 
## Books & Chocolate Make Everything Better

An Anthology

Copyright 2014

Written by:

Stacy Lynn Carroll

R.J. Craddock

Cindy M. Hogan

Sally Johnson

Wendy Knight

Jo Noelle

Rebecca Rode

Konstanz Silverbow

# Copyright

Copyright © 2014

All rights reserved.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this e-book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this e-book and did not purchase it, please purchase your own legal copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Some of this collection is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the authors' imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance of characters to actual people is coincidental. However some works in this collection are non-fiction. In these cases the author is authorized by the individuals portrayed to tell their story.

Cover Art Copyright R.J. Craddock 2014

# Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

My Name Is Bryan

The Forsaken

Adrenaline Rush

The Skeleton In My Closet Wears A Wedding Dress

Shattered Assassin

Lexi's Pathetic Fictional Love Life

How To Have Peace When you're Falling To Pieces

Missing Royal

Thank You

# My Name is Bryan

CHAPTER ONE

"Hardships often prepare ordinary people for an extraordinary destiny."

– C.S. Lewis

June 1979

"Cliff jumping. You in?" Bryan's smile widened as he watched his best friend's eyes light up.

"Absolutely! When?" Greg asked.

Bryan threw his large duffel bag into the opening under the bus. "I don't remember. I think my dad said it's toward the end of the trip. But apparently we get to conquer some pretty big rapids first."

"Sweet! This trip totally beats what we did last year."

"Yeah, no kidding."

Bryan and Greg stepped away from the bus, wandering across the parking lot to settle under a large oak tree.

"Hey, man, you ready?" Another lanky teenage boy came up to the pair.

"Yeah, my dad was telling me about some cliffs we can jump off during the rafting trip." Bryan could hardly contain his excitement.

"Oh yeah? How high?"

"Not sure," Bryan said, looking around as some other guys approached. "But it sounds awesome."

"What sounds awesome?" one of them asked.

"Cliff jumping," Greg chimed in.

"Seriously? Sweet!"

"Are the leaders going to let us?"

"Yeah, Duane is the one who told my dad about them," Bryan said.

"Hey, looks like we're loading now." Greg pointed at the line of teenagers snaking their way through the parking lot and onto the bus.

Bryan and his friends were the last to get in line.

"Oh, man, that means we're probably sitting up front."

"Loser seats. Right behind the..." Bryan trailed off as they climbed the three steps and found the last two empty rows were directly behind the chaperones, just as he had feared. "Parents," he sighed.

Carol Jean turned around in her seat and flashed her son a huge smile. Bryan tried to return the grin, but it came across as more of a grimace. It was bad enough his parents were on the trip, but now he had to sit by them?

"Oh, Bryan," Carol Jean laughed. She rolled her eyes and turned to her husband, Glenn. "Have you ever seen a more sullen teenager?" she asked.

Glenn turned in his seat and smiled. "Well, he is stuck with all us old fogies. Poor kid can't catch a break. First his boss doesn't want him to come, then he has to travel on his last youth conference trip with both his parents and his sister. Maybe we should start planning his pity party now."

"Okay, thank you," Bryan waved his parents off and turned to Greg.

"Your boss didn't want you to come?" Greg asked, putting on his black aviators and leaning back in his seat. "How come?"

"Summer is the busiest season for pouring concrete, as I'm sure you can imagine," Bryan explained. "My boss couldn't find a replacement so he didn't want me to come." Bryan shrugged. "I was able to talk him into it eventually though."

Greg nodded.

Bryan lay his head back against the soft, grey headrest and closed his eyes. He wasn't tired enough to sleep, but after working hard labor outside every day, it felt nice to just sit and relax with his eyes closed. His thoughts traveled to Jana and he wondered what she was doing at that moment.

As if reading his thoughts, Greg asked, "So how are things going with Jana?"

Bryan opened his eyes and smiled. "Really great! She's amazing and lots of fun."

"So what're your plans? You gonna keep pouring concrete?"

"For now. At least until I can get a job at a garage somewhere."

"Still no college?" Carol Jean asked, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice. She had been eavesdropping from the row in front of them.

"What would I do with college? If I'm going to be a mechanic, the best schooling I can get is in a garage."

"Have you found a garage to take you on as an intern yet?" Glenn asked, trying to turn around in his seat.

"No. I thought it would be better to start applying after this trip. I didn't want to get on somewhere only to tell them I needed a week off."

Glenn nodded his head in agreement. Bryan watched as his dad quickly put his focus back on the driver and the road. His dad had a map in his head and could get anywhere without a problem. He always preferred the scenic route to reaching his destination quickly. Bryan knew it drove him crazy to just sit back and watch as the driver sped past several attractive pullouts. His dad constantly said, "Life is about the journey," before turning down a dusty little side road. But they always ended up right where they needed to be. Bryan smiled as he watched Glenn's lip twitch. He knew it was killing him not to say anything.

Bryan looked down the long row of seats toward the back of the bus, catching his sister's eye. He smiled, but Becky returned to her conversation without acknowledging him. The game was on. Bryan stared, unblinking at the side of Becky's face. His eyes bore into her cheek until it started to turn pink. His eyes narrowed, but still he didn't blink. Becky's mouth twitched at the corners, until she finally broke into a smile. Bryan laughed and turned around in his chair. He had won.

The drive was peaceful, especially compared to family vacations. With four younger sisters, road trips were anything but quiet. There was always fighting over seats or music or screaming at each other to stop touching.

"If both your parents are here, who has your other sisters?" Greg asked.

"Brenda is at a junior rangers camp, and both Glenda and Jenny are staying with a cousin."

"So this must be a nice week off for you, huh, Mrs. C?" Greg asked, leaning forward.

"I'm not sure I'd call rafting through rapids a relaxing week off, but I'm sure we'll have fun."

Several hours later, the bus jostled Bryan awake as they drove over loose gravel, nearing the San Juan River. He hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep. Once they reached the river and everyone climbed off the bus, they split into smaller groups of ten or so to a raft, and each raft had a chaperone in charge. Duane walked to the front of the group and welcomed them enthusiastically.

"How's everyone doing this morning?" he asked.

"Fabulous, marvelous, and wonderful!" Glenn's response was louder than any of the kids in the group. Several of them turned toward him and smiled. His enthusiasm increased the excitement around them.

Everyone quieted again and Duane gave a small lesson on rowing by having the kids all practice smooth, strong strokes together. Once food and supplies were safely loaded, the kids climbed aboard the big yellow rafts and pushed off.

They spent the first two days on the water for a good portion of the day. They pulled off occasionally to eat or explore but spent most of their time working together to row through the brownish green water. They had little time for floating, as the water moved quickly over the large rapids. When they did get moments of calm, the kids got in water fights with the other rafts or jumped in the water to swim and cool off. They had to travel so many miles each day to ensure they'd make it to the next campsite and that the trip would end on time.

Having already turned eighteen, Bryan was one of the oldest kids in the group. He was even in charge of his own raft since there weren't enough adults to go around. He took this charge seriously and watched over his group as he guided them down the smooth river.

On day three, some of his group began to get restless so Bryan devised a plan. They slowed down and waited for Becky's raft to come into view, and then they pulled up alongside it to ambush her and her friends. Several boys jumped aboard, grabbing the screaming girls and throwing them into the water. The girls squealed and tried to get away, but the ambush worked in the end. They not only emptied their opponent's raft, but they were saved from boredom as well. Becky grabbed onto the side of her brother's raft, gasping, and asked Bryan for help. He grabbed her by the lifejacket to pull her aboard, when two other girls popped up from the water and grabbed Bryan, yanking him in. The cold water rushed into his face, burning his nose and eyes. He sputtered and coughed, and then broke his head through the waves, chuckling.

On the last night of the trip, as their raft neared Slickhorn Canyon, Bryan and his friends began talking excitedly about the anticipated cliffs.

"Did Duane say how tall the cliffs are?"

"No. You wanna take bets?"

"Twenty feet."

"Fifty feet."

"One hundred feet!"

Bryan and his friends laughed as two of them jumped into the waist-high water to help pull their raft ashore. Bryan slowly got to his feet and wiped the sweat from his brow. Leaping from the raft and pulling it the rest of the way up the bank, he held the yellow beast steady so his passengers could climb out. Duane appeared at their sides, a glint in his eye as he whispered, "You boys ready?"

They nodded enthusiastically. "Let's do it!"

They hoisted the raft further up the bank. Dinner was underway and several groups of teenagers relaxed around the bank where they had made camp. Excited at the aspect of exploring the canyon and finding the cliffs to jump from, Bryan definitely wasn't ready to be done for the day. A stream flowed into the canyon, forming several smaller ponds. Duane led the way, following this stream past the surrounding area.

"I'll catch up to you guys in a minute," Bryan called. Duane nodded. The boys hooted in excitement as they followed closely behind him, making their way up the steep, red rocks. Bryan had to get his raft secure for the night before he could go. Since he was in charge, it was his duty every night to make sure the raft was tied down and their supplies were safe. Once everything was carefully placed in the shade of some nearby trees, Bryan ran to join the others.

He began hiking in the direction the other guys had gone. He hiked nearly a mile and was about to turn back when he saw them jumping off a ledge that overlooked the water. The crimson cliff stood before him like a towering giant, with arms stretched up toward heaven. A smile spread across his face and he lunged at the overhang; David was ready to take on the mighty Goliath. Bryan could hear laughter growing closer as he climbed higher and higher. His long legs made the ascent easy, and as he grabbed the last dusty ledge, he heaved himself up and over the top. Spending the last couple months working hard outdoors had seriously increased Bryan's muscle mass, so he was able to climb up to the rocky ledge with relative ease. As he watched the other jumpers, some hit the water with pencil-straight legs while others bent their knees, looking as though they were sitting mid-air. A couple of the guys started doing flips off the cliff edge into the water. It seemed inevitable, given the large group of guys gathered together, that they would try to outdo one another. Bryan watched another buddy flip off the ledge and land feet first in the water below, and then jump up out of the ripples and shake the water from his hair, laughing as he made his way back to the shore to try it again.

Bryan didn't want to do a flip. That just seemed stupid. He knew it would be harder to control the way he land, and he was nervous about clearing enough space to keep his head from hitting rocks. He couldn't really just jump either. After the flippers, that would make him look like a pansy. Bryan spent the majority of his life living near a pool, and he spent a large number of weekends on a lake with his family's boat. He was a seasoned swimmer. He had no doubt in his mind that he could show up these boys.

Bryan stepped closer to the edge and looked down, waiting for the others to clear out of his way. With perfectly straight arms raised above his head, he bent his knees slightly for momentum and jumped. A huge smile spread across his face as he sailed through the air, the wind caressing his cheeks as the water neared. Bryan knew he had done a perfect swan dive. He only wished he could have seen how beautiful it must have been to the onlookers. His fingertips touched the cool liquid first, his body forming a flawless straight line behind them. But something was wrong. He was sailing through the water, and the river floor was coming too fast. His hands hit the sand hard. His elbows buckled. Bryan's head smashed into the bottom and with a loud POP, he knew his life would be changed forever.

To Continue Reading Get The Book Below!

 Amazon

 Barnes and Noble

 Kobo

Visit, Like and Follow at:

Stacylynncarroll.com

Facebook

 Goodreads

My Name is Bryan

Copyright 2014 Stacy Lynn Carroll

Published by Pink Frog Press LLC

# The Forsaken

Chapter One

Miracle Child

Her eyes still sting from the tears she cried an hour ago, the remnants dry upon her rosy soot-covered cheeks. She cannot go back to where she came from, and there is no place for her to run, but still she has to flee. Everyone is gone now, everything in flames. There is nothing left but ash and tears. She has to keep walking for there is nothing left to do. She is utterly alone in the world. All she can feel is the bitter cold as she walks endlessly through the woods; the only living thing in an empty world of white. A mixture of glacial air and lingering smoke causes her lungs to ache, her rasping coughs blowing out in white clouds. Her whole body is frigid and stiff, as cold as the snow that is all around her. She notices that even the morning sky above her is white, vast, and empty. She continues on, her stockings soaked through, and her feet past feeling, numb.

She lost one of her shoes a while back, walking over a bunch of fallen branches. Her foot had slipped into a crevice, and when she tried to pull her foot back out, her shoe did not come with it. Her little arms were too short to reach the shoe, so she had simply left it there. However, walking with just one shoe proved uncomfortable, so she took it off her foot, holding the lonely shoe clasped in her hands and pressed against her chest.

The blackened soiled clothes on her back are her only possessions in the whole world. Her short dress, once sunny-yellow trimmed with frilly white lace, is now dirty with ash and dried blood; the lace is gray and singed. Her once-white stockings, now gray with holes burned away in places. Her green winter coat, musky with the smell of smoke, is still in pristine condition. Around her neck, she wears a gold chain necklace with an oval-shaped locket branded with the symbol of a burning rose and the name Gwenevere engraved upon it. The locket is the only tie to her past, the only remnant of her identity.

She hasn't seen a single soul, no towns, no houses, and no roads. She makes her trek toward an unknown future, leaving behind her painful past. An image of her mother's beautiful face creeps into her dazed mind, making her want to start crying all over again, but she holds back the tears.

"Crying never got the world to stop spinning," her father had once said. Or at least she thought the man was her father. She had only met him a handful of times; he always came to visit their little cottage late at night. She would see him only briefly before she was sent off to bed, and he was long gone before she awoke the next morning. Nonetheless, she learns quickly not to cry, pout, or go to him for comfort. He is always serious, worried, and cold.

If he is my father, then why didn't he live with us? Why did he feel like a stranger? Why wasn't he there when the fire came and ate up everything? A father is meant to protect his family.

Her eyes begin to water. She sniffles, forcing back the tears, pushing the memories away. It is better that she forgets them and leaves them behind her, and so she does. With every step she takes forward, she puts more distance between herself and the world with which she once belonged. Hour after hour goes by and fatigue makes it easier to shut out all thoughts and feelings. She thinks of nothing but walking in a straight line, as the wind blows through her long black hair.

Brushing the errant strands out of her eyes, she sees a man, a tall dark figure lurking amongst trees ahead of her. One moment she was alone in the forest and then suddenly the stranger is there, watching her. She blinks several times but the apparition remains. She hesitates only a moment then continues. Not wanting to show her fear, she avoids his eyes.

He looks warm in his long, black, trench coat, tall leather boots, and black suit. But something about him is wrong, frightening. With a dark unnerving determination, she senses his gaze follow her wherever she moves. A bone-deep chill comes from his direction. Quickly she deviates her course slightly off to the right, planning to simply pass him by.

As she comes closer to the dark stranger, he makes a quick move toward her. She bolts, breaking into a wild run. The forest becomes a blur around her as she speeds forward in a headlong dash.

Keep running. Don't look back. Panic carries her farther and faster than her exhausted legs can go on their own. The hood of her green coat flapping in the wind behind her. Coming over the crest of a hill, she trips on a rock, and stumbling, falls. Helplessly she tumbles like a rag doll. The world spins around her as she rolls down the hill, hitting rocks, tree limbs, and tree trunks as she goes. Sharp needles of pain shoot through her as the dead dried plants along the hillside cut into her.

She lands with a thud, a loud ringing crack echoing through her skull. She finds herself lying limply in the middle of a narrow canyon road. After the first wave of pain washes over her, she opens her eyes to see where she has wound up. But her eyes are drawn to the stranger in black standing at the crest of the hilltop, looking down at her. She goes cold inside, numb by fear as well as physical pain. He smiles at her.

"Gwenevere," a voice whispers on the wind.

Then, all at once, he is standing at the bottom of the hill, just across the canyon road. He smiles again.

"Don't be afraid, my child. I am your salvation." He speaks in a silvery voice. The sound of it makes her blood turn to ice; her skin loses its warmth, and fear beyond reason races through her. "Just ask and I will take away your pain," he continues, his eyes black as pitch, no light reflecting from the sun above, no pupil, just black, just emptiness.

"Who are you?" she trembles with a small voice.

"You can call me Luc--" Suddenly, a vehicle turns around the bend coming toward them, catching them both off guard. Frantic for help, the girl struggles to her feet, limping toward the speeding car and away from the stranger with the soulless eyes.

The car breaks, coming to a tire screeching halt just feet away from the lost child. A man hurries out of the driver side door, rushing toward her, his young wife staring out the windshield in horror. The husband reaches for her and the girl crumbles into his arms, weak.

"Good God! What's happened to you? Where are your parents?" She looks into his clear blue eyes and feels safe. Turning to look over her shoulder, she begins to point at the man following her, but the road behind her is empty.

"We're going to take you to see a Doctor, alright?" the kind man asks, not waiting for her reply before he hefts her into his arms and carries her to the car. He stows her gently into the back seat, hurrying to retake his place behind the wheel.

His wife turns to him, panicked. "Well, did she say anything? What is she doing out here like this?"

"She didn't say anything," he replies. "I think she's in shock."

The man calls back to the child in a reassuring voice as he starts the car and speeds down the road toward town. "Everything's going to be alright, okay, sweetheart? You're going to be alright."

"What's your name, honey?" The woman turns to smile weakly at the girl. But the child stares back at her, dazed.

The dark stranger had spoken to her in her own speech, but this young blonde couple speaks in a strange tongue, a language foreign to her ears. The attractive woman continues to speak to her, but the girl can't make sense of her words. She seems to be asking her a question, but the girl is too distracted. Flurries of images pass through her mind, thoughts and feelings that are not her own.

The woman continues to chatter, but the girl is oblivious, as the world grows still, dark and empty.

* * * * *

How long it has been? She doesn't know, but the fog from her mind lifts. The child finds herself lying on a strange bed in a sterile, all-white room. She hears muffled voices and a strange rhythmic beeping sound nearby. Wrapped in several warm blankets, she feels strangely numb from the knees down. Her feet sting, and she can feel ribbons of pain within, however, she can't move them.

Worried, the child glances at her feet. They soak in a large bowl of murky water. She can't tell if it's warm or cold; she doesn't feel it on her skin at all. Only now does she realize her stockings have been taken off; in fact, all of her clothes are gone. The little girl pulls the blankets tighter around her, looking about frantically. Where am I? What's happening?

She sees two women standing at the foot of her bed, speaking in voices that she can't quite comprehend. The older woman is stocky, middle-aged, with dark hair and smiling brown eyes dressed in a loose matching green shirt and pants. She listens respectfully to the second, younger woman who tucks a strand of red hair behind her ear. The redhead wears a white waist length coat and flips through a chart as she speaks.

"She has three broken ribs, and a mild concussion," Doctor Thompson says. "Also, there's some smoke inhalation in her lungs, a few minor cuts and bruises with some strange scare tissue over her left breast. From the look of her, she probably hasn't eaten in days. And if that isn't bad enough she has frostbite all over her feet."

"So what do we do?" the older woman asks.

"Well, for now I'd like you to up her pain meds and bandage her feet. Also, let's arrange to do some x-rays on her chest. Other than that there's not much else we can do." The younger woman slips the chart back into the slot at the foot of the bed.

"Yes, Doctor Thompson."

Suddenly, afraid of these strangers, the girl tries to squirm away from them despite her injured legs but they are as dead weights. Hearing the sound of sheets rustling, the Nurse looks up to see the child, staring at them with wild eyes.

"She's awake, Doctor," Nurse Sumpter announces.

The doctor turns to look into the girl's round face. Her yellow-green eyes confused, her long black hair tousled, resembling a bird's nest, and her skin pale as snow. Poor, little thing, Doctor Renee Thompson thinks to herself. She can't be any older than five, but she's so frail and malnourished it's hard to tell.

"What's your name, sweetie?" The doctor flashes the child a kindly smile. The little girl just stares up at her with a blank face.

"She tried to talk to me earlier but I couldn't understand her." Nurse Sumpter informs the Doctor.

"There's no need to be afraid, dear," Doctor Thompson reassures the child, stepping forward to pat the girl's hand. "We're friends." The child looks at her, befuddled, and scoots an inch or two away from her. "Do you know how to reach your parents? Do you know your phone number or your address?"

"Who are you?" The girl asks in her own tongue. The two women look at her oddly. She tries to tell them all about mama, the fire, and the man in the woods, but they don't seem to understand a word she says; they look as confused as she does. They begin talking louder, as if she is hard of hearing, but the increase in volume doesn't make their strange language any easier to understand. Once again, the girl sees strange images that seem to flow from the others' minds into hers. She tries to shut them out to focus on what is going on but to no avail. Frustrated, she just shakes her head at everything they say, until they stop bothering her.

Eventually the two adults start talking amongst themselves, just as the woman in white lifts one of the girl's feet out of the bowl. The skin is white and waxy, but the toes are black as if someone had dipped them in black ink. The girl tries to move them but they just won't obey her. The woman gently places the girl's foot back into the water, making comments to the Nurse. The Nurse nods at the instructions.

"I just hope they find her parents soon," the doctor remarks. "Little girls need their mothers. She must be frightened to death." With that, she exits the room, and the Nurse wheels a metal cart with medical supplies over to the foot of the bed.

Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, the Nurse notices the little green-eyed girl watching her suspiciously. Not wanting to frighten the child, the Nurse slowly administers to the frostbitten feet. Taking them out of the bowl, she sets the water aside on the lower shelf of her cart, and dries off them off with a rag. Suddenly, the girl reaches for her feet as if to touch them. Instantly the Nurse pushes her back down on the bed, trying to sooth her with her voice. Reluctantly, the child relaxes and sits back to watch the Nurse work.

The Nurse takes a tube of medical ointment and applies the strange smelling cream all over the blackened extremities. She tries to be very careful and gentle with her task. Picking up a wad of bandages from the cart, the lady begins to wrap the feet. After a while, the child begins to find this process soothing.

When the Nurse is finished, she leaves the room with her cart. The girl glances down at her bandaged feet. She wants the pain to go away. Sitting up she reaches out her hand and touching her covered toes, she sings in a cooing lullaby.

"Dah-Day-Wente, Curea-Longa, Babeta Lovota..."

The old familiar tune gives her comfort. Her mother had sung it to her whenever she scraped her knee or became sick. Those words, and her mother's beautiful voice, had always made her feel safe and warm. Singing the lullaby now, she feels a contented warmth blanket her. The pain in her body fades away, yet leaves her weak and tired. Before long her eyes close and she sinks into the world of dreams.

* * * * *

She runs through a meadow of multi-colored wild flowers, chasing after a young boy who laughs and runs away from her. The boy is older than she is, tall, blonde-haired and blue-eyed with a young impish smile on his face. He keeps running, climbing up a steep hill before them. She finds it difficult to climb after him, but finally she reaches the crest. The golden-haired boy waits for her to join him. When she does, he takes her hand in his and points to something beyond in the distance. Her gaze follows and she sees a beautiful city grown out of the rocks, the trees, and the land itself. In its center is a magnificent white stone castle that rises into the sky as if reaching toward heaven with its many piers and towers.

It is the most wonderful thing she has ever seen. She takes a step toward the city, but the boy stops her, pulling her back to his side.

"No," he speaks in an urgent voice.

She looks up at him, confused. He points to the city and the castle once more, this time shaking his head. "You can't go there. Not now...You must stay away from there."

He looks deep into her eyes to see if she understands. He takes her quickly in his arms and hugs her, her face pressed against his chest. She feels comforted by his embrace, safe and protected by his presence. She longs to stay with him forever. Then he turns, pointing back the way they had come, and nods in that direction.

"Go, Gwen. Run. It's not safe here for you now. There are those who will stop at nothing to hurt you. You must vanish. Your life and mine depend on it." He looks down at her, a sad yet loving gaze in his blue eyes as he shoves her forward. Reluctantly, she obeys, walking back down the hill, back the way she came. She pauses as if to look back and ask him the many questions in her mind.

"Don't look back. Leave and only come back when I call for you, Gwenevere. Not before." She hears his voice over her shoulder.

She feels so confused, so sad and miserable to be leaving him, so hurt that he is sending her away, that she takes off running. She runs and cries, on and on forever in a never-ending meadow of multi-colored flowers. Before her in the distance, raises a dark and ominous mountain, clouds hovering over its peak, its presence oppressive and haunting. She feels compelled by unseen forces to run to it, even though her heart screams for her to turn and go back to that magical city and the safe loving embrace of the blue-eyed boy on the hill.

Disorientated, she awakes, lying in the hospital bed in the same stark-white hospital room. After several panic-filled moments, she recognizes her surroundings, finally recalling everything that has happened to her in the last few days. The last lingering images of the dream lift like a mist from her mind. The one thing that she holds onto is the name the boy called her.

Gwenevere, he had said. She vaguely remembers having other names, too, but Gwen or Gwenevere is the most significant. It feels true to her. She reaches for her neck.

It's gone! Where's my necklace? Gwen looks about, frantic; her eyes catch a glint of gold. She turns and finds her large oval locket lying on the table next to her bed. Sighing in relief at the sight of it, she takes it, opening the clasp to peer inside. Two locks of hair braided together are coiled inside. One lock of golden hair, fine and soft, the other lock of deep black; they are intertwined, contrasting one another.

She closes the locket again to touch the engraved symbol across the golden cover. As she admires the locket, she tries to recall the boy from her dream. What's his name? Did I know him before? Something of him seems familiar but... she feels the dark images of her past trying to bubble up to the surface and immediately she shoves them away, not wanting the heartache that comes with them.

I don't want to be here anymore, she thinks to herself as she looks about the strange uninviting room. The same odd devices are nearby, beeping and buzzing, their purpose unknown to her. There are tubes everywhere, some injected into her arm and some coming out of her nose. Immediately she begins to remove them.

"Don't move. You need to rest, sweetheart." Doctor Thompson's shift ended hours ago, but she has taken it upon herself to sit next to the little girl's bed and wait for her to awaken.

The Doctor moves from her chair to stand next to the bed. She wears her fiery-red hair up in a bun, a few errant strands falling into her face, contrasting against her light brown eyes. A lovely display of freckles sprinkle across her cheeks and the ridge of her nose, making her skin seem fresh and rosy. She smiles down at Gwen.

"Do you want me to put that on for you?" She gestures toward the locket clutched in the girl's right hand. The child looks up at her, confused a moment, then nods her head. Doctor Thompson takes the locket and fastens it gently around the girl's neck, making sure not to get it tangled with the medical tubes around her face.

"Are you feeling better today?" Renee asks when the girl smiles, contented.

"I am Gwen. My family is gone and I have no home. My feet are all better now. I am hungry. Where am I? Who are you? I want to leave now," Gwen rattles off in response.

The Doctor only hears, "Me Gwen, femitie goona e Me noni dwella. Mane fetta cura longa betta ou. Me henger. Ere me? Whoetta uon? Me levetta ou." Renee just smiles down at her and pats the child on the head.

While studying medicine at Berkley the doctor had minored in foreign languages. She became a gifted linguist. She finds this child's way of speech peculiar. The closest thing it resembles is baby talk. She can't identify the girl's nationality from looking at her either. Her skin is pale and creamy like milk, so she could be Caucasian, yet she has exotic green and yellow cat-like eyes that could've been Asian if not for the color, mixed with her jet-black hair which suggests a Latin or Asian heritage. One thing the Doctor knows for sure is that she is a beautiful little girl. There is no doubt in Renee's mind that she will grow up to be a gorgeous woman someday; the kind of woman others will stop to take notice.

The mystery surrounding this child puzzles Renee. It has been more than forty-eight hours since she was found, and yet the police have turned up nothing. The only thing they found is her other shoe and her footprints in the snow. Luckily, there has been no fresh snowfall and the police thought to follow her tracks that they might eventually find out where she came from, but to no avail. The tracks had suddenly stopped, as if the girl had fallen from the sky and landed in that very spot.

Her description has been sent out over the police radio, a picture taken in the hospital has been attached to missing child flyers and faxed to every station in the state, and there has even been a news bulletin on the six o' clock news. Still, no one called in. They have no leads, no clues, nothing at all. It is as if the girl simply appeared out of the snow.

Renee is brought out of her pondering when the girl looks up at her, then points to her bandaged feet. They sit in a sling to elevate them. Renee is just about to tell the girl the bad news about her feet, even though she knows the little thing can't comprehend, when she notices the girl's feet move. She hurries over and unwraps the bandages carefully. She gasps.

"Oh, my... that's impossible!" Just hours ago, the toes, and half of both feet, were completely black with frostbite; the feet had been stiff and without feeling. Now they are pink, soft, and perfectly healthy. As if to emphasize this point, the girl wiggles her toes, laughing.

"Dah-Day-Wente!" she exclaims in her pretty little voice, pointing to her feet, face beaming with triumph.

"What? I don't know what that means. It's... it's impossible." Renee grabs the girl's medical chart and flips through it quickly. There has to be an explanation. Maybe they had the wrong diagnosis. The damage to both feet had been so severe that she and her colleagues had all agreed that the best course of action was amputation. For her condition to go from one extreme to the next like this is just impossible, Renee tells herself.

Just then, one of the Nurses on duty enters the room, making her rounds. When she sees that the girl is awake, and the stunned look on Renee's face, she immediately runs to the Doctor's side.

"Is something wrong, Doctor?" the Nurse asks urgently. "Should I call for more help?"

"Who checked her bandages last?" Renee questions, trying to make her voice sound calm and professional.

"I did. Why?" The Nurse glances at the girl's immaculate feet. "Oh!"

Gwen still wiggles her toes with glee. "Dah-Day-Wente! Dah-Day-Wente!" little Gwen sings out, her pleasure showing from her head to her toes. She laughs; her smile radiant and sweet as if she has just learned a new trick.

* * * * *

Only after all the tests are run twice does Renee accept that the impossible has truly happened. Of course, the news of the girl's miraculous recovery sweeps through the hospital like wildfire, and everyone on the staff, and even some of the patients, come to see the miracle for themselves. The pretty little girl awes all. They're claiming she must be an angel, that God has blessed her. Renee doesn't know what to think. She is a Doctor, has dedicated her life to the pursuits of science and medicine. Things like miracles don't exist. But no scientific explanation can be reached.

In the end, the hospital has no choice but to release the perfectly healthy child to the authorities.

Renee knows that there is something different about this girl. The police tell her that the child will be put temporarily in the care of the Sisters at the St. Paul's Catholic Orphanage, just until her family can be located.

A local physician from the family clinic used to do the regular check-ups on the children at the Orphanage but has just recently retired. A new physician has yet to volunteer for the job. Renee decides to offer her services for the purpose of keeping a close eye on this peculiar girl. All she knows is there is science and the unexplained, and, one way or another, she will solve the mystery of this nameless, miracle child.

To Continue Reading Get The Book Below

 Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Smashwords

Visit, Like and Follow R.J. Craddock at:

Rjcraddock.com

Facebook

Twitter

 Goodreads

 Shelfari-\(Volume-1\))

Blogger

_The Forsaken_ **(Children of Cain Series book 1)**

Copyright ©2013 R.J. Craddock

Published By: Transcendent Books

Springville, UT

# Adrenaline Rush

### Chapter 1

As I hurtled toward my destination at 500 miles an hour, I pulled out a notebook, placed it on the shiny mahogany table in front of me, and scribbled a quick to-do list. _Pick out an outfit. Get folders and notebooks. Switch into fourth period drama._ I chewed on the end of my pen. Oh yeah—just one more thing. _Get kidnapped_.

According to my pre-mission briefing, kidnappings were up in the States by five percent over the last five years. The significance of which didn't hit me until I found that the statistics for kidnappings had remained static for a good thirty years. The spike caught the attention of the FBI, and they put their best men on it. The problem? Right when they thought they'd discovered the pattern of the kidnappers, it seemed to change.

We hit some turbulence, and the force of it pulled me out of my reverie. I sucked in a deep breath, my hands resting on the soft leather side arms of my big comfortable seat as the Gulfstream jet jumped. I let the rollercoaster feeling wash over me like a wave, forcing myself to enjoy every last tingle. I only had this flight and a few hours tonight to assume my new thrill-seeking alias—the one that would lure the kidnappers and save the day before the pattern changed again. I might as well make the most of it.

There were four of us on board. I sat in a cluster of seats with Jeremy, my Division 57 handler. The two other agents I'd be working with, Agent Penrod and Agent Wood, sat in two similar chairs on the other side of the plane near the back. The smell of raspberries and cream still hung in the air from lunch.

I twisted the stud in my ear before brushing my hand through my long, inky-black hair. I couldn't wait to go back to being a blonde. Too bad my black hair was integral to the upcoming mission. I bit my lip and reminded myself that at least I'd been able to get rid of the lip ring and other piercings I'd had to wear for so long.

My eyes fell on Jeremy, the best protector ever, and I thought back to the first day we'd met. As a civilian, I'd just accidentally witnessed a horrific murder committed by terrorists, and he swooped in to protect me. He was serious about his job, too. He even took a bullet for me and then didn't hesitate to kill the terrorists who wanted me dead. I trusted him completely.

He set a file folder stamped Division 57 on the table sitting between us. He would be the one to protect me as I became the person the kidnappers would choose. I would be safe in the end. He smiled, and I tried to ignore the strong line of his jaw, his perfect nose, and his rumpled, light brown hair.

I grabbed for the file folder, reminding myself that he was my handler. The movement made me notice the faint tan line around my right ring finger. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping it would help keep the stab of pain from my recent breakup with Rick from overcoming me. The hurt was still too raw to contemplate, but I couldn't help it. Sure, I hadn't met his stipulation of video chatting without fail every thirty days, but I was a spy in training, and while I'd missed one chat by a week, the last one had only been two days late. I had tried to comply, but if video chatting wasn't available wherever I was in the world, it wasn't available. End of story.

His words still cut me, though. _I can't handle it, Christy. If you can't keep a little promise like contacting me every thirty days, then this will never work. If, after I'm done with my training and you're still available, we'll talk then_. The look of hopelessness on his face on the screen was forever etched in my mind.

I rubbed the area on my finger where the promise ring he'd given me used to sit, and then quickly glanced at the papers in the file to distract myself. My photographic memory immediately filed their words, statistics, diagrams, maps, and the mission details away into a file in my brain named _Adrenaline Rush_.

I started to set the closed folder down, but I could feel eyes on me, so I opened it back up and then set it, open, on the table. My photographic memory was a major asset, but it wasn't something I liked to broadcast about myself. I made a point of appearing to study the material. I pointed to a paragraph on the first page and said, "So, the kidnapper takes eight kids—a girl and a boy that have red, blonde, black, and brown hair? From every school?"

"From the last three schools where they've abducted kids," Jeremy said. "The only commonalities between the kids seem to be their propensity for doing daredevil stunts and taking two of each, a girl and boy, with those basic hair colors."

I crinkled my nose. "It's like some sick twisted Noah's Ark tale." The group of eighteen-year-olds they wanted me to infiltrate was missing a key element: a black-haired girl.

"If there's only been three incidents, how did Division find a pattern?"

"All I know is that the kidnapper's MO apparently changes every six months to a year. Somehow, our computer guys were able to program some algorithms that pointed us to Roseburg High. The kidnapper is finally using a pattern we were able to find early enough to fight him. I think a lot of it was luck. I mean, at the last school he targeted, we identified two of the kids that were eventually kidnapped. Unfortunately, we didn't act fast enough that time."

"So, right now he's only taking complete sets of kids with particular hair colors?"

"Yes."

I would be the girl with black hair. The group I was supposed to infiltrate already had two people with the requisite hair colors except black. That, of course, meant that I would need to become a daredevil, too. I'd never been a thrill seeker, but would be now.

"It's crazy thinking Division was able to discover what school they were going to hit next. One day I need to learn more about computers and algorithms and all that stuff."

"I don't understand it all either but, it's not just the hardware that narrowed it down, it was the genius agents analyzing what the computers told them. Talia and Marcus are amazing. The FBI still hasn't figured it out. Which is probably good, because if they knew, they'd have to tell the public, and then the public would be paranoid and get in our way. This kidnapper is smart—and very hard to track."

"But now we'll get them." I smiled. The other two agents' eyes locked on me, and I could feel their skepticism. Anger grew inside me, red and hot. How dare they question my abilities? I swiveled in my leather seat, just slightly, and lifted my eyes to meet my soon-to-be fake parents' gazes, but they had already looked away.

Both shouted conservative by the way they looked. Agent Wood wore short, cropped, unstyled hair. His pants, pulled high, were cinched tight with a belt. His wire-rimmed glasses were pushed hard against his nose. Agent Penrod had big, frizzy hair, no makeup, and plain-styled clothes with pants all the way to her waist. There was no spark in their eyes. Instead, suspicion was etched there. Had years of spy work slowly scratched it in? I tried to convince myself it had nothing to do with me, but I knew it did.

I stayed twisted in my seat, facing the two agents, to dissuade them from staring or scrutinizing me. To them I was a freak, apparently. I perused the pages in the file again, pretending to study them, when in reality I was thinking about other things entirely. I wondered what it would be like to go back to high school now that I was a spy. I'd attended two high schools already, but never got the chance to graduate because terrorists had been hot on my trail, intent on murdering me. I guess it didn't matter if I graduated or not. But it would have been fun to be the valedictorian and speak at graduation.

Witness Protection hadn't been able to keep me safe back then. Only becoming a spy had. I smiled despite myself and chuckled a little. It blew my mind to think I was a spy. Would I be as good as Jeremy hoped I'd be? I wanted to be, that was for sure. I had to keep pushing the doubt away.

I turned the page in the file, pretending to examine it while, really, I was working on becoming Misha, my alias on this mission. I had to abandon safe and secure Christy and embrace wild, stunt-loving Misha. "Can't we just jump once we're close? This landing safely in an airplane on an ordinary tarmac is so completely boring. I've been sitting for six hours. Can't we do something fun?"

Jeremy picked up on my change in personality immediately and chuckled. "I don't think the parachute would hold all the weight of our gear. Nor could we hold it all."

"Have someone deliver it to us, then. I'm itching to fly." I shot at him, pleased with how naturally this personality was coming to me.

"Alright," he said, sending a shock wave of disbelief through me. "Good idea. I'm _itching_ to fly, too."

I laughed. He didn't. He smirked at me, stood, and headed for the cockpit. My smile turned to a horror-filled frown. I tried to send it away and be carefree Misha, who would love the chance to jump, but I couldn't muster any excitement. After only a few minutes, he sauntered back to me.

"We can jump in about three hours," he said, grinning from ear to ear. "The pilot will fly low, letting us out in an area that is safe and flat."

"Are you serious?" It felt like my eyes might pop out of my head.

"Totally."

"I've never jumped before." I knew I'd broken cover already, letting scaredy-cat Christy in, but I couldn't stop myself. I was really scared. I twisted my palms together.

"There's a first time for everything, and I'm sure you'll be doing a lot of firsts on this mission. Where'd fearless Misha go, anyway?" He sat and started tapping a pencil on the pages in the file.

"Thanks, Jeremy," I beamed with exaggerated enthusiasm. "I'm so excited to jump!" A million worms seemed to be exploring my insides.

He laughed out loud. "Don't worry, I'll train you first. You'll love it."

My mind went to module 17.7 from the Bresen Academy: Parachuting Basics. I mentally flipped through the pages in my brain easily, and it calmed my fears a little bit, enough to let me overhear my new parents' whispers.

"If they failed with trained agents, what are they expecting to happen using a child?" Agent Wood was saying.

"She's supposed to be a prodigy in some way," Agent Penrod said.

"She must have connections somewhere, but I don't know why they'd send her on a suicide mission."

"It's not right to put us in the middle of it, either. I heard Henry set us up on this one as some kind of joke."

"He can be such a jerk. He's always wanted to see us fail. Not this time. We won't let her pull us down with her. That's for sure."

"We'll have to hold her hand the whole time."

I leaned across the table to Jeremy and whispered, "How can I work with a team that doesn't believe in me?"

My eyes darted from them to Jeremy and back.

"You didn't think it'd be easy to come out here as the youngest agent of Division 57, did you?"

"Maybe," I said, sulking a bit. "You know how stubbornly optimistic I am."

"To a fault, actually," he said, the grin returning to his face. "Despite that, you're going to have to prove yourself. Like it or not. However, I won't allow you to become reckless in the pursuit of acceptance."

"I'm never reckless."

He shook his head. "Yeah, never. Only when it comes to proving yourself. Seriously, this is your first real mission, and I intend on having you not only live through it, but be victorious."

I began to protest—I had been on missions at the Bresen Spy Academy, but he cut me off.

"I know you've been on 'exercises.' But in truth, your hand was being held while you did them. You're on your own, now. It's all up to you. You have to act as if there's no one to save you. You have to rely on you and you alone."

"What about my 'team'?" I asked, making quotation marks in the air as I said it. "And is there a blinking neon sign announcing to the world that I'm only eighteen?"

"They may not know exactly how old you are, it's not like they've seen your file, but everyone at Division knows you're the youngest agent, and they're all curious about you. They know Division wouldn't pick you up without knowing you're accomplished, but they're worried it won't translate into real-world spying.

"They're also skeptical that someone so young could be as accomplished as you are. I'm betting you can understand that. They don't want to fail because of your inexperience. Also, I'm thinking a bit of jealousy is raging within them. I'm sure it took them years to get their first high-level case, and here you are, going on your first real mission—and it's a high-level one. While it's important to use your team when you need them, I wouldn't completely rely on them. Count on yourself. You can, however, rely on me." He grinned a mischievous smile.

I snorted. I already knew that. He'd saved my hide several times already. I also knew the thing that separated me from them was my photographic memory. It gave me an edge in everything, including the spy world. I subconsciously rubbed my upper arm between my armpit and the crook in my arm, where two days ago, Division 57 had inserted a tracking device. I was glad it wasn't sore anymore.

Jeremy didn't miss it. "Just remember to activate that tracker in your arm for no longer than ten seconds, then deactivate it. It only takes a light tap. Either use your other hand to do it or press your entire upper arm against your ribs. When you've gotten the information we need, just tap it twice quickly, and we'll be on our way to extract you."

"No worries," I said. "I got it." I thought about this whole new level of incognito I'd attained. If I thought I didn't exist two years ago when the FBI erased me, I was way off the map now. It was my job not to exist. At least, not as a normal person.

"Why don't we practice your walk, talk, attitude, and— _jump_?" Jeremy said with a light hearted laugh.

"Okay," I said, trying to pretend I wasn't the least bit nervous about the jump anymore.

We practiced for a good hour before Jeremy said, "I'm going to call your agent parents over so we can discuss a few things before we jump."

A jolt went through me. I was really going to jump from an airplane.

Agent Wood and Agent Penrod came over and sat in the other two seats next to us.

"I'm assuming you've had time to go over your assign-nments," Jeremy said.

We all nodded. Agent Penrod crossed her leg and then pumped the one on top up and down, up and down, her lips pressed together. Agent Wood sat ramrod straight, his wire spectacles sitting loosely on his nose.

"Great," Jeremy said. "The basics, then. You are a cozy little family—the Robertses. Your mission, Agents Wood and Penrod, is to support Agent Hadden..."

My heart flipped hearing him call me Agent Hadden. It was thrilling.

Jeremy continued, "as her parents and help her as agents as she seeks to join a group of risk-takers at Roseburg High. Once included, she will make herself stand out in the group in hopes of being chosen as one of eight students to be kidnapped by the kidnapping ring. There are already nine in the target group, Madness, we discovered at the high school. They lack a black-haired girl. Christy will be that black-haired girl.

"We believe that once Christy is included in the group, the kidnappers will act quickly. Christy has a tracker inside her left arm that she can turn off and on to let us know her position without transmitting continuously and possibly giving herself up if she were ever wanded by some electronic device searching for trackers or wires."

"So," I said, "will all four of us meet regularly?"

"You," Jeremy said, "will fill Agent Wood and Agent Penrod in on a daily basis. They will then pass on any intel they got during the day from myself and Division. They will also be there to help you in whatever capacity you need. You will meet with me a minimum of once a week. Just remember that any communication must be sent over secure pathways or be coded. Make sure to use proper protocol when setting up meetings or communicating. Understand?"

"Yes," the three of us said in unison.

"Once kidnapped, Christy will let us know her position using the device in her arm. She will then uncover the reason these teens are being taken and press her locator again twice, indicating she is ready to be extracted. We will send a team to extract her and shut down the kidnapping ring.

"Any questions?"

The agents stared hard at me. I stared back. Inside, I was a mess, but I couldn't let them know that.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" Agent Penrod asked, skepticism in the crease of her brow.

"Of course," I said, pressing my lips tightly together to prevent them from quivering. While this scared the pants off me, I was ready.

"Nothing is ever as easy as it seems," she continued.

"I'm ready," I said with as firm a tone as possible and never taking my eyes off hers.

"You're out of line, Agent Penrod. Agent Hadden is a full agent and deserves respect. If you are having trouble recog-nizing this, I can get you reassigned."

Her face turned to stone. "No need."

I'm sure she was thinking that getting _reassigned_ never looked good in your file.

"So, Mr. and Mrs. Roberts, we will meet you at the house. Misha is about to do her first daredevil act: skydiving."

The two of them smirked at me like they were sure I'd chicken out. Jeremy suited up and helped me do the same, but he seemed to be having trouble meeting my eyes.

"What is it?" I demanded in a whisper.

He whispered back, "You know, you don't have to do this. There are young-looking agents who could probably pull it off."

"Are you kidding me, Jeremy? You're not doubting me, too, are you?" I made sure the other agents were far enough away that they couldn't hear us. I couldn't believe he was suddenly telling me this. It made me nervous. He'd always believed in me before.

"No, no, no. That's not what I'm saying. I just don't want you to get hurt. What if something goes wrong when you're kidnapped, and I can't find you? Things happen all the time and even to very seasoned agents. In fact, it already did. The last mission to infiltrate this group was a major failure. It has nothing to do with my belief in you. Things just go wrong. You can back out now. No one would blame you."

"No way, Jeremy," I said. "I'm ready, and we're going to stop this kidnapping ring. We're unstoppable as a team, right?"

He shook his head but said, "Yes, but I want you to be ready for anything. I don't want you to think this will be easy. Anything could happen. Anything. Are you prepared for that?"

Part of me did want to bail, but a greater part of me wanted to succeed. "I am prepared. But, nothing will happen, Jeremy. Together we can do this and do it well. Please. I need you to believe in me."

"I do. I will support you and help keep you safe." The words were right, but he said it in a defeated way that didn't make me feel much better. I wondered how I could be successful on this mission when my team didn't trust me, my handler didn't trust me, and I didn't totally trust me. Once the plane slowed, Jeremy took me to the open hatch, my soon-to-be parents standing to the side, ready to close it after the jump. Then, without looking out or down, I jumped. I didn't hesitate. _Take that, doubters._

To Continue Reading Click On One Of The Links:

Amazon

 Nook

 iTunes-

 Kobo

Smashwords

Visit, Like and Follow at:

 cindymhogan.com

Facebook page:  Watched-the book

Twitter- @watched1

Sign up for her monthly newsletter HERE

Adrenaline Rush

First Edition Copyright ©2013 by Cindy Hogan

All rights reserved, O'neal Publishing. Layton, UT.

# The Skeleton In My Closet Wears A Wedding Dress

 Read The First Chapter Here!

Visit, Like and Follow Sally at:

Facebook

 Goodreads

The Skeleton In My Closet Wears A Wedding Dress

Copyright ©2014 Sally Johnson

Published By: Covenant Communications Inc.

American Fork, UT

# Shattered Assassin

Chapter One

The kingdom never slept. Even now, in the deepest, darkest hour of the night, Princess Kazia could still hear life buzzing outside the castle walls.

She retreated farther into the garden. "Come, Nakomi," she whispered, tapping her thigh.

The monstrous black wolf materialized from the shadows beside her, only the grey mask around her eyes visible in the darkness. Obediently, Nakomi followed at her side as they slipped deeper into the expansive gardens.

"I'll bet you're grateful I chose a nocturnal pet." Kazia smiled sideways at Nakomi, who huffed in agreement.

The sounds of the city faded as they neared the castle, where, unlike in the village beyond, everyone slept.

Everyone but her.

She had always been more at home in the night than during the day. The sun hurt, causing severe blisters if she was out for an extended period of time, and it made her tired. When she was little, she tried to match her schedule to her family's, but it was difficult. She gave it up, and was grateful to finally embrace her nocturnal self — especially now, with such an event looming.

"At this time in a month, I'll be wed, Nakomi. I hope Prince Randolf is fond of wolves. It would be a shame to have to ask you to eat him when we're trying to form an alliance between the kingdoms." Kazia chuckled at her own humor, but a glance at Nakomi and she could swear the wolf was rolling her eyes.

Kazia had never actually met Prince Randolf. She had heard he was kind. Kind was good. Hopefully, kind would be enough. "Remember when I was young and thought I'd wed for love? A white knight..." Her voice trailed off as the image of the exact white knight she had dreamed of flashed through her mind. Luke.

Nakomi, reading her thoughts, growled and Kazia nodded. "Of course it was silly. No one weds for love. They wed to form powerful alliances and secure their place in the world. Even when they are only sixteen years old." She raised her chin and pushed blond curls over her shoulder. "I'd like to see anyone attempt war on our countries when we've combined our forces." Yes, it was the smart thing to do, the right thing to do. Kazia always did the smart, right thing.

Even keeping a half-dead runt wolf pup had been the smart, right thing to do, although so many had told her it wasn't. She had known, and she always trusted her instincts over the opinion of everyone else. It was the smart, right thing to do.

She paused, fingering the blossoms that sparkled faintly in the dim moonlight. It was, like everything in this garden, very beautiful. Unless you ate it, then it made you very sick. She had found that out when she was three and thought everything pretty should be eaten. Her mother had ordered every plant like it removed, but as soon as the flowers were gone her father had ordered more planted. After that, her older brother, Broderick, had stayed by Kazia's side constantly while she played in the gardens.

Always protecting her.

He and Luke. Luke, even at seven years old, had been her white knight. She tipped her head, searching for stars that were hidden in the clouds. "I have to stop thinking about him, Nakomi. It only hurts me more."

Nakomi sighed, if wolves could sigh.

"Oh! I know! Bite me. Every time I think about him. That will teach me." Kazia looked hopefully at her friend.

Nakomi rolled her big eyes again.

"Just a small nip?" Kazia swung away and Nakomi slid again into the shadows, waiting to be called. Probably wanting to sleep, Kazia thought. Wolves weren't completely nocturnal, but Kazia's insomnia was forcing Nakomi to be.

The garden was the one place in the castle Kazia could breathe. It was safe and there was no one watching her. No one but Nakomi, of course. And probably guards, somewhere. But they kept their distance.

If she could draw, she would have come out during the day and painted the flowers, but personally she thought the garden was more beautiful at night. Many of the plants glowed in the darkness, and others sparkled in the moonlight. It was a sight most never saw. Since Kazia couldn't draw, and she had no great skill at writing, she wandered among the flowers and dreamed, because dreaming was something she was fabulous at.

"That will be how I survive a smart marriage. I will dream," she murmured as she ran her fingers across thorns that radiated like beacons.

Nakomi was suddenly at her side, growling low in her throat. "What is it?" Kazia frowned.

Nakomi never growled like an angry wolf. It was a terrifying sound, especially coming from a beast the size of a pony, and the hairs on the back of Kazia's neck rose. Weaving her hands into Nakomi's fur, she walked quickly back toward the castle, resisting the urge to pick up her skirts and run. Nakomi never ceased growling, even when they came to the castle walls and could see Broderick's window above them.

"Odd," Kazia murmured, pausing with her hand still clutching Nakomi tightly. The wolf stopped next to her, growls reverberating in her chest. Brodi had never lost a night's sleep. Insomnia didn't run in the family, but Kazia could see his shadowed form moving about his room. Thrashing, really, moving too fast... it took Kazia a moment to realize there were two forms in her brother's room.

She squinted, wishing for Nakomi's eyesight. When the big wolf barked, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Something was very wrong. She turned back to Brodi's window just as he crashed against it, shattering the glass. Kazia screamed, and without realizing it she was running, Nakomi on her heels.

They burst through the wide front doors, flinging them open and leaving them a gaping entrance to the night air as Kazia sprinted to the stairs, lifting her nightgown and robe above her ankles as she took the stairs two at a time. Her heart was in her throat, making it difficult to breathe, and her blood roared through her ears.

"Help! Help!" she screeched as she hit the second landing and continued on to the third, cursing her short legs. She reached the top and spun toward Brodi's room, screaming for help the entire way. Where are the blasted guards?

Brodi's door was open, just a crack, and Kazia didn't pause as she shouldered into it, bursting into the room. Nakomi was ferocious behind her, growling and barking, foam bubbling at her jaws.

There was blood. Lots of blood. "Guards!" Kazia screamed again, slipping in a sticky puddle. She skidded to her brother's side where he still lay by the shattered window. His eyes were wide and unseeing.

"Broderick? Brodi?" She sobbed. There was no life there. Nakomi stood with her back to Kazia, growling while she watched the door.

"Stay, Nakomi. Protect him. I must tell Father." Kazia choked as she pushed herself to her feet, backing away from her brother's lifeless body, her feet making sucking noises as she pulled them from the pooled blood. She could see that Nakomi was not pleased having Kazia leave her side, but she would do what she was told.

When Kazia lost them to the shadows, she turned and sprinted down the hallway, up another flight of stairs to her parents' quarters. Below, she could finally hear the sound of pounding feet — the guards were coming. They were yelling, something about the princess, but Kazia didn't stop. To stop she would have to acknowledge the horror — Brodi, her lifelong protector and best friend, was dead. Her parents would know what to do. Her father always knew what to do.

But when she rounded the corner and saw the door to their room was also slightly ajar, she knew. "No. No no no no no," she wailed as she pushed into the room. There was not as much blood here, until she got to the bed. It looked as if neither the king or queen had put up a fight, and blood still seeped from wounds in both their chests. It had been a messy job, but both their eyes were still closed, as if in sleep.

"Mother? Father?" She went to shake her mother's shoulder, but a sound in the dead silence of the room caught her attention. She froze, hands inches from her mother's still body.

A scuffle. Someone was in the sitting room outside. Kazia's heart stopped in horror. "Mother, Father, please wake up." She sobbed as she pushed at both of them, but there was no response.

A dull thump, like someone knocking into furniture, just outside the door. Kazia stumbled backward, her eyes on the doorway as the handle turned. She whirled and dove for the closet, or what her mother used as a closet — it was actually a small sitting room — burying herself in her mother's many fine dresses. Her bloody hands left smears across the soft fabric, and she was sorry. Her fingers stuck to the knob as she pulled the door shut behind her, making sucking noises as she wrenched her hand away. Her breath froze in her lungs as she heard the outer door swing open across the plush rug in the entryway.

Cowering against the far wall, not daring even to breathe, she waited to be discovered. She wanted to sob. She wanted to mourn, but she was too frightened to even move. What if they're still alive? She had abandoned them.

She could hear footsteps, coming across the room. The intruder was not quiet, not even attempting stealth. This was not a professional assassin, by any means. The footsteps paused and the door to the armoire creaked. She shoved her shaking fist to her mouth to keep from screaming, biting hard on her knuckles.

A low growl, menacing, terrifying, shook the room.

"Nakomi, down. Get away from me." The voice was familiar, even in its panic, but Kazia's frightened mind couldn't place it. Nakomi, no. Run! she thought frantically, but Nakomi barked and the closet walls shook violently as the big wolf pounced.

Kazia struggled to the door, trying to push it open but she was tangled in the clothes. By the time she fought herself free, the sounds from outside the armoire had stopped. She flung the door open, praying she wouldn't see Nakomi as lifeless as her family.

The big wolf stood with her back to Kazia, breathing heavily, but alive. "Nakomi, come!" Kazia sobbed, pulling her into the armoire and tugging the door shut behind them. She wished for a lock and knew, somewhere in a part of her mind that was still rational, that there was no sense whatsoever hiding in a closet, but she buried her face against Nakomi's sticky fur and stifled her sobs. "Are you hurt? Please tell me you're not hurt." She felt for tender spots as she whispered over and over, but her wolf, of course, didn't respond. She had ceased growling and now sat silently, as tangled in the dresses as Kazia was.

More footsteps, lots of them as the room was invaded and light flooded under the closet door. "There's smoke coming from the east wing!"

The armoire door flung open and light blinded Kazia. She buried her face in Nakomi's fur until the light faded a bit, and then she looked up, shielding her eyes. "Luke," she cried.

"Kazia, are you hurt? Where are you hurt?" He pulled her out and she tumbled into his arms. The room was full of guards.

"I was calling for help, but no one came and, Luke, Brodi is... they're all—" She sobbed again and he pulled her against him, his hands stroking her hair.

"I know. I know." He gently pushed her away so he could peer into her face. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head, biting her lip to stifle her sobs.

"Then where is the blood—?" He paused as Nakomi limped to their side, finally ridding herself of the silk and satin, and Kazia looked down.

Nakomi was covered in blood.

"Nakomi, no," Kazia whimpered as the room began to spin and tip sideways.

"Captain, the castle is on fire! We have to leave immediately!"

She didn't fight it; the blackness that overtook her was safe and welcome.

To Continue Reading Get The Book Below!

 Amazon

 Barnes and Noble

Visit, Like and Follow at:

Facebook

 Goodreads

Blogger

Shattered Assassin  
Copyright 2014 Wendy Knight   
Published by: Six Inch Heel Press  
Harrisville, UT

# Lexi's Pathetic Fictional Love Life

### Chapter One

I know a lot about being unnoticed. Most of my life I've been increasing my expertise on both sides of that coin—watch others without being watched.

For research purposes, obviously, I sit at my regular table in a position that has a clear line of sight to Brendon's usual spot where he has sat for the past two years, moving up the high school hierarchy with precision each August. The "cool" tables are arranged along twenty-foot floor-to-ceiling windows on the east side of the cafeteria. Glass doors at the bottom of each column of windows open onto the commons area, with picnic tables surrounded by grassy hills, also suitable for lunching when it's not too hot. And in Henderson, Nevada, that means only in the winter, unless you don't wear makeup and you feel quite secure in your deodorant choice. The tables on the north end of the room are for A-list seniors then juniors like Brendon then sophomores, and the furthest south are for worthy freshmen. My friends and I sit on the other side of the cafeteria.

Tifani waves at me from across the room. I wave and smile back. She's a freshman, and she sits at a cool table. I'm okay with that.

_Liar!_ It's pathetic, I know. If I could feel another way, I would. And I do love my little sister, at home, when her friends aren't around, but I don't want to share my school with her. I tried talking her into going to a charter school across town. But why would she, when she'll own this place in a couple of years? We haven't been in the same school since I was in sixth grade and she was in fourth. Now I'll get to watch her bubble and shine for my last two years of high school. I already feel a neon sign pulsing above my head reading, "You don't know me, but I'm Lexi, Tifani's sister?" Ugh.

How does she know that's the spot where cool is made? It must be the same way butterflies find Santa Cruz, or turtles find the Transatlantic Current. If you're meant to know, then it's part of your DNA to gravitate toward it.

And the radar in Tifani's DNA is incredible. I would have wondered if we had the same contributing parents if we didn't look so much alike. We both have shoulder-length brown hair, fair complexions, just a few freckles, and brown eyes. Even still, she wears my face better than I do.

But wait, there's more. At five, I wanted to be a dancer. She was a natural. At seven, I wanted to learn to ride a two-wheeler. After I crashed, she jumped on my bike and zoomed off. At ten, I wanted a pet. My parents bought me a dog, but every night it whined at my bedroom door so it could go to sleep on Tifani's bed. At thirteen, I wanted to take piano lessons—right—she has a concert every six months. When I started high school, I wanted to stand out and be noticed, and she became a cheerleader at her junior high. Okay, so my theory falls apart a bit there, but the principle is the same: My wishes equal her life.

And those are just the big events. Lately, even my small wishes happen to her before I ever get a chance to have them. I would never admit I feel jealous—no, too strong. Resentful? Maybe. Really, both. That's why I'm sitting here torturing myself, making a list of her accomplishments again.

I can't help it—I'm a lister. Each August, I make a list in my diary of the things I want to do during the school year, my own little New Year's resolutions. My current list includes having a real date to a dance, with flowers and longingly looking in each other's eyes. The second bullet point is that I want to be noticed. I don't know if I should have written that one down at all. I was feeling bold that day, while I usually feel like standing back or disappearing.

The one thing I have is my writing, my only gift, my hobby and my escape. Writers spend large chunks of time alone, typing, considering how another life might be if they were the ones living it. Ooh, that sounds more like the result of a compulsion spell than a talent—especially when I compare my life to Tifani's.

She has it all—a cheer uniform, control of the microphone at the assemblies, and loads of friends. She's one of the social directors of Red Rock High School.

Maybe I imagine the coincidences because I'm good at observation. A small voice in my brain wonders if it's the same as being a spectator. Do I even know the difference? Tillie and Asha, my best friends, sit at our table before I notice their approach. So much for my observational superpowers.

I shove my notebook into my backpack, hoping neither of them see it.

"Too late. What are you writing?" Asha leans over the table to take a look.

"Nothing," I lie, as always. She smiles encouragingly as my stomach cringes from lying or from fright at being caught. Not that I'm bad at writing. Well, I don't really know. My teachers are complimentary, but they're teachers—they're paid to encourage kids.

Asha opens her lunch, which is always an event. Last year she was on a hummus binge for almost a month. She blended her own garbanzo beans then mixed in something different each day. The day she tried it with sardines, the stench cleared all the tables near us for the whole lunch period. I lean over to get a look at today's surprise. Thinly sliced carrots, celery, cucumber, and...

"What is that?" Tillie gasps, covering her nose with her hand.

"Sashimi." Asha's lunch looks like it popped out of a pescatarian Pinterest board: vivid colors, artfully arranged, and uniform in size and shape.

"Looks like raw fish," Riker comments, dropping in next to Asha, sliding his trumpet case under the table.

"Dude, it is." Gabe rounds out our group, sitting down next to me. Tillie shoots Gabe a slight smile and raises one eyebrow.

What's that about? Gabe's been sitting next to me since eighth grade. In fact, we've all been sitting in the same order since eighth grade. We don't change much. Tillie doesn't even try to be sneaky any more. Gabe's ears used to turn red whenever she teased him. Now he just ignores it and looks away until the subject changes.

"Ooh, I know, let's play a game." Tillie bounces in her chair. Gabe looks suspicious, but we're all quiet since there's no stopping Tillie. If we choose not to play her games, she plays anyway and makes up our answers. It's never good. We all look at each other and Tillie launches into the game.

"Riker, what if you could go see any band, who would it be?"

"Dead or alive?"

"Who's that?" I ask and immediately regret it as Riker laughs. I laugh with him like I was teasing, which makes everyone at the table laugh even more since we all know I'm clueless about music.

"No, I mean can the band be dead or would they have to be alive now?" he asks.

Everyone looks at Tillie to answer since she's the game master for this. She plays up having all of our attention, looking up and tapping her chin as she thinks. "Dead or alive—doesn't matter."

"Jimi Hendrix." Riker acts like that's enough and stuffs a corndog in his mouth. The name sounds familiar to me, but I'll have to Google it later.

This might be the easiest game Tillie has thought up so far. But she's not done yet, and you never want to be the last person in her games—that's when she changes the rules. Tillie turns to Asha. Oh no, that means either Gabe or I am the target today. "If you could choose your next family vacation, where would you go?"

"Easy. I've been trying to get my family to go to Tanzania for years to help build wells. Clean water should be a basic human right. We take it for granted that it's something everyone has. There are people who have to bathe in the same water they drink from and wash their clothes in."

Tillie looks disgusted. I'm probably wearing the same look when she continues, "Asha, vacation. Where would you go on a va-ca-tion?"

"That's the answer. We should do that for our senior trip. We could all go together."

"Yes, well no, Asha." Tillie pats the back of her shoulder. "Oh! So cute, you think I would have a vacation outside of a hotel. Love you, really, but a luxury hotel is not optional." She spins to face me. Poor Gabe, he's going to be last. "Lexi, if you could choose any car you wanted, what would you choose?"

I'd love to blurt out a Mini-Cooper convertible. It never rains here, or next to never, so I could drive around with the top down. And the gumball blue color is amazing. "Maybe..." Do five people even fit in the car though? I would have to leave out one of my friends. "A Honda Accord."

Tillie's eyebrows scrunch a bit. "Okay, that one surprises me. You never look twice at those. I thought for sure it'd be a Cooper."

I'm a little offended that she asked me a question that she knew the answer to.

"It's a sensible choice. Maybe you could get the hybrid model." Trust Asha to see the possibilities of saving the planet in my car of choice.

I try to save a bit of my true dream car. "In blue, with a moon roof." Yeah, even that wouldn't make it less lame.

Tillie launches the next question at Gabe. "What if there's this guy, who's a junior, and he secretly loves a girl who thinks they are just friends, but he's in love and won't say anything. He's good looking, blond and tall. She's pretty too—which he knows because he's always stealing glances her way and smiles at everything she says. In fact, he pretends he's not in love, but his friends see how he looks at her when she's not looking, and it is soooo obvious. Should he say something?" Tillie smiles sweetly, props her elbow onto the table and rests her chin in her palm, staring across the table. "Like soon?" She begins nodding a yes, as if she's giving him the right answer. Her eyes are fixed on Gabe, but he never looks up from where he seems to be studying his knees. Tillie prompts again. "Like now? Now would be good."

Gabe ignores her question, at least officially, but the tips of his ears begin turning pink. Yeah, Tillie has a talent for the most random thoughts. Gabe finally begins speaking, but instead of answering the question he says, "Hey. It's on for wakeboarding next Saturday. You're all coming, right?"

Tillie and Asha slump a little and exchange glances. I chuckle a bit at the way he got out of the game without having to answer. Riker throws props toward Gabe. "Yeah, I'll be there," he says as their knuckles tap.

"I'm in," Asha adds.

"Me too. How 'bout you, Lexi?" Tillie asks, her eyebrows quirked up again.

Checking the clock, I rise from my chair and gather my lunch trash. "Yup. I wouldn't miss your birthday, Gabe."

Tanner's eyes are the sky, water-colored in values of blue—the outer rim as dark as midnight; the narrow band lying just inside blue-gray like a summer storm. The largest band in the center is a warm winter sky striped with cirrus clouds. If you look into them close enough, long enough, you can almost see flecks of ice melting between the thick, black fringes of lash.

It isn't that I've been close enough to look intimately into his eyes. I haven't. Lately. I know because I sat opposite him at a table in kindergarten and throughout elementary school. He's been in at least half my classes in junior high and high school. So I've continued a stealthy study of those eyes, one glance at a time. Hundreds of glances a year

"Lexi, bring your writer's notebook." Ms. Danou's voice jerks my attention from my writing. I throw a period behind the last word and pick up the notebook. Ms. Danou sits at her desk in the corner of the classroom, pointing to the chair beside her. She is mid-fortyish with long, salt-and-pepper hair. She is one of my few teachers who really know what they're teaching. She's an author. Not in the sense that "we are all authors here," but she writes novels someone published, someone paid for, and someone read.

My chemistry teacher isn't a researcher. My math teacher doesn't earn a paycheck as an engineer. And my business teacher drives the rustiest car in the teacher's parking lot—pretty sure he doesn't _get_ Wall Street.

It feels as if the whole class is watching me move to the front of the room. And this is why I hate sitting in the back. If I ever have to go to the front of the room, I can't help wondering if my hair is wonky or my shirt has ridden up and the kids whispering behind me have noticed. I watch my feet take each step as I weave through the cluttered aisles, across the gray and white linoleum tiles littered with backpacks, jackets and notebooks.

I tug at my shirt and slip into the chair beside Ms. Danou, perching on the edge, curiosity and fear warring in my mind. She knows writing techniques and secrets I crave. Right now, I'm just toying with the idea of being an author. There's less potential disappointment if it's just a casual interest—for the last six years. Fine, not casual. It freaks me out to think my heart and soul could be smeared on paper for others to read—way, way in the future—and be judged by my metaphors or punctuation.

Each time I sit in this chair, I worry I don't measure up, that someday Ms. Danou will shake her head and suggest I become an entomologist instead of a writer. I guess I would have to make the best of it, live deep in a rain forest, discover new bug species, write an encyclopedia for cataloging insects...

I hate bugs.

"What are you working on today?" she asks.

Opening my notebook between us, I say, "A characterization. It's just brainstorming right now." I'm fidgeting in my chair like I need to go to the little girls' room—just nerves. Pressing my sweaty palms to my jeans, I force my legs to stop moving. "I don't have a story for this character yet, and it isn't finished."

"Read me what you have so far." Mrs. Danou leans forward and tilts her ear toward me. She says you can tell a lot about a story when you listen to it from the author's voice.

I begin reading. "Tanner's eyes are the sky." Would anyone recognize this description as being Brendon Michaels? Duh—of course they would. I immediately drop my voice to a whisper to continue, "If you look into them close enough, long enough, you can almost see flecks of ice melting." Ms. Danou looks up at me and I feel my cheeks blush warmly, but I continue reading.

As I finish, Mrs. Danou leans away, theatrically fanning herself. "Please tell me this is the antagonist. Good looks on a bad boy is money."

No. How could she think that? He's angelic. "I was thinking the hero, actually."

"Well, you're not done yet. You have time to rough up his edges a bit so he's not quite perfect. We women love a few imperfections."

"Like, he has no butt?" I say with a smirk.

She smiles but shakes her head slightly. "No need to be hasty. Something will present itself as you begin developing his personality. Just stay open to a flaw or two." Ms. Danou taps her pen on Tanner's name. "Writing is observation. Maybe it would help to choose someone to borrow characteristics from as you continue."

"Observation." I smile and nod. _Don't you worry—I've got that one covered._ I head back to my desk, considering what deficit I could possibly write into the story, thinking this is where the "fiction" part must come in. Well, and the fact that Brendon's character will be falling in love with a character like me. Maybe I could cast myself as a young starlet or a model, someone out of his league.

After lunch on Friday I walk to chemistry, but Friday is lab day, so instead of turning right into our classroom, I make a left and stand along the wall in the science lab, passing Brendon Michaels on my way. Our teacher begins calling pairs and assigning tables.

"Michaels, Middleton, table five."

Yes! Alphabetical order—genius. Because of the alphabet fetish teachers seem to have, if Brendon is in my class, there's a good chance I'll sit in front of, beside, or behind him.

"Didn't we have science together last year, and the year before?" Brendon asks, falling in behind me.

Right behind me. I feel a slight flush on my neck and cheeks, which I hope isn't turning red. We cross the room toward our assigned lab seats. "Yes, I think you must be following me." _Ugh, I sound formal. Relax_. I drop into my seat and place my books on the table in front of me as Brendon sits down.

"There are worse things to do." The dimple in his left cheek deepens as he smiles, then he winks at me.

Excitement lurches through my heart until I reminded myself, of course he winked—he's good at being a high school celebrity. I'm not going to get my hopes up. I've got nothing to say, especially while my voice box is melting down my throat and my mind slams into neutral. It's who he is, and it works for him. Often. I blush anyway and reach out to square up the corners of my books while we wait for our teacher to finish lab partner assignments.

Science labs are the reward for taking extra science credits. And given this class is advanced chemistry, there's an added element of curiosity and danger. I'm not excited yet. In a few days we'll break out the equipment and the fun will start, but this is the first day our class has come into the lab, and our teacher, Mr. Williams, doesn't disappoint—or does, depending on how you look at it. He takes the full seventy minutes droning out thou-shalt-nots for using the equipment and materials in the lab.

The clock is moving toward the last gasp of his lecture when Brendon turns his notebook my way: _Did he forget to tell us not to taste the chemicals this year?_

A small spark of excitement for breaking note-passing rules makes me smile as I pull his notebook toward me to answer: _Yes. And don't sniff, snuff, huff, or inhale them, either._

Just as Brendon reads my reply, Mr. Williams intones, "Don't sniff, touch, or taste chemicals."

We both cover a snicker. Brendon writes, _Our world is safe once more_.

From the back of the room, James yells, "If we bring our own chemicals, can we sniff those?"

"Shut up, James," Mr. Williams says without emotion.

"It's good to be back, Mr. Williams."

When the bell rings, Amberlee materializes between Brendon and me. Her table assignment is two rows behind ours on the other side of the room. She must have hurdled a couple of tables to reach us before we could even stand. My body recoils swiftly from her.

"I'm having a little back-to-school celebration at my house this weekend. Can you make it?" Her head tips to the right, and golden waves shimmer over her shoulders. Her smile broadens as her eyes sparkle.

Brendon looks at me. I look at him. He seems as surprised as I am at her appearance. My surprise quickly become annoyance when Amberlee slides into the space between our chairs and turns her back so I'm blocked from Brendon's view—and from intruding on her invitation.

I rise from my seat. My brain warns me that Amberlee has her sights on Brendon this year.

"Sure. Sounds fun," Brendon answers as I join the flow of the masses moving through the halls. With a pang, I realize he's all in for her party. Yeah, this is not over.

To Continue Reading Get The Book Below!

 Amazon

 Barnes and Noble

Visit, Like and Follow at:

Facebook

 Goodreads

Lexi's Pathetic Fictional Love Life

Copyright © 2014 by Jo Noelle

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. Little Box Press, LLC.

# How To Have Peace When You're Falling To Pieces

Frazzled, Stressed, and Overworked Mommy Special: eBook for 99 ¢

*Amazon.com only, for a very limited time

AS SEEN ON TV

 Get The Book Here!

For fun mothering tips, visit

AuthorRebeccaRode.com

Facebook

How To Have Peace When You're Falling to Pieces

Copyright ©Rebecca Rode

Published by: Cedar Fort Publishing

Spanish Fork, UT.

# Missing Royal

One: Missing

The hall is filled with laughter as I pick pieces of food from my red hair. The student body watched as my entire locker exploded in a food bomb the second I opened it. I should have expected it, seen it coming. I should've learned to stop using my locker a long time ago considering how many pranks it's been used for.

I try to wipe the food out but my hand comes away yellow, covered in mustard. I clutch my school books to my chest and continue walking but I keep my head held high. Their words can't hurt me if I don't let them. At least, that's what I tell myself to keep from crying.

It's the normal for me. Every day is the same battle as I push through the throngs, walk past the jocks and cheerleaders. Even the nerds have gone to calling me names. I rush into the bathroom and stick my head in one of the sinks to try to wash out as much mustard as possible.

It isn't just my hair that's a mess. Ketchup and mustard cover my shirt as well. Pickles almost the color of my eyes fall to the floor as I shake my head and keep the tears buried inside.

I don't understand what I ever did to deserve their hate. Then again, there's a lot I don't understand. Like, why do I put up with it? Why is it fun for these kids to hurt me? Why don't I belong here? I wish I had an answer to any of these things.

I take one last look at myself in the mirror. My once-white shirt is now a collage of condiments. With a sigh, I peek out the bathroom door, looking back and forth in hopes that the halls are clear. They are.

I dart toward class, still wishing someone had an answer. My mother, my father—they can't tell me either. I turn the corner and take a deep breath before I push through the final bubble of giggling teenagers to enter my classroom.

Ms. Salazar is already at the chalkboard writing today's English assignments when I step inside the room. But she won't call me out—she wouldn't even punish me if I walked in after the bell has gone off.

She sees the way I'm treated by my fellow students. She knows I don't fit in here and she feels bad for me. She wishes she could make them see me the way I should be seen—as a human being with a heart and feelings.

The pity in her eyes is evident when she looks at me. I hate it. Hate that she does nothing about it. Then again, I hate myself for the same reason. At least we both agree on one thing—I don't fit in here. I never have, I never will. I'm not like those around me.

I sink down in my chair and bury my nose in my books, just as I do in every class. Some of the teachers are stricter but Ms. Salazar doesn't care that I don't pay attention to the lesson. She knows I already know all of it. That's what happens when you have no friends—you get ahead in school because it's all you have.

That, and daydreams of being someone I'm not. I pretend all the stories are real, that I'm a dragon rider, a zombie slayer. I pretend to be the princess who saves herself, the cool girl who's really a geek. I pretend I'm anyone but me.

I can feel the voice about to call me. My head spins, my eyes water, and I feel a tug. Come home, child. Your time is near. We need you here. Please, Shanice.

"Ms. Tetreault, are you all right?" Ms. Salazar asks. She must've seen the look on my face. I grow dizzy and feel faint every time the voice speaks to me.

I sit up straighter, my heart pounding. The woman's voice, continually telling me I should come home. I don't know who this voice belongs to—I don't know where home is, if not the house I live in. All I know is that this is another reason the people around me think I'm crazy.

"I'm fine." I nod and look away, embarrassed once more.

Ms. Salazar glances at the clock on the wall. Almost a half an hour before class ends. "I think we will let out early today. You are all free to go," she says while still watching me. I have a feeling she doesn't believe me at all. I begin gathering my books, carefully arranging them in my backpack.

"Are the voices talking to you again? Maybe it's a ghost," a classmate says as she walks by, waving her arms and making ghost-like sounds. I shrug it off, not allowing my emotions to be free. If they saw me crying, matters would only become worse. Not that it gets much worse—I'm currently covered in the makings of an epic hot dog and some other gooeyness I don't want to identify.

"Shanice, might I have a word with you?" Ms. Salazar walks closer to my desk as the last of the students leave. From the way she abruptly ended class, I already figured she wanted to speak with me. I took my time in gathering my belongings to avoid more taunting from the other students, yes. But I didn't even bother to stand.

"Of course." I try my best to give her a convincing smile but the face I make wouldn't even convince me.

"You know you can report their bullying, right? Why do you allow them to harass you endlessly?" She touches my shoulder, wanting to connect with me, show me that someone cares. "It isn't right and they should be stopped."

I bite back the words I was so ready to say, feeling the tears coming with them. Instead, I blink, making sure no tears will escape. "They cannot hurt me if I don't let them. I ignore them and I make do." I wanted to say it with conviction but my words were barely audible.

"Shanice, you shouldn't have to simply 'make do'. You deserve to walk among your classmates, known to them as their equal. I hear what they call you."

I avert my eyes. "Thank you." I stand. "I need to go." I want to smile, but can't. Considering we were let out early, she knows I don't need to go anywhere but she just nods, also unable to offer a smile. I throw my bag over my shoulder and shuffle from the room.

The silent whispers that call to me echo around me, stopping me mid-footstep. I look around, frantic to find the source, to know what it is I am hearing. To know that I am not crazy. My shoulders slump. Perhaps I am crazy.

I feel so lost standing in the hall, people flowing past me as if I don't exist. And when they do see me, their glares are all I see, their taunts all I hear. I do my best to tune them out and listen to the voices that truly haunt me.

Shanice, please, Shanice! We need you. Come home.

I shake my head and push my way through the throng of students. I can't handle any more today. Mondays are never good but today is especially horrible. My heart pounds and I can't catch my breath. I sway, the hallway looks like its spinning. I close my eyes and try to clear my head. When the swaying stops I take a slow steady step forward. When I don't fall over and I'm not going in circles I push my way past more groups until I reach the nurse's office.

"What do you need?" the nurse asks, annoyed without looking up.

"I'm not feeling well and I need to go home."

She looks up now. Her eyes soften. "Of course." Like with the teachers, she treats me as if I were different—fragile. Perhaps I am, in the crazy kind of way. Perhaps something is wrong with me and I'm the only one who doesn't know it.

The nurse releases me without asking further questions. I'm grateful for the easy pass right now.

I pull my hoodie on and head toward the road. It's a slow, long walk through three miles of neighborhoods but I'm used to it by now. This isn't the first time I've left school midday. I consider going home but that's not where I'm most comfortable. It's not really where I want to be. Instead I turn towards the stables – a half a mile away.

The voice, the haunting chill it leaves over me, isn't new to me at all. I've been hearing that voice for as long as I can remember. I don't talk about it, I try to pretend the voice isn't there. What I really want is to figure out why I hear it. Why me? What does it want?

But how can I appease a voice that doesn't exist? I don't dare tell those around me about them anymore. Long ago, I promised they had left. My mother was the one to disbelieve me the most. She asks every day now if I've heard them again.

And every day, I lie. If I tell her the truth, what will happen? She can't make them go away. She will believe I'm crazy, that I belong in a mental institution. I'm already bullied far too much. What would happen if I was taken to a mental hospital?

I shake my head, willing myself to think of something happier, hoping for an explanation soon. Somehow, one day. For now, I just have to survive each day—pretend everything is all right, that I'm normal. I bite my lower lip so hard I think it might bleed trying holding back all the tears ready to fall.

But it doesn't do anything but hurt my lip. I wipe them away before anyone sees and continue walking the dirt road toward the stables. I need to find peace and riding is something that helps with that. It's something I'm good at—something that's my own. It's a freedom unlike any other. I want to waltz through the stable doors as if I own the place. Still in pain and hurt from the torment, I simply grudgingly walk in.

Star greets me with as much excitement a horse can. She's beautiful—a dark bay with a pure white star on her forehead. It wasn't hard naming her when my parents gave her to me a year ago.

Though our friendship started off a bit rough, Star's never let me down. And only one human being comes close to that—Valentino. I find myself smiling as he walks in.

"I didn't expect to see you so early today." He returns the smile, casually approaching me, his hands tucked in his pockets. His curly black hair falls over his forehead, almost hiding his dark green eyes.

I never have to try to be something I'm not with him. He doesn't judge me, he doesn't bully me—he's my friend It's so nice to have one person I can count on.

I begin brushing Star's mane. "I had to cut school short today." I avert my eyes, embarrassed that I couldn't handle the bullies. Ashamed that I can't stand up for myself or tell anyone what's going on.

"It isn't fair that you have to hide to be safe. Why don't you fight back, Shanice?" He brushes a strand of hair from my shoulder on his way to the saddles. Heat rises in my cheeks. I don't know if I'm just a friend to him, but he means so much more to me.

"I can't. They don't care about me and they will torture me with anything and everything they can. If I fight back, I'm sure they'll find some way to use it against me. And right now, that isn't something I can handle. I just . . . I just want this all to be over. I'll survive high school and move on. Go to college and find people who care about me, people who understand me."

"I care about you," he whispers. "I understand you. It's their loss that they choose to be jerks rather than befriend you." He saddles Star and gives me a boost so I can mount. Not that I need the boost at five foot five but it doesn't stop me from letting him help.

"I know." I look down at him. I want to say more but instead, I attempt a smile. It barely qualifies but he pretends not to notice.

"Come on." He smiles back before saddling his own horse. While I wait for him to mount, I braid my hair back so it stays out of my face.

Most of the time I prefer it to fly free, the wind rushing through it. But now I just want to run. Nothing can hinder me, nothing in my way, just freedom of running wild and no one to stop me. As soon as Valentino is mounted, I smirk.

"I'll race you to the broken gate!" I laugh, not bothering to wait for a reply. He'll race me just as he always does, always has, and always will when I challenge him.

I think about the first time we raced, the first time we rode, the moment we met. It was a day just like this one. A slight breeze, the sun playing hide and seek behind clouds. He greeted me like a proper gentleman, as if I were a lady. He smiled, showing two dimples. His eyes shining. His smile was unstoppable and very contagious. We went for a twenty minute ride to see if riding was for me. An hour later I still wasn't ready to leave.

My parents put me into fencing and archery—I wondered if they thought we were still in medieval times. But when they offered me horseback riding lessons last year, I couldn't resist.

Turns out it's the biggest blessing in my life. Had I turned it down, I wouldn't have Valentino. How lonely it would all be without him. He doesn't even realize how much he means to me. He's my knight in shining armor, and he doesn't even know it.

Star begins to whine as we get closer to the gate. I pat her neck, unsure what the problem is. The gate isn't menacing. I don't know if anyone else knows about it but I've never seen it used. It's old and rusty, crumbling in decay. I'm amazed it still stands, so I can't imagine it actually works anymore. It would have to be broken down, which wouldn't be hard.

Star calms down again, so I continue forward. I sigh and laugh out loud, now only ten steps away from it. Valentino isn't in sight, which means Star and I have won.

I dismount and walk around Star, wanting to see if there is anything beyond this rotting gate. A tall stone wall holds it up, only a piece visible due to all the greenery covering it. It appears that the other side of the gate is exactly the same—simply forest. I'm so curious as to what lies behind there, why this gate is here. Surely someone knows. I lift my hand and edge closer to touch the rusted iron flowers and vines that intertwine through the gate.

"Don't!" The silence broken by his panicked scream, I turn around, startled out of my wits. "Don't touch the gate." Valentino rushes toward me, jumping from his horse and grabbing my hand, which is frozen in midair.

"What's wrong? I was just looking." I tilt my head, confused as to why he is so protective of it.

"Just don't touch it, all right? It's said to be haunted, and I would hate for you to get cursed." He smiles wide, laughing it off as a joke. But his eyes remain serious. I know he's lying—I just don't understand why.

I brush it off. He doesn't want to talk about it—that's fine. It doesn't mean I'm not curious about it. I take one last fleeting glance at the gate before turning my full attention back to him. "You lost the race. Now you have to clean Star's stall for a week." I punch his arm lightly.

"We never agreed to that." He folds his arms across his chest.

"You know the winner gets to choose the loser's punishment." I wink, spinning on my heel and putting my foot in the stirrup before throwing my other leg over Star's back. I expect Valentino to follow my lead and mount but he doesn't. Instead, he fidgets with his hands.

I bite my lower lip, unsure what he's doing. "Valentino," I begin. But he cuts me off.

"Would you—" He starts. I'm ready to hang on his every word, hoping he asks the one thing I've been desperate for someone to ask me. But instead, he shakes his head and mounts Knight, his dapple horse.

"Yes?" I raise an eyebrow and wait for him to say it.

"Never mind." He turns to ride down the path I came.

I try to hide my frustration but I can't hold in the sigh. Just as I do, a gush of wind bursts through the trees. It startles the horses, sending Star and Knight pulling to leave as fast as possible. Valentino tenses and looks at me wide-eyed.

I look to the sky. All I see are trees. I didn't know gusts of wind could go through a forest like that. And for how calm the weather has been, it's out of place. "Are you feeling all right?" Valentino watches me with concern. He squints, a frown on his lips.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why?" I look to him before taking in our surroundings. That one gust of wind was out of the ordinary but it didn't hurt me.

"We should be getting back," he says, but then he doesn't move either. I'm so confused—frustrated and crushed at his inability to ask his question. I nod and allow him to lead the way. He takes a longer path than I did before.

Neither one of us say a thing as we ride toward the stables. Every break I can find in the foliage above, I look up. I realize the sky has turned from clear blue to stormy gray.

But the closer we get to the stables, it looks like the downpour isn't going to happen. The clouds part and reveal blue skies again.

We arrive to the stables far too soon. I think about what Valentino said. I think I would've preferred he say nothing at all. We were having so much fun. I don't know why he feels he can't ask me what we both know he was going to ask. I just wish he would figure it out.

As soon as I've brushed Star and given her food and water, I grab my backpack from its hook and head to the door. "I'd better get home." I walk out the door, not bothering to wait for a reply. I don't even wait to see if he heard me.

I just walk, my bag slung over one shoulder. On days like this, I wish my parents would allow me to have a car. Or borrow a car. I'd even settle for allowing me to drive a car. But they believe walking is far better for me. They are the most anti-tech people I know.

I just wish I had a quick escape.

"Shanice! Wait!" I look back, already a block from the stables, and there's Valentino. He's rushing after me, his jacket slung over his shoulder as if he was in such a hurry to catch up to me that he didn't have time to put it on. It makes me smile, considering how chilly it is.

I stop walking while he runs the last few feet. Once we're standing face-to-face, all is silent but the cool breeze. I don't know what to say, and it appears neither does he. A shiver crawls up my spine as I wait, agonized by the awkward silence.

"Here." He puts the jacket over my shoulders rather than his own. "May I walk you home?" I mentally take back everything I just thought about having a quick escape.

We walk side by side, close enough that we continue to bump into each other. Neither of us takes a step away. I almost grab his hand but with the way he wouldn't finish his question earlier, I decide against it. No need to go and ruin yet another perfect moment.

Now I just wish it took longer to get from the stables to my house. "You did well today. Star has grown fond of you. I remember a time she wasn't always so fond of you." Valentino bumps my shoulder.

I have to laugh with him. I look into his eyes. The smirk on his face is heart-melting. "I knew I would win her over. I always do." My foot catches on something and I lurch forward. His muscular arm wraps around my waist, spins me around, and puts me back on my feet.

"Thank you." I look away, embarrassed. He doesn't let go immediately but he nods and continues on as if nothing happened. "Well, I'm glad you've won her over. Things would be far more difficult if she didn't like you."

I raise my eyebrows in question but not wanting to make the same mistake twice, I decide facing him while walking isn't the best idea. "What do you mean?"

He makes a sweeping gesture with his arm. "We have arrived. I bid thee farewell and good night, milady." He bows and kisses my hand before leaving me on my front porch, still wearing his jacket, still confused. I watch him walk away, hands in his pockets, whistling with the wind in a cheery tune.

I shake off the feeling of confusion that overtakes me and go inside. The first thing I do is take his jacket to my room and hang it up so I can return it tomorrow. I dump my bag on my bed and go in search of supper.

"Hey, sweetie. You're home early." My mother greets me as I walk through the kitchen door. She plants a kiss on either cheek before going back to cooking. I take in her food - stained apron, the way her brunette hair is pulled into a bun on her head. I touch the ends of my own hair, boggled at how both my parents' hair is brown while mine is the brightest coppery red. "I had to leave school early, so I went to the stables and rode with Valentino," I state calmly, matter-of-fact-like.

"Did you have a good lesson?" My father sets down his newspaper on the dining room table and looks at me, waiting for an answer. I feel like I'm in an old TV show. The whole setting is right for it.

"Valentino says I've improved." Though I'm not sure on what. "And Star is completely relaxed with me now." I don't mention the odd happening at the gate as I sit down across from my father and my mother sets three plates on the table. I think of the first time I rode Star. She was most definitely not relaxed. She wasn't nervous, just antsy, always moving. She never wanted to slow down. It terrified me.

"That's wonderful! And what about school?" Mom asks, a grin spread ear to ear on her face, not a freckle in sight on her skin—whereas my cheeks and nose are dotted with them. I want to pretend school never happened. Will never happen again.

"I had to leave early today." I'm so sick of those words but it's all I have to say. They never ask me what excuse I used or how early I left. They know I only leave early when the taunting becomes too unbearable. Or when the voices become louder.

Oh, the voices. As far as I can tell, most parents would have their kids locked up in loony bins if they said they were hearing voices. But not my parents. They hate it but they accept it.

If I said I thought they were ghosts, my parents would nod in agreement. If I said they were spirits watching over me, my parents would agree. If I told them they were trying to steal me away and take me who-knows-where, my parents would agree.

I don't understand it. I don't understand any of my life. It just doesn't make sense.

"So, any big plans for your birthday?" my father asks, interrupting my current train of thought. And as much as most kids love their birthdays, that's another sore spot for me.

"Not really. I have school that day, and an extra lesson with Valentino." I wish I could say I was having a party or going out with friends. But in this case, I'm having a horseback riding lesson with my one and only friend and nothing else. And while I'm actually pretty happy with that, I still wish I had more.

"We thought perhaps the three of us could do something. You know, go out to eat? Maybe go shopping? We could even see a movie!" My mother almost bounces in her seat in excitement talking about it.

Shopping, dinner, a movie—I'm a little lost. This is coming from the woman who believes all technology is evil, spending money on things you don't need is pointless, and why would you ever pay for an already made meal when you can make one yourself? – Though technically my dad does the cooking.

"Mom, you really don't have to do that. We could just stay in." I like the sound of that so much better.

"Actually, your mother and I want to take you out. You're growing up fast and we'll only have a few chances to really spend time with you before you're all grown up and leaving us." My father pats my hand and smiles. I swear there are tears in his eyes.

Maybe I am being locked up. Perhaps they realized that hearing voices really isn't normal. Either way, I'm going into panic mode.

"Dad, where would I be going? I'm not leaving you guys right away. And when I do go to college, I'll probably stay close by anyway." I offer my two cents in hopes of prying more information out of them.

"Oh, no. We just want to make sure you have a grand birthday before you're grown up and it's too late. Let us give you the royal . . ." Her voice catches. ". . . treatment for your birthday just this once, please?" She widens her eyes, tears glossing them over.

"I would love that. Thank you." I can tell by both of their expressions that I'm really not going to get out of this. They want to treat me royally, and there's nothing I can do or say to change their minds. They are right, though. I'll be seventeen. One year of high school left and then I'm off to college.

To Continue Reading Get The Book Below!

 Amazon

Smashwords

Visit, Like and Follow at:

Authorkonstanzsilverbow.com

Facebook

 Amazon Author Page

 Goodreads

Missing Royal

Copyright © 2014, Konstanz Silverbow

# Thank You

We appreciate readers like you! Thanks for taking the time to read this little anthology. We hope that perhaps you've found a new favorite author or book in the process. Many Thanks!

Sincerely,

Stacy Lynn Carroll

R.J. Craddock

Cindy M. Hogan

Sally Johnson

Wendy Knight

Jo Noelle

Rebecca Rode

Konstanz Silverbow

