed to rid the tightness that was crawling up her throat.

"Some girl. See anything?"

"Nah."

She tried to catch vocal distinctions, already smothered by a babbling stream. She swept a tickling spider off her arm, lifting freakin' trumpet blasts into the air. _Idiot!_ Her heartbeat drummed in her ears as she muscled her gaze through branches.

"Gone."

The watery white noise had proven a godsend for her foolish misstep and cranky stomach, now bellowing for food. One of them kicked debris her way and a fleck of something hit her eye. She closed it and covered it with her fingers.

After a string of salty slurs, one said, "Hair was hidden ... Colts shirt."

"Good. One of our own. Should ... find her."

_Our own?_ She shuddered. Agony seduced her to dislodge the foreign body with her knuckle. She couldn't wait.

"But what if she—"

"No one can stop us, especially some girl. We're in control. I'll find her first ... eradicate her."

Their nerve-grating footfalls walked away, veering into silence.

Majesty finally allowed her lungs to yank air. She'd never been so petrified ... except for the time men in blue had come to her door ... and she just knew.

# 

## – 2 –

## Anonymous One

Majesty remained in the woods a good half hour before leaving. Her lungs burned by the time she mounted the steps to the terrace off the side of Derek's house and bedroom. Blue-black clouds suddenly seized the sun as if to keep it from falling into the clutches of the bloody Siren beckoning at the horizon, and the darkness swallowed Majesty up.

As chills shook her, she prayed Derek was home. She cringed at the prospect of being alone, with Death so evidently at her heels ... and bragging about it. A glow through the curtain looked promising.

She knocked on his French door with a shaky fist. Sweat had plastered hair to her face. She slid the snaky strands behind her ears, smoothed out the rest. Not that he'd ever notice a difference between her delectable diva swagger and this river-rat-on-crack thing she surely had goin' on ... but still. Getting no response, she rapped harder and bounced on her heels. "Come on. Be home." Finally, an outer light came on. Once the door opened, she clung to him like someone snatched back from a riptide.

"What's up, Maj?" Shirtless and in jeans, Derek pushed against her shoulders, but she held on. His hands plodded across her back as though not equipped to deal with the duty of consolation. Why couldn't he ignore his hatred for tears and let her stay in his arms? Just once!

Conceding, she pulled away and entered his midnight blue sanctuary, which at 20' x36' dwarfed her entire upstairs. Despite the warmth from lit candles and the running gas fireplace, she couldn't stop shivering. She paced in front of his jumbotron and spat out the dreadful tale, with her hands completely going off-script with their own take.

"What? Were they for real? Come on, Maj."

"Yes. One said he'd _eradicate me_ when he finds me. They go to CCH _and_ saw my shirt!"

"Okay, okay. Calm down. With the hype, Colts shirts are everywhere. What'd the cops say?"

"Uh, I haven't told 'em yet. My cred's shot. Kind of an unintentional cry-wolf thing."

"Majesty. You gotta tell 'em."

"Oh, yeah, I know. But I can't go in there all hysterical and spazzed out. They'd blow me off like always. _Me_. The idiot griever. I need a freakin' game plan, a way to say it that won't make me sound like Chunk. But my brain's in mud. Help me think."

"Um ... get a good look or recognize voices? Details'd help."

"Un-uh. I missed pieces actually. They sounded weird and muffled, wore scarves over their mouths. And also, some of the officers know me. What if my identity lands in the press?"

His blue-diamond eyes twinkled with ridicule. "Guess you'll be eradicated then."

"Come on. Get real. This is serious."

"The press? The _TriTown News_ has what, fifty readers? A sap like you will crash if it happens and you'd done nothing to try and stop it. Hmm. Hey, I know. Call from a payphone. Then, no one has to know your _identity_ , and cops'll be more apt to believe it. Solves everything."

She mulled it over, chewing her lip, twisting fingers together. "Okay. Maybe. Hopefully it'll work. There is that relic hanging on for dear life in the Don't-Blink Zone. I've got to try it. I don't want anyone to die. For a while now, I've felt like something's been chasing me, Death really. That's why I've been so nutty."

"Is that what they call it?" He embraced her, his hands doing a better job this time, drawing gentle swirls. "It'll be okay. Relax. You've got a whole team of protectors, armed with bats."

"No! I don't want anyone to know. Not even Alec. Okay?"

"Sure, crazy, whatever you want."

His muscular hold soothed but also ignited a thirst for him to kiss her with unforgettable passion. But that would never happen. He was her best friend, and that's all he'd ever be.

Waving flames from maybe twenty tapers evoked images of him ravishing some naked slut allowed to scream his name. His dark brown hair, wet at the tips, and the saltiness that met her lips, only made them multiply. Though the sickening illusions cut through her like a gazillion shards of glass, she'd take them over bloody ones any day.

"What's with all the candles?" She slapped her mouth for spilling the thought when she'd specifically told it not to.

"Aaah, ya know, prayin' to Satan."

"And ya didn't invite me? Mean." _Stupid candles. Fabulous._ Exactly what she needed at the moment too. But what kind of nemesis would Grief be if it didn't stab at her from every angle? "Why would anyone wanna slaughter people like that?"

"Beats me. Hopefully, we can find out who it is before they act."

"Trust me. Once I gather my thoughts, that's what I fully intend to do."

. . . .

Being with Derek had lessened Majesty's anxiety, but a sliver of dread lingered, as well as prickly frustration from him not seeming even slightly aroused while he'd inspected her for ticks in his bathroom. What the heck was his problem anyway? He'd have to be blind to be more blind. She waved to him as he ripped out of her driveway. Dogwood blossoms that had settled on his Corvette sailed off and fluttered to the pavement.

Majesty entered her meager cottage and inched the door closed. Ignoring the call of fresh-baked banana bread, she turned to slink upstairs, but her mother met her at the door, making her grouse.

"Happy to see you too. How was the game?"

Majesty removed her cap, shook her tresses and fingered through the snarls. "We won. We're so close. The regional final's next week."

"Thought you had state semis or something."

"After the next win." She waved her foot side to side, longing to be in her room, and not in the faux-finished foyer, pretending yesterday's closeness wasn't broken into bits of nothing.

"Oh. Can never keep it all straight."

Majesty stepped forward to leave but couldn't escape the inquisition, thanks to the almighty arm-block. "What. Lemme go up."

"In a minute. Did Derek drop you off?"

"Yep." She recoiled as her mother stroked her head.

"You okay? You look flushed."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Ran everywhere today. I'm zapped."

"Better get to bed then."

"Plan to. Right after I memorize a scene for drama."

"That's good. Paul and I are going out with the Millers next Saturday. Got plans? If so, I'll have to beg or barter to find a sitter."

_Jerk-face again? Bed's barely cold!_ "Don't think so, but somethin' may come up. Can't you try to find a sitter anyway? I hate staying home when the weather's so nice."

"I rarely get to go out. Stop being selfish. I know you're not crazy about Paul, but he takes my mind off things. Plus, Skye misses you. You're far busier now than you were with track, jazz and three other things. She can't wait for school to end, especially since you're in this _Our Town_ play on top of everything else."

_You can't wait ya mean!_ "What else? I have the team and acting. Never even congratulated me on landing Emily by the way. I haven't been this idle since eighth. My grades are up. You wish I were like you, Kleenex on hand, barely living, but that's not me. Never will be."

"Not true. I just hate when you bury yourself to avoid—"

"You _always_ do this ... Ya know what, fine. I'll watch her." She spun away, seething, and took deep breaths to keep that hideous beast, Grief, from clawing its way out of its tiny prison in all its menacing fury like some pent-up demon. Once she settled back into her comfortable zone of numb, she peered over her shoulder and said, "Can I at least invite Aislyn and the guys over for games and pizza?"

"As long as you clean up. I hate coming home to a mess."

"Yeah. Thanks for the nudge."

Snubbing her mom's glare, Majesty crept up the stairs to avoid waking her sister, but Skye was peeking out of her room, floppy, white bunny drooped over her arm.

"Hey. Whatcha doin' up, Bug?" Majesty sauntered over and leaned against the doorjamb, then tapped the four-year-old's head with her cap. "Should be sleepin'."

Skye yawned. "Too many moonbeams are coming in the window. Can you read to me?"

A cuddle-and-read sounded the perfect remedy. "Sure. I'd love to." Plus, Skye's night terrors slew any stillness of night with blood-curdling screams and a story might settle her subconscious mind. Majesty lifted her so she could reach the shelf. "I trust you'll pick a winner. You know my faves."

"This one."

Skye handed it over.

" _The Velveteen Rabbit_? Excellent choice." She carried Skye to the Dora the Explorer bed and snuggled her.

"Why ya sad?"

She shook her head at Skye's x-ray vision. "Rough day." She swept Skye's honey-colored bangs aside and planted a kiss on her forehead.

"Oh. Call Alec. He's so funny."

"You're right. He is."

"When he sings _Ring Around the Rosie_ and the ABC's all squeaky, it cracks me up." Skye burst out laughing and bopped her head, but Majesty shuddered at a rebirthing of toxic words.

The forest no longer seemed a place where urban legends fell flat in the wake of maturity along with belief in Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy. It really was a sanctuary for death and danger. _If only trees could warn. Then again, that's prob'ly what the crows are for._

. . . .

Hell on earth was officially Cedar Creek High, and Warren couldn't wait for it to freakin' freeze over. Droves of mindless germs in its corridors polluted joviality with antagonism, celebrating yesterday's victory in one breath, spewing venom in the next. He subsisted in a bubble, in this strange and foreign land. The inhabitants once dealt him flimsy condolences, but any and all voices of kindness had long since dissolved into static. Still, he much preferred disregard over abuse. He rushed up the stairs to get to third period unopposed, but Fate being his nemesis, found the very source of infection at the top of the landing.

With an audience of three in tow, Preston Reilly, the King of Vile, said, "Hey, Warren, what's your obsession with hell?" He flicked Warren's chest right on the towering flames of his Road to Ruin shirt, depicting people falling into a fiery chasm at the end of a broken road. "Goin' there?"

"No, but you prob'ly will be."

"Did you just get smart with me?" Preston gawked at his minions and back at Warren again, but with more fury.

"Course not. 'Cause surely any intelligent assertions might put you in a dyspeptic or irate disposition, and I'd hate to do that."

Preston glared, double-fisting Warren's shirt. "You're a pissant freak, you know that?" Some stupid ring on his right hand pressed into Warren's neck.

"That's what I hear." Warren's swallow took longer than it should have to complete.

He released his hold on Warren.

"Watch it. Someday I might rip out that shiny, new backbone." He held a tube of lipstick before Warren's eyes. "I bought you a new shade. _That_ one isn't very pretty. It draws too much attention to your braces." He tucked it into Warren's pocket.

Preston's entourage, made up of two cheerleaders, Warren supposed, and Blake, laughed as an assimilated unit, indisputably requiring lifelines to a collective hive mind to function. Warren chucked invisible daggers into the heads of Preston and his female lemmings as they slid down the banisters.

Still hovering, Blake whacked Warren's chest. "Got a trunk full of wooden stakes, just so you know." After turning into Jase with a crash, he shoved him. "Hey, runt, watch it."

Jase sank into a hunch and scuttled around Blake, who got carried away in a tide of his fellow jerk-swimmers. "What'd they want?"

"The usual. What else." Warren sneered at Jase, who exemplified regression to a primitive state, shoulders slumped, arms dangling. _Pathetic_. No one, not even this dorky sidekick of his, appreciated his brilliance and talent. Little did it matter. Soon he'd amass the respect he deserved ... from _everyone_. People would regret their misdeeds. He just needed to settle Jase's apprehension about committing a criminal act.

Though it could spell ruin to entrust his plan to a jittery dolt like him, with his greasy, blond hair forever moving more than any guy's should, unfortunately his cache of abettors only contained one.

"This is gonna end," Warren swore.

. . . .

Jase's brown eyes, dull as mud, turned Majesty into organza when she said hi. Well, if he wanted more friends, he should try, um, returning gazes or replying when spoken to. She felt no itch to sweat it. Unlike him, she didn't mind skirting under the radar, not with killers-to-be on the hunt. Her neck ached from the protective slouch she'd lugged around all day.

Though her victory shirt, one of five Colts shirt she owned, screamed flamboyance with its sparkly MJ on back, not wearing might've beamed brighter to whomever the deadly sickos were. But thanks to the Athletic Director's good sense to market paraphernalia, Colts shirts flooded in plenty, making her feel less self-conscious. Still, she feared she held some other exposing tell. According to school records, males totaled 254, which included invaders from Megan's Corner. _Finding 'em won't be easy. With more girls, what are the chances they'll find me_?

The dismissal bell rang. Finally.

Leaning against the lockers, Alec adjusted his Red Sox cap and squinted at her.

Majesty was about to snap, "What!" when a passerby said hi. "Oh, hi, Hannah." She backhanded Alec's chest. "She's cute. Ask _her_ out."

"Heidi of the Alps? No way. I bet she yodels and clog dances."

"She does not. Cut it out. I know. I know. Ya gotta have a sports nut."

"Stop going all Aphrodite on me."

"Actually, her son Cupid's the real romantic. She enjoys causing havoc. If I went all Aphrodite on you, you'd be fawning at my feet, burning with desire, getting harder by the—"

"Kay. Gotcha." Pink conquered the tan on his face, and his irises, which volleyed between blue and green, fell to the hue of colder oceans. "Quit matchmaking, all right?"

"For now," she laughed. Being able to floor this rock among mere men sparked a thirst for even greater stun power. "Hey. I got my first invite to a party at the King's mansion today."

"Yeah. Derek and I found his junk mail this morning. I'm not buying."

"Then I don't wanna go, but Derek might, and you know he kinda sorta weakens my will."

He swept strands of her hair off her face and tucked them behind her ear. "Lovesickness. Tackles the best of us. Want me to beat some sense into him, Brown Eyes?"

"No," she moaned.

He removed his cap and wiggled it onto her head. "Cuter on you." He smoothed his golden brown hair but missed some wisps on top. "He's beh..." She took care of 'em. "...um, been so detached and serious lately, rarely laughs anymore."

"Maybe your jokes just suck."

"You know what I mean. I don't know where his mind is these days."

"I do. Think fake boobs ... Gotta go. Bye." She one-shouldered her backpack, stuffed with books and letters of warning for every church within fifty miles.

"I can give you a lift," Alec said, reaching for it.

She recoiled. "No! I'm good. I'll walk. It's gorgeous."

"What the heck? Rob a bank?"

"No. I ... have lots of locker crap ... cleaned it out. It's not heavy."

He sneered at her and said, "Okaaay. You cool or what? You've been weird all day. Kinda jumpy and quiet actually. And _you_ , quiet? With the title recapture a couple of wins away? Not like you at all."

"I'm fine. Just tired. Need fresh air. See ya." As she turned, faces warped like deranged clowns in a fun house mirror. She clenched her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Though her vision reset, anxiety stuck. Her pulse raced as she exited and jogged to the Don't-Blink Zone.

With no one near the payphone, she darted there, kissed her Carlton Fisk keychain for luck and called police.

"Cedar Creek Police Department. Recording."

Peering around, she hunched and shielded her mouth. "Hi. Uh, I was jogging in the woods last night around seven-thirty. I overheard two guys, who I believe go to Cedar Creek High, talking about some plan involving a church. They didn't specify, but they mentioned guns and shooting. That's all I heard. Just wanted you to know. Bye."

"Wait a minute! Miss—"

She hung up and gnashed her teeth. _Load off me now. But what if they learn I ratted, figure out who I am?_ The phone rang, making her jolt. _Stupid caller ID._ Casting a glance over her shoulder, she gasped and did a double-take. "Oh no! Gas station cameras." _Cops'll know in five. It's fine. Be cool._ She jerked Alec's cap down on her brow. "He-hello?"

"Tell anyone else, _anything_ , even the fact that we found you, and someone you love will die," said an electronic voice. "No one can stop us ... least of all, _you_."

During a diabolical laugh, she shivered and slammed the phone down. Aside from Smitty changing gas prices on his sign, no one appeared in eyeshot. The letters, now affixed with a death sentence, suddenly weighed like lead.

Majesty couldn't stop shaking, as she ran home, the long way.

## – 3 –

## Huge Shockers

Majesty tugged the back of her miniskirt. She lost count of the cars oozing down the street for Preston's Sunday evening bash as she trudged up the limestone steps behind Derek. She followed him inside once some bucktoothed moose scrutinized her ID and double-checked the list.

Good thing she'd brought it. She didn't do purses since pockets were plenty sufficient for the bare essentials, and she kept her license in her mom's car for the rare moments she wasn't pressed to bike, hike or run, which was hardly ever. But with the kegs, blaring music and scantily clad couples mauling wild on the spiral staircase and in every nook and cranny, she kinda wished she'd forgotten it. Lacking ID would've given her the perfect out. _Why'd I come? Fool. Fool. Fool._

She traced her spaghetti strap with a pinch, gazing around. Insanity ruled the room, so stressing over wearing her boob-boosting cami from Aislyn now seemed ridiculous, especially matched up against that creepy call still defiling her ears and this slutfest turning her stomach.

Sconces and whirling, colored lights lit up the opulent great room. Bright circles of fuchsia, plum, gold and turquoise whizzed around like angry bees, dizzying her. The extreme PDA, blaring music and dancing bubbles had transformed this beautiful manor into some seedy nightclub.

She'd wasted curiosity on this? So not her thing. Especially since nearly being raped at a frat party she'd attended with her cousin last spring. Never told a soul. "Ya sure you wanna be here, Derek?"

Without looking at her, he said, "Come on. We rarely get invited. I missed my shot last year for some reason I can't recall. Let's be cool enough to make an appearance, hang for about an hour."

She cringed. _An hour?_ An hour of this would be excruciating. And since when did he give two licks about social status anyway? She looked to see what had snared his attention. "Ukkk." _Cynthia Manning. In some designer's scraps. Could she be any trashier?_ Not even here a minute, and Derek's tongue had already unfurled. _Hope she flips you off._ Majesty flicked her wavy locks off her tight shoulders.

Considering bloodthirsty killers could be in the room, she started trembling and her heartbeat trotted into a run. She spun, looking for a vacant seat. Not seeing one, she rushed toward the rear double doors.

Blake, sitting on a chaise with the grinding betrayer, Gabriella, on his lap, halted Majesty's stride. Though having pinky-sworn to be besties forever, Gabby totally cold-shouldered Majesty these days. Oddly, Blake seemed more affected by her presence here than the salacious lap dance he was getting. His piercing glare torpedoed tremors through Majesty.

"Hi. Glad ya came," a guy said in her ear.

She jolted and turned, not the least bit surprised to find Preston on the prowl, Budweiser in hand. "Yeah? Why's that?"

"Cause I've been blind. I never _saw_ you before the other day. Ya know what I mean?"

"Mmmm. No, not quite."

Preston clutched her shoulder, jamming her pivot to escape. The muscles in his sculpted, tan arm flexed and he held the grip when he noticed she'd seen it. "You're shaking. Nervous or somethin'?"

"No. Buzz off, Rembrandt, and go flash your over-bleached teeth to someone who cares, someone who's safely behind shades."

He chuckled. "Tell me your secret first. How do ya manage to be adorable and sexy simultaneously?"

His blue-blond looks could beguile the brightest souls into thinking he might be heavenly or something, but she knew better. "Who'd ya bet?"

"What?"

"I know you heard me, though eardrums might possibly bleed in here."

He released her. "No bets. I wanna get to know ya that's all."

"Come on. You've never glanced my way. Now suddenly, I'm cool enough to get an invite to this lovely... orgy or whatever it is?"

"No. Look. I'm tired of girls who'll do anything to be popular."

"Right."

"No, really. You're refreshing. I know I've been a jerk, but I've had an epiphany, and I'm trying to be more pleasant."

"Yeah, some epiphany. I heard you tearing Warren to shreds in the hall on Friday, saw you shove that lipstick in his face. That's quite pleasant. Keep up the good work." She patted his upper arm.

"I know. It was mean. Despicable. I'm—"

"Well, I highly doubt you changed over the weekend by magic. I was checked at the door."

"Bad habit! Who're you to judge, Miss High and Mighty Majesty? At least I see how cruel I've been. I don't see you chummin' up either. You assume you're better, but you're exactly like me. Only difference is, you slight him in silence."

She frowned for vilifying Preston when she stood one cruel zinger away from being that wretched. "You're right."

"Sorry about the way that came out. I think you're really sweet. Your scene with Alec on Friday rocked."

She turned and walked away.

"Maybe we could do one or—"

Not responding, she exited through the patio doors, but even under the moonlight, she couldn't break free from chills and disgust. _Even worse!_ "Gross. Total brothel." This party revolted her, and not just 'cause people were reaching seventh heaven in the lagoon-like pool though it wasn't hot enough. She also couldn't shirk the notion of being stalked like prey. _Gotta get outta here. Now!_

"Hi, Maj," said the center fielder, Pete, running past shirtless with some half-naked chick on his shoulders.

She turned to look. "Go, Speedy Pete."

By the time she noticed the shrieking redhead in lavender ShoutOuts heading her way, it was too late to stop the collision. "Hey, watch it!"

Miss Skank kept running and sporting glee as some guy chased her with a red water balloon. Hopefully a balloon. When the liquid bomb blasted her chest, the girl hurled insults sure to make a trucker blush and ran after her foe.

While rubbing her forehead and moaning, Majesty tried to picture the estate's splendor without its current blemishes. Though lovely, the arbors, ivy canopies, and weeping cherry trees did little to shield the soft porn going on beneath them. She screamed as someone lifted and whirled her around.

"Cynthia said _yes_. We're goin' out Saturday."

"Wow." _Uh, unbelievable. I'm gonna die._

After setting her down, Derek draped his arm around her neck.

"If you even give me a noogie, Derek, I will knock you out."

"I won't."

Walking ahead, she shouted, "Can we leave now? Please?" The eternity of ten minutes had been plenty.

"Sure. I got what I came for. People saw us, _and_ I bagged a date with Cynthia Manning. Awesome, huh?"

"Hardly," she muttered. How could he not vomit looking at her? Who knows what she's infected with. Majesty steamed on the entire ride home and slammed his car door in her driveway. With Derek lost in euphoria, smiling like a drunken fool, he'd clearly missed her distress. _Such an idiot!_ She gritted her teeth and spilled hot tears as she stormed inside. She double-stepped up to her room, saw it wasn't even 8:00 and called Alec.

"Hey, Maj. How was the party?"

"Dreadful," she said, curling her hand over her watery eyes. "That's why I'm home. Gonna hurl if I talk about it." Her wits returning, she peeled back the shade at her front window and searched both directions.

"Not surprised."

Nothing hair-raising stood out on her well-lit street. She hadn't seen a hint of the mysterious, maroon car in days. "Whatcha doin'?"

"About to go go-carting with Jonah and Ahmed. It should be interesting. Ahmed's never driven one. He keeps goin' on and on about ramming into me. Collisions are all good, but I think he thinks they're bumper cars."

She laughed. "Oh, I'd love to do that. Mind snagging me? My mom took Skye to Chuck E. Cheese. Not sure when they'll be back."

"Not at all. I'll be there in five."

. . . .

Weekends whizzed by with the speed of light, leaving Warren with not even one day, one moment of reprieve. So Mondays always chomped balls like a behemoth with swords for teeth.

Scribbling a pen on the corner of an application to try and expel ink, Warren gagged. If Spanky's dared to hire him, hopefully the stenches of jalapeno cheese and cinnamon fried dough would lose their stomach-turning intensity. He needed another employ since his job at Insider Trading, a comic and novelties shop, didn't sufficiently support his interests. Once blue swirls marked the paper, he dropped in his vitals.

The pestiferous howling of some moron blunted the racket of rolling balls and crashing pins and Warren looked up and snarled. He'd almost survived an entire day without a clash with Preston Reilly.

"Hey, killer party last night, Pres," a football player shouted, tying words to his canine bellows as he walked by. They lamely high-fived.

"Warren, buddy. Whatcha doin' here?" Preston said.

"Some of us gotta toil once in a while 'cause we don't have gold-dipped daddies filling our pockets with gum, whores and coin." As pain rocketed to his temples, Warren grimaced and froze at the form. If he landed the job, he'd likely have to see this repugnant face all summer ... unless the idiot ended up six feet under by a stroke of sweet justice. _Yeah._ He licked his blood-red lip, collecting minty glaze. But such an outcome would need to be delivered. Truly evil people always outlived the good, often making it well into their nineties.

"Too true. My dad's the connoisseur of whores. Lose the spikes, apply at Rischstar, then you'd earn real coin. You can't make squat here, unless you've got an addiction to nachos. Why ya so glum? Aren't you thrilled to see me?"

"No. You are the bane of my existence."

"Yeah. I do totally deserve that. I wanted to apologize though. I'm, uh, sorry for everything. I'm just so sick of it all."

"What?"

"No joke. I'm done. I know you'll never believe me after the hell I've put you through and that that just sounds like junk, but I wanted you—"

"Oh, so, you'll have one of your cronies do it for you?"

"No. And if I see anyone jerking you around, I'll make sure they never do it again." Preston slugged Warren's arm before walking away.

Warren squinted. _Drugs? Or worse. Up to something. But what?_

. . . .

While adding bowling shoes to the rank thirty or so on the counter, Majesty gawked at a stunning exchange between enemies. She turned at a shoulder tap, knowing it was Alec even before setting sights on his slightly crooked smile.

"Can't believe you pulverized me again, Maj. Don't tell Derek."

"What? He's worse than you, which is why he went off to do whatever... Cotton Candy Girl?"

Alec sniggered. "Still, it's embarrassing."

As they headed for the rows of orange cubes, she said, "Well, get used to it. Bowling's not the only thing I can slay you at. Bask in my awesomeness."

"Always, baby. My favorite spot."

"Good to know. Hey. Guess what," she whacked his arm, "Preston was just _nice_ to Warren."

"Why ya care? Ya like _him_ now?"

"Noooo. Saw him in a different light is all."

"Defective bulb. You hated his party, which shows his true colors. There's no way he flipped a switch overnight."

She unlocked the locker, removed her bag and closed the door with a thud. "Yeah, I know he's a louse, but maybe he's _trying_ to change. It's something."

"Somethin' alright. So naïve. Jerkoffs like him never change. Sounds like you're under his spell too, along with every other girl around here."

"No, not Preston's. I only wilt for one."

"Hello, guys. We'll have to do go-carts again," Ahmed said passing by.

"Sure thing," Majesty and Alec said in unison.

"Tell him," Alec said. "Trust me. He's oblivious."

She slid her bag onto her shoulder and groaned. "No way. It's pointless. He only drools over Cynthia."

"Not pointless. You watch, someday, Derek'll realize what a fool he's been, and he'll want you more than air. He just needs a nudge to—"

"No!" Clutching his shirt, she slammed him into the lockers. "Don't you dare."

Alec laughed and leaned forward as if to whisper in her ear, then jerked away, thudding his head on metal. "Aahh." He rubbed his head.

Majesty started at Derek's voice behind her.

"What wicked scheme is Alec planning now?"

She released Alec's shirt and turned. "Um, well, since it looks like we'll be pitted against the Boars _,_ he's gonna steal a fetal pig for the faceoff. Surely you can imagine how he intends to use it." Alec's face bellowed astonishment.

"See? Told you not to tell her, Alec," Derek said, moving between them. "She's not as twisted as we are. Although, since the finger-sucking thing, I've been thinking we may need to reassess her threshold."

Alec bit down on his grin and nodded, and Majesty broke out in laughter. It blew her mind that she'd guessed right on the fly and that Derek was still thinking about that lick.

"Can't wait for Wednesday's game," she said. "Bet Awesome Alec'll be back with a hit."

Derek said, "Yeah right. Twenty bucks says different. I think the slump holds."

"You're on," she said, smiling and shaking on it.

"Hey! I'm _standing_ here. Betting at my expense? Nice, guys. Nice."

"What," Derek said. "No pressure on _my_ end. You guys up for a pizza-game night?"

"Well, as taxing as that might be," Alec said, stretching his arms above his head, "I think I can muster up energy for that. Homework's minimal. Maj? Chief of all chiefs?"

"Mine too. I'm in."

Without warning, reality blustered away her momentary calm. She shivered, studying the throng around her. _Need to find the cobras before they strike. They might even switch location._ Looking at Alec for reassurance, she tried to brush goose bumps off her arms. He winked. She gulped and returned a slim smile before they headed for the door.

He reached around Derek, lifted her bag, then paused, smile tilting, eyes questioning.

"Go ahead. It's locker-crud free today." But its limpness should've told him relief was unnecessary. She snickered as he put it on his own shoulder. A piece of paper drifted out of the front pocket and flitted to the dingy carpet. She whisked it up and gasped. All it said was, _WHO?!_

Her heart jumped. _No, no,_ not _from them! Deep breath._

In drama, everyone had to answer a short question in depth and combine results to create a crazy scene. Given the timing, this rediscovery gonged as a dark omen.

She froze, not even daring to look back to see who was celebrating a strike.

Seconds later, Alec turned. "Forget something?"

"Nope." She wadded the despicable thing into a tight ball and chucked it onto the floor.

"What the heck was that?" Alec asked when she caught up.

"Nothin'. Just my to-do list."

## – 4 –

## Bloodsucking Creatures

Sitting on a bench, Derek thumped the ground with a Dynasty bat. He wasn't surprised to see the new stadium stands and grassy knolls packed, but it was the bottom of the fifth, and spectators were still trickling in. Latecomers had missed a killer offensive onslaught and three sweet rounds of the Colts' badass lineup.

At CCH, baseball game attendance trounced even football because the batmen ran undefeated, but since this was the regional final, a ton of Dragons' riffraff, with that wimpy, washed-out, couldn't-the-hell-makeup-its-mind turquoise, littered the stands as well.

Glove on one hand, ball in the other, Alec leaned forward, foot on the bench. "So, you're seriously taking out that snowflake? If you're into snobs, pick Steph. At least she's got brains and isn't as icky."

"Snowflake's hotter." Hearing connection, Derek peered at the field. Ahmed secured first, and Pete sauntered to the batter's box, rolling his shoulders, surely giving his notorious stare-down to the pitcher. "And don't even mention Maj to me again. I'd never date her. She's so..." He nearly scoffed at Alec's big-brother sneer.

"What's wrong with her? She's hot, fun, gutsy."

"Hey, knock yourself out, Romeo."

"She belongs with _you_. You're such an idiot."

"And you're such a nauseating wuss. Since Nina dumped ya, prob'ly 'cause she wasn't gettin' any, this is all you freakin' blab about. Ain't gonna happen. Not a chance."

Muttering nonsense, Alec chucked his unneeded gear on the ground. After donning a helmet and snatching a bat from the batboy, he stormed to a clearing and whipped air.

Derek watched Maj chat with Troy, the hitting coach. A cropped Colts shirt revealed flat abs, and black track pants hugged her perky butt. Ribbons in team colors laced through and tied off a French braid, highlighting a very biteable neck. She _was_ hot, in a cute sorta way. To smother his lust during a tick inspection, he mentally cited any Sox stats he could recall. Her coconut-scented hair dizzied him enough, never mind her body. And that smile! The devilish one. It found the gaps in his full-court-press resistance. _Prob'ly hurt her someday. Freakin' faulty survival mechanism or some shit. And chicks love mystery. She'll wanna know everything._

Witnessing his mom's death at age eight had changed and shattered him, and his fool friends would never understand his head-first dive into debauchery, especially the true tally of fifteen lays, not _two_. _Maj'd die if she knew I'd nailed a hooker. Maybe another. Freakin' gaps. So wasted._

He located Cynthia in her usual spot, looking tastier than ever. She was too shallow to care about walls or secrets. _Perfect._ He cleared his throat and yanked his waistband, then shifted his gaze into a pit of molasses. Neither the loud chink slicing the air nor the dirty deeds on pause in his mind could rip his attention from Warren's direct stare, roaring with intensity, or so it seemed. _Does he know?_ Derek trembled and shook his head. _Couldn't._

As screams of excitement resounded, a shrill one from a girl not in attendance owned. Though her voice died with a recalled splat, Derek's head throbbed from the guarantee it would find him again... in bed, in stillness, in any forest. He rubbed his forehead and shoved his focus to the diamond, finding Pete at first, Ahmed in scoring position.

After adjusting his gloves and helmet and batting dirt off his cleats, Alec readied at the plate.

Surely still crying inside like some pissy wimp, he'd either strike out or fly out. He did neither. At a 1-1 count, he whacked the ball into deep right and the diving fielder came up short. _Ha!_ Loser scooped up the ball in a rapid roll, scampered to his feet and hurled it to second. Alec beat the throw, Ahmed breezed home and Speedy Pete snagged third. That was Alec's first hit in three games. Derek let out a "Yeah!" Then it hit him, _Twenty bucks! Damn._

Three for three so far this inning, two on, no outs.

Mikey, the Colts' best power hitter, always batted fourth, and the simple-minded grizzly now had the perfect setup to clean up. Derek stood to watch him charge the plate with the ferocity of a rabid beast.

He didn't even have to look to know Warren still bored into him with a laser beam of hatred. Derek's tension held taut, inviting an itchy unrest into his already frazzled fray.

With his dynasty in hand, or maybe in peril, Derek exited the dugout.

. . . .

Warren scrutinized the cesspool of frivolity over the fence. The vacuous masses blanketed the hills and seats like cult members, adorned with the regalia of a poppy field, all to lift praises to the gods of torment. The crowd grew uproarious as three Colts headed for home. Another win and war seemed a sure thing.

As grass around the diamond danced in the breeze, getting jumped by dirt particles and weeping sweet fragrance, Warren wondered what kind of canvas it would make for blood. Large stains, seeping through dirt, drowning worms. Would the invasive medium look tainted, uglier, prettier, swashed all over turf? Probably prettier.

He smoldered with curiosity to know what the fools'd do if real guns aligned with their chests, heads and dicks. No water, florescent paint or goat's blood. Just hot bullets, tearing flesh and bone asunder. _Whimper and beg for mercy? Bastards._ In his fantasies they always did.

Being on the same side as the scoreboard, he couldn't see the inning or score but he did spot something revolting: Preston walking his way. Warren groaned and tightened his tattooed fingers on the chain links.

"Hey, Warren. Never seen you at a game before. Come sit with us."

"What?"

"Really. I know we'll never be blood brothers or anything, but some civility might be possible. I told my friends about my stand with you, so they won't bother you. Won't even try."

"Wow. What a sweetheart. And you're being nice, why exactly?"

"Her Majesty. She confronted me about the way I treated you the other day, with the lipstick and all."

"She did?"

"Yeah. Again, sorry about that and the millions of other things I've done. She won't even speak to me until I change."

"Oh, it's all for show then? You forgot the jazz hands."

"Ha. At first, that was my aim, but after serious introspection—"

"Wow. Stirring word, coming from your vile trap."

"Yeah, learned it just for you ... Anyway. After serious _introspection_ , I've seen myself for the monster I can usually be. I've been so blinded by my gorgeous face in the mirror, I didn't stop to look inside."

Warren grunted at his over-the-top cheese.

"Look. I always thought you were weird, ya know? But you know who you are. You don't go wilt or gun down the lot of us, though we deserve it. Meanwhile, I'm the king around here, but I had to destroy _everything_ I am to gain that supremacy. I don't even recognize myself anymore." Preston wiped his sweaty lip as his eyes grew wet, teary actually. Dust or remorse could've been the trigger. Warren didn't care which. "I'm just trying to ... never mind ... Come on. If you want."

Warren shrugged and followed him into the fog of fans and up the risers, past nice, plastic seats to bleachers. Whether the throned beast held earnestness or not wouldn't matter. He planned to proceed regardless of today's outcome. He'd just have a few adjustments to make, depending.

Upon arrival, Preston said, "Everybody, this is Warren. Warren, this is everybody."

"Hi, Warren," a cluster collectively said, as if it were Borg or brainwashed to obey Preston's every command. Warren believed if he'd said, "My, the grass is such a lovely shade of purple today." They all would've replied, "Indeed."

Warren squinted as idiots crammed together to make room for a bloodsucking creature. His first time in the autographed, transplanted bleachers, he never imagined the metal plank would prove so uncomfortable. He tried shifting his bony butt around to no alleviation. He leaned forward, elbow on thigh, jaw on fist. The scoreboard said it was the fifth. Colts hastened toward victory with ten runs, sixteen hits; Dragons lagged with four and six.

The crowd cheered as Derek McCarthy tossed his bat and jogged to first. _Foul ... No. A walk._

Warren could get a decent read on anyone, except _that_ guy, cloaked in so many coatings of shell that there was no way to tell what truly lay within. He'd just given him the strangest look too. What the heck was that about? "Ah, they're winning,"

"Yep. So, what's your favorite subject, Warren?"

"Uh, well, everything's pretty much effortless for me, but history gets the nod."

"Yeah? Would'a thought math or science. It's no secret, you're a ner ... I mean, a whiz. Aw man, Warren, you're just beggin' for insult. Could you not decide on one outcast persona? 'Cause you've adopted several. Does anyone in America even don the black anymore? The combat boots and everything? I mean, who does that?"

Warren tittered.

"Why history?"

Warren straightened, pressing his hands on his knees. "Well, data's been so doctored, I'm compelled to dig for truth. Others prefer to live in delusion, but I can't."

"Packaged stories are better for the psyche."

"But it's not reality. Take 9/11. The Twin Towers and building 7 could not have collapsed at a near-freefall rate through a path of resistance that was thousands of times stronger than air, unassisted. Not possible."

Preston glanced at him. "Hmph. You believe all that loose change?"

"Unfortunately. Thousands of experts can corroborate."

"Must've missed those _expert_ opinions in history."

"My point. Even questioning gets you a foil cap. We hear history teaches us how to avoid making the same dreadful mistakes, and that's true. Except, rather than learning to be better, kinder individuals, people really only learn how to be evil in craftier, more subtle ways."

Preston stopped barely-attending and gawked at him. His brow rose, then sank, shading a glare.

A clank drew Warren's attention. He smirked. Derek McCarthy jumped on the home base. Bobby echoed. The crowd stood and cheered around Preston and Warren, who remained seated.

Warren met Richie Rich eye-to-eye. He was still gaping, surely detesting the implication.

He nodded at Preston and said, "It's true."

. . . .

Thursday, the day after the wondrous conquest, Majesty swelled with pride reading the posters and banners decking the halls. _We're wild and on fire! Try and tame us!...We slew the Dragons 15-4...Colts rule!...Unstoppable, Unstompable Colts._ They could win it all, but the thrill from such a sweet belief quickly perished in flashes of imminent gunfire.

Though once an avid collector of royal and equestrian name tags, much to her dismay, her zippy comebacks had managed to squelch all mockery. Her latest quest to find a verbal sparring rival now seemed ludicrous, compared to searching for gun-toting nutjobs.

Entering the cafeteria, she wished "killer" could be stamped on the foreheads of the deadly. In all caps. She'd hit sludge in the paintball angle, due to the number of geek heavens and the obscurity of players, with some using code names and never showing their faces. The largest woodsball outfit, a full-scale war zone used by advanced players, made everyone sign releases. But, who knew if the freaks went there that day or ever? How the heck could she thwart a shooting, when she couldn't even keep her sister from taking her things? _Should call again ... fifty miles away, prod things along. Bring up the paintball thing. Forgot to mention it. Maybe they can unjumble that crazy mess._

_What the..._ Jase and Warren were sitting and _laughing_ with Preston and Blake. But the even bigger jaw-dropper was Cynthia and Stephanie joined them and didn't seem irritated by the invasion. _What? Did hell freeze over?_

Majesty was further staggered by the hot food. Was it even edible? Today's mystery goulash seriously resembled dog vomit, and since she had no desire to yack up her lunch, she patted her stomach and safely went all-deli. _Banana. Sandwich. Diet Coke. Done. Oh. Maybe one cookie. Yum._

She paid the cashier, and as she turned, "eradicate her" broke out of the clamor. A male's voice. She tried to pinpoint the source, if she'd indeed heard it at all. Though the myriad faces overwhelmed her, she steeled herself. _I know you're hiding well. I'm gonna find you. Can't let you kill people._

Majesty joined Alec, Aislyn and Pete. She cleared her tightened throat as she set her tray beside Aislyn, who didn't have anything. _Hmm. Bobby must be getting it._ "What's goin' on with Preston and company?"

Alec peered over his shoulder. "Oh, hallelujah. Haven't heard? A peace treaty's been signed."

"Maybe Preston's really changing. Two girls in the hall were just discussing his new sweetness."

As Alec met Majesty with a patronizing smirk, Pete piped in with, "We're talkin' about the guy who'd thrash other kids for toys, though he had more than FAO Schwartz. The Elite King always has an agenda."

Chomping away a quarter of his burger, Alec nodded in agreement.

"I guess," Majesty said. "I like to think people can change."

Pete and full-mouthed Alec exchanged sardonic glances, then Pete gawked and said, "Where's your MJ shirt? You always wear it after a win."

Skye had likely played bandit again, but maybe, just maybe, Pete would react most choicely to a wee jolt. "Don't know. I think the dryer ate it."

"Yeah! That happens with my socks!" Pete cried, fist pounding the air, face growing redder than a beet.

_Scooore,_ Majesty sang internally. At her puff of breath, Alec cracked up, then she lost it too.

"No, really! I know people joke, but mine's seriously a portal, evil entity or somethin'. I'll put two socks in, and kid ya not, seven outta ten times, only one'll be there when my clothes are done. That chickenshit fuckery's not funny at all. Not funny. At all."

When he stopped busting a gut, Alec winked and mouthed, "You're bad." Pete's older brother, Gabe, confessed he'd been taking Pete's sock buddies for years and planned to return them in a wrapped box before Pete headed off to college.

What was up with the standing void beside Aislyn? Out of the corner of her eye, Majesty saw Alec shake his head and hold up his hand just as she blurted out, "Where's Bobby?"

Three seconds later, Aislyn slumped forward, auburn hair spilling on her arms.

Majesty rubbed her arm. "Oh no. What happened?"

"He said we were getting too serious, and ... and that he wanted some space."

"How original. Did you guys know he was gonna dump her?"

Alec wolfed down another monstrous bite, shook his head and shrugged. "Said nothin' to me. He bolted right after the game, and I was so looking forward to blasting his head off too."

"Had no idea," Pete said when Majesty caught his eye.

"He was over Tuesday for geometry help. Never said a word," Majesty said. "It'll be okay."

"No, it won't. He's off flirting with Gabriella," Aislyn said.

_Pete, Blake, Now Bobby?_ "Sure is gettin' around," Majesty muttered.

Alec said, "A, you don't whine, complain, spend his money, cling. If he can't see how great you are, he's not worth your tears or attention. Should be with someone who appreciates you." He went up to Aislyn, put his hands on her shoulders and whispered, "Come on. Let's jet."

Aislyn nodded and wiped her face, then shook with an involuntary wheeze as she rose to tuck under Alec's arm.

Derek and Mikey headed over with their lunches.

Wobbling into a seat, Mikey asked, "What's going on?"

"What? Where are you two goin'?" Derek asked, looking around, as if trying to figure out if he'd slipped into a parallel universe or something.

Majesty pressed her lips together to squelch laughter on the rise.

Alec said. "We're skipping the rest of the day."

Majesty smiled at him.

He winked, then snatched up every bit of his food, stuffed it into a napkin and walked Aislyn over to the vending machines.

Derek shook his head as he sat. "Alec with Strawberry Shortcake? Bobby's gonna be wicked pissed about that."

"Bobby doesn't get a vote," Majesty said, peeling her banana. "He dumped her."

"Wow. Wised up? Alec's such a bleeding heart. What a dork."

_More like amazing but whatever._ Alec reigned as the best cheerer-upper in the universe. If Derek weren't so enthralling, she'd be drooling over him. But Alec read as an open book, while Derek puzzled like an enigma, an amazingly gorgeous one at that. She couldn't get enough of him. And his sexy, penetrating gaze stirred her with tingly arousal, until it froze into an icy glare.

"What? What's wrong?" Derek said.

She swallowed away the ache in her esophagus. "I just think he's really sweet for trying to help her, that's all."

"Yeah, that's Alec. Always on the ball," Pete said.

Derek rolled his eyes. "Right. Always ready to be the hero... or something."

Majesty bit her banana, sugary with ripeness, and eyed Alec and Aislyn as they headed for the double doors, Snapples in hand. She searched the room for Bobby. From a table with Gabriella, he appeared to be watching them ... and calling for a storm of fire and brimstone.

. . . .

This was not how Majesty liked to spend a Saturday night. The stuffy monotony presently engulfing her had to be much worse than the dullfest she'd have to endure in—She glanced at her watch—an hour and a half. _No humidity. What a waste!_ She groaned, tossing Derek the ball again.

He caught her wild throw but had to step out to do so. "Sweet slaughter Wednesday, huh? Wish we could add your ferocious bat to the lineup. I think we need a bit more muscle to bag it."

"You're so brutal. You know I wanna be out there and our softball team can't play for crap. You haven't answered me. Why'd you ask me over? We're just shooting the breeze about nothing and playin' catch when you have a date." She secured his toss bare-handed and whipped it back with a vicious spin.

He snatched it in front of his chest and kept it in his glove. "Well, we haven't been spending much time together lately.

"Oh please. Spill."

"Okay. Ya got me. It's ... uh, kind of embarrassing, but I wanted to know if you could help me pick out somethin' to wear."

"Ya kidding me?"

"No. You know I don't have the best fashion sense, Maj." He lifted his arms. "I'm a total bum." _Yeah._ His stained Sooners T-shirt and shabby sweatpants did call for pity.

"Okay. I'll help." _Then you'll see what a ditz she is, that_ I'm _the one you want._ "I can't stay long though. Skyewatch."

They headed toward his house.

"Derek. Do you, um, by any chance know any Satanists? Guys were talking trash about Jesus. Maybe—"

Derek snickered and rubbed his face. "They were. Pretty cliché, don't ya think? Satanists? You're nuts. Lots of people talk trash about Jesus."

"Stop laughing. Cliché doesn't mean untrue. It's a start. I don't know what police are doing, to stop it I mean." She bit her lip, fighting the urge to purge the worst of it. "What if—"

"It's a gross misconception. Satanists don't kill babies or shoot up churches. Idiots do. If you start nosing around, you're just gonna, uh..." Derek gawked.

"What."

"Don't ya think that's a little ... convenient?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. Maybe they heard you, and it's just a joke like I said."

_Freakin' threatened me on the phone._ "I'm not taking that chance!"

"Okay. Right. Then, let's say it's real, and the shooting happens, maybe they want direction slanted elsewhere and are using you to do it."

"I guess ... They mentioned—"

"Whatever the case, I don't believe it's Satanists. Look, sorry to blow you off, but—"

"Right. Your date." ' _Cause this is so much less important._ "Where ya taking her?"

"McKinley House in Megan's Corner for dinner, then a jazz concert in the park."

_Yes! That's way lame._ "Oh that's fancy. She should be impressed."

They plodded up to his room and set the gear in the closet. Majesty noticed the corner of his carpet had buckled before Derek flattened it with his foot. The rug in her closet did that too.

Motivated by an unquenchable desire for minute sabotage, instead of selecting something suave and cool, she handed him a churchy outfit: black pants, white dress shirt and a wolf-in-the-woods tie. "Need anything? Flowers?"

"Flowers?"

_Of course! That'll scream geek to a slut-bag like her._ "You're so clueless. You didn't think to get some for your 'Date of the Century'?"

"I did _think_ of it, but forgot to go out and actually buy them. My mind was on other things."

"Yeah, like undressing her in your car I'm sure."

He snickered with a nod. "Can't hide anything from you, Maj."

She cringed at the jab. Why was she even surprised? "A keen fashion sense isn't the only thing you lack. Want me to get some?"

"Sure, if you think it's necessary." He held out $100 like it was $1.

She snatched it. "Yep. Get ready. I'll zip to the shop and back."

"What'd I do without you, baby? You take such good care of me."

Majesty rolled her eyes and pocketed the bill as she exited through the French door. She tore through his backyard, pumping her fists, fuming more with each step on the way to his driveway. She plopped her helmet on and mounted her bike, then pedaled off with reckless speed. Her heart and lungs were heavy with sadness and wind licked away the evidence from her cheeks as she zipped down the street. She turned right at the end and wiped away the remaining moisture from each side of her face.

After a quarter mile, she hung a left onto Summer Street and slowed as she neared the bridge.

A delivery truck hovered behind her, motor growling, exhaust stinking. Pulling further into the shoulder, she waved the driver past.

"Go!" No cars traveled in the opposite lane, giving plenty of room to pass. Stiffness gripped her shoulders. _What's the deal?_ She gulped and wobbled her bike when the truck didn't go around.

It kept looming like a shadow.

## – 5 –

## Prophetic Notions

Bats swooped over the Shenoah Community Church parking lot like masters of trapeze, feasting on a smorgasbord of insects, spotlighted with peach illumination. Though ominous by mere association, Warren intuited kinship with the winged creatures, since so many shared in his aim to free the world of pests. With at least seven species endangered in North America alone, he shuddered to consider a world without these unsung heroes.

For a Saturday night prayer meeting, this place had drawn a fairly respectable crowd.

Dressed in a scorn to his inclination, absolutely forgoing his lipstick and pomade, Warren inched into a padded, pink chair. He hoped to avoid looking like a wretched sinner. Some parishioners expressed genuine cordiality and love, but most leered behind veils of artificiality, his biggest pet peeve. He despised fake people, more than malicious ones.

From what he gathered, members would cluster together, then take off in the shuttle bus, vans or cars. They'd stop wherever they felt led to and pray. He wasn't about to go on one of those. Wouldn't dare.

Curiosity had jerked him to this pep-rally thingy that kicked off the big caravan. Warren had something imperative to take care of anyway but intended to return when they reunited to share spooky stories.

At the moment, he simply observed, hoping for better insight regarding his mission.

A man shook his hand. "Hi, how ya doin'? Good to see ya."

Warren nodded. He'd seen him before, even heard him preach on occasion. Warren flipped the flier he received upon entry. "Pastor Caleb," he mouthed. He squinted at the associate pastor, now talking to others with relaxed shoulders and less vocal strain. Did he have any prophetic notions about guns and blood? _Doubt it._ Warren's dream would come to fruition any day now. He couldn't ignore the bubbling, volcanic brew but hadn't pinpointed which church would suffer the eruption of wrath.

He studied the unsuspecting, confident-in-Jesus church folk. Children giggled, chasing each other, and no one seemed bothered by such commotion. People conversed, turned onionskin pages in Bibles or sat quietly, hands folded. So oblivious, innocent, carefree.

His phone rang. _Jase._ He hurried to the foyer to answer a call he couldn't afford to miss.

. . . .

Maj never returned, but flowers or none, Derek intended to keep his date. The nut refused to carry a phone 'cause her dad would always call or text her cheesy jokes and having one now was "just too painful". So he couldn't even ring if he wanted to, and he did kinda want to. Why now? Screw it. He made a mental note to get her one for Christmas, complete with a top-tier plan, then she'd feel bad for not using it. He groaned at his idiocy for obsessing over Majesty's lame phone aversion when he was out with her.

Sexiness hugged Cynthia's body tighter than her black dress. In spite of the purple flecks in her eyes begging for further scrutiny, her red medallion imprisoned his gaze. Dangling from a gold chain, kissing, twin dragons rested right where he yearned to bury his lips. He joggled his head to break away and opened the door to McKinley House, the ritziest eatery within a thirty-mile radius of The Creek.

Some lanky, hoity-toity lemon-sucker walked Derek and his dessert into a garden room. Misfits played elevator drab that fools actually felt compelled to get up and dance to. Greenery and a waterfall sent the room to the tropics, and candlelight plus strings of white lights added to the romantic fluff.

While placing menus on the table, the waiter or whomever, snubbed Derek with eyes of disdain. "A waitress will be with you momentarily."

I'm no vagrant. Got more cash in my room than you'll ever have! Jerk. Whatcha get? Twelve bucks an hour? If that! Idiot. Derek pulled a chair out for Cynthia. As she stepped in front of him, her fruity aroma melted his sneer. At her girly sitting motion, he pushed her chair in.

"Oww, Derek."

"Sorry." He eased the chair back when she half-stood.

She parked her luscious hotspot again.

He licked his lip and sat across from her. "Been here before?"

"Yep. Many times."

"I've never been. How's the grub?"

"Fine." She rocked back and forth.

"Do ya wanna do this or not? You don't seem too thrilled." Bees seemed to fill his head as he was struck by the oddest notion, that asking her out hadn't been his choice. But that was crazy.

"I saw you ogling me at the party, mentioned it to Steph. Preston overheard. They said if you actually found the balls to ask me out, I should give you a chance."

Weird. Why would they care?

She wiggled her fork, pinched in her fingers. "But, I've been on a thousand dates like this. Being that you're, ya know ... I thought we'd do something more dangerous." She tapped the prongs on the table.

"Well, what would you like to do?"

She groaned, slapping the fork down. "Got a motorcycle?"

"No, but how would you ride in that dress anyway?"

"Got no prob hiking it up."

The visual stirred him. "How 'bout a night ride?"

She crossed her arms and sulked. "Horses aren't dangerous."

"Well, you probably haven't seen one that's spooked!" He rubbed his lame right eye.

She gasped and said, "Oh, that's right. I'm so sorry." Her face took on heavenly radiance as she leaned in, and a tendril drifted from her hair clip to rim her jaw with gold. "Forgot about your mom ... her being trampled to death by your horse and all." But that momentary bliss was obliterated by a shrug and, "Whatever! Let's go. Any place'd be better."

Derek bit back the bile that'd surely send her home to slash her wrists. "Fine." As he stood, a familiar cackle snagged him. He looked over his shoulder and fumed. It was her. Dr. Cabrera, his fruity psychiatrist. Oh, the irony, dumb luck, whatever. Here he was talking about his mom, and the junk dished out by that slut as grief counsel had screwed him up more. He yanked at his collar and walked Cynthia to the exit. Lemony Snicket's face went agape. Derek flipped him off with a glare.

He drove home, stomach rumbling, head whirling. His dream date was turning all nightmare.

Along the way, she jabbered on and on. "Why do actresses get that orangey spray tan? I'd never sunbathe 'cause I don't want reptilian skin, but I don't wanna be all carroty looking either. So many veggie people on TV, don't ya think? That's why I drive fifty miles to Cheyenne's. She's got the best..."

Derek scratched his eyebrow, aching for more stimulating chatter. Anything'd be better than elbow dryness and mystic tan. What? He feared his eyes might literally pop out of his head, over her airiness, or crudeness, that stinkin' Minnie Mouse voice! Well, any minute, her yapping would give way to moans of ecstasy. He'd deal. Gagging her might be an option too. Toxic Barbie could be into that.

After parking, he led her into the barn and flicked the light on. "Good. The hands just left. Doesn't reek." As he began introducing the borders, Cynthia clutched his shirt. She backed him into a beam and kissed him with a ferocity that made cougars seem like kittens.

Lips still on hers, he said, "Ya even like me?"

"Does it matter?"

"Hell no. I just—"

"Go for it." She snaked off his lupine tie and it drifted down, forming a puddle of silk on the dirt floor.

Just my kind. He seized Cynthia's head and seduced her lips apart to explore the hot, slippery toy inside, and she hit him back with far more steam than he expected. While unbuttoning his shirt, she deliciously wrestled and sucked on his tongue. Loving the sensation—blasted ember in his eye aside—he couldn't contain a growl of satisfaction. Derek rushed down her back and peeled up her clingy skirt with his thumbs. Heat washed over him when his fingers finally made contact with her velvety rear. Being able to devour her mouth, knead her curves and bathe in her fruity scent intoxicated him. He ground into her and tugged at her thong.

She wiggled out of his hold. "Wait! You're gonna do me here?"

"What? You said to."

"Yeah ... well, can't get into it. Isn't this where your mom, like, died? Eewww. Creepy."

Derek nearly vomited. His mom didn't die here. It was by the other barn at the back of the estate. He never went there, ever, but how dare she pelt him with that again! He definitely couldn't lay her here now, without thinking about...it. Sure, he could hardly stand the sight of her, but he still hoped to see her in less. Besides, he'd never made out with a girl without slipping off her panties and had no desire to change the trend now. "Uh, let's go up to my room."

"No way."

"What! Why not?"

"You called me Princess Leia in 8th."

'Cause I wanted to lay ya, idiot! "So. What's that gotta—"

"You're cute and all but betcha have Star Trek sheets."

"Star Wars. Damn straight. Satin ones and a Darth Vader mask too."

He switched positions, pressing her against the beam. "You wish I had Star Wars sheets, honey. I'm gonna make you scream so loud."

She cackled as though that were the most ludicrous thing she'd ever heard. "Please."

"What."

"How big are you?"

"Huh?"

"You heard me," she whispered by his ear before nibbling it.

He took her hands and swept them down his chest, then hooked her fingertips into his waistband. "Mmm. Find out."

She giggled and wormed loose. "No. Tell me."

"I have no idea!"

"All guys know."

He couldn't lie to her. She'd know the truth any minute. "Seven and a quarter inches, I guess."

"Well ... that's way too small for me. Take me home. Call me when you grow a real one." Haughtiness erupted on her face as she straightened her skirt with a wiggle.

When she stepped around him, he squeezed her upper arm with one hand, face with the other. "With all the stretchin' out you've had, slutwhore, of course you need a huge one! What the heck was I thinkin'? Prince in stall two is ready to mount." He let her go with a shake.

"Uuuhhh. Total waste of time. Not even worth the five-hundred."

"What? What're you—"

"Forget the ride. I'll walk. Don't come near me again." She spun and clopped out.

"Did someone pay you? Uurrh. Cynthia! Didn't want you anyway, psycho. You know, you're absolutely right. Your elbows could use more exfoliation. Wicked turnoff."

He'd do anything to get that viscous viper out of his head. He yearned to see Majesty. Clothed or naked. Flowers or none. He imagined her lying naked on his bed, wearing just the flowers. The tops ... petals here and there ... no stems.

Derek closed his eyes and bit his lip as arousal overtook him. Majesty hazed over Cynthia as the sweetest distraction, especially since she now had lusty eyes and nothing on her except his hands and mouth and the marks of his savage indulgence. He massaged the burn out of his right eye and undid his pants. His appetite for crassness and promiscuity was overridden by a craving for sugar and purity, like vanilla, which he so hoped to taint.

. . . .

Karyn Alistair rubbed her hot face as she and Paul joined Joan and Quinn Miller at McKinley House. "I'm so sorry we're late. Majesty never showed, and I can't find her anywhere. I had to get my neighbor to sit. I really wish she'd carry a phone! I can never get a hold of her."

An exotic-looking woman sat with them. A ghastly scarf, tying back a ringlet bouquet, competed with her ample bosom that threatened to spill out of a teal gown. The drooling men in the room clearly overlooked or never saw that hideous box of crayons melting out of her scalp.

"This is the doctor I was telling you about," Joan said. "Perhaps she can help with Skye's sleeping issues."

The doctor smiled and held out her hand, red nails like claws. "Hello. I'm Elaine Cabrera."

Though extended to Karyn, Paul grabbed it first and shook it with the quick flick one would apply to a bullwhip. Karyn stole a curious glance at Paul, who was firing optical darts at Elaine.

Karyn turned her attention to Elaine as she shook her hand. "Oh, right, right. I'd forgotten you were coming. Sorry. Hi. Nice to meet you." But her focus flew back to Paul. She squinted as a chill snaked across her shoulders. _What in the world? Bad date or something?_

Paul's normally warm green eyes remained glacial as la Latina zeroed in on the bread on her plate, picking off microscopic pieces and popping them into her mouth.

"Don't worry about it," Joan said. "We've amused ourselves. We even took a spin." She sipped some pink concoction from a cocktail glass. "Teenagers these days."

Karyn hooked her trembling fingers together. "No. This really isn't like her. Something feels off. I should've stayed home." With the abuse she once suffered at her uncle's hand constantly weighing on her mind like a sack of boulders, she could never brush off bad vibes, no matter how much she wanted to.

Paul kissed her cheek and handed her a sweaty water goblet, ice clinking. "Don't be silly. Probably lost track of time, got hung up with her friends or something."

"Speaking of _friends_ ," Quinn said, "isn't that third baseman, the senator's son, friends with your daughter? He had a little blond number with him, left twenty minutes ago, and was sucking her ear off."

Elaine nearly knocked over her wine glass but caught the stem, saving all but four red droplets that bled on the white tablecloth.

"Derek McCarthy? Yeah. She was at his house. When I called, no one answered. He was here?"

"Yep. Not long though," Quinn said. "I'd be skipping out on dinner too if I had a hot plaything like that to take home."

"Hey!" Joan cried, whacking him in the arm.

Karyn sighed, knowing poor Majesty would be crushed. If only she'd realize she was too good for that testy kid anyway. "Weird. Why wouldn't she be with Derek? I thought he was coming over. I'm so confused. She never tells me anything anymore." Karyn's red halter dress began to constrict. Her quivering hand spilled water from the goblet. She set it down before drenching the linen.

Paul's hair tickled her cheek as he whispered, "Don't do this. Let's just eat. Everything's fine."

Karyn hoped to request the bread basket, like any sane person would do, but be it intuition or foolishness, she _had_ to follow her gut.

She stood, brushing cling from her stomach, not caring in the least about what Paul's strange quibble with Elaine was regarding. "I can't. I'm sorry. We can do this another time."

. . . .

Derek responded to the knock at his French door and opened it to find Alec there, wide eyes, messy hair and the ultimate shocker, wrinkles in his preppy-punk clothes.

"Seen Maj? I can't find her."

"Nope. Just got back but saw her earlier. She came over to help me dress—Don't ask—and left to buy flowers but she never returned." After a check of his phone, Derek said, "No messages."

"She invited Aislyn and me over 'cause she had to watch Skye, but A wasn't in the mood. No one was home. Jetted after twenty minutes or so. I called maybe a half hour ago. No answer."

"She's angry, sure, but not irresponsible. Hmm ... Now I'm worried, especially since... " Derek bit his fingernail. "Uh ... never mind."

"What! Just tell me."

"Okay." He told him what she overheard. "She was afraid to report it, didn't want to get targeted, so she gave the police an anonymous tip."

"Why didn't someone tell me? I knew something was wrong."

"She begged me to not tell anyone, not even you." Alec's scowl drew Derek to punch him in the arm. "You're pathetic. She was scared, dude. Don't take it personally."

"I'm not. I'm just going outta my mind. I've got a bad feeling."

"Let's call again, before we start spazzing out for nothing," he said, speed dialing with one touch.

Alec chewed his lip as he nodded.

"Hel-lo?" her mother answered.

"Hi. It's Derek. Maj around?"

"No! What happened to my daughter? When did she leave? She was supposed to be with you, and you were what... playing Barbie?"

Well, totally Toxic. Not Malibu.

"I thought you were doing games and pizza," she shrilled.

"Calm down, Mrs. Alistair."

"No. You don't under ... This is too much. First, my hu ... husband dies, and now ... my daughter's—"

"What! Are you saying Maj is de—"

"No," she sobbed. "At least, I hope ... to God not. Majesty's been kidnapped!"

_If you enjoyed this excerpt of Courtney Vail's debut YA novel,_ _Kings & Queens_ _, the eBook is available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Smashwords._

COURTNEY VAIL writes totally twisted YA and adult suspense. She enjoys braiding mystery, suspense & romance with some kind of weirdness. Her addictions to crazy coffee concoctions, Funny Bones, Ben & Jerry's, and bacon keep her running and writing. She currently lives in New England with a comedian stud and a wild gang of kidlets.

Kings & Queens, a YA suspense novel, is her first published work.

Synopsis: In the semi-small town of Cedar Creek, some people don't care to lock their doors, though the woods hold secrets and the children are terrified to venture into them. The warm sense of security is shattered for Majesty Alistair, a feisty but grief-stricken teen, when she overhears two fellow students planning a church massacre deep in the thick. With her cred shot with police, she struggles to I.D. the would-be-killers before they act, but they have an agenda far bigger than she ever assumed.

Violence rocks the town, leaving residents reeling and drawing Majesty into the middle of it all. With danger always pressing, police seemingly getting nowhere and those closest to her looking guilty, she continues hunting and charges into an evil web, but the truth and her actions threaten to haunt her forever, especially since she's left with blood on her hands, the blood of someone she loves.

Visit any one of these sites to learn more or to contact her.

The Official Site of Courtney Vail

Kings & Queens Site

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Twitter

Her Blog ~ Creative Burst

