 
Beautiful Dangerous Love

Teen Sampler

Alicia Kat Dillman

Jessie Harrell

LM Preston

Lorna Suzuki

Shevi Arnold

Chelsea M. Cameron

Do you crave the dangerously beautiful worlds of paranormal suspense, ghostly romances, and otherworldly adventures? The you'll be swept up in this sampling of six fantastic indie reads including Daemons in the Mist by Alicia Kat Dillman, Destined by Jessie Harrell, The Pack -Retribution- LM Preston, The Magic Crystal by Lorna Suzuki, Ride of Your Life by Shevi Arnold, Whisper by Chelsea M. Cameron.

COPYRIGHT

Beautiful Dangerous Love- Teen Sampler

By Alicia Kat Dillman, Jessie Harrell, LM Preston, Lorna Suzuki, Shevi Arnold, Chelsea M. Cameron

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2012 by Alicia Kat Dillman, Jessie Harrell, LM Preston, Lorna Suzuki, Shevi Arnold, Chelsea M. Cameron

****Smashwords Edition, License Notes****

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Beautiful Dangerous Love

COPYRIGHT

Daemons in the Mist

COPYRIGHT

Secrets in the Mist

You Don't See Me

Parallel Universe

Pictures of You

A Thousand Different Ways

Let's Get Out of This Town

Dreaming Out Loud

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Destined

COPYRIGHT

Chapter 1 - Psyche

Chapter 2 - Psyche

Chapter 3 - Psyche

Chapter 4 - Psyche

Chapter 5 - Eros

Chapter 6 - Psyche

Chapter 7 - Eros

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

The Pack -Retribution-

COPYRIGHT

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

The Magic Crystal

COPYRIGHT

Prologue

A Grand Plan

Be Careful What You Wish For

A Strange Encounter

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ride of Your Life

COPYRIGHT

Into the Bunny Hole

What's Real

Choices

Perchance to Dream

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Whisper

COPYRIGHT

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Daemons in the Mist

The Marked Ones Trilogy

· Book One ·

by Alicia Kat Dillman

**Finally getting the girl of your dreams; what could possibly go wrong?**

Seventeen year old Patrick Connolly has been hopelessly infatuated with Nualla for years but he is all but invisible to her. Until, that is, he rescues her from a confrontation with her ex. Little does Patrick know he's just set off a dangerous chain reaction that will thrust him into a world of life altering secrets and things that shouldn't exist, because the fog and mist of San Francisco is concealing more than just buildings.

A deliriously captivating and exhilarating romantic rollercoaster full of unexpected twists and an ending you won't see coming.

COPYRIGHT

Daemons in the Mist

Copyright © 2011 by Alicia Kat Dillman

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

Published by Korat Publishing in California

www.koratpublishing.com

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

**  
**CREDITS

Cover illustration © 2012 Alicia Kat Dillman

Book design by Alicia Kat Dillman

1

Secrets in the Mist

Monday, January 9th

**  
**· Nualla ·

I looked out the window at the never-ending sea of fog, concealing the city as it came alive in its morning rush. In the mist, everything seemed timeless and still and wondrous. The fog drifted past buildings, their tops poking out and making it look all the world like there were castles in the sky.

San Francisco.

The exception, it seemed, to California's bright and sunny weather. It's not the foggiest city in the world, but its damn close. People have written books based here, and songs and movies. Even Mark Twain is quoted as saying, 'The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.' Though if I hear one more tourist say it, I'm going to hit someone.

"So, socks or leggings?"

"Huh?" I turned to see my cousin Nikki standing in the doorway holding up two types of leg coverings. One was a pair of bright purple leggings; the other was a pair of paler blue thigh-high socks with penguins dancing across them.

"Which should I wear?" She asked again as she jiggled them for effect.

We went to Bayside Academy, a private school for the Bay Area's elite, so of course that meant uniforms. I was glad our school went in for the whole tieless-v-neck-knit-sweater-over-pleated-skirt look because personally, I think ties on girls are really creepy. Our school uniforms did not extend to things like shoes, socks and hair, so some students, like Nikki, went to town with their individuality.

I clicked my phone on to check the day's weather. "Nikki, it's like 45 degrees out."

"Socks it is," Nikki said, sitting on the edge of my bed to slip them on.

"You're crazy!"

"Don't you know it," she said with a wink.

I rolled my eyes at her and stood up. I had gone for the more sensible I'm-not-going-to-freeze-my-ass-off standard black leggings with tall boots for good measure.

Another look at the clock said we'd better head out or we were totally going to be late. "Come on, Nikki. Let's not be late the first day of spring semester, okay?"

Minutes later, we coasted down the street, the buildings sliding into existence just a few seconds before we passed them, my car's engine quietly purring. Most people hate driving in the fog, but I love it. It keeps you on your toes; you have to be ready for what might appear before you at any moment.

Like this cat darting across the road in front of me. I took my foot off the gas as she streaked past me, a flash of smoky gray, like the fog materializing into a solid form. As her paws hit the curb on the other side of the street she turned her lamp-like eyes to stare at me. She knows me, the true me. Not this mask I have to wear each day. There's something profoundly odd about that. That a cat could be more calm and rational than—

"Hey, Earth to Nualla," Nikki says as she waves a hand in front of my face. "What are you looking at?"

The cat's gone, disappearing into the mist like a dream. "Nothing," I answer slowly. That's when I realize the cat used a crosswalk. Smart little thing, even she's not stupid enough to jay-walk. I mean sure, she did cross against the red, but hell, at least she wasn't mindlessly listening to an iPod as she stepped off the curb. Sometimes I think they're smarter than people; cats. Or maybe they just have a higher level of self-preservation.

I return my focus to the road and hit the gas. The buildings float past, an odd collection of shapes so far from matching it's almost funny. The city weaves together stringent modern simplicity and Victorian mystique in a way that almost seems intentional in its randomness. Cultures seamlessly blending into each other so slowly as to be unnoticed, while at other times they change rather abruptly, like the China Town Gate, announcing your passage into another world in large, imposing glory. The residences themselves are almost as odd; the houses in most cities are colors like tan, brick and the occasional sage. But not San Francisco; it's a mélange of colors. I even saw a house once that was lilac with chartreuse trim.

Yeah—chartreuse.

The light slides to red and I drift to a stop. I lean back into the seat and fold my arms as I glance over at my cousin. Nikki sips her coffee in the seat next to me, the steam rolling off it already fogging up the windows. She wipes the window with her sleeve so she can peer out at the buildings.

"You know it's just gonna fog up again in like two seconds."

"Then I'll just wipe it again," She answers as she slides her arm across the window like a windshield wiper.

I roll my eyes at her and press my foot to the gas as the red blur in the distance shifts to green. The globes of light lining the streets float past, the sky still too dark for them to register that it's morning.

It's like driving though a dreamland; some of the things you see just seem way too unreal. People in shiny disco ball Gaga-esque clothes dancing outside Ghirardelli Square, joggers in tutus, and water valves painted up to look like video game mushrooms are just a few of the crazy things I have seen on the streets here.

But the mists also hold a secret.

They conceal a world that exists between yours, around yours, underneath yours. We may look like you, we may act like you, but we are not you. We pass among you unnoticed, carrying our secrets to the grave. You carve us into your stories, into your fears, distorting us into something that no longer seems real.

Humanity races forward trying to catalogue and destroy the last mysteries of this world, but we are one step ahead of you, hiding away the things you refuse to believe are possible. Some of us work in your favor, while others try to tear you down. Protectors and destroyers. A world of opposing forces battling for the upper hand. Muses, demigods, devils; the humans of antiquity gave us many names. But we claimed one for ourselves.

Daemons.

Every triumph and travesty in human history has a daemon behind the scenes. Like mist, we run through your world seeping into your lives and disappearing when you try to look too hard. In the beginning, we tried to reveal ourselves to you. But well, let's just say concealing our true nature was just better for everyone.

Sometimes I wonder if you're ready to know the truth now. That we have been silent passengers all along in humanity's struggle to thrive.

Probably not. People get crazy when you mess with their paradigms.

As we arrived at school, the fog was already giving way to lighter swells of mist. I pulled into the last above-ground spot and opened the door into the utterly cold morning.

I burrowed down deeper into my heavy velvet pea coat with a shiver. The wind was picking up, swirling the mist past the students. I could already tell Nikki was rethinking her choice of socks over stockings by the expression on her face.

She turned to me, her teeth already starting to chatter. "Ready to go inside?"

"Naw, I think we should hang outside longer since it's a balmy 45 degrees out."

"The weather thingy could have been wrong."

"By what, 30 degrees?"

"Sometimes you really suck." Nikki said as she crossed her arms and scowled at me.

"Yeah, but you know you love me." I said as I looped my arm through hers and started walking toward the building.

We drifted among the other students; just another set of pretty faces in a sea of prep school uniforms.

2

You Don't See Me

Monday, January 9th

**  
**· Patrick ·

Every morning they arrived by luxury sport car, chauffeured town car, or taxi. I came via MUNI. My parents were just barely well off enough to get me into the school. They were apparently not wealthy enough to let me drive a car in the city.

I don't mind the bus really; you find the most interesting people in San Francisco on the bus. Foreign grandmothers chatting in a language you can't understand. Convention goers with badges that proudly tout their names for all to see. Art students carrying more supplies than body mass, and urban yuppies playing with the newest handheld tech all crowd into the buses of SF every day. If you really want to get to know a city, ride its public transit. You'll find a whole city's worth of culture crammed like sardines in a 320 square-foot space. It's the only place in the city where they're all equals.

Occasionally I would get the stares from those who recognized my school uniform and would give me that why's a kid like you riding the bus look? Mostly they just ignored me, leaving me alone to make up their life stories in my head.

I ignored one such stare and looked out the window. The fog was impressive today, drowning everything in a misty cover. The tops of tall buildings disappeared into it, leaving you to wonder just how tall they really were. On mornings like this you were lucky to see a block or two away.

I pulled for my stop and fought my way to the door, always an adventure in and of itself. The stops around Market are the worst: most of the time it's like trying to swim upstream through a sea of angry fish. Half the time you literally fall off the bus onto the sidewalk as people push past you to get on.

The bus lurched to a stop and the doors popped open. I stepped off the bus alone. It wasn't only the students that didn't seem to ride the bus around here. Stuffy rich attitudes practically wafted through the air in this part of the city.

Sighing, I started trudging down the sidewalk toward the school. The air whipped past with a biting cold to it. January in San Francisco, cold as crap but at least it wasn't raining sideways. If you think I'm joking about the rain, I'm not. Most tourists don't believe you when you tell them how cold it gets here; they always forget about the wind chill. The wind in San Francisco is a tricky beast; you can walk down one street and have it gently tousling your hair, then turn the corner and get smacked in the face by a gale.

I came to the corner and took a deep breath before I crossed the street to the school. Bayside Academy is a nice enough school, but it's hard to feel at home in a school filled with the children of diplomats and CEOs.

Bayside Academy's campus sports an impressive amount of grass and trees for being in the middle of a city. The building itself is three stories with a glassed over atrium and underground parking, but what doesn't have underground parking in The City, really?

The front of the school was nearly deserted. Like most winter mornings, everyone was in a hurry to get into the building; though most wouldn't actually make it to class until just before the bell rang.

As I neared the entrance of the school building, an electric blue Aston Martin Vanquish pulled into the last available spot in the above-ground parking. Everyone stared—in a parking lot of nice cars this one was in a league completely its own.

The door opened and Nualla Galathea stepped out shuddering at the cold. I stood transfixed as she glided toward the building in front of me, arm in arm with her cousin Nikkalla "Nikki" Varris. They didn't look at me as they passed and I fell into step behind them.

Nualla had the most beautiful hair I had ever seen. Not the short kind of long we see in magazines and movies today but the kind straight out of a Pre-Raphaelite painting. Black loose spirals spilling down her back to just below her hips. It might have seemed old fashioned if it wasn't for the electric indigo streaks through parts of it.

Her cousin's hair was in sharp contrast; pale blonde with light blue streaks and a short a-line cut. But the two were extremely similar in build, the slender waspish shapes of dancers; same heart shaped faces, same large eyes.

They were some of the extremely popular kids but theirs was an odd sort of popularity. With that much beauty, wealth and intelligence, they should probably have had hordes of friends.

But they didn't.

They seemed to spend the majority of their time with their best friend Shawn Vallen. Though they were kind to all the students, they mostly kept to themselves. But it was a self-imposed isolation; most of the students at the school looked at them with a strange sense of admiration. In a lot of towns the beautiful popular kids would have used their gifts as an excuse to abuse the other lesser students, but not these three.

I had never heard Nualla say anything unkind to another person. Well, aside from one really. The only person she seemed to openly despise was Michael Tammore. Which was perfectly alright with me, since he was a pretentious wank anyways. He was one of those people who used their power to abuse others. Michael routinely picked on the shy, the less affluent and anyone he felt was less intelligent than himself.

My friends, on the other hand, were the kind of friends you always hung out with at school but who never seemed to call you to do things on the weekend. Well, with the exception of my best friend Connor. There wasn't a Saturday that went by that he wasn't hanging out at my place or me at his.

My friends and I definitely weren't the most popular kids in school but we also weren't the least popular either. We were somewhere in the realm of people not caring. No one aspired to be us and no one shoved us in the janitor's closet. Our little group was made up of Connor, Sara, Beatrice, Jenny and myself. We had ended up sitting together the first week of freshmen year and had just never bothered to find new seats... or friends.

After a quick trip to my locker I walked into Trig, my least favorite class, and took my usual seat in the back of the room next to Connor.

***

Trig went by as it normally did; painfully. I really liked Mr. Savenrue, he never called on me, but Trig was just about the least interesting thing in the world.

Connor and I left class heading for our lockers when Nualla came out of the Calculus class next to us.

I opened my mouth to say something to her, "Hey."

I know I'm a lost cause really.

She turned back toward me and I held my breath. She had turned, she almost never turned. She looked right at me. Well not at me exactly, it was more like through me. Her brow furrowed in confusion and she turned back and continued walking to her locker. I let the breath go. I don't know why I kept trying. I must be less than nothing to them; to her.

Sigh.

Nualla and her friends mostly flat out ignored me, looked right through me, as if I wasn't even there. It was like they couldn't see me; like I was invisible. If it wasn't for the company of my friends, I might even think I was a ghost.

However, this did not affect my infatuation with Nualla Galathea. I would watch her, not in a creepy stalker way but more in observational awe; like one would admire a statue or a beautiful painting. I noticed everything about her, but she had only looked at me once, the first day I saw her. She had been walking to a table in the atrium with her friends and had looked up and smiled at me through the glass.

As I watched Nualla travel down the hall to our next class, I popped my locker open. After nearly four years there, I didn't really have to look too hard to spin the dial to the correct combination.

She stopped at her locker and dropped her bag inside in one swift, beautiful gesture of her arm. Every movement she made was like a graceful dance. I don't know why I hadn't given up on her yet and gotten myself a real girlfriend. Something in me just couldn't seem to let it go. Like it knew something I didn't. Though I did wish it would get over itself and let me in on the secret.

"Are you staring at that Galathea girl again?" Connor asked with a sigh as he folded his arms and leaned against the locker next to mine. His hair was a well-kept spray of dreads pulled neatly into a ponytail. His mother had probably gotten on his case again and threatened to cut it off if he didn't keep it neat. Which, knowing Connor, would probably last for all of a few weeks before it started getting into disarray again.

Connor looked over at Nualla before looking back at me and rolling his eyes. "I'm telling you man—never gonna happen."

"Yeah, I know," I said as I turned back to my locker and tossed my bag in.

Mr. Lucas had demanded we not bring bags to Chemistry so no one would accidently trip over them. He had said something to the effect of 'This is chemistry, not physics. We don't need to see what happens when someone falls on their face.'

"We need to get to class, you coming?"

"You go ahead, I'll catch up." I wasn't really listening because I was still starting at Nualla without actually appearing to look at her; a skill in and of itself.

"Well hurry up, I heard a rumor that Mr. Lucas is switching up our seats again." Connor said and strode off toward our Chem II class.

"'Kay," I said, but he probably didn't hear me. In a few seconds flat he was already halfway down the hall. But then again, he was a 6'4" black kid, and most of that was legs.

I closed my locker. I really couldn't stand around staring anymore and I would see her in class anyways. Tablet in hand I started walking toward class. I picked up my pace when I noticed how sparse the halls had gotten already.

As I was staring at Nualla, a sudden piercing headache flashed across my eyes. I stumbled and dropped my tablet on my shoe; it bounced and landed a few feet away. I bent down to get it while I rubbed my temple.

What the hell was that?

When I stood up, Michael was standing next to Nualla and they were having a heated argument. They seemed fuzzy and out of focus, like they were much farther away than they should have been. The more I concentrated on trying to look at them the fuzzier they got and the more my head hurt. This actually happened to me more than I wanted to admit.

I would have just gone to class and taken some Advil if it had not been for what I saw next.

**  
**· Nualla ·

I knew what was going to happen a split second before it did. I always knew with Michael. As good as he was with his illusionary abilities, I could feel the impact to the air as he prepared to release it.

Michael grabbed my arm. "You're going with me to the Winter Ball."

"No, I assure you, I'm not." I jerked away from him, folded my arms and glared at him with contempt.

"Then who are you going with?"

Frak! I hadn't actually asked anyone yet. I looked out at the nearly vacant hall; the students that were still there were shuffling to their lockers or dashing off to class completely unaware of us. Then again, Michael was using his influence to make them not notice us.

"I don't have to tell you." I said, moving my hands to my hips to appear more solid. Michael was a good five inches taller than me, so I needed all the help I could get.

"I can make you." He said, lifting my chin with his finger so I was forced to look into his eyes.

I pushed him away with all my strength and tried to step past him. "You wouldn't dare."

In one swift motion Michael reached out and slammed me against the locker. "Enough of your games, Nualla! We both know you are not going to choose a human mate so why do you keep picking them and not—"

"And not you, you mean? Because I would rather have anyone's company than yours."

Michael stood there silently, looking just the slightest bit stunned, but he didn't remove his hold on my shoulders. The truth was I could say all the snide things I wanted, but I couldn't get away. He was much stronger than me. He knew it. I knew it.

The bell rang and the last remaining students fled the halls. I closed my eyes and made a desperate silent plea for help even though I knew it was hopeless.

And then something weird happened.

I heard the faintest clatter, nearly inaudible to the human ear and then an unfamiliar voice demanded. "Get your hands off of her—now."

My eyes shot open and both Michael and I turned in the same moment to stare. In the hall stood a guy I had never seen before.

Michael spoke, in a voice that nearly betrayed just how surprised he was. "Who the hell are you?"

Which was exactly what I was thinking. I had attended Bayside Academy all four years and could never remember seeing this guy before—and that's saying a lot because the school is pretty damn small.

"It doesn't matter who I am, that's no way to treat a girl. Especially one who's not your girlfriend." The guy answered, glaring at Michael.

I could feel Michael's hold on my sholders tighten. This guy had found Michael's one fatal flaw—his pride. It was common knowledge that Michael got whatever he wanted. Only a few people knew that Michael coveted one thing more than anything else on Earth. The one thing he couldn't seem to possess—me. Somehow this guy had figured that out and had thrown it in Michael's face. The guy was either supremely lucky, or had a death wish.

"Unhand her." The mysterious guy demanded, taking a step closer.

"What are you, a white knight or something?" Michael asked with disdain as his hands slipped from my shoulders.

The guy crossed his arms, "When worthless punks like you make me. Yeah, I guess today, I am."

Michael glared at him with a look more deadly than I had ever seen him use; his hands balling up into fists at his sides. I just gaped at the stranger. This was about to get ugly. He might as well have just poked an enraged tiger with a sharp stick. It was looking more and more like this guy really must be deranged.

"Excuse me?" Michael said in a low, deadly voice, shaking with barely contained anger. I was sure Michael had probably never been insulted like that in his entire life, and the shock had already begun to wear off.

"You heard me," the stranger said, standing up a little taller. He was about an inch shorter than Michael, but was built far more solidly. Though I doubted this would help him much if they started throwing punches.

I squeezed my eyes shut; I knew what was coming and I really didn't want to see it. I waited for the sounds of fists meeting face, but when I didn't, I opened one eye. Michael was standing with one fist slightly out, looking at something beyond the stranger. I opened my other eye and leaned around them for a better look. Mr. Savenrue, Bayside Academy's only daemon teacher, was coming down the hall looking at a tablet in his hands.

Apparently the fates had not designed for the stranger to die today, because the one person Michael feared at the school was approaching us.

When he was only a few feet from us he finally looked up. "Mr. Tammore, Miss Galathea, what are you doing in the hall? Class started nearly five minutes ago." Mr. Savenrue looked over at the strange guy, a look of confusion briefly crossing his face. "Are you new here? I can't seem to remember your name."

"Patrick, Patrick Connolly. I'm in your first period class, sir." The stranger answered, looking equally confused.

Mr. Savenrue looked at him for a moment. "Yes—yes of course you are." He then broadened his focus to the rest of us. "Like I asked before, what are the three of you doing in the hall?"

"I was asking Mr. Tammore to stop harassing Miss Galathea." The stranger, apparently named Patrick, answered as he scowled at Michael.

Mr. Savenrue fixed Michael with a fiery gaze that could have melted ice. His gaze shifted to me where it cooled considerably to a look of sympathy. "Is this true, Miss Galathea?"

Without missing a beat I answered, "Yes, Mr. Savenrue. Michael was trying to coerce me into going to the Winter Ball with him. I tried to explain I was already going with someone else but he just wouldn't listen."

Michael fixed me with a poisonous glare. "No one asked you yet; you're lying!"

"I asked her," Patrick said. He fixed Michael with an even more deadly glare, "and she said yes."

Mr. Savenrue put his head in his hand and said a little exasperated, "Mr. Tammore, if a girl doesn't want to go with you to a dance that's her right. You can't always get what you want, you know."

"I usually do." Michael mumbled into his shirt.

"What was that, Mr. Tammore?" Mr. Savenrue asked, raising one eyebrow at Michael.

"Nothing, Mr. Savenrue." Michael answered, looking sideways at nothing in particular.

Mr. Savenrue didn't look the slightest bit convinced. "Hmm. Well, Mr. Tammore, why don't you accompany me to the dean's office." He reached into his bag and pulled out two late passes. He handed them to me and Patrick with a constrained smile. "Mr. Connolly, Miss Galathea, why don't you head to class."

I watched the two of them retreat down the hall to the stair as I decided what I should say next. I mean, Patrick had asked me to the dance without actually asking me. Did he really want to go with me, or was he just saying that to get Michael to back off?

I cocked my head to one side and looked up at Patrick. "So... I'm going with you to the Winter Ball?"

"Yeah... about that..." Patrick ran his hand through his hair nervously. "You were just bluffing, right? 'Cause if you already asked someone else you don't have to go with me. I just said that to piss off Michael."

Wow, someone who liked to mess with Michael nearly as much as I did. This guy was getting better by the minute.

"No, you're right, I was bluffing. I hadn't actually asked anyone yet. But I'll go with you—if you ask me that is." I looked up into his eyes and was lost in the beauty of them. They were deep pools of nearly black brown. Throughout the whole of what had just happened I hadn't really looked at him until now.

Patrick had a broad, square-jawed face framed by straight black hair that flared out with a slight curl at his ears. His bangs stopped just short of his eyes, which were almond shaped, hinting at a possible heritage. He was solidly built, not too skinny, but definitely not a bodybuilder either, which I liked. He was 5' 9" at best, just a few inches taller than me. The more I looked at him the more it made me giddy and restless inside. How had I managed to have missed this boy the last few years? He was completely gorgeous really; totally yummy.

Patrick cleared his throat but kept his eyes down. I could almost feel the waves of nervous energy flowing off him. He finally swallowed hard as he looked up into my eyes. "Nualla, would you go with me to the Winter Ball?"

I was more than a little shocked that he knew my name, but I hoped it didn't show in my face. "I would love to."

Up until this point he had seemed really self-assured, cocky even, but now he just looked at me for a bit blinking. Finally he asked in a more than shocked voice. "You're serious?"

"Were you serious about asking me?"

"Well yes of course but—"

"Then yes, I'm serious, I'll go with you to the dance."

His reactions were kind of weird. He was the kind of cute that should have won him lots of female attention but he seemed downright shocked that I had actually said yes.

"Um... okay." He said as he ran his hand nervously through his hair again. His expression barely concealed the panic behind it. It was almost painful watching him wrestle with himself.

I decided to throw him a safely line. "We should probably get to class."

"Oh yeah, you're probably right."

We walked the rest of the way to class in silence. His quiet, shy demeanor was in sharp contrast to the person he had been only moments before. Maybe he had a Lancelot complex or something. Or maybe he found me more intimidating than Michael, though I seriously doubted it.

As we stepped through the classroom door, Mr. Lucas turned to us with an exasperated expression, sucking in breath for a burst of lecture. But before he could get even a single word out we held up our passes. He let the air out with a sigh and turned back to what he had been doing.

"Thank you for gracing us with your presence. You two can take one of the back tables. Since you both missed out on today's earlier activity, you are now lab partners."

As we made our way back to our seats Nikki eyed me with a curious expression. Either she was wondering why I was late or she was wondering who the hell Patrick was—or both.

Mr. Lucas didn't even wait for us to make it to our seats before he resumed his lecture about today's class work. Mr. Lucas liked to periodically switch our seats and lab partners around so no one got too comfy—or lazy. Today was apparently one of those days.

It was toward the end of his lecture that I realized I had left my tablet in my locker. Frak me, he was never going to let me go get it after being as late as we were. I put my head in my hands and rubbed my temples. Blah, this day was already starting to suck, and it wasn't even close to being lunch yet.

I heard a light clattering and when I opened my eyes, a tablet was sitting on the table in front of me. "You can borrow mine if you like," came a very quiet voice from next to me. I looked up at Patrick and he continued. "You forgot to grab yours because of Michael."

"Yeah, I did, didn't I."

Patrick went back to quietly examining the smart board in the front of the classroom with today's assignment on it. I couldn't tell if he was shy or just nervous. The more I looked at him, the more I wondered why I hadn't noticed him before. How could I have possibly missed a cute boy like this wandering the halls for four straight years? Even if he was terribly shy I wasn't that blind, was I? Maybe he was a new transfer or something.

I rested my jaw in my hand and released a bit of my own influence. "So... how long have you been a student at Bayside Academy?"

Patrick looked at me, confused. "Four years—why?"

**

** 3

Parallel Universe

Monday, January 9th

**  
**· Nualla ·

"So who are you going to ask to the Winter Ball?" Nikki asked, staring out at the students around the atrium.

"I already have a date," I replied as I flicked through Facebook on my iPad. I was trying to see if Patrick was in any of the pictures I had taken in the last four years. Maybe he was like a vampire and wouldn't show up in photos. That would explain a lot, really.

"Really! Who?" Nikki asked, soda halfway to her mouth.

"Patrick Connolly," I answered still flicking through pictures.

"Who?"

I pointed across the atrium to Patrick. "Him."

Nikki looked out over the gathered students to Patrick. "Never seen him before, he a new student or something?"

I gave up flipping through the photos and rested my chin in my hand. "No, apparently he's been here all four years; which is odd because I can't remember ever seeing him before today. Hell, Mr. Savenrue didn't even remember him and he's in one of his classes."

Nikki stared at me in disbelief. "What?"

"Yeah it's weird, he's in a lot of my classes but I can't remember seeing him before today."

"That is kinda weird. Hey wait, when did this happen?"

"In the hall right before Chem. Michael was trying to make me go to the dance with him and Patrick stepped in."

"So he saved you from Michael?"

"Yep."

"Damn he's good." Nikki said, with a choking laugh. "You should keep him around; Michael repellent is always a good thing to have."

"You think?"

"Though it was your damn fault for dating Michael in the first—"

"Hey, you said you wouldn't pick on me for that anymore!" I said, pushing her.

"Sorry, it's just so hilarious how badly you frakked up there."

"I know I did, so please stop reminding me." I said, sighing in exasperation. It was nice to see that my screw-ups made for an endlessly entertaining spectacle for my family. I poked at my lunch as I looked out at Patrick. "What nationality do you think he is?"

"A mix," Nikki replied without much thought.

"Well yeah, I figured that, but a mix of what?" I asked as I turned my eyes away from Patrick to Nikki.

"My bet's on some European and Asian." Nikki answered, after staring at him a few seconds longer.

"Yeah, I think you're right, Nikki." I said, turning back to look at Patrick.

"He's really hot."

"Most definitely," I agreed over my can of soda. Nikki nudged me and we both burst into giggles.

"So ladies, what're we talking about?" Shawn asked as he leaned between us with his tray of food.

"Nualla's date to Winter Ball."

"Really, who is it this time?" Shawn asked, sliding onto the bench next to us.

"Patrick Connolly." I answered, jabbing a fork at my lunch.

Shawn paused, his burrito less than an inch from his mouth "Who?"

"Him," Nikki said pointing at Patrick.

Shawn looked over at Patrick, burrito still a few inches from his mouth. "Never seen him before; he new?"

"See what I mean? It's like he just appeared out of nowhere." I said, throwing my fork down. This was starting to get really weird, and that's saying a lot coming from people like us.

"Maybe he's here from a parallel universe and just doesn't know it yet." Nikki said, looking at Patrick curiously.

"Nikki, I think you've been watching too much of the SyFy channel." Shawn said, gesturing at her with his lunch.

"Hey, you watch it too!"

**  
**· Patrick ·

"That Galathea girl is checking you out." Connor said, in complete disbelief as he looked past me.

"Really?" I looked up and sure enough Nualla and her cousin were looking at us; at me more specifically.

Nualla was sitting with Nikki and Shawn, the pale January light making them look even paler. Like a handful of students in the school, they seemed unusually pale even for foggy SF. They were all extremely pale, not in the chalky vampire way but in that I'm Irish and have always lived in Seattle kind of way.

I scooted around the circular picnic table nonchalantly to be able to better look at Nualla without actually appearing to be going out of my way to look at her. As I did, Beatrice scooted to fill my spot without her eyes ever leaving the book in her hands.

"Wonder who she's going with to the dance this time?" Connor said, between bites of his lunch. This speculation had been torture in past years but not anymore, because I knew who she was going with this time.

"Me."

"In your dreams dude," Connor said rolling his eyes.

I pulled my eyes away from Nualla to look at Connor. "No seriously, I'm taking her to the dance."

Connor pointed at me with a French fry. "You're full of it."

"I am not."

"He's telling the truth, I heard Tara Spellman talking about it in third period." Beatrice said, without looking up as she pushed her black cat-eyed glasses back up her small nose.

"How did she know about it? I just asked her second period!" I asked, scandalized.

"She overheard you guys on the way to the rest room." Beatrice took a sip of soda, almond eyes still firmly fixed on her book. She was always reading a book—always. I had never seen Beatrice outside of class without one in all the years I had known her.

"Wait, I want to know how you ended up asking her to the dance. I mean have you even talked to her once in the last four years?" Connor asked as he looked at me skeptically.

"Um, actually... no," I admitted to my plate.

"So..." Connor said, leaning in.

"Well, that prick Michael was trying to bully her into going with him to the dance. So I stepped in and told Mr. Savenrue I was taking her."

"Wait, why was Mr. Savenrue there?"

"He came down the hall and saw me and Michael arguing. He scolded Michael and took him off to his office, and sent me and Nualla to class."

"Oh man, seriously? I would have paid to see that!" Connor said, laughing.

"Paid to see what?" Jenny, one of our other usual table mates, asked as she walked up with Sara. They placed their lunch trays on the table and sat down.

"Mr. Savenrue berate Michael and haul him off to the office," Connor answered barely containing his laughter.

"What did Michael do?" Sara asked, before biting into an apple.

"He was demanding Nualla Galathea go with him to the Winter Ball but she's already going with Patrick." Beatrice answered, over the top of her book.

"Really?" Sara said, nearly choking on a bite of apple, pale green eyes wide with disbelief.

"Well actually I asked her after I told him she was already going with me." I admitted, running my hand through my hair.

"Well played man, well played." Connor said, clapping me on the shoulder. "That was a gamble you could have lost spectacularly."

"Yeah tell me something I don't know." I said, with a slight smile.

"Oh, but I was..." Jenny said startled, a piece of Caesar salad halfway to her mouth. Then her ice blue eyes narrowed, "wait, I thought you had never talked to her?"

"Well no, not before today at least." Geez, if even my friends didn't believe me how was anyone else ever going to?

"And she said yes?" Jenny asked, in complete unbelief.

"Of course she did. She had the choice between Michael and Patrick. Who the hell do you think she would pick?" Connor said, gesturing to me.

"Thanks Connor, that's not really a winning endorsement you know." I said, rolling my eyes.

Sometimes I thought I must just be a joke to my friends. I really couldn't blame them though; I had been pining for a girl who was way out of my league for the last four years. But now that I had a shot with her, albeit a slight shot, I was at a loss to what I should do. I had to play my cards right or I was going to go down in flames.

"So you were late to class because you we asking her?" Sara asked, looking at me inquiringly.

"Yeah, among other things." I answered, looking out at Nualla.

"That's right, she's your Chem partner now too, huh?" Connor said as he nudged me.

"Yep," I answered smiling.

"Bet you're really glad now you didn't take Field Biology." Beatrice said, smirking over her book.

"Hey there's nothing wrong with Biology!" Jenny said, a little too upset.

"Yeah, but in Chem you get to blow things up." Connor said as he demonstrated an explosion with his hands.

**

** 4

Pictures of You

Monday, January 9th

**  
**· Patrick ·

When I got home I finally gave myself permission to freak out. I spent a good solid hour staring at my ceiling in shock. I had actually gotten up the courage to ask Nualla Galathea out and even more shocking she had actually said yes. I had spent so long wishing that this would happen I hadn't given much thought to what I would do if it actually did. If there was a higher power out there, they were probably laughing their ass off at me.

And then the panic set in, and the self-doubt.

What if it wasn't real? What if I had hallucinated the whole thing? What if some part of my brain had just snapped? I mean, I had been feeling really ill as I walked toward them in the hall. What if I were actually in a hospital somewhere in a coma?

Even if it was all real, there were so many ways this could go wrong it wasn't even funny. It wasn't as if I had dated a whole lot of girls and would know what I was supposed to do. Knowing my luck I was going to probably manage to fuck things up in the first five minutes of our date.

I tried to calm myself. Just play it cool Patrick, it's not like you're dating her or anything. You're just going to one dance.

But what if we were dating now? Should I change my Facebook status? No use jumping the gun, best to wait until she did. But what if she's waiting for me to change mine first?

I jumped up and all but ran to my computer. It would probably be a good idea to at least add her as a friend. I looked at my page and there was already a friend request from her. I don't think I had ever clicked a confirm button so fast in my life. But then I just sat there staring at the screen. What was I supposed to do now?

I decided to just roll with the punches; I mean what was the worst that could happen?

**  
**· Nualla ·

A few hours of online investigation had turned up quite a lot about Patrick Connolly; the boy practically lived his life online. Forum posts, videos, pictures and social media up the wazoo. He seemed to take pictures of everything around him and I'll have to admit I was a little envious of how freely he could share his life with others. I, on the other hand, had to keep most of the things about myself private, hidden, secret. Like a CIA agent or a superhero, but without the awesome costume or badge.

The pictures told me what he liked to do, who he liked to hang out with and how unbelievably geeky he truly was. But the pictures also told me more about him than he probably ever intended.

One; he was most likely an only child with parents who worked too much. Even though he had a crap ton of pictures, his family was strangely absent from all of them. Other than his friends that sat with him at lunch he didn't seem to be close to anyone else. Sure, there were other people in the pictures he took, but they all seemed to be just random strangers in even stranger costumes at some kind of event.

Two; I was pretty sure he had never left the Bay Area in his life. As far as I could tell every single picture was of somewhere in the greater Bay Area, which to me seemed a bit odd and only reinforced my previous deduction that he had busy parents who probably didn't like to go on 'family trips'.

Three; he was an incredibly good artist. What he couldn't take pictures of, he seemed to draw or paint instead. I found hundreds of images of everything from the mundane to the fantastic. Precisely captured or quickly expressed, but all of them beautiful.

The more I learned about him, the more I wondered how in hell he didn't already have girls lined up around the block to date him. Their loss I guess.

It was when I was watching the same videos of him for the third time in a row that I had to admit I was entering creepy stalker territory. I finally made myself step away from the computer and go to bed. But that didn't help me stop thinking about him as I drifted off to sleep. I didn't know why he had just suddenly appeared in my life but I was extremely glad he had.

**

** 5

A Thousand Different Ways

Friday, January 13th

**  
**· Patrick ·

The rest of the week was—awesome. Connor stopped getting on my case for staring at Nualla, and when I saw Michael in the hall I was pretty sure he loathed me, which just made my grin like an idiot. Best of all, Nualla talked to me in class as if we had always talked; like we had always been friends. I was so thrilled I didn't even think to ask about her complete obliviousness to my existence for the last three years.

The more I talked to her, the less nervous about the whole thing I felt. It was like just being near her was putting me at ease. I could almost feel the calmness radiating out from her. I found myself answering all kinds of things about myself but still learning very little about her.

Though I had spent hours looking online, I hadn't learned a whole lot from her Facebook page. Sure, there were photos but not a whole lot, and nothing that really revealed that much about her that I didn't already know. I couldn't believe that she didn't lead an interesting life, so why didn't she post any of it? It almost seemed like the bits that were online were just for show. Maybe her parents checked up on her and she didn't want them to see what she was up to or something.

So all I had to go on was what I had learned from just observing her in class. A lot of little things that added up to a very interesting picture; well at least to me anyways. Her favorite color was blue, she adored cats and she had a fondness for big black boots. She hated having to pull her hair back for Chem class. She drank coffee to an almost obsessive level.

She would play with her necklace unconsciously when she was nervous or bored. Which now that I was sitting close to her, I could actually see clearly. It was a weird sort of pendant. It looked Egyptian with a gazelle horned deity with a cartouche above. But the letters on the cartouche didn't look Egyptian; they looked like something else, something I could almost remember.

But mostly I had learned that there was something different about her, something hiding behind those eyes. She gave herself away in a thousand different ways each day; I just didn't know yet what all the pieces meant.

**

** 6

Let's Get Out of This Town

Friday, January 13th

**  
**· Nualla ·

As Nikki and I walked down the street from the coffee shop it had started to rain, making the ground on Powell Street slick. We had nearly finished walking down the steepest part when I slipped. Instinctually my lightning-fast reflexes kicked in and I landed in a comfortable crouch not a drop of coffee spilled. I looked around without moving my head. Dozens of people were flat out gawking at me.

Great, just great.

A guy just behind us, pizza in hand, spoke first. "Jesus girl, are you a gymnast or something?"

Nikki grabbed my arm pulling me to my feet and flashed a radiant smile at the guy. I could feel her influence hit him like a Mack truck. "No, she's a martial arts champion." The guy must have bought the story because he smiled and continued walking down the street.

"Martial arts champion?" I said, questioningly.

"Your boobs are way too big for you to be a gymnast. Martial Arts was the only thing I could think of," she answered with a shrug.

"Right," I said rolling my eyes.

I looked around, everyone else on the busy street had continued on their way paying us no mind; everyone except one. Patrick, who had apparently been walking down the street behind us. I would have thought he was following us if it wasn't for the fact that the mall was at the end of the street.

"Oh frak, he totally saw that." I said, turning back around quickly.

"Who?" Nikki asked, looking around.

"Patrick."

Nikki looked over my shoulder completely failing at nonchalant. "Yeah, most likely."

***

We came out of the dress shop, our dresses for the Winter Ball in hand. With a slightly self-satisfied smile, I imagined the look on Patrick's face when he saw me in the dress. It was going to be priceless.

Nikki stopped and looked in her purse. "Frak! I left my phone in the store; I'll be right back, 'kay?"

As she dashed off back toward the dress shop, I looked around. We had stopped in front of a jewelry kiosk so I looked through their displays to kill some time.

While I was examining one of the necklaces, the kiosk girl asked, "Can I help you with anything miss?"

I looked up at her to answer but stopped. Michael was standing about a hundred feet behind her looking around.

Great, just great.

"No I'm good." I replied as I dropped down and pretended to tie my boot. The girl looked at me suspiciously but said nothing. I looked around for a place to hide; a bookstore stood a short distance away.

Perfect!

I chanced a quick glace in Michael's direction. He was looking the other way. I took a deep breath and walked as quickly to the bookstore as I could without attracting to much unwanted attention. I really did not want to have to deal with Michael, especially outside of school where he was less likely to get in trouble for harassing me. The boy just didn't seem to understand the word over.

I reached the store and quickly stepped behind a front display shelf. I would be fine as long as he didn't come in here. I took another deep breath and peered over the top of the shelf into the mall common area.

"Is he bothering you again?" Someone asked quietly from behind me.

I jerked up with a start. I whipped my head around and was met with kind brown eyes. I knew those eyes. Patrick? "What, are you following me or something?" It sounded just a tad bit rude, but honestly it had just popped out of my mouth.

"No, actually I come here nearly every day." He smirked at me in a friendly way, "You sure you're not following me?" As he spoke, I caught sight of Michael looking in our direction. I grabbed Patrick's sweater and crouched down behind the short shelf of books. He looked at me raising one eyebrow. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Yes he's bothering me." I answered, peeking around the corner of the bookcase.

After a minute or so of silence Patrick asked "What's in the bag?"

I turned my head quickly back toward him meeting his eyes. I wished I hadn't. His eyes were the type of brown that's nearly black; deep pools that looked like they would swallow me if I kept looking too long.

I realized I was holding my breath and let it out in an audible puff. "Huh?"

"The bag," Patrick said as he pointed at the dress bag next to me.

I looked down at it then back up at him. "A dress."

"Is it the one you're going to wear to the dance?" He asked as he peered a little closer at the bag.

"Yeah," I answered cautiously.

"Can I see it?"

"No, I want it to be a surprise." I answered, scooting away from him to get a better look outside the window. Michael was still standing just outside the store and seemed to be having a heated conversation with someone on the other end of the phone.

Come on Michael go check out the food court or the theater, anything that gets me out of here without running into you.

"What does he want anyways?" Patrick asked, leaning over me to peer around the bookcase.

"Me," I replied without pulling my eyes from the window.

"Well I can see why," Patrick said matter-of-factly.

That got my attention; I turned quickly around to face him. "Excuse me?"

Patrick's expression looked queasy; pained even, like he hadn't meant for the words to actually be spoken out loud. "Oh wow that sounded way stalkerish didn't it?"

"Yeah, just a bit. But it's okay; no one really says nice things like that to me."

"Really? I would think guys would be falling all over themselves to tell you you're pretty."

"You might think that, but you'd be wrong." I chanced a peek around the shelf again; Michael was still talking on the phone but had moved a few feet farther away. "I think I make them nervous," I said in a small voice.

"Oh I can definitely understand that," Patrick said with a slight smile in his voice.

I turned back to face him "Do I make you nervous?" He stared at me open mouthed like he was unsure of what he should say. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Okay you do—a little—okay a lot. It's just that—" Patrick stammered, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

"Can I help you two with something?" Someone asked behind us.

I looked up to see a very bored, college aged guy, staring down at us over a stack of books in his hands. "Um..." I looked out the window again in time to see Michael going down the escalator. "Nope we're good." I stood up, grabbed Patrick's hand and walked quickly to the exit.

Patrick let me drag him for a several feet before he asked, "So by our quick escape I'm guessing Michael's gone somewhere else."

"You would be correct."

I whipped out my phone and quickly texted Nikki as I walked. I looked up every few seconds to make sure I didn't run into anyone.

Please have found your phone by now Nikki.

**  
**NUALLA: Michael's here want to get out of town?

I wove around a pack of stroller moms but didn't lessen my pace. I hoped Patrick wouldn't think I was a complete lunatic, but after what he had seen happen between Michael and me this week, I kinda doubted he would. But still somehow what he thought of me mattered, maybe a little more than it should.

My phone buzzed and I looked down at it again.

**  
**NIKKI: Sure I'll call Shawn & tell him to pick us up out front k.

It was then that I realized I was still dragging Patrick through the mall. I stopped and turned a little too suddenly; he ran straight into me, and we crashed to the floor. Sometimes I forgot how much slower human reactions were to ours.

Patrick looked at me in horror for a brief second before he quickly got back up. I just had to smile at him because he looked so embarrassed even though it was completely my fault.

"Wanna get out of here?" I asked, broadening my smile.

He offered me his hand and smiled back. "Sure, why not."

Once back on my feet, we all but sprinted to the exit.

**

** 7

Dreaming Out Loud

Friday, January 13th

**  
**· Patrick ·

When Nualla had asked if I wanted to get out of here, I didn't think she had meant to another state. Which is why it came as a total shock when I found myself standing near a ticket counter in SFO staring at Nualla as she watched the flight information flash across the screens.

After our daring escape from the mall, we blazed a trail out of the city and down 101 to the SFO Airport. I was so caught up in the laughter of diving into a car just as Michael came out the mall doors after us that I didn't even notice we were going to the airport. I actually got all the way into the terminal before I even acknowledged anything other than I was with Nualla and we were not at school. Even when I finally looked around and saw where we were I thought it was a joke, until I remembered I was with a bunch of super rich kids. Out of town to them meant something completely different.

But I was already in too deep at this point and I really didn't want to bail. I just prayed that they would at least keep it in the country because I didn't actually have a passport. I silently calculated how much money I had in my bank account. I really didn't want to have to look like a dork for being too broke to buy my ticket to the crazy place they were planning to run off to.

"So where are we going cuz?" Nikki asked Nualla, who was still staring up at the flight board.

"Wherever has a flight leaving first," Nualla answered without looking away from the board.

Nikki raised an eyebrow "We running from something?"

Parents. Homework. Nualla's stalker punk. Life. Any one of these things seemed like perfectly logical things to run from.

Nualla eyed me covertly. "Naw, the fun is in the surprise." She whipped her head back around to look at the board causing her hair to fling out just like in a movie.

God she is beautiful.

How the hell had I gotten so lucky to end up here with them, with her? Maybe I had been hit by a bus and I was in a coma dreaming, or dead. Naw, as unbelievable as this was, I knew it was reality because A: my fantasies aren't this delusional and B: I had absolutely no idea what the inside of an airport looked like in real life—until now.

While I was contemplating my sanity and luck, Nualla had apparently made her decision because she walked over to the ticket counter to purchase our tickets.

Shawn looked up at the flight board. "My money's on New York."

"Hawaii," Nikki chimed in cheerfully.

"LA," I guessed without even looking.

Nualla returned a few minutes later holding four tickets. She thrust them toward us. "Vegas," she said with finality.

***

I don't know why I had been so cocky in the bookstore. I never thought I would be saying those things to her; not even in my wildest dreams. Maybe that was why I had said it; my brain was convinced I was dreaming. You really can't fuck up in a dream, so what's to lose, right? Is what was running through my head as I waited for the girls to change from their school uniforms into normal clothes.

I leaned against the wall and let my head fall back, letting out a deep breath.

"Sorry I didn't bring you anything dude, Nikki didn't mention you would be coming." Shawn said, apologetically.

I looked at him with a half-smile. He was much taller than me; much like Connor, somewhere in the 6' to 6'4" range. Unlike Connor, Shawn wasn't wiry like an athlete; he also wasn't a linebacker either. His hair was roughly the same shade of blonde as Nikki's but sans the blue and about the same length as mine.

"Don't worry about it; I don't think she even knew I was coming."

Shawn cocked his head to one side and smiled a crooked smile at me. "You're playing it cool but you're scared shitless aren't you?"

"Is it that obvious?" I asked, with a self-deprecating smile.

"Naw, if you weren't scared I'd know you were a conceited wank."

"What?" I said, nearly choking.

"The biggest pricks act all smooth in front of girls because they think they're the shit. You, on the other hand..."

"Ah. But you seem calm, what's that say about you?"

"Me? Well I've known those two my whole life. They know about all the stupid shit I've ever done. Hard to be nervous anymore at that point." Shawn answered, looking into the distance.

"Yeah, you're probably right."

"Look, don't worry about it so much. Just relax." He advised, looking back at me with a smile.

"Easy for you to say." I said, running my hand through my hair.

"Just think about it like hanging out with friends after school, nothing serious."

"I really don't hang out with my friends that much after school. Honestly, most of the time I'm alone."

"Dude seriously? That's really sad."

"Yeah I know." I said, leaning my head back against the wall again. I don't know why I was being so honest about how truly lame I was; it wasn't going to help me.

"But I really can't say I'm better, I mostly hang out with those two girls, can't remember ever having many guy friends." Shawn admitted, folding his arms across his chest.

"I'd be your friend." I said, without giving it much thought. Wow did I really just say that out loud? God he probably thinks I'm even lamer now than before.

"Really? Coolness, friendship accepted." Shawn said, with a huge grin.

Wait, what?

But I really didn't have time to think about it long because something hit me in the chest. I looked down at the floor in front of me at some clothes that had apparently been thrown at me.

"Nualla, you're supposed to say 'think fast' before you do that, not just throw things at people." Shawn said as he pushed away from the wall.

"What are these?" I asked, bending down to pick up the clothing.

"They're clothes silly. You didn't think we would really make you go to Vegas in your Bayside Academy uniform did you?"

Actually that's completely what I had thought, but thanks for having a higher opinion of me than I do.

I looked at the clothes; they were super stylish designer casual and probably cost a small fortune since we were at an airport. "Thanks. How much were they, I'll pay you back." I said, looking up.

"Don't worry about it," Nualla said with a broad smile, "Think of it as payment for letting me kidnap you this weekend."

"Okay, then how much were the tickets?"

"Don't kidnappers usually pay for the transportation of the kidnapped?" Nualla asked as she leaned in closer; dangerously closer.

"Um... yeah, but really I can't just—"

"Patrick, you're never going to win this so just give up." Shawn said, nudging me.

"Okay," I said uneasily.

"Now go change, our plane's gonna start boarding soon." Nualla said, with a smile as she pushed me toward the restrooms.

I took a few steps then stopped. Wait, weekend?

End of this sample

If you enjoyed this small sampling of Daemons in the Mist you can pick up a copy in the Kindle Store.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Indie author & illustrator Alicia Kat Dillman is a life long resident of the San Francisco Bay Area. Kat illustrates and designs book covers & computer game art by day and writes teen fiction by night. The owner of two very crazy studio cats and nine overfull bookcases, Kat can usually be found performing, watching anime or hanging out in twitter chats when not playing in the imaginary worlds within her head.

Visit her online at

www.katgirlstudio.com

twitter.com/KatGirl_Studio

Destined

**by Jessie Harrell**

**"As he approached, I heard the flapping of wings, like an overgrown eagle. The sound dissolved when he landed at the edge of the open window. A rush of wind flew past me and extinguished the flames in the fireplace. Stars glimmered behind him but his body was encircled in black."**

**When Psyche receives a prophecy gone horribly wrong, she learns that even the most beautiful girl in Greece can have a hideous future. Her fate? Fall in love with the one creature even the gods fear.**

**As she feels herself slipping closer into the arms of the prophecy, Psyche must choose between the terrifyingly tender touch she feels almost powerless to resist and the one constant she's come to expect out of life: you cannot escape what is destined.**

**Destined is a fresh and heartachingly romantic retelling of the Cupid & Psyche myth from debut novelist, Jessie Harrell.**

COPYRIGHT

Destined

Copyright © 2011 by Jessie Leigh Harrell

**  
**All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without the permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper or broadcast. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

**  
**MAE DAY PUBLISHING

Jacksonville, FL

**  
**Printed in the USA Second Edition

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 ISBN 978-0-615-50095-9

**  
**This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

CREDITS

**  
**Cover designed by Joshua Longiaru

Cover photography © Perri Eriksen

Chapter 1 - Psyche

My stomach churned as the smell of ground charcoal and nearly-rancid oil smeared across my eyelids. Whoever decided that greasy anything should be part of a daily beauty routine deserved permanent exile.

The stink never seemed to bother Maia though. She hummed quietly while layering on the goop -- and it was driving me nuts. My teeth ground into my cheek until I managed to shred another piece of skin.

"Will you stop fidgeting? I'm going to have eye paste all over your face if you don't hold still."

Servant or no, Maia was good at keeping me in my place. "Sorry." I stopped chomping my cheek in favor of twitching my foot.

Maia placed her weathered hand against my forehead; her eyes wrinkled around the edges with concern. "You don't seem yourself today. Are you sure you're well?"

My eyes darted to the bird sitting on my bookshelf. Maia followed my gaze and gasped.

"Good heavens, Psyche. How'd a pigeon get in here?"

She dropped the makeup onto my vanity and made as if to shoo the bird away. Instinctively, I snatched her wrist.

"No, don't. I let her in." I paused, debating whether it was worth correcting her that the bird was actually a dove, and not a pigeon. Or noting that the dove would turn into Aphrodite as soon as Maia left.

Better just to let it go.

"I like having her here. I'm just worried Father will make me get rid of her." I met Maia's eyes and plastered on my best smile -- the one Aphrodite helped me master when she wasn't a bird.

Maia's shoulders relaxed and she started in on phase II of my beautification regimin: crushed mulberry blush. But there was no relaxing for me.

Something was up. This was the fifth day in a row Aphrodite had come to visit. Sure, she'd shown up a couple of months ago, just after I started getting daily admirers at my window. She'd said she liked watching beauty get the attention it deserved. It was part of her domain, after all. And then she'd dropped in randomly after that, but not daily.

Even though I pretended like nothing was different, I knew she wanted something. Something _more_. Goddesses don't just hang out with mortals for the fun of it. But what?

Was she somehow soaking up the energy from the crowd outside? If so, would she want me to stand at this window every morning for the rest of my life? And then what would happen when I wasn't young enough, or pretty enough for her anymore?

I gulped when I was struck by an even worse thought: what if she was spying on me, watching how _I_ reacted each morning. Would she call me out for Hubris after being the one who encouraged me to really pan to the crowd?

My chest constricted under the weight of my worry; my nerves felt frayed, like the end of rope that's been snapping in the Aegean breeze too long.

Maia has got to stop humming!

I started to turn my head so I could ask her to knock it off, but she just brushed at my tangle of curls harder when I moved. "Maia, please," I moaned, "can you quit with the humming right now?"

With Maia now silent, I was left with only the rythmic brushing of my hair and the dove-made tapping. Her nails clicked against the wooden shelf where she paced. As honored as I was by her presence, I almost wished I could reverse the past few months. I wouldn't have sat for the portrait at the art academy. The artist wouldn't have gotten famous by drawing my face. My face wouldn't have ended up floating around Greece. And Greeks wouldn't have started showing up at my door to see if the real thing looked as good as the paintings.

Even the tokens of admiration they brought with them were inadequate to pay for all I'd lost. My parents' coffers were robust and juicy, but my life was sucked dry. I wanted shopping trips to the Agora with Mother, jaunts to the Baths with my sister, gallops through the fields on my horse -- all things I'd been denied in the name of safety.

As Maia finished looping my favorite silver headband into my hair, Aphrodite-the-bird fluttered down to the vanity for a closer inspection.

"Shoo." Maia flicked her hand at Aphrodite before I could stop her. "Get off, you dirty, old thing."

"Stop." Leaping to my feet, I scooped the bird goddess into my palms. The feathers around her neck stuck straight out and her head bobbed frantically as she gurgled up a strangled coo sound.

"There, there," I crooned as I stroked her with my fingertip. "Maia didn't mean that."

Maia huffed. "Don't know why I bother trying to help you sometimes."

"Maia," I said, dragging out her name and giving her my best pout. "You know I love you. Don't go away mad, okay?"

She sighed. "I know. Just go away." As she moved to the mahogany door, Maia gave a pointed look over her shoulder at my window. "Your admirers are waiting. Wouldn't want to disappoint _them_."

"What's that supposed to --" I started before the door clicked closed. "Mean?"

When I turned around, Aphrodite sat sprawled across my marble vanity, her legs crossed at the knee as she reclined.

"She," Aphrodite nodded her head at the door before flicking a golden tendril over her shoulder, "is no fun."

I eased down onto the stool beside her, glad to see she didn't look as angry as I'd feared. "Maia's not that bad. I just don't think she likes all the people hanging around outside. It's gotten a lot worse lately."

Aphrodite raised a narrow eyebrow. "Worse? You've got admirers flocking from every corner of Greece to lay gifts at your feet in exchange for one glimpse of your face. That's not a _bad_ thing."

I nodded, but had no response. Goddesses might enjoy collecting tributes, but for me, it felt wrong.

Aphrodite plucked a bottle of lily-scented almond oil off my vanity and rubbed it into her arms. "You heard what she said, didn't you?" Aphrodite asked.

"About me disappointing the admirers?"

She shook her head. "Not that. She said I was _old_."

"Don't be... silly." I almost said 'ridiculous,' but then remembered who I was talking to. "You're the most beautiful goddess in Greece. And you're _not_ old."

She set aside the oil and clasped my face in her palms. "No, she's right. I have a son your age. You're the new beauty in Greece, Psyche. It's you now."

Whoa. I was pretty sure accepting that compliment would earn me unending torture in Tartarus one day. While I was still stammering for something to say, Aphrodite nimbly hopped to her feet and circled the room. "I can feel it. Today's the day."

Her cystaline eyes were wide and wild and I didn't like the direction this conversation was headed.

With more drama than any actor, she flung her arms toward the wooden shutters still barring my window. "Go to your people. They're waiting."

"What?" It came out more a stammer than an actual question. They weren't _my_ people. They were subjects of their own cities; devotees of the gods. But mine? Never.

When her eyes locked back on me, a radiant smile spread across her face. In a quick movement, she scooped up my hands. Her touch sank into me like a sun-warmed stone. "This is what I've been waiting for. This day. I learned from my mistakes with Helen. But you?" She shook her head and smiled. "Oh, Psyche, you're going to make me proud."

Maybe Maia'd been right and I was sick after all, because I was pretty sure I had a disease that made my tongue swell and my jaw lock closed. Was she really comparing me to Helen? The face that launched a thousand ships? The slut who started the Trojan war with her affair?

I couldn't compare to Helen. I didn't _want_ to compare to Helen. That wasn't me.

Racking my brain, I tried to remember what role Aphrodite played in the war. What lessons she might have learned. But I drew a blank. My brain was a dog chasing its tail, never quite getting what it's after.

With a gentle turn, Aphrodite planted me in front of the window and then stood clear as she flung apart the shutters. Sunlight and deafening cheers drenched my room before the sky began to rain jewels. Pearls and gold, diamonds and coins. Anything to show the mob worshipped at the idol of beauty.

"Catch me," Aphrodite whispered before morphing back into her bird form. Her white feathers carried her in a wide arc outside my window and then back in again. Obediantly, I held out my cupped hands for her to land.

If the mob was cheering before, now it was undergoing an eruption. I seemed to be the only one who didn't know what was going on. Sure, I knew doves were Aphrodite's sacred bird, but my dove had been coming and going for a solid week and this reaction was a first.

Maybe there was something special about them seeing us together?

Then one name cut through the voices, taking shape slowly, little by little, until all those below me were chanting the same thing: Aphrodite. I looked down at my feathered mentor and she winked back before fluttering away.

Too many thoughts raced through my brain for any one to become clear. _Do_ _they think I'm her? Does she_ want _them to think I'm her? Or do they know the dove is her? Oh gods, what does this mean?_

"Come back," I screamed, desperate for answers and figuring no one would hear me over the deafening crowd.

Frantically I scanned for any trace of the dove -- raking over faces, casting aside flesh in my search for feathers. But I halted when a pair of eyes from the back of the group caught mine. The woman made her way forward and the mob parted to let her pass, like she was a magnet pushing away an opposing force. Almost hypnotically, the chanting died down and attention focused on her.

As she stood directly under my window, a sharp breeze rustled her robes, carrying up the unmistakable fragrance of lily-scented almond oil. Her crystalline eyes met mine and I knew it was her.

Aphrodite.

She just stood there, letting the glamour of her mystic's disguise settle over the crowd. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought she was one of the fortune-telling gypsies myself.

"Finally, she makes her daughter known to us." Aphrodite reached up a now-wrinkled hand and pushed back the hood of her burgundy robe. Silver hair tumbled down her back in a thick braid. "Our attentions have not been in vain. Aphrodite has finally sent us a child to spread mortal beauty through the world!"

I'd never heard such roars in all my life. The crowd around her jumped and surged, yet she remained rooted in an island of calm. In the din, Aphrodite mouthed three words to me before vanishing unnoticed.

_I'll explain later_.

Chapter 2 - Psyche

Before I could fully process what was happening outside my window, my name erupted from down the hall like a Santorini volcano. "PsyCHE!" Father always emphasized the "K" part of my name when he was angry or excited, and I wasn't sure which way this was going.

After a quick goodbye wave to the crowd, I slammed my shutters closed and pressed my back against them. Sucking in a deep breath, I put on my best serious face and marched from my room and into the scroll-lined walls of the library. As always, my parents were there, waiting to count the treasures I received that morning. The cold sweat trickling down my spine evaporated when I saw their faces.

_Ebullient_.

Aphrodite'd taught me that word earlier this week. She thinks beauty is even more powerful when it's backed with knowledge. And she insisited that I "certainly ought to know a word that described a cheerful and energenic person like myself." Today, the word fit my parents' expressions. Their eyes shone like a thousand candles blazed inside their heads and their smiles threatened to permanently engrave laugh lines into their cheeks.

"Today. At the window..." Mother covered her mouth with her tiny hands.

"Well, you know what this means?" Father cut in. "Aphrodite has spoken." He crushed me against his chest in a spine-crunching hug. He released me when my bones actually popped.

"Sorry, baby," he said. "It's just \-- we've waited so long for this news. All the signs were there, the crowds, the tokens. Still, we were starting to think you weren't going to be chosen."

Mother reached out her hand. Taking it, I sunk down next to her on the couch. "Of course," she said, "we never doubted _you_. But it's only been two generations since Helen, so we thought perhaps she was still biding her time before picking another daughter."

"What do you mean -- daughter? I'm not her daughter," I stammered.

Tears leaked from the corner of Mother's eyes. She rubbed them away while trying to smile. "It's a figure of speech. More symbolic than anything. Aphrodite has a history of picking a mortal girl to serve as her daughter. Kind of like how Apollo has the Pythia in Delphi." Her gaze settled on my face as she studied my features, so like hers.

"I'm surprised she didn't explain this to you already." As her emerald eyes shifted to Father, she bit her lip. "Is it a bad sign that she didn't come to Psyche before the announcement?"

Here we go -- signs, omens, superstitions. Mother was about to get on an unstoppable tangent unless I stepped in.

Father stroked his beard. "I'm not sure I'd call it a --"

"It's _not_ a sign," I interrupted. "She's visited me before. She just made me promise not to tell anyone, and well..." I threw up my hands at their incredulous looks. "What'd you want me to do? She's a freaking goddess."

I'd read enough to know that crossing the gods was bad news. Do something they tell you not to? Game over. No way would I blab Aphrodite's secret, even if her visits were the coolest and most terrifying things I'd ever experienced.

Father smiled at Mom. "Well, I guess we didn't need to worry about the decision, now did we?"

Releasing my hands, Mother smoothed out the folds of her tunic before slowly rising and pacing over to the window. I thought she'd be relieved to hear there were no evil omens descending on our palace.

"Phoebe? Are you alright?" Father asked.

She sniffed as she waved him off. "I'm just...I'm worried. There'll be a lot expected of Psyche now. The mortal daughter of Aphrodite. It's a big responsibility."

Father gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "And the first pure mortal too." His gaze, so full of pride -- the same expression he wore whenever he returned from a successful duel or a neighboring king came to pay homage -- washed over his face. "Helen was so beautiful because she was half-immortal."

And I'm not.

I wondered if that made me more or less special.

"Wow." I tucked my legs in close to my chest and gave them a squeeze. "You guys should've told me. I had no idea. I don't even know what to say or do when she comes back." I looked up and met Mother's eyes. She was the one who always had answers for me. "Am I supposed to act like I'm part of the Olympian family now or something?"

Flinching, Mother spun into Father's arms and sobbed. Shudders wracked her tiny frame; all he could do was smooth her hair and whisper to her.

"What'd I say?"

Father looked over at me. "She's just upset because you'll be getting married so soon now. I'm sure she thought she had more time with you girls."

Wait. What? I'd just been adopted by a goddess today \- wasn't that enough of a status change to last for awhile?

I rubbed at the bridge of my nose as the tinges of a headache started to bloom behind my forehead. "How does me being Aphrodite's adopted daughter require that I get a husband?"

"Honey, your Mother and I already talked about this. We decided that if Aphrodite did pick you, then both of you girls should be eligible for marriage immediately. She _is_ the goddess of love, so naturally she'll want our family to represent that for her."

"So what? I have my whole life to do that. But I know Aphrodite didn't match Helen up with Paris of Troy until long after she'd already been married to Menelaus." And inadvertantly starting the largest war in history. "So why do you guys think..."

Then something Aphrodite said that morning registered in the back of my mind. _I learned from my mistakes with Helen._ Maybe that meant she wasn't planning on waiting with me, letting me find my own course before she intervened. She was going to control it from the start, wasn't she?

Father was yammering on, probably answering my question even, but I'd stopped listening. Chara was older than me, and she wasn't married yet -- didn't want to be. We loved living in Sikyon. We didn't want to leave behind the artists who painted portraits for an obol, or the tragic plays that flowed through our theaters with the changing seasons. This was my home, and though I always knew I'd someday have to leave, I wasn't ready to go yet.

"Psyche, are you listening to me?"

Father's voice shook me out of my trance. "I said, go tell Chara we'll start accepting suitors tomorrow."

If there'd been any color left in my face before, it had to be gone. _Tomorrow?_ I blinked, forcing back the edge of panic I felt rising in the pit of my stomach. "We don't need to rush into this. I mean, Aphrodite hasn't even dropped by to see her 'daughter' since the big annoucement."

Father leaned forward and whispered, "You're obviously pretty good at keeping secrets, so I'll trust you not to share this with your sister. But in addition to honoring Aphrodite in her union, Chara's bride price will be a lot higher right now because of your news."

I'd have been less surprised if the roof of our palace collapsed on my head. Mother and Father wanted to sell us off now because we were at the peak of our bride price? Seriously?

Thankfully, Maia found me before I could start shrieking at my parents or tearing out my hair like a raving lunatic. "Psyche, child, I need your help for a minute. While I was making up your bed, your _pet_ returned." She lowered her voice so only I could hear. "And it's brought a friend."

The constriction in my chest lightened even as my heart skipped erratically. Maybe Aphrodite would have some better answers. Surely she'd say my parents were insane and forcing the princesses of Sykion into early marriages hadn't been part of her grand plan.

"A pet?" Father mused. "Psyche doesn't have a --"

Mother broke away from her sobs long enough to figure out what Maia really meant. "Aphrodite's back in her bird form, isn't she?"

"Probably," I admitted, already hurrying to the door. "But I want to see her alone first. Have some mother-daughter bonding time."

And see who in Hades she brought with her.

Maybe it was one of my goddess aunts? Would Athena show up as a dove too, or did she only do the owl thing? What about Hera?

Brushing past Maia, I raced down the hall. Curiosity aside, my new mother and I had some issues to discuss about certain forthcoming wedding plans. After reminding myself that I needed to thank her for choosing me before unloading all my family drama, I pushed open my door and stepped inside.

Chapter 3 - Psyche

When the door was closed, I spun around, eager to see who Aphrodite had brought with her.

Or wrong.

Those soft blonde curls and piercing blue eyes didn't belong to any goddess. Only the most amazing guy - _god?_ \- I'd ever laid eyes on.

My heart took off at a sprint and the blood rushed to my cheeks. He shot me a coy smirk that made my stomach slush with uneasy delight. So when a pair of pristine white wings unfurled from his back, my knees almost buckled. And here I'd thought he couldn't be any more magnificent. No doubt about it, this guy was divine.

Aphrodite threw her arms wide, demanding I place my attention on her. "So, are you surprised?" she asked.

Although she'd never hugged me before, I knew it was what she wanted me to do. To sweep myself into her embrace and prove myself grateful of my new role as her mortal daughter.

"Surprised isn't the half of it," I mumbled, stepping into an awkward hug.

Her arms tightened around me as she rocked me side to side. "This is so exciting for you. And for me." She pushed me back at arms-length and stared at my face, her eyes searching mine. "You're the one I've been waiting for. I can just tell."

Beside her, the boy's wings ruffled. "You've had your little mother-daughter reunion. Can we go now?"

Still keeping one arm draped over my shoulder, Aphrodite wrapped the boy up with her other arm. We were so close I could almost smell him, just a hint of rugged sunshine. "Don't be silly, Eros. We _all_ have much to discuss."

Eros? Like the god-of-love, shoots-everyone-with-magic-arrows, son-of-Aphrodite Eros?

"Do we have to do it here?" His gaze swept my room and obvious distaste curled down the edges of his lips, wiping away that delicious smirk. "It's so... pedestrian."

_What's that supposed to mean?_ My temptation to bite his head off was tempered only by my need to stay on topic.

"Aphrodite --" I started. "I'm not supposed to call you 'mom' now or anything, am I?"

That infamous smile of hers pulled her lips tight and a perfect dimple flared on her right cheek. "Not yet, sweetie. Soon," she shot a knowing look at Eros, "but not yet."

I felt like I needed to sit down. Was the room spinning?

Rubbing at my temples, I tried again. "Okay. I'm sure I don't understand most of what's going on today, but we really need to talk. Because what my parents are planning makes no sense either." Aphrodite perched on the edge of my vanity and cocked her head like she was waiting for me to continue. "See, here's the thing. My parents are really happy."

"They should be," Eros half-coughed into his fist.

I shot him a glare before continuing on my rambling speech. "But, they think you'll want me to get married right away. Which is just insane, right? I mean, you said I'd help you promote the worship of beauty, but we never talked about your other ... well, attributes. And so anyway, my parents are sending out requests for suitors, and my sister is going to get married off too, and this is all just ... wrong. Please tell me this is wrong."

"Completely wrong," Aphrodite confirmed with a wave of her hand. I didn't realize how tightly I'd been squeezing my fingers until I let them go and the blood rushed back.

"Well, maybe not the part about your sister, but definitely about marrying you off." She gave this throaty chuckle that erased all the insta-relief I'd had just a second ago. "Your parents don't get to pick your husband. I do."

Eros snorted and dropped onto a tripod stool on the other side of my room. "Yeah, and we all know how well that turned out last time."

Aphrodite rose and paced toward her son. "What do you know about Helen?" Her voice fell an octave as she whisper-hissed. "You weren't even born yet, you ungrateful little twit."

Eros flicked his eyes to his mother. When he finally responded, his voice was level. "I know you started the worst war in the history of Greece and it all revolved around a pretty face." He turned his stare on me and nodded. "So now you've found another one. Bravo, mother. What'll it be this time. Can you use her to start a ten-year plague? Famine maybe?"

Aphrodite raised her hand like she was going to slap him, but then stopped. Her fist clenched, she lowered her arm and slowly turned to me. Her permagrin could've frozen lava in the summer.

"I'm sorry, Psyche. Had I known my son would be so... ill-mannered, I might've told you this news privately."

My eyes darted from Aphrodite to Eros and back. She cleared her throat as she reached out and clasped my hand between hers. "Psyche, darling, you knew there'd be a time when I would need something from you? A small service?"

I nodded. _Here it comes_.

She raised my hand up near her heart. "I would consider it a personal favor if you would do me the honor of marrying my son."

My jaw fell slack and I tried to back away, but Aphrodite had a death grip on my hand. Eros, on the other hand, had no such restraint. His sudden jump to his feet upended the tripod.

"Are you kidding me?" His wings spread wide behind him as he puffed himself up like a giant peacock and stormed his mother. "You think _I'm_ going to marry _her_?"

"Yes, actually, I do." Aphrodite twisted her mouth into a smiling snarl. "Or the next time Zeus wants to strip you of your arrows, I won't stop him." She finally released my hand to pat Eros on the cheek.

His lips pressed together so tightly they looked in danger of disappearing altogether. "A mortal or my arrows? That's my choice?"

Aphrodite sighed, long and heavy. "I know she looks like the last one, but Psyche's far prettier, don't you think?" She turned to me and drenched me in a motherly smile. "And this one won't break your heart."

A muscle in Eros' cheek twitched and I had the sudden feeling he was about to give in. Not that I felt the least bit sorry for him, but I had less than no interest in spending the rest of my life with the biggest jerk I'd ever met. Considering some of the Senators who'd come through our palace, that was saying something.

Before I could stop myself, the words tumbled out of my mouth. "Maybe we can figure something out." Both of their blue-eyed stares nailed me to the ground.

"I mean, I'm not ready to get married yet. And really, Eros and I just met, and well, I'm not sure we're the best match -- no offense." _Crap._ _That came out totally wrong. Did I just tell the goddess of match making that she sucked it up on this one?_ "I'm sure we'd _look_ really good together and everything, but maybe our personalities don't exactly mesh." I was trying to smile but it felt way more like a grimace.

"Speak for yourself. No god looks good toting around mortal baggage."

Had he really just said that to me?

Aphrodite's tongue was quicker than mine to respond. "And I suppose that's why you use your arrows to make Zeus fawn all over those mortal girls. Or why you fell in love with one yourself. Because they're baggage?" She reached out and clenched my upper arm before thrusting me at her son. "I found you the most beautiful girl in all of Greece and this is how you thank me?"

Eros threw up his hands. "You want me to _thank_ you?" He looked me up and down, his eyes slowly raking over my body from head to toe. "Thanks, but no thanks."

Snatching my arm free from Aphrodite, I bore down on Eros. Instictively, my finger poked him in the chest like I was reprimanding a child. "Now you listen to me. I don't give a crap who you are. Your mother has been nothing but good to me and you can _not_ talk to her that way in my house."

Eros's fingers clasped around my wrist, sending a tiny charge racing through my body. When his eyes briefly widened, I was sure he felt it too. Our stares locked, only inches apart. I could even feel his breath tickle across my lips as he worked to slow his breathing.

As quickly as the moment came, it was gone. Eros threw down my arm and shot a glare at his mother. "Really? You think I'm going to marry _this_?"

Ugh. I had so had it with him. My palms hit his chest hard enough to rock him back a step. "I would never, ever, marry you. So don't even think you can reject me, you pompous, arrogant... creep. Because I reject you. You hear me? Get out of my room."

The initial look of shock on Eros' face was washed away by pure delight. His eyes sparkled and danced like embers soaring over a bonfire. "With pleasure." He took a sweeping bow, then turned to his mother. "I think that about settles things here, don't you?"

Before she could answer, he morphed into a dove and fluttered through the cracked opening in the shutters.

I'd thought all the tension would've left the room on those wings, but I found myself working solo with a goddess whose usually-procelin face was now visibly red. Sure, she'd come to me before, huffing about slights or infractions. Like the time some farmer referred to her in a prayer as ox-eyed, when everyone knows that's Hera's moniker. But right now, she could put a steamed lobster to shame and I had a really bad feeling I was about to take the brunt of her anger.

"One thing. All I ask of you is one, little thing and you won't do it?"

"He started it." _Way to be mature_. I gave myself a mental eye roll and forged ahead. "Besides, you were supposed to ask me to do something related to beauty, not love or sex or those other things."

"What made you think that? My terms were always left open. You accepted my advice, rose in fame, filled your family's coffers." She gestured wildly at my window, shaking her whole body enough to rattle the golden seashell necklaces draped around her neck. "It's not like I've asked you to be a whore in my temple. You'd be married to a god."

When she said it like that, she had a point. Still... I needed to think and her glare was halting my brain. Slowly, I took a step back toward my bedroom door. Maybe I could ease my way out. I was pretty sure she wouldn't follow me in her actual body and she clearly needed some cooling off time. "I'm sorr--" I began.

"I made you my daughter." Her voice echoed like thunder off the mosaic walls of my room. "And then you refuse my son? A child of my actual blood?"

I continued my backpeddle and tried to think of a way to stall. "Just, give me a little time, okay? I said I was sorry." Behind me, my hand found the door knob and turned it. "He can't say those things to you. It's not okay."

"It was not your place." Her screech followed me down the hall as I tore out of my room for the second time that day.

Chapter 4 - Psyche

A note to self: when attempting to hide from a goddess, think broader than outside your bedroom. My scrambled brain led me down the well-worn hall to my sister's suite and that's as far as I got.

"Oh my gods!" Chara squealed when I barged into her room. Her blonde curls swirled around her shoulders like a golden whirlpool as she bounced. Apparently she didn't notice I was freaking out as she danced and clapped.

Running past her, I dove into her bed and pulled the silk blankets over my head. Almost instantly, Chara tackled me and the bed shook under her continued jumping.

"What are you doing, silly? Come out." Chara's voice sounded light and airy enough to fly.

When I didn't answer, she finally stopped her incessant bouncing.

"Psyche?" She shook my shoulder. "Is everything alright?"

No. It's not alright. Not for me. Not for you. Nothing's even close to alright.

"Not really," I croaked.

The covers yanked away and I peeked up to see Chara standing over me. "Spill it. What's up?"

I recovered my face with my hands. "You don't even want to know. Seriously. It's that bad."

She tugged my hands free. "Come on. It can't be that bad. You _are_ Aphrodite's daughter now."

I nearly puked on the bed.

"Fine." I sat up and took a deep breath. "Here's the short version. Everyone wants me to get married. Like yesterday. Aphrodite demanded I marry Eros, but that didn't work out--"

"Whoa. Wait," Chara cut in. " _The_ Eros? She wants you to marry her son?"

"The correct word is _wanted_. Past tense. He pretty much hated me, was a jerk and I kicked him out of my room."

My sister's silence confirmed that yes, it did sound as bad as I thought. I forged ahead, determined to get to the part affecting her too. "So, that was her and now she's pretty ticked and all, which is one thing. But Mom and Dad are still on a rampage, planning a double wedding or something and sending out announcements for both of us."

Chara dropped my hands in favor of slapping them over her soundless scream. Or maybe she was about to puke too.

When she finally spoke, her words tumbled out fast and reckless as rapids. "That's imposs--. Are you sure? I was supposed to have another year."

All I could do was huddle with her as we formed our own pulsing pile of tears, sobs and runny makeup. "I'm so sorry," I moaned. "I knew she'd want something, but I didn't know it'd be this. I should've asked."

Chara looked up at me, her gaze telling me I'd slipped up before the accusation even came out. "What do you mean, 'should've asked?' You knew Aphrodite before today?"

Swallowing hard, I realized Chara had gone from sharing in my agony to looking ready to toss me to the lions. "It's not what you think."

_Liar, liar_.

"She's just been visiting. Mostly as a bird. Sometimes helping me with the window." I rubbed at my nose with the back of my hand. "It wasn't that easy, you know?"

"How long?" she demanded.

"I don't know." I shrugged. "Two months. Maybe three."

"Three months!" Her shriek almost frieghtened me more than Aphrodite. "You've been having visits with a goddess for three months? What'd you think was going on? You _had_ to have known."

"I didn't. I swear. She just told me it added to her power when beauty was important and that I was helping her. That's all I knew."

Chara thrashed off the bed, jerking the covers with her. "Unbelievable."

"I know," I pleaded, "help me. What am I going to do?"

"You?" Chara's look was incredulous. "Help _you?_ I'm supposed to be at least a year out from having to play nursemaid to some ancient king. I like it here, thank you very much. But now what? Now I have to suffer because you were too dumb to see the obvious?"

As I searched for the words that could possibly explain myself, Chara tore out of the room. "I can't be here right now."

The door slammed behind her like the crack of an axe.

Chapter 5 - Eros

Eros whipped through the cool night air, still struggling to control his temper. His mother's audacity had hit a new low.

He couldn't believe she'd told him to marry a mortal. She knew how he felt about them since --. He couldn't bring himself to even think _her_ name. That scar had finally healed and he wasn't about to tear it open again. Especially not over Psyche, a girl who apparently detested him on sight.

What he needed was a distraction. Something to keep his mind from circling back to the arc of attraction he'd felt when he touched Psyche that morning. Or the way just seeing someone as beautiful as her made him want to seal his heart up in a metal box. He wouldn't let himself be hurt again. Ever.

Trimming his wings, Eros landed just outside a throbbing mass of people. Bacchus' all-night party would certainly do as a distraction. In the midst of half-naked women who actually wanted him, he figured he'd drink himself stupid. And find someone who'd make him forget Psyche's green eyes and how much they reminded him of ... _her_.

Pushing through a crowd of gossiping nymphs, Eros sidled up to Bacchus. As Eros hoped to be by the end of the night, Bacchus was draped in girls. He held a goblet of wine, sloshing its crimson contents to the ground.

"Bacchus, old friend," Eros said, clapping the beefy immortal on the back, "looks like you started the party without me."

Bacchus swung his wobbly head toward the voice and worked to squint Eros into focus. "Zou made it..." he slurred. "Have some wine!" Bacchus raised his glass and wine splashed onto the chest of the woman sitting to his right.

While Bacchus made a mess of helping the lady dry her toga, a reveler whisked over and placed a goblet in Eros's hand. He downed the wine in one long drink.

"Here, let me get that for you." Eros turned to find a nymph he'd known for years refilling his glass.

"Kalliste!" Eros threw an arm around the nymph. "Good to see you again."

"You too, Eros." Her auburn hair sparkling in the torchlight was almost as captivating as her smile.

Eros leaned closer to Kalliste and lowered his voice. "Since when did you become one of Bacchus's followers? I didn't think you liked this sort of thing." He nodded his head in the direction of a group of swirling women.

"A girl has a right to change." Kalliste brushed her bangs off her forehead. "Probably a lot has changed about me since I saw you last."

"Do tell," Eros replied, finishing off his wine and raising his cup for another refill.

"Maybe. First I want to know about Eros. Have _you_ changed any?" Kalliste asked as she poured.

Eros raised an eyebrow. "Me? Why should I change?" He bumped her shoulder with his. "I'm pretty prefect as is, don't ya think?"

"Mmmm..." Kalliste ran her hand up to his shoulder. "You are a treat for the eyes, but you're murder on the heart."

Eros laughed and threw back another gulp of wine. "Me? You don't know the half of it." He'd seen murder on the heart, but it wasn't his doing.

Kalliste narrowed her eyes as she leaned in to hiss in his ear. "You've got to stop with the arrows, okay? I know you've been laying low for a few weeks, but Zeus sent me to confirm that you're done. He's serious this time. No more mortals for him."

No more mortals for anyone, if Eros had any say in the matter.

"And you need to make things up to Hera," Kalliste continued. "You've been quite the homewrecker."

Eros let his head fall forward. He wished he weren't having this conversation tonight. Or ever.

"What does she want?" he groaned.

Kalliste laid her arm over Eros's shoulder. "Just let some nice goddess make an honest man out of you. You know how she is about family. Settle down, stop sending her husband chasing after mortal girls, and all will be forgiven."

Talk about a joke. Zeus has been chasing women since long before Eros was born. But what could he say to the little messenger-nymph that wouldn't make it back to the Olympian rulers? Nothing.

Eros snatched the jug of wine and refilled his glass. "You know, Kalliste? You're the second person today who's tried to set me up."

Kalliste's lips twisted into a pout. "Oh. Did someone else already talk to you about Iris then?"

Eros about spat out his wine. "Iris? That multi-colored freak show? Gods, that's almost worse than a mortal."

Kalliste bumped her knuckles into his shoulder. "Don't be an ass. It was Hera's idea." When Eros didn't respond, she added, "She'd _really_ like to see you settled down."

"Yeah, well, so would my mom." He threw back another gulp of wine. "People are going to have to learn to deal with disappointment."

Kalliste's face paled as her gaze locked on something behind Eros.

"What?" he asked, turning.

Aphrodite was so close, he had to stumble back so he didn't step on her. "Disappointment is a bit of an understatement, don't you think?"

"Not here," he said. "I'm not talking about this tonight. With either of you," he added, glaring back at Kalliste.

Aphrodite's eyes cut to the nymph as she spun her son in the opposite direction. "You'll excuse us."

"I said not now." Eros jerked his arm loose from her grip and stopped. "I don't care what you say, I'm not marrying a mortal, okay?"

Aphrodite leveled her intense blue eyes at him. "Okay."

_Um, what?_ Eros rolled his shoulders and tucked his wings back into place. "So why're you here?"

"It's painfully obvious that there's not much I can do to _you_ for refusing my arrangement. _She_ , on the other hand, is a different story."

"And you came here to tell me that?"

Aphrodite snatched the goblet from Eros' hand and threw it to the ground. "No, I came here to tell you to take care of her punishment. She rejects my son? Fine. Make her fall in love with some dispicable and hideous mortal. I don't care who, frankly. Just make sure he's as awful to the women in his life as you are."

***

A doorman peeked into the dining room as Eros was finishing breakfast. "My Lord, Aphrodite sends word that she's gone to holiday at sea. She said to make sure you do your job quickly so she won't have to be bothered with the details."

Eros's fork clattered onto his plate. He slammed his eyes shut as the noise echoed inside his brain like symbols. Damn. After three days' worth of festivities, he'd forgotten his mother had made him her do-boy again. What was it she wanted?

His brain felt like pulp. Something about Psyche, he remembered that much. And _not_ having to marry her. That news alone justified his three-day bender. His stomach settled as the memories pushed their way forward.

"Will there be anything else, Sire?"

Eros wiped at his mouth with a napkin. "See that no one comes in. Apparently I have work to do."

As the man scurried away, Eros took a last gulp of ambrosia and headed for the courtyard. But his mutinous feet didn't want to make the trip. Psyche's emerald eyes flashed in his brain \-- so full of fire and life. Granted, he wanted nothing to do with her and the inevitable heartbreak she'd bring. But he sort of hated thinking he'd be the one who'd drown out her spark.

When had using his arrows gotten so messed up? He longed for those early, innocent years, when his arrows did only one thing: make people who were supposed to be in love stay that way. Still, what choice did he have? If he didn't give his mother what she wanted, no telling what retribution she'd plan.

Convincing his body to finally budge, Eros made his way into the courtyard and reclined against a golden bench. He leaned back and focused on an empty patch of wall. The Greek landscape flickered behind his eyes, his second sight honing in.

The spinning visions made him nauseaus. _How much wine did I drink?_ He took deep breaths to keep his breakfast down and tried to think about who he ought to be looking for. Random searching when he felt like a weak-kneed sailor was clearly not in his best interests.

Maybe a Cyclops? No, he'd probably crunch her bones into tiny pieces. As cruel as he knew her beauty could be if he ever got close, death wasn't a sentence he wanted to impose. And fortunately wasn't what he'd been tasked with.

How about Argus? Eros bet she couldn't find a way to break his heart with 100 eyes staring back at her. Not that he really liked the idea of her being perpetually creeped out, but she'd get used to it. Argus wasn't a bad option really. Not mean, just gross. Aphrodite would probably be satsified with that.

But that option was out too. The eyeball-endowed man was serving as a watchman for Hera. Good call on that one, actually. But that meant he was too close to the gods to be wretched enough for his mother's purposes.

Groaning, Eros let his head fall back against the bench. He'd use the arrows like he'd been ordered. But didn't his mother realize that just thinking about her was starting to peel back the wound? Why'd he have to find the target too? Oh yeah, because Aphrodite clearly didn't want to be bothered with the details. As long as she was on "holiday at sea," as his doorman had annouced, she wouldn't be able to use her second sight even if she wanted to.

How convenient for her.

Eros ran his fingers through his tangled hair. Something sticky caught in them and the nauseau resurfaced. He didn't even want to know. Thank the gods there were no mirrors in the courtyard. He probably looked scraggly enough to be the groom himself.

Now there's an idea, he thought. Someone who looks (and feels) as bad as he did right now.

He knew exactly what he was looking for then. There'd been a rumor spreading about it during the parties, and sure enough. The uproar projected into his brain, leading his vision easily to the target.

His eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the blank wall, not seeing the stone at all. The scene unfurled just as he'd hoped. A mob was chanting. "We must end the drought! Cast the _Pharmakos_ out!" Faces were twisted in angry snarls; the victim was jostled forward on the arms of his captors.

Swallowing back the lump in his throat, he told himself this was the right call. Aphrodite asked for hideous and the _Pharmakos_ qualified. But after delving into the man for a moment, Eros picked up on a few positive traits too. He wasn't harsh; he didn't have a sharp tongue; and Eros was pretty sure he'd worship the ground Psyche walked on.

He didn't know why, maybe just the lingering affection he felt for _her_ , but Eros really didn't wish Psyche ill. He knew his mother was overreacting, as she'd done a hundred times before. But she always got her way. If he didn't impose the sentence, Aphrodite would find a way to make it even worse.

For both of them.

Realizing he was out of options, Eros settled on his choice. He could condemn Psyche to life as a vagabond if the person holding her hand would be her partner through it all. Deep down, it's what his nature drew him to do - make good matches - not call on his talents in revenge.

Here's hoping the pairing is something everyone could live with.

Chapter 6 - Psyche

For the next few days, there were no birds. No visits from my sister. I was alone with my crowd. Their constant, muted rumble played like the song of my heart. An endless rise and fall with no definition. Like a shape without sides. And though the sound pulsed and writhed to its own rthym, the dullness made it feel unreal.

I wanted it all to be unreal.

The crowd, I snubbed. My sister, I craved. Each day that passed without her made my soul bleed. I could feel the walls building between us. The knocks on her door that went unanswered. How she left a room whenever I walked in.

Some things can be forgiven. But this?

Not that I'd known or meant any of it. Still. Maybe I deserved her impaling hatred. And I wished I could go back in time. Back to when that milk-white bird had first fluttered through my window. I'd tell her everything. Even though Aphrodite made me promise not to breathe a word. I'd tell Chara, and she'd keep my secret, and neither of us would be where we were now.

Those were the dreams of my tears. They gave me Heliosice in the hours between sleep.

Until the knock on my door finally came.

Flinging myself out of bed, I raced for the door, abHeliosutely sure I'd find Chara on the other side. I didn't dare hope she'd forgiven me, just cooled enough to talk. To hear my side. To help me on a solution for us all.

I couldn't even stop myself from blooming into a smile, I was so giddy she'd finally come.

The reality of my visitor slammed me like colliding with a slab of marble. My father's messenger waited, column-strait, when I threw open my door. His eyes were fixed on a spot above my head. No eye contact.

"My Lady, your father sends word that you are to be ready by sundown. The first suitor has arrived. You are not to leave your room until that time."

As if.

He bowed, averting his eyes, and left with his toga flaring behind him in his flight to escape my presence.

Once I closed my door, I sank into a pile on the floor. It was here. Already.

I'd been thinking through this moment, making sure I was ready to do the right thing for my sister. And the only thing that could possibly save myself.

There'd been so many dead-end thoughts; paths down a Minotaur's labrinth that had no end. Only one idea seemed even plausible. I'd make sure the first suitor who came married me. My stomach clencthed as I went over my reasoning for the millionth time.

If I was married first, maybe Chara's bride price would drop. And then it wouldn't matter _when_ she were married and Mom and Dad could let her wait. Like they'd always planned.

Plus, if Aphrodite really meant what she'd said about learning from her mistakes with Helen, then she'd have to give up the matchmaker role once I had a husband. No more wars over women, right? I'd simply have to stay her hand the only way I could.

In all time I'd spent alone in my room the past few days, I hadn't come up with a better solution.

So why was pushing myself up off the floor to get ready the hardest movement I'd ever had to make?

***

As the sun began to set, I made my way down the long marble stairs from my room. I'd selected an olive-colored dress that brought out the green of my eyes. Maia had wrapped my hair up in a loose bun and made my skin sing with the heady perfume of sage and lilies.

The admirers had made me painfully aware that I was pretty enough without the added effort, but I asked Maia to really give it her all tonight. If I was going to marry this stranger to save myself and Chara, I needed him to see only me. I suspected my bride price was way higher than my sister's. Plus, since he arrived so quickly, it meant his City had to be nearby. The selfish part of me loved the idea of not moving too far from home.

I found my parents and sister entertaining our guest in the courtyard. He looked about father's age, but was far leaner. Although bald, his long, angular face was grounded by richly dark eyebrows and a well-trimmed beard. The effect made him look distinguished, in a harsh, old-person sort of way.

When I crossed the threshold into the courtyard, everyone stopped talking and fixed their eyes on me. Attention being nothing new, I did what was expected of me: I radiated a smile and curtsied.

My father cleared his throat. "Psyche, I'd like you to meet King Andreas of Corinth."

Lowering my eye lashes, I nodded my head in greating. "It gives me great pleasure to welcome you. Thank you for coming all this way." Of course, Corinth wasn't far at all ( _I'd been right!_ ), but that wasn't the point. My intent was to charm and flatter him.

He looked me over from head to toe. His gaze passed like a winter chill over my body. After several seconds, he turned back to my father.

"Darion, she's every bit as lovely as the rumors made her out to be. How much are you asking for her?"

_That's it? That's as much as he needs to know about me before trying to purchase me for his wife?_ Andreas hadn't even bothered to speak to me.

"Sire," I cut in, stepping between him and Father. "Forgive me for interrupting, but I thought you might like to get to know me first before proposing marriage."

His calculating eyes bore through me. "There is nothing more I need to know other than the price. Either I can afford you or I cannot."

I staggered back a step, feeling suddenly queasy and mortified. Embarrassment burned my cheeks like I'd been slapped. My sister had been right to be afraid. This was worse than anything I'd ever imagined. They were discussing my purchase price right in front of me.

My pulse felt like it could stampede its way free from my veins. I'd learned my lesson about shoving important-but-insulting guys, but my blood pressure responded to Andreas with the same hostility I'd felt standing before Eros. Leaving before I did something equally as stupid seemed like a good idea.

"I assume someone will tell me if you win the auction, Sire. Happy bidding." Giving a quick bow, I turned and fled into the courtyard.

The rush of humid spring air didn't provide the relief I was looking for. And entering the dark of dusk from the brightly lit foyer made my eyes strain, like the sinking sun was bleeding all the colors from the sky.

As I passed through the gardens, totally absorbed in my own thoughts, my hip collided with a man bent over a bush. He jumped and whipped around to face me as I staggered back a step.

Through the dim light, I noted that the stranger's face was lean, his teeth just a bit too large, and his hair flopped into his eyes. Between that and the whole nose-in-a-bush thing, he struck me as out-of-place here.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to crash into you like that."

"Not at all," he answered. "I was just studying this unusual flower. I've never seen another like it."

"Do you often look at flowers?" I asked, trying not to smirk.

"Actually, yes. I've been studying them at Athens." He brushed the hair from his eyes, revealing invitingly dark brown eyes.

"Oh." I laughed nervously, suddenly glad I hadn't assumed he was Andreas' servant. Servants do not study in Athens.

"I know it's sort of a strange interest," he continued, "but I get bored only thinking about war or sports. History never changes and I never get better at sports. Flowers are different though. They're pure and fragile, like life I guess."

Was this guy a second suitor? I was pretty sure Father's servant had only said one suitor was here, but what else could this guy be? He was well-educated, well-rounded and obviously a pretty good catch. Would it be selfish to want him for myself? Maybe letting Chara have him would be a better peace offering.

"Sorry, I have a tendency to ramble. Probably spending too much time studying philosphy. That's the rage in Athens and all. I'm Rasmus by the way. Rasmus of Mycenae." He extended his hand and I offered mine.

He was a suitor then -- had to be. Silence hung between us as my brain tied to work through my options. What could I possibly say that would interest him? How would I appeal to him with more than looks? And did I want to appeal to him or should I let Chara have him? Then I realized, I hadn't even introduced myself. And I was still holding his hand!

I dropped his hand too quickly to be subtle. "Oh, I should have introduc... I mean... I'm Psyche." I mentally kicked myself for not being able to spit out a coherent sentence. Then I added, "I'm sorry you were out here all alone. It was rude of us not to be more hospitable."

"That's alright. I've been enjoying myself." His tone told me he meant it. Some other nobles would've been put off by not being doted on, but he wasn't. If I was being truly selfless, I knew that Chara deserved this man. Still, my mind wasn't quite made up.

After looking over my shoulder to ensure my family hadn't decided to chase me down, I turned my attention back on Rasmus. "I can show you around the gardens if you like. There's an area a little ways off that I've always loved. Perhaps you'll see some more new flowers before the sun fully sets."

"I'd like that," Rasmus said. "But I'm not sure the flowers will be the loveliest things in the garden."

_Wow. Maybe they teach the art of giving compliments in Athens too._ I could really get to like this guy.

I led Rasmus down a limestone pathway and under a canopy of olive trees. As we walked, Rasmus told me about his family. He had two younger sisters, but his mother had died several years ago. When he wasn't studying in Athens, he helped his father by traveling for him so the old king wouldn't have to leave home.

As he talked, I felt how relaxed and at ease he seemed with me. As my fame had grown these past few months, only my family seemed comfortable in my presence anymore. What was even more of a gift though was that we were having a conversation. Rasmus was talking with me like an old friend. And it wasn't about eye paste or the latest silks. I hadn't realized how much I needed this.

We reached the end of the path and stood before a tall iron gate, flanked on either side by hedges higher than our heads. "I don't know about you," I said, "but the Trojan War has always fascinated me. Who knows," I added, shrugging my shoulders, "maybe I've just glamorized it because of this place."

Rasmus's eyebrows knit together. "I'm not sure how you can glamorize war."

I tipped my head toward the gardens and pushed open the gate, inviting him into the small courtyard. The floor was tiled in a colorful mosaic picturing a battle scene. In the center of the courtyard was a fountain sculpted in the likeness of the Trojan horse. Elaborate stone benches sat around the fountain, carved with images of our heroes: Achilles and Agamemnon, Ajax and Odysseus.

"This is my family's tribute to the battle of Troy. My great grandfather traveled with King Menelaus to win Helen back from Paris."

"It's ... impressive." Rasmus drifted, as if pulled by the nectarine-hued flowers smiling at us from the hedges.

"Our gardeners claim those flowers come from the shores of Troy." When he didn't answer, I added, "But they could be wrong. I don't really know about flowers like you do."

Rasmus took in the flowers, and the rest of the courtyard, in silence. Finally he said, "Thank you for bringing me here. I can see why this is one of your favorite places." His eyes continued to roam the courtyard. "Still, I can't agree that there's anything glamorous about war." He leaning over to give my shoulder a playful nudge with his. "You maybe, but not war."

That was flirting, right?

I had to bite my lip to keep the smile from bursting off my face. "I'm glad you like it. I haven't had anyone to share it with in a long time." _'Cause I sure didn't bring Aphrodite out here._ I looked down at my feet, kicking at a little pebble. "Maybe you can come back again. With me."

When I peeked up from under my eyelashes, Rasmus was looking at the purple sky. A sad smile played on his lips. Then he looked back at me, holding my gaze with his darkly intense eyes. "Psyche, there's nothing in all the world I would like more. But I'm afraid that's just not meant to be."

My mind reeled. How could that be? He liked me. I knew he liked me. He had practically just said he liked me, didn't he? My jaw fell open. I could only form the word, "But..." It came out as barely more than a whisper.

Rasmus took my hands in his and guided me to one of the benches.

"I don't know where to start," he said. He gestured to the Trojan horse.

"The beauty of a single woman started a ten-year war." He huffed. "My father decided it's not in the best interest of our City to marry the most beautiful woman in the world. Troy is still too fresh in his mind. He won't make the same mistake as Menelaus."

"Your father?" I asked. "What about you? I ... I don't understand."

"Psyche, I'm not here for me. I'm here on behalf of my father. He sent me to bring your sister back to be his new wife. I've already arranged for Chara to return with me."

Tears welt up in my eyes and I struggled to hold them back. I didn't want Rasmus to see me cry, but I'd just lost my hope for saving Chara. I'd failed her.

_I'm a failure_.

As I sat there in stupid silence, a thought came to me so quickly that my mouth started forming words before my brain was done processing.

"But if Chara ... your father ... then you could still ...."

Rasmus looked down at his hands as he shifted on the bench. "My father has already arranged for my marriage to someone else. It's what's in the best interest of our City." He looked up at me. "I have no doubt my bride will pale in comparison to you."

Rasmus leaned forward and wiped away the tear that finally spilled down my cheek. "Please don't cry. Tears do a disservice to such a beautiful face."

Sniffing, I managed a half-smile and swallowed the lump in my throat. "I'll be okay."

Deep lines etched into Rasmus's forehead. Apparently he wasn't convinced.

"What?" I asked, wiping at another tear with my finger. "You think I can't get a husband or something?"

At least that drew somewhat of a smile from him. I'd had enough guilt to last me a lifetime, I didn't need to worry about whether I'd made him feel bad too. "Seriously," I told him, "I'll be fine. I just want to be alone for a little while."

Rasmus stood and looked down on me. "Of course. Thank you again for sharing your garden with me." His lips pressed together like he was holding something back. "I'll always remember ... it."

Chapter 7 - Eros

Eros might have mentally made his decision, but his body refused to execute on it. Instead, he watched the Pharmakos's exile unfold like a sick tragedy. The sheer stupidity of it was almost mindboggling.

How long had the Greeks believed they could rid their cities of the major problems --famine, disease, plague, drought -- by casting out a _Pharmakos_? It was ludicrous. Like just because some cripple left the city, everything else bad would follow?

As Eros looked on, four men wrestled the _Pharmakos_ forward, driving him toward the gates. The surrounding mob readied their stones. Dragging his right foot behind him, the scapegoat struggled to keep up with his captors.

With a final, unforgiving surge, the horde jostled the man forward past the gates. He tried to run, but his crippled leg slowed him down. Two stones caught him in the middle of his back, nearly causing him to fall, before he managed to scramble outside of their range.

Deciding he needed to get a move on before he lost track of the wretch, Eros hopped to his feet. He suddenly wished he could impose his mother's sentence on the woman who'd basically chewed up his heart and spit it out. But, he reminded himself, there were certainly more painful choices he could've made.

And at least this way, Psyche would never have the chance to destroy a man's pride.

When Eros arrived in Sikyon, he hid amongst the long shadows in a forest of evergreens. There, he disguised himself as a traveler, donning a pock-marked face, greasy dark hair, and covering his wings and quiver with a heavy cloak. As he looked in on Psyche with his second sight, he saw she was alone in an isolated part of her family's garden. The time had come. Eros's palms began to sweat as he silently crept forward.

Eros told himself just to think of _her_ \-- the one who'd shattered his soul. He would not let his facade crack. He'd accomplish his mission and move on with life. Once the task was complete, he'd never have to think about it, or Psyche, or _her_ , ever again.

When Eros approached the garden alcove, he saw Psyche sprawled face-down across a bench. Her shoulders visibly shook from sobs. Soft ringlets obscured her face, tucking her hypnotic green eyes away from sight.

Soundlessly, Eros slid his bow off his shoulder. Pulling an arrow from under his cloak, he brought it to his lips and whispered, " _Pharmakos_." Then, he repeated the familiar process of placing the arrow in the string of his bow and drawing back the missile. Eros took aim and prepared to release the arrow.

But then he faltered.

Something in the back of his mind - or perhaps the back of his heart - prevented him from actually following through. He'd been sent to destroy the second mortal who'd rejected him, but right then she already seemed ruined. He wondered why Psyche was sobbing. Had someone hurt her the same way his own heart had been crushed?

In the seconds that he paused, Psyche raised her head. Wiping her tear-stained face with the back of her hand, she rose from the bench like smoke wafting from a fire.

"I don't know who you are, but if you think a guy with an arrow is my biggest concern right now, you're wrong." She squared her shoulders and tossed her hair behind her shoulders. "Get out."

If he'd been listening, he'd have heard Psyche kick him out of her home a second time. But her words weren't registering. How had he missed it? She wasn't like the first girl at all. On the surface, they were so similar, but underneath -- their cores were completely different. He'd dropped his guard long enough to really feel her, _know_ her, the way he could any mortal if he payed attention long enough. Even with tear trails still fresh on her cheeks, Psyche glowed from the inside out.

As a soft breeze carried her heady scent to him, Eros vaguely heard her repeat her command to leave. The words didn't carry her intended message, but instead bore her soul. Her emotions doused him; poured over him in soothing waves. Her anger and fear pulsed on the surface, but underneath those rythms was the chorus of her spirit -- love, tenderness, good intentions -- a package that made Psyche far and away different.

Without realizing he was doing it, Eros lowered his bow. "Psyche," he muttered just before the arrow grazed his knee. The tip left only the tiniest of scratches, but it was enough.

Eros rushed forward on instinct, grabbing Psyche's arm and dragging her in close to his chest. Her lips froze in an "O" while her eyes went wide with fear.

What was he doing? Eros shook his head as if the sudden feelings that had just overwhelmed him could be cast aside as easily as shaking off a few drops of rain.

Dropping Psyche's arm, he backed away. This wasn't him. He didn't fall for mortals. _Wouldn't_ fall for mortals. And certainly not his mother's little minion....

Aphrodite. Could she have set this up somehow? Was she forcing him to love Psyche so he'd change his mind about marrying the girl? His chest labored under ragged breaths as his anger rose. He would not allow her to manipulate him like this. He'd made his choice. Psyche had made her choice.

This couldn't be happening.

And yet there it was: an need in his core that made it impossible for him to do anything but stare into the loveliest green eyes he'd ever seen. His breathing slowed as a calm washed over him; knowledge that he could find peace again in someone's embrace. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

His eyes tore from hers and traveled down her arms until he found her hands. Psyche's hands could give him the comfort he'd been denied the last time he'd tried to love. Why did she have them balled into fists at her side when all he wanted was her to stroke his cheek? How could she not be feeling their connection?

Suddenly Psyche lunged, making a move for something just behind him. The arrow. He stomped on the tip before she could reach it, making it dissolve into a pool of light. Psyche sprawled forward, grasping for the missing weapon. Unable to leave her prone on the ground, Eros leaned down and gently lifted her to feet.

Even as Psyche trembled under his grasp, touching her again set off a concussive burst in his nerves. Before, with _her,_ he hadn't felt this strongly. This was something new entirely, almost like he was under a spell.

The realization made a shudder roll down his spine. Had he done this to himself? His mind cycled backward. He'd whispered Psyche's name, that could've changed the target. Had he poked himself? It couldn't be, the arrow hadn't dissolved. He'd had to crush it into oblivion. But then again, he'd never shot anyone gently before either. Was it the impact and not the use that made the arrows vanish?

Psyche tore herself free, skittering back to her bench as if the stone would shield her. His heart nearly cramped as he felt her exposed fear. He yearned to sit beside her, pull her into his lap, soothe away her worries. He wanted nothing more than for them to be in love.

What did it matter whether these feelings were self-inflicted? He was on a high he never wanted to come down from. And he wanted Psyche. Wanted her love. Wanted her at his side. Wanted everything.

But he needed time to think. His mother's curse had set certain events in motion. Taking Psyche now would have consequences. Maybe even ones _he_ didn't want to face. He had to get out of there before he did something even more colossally stupid than shooting himself.

"Go inside, Psyche. Someone will come for you soon."

Whether Eros came back himself or he led the _Phramakos_ to her door, one way or another, someone would be coming.

Pausing only long enough to catch the rising moonlight reflecting in her eyes, Eros turned and ran back to the forest.

End of this sample

If you enjoyed this small sampling of Destined you can pick up a copy in the Kindle Store.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jessie Harrell fell in love with the Cupid & Psyche myth while majoring in Classical Studies at the University of Florida. (Yes, that degree is about as useless as it sounds.) After attending law school, getting married, having kids and realizing that the real world is a lot more work than she thought it'd be (both good and bad), she turned back to this myth and made it her own.

Visit her online at

www.jessie-harrell.blogspot.com

twitter.com/JessieHarrell

The Pack -Retribution-

The Pack Series

Book 2

by LM Preston

Revenge has met its match, and she's got someone worth fighting for.

Revenge doesn't have a name, but has chosen a victim- Shamira. But she's never been the type to lie down and let someone hurt her family or her friends. In order to find the mastermind behind the threat to all she cares about, she must give up the one person who's found his way into her guarded heart, Valens.

Valens refuses to back off easily, and neither will Shamira's friends. They join forces with her in order to deal with a new enemy who seeks to kill everyone in Shamira's life that dared save the missing kids on Mars.

COPYRIGHT

The Pack - Retribution

Copyright © 2012 by LM Preston

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.

ISBN 9780985025106

Published by Phenomenal One Press, PO Box 8231, Elkridge MD, 21075

www.phenomenalonepress.com

phenomenalonepress@yahoo.com

**

** CREDITS

**  
**Cover design & illustration by Alicia Kat Dillman

Chapter 1

One year ago today. Shamira's eyebrows knitted into a frown. She should be over it. Going back to where it ended should give her a sense of peace, triumph even. But it didn't. She felt the cold punch of nausea in her gut as a slice of dread seeped into her veins and flowed upward to her chest. Releasing a sigh, she bit her lip to force the sickness down. The voices of her friends' filtered through her darkened thoughts and she leaned back against the black leather seat of the car trying to keep her hands from fisting.

The desert sand blew around them. The shrieking howl of the wind seemed to warn them to retreat. High in the sky, the sun reflected its light off the wavy terrain which was littered with rocks. Poles of silver reached for the sky to suppress the strong sandstorms that often riddled these outerlands, making them difficult to navigate.

"Shamira?" her best friend, Hedi, called.

"She's spaced out dreaming again," Anthony chuckled. "This place still gives me the jitters."

"Me too. The name Monev still leaves a sour taste in my mouth. I don't know what's worse—the drugs they sold, or the kids they killed to do it. The way Monev had those kids mining scream from the Mons, starved and beaten..." Hedi's shoulders shivered. "If we wouldn't have gotten them out of there before the place blew up..." her voice trailed off.

Friends. Shamira couldn't help but smile. Over a year ago, she'd never had friends. Didn't want them, because then she was blind, an anomaly kids picked on and demeaned. Shamira still had the palest blue eyes that she'd demanded remain the same after her surgery. It was a reminder to stay true to who she was—even before she had sight.

The only friend she'd had then was her baby brother. He'd accepted her blindness and her surly angry disposition. He loved her in spite of it. Heck, who was she kidding? The edgy anger always hovered nearby, but she didn't give into it anymore.

Anthony was driving his big, bad car that Valens had given him. His rich deep voice filtered back to her as she sat sandwiched between Valens and Dion. She took a deep breath to cover up her anxious fear-laden sadness.

"Don't bug her, she's in the zone, frowning again." Valens' rich soothing voice rumbled in her ear. He leaned in to land a quick kiss on her neck, his curly blond hair tickling her shoulder.

She couldn't help but smile a bit at his protectiveness, and the way his kiss tingled. But she couldn't let her self get absorbed in the safety he gave her, the haven she hadn't known she'd craved until Valens came into her life.

Her gaze strayed out the window to see her two other team members on each side of the car, racing to get to Olympus Mons in their matching silver motorcycles. Shamira took a deep calming breath, stilling herself to get it together for the sake of her team. They drew closer to the one place that still gave her nightmares.

The Mons, they called it, an imposing location for their final training session. It was indisputably the largest dead volcano on Mars, thanks to them, just 365 days ago, in 2161. A constant reminder of how Monev had used kids to mine their product of death. It was a ghost that taunted her with memories born from the scars she'd thought she covered up.

Cal, their Security Force Elite Leader, pulled up the rear in his cycle, always a constant teacher and protector to them all. Her mentor was determined that they had to have their final session of training here before summer break. He wanted them to go back to where it had ended. A symbol of sorts, she figured, to represent the take-down of Monev and the beginning of their training as cadet Security Force Elite members.

"Shamira? You hear me?" Anthony's booming voice filled with laughter broke through her troubled thoughts. "Stop daydreaming and give us the scoop."

She shook her head and surfaced from her brooding. With a grin, she leaned up between him and Hedi. "Scoop? What scoop?"

"Before Anthony pulled you out of your murdering and maiming daydream," Hedi giggled and flipped her fiery red hair, "we were talking about the adoption."

Shamira broke into a beaming grin and wiped a chestnut curl from her forehead just to prolong the moment. "Oh, the skinny is—it's final. I've got a new brother and sister for good. Now I have more than one kid to worry about, and a sister that follows me around like glue when I get home." She rolled her eyes. "Oh joy." She couldn't hold back her goofy beam.

"Stop playing like you don't love them. You run home from training to see them." Dion laughed and laid his head on her shoulder.

"Yeah, well, what can I say...being worshipped by kids makes me feel special." Shamira pointed at his wavy head.

"Hey, don't go smoochin' other guys while I'm sitting here. You know I'm possessive." Valens tickled a soft spot on Shamira's neck.

Shamira moved his offending finger away and sat back as Dion winked at Valens.

"Stop it, you guys." Her expression turned stern, "Okay, we have to get serious here. This is the last training mission before we go home. Cal said he wants some readings on the landmines surrounding the Mons."

They all huffed when they recognized her working tone as the future head of the Security Force Elite for Mars. Grumbling a bit, they quieted.

A shot boomed behind them. Hedi screamed. Her head hit the window. Anthony fought to control the wrenching car. One after another, raining laser shots hit their car. Flashes of lights sparked off the hood, which deflected the rain of fire. The brown sandy terrain was unforgiving, and they slid into a fishtail before recovering to pick up the pace.

"Jerk it left! You're going to hit Mitch's motorcycle!" Shamira leaned over Valens to roll the window down, her gun drawn.

Anthony swore under his breath. He yanked the wheel just in time to avoid fatally crashing with Mitch's motorcycle. Dion and Valens slid out their guns, angry and ready to fire.

Valens pulled Shamira across his lap and moved over to the middle of the seat. "I'll take the roof, let's switch!" He pushed the button to release the sunroof window.

"What the hell is this?" Anthony hit the steering wheel with his fist. "Hedi, drive while I get my smokin' gun from under my seat," Anthony barked.

Hedi reached over to steer for him. "What's with the adjectives, Anthony? Just shoot the weapon. Kay?"

Shamira's gaze slid from side to side, but she didn't see anyone—nothing. Her chest tightened with terror for her team, but she suppressed it. She grunted, pushing her sight deeper, tapping into her enhanced ability to see through most objects. She growled. Nothing was working. Whatever it was that was attacking them was muted. She couldn't even pick up the sound of a motor, and her hearing was exceptional. Blue, tiny blast of laser shots that looked like needles of fire hit the car in rapid motion with excessive pops.

"Who're the bastards doing this? I can't see a thing!" Anthony aimed his gun in the direction of the erratic fire attack.

"Me neither. Just blast the bastards!" Dion fired. Attempting to get a better aim, he kneeled on one knee with his head slightly out the window.

Shamira spotted one of the motorcycles veering off. "Kurt's going after something. Follow him!" Shamira commanded. Her super-enhanced eyes delved deeper within the red dirt pack terrain of rock and dust around them. Still she couldn't get a glimpse of anyone or thing that was raining firepower at them. It was like ghosts were pursuing them.

Shamira adjusted her body to prop on her knees. "Crud! The wind is picking up and the sand with it. Can't see through it. I can't cover Mitch. He's following Kurt, and Cal's passed them both to run down some ghost."

The car swerved. Anthony attempted to dodge the spray of attacking fire. Hedi let out a yelp. Her head hit the top of the window frame. Hedi's hands slipped off the wheel causing them to veer out of control.

"The wheel, girl! Get the wheel." Anthony dodged another random onslaught of laser shaped bullets.

Hedi recovered and grabbed the steering wheel firmly, pulling them out of an erratic tailspin.

Shamira's eyes continued to scan the land. They fired their weapons in the direction of the moving targets that seemed to surround them. Valens hit something dead on and Shamira caught a glimmer of a camouflaged motorcycle before some type of cloaking device recovered. The attacker disappeared before she could lock her gun on him. It was as though whatever hid it, shorted for a brief second.

As suddenly as the onslaught of random fire started, it ended. Hedi's fingers came off the wheel and Anthony's smoothly replaced hers. He pushed the car faster, chasing an invisible foe.

"Anthony, go left, I see something." Shamira pointed and Anthony snatched the car left.

"No! Mitch is down!" Hedi shrieked.

Anthony swerved the car left then right, trying to decide whether to follow the attacker or save Mitch.

Shamira held in a sob. "Get Mitch, I'll find out who's doing this." Then she fell back into her seat.

"I don't know guys, it could be a trap," Dion warned. His eyes scanned the area. He rested back in his seat to reload his gun.

Shamira leaned further out of the window and took another cursory glance around them. "I bet it is, but we don't have a choice but to play along." She sighed. "At least the laser fire stopped— for now."

Chapter 2

Shamira's heart felt like it was being squeezed. Tears of anger were blinked back while she locked her jaw, determined. Although the past year had softened her edgy and angry disposition caused by the pain of being an outcast, a pariah, and a handicapped girl with no social skills, times like this scared her. It made her struggle with being a friend to her team and a protector while fumbling to keep the part of her that was finally able to feel emotion for anyone intact. She didn't want to lose the freedom she now allowed herself—the freedom to care. But she needed the fighter she held at bay—the part of her that had no mercy, no discernment as to who she would have to hurt in order to save the ones she loved. To keep that broken part of herself hidden just below the surface and allow her to not give into her fear that she may lose them all—the people that cared for her. But to allow her to think—think with her head and not with her anger.

Anthony pulled the car alongside Mitch, who was several feet ahead of his fallen motorcycle. His helmet had landed a distance away. The twitching of his leg back and forth before it suddenly dropped flat to the hard packed sand worried Shamira. Her penetrating sight studied Mitch's face, beyond his skin, the muscle, and then skull to check for hemorrhaging. The skull was one of the few vulnerable spots on a Security Elite's body, and Mitch's was swung to the side at an odd angle.

Hedi pushed the car door open and stumbled over to Mitch, followed by Dion and the others. Shamira slowly got out of the car. She moved her inspection of Mitch's body downward to his chest. Her tongue clicked against the root of her mouth while she made the mental inspections she was trained to make. Willing herself to remain emotionally detached, she approached the others. "He's got a concussion, some broken fingers and bummed knee. Try to wake him."

Valens reached into his pocket and stuffed a small vial under Mitch's nose. Shamira crossed her arms while inspecting their surroundings. The tall volcano stood in front of them, black, solidified lava coated the sides of the peak. Blackened indentions in the red sand littered the distance lead to the Mons. Her inspection surveyed the surroundings and revealed no obvious clues as to who would attack them or why. She gulped back the bile at the memory of the landmines that had littered the ground, almost killing them on their last visit. Thankfully, most of the landmines appeared to be dead.

Anthony stood behind her. "We have to split up. Kurt's still missing and so is Cal. Had to be some heavy-weaponed-up fools to attack the eight of us."

Dion cracked his knuckles. "They're not answering their com devices and everything here seems scrambled. No signals in or out."

Shamira shook her head, angered. "Set-up. It's a set-up. No one knew Cal was bringing us here." Her hand flipped up in an angry wave. "No one. He only told me about us coming to the Mons when I walked him to his bike before we got in the car. The reason he brought us here instead of the other places most cadets were trained is still a question."

Anthony wiped his hand down his face. "Could be part of our training."

Dion snorted. "Naw, I talked to one of the older Elite officers, they said the final phase of training only involves research. Study of different terrain—using survival skills, things like that."

Shamira turned toward them. "You're right, Cal joked with me that it would be a cold night to sleep under the stars. Guess we were supposed to spend a couple of days here on nothing. No food, water, only our own survival skills." A shiver tingled down her back. "But I just can't shake the obvious. Something went really wrong."

Valens dipped down on his knee, landing soft slaps to Mitch's face. Mitch's body jerked like he'd been hit by cold water. With a trembling pale hand, Mitch grasped Valens' jacked. He let out a groan, then opened his mouth for the vial of medicine Valens tipped up to his lips. He coughed several times, before one last swallow and braced himself when Valens helped him stand.

Mitch let out a roar. His face twisted with pain. Blood flowed around his eye and down his cheek. "Screw waiting. We have to find Kurt and Cal. If those bastards stopped shooting at us, then they went after them." His nose flared while he visibly struggled to stand straight.

Hedi reached in her backpack and pulled out her head covering that would protect her from laser shots. "Put on your gear, boys, our fearless leader has that look of 'kill' in her eyes."

Shamira's lips thinned, her back straightened and the numbness of the taste for revenge comforted her. "Right. Kill. We split up. Meet back here within the hour if you don't find anything. They could be anywhere. Those guys didn't look friendly. They don't realize we don't run and hide—we hunt." She pointed in the direction beyond the side of the Mons. "I'll take the back side, everyone spread out. The landmines surrounding this side appear detonated, but you never can be sure." She sighed, "Just be careful." She pulled her gun off her hip, temporarily missing some of her favorite weapons she'd used before she'd became a cadet. But instead she tightened her hand on the one weapon she knew would do the deed of bringing down their attackers if needed—her gun.

Valens put a hand on her shoulder. "Wait, I'll go with you."

Her eyes shuttered closed but for a moment. Guilt throbbed in her chest at putting her team in danger. For not reacting sooner, and for being too dependent on Valens' quiet strength. "No, I got this. I need you to watch the others. Make sure they don't do something stupid....please." She forced a smile at him, hoping he would take the hint and back off.

Valens' chin dipped, "Fine. See you in an hour."

Chapter 3

With caution, Shamira bent her legs and navigated the remnant landmines. She hated to admit that she liked working with her team. The uneasy feel of acceptance was still new to her, and now she thirsted for it.

Her gun's heaviness felt secure. But she clenched her fingers tightly around the handle for comfort. She held her weapon up and tugged at her protective hood with her other hand. Slowly, she made her way around the side of the mountain. The windswept holes from the landmines that had exploded over a year ago caused her to bite back her disgust at the failure of the Mars rehabilitation program. This was supposed to be a place of hope for reformed criminals and their families, but instead it was a place of war. No different than what many were running from, the war with a life of crime or justice. Bits of sand flew around as the wind picked up. She shrugged off the discomfort to press on. Mars weather was always windy which matched her jumpy disposition.

Shamira slipped her shades over her pale blue eyes. The sand was kicking up and coating her suit. Her eyes closed while she briefly tried to pick up any sounds of something approaching. She was thankful that her hearing was still sensitive, a side effect of her fifteen years of blindness—all but two years of her life.

Wind howled and sand splattered against her, stinging the exposed parts of her face and her hands. She walked on, stepping over clumps of jagged red rocks, sand and sparse green vegetation. She came closer to the Mons, the volcano Monev had used kids to mine and produce their deadly addictive drug. They ha sold it on the streets of Mars for the drug heads that hung out in the gaming hells of the planet.

Those places now were burnt to the ground, thanks to them. Thanks to her team. Her concern for Kurt and Cal caused her to sweat and the hairs on her body to stand up. Her heart beat faster in her chest and she prayed for a clue—a glimmer to point her in the direction of their attackers, ones she would kill in a minute had she not been trained to detain suspects instead.

"Where are you?" Shamira bit her lip as she half walked then ran around the perimeter to cover ground on their search for the others.

Annoyed after an hour of searching, she headed back to the meeting spot. About a mile away, she heard a faint call for help. It sounded like Dion, or maybe Anthony. Shamira took off in the direction of the screams and ran until her chest hurt from the exertion. Dread crept from her gut to her chest and she fought against the sting of tears. She didn't cry, wouldn't let herself. As their leader, she had to be strong for them all. Fighting, she pushed down the urge to call out. The ever-present fear that she would alert others to their location, made her shake her head against the screams from the others. How could they be so careless?

Finally, she rounded the bend where Anthony and Dion knelt. A stab of fear hit her dead-on when her eyes landed on the fallen body between them. Frantic, she searched around for Cal's bike. It was strewn in pieces. His helmet rested several feet away from his body and his eyes were opened in shock—in death.

"No! No! No!" Shamira chanted. Sprinting to the lifeless body, she stopped at his feet and collapsed to her knees. Voices sounded around her, telling her he was dead. That they'd found him like this. She shut out Anthony and Dion's words of sympathy. She could save him, Cal had to live. He was her mentor and friend, like a second father to her. With trembling hands, she grabbed his leather jacket. A broken cry escaped her lips as she shook him, hoping he'd awaken, "Cal, up...get up."

Power she'd tried to repress during her year of Security Force Elite training bubbled up from her stomach. The heated reminder that it was always present taunted her. It surged up through her body in pulsating waves. Anthony tried to pull her off of Cal. She pushed Anthony away with the force she'd been holding back. Anthony yelled and flew several feet in the air, landing with a thump and a curse.

Trembling hands patted Cal down. Shamira's erratic gaze pierced through Cal's form fitting blue training suit, through the thin layer of nano-skin that gave the Security Force Elite officer's their super strength, to his heart. The heart that had stopped beating. She backed out looking for the moving bio-tech cells that lived in the technosuits of the Elite Security Force members. The cells were immobile, dead, unmoving.

"How? Who... Oh, no," she slumped on Cal's chest and for the first time in what seemed like forever, tears flowed. Blood dripped from her lip as she bit back a sob.

Dion's hesitant touch on her shoulder brought her out of her grief. "We've got to get him out of here. We can't communicate with the Security Force; our coms devices are dead here."

A quiver of sadness jumped in her stomach. She turned away from him and wiped her face, "I know, I know." A gulp sat heavy in her throat. "Take him to Anthony's car." She inhaled a large shocked breath, then put her hand over her mouth. Shamira's hand dropped at her inner chastisement at her carelessness. "Anthony. God, I knocked him out of the way." Standing, she released her breath when Anthony's thick, dark form limped over to them. Her hands rested on her hips, "The meeting place, we have no choice—we can't leave him here."

"That woke me up. Glad to see the old Shamira back, ready to kick ass," Anthony's face held a sad smile that didn't touch his eyes. "What now...who would've done this? The planet is supposed to be clean. Monev disbanded and Renu long gone."

Shamira clenched her fist and collected her jumbled emotions, "I don't know. The remaining Monev gang members were shipped to Earth and executed in the Waters. Renu's ship was found in pieces, floating in space. It's suspected that he'd died. Proven, in fact, with reminisce of flesh and particles left behind."

Mitch lifted Cal's limp body. A black wavy curl of hair escaped from his protective hood to fall over his pale skin. Sweat beaded on his brow. "Where do you want me to take him?"

Anthony pointed to his car, his dark skin riddled with patches of sand from his fall. He stepped toward Mitch to help, but stopped when Mitch lifted his chin and proceeded toward the vehicle. "The trunk has a flat bed trailer collapsed under the floor. Push the button on the left and it'll come out."

"Hey, you want me to do that?" Dion's brown eyes scrutinized Mitch's slight limp.

"No, I got him." Mitch carried Cal's body to the car.

Shamira turned to Anthony. Her jumbled feelings back under control. "Sorry about..."

"I'm good. It's understood. I'd wondered where all that pent up power went to in the last year." Anthony looked past her, a frown forming on his face.

"Wh-what is it?" Confusion marred Shamira's features.

"No, not...." Anthony moved Shamira out of the way and took off running, his limp apparently forgotten. Dion followed closely behind.

Air thundered against her chest as she pivoted. Valens was also carrying a limp body. Hedi was walking beside him. Her freckled face damp and red, framed by her wild auburn hair.

"Kurt? Is he?" Shamira couldn't wait to find the answer. She ran toward them.

"He's fine, just knocked out," Valens called.

"What do you mean?" Shamira inspected Kurt's dark features then ran her hand over tightly curled black hair and brown skin. She touched the gash over his eye, her lighter brown hand a contrast to his darker hue.

Valens' green eyes were filled with concern. "Something's wrong with his suit. Like it shorted and attacked his system. I gave him a shot of adrenaline, and it stabilized him."

"Will he be okay? Man, we don't need this right now...another one of us down!" Anthony slammed one fist into the other.

Hedi frowned in bewilderment at Anthony. "What do you mean? Who else is hurt?"

Shamira turned to Hedi and crossed her arms in front of her. "Cal. Cal's... dead."

"Oh my God! No. No. How? No!" Hedi burst out in tears. Dion pulled her into his arms, his deep tanned skin a contrast to her pale flushed face. She sniffed into his soothing caress and he kissed her face.

"I'll take him." Anthony lifted Kurt's limp body from Valens. The others rushed behind them leaving Shamira and Valens to talk.

Shamira studied Valens while a series of emotions flickered over his face. "We have to take them back to headquarters." She let out the breath she'd been holding, "I failed them. Screwed up bad. But I'll fix this...I will." She walked away from him.

Valens tugged at her shoulder, pulling her to a stop. "When are you gonna give us a chance? You're not in this alone."

She put her hands on her hips. "Yes I am. I'm supposed to be your leader. Training for Cal's position as the Head of the Security Force Elite and on the last day of my training—now the first day of my probable demotion, I let my leader get killed and my teammate hurt." Anger at herself boiled within her and she had to force herself to look Valens in the eyes.

"C'mon, none of us saw that coming. Not even Cal." Valens stepped closer and put his hands on her shoulders.

She tensed. "I'm not making excuses for this." She stepped back from him. But he held firm. "I'm...just give me some time to deal with this, okay?"

His shoulder's dropped and he stepped in closer. His thumb teased her cheek. "Okay. I love you. You know I'm here when you need it." Valens dropped his hands from her shoulders.

"I love you too....and, thanks for understanding." She went to the car.

The others quietly piled in. Valens got in and pulled her onto his lap. This time though, she didn't resist, but relaxed into his hold.

Dion did the same with Hedi. But Shamira couldn't stop her eyes from watering as she reached out to touch Kurt, who was slumped over in the front seat. Mitch rechecked the trailer and Cal's body before he climbed on his motorcycle.

Anthony nodded at Mitch's wave to follow as he led the way back to the Security Force Headquarters.

Chapter 4

A maelstrom of thoughts flashed through Shamira's mind as she fought to keep her composure. She couldn't show weakness. Wouldn't give into her feeling of self-pity and disappointment like she wanted to deep down. The last year had been the best year of her life. After the dismantlement of Monev and the news that Renu, its leader was dead, she was able to relax a bit. She'd trained with Cal and her respect for him grew each day.

He'd taught her to rely on her wits to survive, taught her to suppress the fierceness of her power that had become her burden over the years, and to rely on her skill alone. With that restraint, came calmness. Besides, once they'd gone to Earth to be dipped and their technosuits became part of their bodies, she discovered that her hidden energy could hurt her. Not only could it short out the suit, it could kill her if she didn't release her power in subtle waves. The invisible suit that was a second skin on each Elite officer could never be taken off. If she released the electrical stream she harnessed within her, the suit would push it back into her body and possibly cause her to implode.

It was decided that Cal should teach her to control her inner strength so the suit could do its job and protect her body from external attacks such as laser fire or knives. Although the suit gave the Security Force Elite officers super strength, it just improved her already enhanced strength, making her ten times stronger than even a fully mature Security Force Elite officer.

"How did they kill him with his suit on? They practically took out Kurt too," Dion said.

Shamira's lips turned up in disgust. "Yeah, great. If the suit worked so well, how was Cal killed? It was supposed to keep us safe. With the leader of Monev dead we have to figure out if he sold what he knew about the Security Force and our suits. And to who? Who would want to give up the struggling rebuilding of Mars to kill the ones that were created to protect it?"

Valens tightened his arms around Shamira's hips. "There are a lot of people out there that wanted Renu's power—Monev's kingpins had it all. And Renu had been dipped in a technosuit himself, maybe he sold the secret to making it to someone we don't know about? Then there is the other deal he had that someone would kill for. Remember the owners of the technology that runs the air filtration system here on Mars? They wanted to cut a deal with Renu."

Hedi touched Shamira's arm. "Yeah, George Cruz and his family. The owners of Telwell Industries were never prosecuted in the shut down of Monev. They got off with just a fine. Since they created the technology to make the air on Mars breathable, they were basically untouchable."

Anthony grunted, "Yeah, only because the bastards could shut down Mars and kill us all if they cut off the air filtration system. Man, politics suck!"

Valens leaned up. "I got coms up. You want to talk to your father?"

"Not really. But I don't have a choice. Shamira grabbed the tiny coms earpiece from Valens and stuck it in her ear. Briefly, she closed her eyes to brace against telling the deputy security force leader, and her father, that she had failed.

"Deputy Elite Officer, Nelson Nobel," her father answered.

"It's cadet Shamira Nobel. We have two men down." She paused, "We're on our way back to headquarters." She swallowed.

Her father fell silent for a moment, "Situation details."

"Security Force Elite Leader, Cal Long—dead. Cadet, Kurt Johnson, alive and unconscious."

"Location?"

She bit her lip. "Leaving the Mons."

"Got it, we got a connection for Cal's suit. His distress signal just went out. Help is on the way. Copter on the way now. And Shamira...I'm on my way."

Warmth filled her chest. Her father, champion and rock, would always be her backup. Her eyes watered because he constantly found a way to make her feel special—even when she'd been handicapped. He'd cheered her beyond her depression and taught her she could be more than others thought a blind girl ever could—more than she'd wanted to believe.

She sat back into Valens chest and took a deep breath. "They're on the way. Keep moving. They are coming with air transport."

Valens tilted forward and whispered into her ear. "You're doing great. We've got your back against the elite. It's not your fault. We'll get the guys who did this to Cal and Kurt. We'll do it together." He rested his chin on her shoulder and softly kissed the exposed skin just below her neck.

Tendrils of warmth took her mind off the interrogation ahead. She loved Valens more than anyone besides her family. He calmed her, encouraged her...but she hated that she was starting to crave his support like a drug. She needed to do this herself and was afraid that she'd one day have to make a choice that she selfishly couldn't make.

"Yeah girl, you know we've got your back. Always. Road dogs to the end." Anthony gave a weak chuckle.

"Ditto." Dion reached over to tap her arm.

"Yeah." Hedi bent over and hugged her.

Shamira allowed their pats and touches. Unfortunately, she'd still felt a bit uncomfortable with their physical contact. It was as if they sensed that about her and worked together to get her to loosen up and show her affection. For that she loved them. Without realizing it, they constantly gave her something she'd always wanted, but was too afraid to hope for. True friendship.

"Okay guys, too much touchy-feely going around for me. Let's get our game faces on so we can find the creeps who did this to Cal and Kurt without the old guys pulling us back."

Ready now for her father and the other Elite officer's questioning, she smiled.

End of this sample

If you enjoyed this small sampling of The Pack - Retribution- you can pick up a copy in the Kindle Store.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

L.M. Preston was born and raised in Washington, DC. An avid reader, she loved to create poetry and short-stories as a young girl. With a thirst for knowledge she attended college at Bowie State University, and worked in the IT field as a Techie and Educator for over sixteen years. She started writing science fiction under the encouragement of her husband who was a Sci-Fi buff and her four kids. Her first published novel, Explorer X - Alpha was the beginning of her obsessive desire to write and create stories of young people who overcome unbelievable odds. She loves to write while on the porch watching her kids play or when she is traveling, which is another passion that encouraged her writing.

Visit her online at

www.lmpreston.com

twitter.com/LM_Preston

The Magic Crystal

Book One

The Dream Merchant Saga

Written by

L.T. Suzuki

in collaboration with

Nia Suzuki-White

Be careful what you wish for takes on a whole new meaning...

When a good wish goes bad, a beautiful princess despised by all, a lowly court jester who was meant to be a great knight and a village idiot with a mysterious past are thrust together by fate. Made to embark on a perilous and unorthodox quest, they set off to break a dreaded curse.

Along the way, a series of trials await them in strange lands far from home. From a powerful Wizard and an evil, shape-shifting Sprite to the flamboyant Elves and an army of mimes, they encounter an array of unforgettable friends and foes as they set off to recover a silver locket to destroy the curse.

In a race against time, pursued by a Sorcerer on the hunt for this same locket, an epic journey becomes a trying, humorous adventure of self-discovery and a test of true loyalty and friendship for this unlikely trio as they fight to survive this quest and ultimately, each other.

COPYRIGHT

The Magic Crystal

© Copyright 2010 L. T. Suzuki.

All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this ebook publication may be copied, reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording or otherwise, without the written prior consent of the author.

Registered with the WGAw (Writers Guild of America, West)

Book Cover, graphic design and layout:

Scott White

Shinobi Creative Productions

www.shinobicreativeproductions.com

Prologue

A hero, a villain, a curse and a quest: all the elements of a classic fairytale, right?

To be perfectly honest, this story is not your typical, run-of-the-mill fairytale. Most begin with _'once upon a time in a land far, far away...'_ and usually ends with _'and they lived happily ever after',_ but if you dare read on, you will soon discover this neither begins nor necessarily ends in this manner.

Now, in this mystical world lives the most unusual assortment of Elves, Wizards, dragons and other strange and magical creatures, but this particular story revolves around one beautiful, young princess. And just like this tale, she is far from typical. Unfortunately for her, this adventure, or misadventure, depending upon your point of view, all begins at her royal residence of Pepperton Palace.

Like a magnificent jewel crowning a great hill overlooking this peaceful, bucolic kingdom, the palace rises above the tallest trees and certainly overshadows all other man-made structures. However, if you peer behind the imposing walls, glance beyond the grand gardens of meticulously pruned boxwood hedges to look within these stately halls and palatial chambers of the castle keep, a seemingly perfect existence belies a less-than-perfect life.

And as this is a tale about imperfect people living imperfect lives, dreaming of greater things that might make them perfect one day, let us begin this saga with Rose-alyn Beatrice Elizabeth Wilhemina Pepperton, or more simply, Princess Rose.

1

A Grand Plan

_"Ooow! You are torturing me!"_

These are the pained and angry words that echo across the fair lands of Fleetwood to break the tranquil dawn and accost early morning travellers near and far. No, it is not the anguished wails of a prisoner being lashed deep within a castle dungeon; it is merely Princess Rose being readied to meet the day.

Her shrill squeals of protest laced with an equal measure of indignation easily eclipsed the sounds of chattering teeth and the clattering of knees knocking together in fear as her personal attendants: Mildred, Alice and Evelyn endured the Princess' angry tirade.

Sadly, it had become a daily ritual for these three ladies to tolerate, as best they could, these unruly outbursts as they attempted to brush the Princess' flaxen tresses after a night of sleep.

"You useless fool!" scolded Rose, her alabaster complexion turning many shades of red as her perfect features grimaced. "You must be gentle with me. Being a princess, I am as delicate as a peach!"

"A _rotten_ peach, I'd say!" Alice muttered beneath her breath as she readied a gown for her to wear.

"I am sorry, Princess Rose," apologized the youngest of the handmaidens. Poor Evelyn had the misfortune of drawing the short straw amongst her peers this morning and was relegated to the task of brushing the Princess' hair. "I am trying to be gentle."

"Well, not gentle enough!" snapped Rose; snatching the brush from Evelyn's trembling hands. "You are utterly useless! If you cannot handle this brush as you should, then surely you have it in you to hold this looking glass for me."

"Of course, my lady," responded Evelyn, shrinking beneath Rose's angry scowl and scathing tone as she attempted to hold the mirror steady while the Princess preened.

As the morning sun bathed the bedchamber in a warm, golden hue to wash the Princess in its glorious light, Rose admired her features: the flawless, porcelain skin; the dewy lips; the pert, little nose and the striking violet eyes accentuated by impeccably plucked and shaped brows.

"I look lovely!" declared Rose, smiling demurely at the reflection she so admired as Evelyn tried to hold the mirror just so.

Soliciting no words to confirm this declaration, Rose cleared her throat as she announced once again and a little louder, _"I look lovely!"_

"Ye- yes, you do, my lady," squeaked Evelyn.

"Then say it! Do not stammer like a complete ninny. State the obvious," ordered Rose, glaring at the three harried servants.

"You look lovely!" chimed the trio, smiling with forced affability as they cowed yet again to her demands.

"You are absolutely correct!" chirped Rose, sweeping the soft boar bristles through the golden strands that glimmered in the sun. "Mind you, I do not like this light. It makes my skin look sallow. Do something about this light, Gwendolyn."

"Evelyn, my lady." A timid voice whispered from behind the looking glass.

"What did you say?" snorted Rose, her nerves bristling with impatience.

"Evelyn, my lady. My name is Evelyn." She remained hidden behind the mirror, too nervous to correct the Princess to her face.

Rose scowled in annoyance as she snapped at the girl, "Gwendolyn, Evelyn, dolt, fool... I shall call you whatever I please! I am a princess, after all."

"Yes, my lady, however, if this light does not please you, then perhaps you should move away from the sun?" suggested Evelyn. Her slight frame seemed to shrink all the more under Rose's harsh words.

"The sun should move for _me!_ " grunted the Princess, scrutinizing the pores on her cheeks that became more visible in this light. "It is unbecoming on my natural skin tone."

"I dare say, my lady, it gives your lovely complexion a warm, sun-kissed glow," offered Mildred, the oldest of the three servants. However, these kind words did little to pacify the Princess.

"Well, I do not like it! I am supposed to be the _fairest_ in all the lands," pouted Rose, her feet stomping the floor like a spoiled child. "It makes me look like a lowly commoner who had spent too many days toiling in the fields under the brutal summer sun."

"Well, this should do wonders for you, my lady," offered Alice, holding up a silk and crinoline gown. It was adorned with dainty bows and encrusted with glistening crystal beads. "There is not one commoner I know of who owns a dress as lovely as this."

Rose's perfect nose wrinkled in disgust as her dainty, well-manicured hands that had never known a day of work waved off the gown. "That will simply not do!"

"But it is absolutely beautiful," insisted Alice, admiring the dress she had selected from Rose's extensive wardrobe.

"It is _old_."

"You have worn it only once, for your father's birthday gala but two months ago," reminded Alice.

"I know when that was. And if I've worn it once, then consider it old," reasoned Rose, pushing the gown away with certain disdain. "Find me something new to wear!"

"But all the gowns in your wardrobe have been worn at least once," responded Mildred, her hands rifling through the racks of fine dresses custom designed for every occasion imaginable. "And they are all in absolutely perfect condition!"

"That may be so, but I want some new gowns made for me."

"But that will take time," groaned Mildred, exasperated by this new order. "And the dressmaker, she is already busy creating the special gown for your sixteenth birthday celebration."

" _But, but, but!_ " snapped Rose. "The only _butt_ you will have to consider is my silk brocade slipper to your backside if you do not make it so! Now get me a new wardrobe! Do so now!"

"Yes, my lady," gulped Mildred, as she motioned for Evelyn and Alice to back away to the door. It was as though they were trying to escape from a frothing mad, pit bull terrier waiting to attack. "Right away, my lady."

"And be quick about it!" growled the Princess.

With frightening accuracy, Rose lobbed one of her shoes at the door just as it slammed shut behind the fleeing women. With such an accurate aim that comes with years of practice, the heel of this shoe added to the grouping of indentations marring the door.

Rose listened for a moment. She could hear her attendants as they rushed off, scurrying away down the corridor.

Alone with nothing more to comfort her than the grand opulence of her bedchamber, Rose slumped down on the plump, goose-down counterpane, leaning dejectedly against the gilded post of her elegant canopy bed. The Princess sulked, plucking at the crystal beads. Each one had been painstakingly hand-sewn by the royal dressmaker, but they were now doomed to meet the floor as the Princess brooded.

"I suppose this will have do for today," whined Rose, resigning to the fact she would be condemned to wearing this glistening _rag_ until some new gowns were made for her.

***

"Spoiled little snip!" Mildred grumbled in resentment as she guided Evelyn and Alice back to the kitchen to complete breakfast preparations. She charged away, waddling as fast as her short, stout legs could carry her round, plump body from the royal bedchamber, lest Rose summoned them back to verbally accost them again.

"You shouldn't say such things about the Princess, Miss Mildred," scolded Evelyn, shaking her head in disapproval.

"I know," admitted Mildred, with a disheartened sigh. "But I speak the truth."

"No, you are not," corrected Alice, still attempting to shake off the _royal_ treatment dispensed by the Princess. The tall, thin woman stared down her long, narrow nose to gaze at Mildred. "If you were speaking the truth, you would be calling the Princess a spoiled rotten, ungrateful, insensitive brat who only knows how to bully and manipulate those around her, family included, to get her way!"

"Now, now, Miss Alice, I believe you're exaggerating!" declared Evelyn. "I know the Princess can be demanding at times, but she is young, after all."

"Don't you go making excuses for the Princess! With each passing year she becomes more impertinent, ruder than rude and – and –," stammered Mildred, trembling with anger as she searched for all the proper adjectives to describe the Princess. "And more!"

"You're her same age, Evelyn, but you have enough sense to treat others with decency," explained Alice. "You would think with her upbringing and privileged lifestyle, the Princess would be the very definition of diplomacy and civility. There are times when I cannot believe she is her mother's daughter!"

"That is rather harsh," responded Evelyn, cringing under Alice's sharp, unforgiving tone.

"You are relatively new to the palace staff, my dear girl," reminded Alice, patting Evelyn sympathetically on her shoulder. "However, if this is your mindset where she is concerned, you will be considered gullible, foolish or both. You do not know the Princess as we do. Regrettably for us, we know her all too well."

"True, you both have been in service much longer," conceded Evelyn, "but it may very well be that Princess Rose has had a hard life nonetheless."

Mildred and Alice stopped dead in their tracks. They stared wide-eyed with mouths agape as though the young girl's innocent words were a rude slap to the face. This moment of stunned silence was followed by a burst of laughter as the older women slapped their knees, guffawing heartily.

"My dear, sweet Evelyn, are you mad?" snorted Mildred; her tearing eyes rolling in dismay. "The only thing that pampered Princess has ever experienced that was hard had been cold toast too lightly buttered!"

"Or a tasty dessert that sat in the icebox for too long, becoming hard with the cold to bother her royal sweet tooth," scoffed Alice.

"You make Princess Rose sound so very spoiled."

"She _is_ spoiled!" exclaimed Alice and Mildred, in total agreement.

"And in your short time here, you have experienced only a small taste of her obnoxious behaviour," warned Alice.

"But suppose her life has been hard in other ways," reasoned Evelyn, still attempting to find some good in the Princess.

"Oh yes, being waited on hand and foot; having servants at her constant beck and call," teased Mildred.

"Having her every whim catered to," added Alice, her thin lips pursing together in annoyance as her pinched nostrils flared ever so slightly. "I only wish my life was even half as _hard_ as that!"

"The Princess has all these things and more, but perhaps she is lacking in other areas of her life," responded the kind-hearted Evelyn.

"The only thing she is lacking in is some good old-fashioned discipline!" grunted Mildred. "If the Princess was my daughter – "

"Heaven forbid!" interjected Alice, grimacing at the very thought.

"As I was saying," continued Mildred, her pudgy finger pressing against her plump lips as she considered Rose, "the young Princess would be learning some manners from me if she were my daughter."

"Well, if you ask me, I would say she is lacking in a good dose of common sense," decided Alice.

"There you go then! How can you be so hard on Princess Rose?" asked Evelyn, blinking innocently as she pondered this mystery.

"She makes it all too easy, my dear," responded Mildred, as she and Alice burst into a fit of giggles as they rounded the corridor into the dining hall.

"Good morning, ladies," greeted Queen Beatrice.

They jumped with a start, immediately recognizing the Queen's voice.

"Good morning, Your Majesty!" All three offered their salutations as they respectfully bowed before her.

"You must be having a wonderful start to your day," commented Beatrice. "You ladies are in such a jovial mood this morning."

"We are?" responded Mildred, her eyes arching up in surprise at this remark.

"Yes, I heard laughter coming from down the corridor. Perhaps my ears deceived me, but I was certain it was you three."

"You heard correctly, Your Majesty," assured Alice, her sharp features becoming more accentuated as her face flushed with embarrassment.

"Lovely!" exclaimed Beatrice, as she nodded in approval. "It is wonderful to hear such joy so early in the day."

"Wonderful, indeed," agreed Mildred.

"However, I was certain you had been tending to my daughter," said Beatrice, smiling politely as she studied the worried faces before her.

"That, we were," admitted Alice.

All members of the domestic staff had a soft spot for Queen Beatrice and her husband, King William. They truly respected and honoured the royal couple, but the Princess, because of her demanding and forceful ways, only garnered respect because of her title. Out of love and loyalty to the monarchs, the staff felt compelled to downplay the Princess' abrasive nature.

"Odd..." sighed the Queen. "I just know how difficult my daughter can be at times. She is not in the best of moods first thing in the morning."

"Oh, not Princess Rose!" exclaimed Mildred, her pudgy, nails-chewed-to-the-quick fingers waving off the Queen's concern as Beatrice headed to the breakfast table to wait for the King and Rose to join her. "Your daughter was not being difficult at all. She's a royal charmer, she is!"

"A royal _deadbeat_ is more like it." Alice muttered beneath her breath as Evelyn's brows discreetly knitted into a frown of disapproval.

"You were saying?" questioned Beatrice, staring over at Alice.

"It was nothing, Your Majesty," replied Alice. "I was just saying your daughter is _loyal_ and _upbeat_."

"You are too kind, Alice."

"Oh no, Your Majesty, not at all!" exclaimed Alice.

"Oh yes, and I do know what I speak of," admitted Beatrice.

"Pardon me, Your Majesty, but may we be excused?" asked Mildred. "We were just on our way to complete breakfast preparations."

"Of course, Mildred." The Queen nodded in approval. "And please make sure you serve up a healthy portion of stewed prunes with my daughter's breakfast."

"I mean no disrespect, but are you sure of this, Your Majesty?" questioned Mildred. "The Princess always raises such a fuss when you make her eat prunes."

"I am quite sure," responded the Queen. "One day she will thank me for promoting healthy eating habits in her quest to stay regular."

"Nothing wrong with that!" agreed Mildred, but she was more pleased the Princess would be forced to grovel, whine and fuss before finally being made to eat the dreaded prunes anyway. She curtsied once more before herding Alice and Evelyn to the kitchen.

And such was the daily routine in Pepperton Palace. As the demands of the day mounted, Princess Rose made sure to add to them.

***

"Bloody hell!" cursed Mildred. She clutched her heart, dropping the bucket and mop as an anxious face suddenly appeared from behind the collection of brooms and other cleaning tools. "Tagius Oliver Yairet, what in heaven's name are you doing in this closet?"

For a fleeting instant, the young man cringed. His father used to address him by his full name. Of course, that was only when he was in big trouble, but it was long ago since he last heard his father's voice echoing through the corridors of this great palace.

"Shhh!" Tag, as he was usually called, pressed a finger to his lips. Remaining crouched on the floor amongst the clutter, he answered in a hushed voice, "I'm hiding."

"No... You don't say! I thought you were writing the next great literary masterpiece," rebuked the matronly woman. "Of course, you're hiding!"

"Keep your voice down, Millie," ordered Tag, glancing nervously around the woman's rotund form. "I don't want her to find me."

" _Her?_ " repeated Mildred, her curious eyes darting about.

"You know whom I speak of," said Tag, his words matter-of-fact. "The royal Princess Pain in the Patootie!"

"Well, I shall make you a deal, young sir," offered Mildred, collecting her mop and bucket from the floor. "I won't tell if you don't."

"You've got a good heart, Millie," praised Tag, slouching against the wall of the closet as he relaxed. "In fact, you've got such a kind heart, I'm sure you won't mind giving me one of those biscuits to eat while I bide my time in here."

She gazed at Tag's eyes as they stared hungrily at the leftovers on the kitchen table.

"Feeling a bit peckish, are we?"

"Yes, ma'am," admitted Tag.

"I suppose it won't hurt. It'll only be added to the pigs' slop anyway," decided Mildred. Snatching up two buttery biscuits, she thrust her hand through the stand of the broom and mop handles to pass the food on to him.

"Thanks, Millie." Tag nodded in appreciation.

"You are most welcome, young sir. And I won't breathe a word as to your whereabouts either."

"I'd appreciate that," said Tag, his teeth sinking into the flaky crust of the round, crumbly biscuit.

"The door... Open or closed?"

"Closed, please," replied Tag, using his finger to steer a stray crumb back into his mouth.

"As you wish."

Alone in the clutter with nothing more than the seam of light pouring in from between the door and the floor to illuminate this tiny room, Tag enjoyed his solitude. He happily munched on the biscuits as he listened for the hard, sharp telltale sounds of heels striking against the flagstone floor to forewarn him of impending doom.

He took the opportunity to recall yesterday's studies: lessons in the language arts, mathematics and history he had learned on the sly. Restricted by what he could see and hear through the open window of the palace library where Princess Rose begrudgingly endured the intellectual droning of the scholars appointed to educate her, the young man soaked up this knowledge. He craved and revelled in what details the Princess considered irrelevant and mundane for a young lady of her royal standing.

In a roundabout way, Tag felt it was fair compensation for having his plans of following in his father's footsteps rudely thwarted by the Princess. Still, he could not deny he yearned to learn all he could of the knighthood, taking up a broken broom handle in place of his father's sword to assault the neighbouring farmers' scarecrows to practice his skills with this _weapon_.

Happily surrounded by his many thoughts as he sat on the hard floor of this cramped, dim-lit closet, he brushed the crumbs from his shirt.

"Here you go, Squeakers," whispered Tag. He placed these morsels in front of a hole in the corner of the room for the resident kitchen mouse to feast on.

Now, had this been any other mouse, Tag would not have bothered with this small gesture of kindness, however this rodent was unique. A small, white star on its brown forehead made it stand out from all the others Tag had seen darting about on the palace grounds. This clever mouse had managed to elude every trap ever set, not to mention the hungry cat that vigilantly patrolled the kitchen, pantry and root cellar. For this reason, Tag felt inclined to reward the tiny creature for its ingenuity and will to survive in spite of the odds.

Tag suddenly froze.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Crouching motionless, his ears strained to hear through the closed door.

"Damn it all!" Tag cursed beneath his breath as the distinct _click, click, click_ of designer heels striking against the stone flooring echoed and reverberated through the ground to rattle his nerves. "Why can she not leave me be?"

"Where is he?" Rose demanded to know, her arms crossing her chest as the toe of her shoe tapped impatiently on the freshly cleaned floor.

"Pardon me, my lady?" responded Mildred, barely glancing up as she continued her chores.

Grabbing the mop in Mildred's hands to make her stop cleaning, Rose snapped at her, "Where is he?"

"Whom do you speak of, my lady?" asked Mildred, attempting to maintain her composure even as she winced under the Princess' sharp tone.

"You know exactly whom I speak of! Now where is the court jester?"

"Which one?" probed Mildred.

" _My_ jester! Tag, of course. Now, where is he hiding?"

"Young Master Yairet can be anywhere in the palace, my lady," replied Mildred. Deliberately slapping the sopping wet mop against the floor, she knew the Princess would back away than to get her precious shoes wet with dirty water.

"That is rather vague," pouted Rose. "The palace is a big place."

"Indeed, it is," agreed Mildred, glancing about the spacious royal residence. "I suggest you keep looking, my lady."

"And you have not seen Tag?" probed Rose, staring doubtfully at the domestic help as Mildred collected the bucket.

"Not since earlier this morning," answered Mildred. She did not feel an ounce of guilt in disclosing this information, for in her mind, she spoke the truth. She just chose not to be specific on how recent it was.

"Come out, come out wherever you are," chirped Rose, ignoring Mildred as she left to toss the dirty water.

The Princess' inquisitive eyes searched about, scrutinizing all the possible hiding places in this usually bustling kitchen.

Her syrupy sweet voice made Tag cringe, shuddering involuntarily as he spied her through the keyhole.

"What are you staring at?" grumbled Rose. Snatching up a wooden mixing spoon from the table, she hurled it at the grey tomcat curled up by the fireplace.

The accosted feline meowed in protest, its amber eyes flashing in resentment as it fled her wrath. Tag breathed a sigh of relief as he observed the Princess sulk in defeat, stomping off as she departed from the kitchen.

All was quiet as he listened and watched.

Tag suddenly yelped in surprise. One of those unmistakable violet eyes abruptly appeared at the keyhole to stare back at him, catching him completely off guard.

"Ah-ha! I knew I would find you!" exclaimed Rose, her dainty hands clapping together in glee. She whipped the door open, peering into the shadows to spy upon Tag's disgruntled face. His eyes seemed to flash a deeper shade of blue as his hand swept back his chestnut hair he had hoped would help to conceal him in the darkness of his solitude.

"Come out of the closet," demanded Rose. Her index finger flexed, motioning for Tag to come hither.

"I'd rather not."

"This is an _order_ , not a suggestion," insisted the Princess. "Now step out."

"Not ready to."

"You will do as I say," demanded Rose, her hands rolling into tight fists that threatened of a pummelling. "Now get out of the closet."

"Fine," grunted Tag, pushing aside the mop and broom handles.

"What were you doing in there? You were not hiding from me, were you?" questioned Rose, watching as the young man brushed the dust from his clothes.

"Indeed, I was."

"How dare you?" scolded Rose, appalled by his candid admission. "Who are you to think you can avoid me?"

"You were the one to demand I play hide-and-seek, not me, Princess Rose," explained Tag.

"That was two days ago."

"I know. You said I'd be made to play until _you_ saw fit to end the game. You never said it was over, ergo, I remained in hiding. And I was quite enjoying myself."

"In there?" sniffed Rose, staring into the dusty, cramped closet.

"Loved the company," responded Tag. His voice was laced with sarcasm as he gave the Princess a smug grin.

"But you were alone." She was momentarily baffled by his words.

"I know."

Rose's eyes flashed with anger, and just as suddenly, they cooled as she giggled one of those irritatingly high-pitched, girlish giggles, "Oh, you were just teasing me."

Before Tag could respond, Rose unleashed a scream of fright to make the blood in his veins run cold. She hastily shoved the boy aside as she scrambled to stand on a stool.

"A mouse!" shrieked the Princess, pushing Tag toward the little creature trying to squeeze under the door to take refuge in the closet.

"So it is," agreed Tag, kneeling down to observe the tiny rodent squirming to wriggle between this narrow gap.

"Don't just stare at it! Do something!" demanded Rose. She quickly hiked up the hem of her gown to make sure the little creature had no way of reaching her. "Kill it!"

"It is only a mouse," rebuked Tag, "a harmless, little mouse."

The end of a broom suddenly swung down.

"Stop it!" shouted Tag, using one hand to intercept the blow as he used the other to scoop up the frightened creature. "It's only Squeakers."

"Make it stop squeaking!" demanded Rose. She backed away from the rodent as it eagerly sniffed the boy's hand. "Give it the broom! And use it with gusto!"

"Her name is Squeakers," explained Tag. He pushed away the broom the Princess was more than willing to use on the little animal. "She's my pet."

"Your _pet_?" gasped Rose, her face contorting in utter disgust as she watched the mouse climb the boy's arm up to his shoulder. "It is a filthy, little rodent!"

"She is small and a rodent, but she is not filthy," countered Tag, speaking with all certainty. "In fact, this particular mouse is cleaner than some people I know."

"That is probably true, but all it means is that you know some very filthy people. Now, be done with that disgusting vermin before it spreads some dreadful disease and kills us all!"

"Kill us?" groaned Tag, his eyes rolling in exasperation. "Mark my words, Princess, there may come a day this little mouse will save your life."

"And _you_ mark _my_ words, Tagius _Oddball_ Yairet, like that will ever happen! What kind of fool do you take me for, anyway?" admonished the Princess. "That is a furry, little disease ball."

Squeakers calmly sat on the boy's shoulder, its tiny whiskers quivering with nervous energy as it sniffed Tag's earlobe.

"Just because she is insignificant to you, it does not mean Squeakers is nothing to me," grunted Tag, thoroughly annoyed by Rose's condescending attitude.

"It is only a mouse, for pity's sake!" rebuked Rose, cringing as she watched Squeakers' tiny paws feel about for secure footing on Tag's vest. "Kill the bloody thing!"

"Why? She's done nothing to you."

"Oh yes, it has," argued Rose, backing away with broom in hand. "I find that creature offensive! That loathsome animal deserves to die."

"I am sure there are those out there who find _you_ offensive, but do you deserve to die?" countered Tag, lowering Squeakers to the floor so she could make good her escape.

"I cannot believe you just compared me to that revolting vermin!" exclaimed Rose. Her beautiful face abruptly scowled, taking on a hard edge as she absorbed the sting of Tag's insult. "And who finds me offensive? I want names!"

"Why? So you can have those people killed, too?" ridiculed Tag, shaking his head in dismay as he waited for Squeakers to disappear into the closet.

"Say... You were speaking in jest! After all, _everybody_ loves me."

"Of course they do," said Tag, with a dreary sigh. "And while you bask in the glow of self-adoration, I really must be off."

"Not so fast," said Rose, pushing Tag out of the kitchen.

"Where are we going?"

"Follow me," ordered the Princess, steering the reluctant young man down the corridor.

" _Follow?_ That'd imply you would be in front of me, leading the way," corrected Tag, stumbling along as she prodded him on. "Not herding me like an old goat."

"Never mind that, I have a grand plan," announced Rose, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

"A plan or a _scheme_ , for there is a difference you know?"

"What difference does that make?" sniffed Rose. "The only thing that truly matters is that I benefit from it."

"Of course," sighed Tag. "But what does this have to do with me?"

"Plenty! I need you to help me."

"To do what?"

"I need you to get me a tooth."

"A _tooth?_ " gasped Tag, frowning in confusion. "Even though you're a princess, I'm not about to give you one of my teeth!"

"Keep your voice down. And who said I wanted one of your rotters?" grunted Rose, grimacing in disgust. "I want a perfect, little baby tooth."

"Don't you have still have a whole bunch of them in that mouth of yours?"

"You fool! I am nearing my sixteenth birthday," muttered Rose, her hands on the curves of her hips to accentuate her blossoming feminine form. "I am almost a woman, so of course I have no baby teeth left in my mouth."

"Pity," said Tag, backing away from her. "Well, there goes your grand plan. Tootle-loo! See you later, Princess."

"Not so fast!" snapped Rose, seizing Tag by his ear. "I know where _you_ can get one."

" _Me?_ " He danced about on the tips of his toes as the Princess twisted a little more on his tender earlobe to make sure she had his undivided attention.

"Yes, you! Now, here is the plan. The scullery maid's boy, _what's-his-name_ will be – "

"His name is Timothy," interjected Tag, annoyed the Princess never took the time to become personally acquainted with the palace staff.

"Yes, well... Timmy has a tooth that is coming loose. I want you to get it from him," demanded Rose.

"How do you suggest I do that?" questioned Tag.

"For some strange reason, the boy quite likes you. He will give that tooth if you ask it of him."

"And if he doesn't want to part with it, then what?"

"Then do what you must," replied the Princess, her shoulders shrugging with indifference.

"You will have me just snatch it from the boy's mouth?" gasped Tag, his eyes wide in disbelief.

"If he does not hand it over willingly, why not?" answered Rose, nodding enthusiastically.

"Because it is called _stealing_. Not to mention, assaulting the child to do so!"

"So what?"

"I will have you know, I do have some sense of honour and common decency!" declared Tag.

"You are not a knight. You are my court jester. Why would you have a need for honour when you do not even have dignity?"

"And _you_ made sure of that," growled the young man, his hand slapping his forehead in frustration.

"My! You are bitter," noted Rose. "But it is a wasted emotion. A knight needs a sword and you do not have one, nor will you ever, since your father's weapon was lost."

"The point being, I refuse to steal the tooth, whether it was still lodged in his mouth, or not, just to appease you."

"Then make him give it to you," ordered Rose. "Tell him if he does not, you will tell the Queen you saw him nicking a bottle of wine from the cellar for his mother."

"But I didn't," argued Tag. "Something like that can get him _and_ his mother expelled from the palace, or worse! And you know Timothy would never do something as underhanded as that."

"You might know that and I might know that, but my mother on the other hand... I do not believe the Queen knows the lowly, domestic staff as she should."

"Brilliant!" groaned Tag, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"Yes, I am!" exclaimed Rose, nodding proudly.

"I was not speaking of you! And if I were, it was not meant as a compliment."

Rose's delicate brows furrowed in confusion as she asked: "So you refuse to carry out my order?"

"First, it was stealing. Now, it is extortion! Just what kind of princess are you?" questioned Tag, bewildered by her strange demand.

"I am the kind of princess who knows how to get what she wants, when she wants it. Now get me that tooth! Besides, I only want to _borrow_ it, so it is not really stealing."

"Call it what you will, but I want no part in your deranged, little plot," declared Tag.

"But you must! And it is a _grand plan_ , but I desperately need that tooth to make it so."

"Why? You want for naught. You're in no need of coins from the Tooth Fairy, or anyone else, for that matter."

"True," admitted Rose, her shoulders rolling in a shrug. "I just need to _speak_ to the Tooth Fairy. The only way to make it happen is to lure her with a tooth."

"This is too bizarre. I'm afraid to ask what you intend to do with the Fairy once you meet her. In fact, I want nothing to do with whatever this plan is that you're hatching."

"You _will_ help me!" declared Rose, her feet stamping in defiance.

"Why should I?" snapped Tag, thoroughly annoyed by her willfulness and outrageous demands.

"Because I say so. And as you so conveniently forgot, you are a _nobody_ and I am a _princess,_ so there! Besides, if you do not, it is one more day you will have to endure as my court jester. At the rate you are going, you may as well kiss the knighthood good-bye, for soon, you will be too old to be a squire to any knight!"

The same panic he felt in his heart when he was a boy of ten surfaced once more. That was the fateful day Princess Rose demanded he be removed from his post as his father's page because she wanted to be amused.

Tag's father, the captain of the King's army, at first agreed to Rose's demand that his son become her playmate and personal court jester to appease his King, but he believed the Princess would soon outgrow this stage to release Tag of this demeaning order. Unfortunately for father and son, he was killed in battle and Tag had been relegated to this undesirable posting for the past seven years, condemned to this lowly station for as long as the Princess saw fit.

"You would not dare!" groaned Tag.

"Oh yes, I will," threatened Rose. "And I have."

"Then what difference will it make to me? You've already ruined my life."

"If you refuse to do what I say, I shall punish you!"

"You already have!" snapped Tag, pushing by the Princess to escape her torment. "I should be training as a knight, instead, I am your fool appointed to amuse and entertain you! What more can you do to me?"

"Plenty!" sniffed Rose, speaking with all certainty.

"And to think, I used to like you," growled Tag, scowling in resentment.

"That was long ago, when we were children," reasoned Rose. "And as you are too thick to know it, I have changed since then."

"You most certainly have!" agreed Tag, not even glancing back to deliver this angry retort.

"Even if you do not like me now, what do I care? In the big scheme of things, you are an insignificant nobody. I have princes and other young men of noble lineage who would love to be in my esteemed company."

"Only because they do not know you as I do," grunted Tag. He stormed away down the long corridor to leave the Princess alone to sulk and plot her next course of action without him.

"Fine then!" hollered Rose, too dignified to chase after Tag. "I do not need you! If all else fails, I am confident that child can be bribed of his tooth."

***

As dusk surrendered to darkness, King William and Queen Beatrice braced themselves for their nightly routine, the arduous and onerous task of convincing their daughter to go to bed at a decent hour.

From the time Rose was a little girl, old enough to realize there was a designated bedtime to adhere to, she would do everything in her powers to forestall this event. If she had it her way, she'd be awake well into the night doing whatever she pleased. In many ways, it had become a ritual for the King and Queen to demand, cajole, beg and threaten Rose to go to bed on time.

Unfortunately for the Queen, she did most of the verbal jousting with her insolent daughter while her husband merely backed her up with the occasional, obligatory: _'listen to your mother, Rose_ '.

It was not because William disagreed with his wife. In fact, he wholeheartedly agreed with the Queen. It was the backlash of dealing with his daughter that he truly dreaded. In many ways, it was easier to allow Rose to have her way than to deal with the terrible bouts of whining and pouting when she was in a foul mood, not to mention the furious temper tantrums they, and the domestic staff, had come to fear when Rose felt she had been wrongfully disciplined.

The Queen's efforts to instill some sense of order into Rose's privileged life was usually undermined by her husband's complacency. His reluctance to make his daughter comply with their wishes and to dole out punishment for her unruly behaviour was also driven by his lack of desire to be viewed as the bad guy in the family dynamics. He much preferred the role of the doting father.

Sharing an after-dinner cordial in the palace library, King William used this time to review the latest tax levees to fund local road repairs while Queen Beatrice passed the time with some needlepoint, working on an elaborate tapestry that would one day grace the main wall in the grand throne room.

"It is unusually quiet this eve," noted Beatrice, carefully measuring a golden strand to thread onto her needle.

"Thank God for that," responded William, not even glancing up from the sheets of parchment he was perusing.

"I am serious, William. I cannot help but sense Rose is up to something."

"You, my dear, are much too suspicious where our daughter is concerned."

It was obvious to Beatrice her husband chose to cling to his memories of Rose as the innocent, little daddy's girl than to acknowledge her descent into the willful, manipulative teenager she had now become.

"I love her dearly and it is not my intention to discredit Rose's character, but you know as well as I do her actions and attitude of late leaves much to be desired," reminded the Queen. "At this evening's dinner table, she barely fussed and complained about her meal as she usually does. And when she was done, she did not even wait to be excused, she simply dashed off."

"I admit Rose was not as vocal as she normally is, but perhaps, everything was to her liking?" responded William.

"Since when has _anything_ been to her liking? I swear, Rose complains for the sake of complaining, just to hear her own voice. And why was she in such a rush to leave the dinner table?"

"So she was in a hurry?"

"That is just it," said Beatrice, pondering this mystery. "Why the hurry?"

"You worry all for naught, my dear. It could be absolutely nothing," dismissed the King, topping up his glass with the sweet, carmine liquid.

"We can only hope," prayed Beatrice.

"Why hope, when we can ask?" William placed his glass on the table as the sounds of rushed footsteps passing the library caught his attention. "Rose, my dear, please grace us with your presence."

"What is it, father?" asked Rose, peering into the room.

"You are in a hurry, my dear," commented her father. "Where are you off to?"

"To bed, of course," answered Rose, looking quite innocent.

" _To bed?_ " responded her mother, her brows arching up in surprise. Where was the fuss? The fighting? Now she knew for sure her daughter was up to no good. "Are you not feeling well, Rose?"

"I feel fine, mother. I just think it prudent that I go to bed early tonight. Not that I need any beauty sleep, but I do want to look my very best for my upcoming birthday gala."

"Well then, off you go! Sweet dreams, my dear," bade her father, turning his cheek to receive a good night kiss.

Giving her mother and father a quick peck on the cheek, Rose headed directly to her bedchamber as she wished them both a good night.

"See, my dear, there was nothing to be concerned about," said William, with a reassuring smile as he picked up the stack of parchment to resume reading. "I do believe Rose is beginning to mature with age."

"I pray you are correct, William. As sincere as her words seemed, I still have a niggling feeling deep down inside our daughter is up to no good."

"Is it merely a suspicious mind?"

"No... More like a mother's intuition," replied Beatrice, as she listened to the sounds of Rose scurrying off.

**

** 2

Be Careful What You Wish For

"That pillow better be perfumed with the attar of rose, not that dreadful lavender essence," grumbled Rose, watching as Mildred turned down her bed and plumped up her luxuriant, down pillow.

"Attar of rose it is, my lady," assured Mildred, holding up the crystal perfume decanter for the Princess to inspect.

"Lovely! Sweet smelling roses for a beautiful Rose. It is only fitting, after all. As far as I am concerned, lavender reeks. It is too heavy for my delicate senses. Its overpowering stench dulls my mind."

"The lavender is said to have relaxing, calming properties," commented Alice, as she hung Rose's dress in the wardrobe. "It is the perfect remedy to help a troubled or restless mind achieve a blissful night of sleep."

"By all means, help yourself! Take that wretched bottle. You can use it more than me," offered Rose. "After all, my mind has nothing to be troubled about."

"How very generous of you!" exclaimed Alice. It had been a long, trying day of appeasing the Princess, and at this point, she made no effort to disguise the sarcasm in her voice.

"Yes, it is," agreed Rose, oblivious to Alice's cynical tone. The Princess' lovely face suddenly contorted in disgust as she scolded Evelyn, "What is wrong with you? Can you not see this ribbon does not match my nightgown?"

"With respect, my lady, no one will see it. What difference does it make?" questioned Evelyn, shrinking away from the Princess' angry scowl.

"Mildred, when will you have this girl properly trained?" rebuked Rose, snatching the white ribbon from her head. "Of course it makes a difference! _I_ know it does not match and that is all that truly matters!"

"My humble apologies, my lady," said Mildred. "You must give Evelyn some time. She is relatively new and there is just so much for her to learn."

"A feeble excuse!" admonished Rose, glaring at her servant.

"With all due respect, it is not an excuse, my lady. I merely speak the truth," countered Mildred.

"I beg of you, my lady, do not blame Miss Mildred. I am terribly sorry!" apologized Evelyn, hastily selecting a pale pink, satin ribbon to tie back the Princess' golden tresses. "This one matches perfectly."

"Hmph!" grunted Rose, sneering with resentment at the handmaiden. "I ask for so little, and yet, the simplest of requests go ignored."

"I will do better," promised Evelyn, carefully securing Rose's hair so there would be less tangles to contend with in the morning.

"I would prefer it if you did your _best_ ," snipped Rose, checking to see if her hair was tied high enough on her head so it did not get trapped under her shoulders as she slept.

"Of course, my lady," responded Evelyn. She turned to pick up the urn of fresh water to fill the crystal tumbler that always sat on the nightstand by the bed.

"No! No water," ordered Rose.

"But – but," stammered Evelyn, confused by this new demand. "You said you always require a glass of water in case you get thirsty in the middle of the night."

"Do not question me, Gwendolyn! I am a princess. It is my prerogative to change my mind as I see fit."

"Yes, my lady," responded Evelyn. She did not even bother to correct the Princess about her name, for at this point she felt her continued employment was now tenuous at best.

"Just leave the glass by my bedside," ordered Rose, pointing to the nightstand.

"Empty?" questioned Evelyn, her brows furrowing in curiosity.

"Do you have cloth ears or are you just a stupid girl?" snapped Rose. "Just leave the empty glass!"

"You heard the Princess," said Mildred, taking the crystal tumbler from Evelyn's trembling hand. "Glass on the nightstand."

Alice quickly steered Evelyn to the door as she made a suggestion, "And let us leave Princess Rose to sleep."

"Good night, Princess. Pleasant dreams," bade Mildred, motioning for Alice and Evelyn to retreat quickly and silently.

"They always are," responded Rose, as she crawled into the soft, warm bed.

As the door closed, the Princess nestled down. She pulled the counterpane up around her neck and waited a moment to make sure her attendants were well on their way to retiring for the night.

"Now to set the trap," whispered Rose. She rifled through the drawer, pushing aside embroidery supplies to pull out a tiny jar of adhesive and a silk kerchief. She carefully unwrapped the bait; a perfect, little incisor she managed to swindle from the scullery maid's son with the promise of doubling his profit should he lend her this tooth.

Using tree sap that had been boiled down to a thick, sticky consistency and utilized by the bindery shops to glue sheets of parchment to the spines of books, Rose set to work. She applied a tiny drop of this clear, amber liquid onto the center of the nightstand. With great care, she positioned the tooth just so on this congealing droplet.

"This should do quite nicely." Rose took a moment to admire her clever trap as she placed the empty tumbler next to the bait. "Now, I wait."

As the sky deepened to a deep cobalt blue and a dusting of tiny, glittering stars studded the night sky, Rose impatiently tossed and turned, waiting for the Tooth Fairy to make her grand entrance.

"Where is she?" Rose muttered beneath her breath as she glanced at the ever-shrinking candle. Its small flame flickered and danced, casting its light to illuminate the tooth positioned on the nightstand for the Fairy to see.

"I suppose I should look convincingly asleep," decided Rose, snuggling down into her bed. She pulled the counterpane high around her neck as she closed her eyes. The sleep was feigned, but not the great yawn Rose could stifle no longer.

For what felt like hours, the Princess waited, watching through narrowed eyes for her quarry to appear. And as the night grew longer and the candle's wick continued to shrink, Rose's half-closed eyes became heavier and heavier. They slowly drooped until they gradually shut and she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

Just as the Princess' breathing became long and slow, wheezing out of her parted lips, a golden orb of light flickered, tentatively hovering at the open window before floating into the bedchamber. Cautiously circling the room, this glow of light maintained a respectable distance from the sleeping form, flying overhead to ascertain that she was indeed fast asleep.

The Fairy waited for the long sigh or heavy snore, indication of a human embraced in a deep slumber. As another jet of spent air was slowly expelled from Rose's gaping mouth, the diminutive being decided it was safe to make her move. Her shimmering wings hummed as she maneuvered closer, fluttering down to the object of her desire: the perfect, little tooth.

Alighting upon the nightstand, she inspected this seemingly pristine specimen. Under the glow of the candle's light, she saw the tooth was completely devoid of decay, lacking in the usual nicks or chips and it was unusually white coming from the mouth of a human child; a mortal relatively unconcerned about oral hygiene. This was a rare find!

On her nightly forays, the majority of teeth she collected were either utterly rotten or riddled with the onset of cavities. Those in the worst condition were used to line the dungeons of her grand palace. However, this perfect tooth, a rare specimen indeed, polished and gleaming white in the candlelight would be a suitable addition in the construction of the main watchtower of her dental edifice. With an incisor like this, her castle promised to shine like a dazzling pearl in the sunlight. She just had to have it!

With her eyes and heart set on this tooth, the Fairy made her claim. Her eager hands took hold, but just as she attempted to lift the tooth to make off with it, the incisor refused to budge. Wrapping her arms around it, she gave it a mighty heave, her wings fluttering madly to aid in this extrication. Instead of flying off with her prize, the Fairy lost her grip, tumbling head over heels. To her surprise, the tooth remained exactly where it was.

"This is odd," the Fairy muttered beneath her breath, as she suspiciously eyed the prize. Kneeling down, she was stunned to spy a clear, sticky substance. This tooth was stuck in this congealing drop, keeping it fixed to the surface of the nightstand.

"I can remedy this," whispered the Fairy. Holding forth her wand that sparkled with light, she called upon an incantation to dissolve this hardening adhesive.

As a loud boom exploded around her, the Fairy jumped with fright.

A voice rattled her body right down to the bones as it exclaimed: "Caught you!"

"What the?" gasped the Fairy. Launching into flight, she immediately slammed into an invisible barrier. Her stunned face, plastered against this clear wall made a strange, high pitched squealing sound where flesh met glass as she slid down against this clear barricade.

"There is no escaping me, little Fairy!" declared Rose. She pressed down on the overturned glass to secure her prisoner.

The Fairy's aura glowed with an intensity to match her outrage. The fine, iridescent scales of her wings floated around like a cloud of glittering dust as she buzzed about. She was like an angry bee, bouncing and banging against the wall of this invisible trap in a desperate bid to escape.

"Try, try, try to fly! It will only make you cry!" chanted the Princess, teasing her moth-sized prisoner.

Hearing this juvenile taunting, the Fairy ceased her frenetic flight. Fear gave way to anger as it became obvious this human being had deliberately set out to capture her.

"Do you know who I am?" Her puny balled fists pounded against the crystal barrier.

"You are a Tooth Fairy, of course," responded Rose.

" _A Tooth Fairy?"_ she gasped in exasperation. "I am Pancecilia Feldspar, the _Queen_ of the Tooth Fairies!"

"Oh, goodie!" exclaimed Rose. "Then you can grant even better wishes!"

"Are you mad? What makes you think I would grant _you_ a wish?"

" _Three_ wishes," corrected Rose. "You owe me three of them if you want your freedom."

"You really are loopy! You have me mixed up with a genie, you horrid little twit!" admonished Pancecilia Feldspar, sputtering with rage.

"I am not the _little_ one!" snorted Rose, staring mockingly at her prisoner. "You are!"

"That is what you think!" With a wave of her wand and a magical incantation, a surprising metamorphosis took place before this mortal's startled eyes. The entire room seemed to tremble with her fury as the glass rattled against the nightstand.

Rose dove under her quilt as the Fairy transmogrified into the size of an adult human with a stunning set of wings. She gracelessly tumbled off the nightstand as the crystal glass, too tight to fit, popped off her head to shatter on the floor. Scrambling to her feet, the Fairy snatched up the counterpane, yanking on it to expose the cowering mortal hiding beneath this quilt.

"Who'd have thought you were capable of that?" gasped Rose, stunned by the Fairy's unexpected transformation.

"Proves how little you know!" growled the Fairy. "How dare you?"

"How dare _you_?" snapped Rose, jumping up on her bed to stand nose to nose with the Fairy. "Do you even know who you have just insulted, Pancreas?"

"To start, do not insult me! It is Pancecilia, or Pance for short," corrected the Fairy. "And I know exactly who you are, young lady."

"If you did, you would not be speaking to me with such disrespect."

"You are Rose," grunted Pance, impatience tainting her voice as she glared at this human. "And I will give you the respect you are deserving of!"

"I am Rose-alyn Beatrice Elizabeth Wilhemina Pepperton, the Princess of Fleetwood. My parents are the King and Queen!"

"And that is supposed to matter to me?" questioned the Fairy, disgruntled by this mortal's arrogance. "Do you feel you are above being punished because you are a princess?"

"Maybe not, but you are a nobody to me," sniffed Rose, speaking with utmost confidence. "No one can punish me except my father or mother!"

"If that is the case, then we shall see just what punishment the King and Queen will dole out for your audacious act of impudence. If you are lucky, perhaps they will show you some mercy."

Instead of trembling in fear of the retribution in store for her, Rose began to giggle, dismissing the Fairy's words. "Now, _you_ are being silly! These are my parents you speak of."

"Yes, and as your father is reputed to be a fair and just ruler, he will deal with you accordingly!"

"He will deal with me as any loving father would treat his precious daughter."

"That is exactly what I am hoping for!" stated Pance. "If he cares, King William will see fit to discipline you for your own good."

"Yes, yes, but first you will have to find him," taunted Rose, almost daring her to do just that. "He could be anywhere in this big, old castle. You will be searching for a very long time."

"That's what you think, missy!" grunted Pance. With a wave and a flick of her wand, she and the Princess vanished, vapourizing in a shower of sparkling, golden dust.

"Wh- what happened?" stammered Rose. Her hands hastily patted her body to make sure she was whole again as her startled eyes glanced about to see the stunned expression on her parent's faces as she and the Fairy suddenly materialized before them in the palace library.

"What is the meaning of this?" questioned King William. Startled by their abrupt appearance, he dropped the sheets of parchment he had been reviewing while the Queen nursed her finger, having pricked it on the embroidery needle.

"I am sorry to intrude on you at this ungodly hour, Your Highness," apologized the Tooth Fairy, bowing respectfully before the royal couple. "But I desire an audience with you."

"Pancecilia Feldspar, is that you?" asked Queen Beatrice, putting aside her needlework as she admired the glistening wings. It had been at William's coronation ball that she had last seen the Tooth Fairy in her full, regal size.

"Indeed, it is, Your Majesty," greeted Pance, nodding in respect to the Queen. "And I say again, I am sorry to intrude at this late hour, but there is an urgent matter requiring your immediate attention."

The King and Queen glanced over at their daughter as Rose attempted to sneak out of the library as the Fairy addressed her parents.

In a bright flash of light, Pance disappeared, only to reappear before Rose. She blocked the doorway of the library to prevent her escape.

"You are not going anywhere, young lady!" snapped Pance, thrusting the glowing tip of her wand into Rose's face to steer her back to her waiting parents. "I am not done with you!"

"Who said I was leaving?" grumbled Rose.

"Good gracious!" exclaimed the Queen. "What have you done now, Rose?"

"My dear, do not hasten to jump to any kind of conclusion just yet," urged her husband. "This may have absolutely nothing to do with our daughter."

"Unfortunately, Your Highness, I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but it has _everything_ to do with your daughter," responded Pance.

"Pray tell, Pancecilia, what has Rose done now?" asked Beatrice. "And spare no details, for I want to know exactly what our daughter has been up to."

"To put it bluntly, Princess Rose took it upon herself to set a trap to capture me. And to make matters worse, she succeeded!"

"You did _what_?" The King and Queen gasped in unison, staring in utter disbelief at their errant daughter.

"She makes it sound so very bad, but it was not like that at all," insisted Rose, her eyes blinking innocently at her parents.

"How dare you downplay your actions!" denounced Pance. "Do not take her word as the truth."

"And you expect my mother and father to believe in you? A Fairy with a name like _Pants_?" snorted Rose, rolling her eyes in ridicule.

"It is pronounced Pance, like dance! Not like _underpants_ ," explained the agitated Fairy.

"Rose, enough with your rudeness!" admonished her mother. "How dare you speak to Pancecilia Feldspar with such disrespect? And how dare you do such a despicable thing to her?"

For a moment, Rose's eyes glazed over, brimming with tears. Her lower lip protruded in a sad pout as she blinked helplessly at her father in a bid to solicit his sympathy.

"Now, now my dear," said William, patting his wife's hand in a bid to calm her down. "I am positive there is a logical explanation for what had happened."

Before Rose could respond, Pance spoke up, "I will have you know your daughter deliberately laid a trap; a perfect baby tooth to be exact, to lure me into her bedchamber, where upon she trapped me in a drinking glass when I attempted to claim the _bait_ she left on her nightstand!"

"Good gracious, Rose! How can you do such a terrible thing?" rebuked her mother, her face burning with embarrassment upon learning of her daughter's latest scheme.

"It must be a mistake, my dear friend," decided the King. "Rose had shed the last of her baby teeth quite some time ago."

"But I speak the truth, King William," insisted Pance.

"The only way Rose would be able to use a baby tooth to lure you is to physically remove it from another child," stated the Queen. She suddenly blanched, the colour draining from her face as she stared in horror at her daughter. "Tell me it is not so! Do not tell me you plucked a tooth from the mouth of an unsuspecting child!"

"He was not _unsuspecting._ He parted with it willingly," explained Rose, in her own defense.

"Ah-ha! So you do admit to placing a tooth out to trap me!" declared Pance, staring accusingly at the Princess.

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself, young lady?" interrogated her mother, her arms crossing her chest in annoyance as she eyed her daughter.

"Not much, really," said Rose; her tone indifferent.

"There must be some misunderstanding," decided the King, hoping this was the case so he would not be condemned to face his daughter's wrath and the ensuing feelings of guilt should he be forced to punish her.

"It is obvious Rose has done the Fairy wrong! Why must you constantly come to her defense?" groaned his exasperated wife.

"Because she is my daughter," reasoned the King. "Which begs the question, why do you not, when you are her mother?"

"You know as well as I do, _our_ daughter has been less than forthright on more than one occasion," reminded Beatrice.

"Oh, mother," sighed Rose, disappointment lacing her voice. "I was young and foolish then, I have matured greatly since. You really must learn to trust me."

"And anyone with even a hint of maturity would know trust is earned, not given freely," reminded her mother. "Sadly, your actions of late do not warrant trust, my dear."

Realizing her efforts would not garner her mother's backing, Rose gazed over at her father, peering at him with those sad, doleful eyes to garner his sympathy.

The King squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. Trapped by the Fairy's stare of condemnation on one side; his wife's look of resentment for not supporting her on the other; while his daughter stood before him, pulling her saddest face ever, he could take no more. William rose from his chair and began to pace. He hoped those in his company would take this abrupt action as his need to seriously consider all parties concerned, rather than to be viewed as no longer being able to bear up to their scrutiny. He adopted a pensive expression on his face as he tried his best to appear deep in thought.

"So, Your Highness, in all your wisdom, how do you intend to handle this matter?" questioned the Fairy.

"Well, we must be sensible. We must not be hasty in passing judgment nor in delivering punishment."

"Now see here, William, I pray this is not your way of avoiding the issue at hand," admonished his wife. "As unsavoury as this whole matter of punishing Rose is, she must be dealt with! You are doing her no favour in not disciplining her. She must learn to be accountable for her words and actions. Nothing will be learned if you shrug this matter off, pretending it never happened."

"Quite right, my dear," agreed her husband. "Rose must be punished!"

" _What?"_ gasped Rose, her eyes widening in utter surprise as her mother breathed a sigh of relief.

Pance gave Rose a smug smile, pleased that her father was willing to take appropriate measures to condemn her wretched actions.

In typical fashion, the Princess knew there was only one of two ways to handle this situation: issue a royal tantrum unlike no other or open the floodgates to unleash a torrent of tears. Her flushed face, which had instinctively screwed up in anger and frustration suddenly softened, dissolving in a sad trail of tears. She began to sob uncontrollably as she sputtered: "I- I- I am _sorrrry!_ I promise I will never do that again!"

"Rose, enough with this silliness!" scolded her mother, her nerves worn thin with this whining. "You have shed crocodile tears once too often and there is no sincerity in this apology. You have repeatedly promised to change, however, it is apparent by your actions you cannot be held to your promises."

"But I _will_ change," whined Rose, stamping her feet in frustration.

"Yes, you most definitely will, but only after you receive just punishment, my dear daughter," cautioned her mother.

Rose glanced over to her father, seeking pity as great tears tumbled down her burning cheeks. Her lower lip quivered as she whimpered: "Father... It's not fair."

Unable to endure her mournful cry, King William turned away from his daughter's pleading eyes. He pulled Pance aside as he whispered to her, "My dear friend, I urge you not to take deliberate action in punishing Rose."

"Am I mistaken, or are you allowing me to dole out punishment on your behalf?" questioned the Fairy.

"Well, I feel it is only fitting, as you are the one who was wronged," justified the King, willingly transferring this distasteful task on to Pance. "But as I said, I urge you not to take deliberate action, if you get my meaning?"

"Do you mean to say I am _not_ to cast an enchantment on your daughter to teach her a lesson?"

"Yes! I do believe a strong threat of punishment, perhaps a moral lesson of what will happen if she does not change will be the best way to handle this dilemma," suggested William, hoping this would appease both the Fairy and his wife.

For a moment, Pance's blood boiled at the mere thought the obnoxious, young Princess would get away with her appalling actions and then, the Fairy had a change of heart.

"Perhaps you are correct, Your Highness," decided Pance, giving William a judicious nod. "A lesson in humility, a strong warning of what can happen if the Princess does not change her errant ways, will be just the medicine to cure her need to act on these ill-conceived ideas."

"There you go then, a satisfactory solution all the way around!" exclaimed the King.

He was thoroughly pleased he would not have to be the one to dole out punishment to his daughter. Neither would his wife chastise him for not taking appropriate measures to discipline Rose and at the same time, neither was the Fairy going to place a hex or spell on his daughter as a form of retribution for capturing her.

"So be it!" consented Pance, nodding in approval. "Allow me speak to your daughter on my own. In fact, we will discuss the repercussions of her actions while I tuck her back into bed."

"A brilliant idea!" praised King William. "Go to it, my friend. Deal with my daughter as you see fit."

"But- but- but" stuttered Rose.

"You heard your father, Rose! Accept your punishment with grace, and be done with it," urged the Queen. "I pray you will learn your lesson this time."

"Come along, Princess Rose, I shall escort you back to your bedchamber," offered Pance.

"It is so late and I am too tired," whined Rose, deliberately dragging her feet as she feigned a yawn. "I do not believe I have the energy to walk all the way back to my room."

"Worry not," responded the Fairy. With a wave of her wand and a magical enchantment, in a glittering shower of golden light, she and the Princess vanished from the palace library. Just as quickly, they materialized in Rose's bedchamber.

"Will you stop it with that!" scolded Rose, unaccustomed to this mode of transportation. She hastily wiped the phony tears from her eyes that failed to absolve her of the impending punishment.

"You claimed you were too tired to walk these great halls. I merely expedited the return to your bedchamber."

"I was not really tired," snapped Rose.

"I know."

"Really?" questioned Rose, as she clambered into her bed.

Pance righted the overturned nightstand. Using an incantation, the tiny shards from the shattered crystal tumbler sparkled as they floated off the floor. A flick of her wand sent these glistening fragments out the open window, skyward to become one with the stars bejeweling the night sky.

"Do you take me for some kind of fool?" responded the Fairy. "I was just waiting for an excuse to get you here – alone! And the sooner, the better!"

"Sorry to disappoint, but I am not intimidated by you. You made a promise to my father you would not cast a spell on me. So there!"

"You silly, silly girl! It is a pity you do not even listen to your father as you should. He agreed to me issuing you a strong warning, to threaten you with the consequences of your insolent behaviour if you do not change."

"You are the silly one! And you will be disappointed to know I am not frightened of useless threats issued by a lowly Fairy."

"You nasty, impudent girl!" snapped Pance, her wings quivering with mounting rage. "How dare you?"

" _Dare me?_ I am no ordinary girl! You are speaking to a princess!" reminded Rose, her balled fists pummelling her pillow. "I can do and say whatever I wish, whenever I want, to whomever I please."

"Do not hide behind your title. Though it is true you are royalty, you are cursed with a sense of entitlement."

"I _am_ entitled," snipped Rose, her tone smug. "And how can getting what I want, when I want it, be a curse? It is something everyone dreams of!"

"That is not the curse," responded the Fairy. "Though you get whatever you desire, in your heart, you appreciate nothing and you take _everything_ for granted. _That_ is the curse. You are in need of nothing, yet you want everything!"

"Oh, boo-hoo! You are just jealous!"

"Of you? Absolutely not!" declared Pance, her words defiant.

"Believe what you want, but I know everybody wishes they were me," stated Rose, speaking with all certainty. "There is not one person outside these castle walls, you included, who is not jealous of me."

"Damn it all! I have had it with you, Rose!" cursed Pance, the wand trembling in her grip as her anger mounted.

"How dare you address me so informally? It is Princess Rose-alyn Beatrice Elizabeth Wilhemina Pepperton to you, Tooth Fairy!"

"In my eyes, you are just Rose. I see you for exactly what you are; a prickly, thorny rose in dire need of a good pruning to cut her down to size!"

"And you are nothing but a tatty, old pair of under _pants_ nobody wants!" ridiculed the Princess.

"Do not test me, young lady! I have a wand and I know how to use it."

"Go ahead!" taunted Rose, daring Pance to retaliate. "Unless your promise to my father means nothing, you will be in big trouble if you cast a spell on me. Mind you, if your powers are as wanting as I suspect, the best you would be able to do is to turn me into a warty, old toad. And even at that, I would still look prettier than you!"

"Looks are not everything, Princess."

"Yes," agreed Rose, eyeing Pance with obvious contempt, "especially when you have none."

"You are as reckless with your words as you are with your actions," denounced the Fairy.

"And you know nothing about keeping your word," countered Rose.

"You know not what you speak of. I have not defied the promise I made to your father."

"That is not what I am speaking of. I was referring to the promise of granting me three wishes," reminded Rose.

"I never made such a promise to you."

"Ah, but I did catch you, so you owe me three wishes for setting you free," stated the Princess.

"You did no such thing! And it is a bloody good thing you mortals do not lose your tongue each time you lie, otherwise, yours would have fallen off long ago!"

"So you set yourself free. That is a minor detail," snorted Rose. "The point is, I captured you. Now you are free. You owe me three wishes."

"And where in heaven's name did you hear this cockamamie story that a Fairy would grant wishes in exchange for freedom?"

"It is common knowledge. Everybody knows that," replied Rose, her words matter-of-fact.

"You are a fool! It is common knowledge a Fairy will grant a wish for a good deed done," corrected Pance.

"I set you free! That was a good deed."

"Get it through your thick head! I set myself free," rebuked the Fairy.

"Well, whatever the case, you will make an exception for me," ordered Rose, as demanding as ever.

"Why should I? Is it not good enough I will not dispense punishment in the form of a spell? Because I can be extremely wicked about it if I wanted to be."

"You will do so because I am a princess. Now, make it so!"

"And if I grant you a wish, what is in it for me?"

"If you do, I will permit you to do what my father suggested: warn me of the ramifications of my so-called ill-conceived actions," negotiated Rose.

" _You_ will permit _me?_ " scoffed the Fairy, her brows arching up in dismay. "As you have a selective memory, it was your father who authorized me to do this, not you! And a king always supersedes a princess."

"Ah, but when he and my mother are not in our presence, what I say, goes," explained Rose.

"Nice try, but not good enough. You will listen to my words of caution whether you want to or not."

"La, la, la, la, la, la! Can't hear you!" chanted Rose, her hands clamped firmly over her ears.

"Good gracious! You are behaving like a child! Exactly how _young_ are you?" questioned the Fairy, frowning in disgust at the Princess' infantile display.

"I am a young lady – almost sixteen," responded Rose, her hands still covering her ears.

"Ah-ha, so you can hear me!" exclaimed the Fairy, pointing her wand accusingly at the Princess.

"No, I can't."

"See! You did it again! You can hear me. Either you listen, and listen carefully, or you will face my wrath."

"Wah, wah, wah!" mocked Rose, pretending to wipe a tear from her eye. "Talk all you want. I shall decide if you are worthy of an audience."

"You are impossible! How dare you test my patience?"

"And how dare you waste my precious time!" snapped Rose.

"This is going nowhere fast," groaned the Fairy, appalled by this pretentious mortal's attitude.

"Yes, so you better go _somewhere_ now," suggested Rose, showing her the door.

"The nerve!" snapped Pance.

"The gall, the audacity, the insolence, blah, blah, blah," sniffed Rose. "I have heard it all before."

"And it does not bother you?"

"Why should it? I may be all these things and more, but above all else, I am a genuine princess."

"Not if I turn you into a toad or some other lowly creature. I believe it would be a vast improvement."

"Eek!" shrieked Rose, diving behind her bed for cover as the Fairy pointed the glowing wand at her. "You dare not do it! You promised my father: No spells!"

Pance drew a deep breath. Gathering her composure once more, she considered this promise she made to King William.

"You are quite right," admitted the Fairy, lowering her wand. "I respect your father too much to disregard our agreement."

"Farewell then," bade Rose, peering over the edge of her bed as she waved the Fairy off.

"Who said I was leaving? I am not yet done with you."

"I am most definitely done with you. And if you stay, I will not listen to you anyway," stated Rose.

"What must I do to make you listen to my warning?"

"If you grant me three wishes, I will hear you out," bargained Rose.

"I said it before and I will say it again: One wish for one good deed done. You have done nothing but infuriate me from the start and I cannot foresee any good deeds coming from you anytime soon."

"How about just _one_ wish?"

"My, you are persistent, I will give you that."

"I would prefer it if you gave me a wish," responded Rose.

"And if I did grant you this, what in the world would a princess like you ever wish for?" asked Pance.

For the longest moment, Rose was silent as she pondered this question.

"Now, give it serious consideration, and remember, be care–"

"I know, I know," interjected the Princess, nodding thoughtfully. "Be careful what I wish for."

"Precisely!"

"If that is the case, then I know exactly what I would request," announced the Princess, basking in her moment of brilliance.

"Let me guess, you would wish for three more wishes," determined Pance.

"How did you know?"

"I was not born yesterday. You are not the first, and you will certainly not be the last, to try and stretch out one wish. However, it is usually the poor and down-trodden making this request, not the rich and the privileged."

"Of course those lowly peasants would make such demands," stated Rose. "They are greedy by nature."

"That is an unfair claim. How can you say such a terrible thing about the poor?"

"They are poor because they are lazy," denounced the Princess. "They refuse to work hard to elevate their status, after all, they are not called commoners for no reason, you know?"

"These are your father's people – his subjects, you speak of in such a derogatory manner!" gasped Pance, exasperated by her disparaging words.

"So? I hate the common people," admitted Rose, shrugging with indifference. "They are so... so... common."

" _Hate_ makes you ugly," warned Pance, shaking her head in disgrace as she was made witness to the Princess' true nature.

"When you are as rich and beautiful as I am, there is no such thing as being ugly. So, do I get my wish?"

"No! I am not about to break the Fairies' code just to appease you."

"Then you can waste your breath, for I am not about to listen to whatever it was you were going to say," grunted Rose, stamping her feet like a belligerent child on the verge of a tantrum.

Reaching this stalemate, the Fairy made an offer: "Suppose you listen to me and if you do, I will tell you how you can get all the wishes you can ever dream of?"

"Truly?" asked Rose, her eyes narrowing in suspicion as she stared at Pance. "Whatever I dream of?"

"Literally and figuratively," promised the Fairy, her hand over her heart as she made this vow. "Think on it! A never-ending supply of wishes, if that is what you desire!"

"It is much better than three measly wishes!" declared Rose, her hands clapping together in glee.

"So, will you listen to what I have to say to you?"

"I will lend you my ear, both in fact, if you swear on my father's good name you will tell me how to get whatever I dream of when you are done," offered the Princess, hoping to strike up a bargain.

"First of all, as your father had suggested, a lesson in humility," decided Pance, her finger tapping her chin as she gave this grave thought.

"Remember, no spells! Not one enchantment."

"I will not do a thing to you, but _you_ most certainly will if you do not change your ways," cautioned the Fairy.

"So I was a bit zealous in my efforts to capture you. Suppose I promise never to do that again?"

"Bloody right you will not be doing that again!" declared Pance. "But it is not just about that. It is how you treat others in general I mean to address."

"And what would you know of my treatment of others?"

"I know plenty, young lady! Being that I can be quite small when I want to be, I can move about unnoticed by most. And I will tell you now, what I have heard spoken of you has not been flattering."

"So what? I treat others exactly as they deserve or expect to be treated."

"No one, not even the palace staff, deserve or expect to be treated with such disregard as you have treated them. And do not deny it, for I have heard the whispering in the halls of the palace. I know how you deal with others, those in stations lower than yours, those you despise because you feel they are less of a person than you are, because you are royalty and they are not."

"So what? It is not as though I killed anyone. And if someone does get hurt, at least it will be some lowly commoner," justified Rose. "What harm is that?"

"Words can kill, as surely as action," cautioned the Fairy. "There are those who cater to your every whim, and yet, you treat these people with such disregard. Why is that?"

"Because they expect it from a princess and sometimes, one must remind them of their place in the world otherwise, they will come to believe they are just as good as us."

"You sound as though you despise the common people," noted Pance.

"Usually, I am indifferent to them. However, what I truly do hate are the commoners who do not know their place in society," corrected Rose.

"That is a horrible thing to say! It is no wonder you are despised by so many."

"That is a lie! _Everybody_ loves me," insisted Rose, shielding herself behind a sturdy wall of denial. "After all, what is there not to love?"

"Plenty!" snapped Pance. "And just because your subjects bow down to you, catering to your every whim, it _does not_ mean they love you. In fact, they do not even respect you."

"Of course they do! That is why these people do whatever I tell them."

"Make no mistake, they do not do these things willingly," argued the Fairy. "They only cow to you because it is expected of them. From what I understand, you make their lives miserable if they do not comply. If anything, those made to cater to you, actually loath you!"

"Oh, no, no! They do it because they love me and want to make me happy."

"There is no getting through to you, is there?" gasped the Fairy, astounded by this mortal's ignorance. "And how would you feel if you were one of those common people you so despise?"

"I am the Princess of Fleetwood. As if that will ever happen!" scoffed Rose, as she shook her head at the Fairy.

"If you do not change your ways, you shall unleash a curse unto yourself. You shall become what you hate the most. Your indifference will be your undoing," cautioned Pance.

"And that is it? That is my warning?" Rose's eyes narrowed in suspicion as she stared at the Fairy.

"Yes, but do not take it lightly, Princess Rose, for at the midnight hour, from henceforth you shall be held accountable for your words and actions. Your indifference to others will cause you to suffer. The only way to make it stop is for you to find your heart."

"So... you are not putting a spell on me?"

"Whatever happens will be of your own doing, not mine. Your choices will determine the outcome."

"I have been known to make some very wise choices, so I can live with that," decided Rose.

"Mark my words, Princess," warned Pance, the tip of her wand throbbing with light, "if you do not change your ways, all who know you will see you for what you truly are. You will remain as such until the day you come to understand and appreciate what it means when nobody loves you."

"As if! I am the fairest in all the lands. All will bow to my magnificent glory, for I am as lovely and lovable as they come!"

"I am speaking, but obviously you are not hearing me," muttered Pance, groaning in disbelief. "Often, the hardest lessons to learn in life are the ones thrust upon us. Perhaps it is not such a bad thing for you to experience _life_."

"If you mean for me to endure some hardship to better appreciate my lifestyle, I know all about hardship," declared Rose.

"Do you now?"

"Oh yes," said the Princess. "I am made to suffer each day! There are times when I feel as though I am drowning in a sea of incompetence. The lowly staff appointed as my attendants consistently fail to meet my expectations."

"As I said, keep this up and you will be made to learn the hard way. Swallowing a bitter pill shall either fix your ills or make you choke. You have a heart of stone, Princess Rose. Where is your compassion?"

"Make no mistake, it is there, but it is reserved for those deserving of it."

"It shall come to pass those who love you will turn on you if you do not find your heart," warned Pance, sensing her lack of compassion.

"Yes, yes!" Rose urged the Fairy to spill this great secret. "Now, what about the promise of telling me how to get all my dreams fulfilled? You are still going to keep your promise to me, are you not?"

"I always keep my promise. As you accept this wish without performing a good deed, to make this deal binding, you must give me the one thing you value above all others in exchange."

Without a moment's thought, Rose dashed over to her dresser. Rummaging through the contents of a large jewellery box, she found a simple, heart-shaped locket she once wore as a little girl. It was a birthday gift she received as a child, but she could no longer remember who gave it to her. Obviously, this inexpensive bauble had no sentimental value or personal relevance to her anymore. It now lay buried beneath a regular treasure trove of expensive pieces of diamond and ruby encrusted jewellery.

"This should do quite nicely," Rose muttered beneath her breath. "And I will not even miss it."

"I do not have all night, Princess. Do you have something you wish to exchange?"

"Here you go," offered Rose, presenting the silver chain and locket to the Tooth Fairy as she blatantly lied. "It is very dear to me, and for this reason, I believe it will be a fair trade."

Pance inspected the locket suspended on this thread of fine, silver links. "Are you sure of this?"

"Of course I am," assured Rose, giddy with excitement. "Now how do I make all my wishes come true?"

"To obtain all you can ever dream of or ever wish for, you must make a special deal with the Dream Merchant," revealed Pance, speaking in a whisper so no others would hear this secret.

"The Dream Merchant? Who is this person, if indeed he is a person?" asked Rose, gazing suspiciously at the Tooth Fairy.

"This _person_ happens to be a very powerful Wizard. He specializes in magic that allows dreams to come true, hence, the moniker the _Dream Merchant_. And as with any merchant, there is a price to be paid for his services."

"And what might that be?" questioned Rose, intrigued by the possibilities.

"That, I cannot say," replied Pance.

"Because you will not say? Or because you do not know?"

"The price is totally at his discretion. Just be warned, Princess, it might be greater than what you bargained for."

"That is of little concern, for money is no object to me," said Rose, shrugging off the Fairy's warning.

"Who said the price was monetary?" Pance responded with a shrewd smile.

"What are you _not_ telling me?"

"I have told you all you need to know. As for the price, as I said, it is at the Wizard's discretion to ask, and it is at your discretion to accept or decline his offer."

"Fair enough then," decided Rose. "Now, where do I find this Dream Merchant? Is the Wizard in some faraway land or is he somewhere in Fleetwood? And can he be summoned or must I go to him?"

"If you are in need of his services, _he_ will come to _you_ ," disclosed Pance.

"But where shall we meet?" asked Rose, bewildered by this response.

"Where else, but in your dreams," revealed the Fairy, giving the Princess a knowing smile as she placed the locket in her bag along with the collection of teeth. "For now, I will take this silver heart and hide it away in a very special place."

"And if I should want it back?"

"Trust me, if that should ever happen, and I highly doubt it will, it will not be worth the effort for you to retrieve it," replied Pance, as she shrank down to her usual size that allowed her to steal into bedchambers unnoticed in the still of the night. "Besides, you do not have the heart to undertake any kind of quest, no matter how simple."

"You can think what you want. Now, are you telling me that all I must do is dream of the Wizard, this so-called Dream Merchant, and he will come to me?" questioned Rose, unleashing a great yawn as she crawled back into her cozy bed.

"Yes, but be warned, Princess, even the sweetest of dreams can have a dark side," cautioned Pance, as she hovered before Rose.

With that said, the Fairy's translucent wings shimmered, humming as they carried her out the window and into the tranquil night. She drifted away until her golden light became one with the stars twinkling in the cobalt sky.

**

** 3

A Strange Encounter

Rose woke with a start. Bolting upright from her bed, her eyes quickly grew accustomed to the darkened room as she glanced about, searching for evidence of the Tooth Fairy.

"That was strange... Either I dreamed the whole thing or that Fairy lied to me," grumbled Rose. Her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized the nightstand for the tooth she had set out.

"Pancecilia Feldspar does not lie!"

An agitated voice growled at her, rumbling from beneath the bed.

"What was that?" gasped Rose, now wide-awake. Dangling over the edge of her bed, the Princess cautiously lifted the dust ruffle to peer beneath it. For a moment, her eyes adjusted to the complete and utter darkness consuming this small area of the bedchamber. She saw nothing. Only silence and a suffocating blackness greeted her eyes.

"See something interesting down there?"

Rose shrieked in surprise, somersaulting off the bed to land flat on her back onto the floor. She stared up to see a strange man lying across her bed where she, just seconds before, lay. Even in the darkness, his blue-gray eyes sparkled with mischief as they stared down at her startled face. These eyes were framed by a wild tangle of grizzled hair and a long silvery moustache cascading down to become one with his beard.

"That is an odd way to greet me," he snorted in disapproval.

"Who are you?" yelped Rose. In a frightened panic, she did not even wait for an answer. She quickly dove beneath her bed to get away from this intruder.

"Who am _I?_ What a silly question!"

Rose unleashed a bloodcurdling shriek yet again as this man suddenly appeared next to her beneath the bed.

In absolute fright, the Princess scrambled away, dashing to the door to escape. Yanking it open, she screamed as this odd-looking man appeared before her, standing in the corridor to impede her way.

"Will you stop it with that bloody screaming!" He admonished her just as she rudely slammed the door in his disgruntled face.

Turning to dive under her quilt, this man abruptly reappeared in her room. He cupped his hand over her mouth just as she was about to unleash another shriek.

"For pity's sake, shut your royal gob and stop with that incessant screaming!" he demanded, pressing a finger to his lips for silence. "It is damned annoying."

It was a strange encounter the Princess was ill prepared for. Rose backed away, snatching up the urn of water sitting on her dresser, she threatened him, "Be gone or I will hurt you!"

"Many try, all failed," dismissed the stranger, nonchalantly flicking the dust from his dark robe that was adorned with a plethora of eye-catching, embroidered appliqués of glowing moons and stars.

"Not me!" declared Rose, daring him to take a step closer.

Just as she hoisted the urn to hurl it at him, the man abruptly vanished, only to reappear behind her. Seizing the pitcher from her hands, he scolded her, "No need to get your knickers royally twisted, young lady! Now calm down!"

"If you do not leave, I shall scream at the top of my lungs!" warned Rose, as her hands blindly groped about the top of the dresser for another potential weapon to throw at him. "The knights guarding the keep will come running!"

"What is wrong with you?" grumbled the stranger, as he shook his head in dismay. "You _have_ been screaming. Do you see anyone coming to your aid? Anyone at all: knight, soldier or servant, coming to answer your call?"

"What have you done to them?" asked Rose, palming a hefty crystal decanter of her favourite, rose-scented perfume. "I demand to know!"

"I made it so they will not hear you. After all, you are not the first human to scream bloody murder upon seeing me."

"How did you do that?" Rose dared to ask as she clutched the decanter in her trembling hands, raising it in a threatening gesture. "Did you kill them?"

"What do you take me for? A murderous thug on a killing spree?"

"Are you?" questioned Rose. The decanter was poised in her hand, ready to launch at him as she cautiously backed away.

"My, you are rather big on high drama! Of course I am not a mass murderer. And I am only here because _you_ were the one to summon _me_."

"I did not ask for _you!_ " retorted the Princess, grimacing in disgust as she eyed him with certain contempt. "I asked for the _Dream Merchant_ , not some strange, wizened old man with a scruffy beard down to his knees, dressed in a gaudy robe that glows in the dark."

"Good gracious, you are rather thick in the head for a Princess! And I will have you know, this is _not_ gaudy. This robe is quite tasteful, perhaps a little extravagant, but I think it is quite fetching on me. It is very appropriate, especially if one is the aforementioned Dream Merchant."

"You are _him_?" gasped Rose, reluctantly lowering the perfume bottle she had planned to lob at him.

With a polite bow, the old man formally introduced himself, "Silas Agincor, Master Wizard - third level, a.k.a. the Dream Merchant, at your service, my lady!"

With a snap of his fingers, the candle on the nightstand was instantly ignited with a bright amber flame. Its steady light peeled back the gloom so she could better see him in all his glory.

"You are not at all how I imagined," grumbled Rose, heaving a disenchanted sigh as she took a tentative step closer to inspect this Wizard by candlelight.

"Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, but this is your own doing," responded Silas, his old hands smoothing out his unkempt beard. Feeling slighted by her words, he turned his short, bulbous nose up at the Princess. "You were rather vague when you summoned me in your dream – vacillating back and forth with how you pictured me."

"I was?"

"Most definitely! And the hour grows late; time was wasting away. I took it upon myself to arrive as I normally appear to those with limited imaginations."

"Are you telling me that you appear as I had dreamed you?"

"Pretty much."

"That is impossible! I would never dream up such hideous clothing on anyone. It is a crime of fashion!" disputed Rose, shaking her head in disgust.

"Oh, this is my doing! I quite like my usual attire," explained Silas. He was unrepentant as he lovingly adjusted his eye-catching apparel. "I chose to overrule your desire of dressing me in that opulent, crushed velvet robe that screamed of snobbery. I also did away with the conventional, pointy hat you mortals seem to associate with us Wizardly types."

"You do not wear a hat?" questioned Rose.

"Not now," explained Silas, pointing to his balding head. "Look at what an eon of bad hat-hair has done to me. Besides, it is my personal taste in clothing that allows me stand out from other Wizards, if you get my meaning?"

"Well, had I known that I could conjure you up however I please, I would have dreamed up something much better than this!" exclaimed Rose, pursing her lips in disapproval. "And it is not so much that ghastly robe I find distasteful, the entire package is somewhat wanting."

"If you find me so abhorrent, it is not too late," informed Silas. A trace of a mischievous smile appeared beneath the lush growth of silvery whiskers.

"Now you are the thick one. How can I dream when I am wide awake?"

"My dear girl, there are those in the world who can dream with their eyes wide open," stated the Wizard, raising the tip of his glowing index finger to her forehead. "Obviously, you are not one of them. Try this."

As his fingertip touched lightly against her forehead, a strange tingling sensation expanded from this point of contact. Like a pebble tossed onto the mirror-like surface of a tranquil pond, it rippled, expanding outward to migrate through her body. It was the same prickly feeling when one's foot falls asleep, but this time, it felt as though her head was abuzz with this numbing sensation.

"Now, close your eyes and relax completely. Deep in your mind's eye, conjure up an image of exactly how you would imagine me to look."

"And I can truly imagine you _any way_ I want?" queried Rose, as one of her eyes popped open as she searched the Wizard's face for the truth.

"Yes! I can appear more eye-pleasing if that is your wish, or however you want me to be; taller, shorter, fatter, younger and so on. Just be sure you have a clear image in your mind."

"You can make it so? However I imagine?"

"It sounds rather dubious, but yes. I will warn you though, do not get silly with this magic," cautioned Silas. "Calling me up is serious business, after all."

"I must try this!" exclaimed Rose, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Take a deep breath, clear your mind and create a picture in your head of exactly how you would like to see me," instructed the Wizard. "The more vivid the image, the more real it shall become."

Rose did exactly as Silas requested, clearing her mind as she exhaled a slow, deep breath. Pushing away the occasional random thought that wandered into her mind, she conjured up a new and improved image for the Wizard. As her eyes snapped open, she leapt back, squealing in surprise and horror.

The Wizard stood before her, the head of a goat with a long, scruffy beard protruded from a human body still draped in the gaudy robe she so disliked.

" _Baa-ad_ girl!" he bleated. "I warned you not to get silly."

" _Ewww!_ I hate goats!" exclaimed Rose, staring in repulsion.

"Then why did you not think of something more pleasant?" scolded the goat-headed Wizard.

"I did not think it would actually work."

"Well, try again," urged Silas, fighting the urge to chow down on the linen sheets. "Before I take to eating everything in sight."

Squeezing her eyes shut, another image popped into her head, but before it could take full form, Rose opened her eyes. She gasped, stumbling back as she stared at Silas in this new form.

"This is truly disturbing!" gasped Rose, leaping onto the bed to get away from the Wizard. Instead of the goat head on a human body, this time, he had a human head on the body of a basset hound.

"What is the meaning of this!" growled Silas, frantically spinning about like a dog chasing its tail as he tried to inspect his flea-bitten, canine body. The claws tipping his stumpy legs clattered loudly against the floor as he spun in a patchwork blur of black, tan and white fur as he tried not to trip over his beard.

"You said to think of something more pleasant," argued Rose. "I like dogs, but not like this! You are like a man and an animal – a _manimal!_ "

"Just calm down!" snapped Silas, his new tail wagging enthusiastically. "Try it again, but please, this time restore my dignity and make the change an actual improvement, not some aberration of nature. Think of how you would truly like me to appear. Think carefully, think clearly and stop with this nonsense – no more conjuring up thoughts of animals."

Rose closed her eyes, drew in a deep, cleansing breath and as she exhaled, her mind was cleared. As she conjured up a fresh image, her lips curled into a mischievous smile.

Before Silas could stop her, he was transformed once again. To his pleasant surprise, he was no longer a quadruped with a wagging tail. Instead, he was standing on his own two feet and still donning his eye-catching ensemble.

"This is better," praised the Wizard, preferring his original form.

Rose said nothing in response, she merely stood before him, giggling quite loudly.

"What?" snapped Silas, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he glanced at her.

His hands instinctively smoothed out his beard to make himself look more presentable, but half way down its length, his hands came to an abrupt halt. They were met by what he first thought was a line of knots tangled in his beard.

Peering down, a neat row of dainty, pink, satin bows met his eyes; each perfectly spaced and tied to decorate his freshly groomed beard.

"What have you done now?" gasped Silas, spinning about to look at his reflection in the mirror positioned over the dresser. His jaw dropped in shock, stunned by what he saw. The Princess had gone overboard in her efforts to conjure up a neater looking, well-groomed Wizard.

"This is most unbecoming! I look like a fancy show horse being readied for dressage!" admonished Silas, yanking at the bows adorning what hair he had left. They encircled his head like an odd-looking, pink crown.

Rose ceased her fit of giggles only when the Wizard threatened to leave, "I have had enough of this foolishness! If you refuse to treat me with the respect and dignity I am deserving of, then neither are you deserving of my gift!"

"Wait!" pleaded the Princess, biting her lower lip to stop laughing. "I could not help myself. I promise, it will not happen again! Give me another chance!"

Silas scowled in disapproval. The long, wiry hairs of his grizzled brows knitted together in an angry frown, but this harshness was somehow lost to her by the decorative bows adorning his beard and thinning head of hair.

"You are utterly lacking in self-control and discipline," scolded the Wizard. "I hardly think you are worthy of another chance."

"I swear on my father's good name, I will do better," vowed Rose; hand over heart as she made this solemn promise.

"No more shenanigans?" questioned the flustered Wizard.

"I promise!"

"Very well, then. This is your last opportunity, but if I do not see a concerted effort on your part, I will take my leave immediately."

"I promise to conjure up a more dignified image for you. Something even you will be pleased with."

"I will be the judge of that. Now, start again," ordered Silas. "Close your eyes, inhale deeply and as you exhale, clear your mind of all thoughts. Concentrate only on how you truly want to see me."

This time, Rose did exactly as she was instructed. She focused on this new image to create a concise picture in her mind's eyes.

"That is more like it," decided the Princess. She opened her eyes to check out her latest creation.

Gone were the garish robe, the long, silvery beard, the wrinkled, liver-spotted skin and the prominent, bulbous nose. Instead, Silas now appeared before her as a handsome, young man dressed in princely finery. He had stunning sapphire eyes, wonderfully chiselled features, and a flowing mane of golden hair even she would envy. However, he now stood no taller than her largest doll.

"I must say! I look quite dapper, but now I am no bigger than a garden gnome," Silas squeaked in a small voice that perfectly matched his diminutive stature as his hands caressed the youthful, wrinkle-free skin on his face.

"It is much better, but not anywhere near the height I had hoped for," decided Rose, shutting her eyes once more.

When she opened them again, the Wizard now stood six-feet tall and he was irresistibly handsome.

Rose clapped her hands with glee as she skipped over to the Wizard. "Oh, this is so much better! I _like_ this!"

And then he spoke: "Well, I am duly flattered!"

The same stern, gruff voice came out of that perfect mouth to effectively shatter this grand illusion.

The Princess released a dreary sigh of disappointment as she gazed at this seemingly improved version of the Dream Merchant. "I take it, you are still you?"

"Of course I am! Otherwise, I would not be able to make your dreams come true. Instead, I would be just another dashing gadabout that you'd undoubtedly expect to charm you off your feet."

As visually pleasing as this transformation was, Rose could not get over that grating, know-it-all voice, now synonymous with the Wizard. She shuddered, disgusted by the thought of cozying up to this mysterious being disguised as a charming prince.

"Can I turn you back into a dog?"

"Not if you want your dreams to come true," cautioned Silas, issuing a stern warning to the Princess. "You turn me into a mutt and depending on how strong your imagination is, I shall probably spend the entire time begging for food, chasing my tail or heaven-forbid, licking my _you-know-what_ as dogs often do."

"Will you stop it with that talk!" snapped Rose, as she tried to erase this disturbing image from her mind. "You are giving me a bad case of the willies!"

"We must get down to business, for there are others in need of my services, after all," suggested the now-handsome Wizard with the old man's voice.

"Just give me a moment," ordered Rose.

She closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath and as she exhaled, she gave her body a quick shake, right down to her manicured fingertips. Her eyes popped open once more as she announced, "We may now proceed. My mind is clear."

"Oh, goodie!" responded Silas, in feigned enthusiasm as he sat down on the fine wool area rug by her bed. "Then proceed, we shall."

"Hold on," said Rose. She fetched the goose down pillow from the bed, placing it on the rug. Feeling more at ease with this eye-pleasing version of the Dream Merchant to deal with, she made herself comfortable, her royal bottom now suitably cushioned. "Now I am ready."

"Are you positive?"

"Absolutely," confirmed the Princess, her eyes shining bright with eager anticipation of what was to come. "Now, how does all this work? Can I truly get any and all of my dreams fulfilled?"

"To put it simply, if you dream it, you can make it so," confirmed Silas, sweeping the golden locks from his dazzling sapphire eyes as he took a moment to enjoy his new, youthful form. "Even the strange and the fantastical can happen if that is your wish. For example, if you dream of making this rug fly, whisking you off to wherever you please, it can be done."

"Now that is downright silly," scoffed Rose, with a giggle. "Who in their right mind would ever wish to ride on a flying carpet?"

"Fine! The point being, it was just an example of what can be achieved no matter how extravagant or wild your dreams are."

"Point taken, now get to the important stuff," ordered the Princess. Her hand gesturing for him to hurry up as the clock in the watchtower sounded to announce the first stroke of midnight. "How do I make my dreams come true?"

"Typically, when you summon me in your dreams to grant your wish, I appear just as I did on this eve."

"Hold on here! This leads me to believe I am only getting _one_. I thought I was entitled to _all_ the wishes I could ever dream of," protested Rose, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"That you are, but I am a very busy Wizard, I cannot be at your constant beck and call for each and every little wish."

"I have been duped!" gasped Rose. "I am a princess, therefore, I am entitled to more than just one stinking wish!"

"It is only a _stinking wish_ if that is how you dream it up. And besides, the wise need only a single wish, one dream to come true to be truly happy, but I sense you shall be more demanding than most."

"Are you saying I am not wise because I have many I wish to be fulfilled?" queried Rose. "Or is this your way of cheating me of what is rightfully mine?"

"You can have as many as you please, Princess, but a time will come when an embarrassment of riches shall become just plain, simple embarrassment."

"Are you wealthy?" questioned the Princess.

"By no means in the monetary sense, but I do have an abundance of loyal and loving friends and I want for naught. Overall, I get by quite nicely."

"Now that is rather pathetic! _Getting by_ implies just that. You _are_ poor," snorted Rose, rolling her eyes as she responded in an incredulous tone. "And that explains much about your sentiments!"

"What about them?" questioned Silas.

"It is like the way homely people have _great personalities_ to compensate for their ugliness," explained the Princess, her words matter-of-fact. "In your case, you use these so-called _loyal friends_ to make up for your impoverished state. It is meant to make you feel better despite living in destitute squalor."

"What are you speaking of, girl?"

"Listen up! If you really knew what _you_ were speaking of, you would know great wealth can buy you all the friends you'd ever want, not to mention those in the higher echelons of society, plus so much more," explained Rose. "You would know there is absolutely nothing embarrassing about being rich."

"Well, it is apparent to me that you only know of excess. The meaning of moderation is quite foreign to you, so for your own good, I must enforce specific restrictions in dispensing these wishes," decided Silas.

"Like what? Are you going back on your promise that I can have all the wishes I can dream up?"

"I am a man of my word," swore Silas. "You can have whatever you dream up, however, they will be doled out accordingly. In your case, no more than three wishes per day."

" _Three per day?_ Do you mean three during the hours of daylight?" asked Rose, wishing for clarification. "And then three more in the evening?"

"I mean three in a twenty-four hour period. And I am wise to your ways, young lady! No manipulation of taking one of these wishes and wishing for three more in its place. Such violation of the enforced rules shall effectively nullify our deal and you shall be allotted only one wish per day."

"Still, three is a bit stingy, don't you think?" responded Rose, her lower lip protruding in a pout.

"Not if there is a great deal of thought and consideration in the making of these wishes," corrected Silas. "One can be as good as one dozen if you know what you are doing."

"Well, I think you should give it more thought and consider giving me more than three wishes."

"Are you sure you are a princess? For I swear, your humorous comments are more fitting of a court jester."

"Ha, ha!" scoffed Rose, in mock laughter. "There is a court jester, but sadly, he is not that funny."

"And why is that?"

"How would I know? Tag is none of my concern."

"Perhaps he should be," responded Silas.

Rose unleashed a dreary sigh as she sulked, "I thought we were going to discuss the business of making _my_ dreams come true?"

"Fair enough," conceded Silas, his hands fishing about the pockets of his new, fancy trousers. "Let us get down to business. First, you shall be in need of this."

He presented to the Princess a perfectly round, highly polished, marble-sized stone of the clearest quartz crystal.

"What is this?" asked Rose, staring at the flawless orb nestled in the palm of his hand.

"This is a dreamstone," revealed Silas, holding it before her eyes.

"And exactly what does this quaint, little rock do?" questioned Rose, eyeing the crystal with a degree of suspicion. In her mind, it looked quite ordinary. There was nothing about it that appeared magical.

"As I said before, because I cannot be at your constant beck and call for each and every little wish percolating in that fecund imagination of yours, I have vested this special crystal with magical powers. It will allow this stone to make your dreams become reality."

"Oh! I am liking this!" squealed Rose, giddy with excitement.

"There is a warning that comes with this magic crystal," cautioned Silas.

"What is it?"

"You must always keep it safe on your person, for if it should fall into the wrong hands, the consequences can be dire," warned the Dream Merchant, his voice became foreboding and grave.

"How dire?" Rose stared at the lovely, but innocuous-looking stone that had the power to potentially do so much for her.

"Dire as in _'we're all gonna die'_ dire!" exclaimed the Wizard. He pretended to tear out his hair in a fretful bout of anxiety as though the world was about to come to a cataclysmic end.

"That bad?" questioned Rose, her hand recoiling at this unexpected news.

"Maybe not," responded Silas, with a shrug of his shoulders. "That shall depend on whose hands it falls into."

"Well then, my first wish, and you will be pleased to know it is a wise one, is that you make it so I do not lose this dreamstone," decided Rose.

"Not bad," praised Silas, giving her a prudent nod as he worked his magic. "Will this do?"

Opening his hand once more, this time the crystal orb was suspended on a delicate, filigree bead cap. It dangled from a matching chain that glistened like the highest quality silver. "You can wear it as a necklace, plus, it will always be close to you and within your sight."

"This will simply not do," dismissed Rose. Shaking her head in disapproval, it was as if it was a tawdry piece of jewellery unworthy of her consideration; a cheap bauble that had fallen out of fashion and she'd never be caught dead wearing.

"And just why not?" asked Silas.

"It is not _gold_. Everyone knows I wear only the highest quality gold."

"But this is platinum, more rare than the yellow gold you are accustomed to."

"I know, but the average person will mistake it for lowly silver. I cannot allow the people to think I am dressing below my means," explained Rose, turning her nose up at the silvery necklace.

"Very well," groaned the Dream Merchant, his hand rolling into a tight fist as he reworked his magic. "Gold, it is."

As he unclenched his fist, he presented to Rose the magic crystal dangling from a fine strand of gold. It shone in the candlelight for her to admire in all its understated glory.

"I suppose this will have to do," decided Rose, slipping the gold necklace over her head. "Considering I only wear the finest diamonds and other precious gems, and not cheap pieces of quartz crystal, I suppose I can get used to it, considering its potential value."

"Its true value will be entirely dependent upon the bearer," stated Silas.

"And how long do I have it?"

"It is yours for however long you feel it is necessary. Once you no longer have a need for the dreamstone, you must return it to me. You cannot simply give it to another, nor can you pawn, trade or sell it. It _must_ come back to me or else – "

"I know, I have heard it before," interjected Rose, with a dreary sigh. "I will be cursed."

"No, but that is a bloody good idea if it keeps you on the straight and narrow," responded Silas, giving her a thoughtful nod. "I was going to say that if you foolishly give it to another, not knowing what his intentions are, you can bring about the doom of innocent people. Great harm can come to others; their fate altered because of your negligence."

"Doom... great harm... altered fate," repeated Rose, nodding as though she was acknowledging the Wizard's every word when, in all honesty, she really didn't care as long it was not her fate that was going to be doomed or altered in a negative way. "I understand. Now, the hour grows late. We do not have all night. How does this magic crystal work?"

"First of all, you should know the dreams you conjure up in your head while you are fast asleep often reveal your deepest desires. However, the best ones are created when you dream while you are awake," explained Silas.

"So I can just _wish_ for what I want," determined the Princess, staring intently at the dreamstone.

"Oh, no, it is not as simple as that! Dreaming while asleep is easy, but as I said, to dream while you are wide-awake is a whole other matter. It is a skill that must be mastered and requires great focus."

"How do I do this once you leave?"

"A master storyteller can have entire tales unfold in their mind, each character as real as you or I, every action and reaction played out in exquisite detail as they commit these stories to parchment. So, too, can you dream in this manner."

"It sounds difficult," decided Rose.

"True, but it is a skill that can be mastered. It is like daydreaming, but this time, you must put thought and intention into your imaginings. They must be crystal clear in your mind's eye, and not only must you see it, you must believe it to be real. It must be tangible on all levels for it to become reality."

"And if I am not able to devote this kind of concentration to this wakeful dreaming, then what?" Never one to dedicate herself to any of her studies, in her heart, Rose sensed she would lack the discipline to master this skill, too.

"If you do not concentrate, your thoughts will be scattered, and so will the magic required to make it real," cautioned Silas. "You shall end up wasting wishes correcting the ones that fall short of your expectations."

"I do suppose that dreaming while asleep can produce rather random results, for there are times when my dreams can be quite odd, but considering the amount of effort to dream otherwise, maybe that is not such a bad thing."

"If you are lazy and unconcerned about the quality of the end results, then it really does not matter," agreed Silas. "However, if you have focus and direction, a single, well-thought-out dream can be far more satisfying than a multitude of insignificant, random ones."

"But it seems so much easier to dream while asleep," whined Rose. She balked at the idea of being made to work, even if it was not manual labour she was confronted with. "Are these dreams not as easy to fulfill as the wakeful ones?"

"Yes, they are, but, it is only because they are conjured up by your true self," responded Silas, debating whether this girl even had a conscience and functioning moral compass to steer her through the obstacles of life.

"Well, my _true self_ cautions me against exerting more effort than I must when there is a faster, easier way of achieving results," decided Rose.

"As I said, these nocturnal wanderings in your mind's eye can reveal some of your deepest desires, but so too, can they expose some of your darkest secrets," cautioned the Dream Merchant.

"Not that I have any _dark secrets_ to be worried about, but how do I prevent the undesirable dreams from coming true?" questioned Rose.

"That is easy, Princess. Only the dreams conjured up while you sleep, the ones you are the most deserving of, tend to come to fruition," revealed Silas, flashing Rose a dashing smile with the perfect set of pearly white teeth she had imagined him with. "If there are no dark secrets as you claim; no reason for concern."

"Brilliant!" squealed the Princess. Pleased with this knowledge, her hands clapped together in delight, for in her mind, she was most deserving of only her grandest wishes, not those pesky dreams that sometimes played out in her mind after a particularly trying day of ordering the staff about. "But suppose I simply change my mind and decide I do not like the dream that had come true?"

"To undo a wish will require you to use another to correct it, if indeed you have another left during the twenty-four hour cycle. That is why I urge you to use utmost discretion to employ this magic."

"I suppose that will do. As long as it can be undone if I am not pleased with the results, that is all that matters."

"Now, ask me what the catch is," urged Silas, giving the Princess a shrewd wink.

"Is there a catch?"

"Always! Nothing is for free, my dear girl. After all, I am the Dream _Merchant,_ not the Dream _Giver-Awayer_ ," grunted Silas, his eyes rolling in frustration. "I do not know about you, but in my world, the word _merchant_ implies commerce and trade."

"So, there is a price to be paid if I want the magic imbued in this crystal," determined Rose.

"Everything has a price," cautioned the purveyor of dreams.

"What is this price? Whatever it is, I will pay it."

"You are still young, possessing nothing you yourself had earned to truly appreciate its worth. I desire something money cannot buy, but is priceless to you, nonetheless."

"And what would that be?"

"The love of your parents," answered Silas.

It was always his goal to set the price so high, it became a very real deterrent to those who were indiscriminate or careless about what they wish for. As was usually the case, the average person with any scruples would rescind the offer, thinking better of striking up a deal with this Wizard.

"Say again?" Rose gasped in surprise.

"I know the price is steep, but it must be equal to, if not greater, than the value of the dreamstone and all the powers it is imbued with. Let me just say, it is a way of putting your priorities in order. Of course, if you feel it is not a fair trade, then we will conclude negotiations and I shall be on my way."

For a lingering moment, Rose pondered his offer in silence.

Silas Agincor was sure he had effectively squelched her desire now that the price seemed exorbitant.

"Well, I suppose I shall take my leave now," announced the Wizard. He reached to reclaim the crystal hanging about Rose's neck, only to have the Princess abruptly step away to avoid his grasp.

"Hold on!" snapped the Princess. "I am still considering your offer."

"What is there to consider?" grunted Silas. "Your parent's love for the magic crystal... the price is far too great!"

"You said that, not me," retorted Rose, mulling over this trade.

He was momentarily stunned to discover this mortal was willing to give up what other lonely and neglected children would die for.

"In fact, I would say you are the one who is about to be short-changed in this deal," decided Rose.

"Good gracious! That is a terrible thing to say about your mother and father," chastised Silas.

"Think what you want. I know my parents do not truly love me. That is why they are so mean to me."

"Do they beat, starve or verbally abuse you? Do they treat you like an orphaned child subjected to a gruelling life as a slave in a work house?"

"They might as well," grumbled the Princess, completely disenchanted with her royal life. "If they truly loved me, they would stop nagging at me to mind my manners and to _'behave as a Princess should'._ They would allow me to do as I please, when I please. I would not be made to endure long hours of study to, as they put it, _'broaden my horizons and to challenge me intellectually'_ nor would they subject me to incompetent staff that fail to treat me with the respect I am deserving of."

"And I suppose there is more," said the Wizard, rolling his eyes in dismay as the Princess drew a deep breath.

"Oh, I have only just begun," spouted Rose, as she continued on her little tirade to justify her stance. "I am bound by stifling rules and strict orders just to please my mother and father. They try to control what I say and how I say it! They tell me when I should go to bed, even when I am not tired. They even choose when and what I eat, ignoring my wishes of changing my diet to suit me."

"You wish to become a vegetarian?" questioned Silas, as he struggled to better understand this mortal's dilemma.

"Are you mad? I wish to become a dessertarian!"

"A _what_?" asked Silas. "I have never heard of such a thing."

"For the uneducated, it means I would like to subsist on a diet consisting of only desserts. I'd take my sticky toffee puddings and treacle-smothered cakes over a _healthy_ serving of meat and vegetables, any day."

"My goodness, a daughter of privilege so hard done by -- made to suffer nonetheless!" declared Silas, his tone mocking as he pretended to blot away a non-existent tear of sympathy. "Did it ever occur to you the King and Queen do what they must because they _love_ you?"

"If this is _love_ , I can do without it!" sniffed Rose, her words tainted with bitterness. "It would be so much better if they just ignored me – pretended I did not exist. I would be free to do whatever I please, come and go as I desire, and get away with bloody murder if that was what I wanted."

"Is this your wish? For the ones who love you to treat you like you no longer exist?" questioned Silas. "Think carefully, Princess, for the ramifications of such of wish can have grave consequences."

"It would be a bloody good start," decided Rose. "But I suppose I am being a bit rash. It does sound rather extreme when you really think about it."

"Indeed, it is," agreed the Wizard, relieved to see the Princess was finally beginning to understand the importance of wishing, and wishing well.

"Maybe if my mother and father, and those in their service who constantly hover around me, just _ignored_ the things I say and do, it would be a better wish. I would be able to do whatever I please."

Silas' hand slapped his forehead in frustration, groaning in disbelief upon hearing this revision.

"Well? Can this wish be granted?" asked Rose.

"I suppose as I am restricting you to three wishes per day, a lesser trade of being ignored will suffice than to forfeit their love entirely. The question is, are you willing to pay the price?"

"Absolutely! However, love is not tangible like money or jewels," countered the Princess. "It is not as if it can be stuffed into a purse and traded away in exchange for something that is real."

"Though you cannot see the wind, it is still very real. On a hot summer day, you can feel its cooling breeze on your face or be witness to its devastating powers if it chose to unleash its wrath in a terrible storm."

"I will give you that, but it does not explain how you intend to exchange this so-called _love_ or in my case, going by ignored so I may do as I please, for this wondrous dreamstone," argued Rose, her fingers fondling the crystal she now coveted.

"I am a Wizard! I have my ways," responded Silas, giving the Princess a sly smile. "But are you sure of this? Is the price truly worth it?"

"Believe me, if they loved me, they would allow me to do what I please. The only way that will ever happen is if they ignore me. I would be free to do whatever I want – to make my own decisions and act on my own free will."

"Just know that their concern and love comes from the heart. Without it, there is no compassion," warned the Wizard. "This is what separates man from beast. Are you still willing to barter it away so easily?"

"To get whatever I desire? It is more than a fair trade," decided Rose, her head nodding judiciously.

"As you sound so confident, here is advice you must heed as you willingly engage in this transaction," offered Silas.

"What is that?"

"Just because your dreams come true, it does not guarantee happiness. Sometimes, it is a wish squandered. In fact, the best you can do is to wish good things for others, for when you do, good things will come back to you many fold. But for that to happen, it must be a selfless wish, a random act of kindness if you will, made freely from the heart _without_ the intention you shall gain something in return."

"To make a wish for another _is_ to squander a wish," corrected Rose.

"You say that now, but there will come a day when you will truly understand what I speak of," cautioned Silas. "You might even discover that wishes made for you by others can bring you tremendous contentment – true happiness. It can even mean your salvation."

For a moment, Rose silently mulled over his words of warning, and then she began to giggle, "I think not! I am the only one who can dream up the best wishes for me. The only things other people wish for me is that I behave like an obedient, well-mannered princess, treat the lowly commoners with greater respect, take to my studies with greater zeal and so on and so forth. And that is just my mother's wishes!"

"Queen Beatrice is respected for her wisdom and compassion," responded Silas. "You would be wise to heed her words."

"Whose side are you on?" grumbled the Princess, stomping her feet in frustration as she glared at the Dream Merchant. "This is supposed to be about me and my wish!"

"Yes, yes! So you have no reservations in receiving the dreamstone at the said price?" queried Silas, making certain she was clear on this deal.

"None, whatsoever," confirmed Rose, her hand wrapping around the crystal pendant to make sure he did not renege on his offer.

"Then our negotiations have come to a conclusion. The stone is yours for however long you wish to keep it," announced Silas, bowing in acknowledgement of this deal.

"That is it?" asked Rose, her eyes nervously darting about, searching for a spectacular show of the Dream Merchant's powers. "No thunder and lightning? No great earthquake to herald this event?"

"Not all magic requires a grand display to unleash its powers. I prefer a more subtle approach," explained Silas, with a shrug of his now broad, manly shoulders. He playfully tossed his luxuriant mane of golden hair he'll be made to relinquish once this deal was complete and he vanished from this bedchamber to appear in another mortal's dream.

"So, it is done?" questioned Rose. She felt oddly the same for one who had been granted such a wondrous gift.

"Indeed, it is," confirmed Silas.

"And you were serious when you said I am only allotted three wishes per day?" questioned Rose.

"For your own good, yes! And as it is just after the midnight hour, the twenty-four hour cycle has already commenced. You have until the stroke of midnight to use this allotted quota, if it pleases you."

"And suppose I use only two and still have one left? Can I bank it? Carry it forward to the next cycle?" asked Rose, hopefully.

"Must you push it?" groaned Silas, shaking his head in frustration as he waved three fingers before her face to make it absolutely clear. "Three per day means just that! It will not be my fault if you chose not to use your quota on whatever given day."

"But suppose I lose count and I accidentally wish for more than three," asked the Princess, still searching for a loophole that would allow her to exceed this daily quota.

"Then you, my dear Princess, are an idiot in need of a wish to better your basic mathematical skills. For now, consider yourself duly warned."

"So be it," said Rose, nodding in agreement. "Consider me warned."

"Then, I shall wish you well and I pray you learn to temper your wants and your needs, and more importantly, you come to know the difference or this whole experience can all go to hell in a hand-basket for you, if you are not careful."

"Well that sounds rather dark and foreboding," responded Rose, uncertain if this Wizard was speaking in jest.

"It was meant to be."

"Oh... I suppose if it should, even though it won't, I really should know how to return this dreamstone to you."

"That is easy to do," responded Silas, giving her a knowing smile. "If you ever wish to summon me for this purpose, you must _,_ and I cannot emphasize it enough, you must say: _Oh, great Wizard, the Merchant of Dreams, please answer this wish to put an end to my schemes_."

"That is it? I must recite this dreadful rhyme?" mocked Rose.

"So revoke my artistic license! I will be the first to admit I have no career as a great poet, but at least it is easy to remember. That was the whole point of it," explained Silas, his cheeks blushing with embarrassment as this mortal ridiculed him. "Just be sure you say it _exactly_ as I did. Now, shall I repeat it for your benefit?"

"That will not be necessary," assured Rose, shooing the princely-looking Wizard away from her bedchamber. "Take your leave. Do so now!"

"Just be careful what you wish for, Princess," cautioned Silas, as he faded away like a wisp of smoke.

"I have already heard that warning before! Now, go!" grumbled Rose, her hands reaching out to fan away this swirling vapour as it vanished into the night. "I have some serious dreaming to do."

End of this sample

If you enjoyed this small sampling of The Magic Crystal you can pick up a copy in the  Kindle Store.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Best known for her movie optioned epic adult fantasy series, the Imago Chronicles, Lorna Suzuki's first novels in the YA fantasy genre is a trilogy called The Dream Merchant Saga. Consisting of Book One The Magic Crystal and Book Two The Silver Sword, the third instalment, The Crack'd Shield is scheduled for release in October 2012.

When she is not writing fantasy novels, Lorna Suzuki is a freelance writer, tackling everything from scripts for TV series to autobiographies.

As she believes in the old adage: Pen and sword in accord, with almost 30 years experience in martial arts, Suzuki is a 5th degree black belt practitioner/instructor of Bujinkan Budo Taijutsu, a system incorporating six traditional samurai schools and three schools of ninjutsu. Her knowledge in the martial arts seeps into her novels, making for some very interesting fight scenes!

Visit her online at

web.me.com/imagobooks/

twitter.com/LornaSuzuki

Ride of Your Life

by Shevi Arnold

Seventeen-year-old Tracy Miller met the love of her life . . . thirty years after her own death.

Tracy was working at the House of Horrors at the Amazing Lands Theme Park when the fire broke out. Instead of running, she lost her life trying to save eleven-year-old Mack. Now thirty years have passed, and suddenly everything changes with the arrival of two new ghosts: a little girl named Ashley and a cute seventeen-year-old boy named Josh. Josh would do anything for Tracy, but can he help her let go of the past and accept his love?

Ride of Your Life is a bittersweet, romantic, YA ghost story that was inspired by a true event: the Great Adventure Haunted Castle fire, which killed eight teenagers in 1984. It is a fantasy novel about undying love, and it won third-place in Smart Writer's Write It Now (W.I.N.) contest in the YA category, which was judged by Alex Flinn, the author of Beastly and Cloaked.

Hang on. Love can be as terrifying as a roller coaster, but it can also be the Ride of Your Life.

COPYRIGHT

Ride of Your Life

Copyright © 2012 by Shevi Arnold

All rights reserved. Published by Play Along Media, LLC

This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.

The copying and distribution of this book or parts thereof (excluding short quotes for the purpose of review) via the Internet or any other means and in any other form (including derivative works) without written permission from the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. The publisher can be reached at thedesk@playalongmedia.com. Please purchase only authorized copies of copyrighted books, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Thank you for respecting the author's hard work.

ISBN-13: 978-1477477939

ISBN-10: 1477477934

CREDITS

Cover design, map and illustrations by Shevi Arnold

Cover photo Fotolio.com/Mooncaz

1

Into the Bunny Hole

"Smell that?" Mack asked, his eyes shining bright.

Tracy took a sniff of the hot summer air. She smelled the usual: popcorn, soft pretzels, cotton candy, ice cream, hot dogs and sweat. She shrugged. "Someone burned the hot dogs. Big deal."

"That's not hot dogs," Mack sang. He darted toward the kiddy rides, letting the crowd pass through him. Mack never paid attention to anything in his way. Tracy sometimes told him off for doing that, but a part of her admired his ability to experience everything he wanted. She admired him even more for being able to ignore the rest.

Tracy sniffed the air again. It definitely smelled like burnt meat, but there was something different about it, something familiar. Memories pricked the back of her neck as images flashed in her mind.

She remembered the flames grabbing the ceiling, like fingers trying to claw their way out of the House of Horrors. Thick, dark smoke choked her. Skinny eleven-year-old Mack felt so heavy as she desperately pulled his limp body along the wall. Why didn't the emergency doors have a lit sign over them? Why couldn't she feel the bars that went across to push them open? She remembered coughing, gasping for air. She remembered her heart beating faster and faster.

And then she realized what the smell was.

Mack was right. It wasn't the smell of burnt hot dogs. It was the smell of death.

"Oh, God..." Tracy ran after Mack, but she weaved between the people. She hated walking through anything, though it didn't hurt. It didn't feel like anything at all, which was the worst part of it. It was a reminder that she was nothing. She had no real body, no life. She was as empty as the air.

She quickly glanced at the Ye Olde Photographs booth. It was shut. Halley—the one living person Tracy could talk to—wasn't there. Tracy was on her own.

Racing through the park felt like stepping through a surreal painting and finding herself in a place on the other side that was perfectly normal, though it had no right to be. People walked at their usual pace, laughing and chatting, sipping giant cups of cola, biting into soft pretzels, reading maps of the Amazing Lands Theme Park, and checking out flyers with a list of the day's scheduled events. Where was the panic? With the smell of death in the air, shouldn't there be panic? Shouldn't people be shouting? Shouldn't there be sirens?

But then she remembered the last two times people had died in the park. The smell came first, though now it was much more intense. Perhaps there was some way she could prevent this death from happening. Where the hell was that smell coming from? Mack knew. He always knew. If she followed him, he would lead her straight to it. She went through the brightly painted gates to Fairy-Tale Fun Land and spotted Mack by the line for Beatrice's Bunny Hole. When he saw Tracy, he smiled and pointed at a little girl.

_Oh, God, no_. The little girl couldn't have been more than six. Her hair was long, curly and brown. A smile spread across her little face. She playfully tugged her mother's hand... and she reeked of death. Life just wasn't fair. Why did it have to be such a little kid? Why should kids ever have to die?

Mack grinned. "Fresh meat."

"I want to go on the bunny ride," the little girl said, her voice high and sweeter than cotton candy.

Her mother sighed. "All right, all right."

"No!" Tracy screamed.

Mack laughed.

The child's mother looked red and green at the same time. Tracy guessed she had already had too much of the sun and of the park for one day.

"You can go on the ride," the child's mother said. "I'll wait for you on the bench over there by the entrance."

Beatrice's Bunny Hole was a kiddy ride. Even toddlers went on it. How could such a tame ride kill this beautiful little girl? And then Tracy realized exactly what was going to happen.

"Please, don't let her get on that ride!" she screamed hysterically into the mother's ear. "Please, please, please. It's dark in there. She's going to get scared, and she's going to try to get off, and when she does she's going to get caught in the mechanism that pulls the cars forward! Please, if you let her on that ride alone, she's going to die. Please, you don't want to let that happen. Please, please, please, _don't let her die!_ "

Mack laughed again. "Tracy, you idiot, she can't hear you."

Tracy shot Mack a dirty look.

"Okay." Mack shrugged. "Be my guest, but you are just wasting your breath. Or you would be if you had any." He grinned.

_God_ , Tracy thought, _I hate when he does that! Being dead is one big joke to him!_ But now was not the time for another of their many arguments. She continued to beg the child's mother and tried to grab the little girl. Tracy's fingers slipped through the girl's tiny shoulder, over and over, as Tracy knew they would. The girl seemed apprehensive as she stepped into the bright yellow bunny car with its big, baby-blue eyes. She looked at her mother but didn't say a word.

"Have a good time," said the little girl's mother with a smile and a wave.

"Please, stop her!" Tracy screamed into the woman's ear. " _She's going to be killed!_ Don't you understand that? Please. Oh God, oh God, oh God..."

The smell of death went with the little girl into Beatrice's Bunny Hole. The line of cars stopped for the next passengers. The little girl was probably just behind the cute bunny-hole door, with its painted wooden boards, flower garland and the sign that read, "Beetris Bunee's Howz," with the Bs and the Z backward. The little girl was so close, and yet there was nothing Tracy could do to help her now.

Tracy turned away, bent over, and squeezed her eyes shut. She felt like she was going to throw up. Although her body was just an illusion—a figment of her own imagination—it still trembled. She put one hand down on the concrete path to steady herself as she sat down.

"You coming?" Mack asked. "Should be a great show."

"You're sick," Tracy spat out at him.

"You think it's terminal?" He laughed and put one arm all the way up to his shoulder through the bunny ride's wall.

Tracy shot him another dirty look. He shrugged again.

"You don't know what you'll be missing," he said before disappearing into the ride completely.

Tracy hugged her knees to her chest. She didn't wipe the tears from her cheeks. There were too many of them, and they were still coming. She felt helpless and useless. She couldn't save Mack then, and couldn't save the little girl now. She couldn't even save herself.

Her nose was running, so she blew it on the sleeve of the gauzy white costume she had worn when she had worked in the House of Horrors: a poncho-type thing with frayed ends that reached the knees of her jeans.

She took another sniff in the air. The smell of death was still close to her side, very close and very strong. It didn't make any sense. The little girl was on the ride, and the smell had gone with her. Ghosts didn't smell like death. The smell could only come from someone who was still alive and about to die. Maybe the little girl had got out. Maybe...

Tracy looked up with a spark of hope. But the little girl wasn't there. Instead Tracy saw the next two people in line.

They were what the girls at her high school would have called "a cute couple."

The girl had her hand around the boy's waist, but he didn't seem too happy about it. If anything, he seemed embarrassed. There was a hint of a blush on his face, and he struggled to keep his smile. The right side of his mouth held the pretense, but the left side curved downward. The smell of death was coming from him. The teenage girl's Day-Glo pink halter-top was too small, and she had a very short denim skirt. She hopped into the next bunny car—one in a shade of pink that clashed with the pink of the halter-top—and patted the place on the seat beside her.

"I can't believe you chose a kiddy ride," he said, running his fingers through his thick, brown hair.

"You and me alone in the dark?" The girl smiled. "Trust me—this isn't going to be a kiddy ride."

_Yuck!_ Tracy tried to shake the girl's words out of her head and leaned in close to the boy's ear.

"Look, I know you can't see me," she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. "And I know you probably can't hear me, but maybe somehow I can get you to feel what I'm feeling. If you get on this ride, you are going to die. You have to listen to me! If you get on this ride, you are going to die. If you..."

The boy stepped through Tracy into the pink bunny car and lowered the safety bar. Tracy put her hands on the part of the bunny car door that was the pink bunny's ear and moved alongside it.

"Please," she said. The boy looked straight ahead at the door to the ride, oblivious to her. "Please, stop this. Tell the ride attendant you want to get off. Tell the ride attendant...!"

The pink bunny car went through the door. Tracy pulled her hands away when she realized she had partly gone through the wall. What could she do now? She didn't want to go into the ride. She didn't want to be there when it happened, didn't want to see the skin and flesh shredded by the gears, didn't want to hear the screams, didn't want to even think about it. But she couldn't walk away either. Confusion froze her feet to the concrete. She didn't know what to do.

Parents and small children continued to wait in line, as if everything was normal. The little girl's mother sat on the frog-shaped bench and fanned herself with a park map. She stared at the ride's exit door and waited. And waited. And waited. Time seemed to slow for Tracy. If only it would stop. Then maybe the little girl and the boy who was half of the cute couple would be okay.

But time didn't stop.

After two more cars entered Beatrice's Bunny Hole, Tracy heard the faint sound of screams coming from inside, barely audible above the loud, obscenely happy music. The ride attendant—a pimply-faced teen with a long face and a blank expression—didn't notice. When the entrance door opened for the next car, the screams were a little louder. Again the ride attendant didn't notice. The exit door opened. A car with a man and a little boy came out. The little boy was crying. The man screamed, " _Turn the ride off! Turn the ride off! There's a kid on the tracks!_ "

The ride attendant took half a minute to react. He turned the key that shut the ride down and opened the exit door. Adults with screaming kids in their arms and by their sides spewed out of the ride. The surge of people pressed the attendant against the wall. Most of the children and many of the adults were in tears. The girl in the pink halter-top burst through the exit door screaming and screaming and screaming. The blood splattered across her neck and bare shoulders told her story better than words.

Tracy looked at the ground. She didn't want to see it, didn't want to know.

"I'm a paramedic," someone said. "Are you hurt?"

"He's dead! Oh, my god! Oh, my god! He's dead! First that little girl... and then.... Oh, my god, I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I can't breathe..."

I can't breathe.

The girl in the pink halter-top was screaming it, but Tracy felt it too. Air. She needed air. No, wait, too much air, too much breathing—she was hyperventilating. She had to get away, but her feet would not budge. She sat on the ground, put her face to her knees, covered her head with her hands, and gasped. The voices continued around her.

"What happened? Are you okay?"

"We're fine, but it was awful."

"Bill! Bill! Where are you? I need to find my husband and my son! Have you seen—?"

"Caitlyn! Oh, thank God, you're okay!"

"Where's my baby?! My baby! My baby was on the ride, and she didn't come out! Where's my baby?!"

People ran through Tracy on their way in and out of Beatrice's Bunny Hole. The ride attendant phoned security. Then he threw up. A wail of sirens soon joined the screams. Time raced.

Come on, Tracy, breathe. Just breathe. Slowly.

She closed her eyes and raised her head. She didn't have to be here. She was a ghost. She didn't have to experience anything she didn't want to experience. Between gasps she ordered herself to calm down. Little by little she began to take slow deep breaths, in through her nose and out through her mouth. They weren't a real nose and mouth anyway, she reminded herself. She didn't have lungs, didn't need air. It was all in her imagination. And she could imagine it away.

People continued to rush through her, but Tracy ignored the flashing of the sunlight and shadows on her closed eyelids, ignored the screams and the panic. She let her consciousness slip away from the scene, let it blur until it faded into nothingness.

She was in the ghost world now. Here everything was silent and still, and nothing real could touch her. Although there was nothing to see, Tracy kept her eyes shut. The darkness was comforting, like a soft blanket on a cool night.

The only illusion she held onto was her body. Letting go of that was difficult, like stepping off a high diving board when she couldn't see the water below, like riding on a roller coaster with nothing under her feet. It was a freefall into the unknown. Her body was what she knew, even if it was no longer real. It was familiar, and it felt safe. Everything around her was quiet and peaceful and still. She was alone in her world. Completely alone.

Then Tracy felt something hit her in the chest, and she returned to the Amazing Lands Theme Park with a scream.

**

** 2

What's Real

Josh Stockwell hadn't meant to hit the strange girl who was dressed like some sort of eerie ghost. He had only wanted to touch her, to see if she was real.

From the moment he had entered the kiddy ride, nothing seemed real. As the entrance door to the ride swung closed behind him, and the space around him narrowed and darkened, he felt a horrible chill. He knew that the little girl in the car ahead would fall to the tracks. He knew her screams would slash through the sickeningly cheerful music. He knew he would try to save her. And he knew he would fail.

He knew because he had seen it all in a dream.

He had awoken from that dream, gasping for breath and drenched in sweat, but somehow he had forgotten what it was about seconds later. Only the terror remained.

It wasn't until he was already living it that the details came back to him, but by then it was too late. The tragic ride was already in motion. There was nothing he could change. Not one thing.

Why then, Josh wondered, did he even have that dream? What was the point? Weren't premonitions meant to save people? Isn't that what they always said after a terrible plane crash, how someone miraculously didn't go on the plane because he just had a feeling? What was the point of having a feeling, if it didn't stop you from getting on the plane? And what about the other part of that terrible nightmare, the part that wasn't so bad, the part that hadn't come true?

In his nightmare a beautiful girl in a blue dress sat next to him on the ride, a girl who most definitely was not Jen Baker. He had never met her, but he had seen her many times before in a different dream.

The other one, which had repeated itself over several nights, had been equally vivid. In it the beautiful girl in the blue dress splashed in a fountain and filled the air with laughter and drops of water that sparkled like stars. She smiled shyly at him and blushed. He reached out to kiss her, but before his fingertips could touch the curve of her neck, he found himself awake in his bed and alone.

The first time he had that dream, he wanted that girl, and with each repetition his feelings for her grew stronger. It wasn't long before he was impossibly in love.

That beautiful girl in the blue dress had sat next to him in the nightmare about the kiddy ride. She had been closer to him then than she ever had in his other dream. He could almost feel the warmth of her body where their shoulders touched. She smiled at him so sweetly and said, "It's all right. You'll see. It's going to be all right."

But when the child really did fall on the tracks in the kiddy ride and Josh had failed to save her, the beautiful girl in the blue dress wasn't there. Why then was she in that nightmare? And what did she mean when she said he would see? He was... dead. Or at least he thought he was. What was there left to see? And how could it make everything all right?

Josh jerked his hands away, as if by doing so he could somehow undo what he had just done. He hadn't meant to hit the strange girl in the ghost costume. He had only wanted to see if his hands would pass through her, like everyone else was passing through him. He had only wanted to find something real, something he could hold onto so he wouldn't feel as if the world had gone insane.

"I'm so sorry!" he cried.

The girl crossed her arms over her chest and looked up at Josh with the biggest eyes he had ever seen, eyes that shimmered with tears and hurt and pain. So much pain it put a twist in Josh's heart. He hadn't meant to hurt her, and yet he had.

The girl wore white face paint and bright red lipstick, and there was black makeup around her eyes. Her brown hair had a white streak. She wore a frayed, white, gauzy top over a dark pair of jeans. She didn't look like the girl in the blue dress. And yet...

The longer Josh looked at her the more familiar she became. There was no smile on her face, and it was hard to see her behind all that makeup, but her movements and the shape of her face were right. Her eyes were right. The longer he looked at her the more he became convinced this must be her.

And suddenly everything began to make sense.

There was a reason for everything he had gone through, and here it was sitting on the pavement in front of him, her eyes filled with pain.

"It's you," he whispered.

"What?" She wiped her nose with the back of her trembling hand.

"You're the..." He paused. Could he tell her she was the girl of his dreams? It sounded like a cheesy pick-up line. So instead he said, "I think I've seen you before."

The girl shook her head. "That's not even possible." Then she pointed to the right of him and added, "Watch out."

Josh tried to step out of the way as another man ran through him, but Josh wasn't quick enough. A paramedic was about to rush through him, too, so Josh stepped onto the pavement. It was less crowded than the asphalt path, but the girl was already sitting on the pavement, and it was short and narrow. He didn't want her to think he was intruding on her space.

"May I?" he asked, pointing at the place beside her.

"You got a ticket?" she asked.

Josh reached into his pockets, but he found them empty. That was odd. He always had something in his pockets, even if it was a just a stick of gum or a dollar-store receipt. "I did."

She shrugged. "Go ahead. A place on the pavement is included with the price of admission."

The pavement felt rough, hot from being in the blazing sun all day, and comfortingly solid. It was still there. It was still real. It was good to know some things were.

"What's happening?" Josh asked.

"You died," she said.

"Are you sure?" He didn't know what it felt like to be dead, but it didn't seem right that it should feel like this.

The girl patted his arm gently as if to console him. He smiled at her. Then she pinched him. Hard. Josh yelped at the sudden pain and pulled back.

"Yup, I'm sure," she said. "I can't touch anyone alive, so you must be dead too."

His arm stung, but considering he had just slammed her in the chest, he couldn't really blame her. "So we're both dead?"

"Yes," the girl said. And then she mumbled, "Sorry."

"Sorry?"

"About... you know. About you being dead."

"It's not your fault."

"I know." She wiped the tears from her cheeks and turned away.

Josh was sure now that this was the girl from his dreams. But she was so broken.

He tried to put his hand on hers. He wanted to comfort her, but his fingers passed through and stopped at the pavement. He gasped and pulled his hand away. What had comforted him before—the rough, hot feel of the pavement—was now terribly disconcerting. It told him that she was only an illusion. And if she wasn't real—if the only person he could touch wasn't real— what was?

"I've been here a while," she explained. "Years. And I've learned a few things. You can control what you feel and what you don't. You can't touch me unless I let you."

"And when I hit you before?"

"You caught me off guard."

"I see."

He ran his fingers through his hair, as he often did when he was confused, and tried to make sense of what she was saying. He looked at her and looked at her until she looked back, although it was only for a moment. It was nice to see her beautiful face, even if it was hidden behind white-and-black makeup and bright red lipstick. He might not be able to touch her, but at least he could see her. He could hear her. And she would not disappear when he awoke. The girl from his dreams was here, with him. And somehow he knew that meant everything was going to be all right.

**

** 3

Choices

Tracy stood up, flipped her shoulder-length hair and took a deep breath. The cute boy was staring at her, and that made her uncomfortable. When she had been alive, the attention of cute boys always made her uncomfortable. Relationships were a waste of time, and she could not afford to waste time back then. Her life revolved around school, her family, and work. That was it. She wanted to go to a good college and get a good job, and she didn't want a cute boy messing up her plans.

Of course there was no chance of this boy getting in the way of anything. No school. No family. No job. No future to plan for. And she had all the time in the world.

But the boy was a visitor. He would leave soon, visitors always did. Then it would be just her and Mack again. If she let herself get too close now, she would miss the boy when he was gone. It hurt when the people you loved left you forever, and they always did. If she let herself love him, sooner or later her heart would be broken. No. She wouldn't let that happen. If she didn't allow herself to want him, she wouldn't miss him when he was gone.

But her heart made other plans.

Although it was an illusion, she could feel it racing in her chest. Her hands—although also illusions—were sweating. She put them in the back pockets of her dark jeans. Why was he staring at her so much? She wished he would stop.

She sighed. "Never seen a ghost before?"

"Oh, sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to..."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "It was a joke."
"I couldn't tell. You didn't smile."

"Yes, I did." She knew she hadn't, at least not a real smile with teeth showing and everything. Smiling didn't come easily to her, but she didn't like it when visitors pointed that out.

"Okay, you did. But just for the record, a smile is when the corners of your mouth go up like this." He pointed at his mouth and put on a smile so wide it seemed like the parody of a smile.

Tracy almost laughed, but she looked away from him and down at her sneakers to hide it. When she glanced up at him for a second, she was frowning again. It was best not to encourage him. Still he never stopped smiling back at her.

For a moment they were silent. Tracy continued to feel herself squirm, both outside and in. She looked down at her sneakers again and only glanced up to see if he was still staring. He was. He seemed too calm, too quiet. Perhaps he was still in shock and denial. Perhaps the reality of his situation had yet to sink in.

The two days after she had died Tracy felt like she was watching a movie about someone else who had died in a fire, someone very much like her, but not her. She had wandered aimlessly, sometimes following Mack or one of the other teenagers who had died along with them. Her words and thoughts had wandered then, just like her feet. It took reality two days to catch up with her. She hadn't taken the news of her death very well, even if she had pushed it off.

Perhaps this cute boy was the same, in his own way. Not that it mattered. He didn't really need to adjust to being a ghost in the park, not when he would soon be in a better place.

Over the boy's shoulder, Tracy saw Mack approaching, hand in hand with the little girl who had died on the bunny ride. The girl seemed eerily calm, too, despite the chaos of the ambulances and crowd around them.

"Hey, Tracy!" Mack called out.

"Hey, Mack," Tracy said. "Who's your new friend?"

"This is..." Mack blinked. "Wait, I didn't ask you your name. What is it?"

"Ashley," the little girl said, her eyes glued to Tracy's face.

"Ashley," Mack said. "And what about your new friend? What's his name?"

"I don't know," Tracy said and turned to the new boy. "What _is_ your name?"

"Josh." he replied. "Stockwell."

"Nice to meet you, Josh Stockwell," Tracy said. "I'm Tracy Miller, and this is Mack."

Josh smiled. "It's nice to finally meet you, Tracy Miller."

That was odd. What did he mean by _finally_? But she shrugged it off. Someone who had just died was entitled to say a few odd things. But what was up with the all the staring? First Josh and now Ashley? Were they having a contest to see who could stare at her the longest?

Ashley pointed at Tracy and asked, "Why do you—?"

Mack interrupted her. "Hey, kid. Have you been on the merry-go-round, the really big one near the front of the park?"

"Nu-uh."

"What about cotton candy? Have you had cotton candy? And a hot dog? They have the best hot dogs."

"With ketchup?"

"Sure. You want it with ketchup, you can get it with ketchup. Come on, let's go."

Ashley's smile quickly turned into a frown. "My mommy says I shouldn't go anywhere with strangers."

"And your mommy is right." Tracy squatted to look into Ashley's eyes, such pretty eyes that sparkled with the illusion of life. It was nice to be talking to a little girl again, instead of just Mack. "Your mommy loves you a lot and wants you to be safe, right?"

Ashley nodded. She twirled around to look at the crowd behind her. "Where is she? She said she'd wait on the bench."

Tracy looked. There were two small crowds beside the ambulances. One had the weeping girl in the blood-splattered, pink halter top at the center of it. The other had to have Ashley's mother.

Tracy took Ashley's hand and led her through the crowd. Tracy tried to limit her contact with the living to her body, not her head. She didn't want to pass her eyes through anything, especially not someone else's head or, yuck, their eyes. Literally seeing things through someone else's eyes was just too weird.

Her guess had been right. Ashley's mother sat on the pavement beside the ambulance, shaking her head from side to side and crying. "Oh, my baby. Oh, my little Ashley. Oh, my baby..."

Ashley placed her hands on her mother's knees. "Mommy?"

But her mother continued to shake her head and repeated the same words. Ashley glanced up at Tracy.

"She can't hear or see you," Tracy explained. "But she loves you. Can you feel it?"

"Uh-huh." Ashley nodded a great big nod that rippled from her head to her shoulders to her waist. She put her ear up to her mother's heart and smiled. "I can hear it too. But she looks sad. I don't want her to be sad."

"She can't help it. She misses you..." Tracy's voice cracked. She paused to take a breath. "... And she doesn't know if you're okay."

Ashley nodded again. She put her arms around her mother's neck. Although her mother couldn't feel them, her head stopped shaking, and her lips quieted.

"I love you, Mommy," Ashley said. "And I'll wait for you right here. I'm okay. I promise."

Ashley's mother wiped her own tears and let out a long sigh.

It was amazing how love could do that: bridge the worlds of the living and the dead. Fear couldn't. Anger couldn't. Even Ashley's mother's sadness could only be seen and heard, not felt. But the love between Ashley and her mother was so strong it radiated off both of them and made Ashley glow. Tracy could not help but feel a little jealous.

Ashley gave her mother a peck on the cheek and one last squeeze before slowly letting her go. Then she took Tracy's hand and walked away, leaving her mother and the crowd and the ambulances behind. Mack and Josh followed.

Security had succeeded in clearing visitors from most of Fairy-Tale Fun Land.

"Due to technical problems," the speaker system announced, "the Amazing Lands Theme Park is now closed." The living people around them groaned. "Please have your pass stamped at the exit for a future visit. We regret this inconvenience and look forward to seeing you again soon. Have an amazing day!"

Park visitors started streaming back to the main gate. They whined and asked each other questions. What technical problems? Why did they have to leave? No one seemed to know the answers.

Mack whined too. "Aw, no fair. Now we'll have to wait until tomorrow to have any fun."

He plopped down on a plastic bench by a table in front of a food stand. Tracy sat opposite him, and Ashley sat beside her. There was just one place left at the table. Josh sat there beside Mack. The park employees working at the stand were throwing out the hot dogs on the slow turning grill and the soft pretzels in the glass case. Those could only be sold fresh and wouldn't last until the morning. The workers slowly put things away and cleared the tables. There was no rush, not for them.

"Don't you want to say goodbye to your girlfriend?" Tracy asked Josh.

"I don't have a girlfriend," he replied.

"Uh, yeah, you do," Tracy said. "Pink halter top, short skirt. Screams like a cross between a school bell having a fit and a dog whistle."

"You mean Jen Baker?" Josh asked. "She's not my girlfriend."

"Jen Baker seemed to think so."

Josh tilted his head, still staring at Tracy. "That's something you don't hear often."

"What?"

"Jen Baker's name in a sentence with the word 'think.'"

Tracy smirked, and Josh's smile widened. Tracy rolled her eyes. "Well, if you think so little of her, what were you doing in the Bunny Hole?"

"You don't want to know," Mack said.

Josh blushed.

"Ohhh," Tracy said. "So it was like that."

"It wasn't my idea," Josh said. "She was all over me."

"Not like you were fighting her off or anything," Mack said.

Josh started to object, but then he closed his mouth and turned again to Tracy. "I'm not like that."

"Course not," Tracy replied. "I'm sure you were just being polite. A half-naked girl throws herself at you; who are you to say no? I think I figured out what happened to Ashley, but how exactly did you die?"

"Same way you did," Mack said. "You should have seen him. Man, you missed a great show."

Tracy looked at Josh, her eyes narrowed. "You died trying to save her?"

"Yeah," Josh replied. "I know, pretty stupid. I even knew what was going to happen, but it was like I had no choice. I just couldn't watch her die without... doing something. And you?"

"Tracy died trying to save me," Mack said. "Weird world, huh?"

"Where?" Josh asked.

Tracy didn't answer. Josh's stares were making her uncomfortable again, so she just looked at her hands on the table. She examined her short fingernails.

Mack shrugged. "We both died years ago in the House of Horrors. Tracy was working there, and—"

Josh jumped up from his place at the table and smiled broadly. "Of course, _that's_ why you're wearing that makeup! I wasn't expecting you to be a Goth, but now I get it."

Tracy gasped and touched her face with both hands.

"I thought you were dressed for Halloween," Ashley said.

Tracy jumped off the bench and shouted at Mack, "You said it came off!"

Mack shrugged again. "I got sick of you asking me, 'Is it still there? Is it still there? Mack, do I still have makeup on my face? How about now? Is it off now?' You were like a broken record."

Tracy ran to the Frog Prince's Pond. The sprinklers, river and waterfall were off, but there was water in the shallow pools. She knelt and tried to wash her face. Although she didn't disturb the surface of the real water, she could see the ghostly liquid in her hands, feel it as the ghostly drops splashed cool on her skin. But when she pulled her hands away, there was no makeup on them. She picked up more ghostly water and rubbed her face until it started to sting. Still no makeup on her hands.

Mack stood beside the pool and crossed his arms. "I don't know what the big deal is. It's not like you're some kind of hideous Frankenstein monster or something. You look kind of pretty." He elbowed Josh in the ribs.

"Oh, you do," Josh said. "You honestly... You're..."

Tracy raised her eyes to meet his. He stopped and stared at her. What did he mean when he said he didn't expect her to be a Goth, anyway? What was a Goth, and why would he not expect her to be one? Why would he expect her to be anything at all?

Tracy's insides flip-flopped, and she felt like she was about to start crying again.

Then he smiled at her. "You're beautiful," he said.

Although it didn't look like the fake smile he had on for Jen Baker when they were standing in line, Tracy didn't believe it or his words were sincere.

"I think it's kind of pretty, too," Ashley said. "I like your red lipstick and your eyes. And the white in your hair."

Tracy ran her fingers through her hair. Even the white streak was still there? _Great._

"Thanks," Tracy grumbled.

"So, Tracy," Josh said. "You didn't know about the...?" He pointed in a circle at his own face.

"The makeup?" Tracy said. "No, we can't see ourselves in mirrors." She looked down and splashed a little in the pool. Ghost droplets rose into the air. "I can't even see myself in the water."

"It's one of the rules," Mack explained. "There are a lot of rules, but most of them are good, really good. You'll see, this place really is unbelievable."

He raised his hands to the skies with his back to them. The sunlight breaking through the clouds silhouetted his form and marked a long ghostly shadow on the ground. He was in full-show-off mode. There was nothing he liked more than talking about the park. He was like a collector waxing poetic about his baseball cards, or a king looking at the view from the tallest tower of his castle, a king who knew that everything he saw was his.

"This is the Amazing Lands Theme Park," he announced. "And no one but no one gets to enjoy it as much as we do. Special ticket rides? You can ride them, and you don't have to pay. Concerts? You can hear every single one of them. You can hear the best, and you can even sit right up on the stage. Food? Nothing but hot dogs, ice cream, pizza—"

Tracy interrupted him. "Some of the restaurants serve salads, you know."

"Now why would anyone want a salad when you can get something good?" Mack said. "And you never get sick too. You can eat and eat and eat—"

Tracy interrupted him again. "I get sick."

"You don't have to get sick if you don't want to get sick," Mack said. "You see what you have here is _choice_. You get to choose what you want, and it's nothing but the best. Day after day, week after week, year after year—nothing but the best."

"You're leaving out the winters," Tracy said.

"What happens in the winters?" Josh asked.

"Nothing," Mack and Tracy replied together.

"We just sleep," Tracy said.

"It's kind of like hibernating," Mack said. "We shut down when the park does. There's nothing to do here when the park is closed, so it's just better to sleep through it. But when the winter is over, we wake up from a wonderful dream to an even better one. This is the Amazing Lands Theme Park, and it's all ours! What could be better than that?"

"I don't know why you're trying to sell them on the park," Tracy said, folding her arms across her chest. "It's not like they're going stay that long."

"We're not?" Josh said.

"No," Tracy said. "Because there's another choice Mack forgot to mention. The choice pretty much everyone makes."

Mack frowned. "Yeah, there is."

"What's that?" Ashley asked.

"The Light." Tracy stepped out of the pool, got down on the wet knees of her jeans, put her hands on Ashley's arms, and looked into her eyes. "Of course, it isn't just a light. It's Heaven. It's where all good people go when they die. Everyone who ever loved you who died is waiting for you. It's better than a theme park, better than anything you could ever have on Earth. It's where you and Josh belong."

"If it's so terrific," Mack said, crossing his arms, "why aren't you there?"

Tracy looked away.

"Didn't _you_ get a choice?" Josh whispered.

"Of course I got a choice!" Tracy shouted. "What do you think? That I'm some kind of monster? Everyone gets a choice. But I lost my life trying to save Mack, and I don't believe in quitting in the middle of a job just because it's hard. The Light will come back when I'm ready, and I'm not leaving until Mack is ready to go to the Light too. That's all."

"Yeah, well," Mack said, "I don't buy that."

"Neither do I." Josh ran his fingers through his hair. Tracy thought it was cute the first few times he did that, but not anymore. "There has to be a different reason why you've stayed. What is it?"

"There is no other reason!" Tracy screamed. "God, what is with you people? The Light is Heaven. What reason could I possibly have to not want to go to Heaven?"

"I don't know, you tell me."

Tracy clenched her fists, gritted her teeth, and let out a muffled shriek. "What are you, some kind of stupid psychologist?"

Ashley tugged on the gauzy white sleeve of Tracy's top.

Tracy sighed. "What, sweetie?"

"Do you really know what the Light is?" Ashley asked.

Tracy thought a moment. "Yes... no... sort of..." She paused. "You'll see, Ashley. You'll see when it gets here. It feels nice. You can't exactly see them, but you know people who love you are there. You can feel it. And their love kind of sings to you, like laughter. You'll see."

"And it's better than here?"

"Much better than here."

"But you don't know that," Mack said, his arms still crossed. "The only thing you know is that the Light can come for you a million times, but once you go to it, that's it. You can't come back. The Light is the end. You don't know if it's better there. You don't even know it's better here."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tracy felt herself being sucked into another one of their stupid arguments. She didn't want to be, but she couldn't help it. Mack was always pressing her buttons.

"You try to make the worst of everything. You just go around being miserable all the time. You're a stick in the mud, a party pooper. Anyone have a party that needs pooping? Tracy's here to do the job."

"That is so not true."

"Oh, yes, it is."

"Oh, no, it's not."

"Oh, yes, it is."

"I am not a party pooper!" Tracy shouted. "You take that back."

"If fun dropped from the sky into your lap, you would poop on it."

"Yeah, well, maybe that's because someone has to be responsible."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Why?"

"Mack, I'm warning you."

"Oh, like I'm really scared." Mack shook his knees in an exaggerated show of pretend fear. "What are you going to do?"

"I, I..."

"I, I..."

Tracy rolled her eyes and sighed. "I'm sorry," she told Josh. Then she turned back to Mack. "Why do we always have to have the same conversation?"

"I don't know," Mack said. "Maybe if you would tell the _truth_ and learn to lighten up."

"I _am_ telling the truth."

"I don't believe you. Even the new guy who has been here less than ten minutes doesn't believe you."

Tracy shook her head. "Well, there's nothing I can do about that. Besides, he's not really 'the new guy.' He's a visitor. Soon he'll be..."

A light in the sky that was different from the sun attracted Tracy's attention to the west. In front of the clouds on the horizon there appeared to be a second sun below and to the left of the first, but the new light was bright white instead of golden. Tracy straightened and pointed. "The Light."

She stepped to Ashley's side, gently turned her around, and took her hand.

Ashley's face glowed. "Oh, it's beautiful."

"Do you feel that?" Tears welled up in Tracy's eyes as she felt things she didn't want to feel. She had known people who had died while she was still alive, and their voices sang to her now. But there was one voice that shined brighter than the rest. It encircled her with love. It shined with forgiveness.

But Tracy did not want to be loved. She wasn't ready to be forgiven. She wasn't ready to forgive. Still, whether she wanted them to or not, they remembered and loved her. _Come join us_ , they sang in a song without words. _It is time._

But a voice deep inside Tracy replied with anger, fear, sadness and confusion, pulling her away. It told her she did not belong in the Light. She didn't deserve it. And no matter what the voices inside it sang, this was not her time. The Light was not here for her. It was here for Ashley and Josh. This was their time, not hers.

"Do you feel it?" she asked Ashley again.

"Uh, huh, Grandpa is there."

"And you?" she asked Josh.

For a long while Josh didn't say anything. He didn't have to. Love radiated off his face in a soft glow and tears streamed down his cheeks. "I never thought I'd see my cousin Mark again. He died from cancer when we were both twelve. It's good to see him so happy. And my Uncle Finn, and my great-grandparents. It's... amazing."

Tracy nodded. Josh was right. It was amazing, even if it wasn't for her.

"I don't see what the big deal is," Mack grumbled.

"Doesn't he...?" Josh began to ask.

"No," Tracy whispered. "Someone who loves you has to be there, and Mack doesn't have anyone like that."

"Not even a grandparent?" Josh whispered back.

Tracy shook her head.

She held Ashley's hand, pulled her forward, and then let her go. "Go on, Ashley. Go to your grandpa. It's time for you to shine."

Ashley took one tiny step forward. Then she stopped. "But what about my mommy? I promised I would wait for her here."

"It's okay," Tracy replied. "She'll know where to find you. Your mother is good, right?"

"She's the best in the world."

"And all good people go to the Light when they die, so your mother will find you there."

Ashley took another tiny step forward.

"Good thing you're going," Mack said, his voice rising teasingly, like a roller coaster rising ever so slowly before the rush of a steep drop. He smiled. "More cotton candy for me."

Ashley stopped and licked her lips. "Cotton candy?"

"Ashley, you don't need—" Tracy started to say.

Mack interrupted her. "And there's the merry-go-round. And the hot dogs. All you can eat . . . with ketchup."

Ashley grinned. "I promised Mommy I would wait here."

Tracy placed her hands on Ashley's shoulders and looked into her eyes again. "Don't listen to Mack. He's nothing but trouble." Mack harrumphed, but Tracy ignored him. "The Light is where you belong. You know how the best stories end with 'happily ever after?' Well, the Light is happily ever after. You deserve to be there, not here. This is just a theme park, and everything we feel here—it's just an illusion. It isn't real. It's fake, just like everything else here. Only the Light is real. It's where all good people belong when they die. It's where you belong, Princess Ashley, where every story ends with happily ever after."

"I know those stories," Mack said. "First, they're all a load of crap. Second, they talk about _living_ happily ever after. This is the real world, the world of the living, not the Light. That's the world of the dead. Besides, it's not like that old Light doesn't come back. It comes back over and over. You'll have a chance to go to it again, but once you go that's it. You can't come back. No one ever does. This is your only chance to enjoy the Amazing Lands Theme Park like no one else. Stick with me, kid, and I'll show you what real fun is."

Ashley smiled at Mack. Mack grinned. Tracy shook her head. This was ridiculous. Ashley belonged with her grandfather. She belonged with the people who loved her. Tracy shouldn't have to convince Ashley of that. "Josh, tell her."

"Tell her what?" Josh asked.

"Tell her to go to the Light. You didn't die trying to save her just so she could spend forever going on rides and eating hot dogs."

Josh looked to the side and narrowed his eyes. He slowly ran a finger over his lips. The others waited. "You're right," he finally said. "Ashley does belong in the Light."

"See?" Tracy told Ashley.

But then Josh added, "We all do."

"What?" Tracy could not believe what she was hearing. "By 'we' you mean you and Ashley."

"No, I mean all of us. You said you didn't want to leave a job half finished. You tried to save Mack, but you couldn't, so you want make sure he gets to Heaven. I tried to save Ashley, but I couldn't, so I need to make sure—"

"You need to make sure _Ashley_ gets to Heaven. With _you_."

"And with you." Josh stood face to face with Tracy. He was very close. Too close. "That must be why I'm here, to help you go to the Light."

Tracy glared at him and gritted her teeth. "I. Don't. Need. Your. Help."

"Maybe not," Josh replied. "But I'm still not going without you."

"But you have to. Ashley—"

"Yay, I'm staying." Ashley skipped over to Mack and took his hand. Mack smiled victoriously and led her back toward the table by the food stand.

"I don't think there will be any hot dogs left now," Mack said. "But in the morning, you'll see. More hot dogs than you can eat."

"With ketchup?"

"With ketchup."

"What do you think you're doing?" Tracy shouted at Josh.

Josh ran his fingers through his hair again and let out a deep breath. "I know you're not staying for Mack, but I still haven't figured you out. I don't know if you're scared—"

"Hey, I'm not scared!" Tracy wished she hadn't screamed that. The sudden twist in her voice sure made her sound scared.

"—Or if you have some of that 'unfinished business' ghosts are supposed to have—"

She shook her head and waved the suggestion away. "No unfinished business."

He raised a finger to his chin and then lowered it again. "You're hiding something."

"I am not!" Tracy shouted. "GAA! I don't need someone to rescue me, okay? I'm fine. I've been here with Mack for years. I don't know what your problem is, but I don't need you. Ashley is the one who needs you." She leaned in close and whispered, "If you don't take her to the Light, she's going to end up like Mack. She'll be stuck her forever. Is that what you want?"

"No."

Tracy pursed her lips and gestured toward Ashley in a way that said, "Well, then, what are you going to do about it?"

"I'm perfectly willing to take Ashley, but not without you."

"But I can't go," she whispered, "because Mack will never go."

Josh stared at her, and for a long time he didn't reply. He crossed his arms and smiled. "You say you're not giving up on Mack. Well, I'm not giving up on you."

The Light started to fade, taking with it the singing that sounded like laughter and the glow that shined like love.

"Will it come back?" Josh asked.

"Why, do you want to go now?" Tracy hoped his answer would be yes, but he just shook his head. She sighed. "It will come back the next time someone is ready to go to it. That's why it was here, because you and Ashley were ready to go." A few seconds later the Light was completely gone. Tracy sighed. "You should have left. You were supposed to go. I wanted you to go."

Josh shrugged. "We don't always get what we want in life."

"This isn't life."

He tried to take Tracy's hand, but she again let go of the illusion that was her hand, and his fingers slipped through hers.

"I guess we don't always get what we want in death either," she heard him grumble as she walked away.

**

** 4

Perchance to Dream

Clouds tumbled in from the west to the east, turning and shape shifting, growing dark and gray.

"I think it's going to rain," Tracy said. "That should put an end to this heat wave."

Mack grinned. "Perfect funeral weather."

Tracy grimaced, and Mack's grin widened. She shook her head.

A light drizzle fell as they left Fairy-Tale Fun Land. Ashley faced the sky with her mouth open, letting the drops tickle her tongue as they passed through her. Tracy watched her and half-smiled. Then Tracy noticed Josh looking at her, and Tracy quickly frowned. She was still angry at him. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The rain would turn heavy soon.

"We should find a dry place to sleep," she said.

"Bumper cars," Mack said.

"Steamboat."

"The bumper cars are the best. They're like big cushy recliners, and you can see and hear the rain."

"The stupid blinking lights near the bumper cars don't turn off until a couple hours after midnight," Tracy said. "They make it hard enough to sleep. Thunder and lightning would only make it worse." She turned to Josh. Like it or not, he was here with her. At least he might be able to help her win an argument with Mack. "The steamboat has a long leather couch thingy in the middle and leather benches along its sides. It's the closest you can get to a nice comfortable bed in this place, unless you count the nurse's station. But the nurse's station is dark, and the steamboat has windows all the way around. The view is gorgeous. It's not too dark, and it's not too bright. It's the perfect place to sleep on a rainy night."

Mack rolled his eyes.

"It's BOR-ring," he sang. "Why don't we let the guests decide? What would you like better: the dumb, old, boring steamboat or the super-cool bumper cars that are like sleeping in great big, soft, easy chairs?"

"What do you say, Ashley?" Tracy asked. "Want to have fun sleeping in a steamboat?"

"Nuh, uh," Ashley said. "I want to sleep in a bed with my Bunby."

"Your Bunby?" Josh asked. "What's a Bunby?"

"My blue Bunby."

"Is that like a bunny?"

Ashley giggled. "It _is_ a Bunby!"

"Well, I don't think we'll find your Bunby here." Tracy crouched beside Ashley and rubbed her own chin in a thoughtful manner before acting excitedly surprised. "But I know something else you might like. How would you like to sleep with a hundred stuffed animals?"

Ashley bounced on her heels and clapped. "A hundred? Really?"

"Really."

"Aw, come on, Tracy." Mack groaned. "You don't want to sleep there. What about you, Josh? Wouldn't you rather sleep in the bumper cars?"

"Anywhere Ashley wants to sleep is fine," Josh replied.

"But..."

Tracy took Ashley's hand and dashed in the rain to the Wild West Fairgrounds. Josh followed, trying to shield himself with his arms from the rain. Mack rolled his eyes, but he followed anyway, keeping himself dry by ignoring the raindrops. Tracy stopped in front of one of the old-fashioned fair stalls. Its painted shutters were padlocked.

"This is it," she said.

Ashley pulled herself up on the counter and put her eye up to the wide gap between the shutters.

"Wow," Ashley said. "I can see lots and lots and lots of stuffed animals in there."

"Told you," Tracy said. "Now, can you guess how we're going to get in?"

Ashley shook her head. Tracy stood beside her and took her hand.

"We are going to walk through this." Tracy pointed at the counter and the shutters above it. "Just close your eyes."

Ashley obeyed. Tracy looked back to make sure Josh was also paying attention before she closed her eyes too.

"Imagine you are standing in the middle of a wide open space," she said, "like a big mall. Can you picture the mall?" She opened one eye and saw Ashley nod. She closed both eyes again. "Now take two steps forward into the mall."

They took two steps forward.

Tracy looked around first to make sure Ashley wouldn't be startled by anything when she opened her eyes. Ashley was standing on the wooden floor and not in middle of a chair or something, and the light coming through the cracks in and between the shutters and around the door opposite them kept the stall dimly lit.

"Okay, Ashley," she said. "Open your eyes."

Ashley obeyed. She gasped. "Wow, it's like magic."

"Yup." Tracy brought her mouth to the gap between the shutters and spoke to the boys outside. "You guys coming?"

She took a few steps back to give Josh room. He was inside the stall with his first step and was almost touching one of the basketball hoops on the back wall with his second.

"You're even longer than you look," Tracy said.

He opened his eyes. "This stall isn't."

"Mmm." Tracy shook a bit of the rain from her hair. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea. You and Mack can sleep in one of the other fair stalls. Or the bumper cars. He'd like that."

Mack walked in, eyes opened. He slumped on the wooden chair in the corner, his faced turned away from Tracy.

"I'll stay," Josh said.

"You've already made that clear," Tracy mumbled.

She took off her white, gauzy costume and left the white t-shirt and jeans on. Her t-shirt wasn't all that wet, and the light in the stall wasn't too bright. Still, she folded her arms over her chest, just in case Josh could see something. She sat on the floorboards against the right wall with a bunch of stuffed animals—silly snakes, fish, lions, zebras, hippopotami, and giraffes—behind her. Ashley cuddled up beside her and placed her head on Tracy's shoulder. There was a stuffed, bright yellow hound dog between them. Ashley petted it, but she frowned.

"It's not my Bunby," she said. "I want my Bunby."

"This nice doggie misses someone, too," Tracy said, giving the stuffed hound a pat. "Maybe you can help him feel less lonely."

Ashley nodded and yawned. "I'm hungry."

"Me, too," Josh said, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor. "Why is that?"

"Ever hear of a ghost limb?" Tracy asked.

"When someone loses a leg or an arm, but they still feel it?"

"Well, you've got a ghost stomach," Tracy explained. "Ghost hands, nose, mouth: you've got a ghost _everything_. You can still feel your body, even though you don't have one. That's why you feel hungry and tired."

"But there's a difference," Mack said. "You don't have to feel hungry and tired. You can choose what you want and don't want your ghost body to feel."

"Like when you chose to not let me hold your hand?" Josh asked.

Mack wrinkled his nose. "You tried to hold Tracy's hand?"

"After I pinched him," Tracy said.

"Oh," Mack replied. "Okay, that makes sense."

"It does?" Josh asked.

"It does if you know Tracy."

"I'm hungry," Ashley said again.

"There'll be plenty to eat in the morning." Mack spoke in a too sweet voice, like the condescending host of an educational television show for preschoolers. "In the meanwhile, you can eat in your dreams. What's your favorite food?"

Ashley put her index finger to her lips and thought a while. "Spaghetti and meatballs."

"The sooner you go to sleep, the sooner you are going to get the best spaghetti and meatballs you ever had."

Ashley smiled and closed her eyes. She rested her hand on the toy hound. "Good night, Old Yellow. If you see my Bunby, please tell him I miss him."

Soon she was fast asleep.

Mack laughed. "Little kids are fun to fool with. This is going to be great. Still wish we could have slept in the bumper cars, though. This stall stinks."

He leaned back. The wooden chair he sat in remained upright and its backrest poked through his shoulders. His legs rose—as did the rest of him—until his body was almost flat. He turned to face the left wall and curled his body ever so slightly in. A ghostly, overstuffed, white recliner faded in beneath him. He sighed. Soon the rise and fall of his chest made it clear that he too was asleep.

"Can we do that?" Josh whispered, pointing at Mack.

"I don't know," Tracy whispered back. "I suppose we can, but Mack is very good at it. It's as if he was born to be a ghost." She paused and then quickly added, "Which is exactly why Ashley shouldn't stay here. We don't want her to get used to this."

Josh continued to watch Mack sleep. "I guess it was his fate."

"His fate?"

Josh nodded.

Tracy huffed. "There's no such thing as fate."

Josh turned to face her, his eyebrows raised. He was clearly surprised, but there was something else. What was it? Sadness, perhaps, or pity. Perhaps a bit of both. Tracy's stomach started to flip flop again, and she looked away.

"You don't believe in fate?" It was a question, not a statement.

She shrugged. "'Course not."

"Why not?"

"Because..." She thought awhile. "Fate means you have no control over your life. No matter what you do, it'll determine what happens to you. Your choices don't matter, and that means you aren't responsible for anything. How can you be, when it's all fate?"

"Well, I don't think it's all fate." He ran his fingers through his hair again. "You do have control over most of your life. But I think sometimes something happens that you do have no control over, something that was just meant to be. And that's what fate is."

"Something like a sweet, little girl dying on a theme-park kiddy ride?" She paused. "You think that was fate?"

"Maybe. I don't know. But I think it's more comforting to think it's a part of some grand plan than a random accident."

"No, it's not." Tracy's cheeks grew hot, and she clenched her teeth. "You saw the look on her mother's face. What kind of grand plan lets such horrible things happen? And how can you believe in a plan like that?"

Josh slumped over and sighed. "All I know is that sometimes things happen in life that can't be explained logically, and fate is really the only explanation."

"Like what?"

"Like dreaming something before it happens even though there's no way you could know it was going to happen."

Tracy snorted. "No one has dreams like that. And if you believe anyone who says they do, I have a nice bridge in Brooklyn I'd like to sell you."

"What if I told you I dreamed that I died trying to save Ashley before it happened?"

Tracy blinked. Was he serious? "If you knew you were going to be killed, why did you get on that ride?"

"I didn't remember my dream until it was already too late, but I knew everything that would happen before it happened."

She didn't know what to say to that. She turned to look at the ribbon of light coming through the gap between the shutters.

Josh paused. "I also had a dream about a girl, the kind of dream you never forget, the kind that feels like it's trying to tell you something important even though you don't know what that thing is. At least until it happens, and then you know..."

"What?"

He looked deep into her eyes. The weak light in the stall shined brightly in his. "You know you were meant to be together. You know it was fate."

She stared back at him. Tracy usually had a quick answer for everything, but what could she say to that? The silence between then stretched awkwardly on.

A flash of lightning momentarily brightened the stall, and thunder boomed two seconds later. The rain pounded on the stall's tin roof, beating out a loud, quick rhythm. Tracy slowly returned to her place beside Ashley and rested her own head on a fat teddy bear. She faced the back wall, away from Josh. In the darkness, she heard him sigh. The sky outside rumbled.

"Hey," he said. "Look at that."

Tracy turned around. Josh was pointing at Ashley. A pink, floral quilt covered the little girl, and her head rested on a soft, pink pillow with a matching pillowcase. Under her arm beside the toy hound, she embraced a ghostly, ratty, blue toy bunny.

"Huh," Tracy whispered. "What do you know? She found her Bunby."

Josh smiled, but Tracy worried. Ashley was quickly picking up skills. How long would it take before she got used to being a ghost? And once she did, would they ever be able to convince Ashley that she belonged in the Light?

End of this sample

If you enjoyed this small sampling of Ride of Your Life you can pick up a copy in the Kindle Store.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Shevi Arnold loves writing, illustrating, and making people laugh—and she's been doing all three since 1987 when she started working as an editorial cartoonist for a newsweekly. She's also worked as a comics magazine editor, as an arts-and-entertainment writer specializing in comedy and children's entertainment, and as a consumer columnist. Nowadays, though, she enjoys writing (and sometimes illustrating) humorous fiction, fantasy and science fiction, mostly for children and young adults.

Shevi grew up in Philadelphia, and her family had a season pass to Great Adventure in the early 1980s. She was nineteen-years-old and studying overseas when a fellow college student asked her if she knew about the Great Adventure Haunted Castle fire. Eight teenagers had lost their lives. Like many, Shevi was shocked by the news. In her mind, she wanted to give that tragedy a happy ending. Ride of Your Life is the result. Her previous books are Dan Quixote: Boy of Nuevo Jersey--a humorous novel for middle graders about individualism and friendship overcoming peer pressure and bullying--and Toren the Teller's Tale--a YA fantasy about the magic of storytelling and one girl's struggle to accept that magic within herself. Why My Love Life Sucks, the first in the Gilbert the Fixer, is a funny YA science-fantasy novel about the ultimate geek having to confront his ultimate fear--getting stuck with a gorgeous girl who wants to be his platonic best friend literally forever.

Visit her online at

www.shevistories.com

twitter.com/shevistories

Whisper

The Whisper Trilogy

Book One

by Chelsea M. Cameron

People think I'm crazy. Maybe I am, since I've been able to talk to spirits for as long as I can remember. They are the forgotten, the souls who have unfinished business and can't cross over. I help them, or at least I try to. There's this one in particular, Jack, I call him, who's been following me around a lot. Usually they tell me what they need to do and move on. Not him.

It isn't until he brings another spirit, Tracy, the victim of an unsolved hit-and-run accident, that I know for sure he's something more than just your average spirit. Then I start seeing him. And feeling his touch. And falling for him.

In our quest to get justice for Tracy and help her move on, Jack and I become something more than just a dead boy and a living girl. I'm just waiting to see what happens next...

COPYRIGHT

Whisper

Copyright © 2012 Chelsea M. Cameron

**  
**No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. All rights reserved.

**  
**Whisper is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.

One

It started like it always did, with a whisper.

My brain was absolute mush from hours of calculus homework, and I hadn't heard one of them in months. So when I heard a voice in the back of my mind say, _The answer is -1,_ I fell off my chair. The voice was quiet, but clear. Sometimes they were so faint it was like trying to hear them through a pool. He was different.

"Hello?" I said, getting up from my bedroom floor and rubbing my side where I'd fallen. Even though I heard them in my mind, I had to speak aloud for them to hear me. It didn't make sense, but not much did when you could talk to people who weren't alive.

Even though I knew I wouldn't see anything, I stared around my room at the yellow walls, my old twin bed with the new baby blue sheets and matching comforter my mom had gotten me last week, the framed photos of my friends my father had taken, the knickknacks I had picked up at garage sales, perfume bottles, an old mirror and books. Lots of books. Nothing was out of place, but I had an intruder.

_The answer is -1._ You got number three wrong.

I sat on the floor a moment, thinking. Usually when I heard them, it was to deliver a message to their still-living relatives, an apology for something they said before they departed. Sometimes, they wanted to settle a grudge.

They also didn't like the D word, so I tried not to use it.

"What do you want?" I said, putting my head between my knees. This was so not happening now. Maybe if I was rude enough, he'd go away. It was not likely. They didn't leave until they'd gotten what they wanted.

I want you to get the answer right. It's -1.

Persistent. And really obsessed with math. Maybe he'd left his math homework unfinished. He sounded young enough.

"Why does it matter?"

_It matters to me._ He got a little louder.

I tried not to show my fear in my voice. I couldn't judge him based on one bad apple.

"Well, math isn't really my thing, and you telling me the answer is sort of cheating, so I'm just going to leave it. Why don't you tell me what you really want?" I had never really cared about math, and since I was graduating in a few months and had already been accepted at the University of Maine, I cared even less.

_Right now, I want you to get up, erase your incorrect answer and write the correct one._ He was irritated, but his voice remained level. I tried to keep my hands from shaking.

"What's your name?"

I don't remember.

Most of the time, people came to me right after they had left their lives behind. If he didn't remember his name, he must have been this way for a long time.

"Do you remember anything?" I had never met one who had completely lost touch with his or her life. They usually went on before that happened. I didn't know where they went; none of them were around to tell me.

Nothing of consequence. Are you going to change your answer?

At this point, it was fairly safe to assume that if he wanted to hurt me, he would have done so.

"Look, you're the one who jumped into my head. If you don't like it, you can leave."

Hasn't anyone ever told you not to provoke the dead?

Wow, he'd used the D word. That was a first. Also, there was now a hint of amusement. That was also different. Usually they spoke in monotone.

"No, never." I rolled my eyes and went back to my desk and my math homework.

"Who are you talking to?" Amy poked her head into my room. She was nine and going through her blue period, so she was headband to sneaker in four different shades that clashed horribly, but I picked my battles. I loved that little punk like crazy.

"No one."

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. She'd found the Nancy Drew books at the library last year and had really taken them to heart.

"You're talking to _them_ , aren't you?" She made sure to look behind her shoulder when she whispered _them_.

We fought, of course, like normal sisters, but Amy was the one person on this planet who believed me when I told her I talked to spirits. Amy also knew how to keep secrets. The most-valuable trait in little sisters that exists.

My parents would rather believe I was mentally deranged than believe I talked to dead people. And after The Incident six months ago, they were convinced. We were all still recovering from that.

She kicked her foot into the carpet. "Mom said dinner's ready."

I looked down and found my hand tracing one of my burn scars. "They can't hurt you, Ames." Only me.

"That's not true."

If she didn't stop, her foot was going to dig a hole through the floor. I clenched my hands together and tried not to tell her for the hundredth time that it had been an accident.

"I'll be right down."

She bobbed her head and dashed back down the stairs. We'd have to have another talk soon.

He was still here.

You don't look like the kind of girl who would speak to the dead.

"I can't decide if that's meant to be offensive or not." He was right, though. From my t-shirt that had a picture of the Cookie Monster on it and a caption that read, "Come to the Dark Side, we have cookies," my holey yoga pants that had never been used for yoga, my mismatched Christmas socks, to my not-straight-but-not-curly blondish hair, I didn't look like the kind of girl who could talk to dead people. I didn't hang out in cemeteries and listen to too much Evanescence and wear a lot of crystals. Not that there was anything wrong with any of those things.

It was not meant to be offensive.

"What was it meant to be?" I pulled my knees up and put my chin on them.

Didn't your mother call you for dinner?

Evasive. There was definitely something different about him. Most spirits were so confused about where they were or if they were dead they didn't know how to be evasive. This guy was something else.

"You sure you don't want anything?"

No. Just visiting.

Spirits didn't visit. The only reason they hung around was to accomplish something they'd left undone. So either he didn't want to tell me, or he was just messing with me.

"Well, if you want to stick around, that's your choice, but I'm going to pretend you aren't here."

Do whatever you want.

He was starting to get on my nerves. I walked to the doorway. Once I was through it, I was going to pretend I was normal.

"Okay, I'm going to stop talking to you now."

Silence.

"Thank you." I took a step.

You're welcome.

"Ugh, stop it!"

Silence.

He was still with me, but he had stopped talking. I still felt the little buzz that told me he was there. I turned around, I picked up my pencil, erased my answer for problem number three and wrote -1.

Two

He was gone when I woke up the next morning, and I was relieved. I stumbled downstairs with only a few minutes to eat and get ready, as usual. I wasn't much of a morning person, and neither was my dad. He didn't usually get up until the crack of noon, but he could do that because he was self-employed.

My mom, on the other hand, was the most painfully perky morning person ever.

Amy was sort of in-between. This was one of her bad morning days. She munched her Cheerios in silence as I flipped one of her pigtails and took my seat at the table.

"Hey, Miss Belle. You're going to be late if you don't hurry," Mom said, handing me a cup of tea in my favorite mug with the butterflies on it. My name was Annabelle, but my mom liked to turn it into all sorts of funny nicknames that irritated the crap out of me.

"I know, I know," I said as I sipped my tea. She hadn't added enough honey, so I got out the jar and spooned some in. Mom was allergic to anything that involved cooking, heating, baking, boiling, or food in general.

"Anything exciting going on today?"

"Nothing more existing than another day at Eagle Academy." It sounded like a preppy rich-kid school, and it used to be, back when my grandparents went there and it was private. Now it was Hicksville, USA public school.

Actually, it was Smoke Hill, Maine. No one really knew why it was called Smoke Hill, but it might have been a rough translation of an old Native American name.

It could have been worse. We could have gotten stuck with something like Passagassawakeag, which was a real river, believe it or not. As it was, Smoke Hill was a one-stoplight town where everyone waved to everyone else as they drove by. And there were more lobstermen in waders than businessmen in suits.

Mom checked her watch.

"Shoot, I'm going to be late if I don't rush. See you later, Bells, Bug. Don't forget it's your turn for pizza." She smoothed her pencil skirt and picked a bit of lint off her jacket. She always dressed like she was going to a meeting, because she usually is. As a hospital administrator, she always had to look professional and put-together. I couldn't stand to dress so conservatively every single day. I'd go nuts if I couldn't wear jeans and shirts with sarcastic things on them.

"You almost ready, Bug?" I said when she'd left.

Amy pouted. "Don't call me that." Strike One.

"You want to stop somewhere before I drop you off and get a Pop Tart?" Mom had this thing against artificial fruit, so we never had them in the house. Amy loved them almost more than she loved blue and bunny rabbits and playing soccer.

"No thanks." Strike Two. She stared into her cereal bowl as if it was a crystal ball. I took it from her and threw it in the sink. It was the only way to get her attention.

"Okay, what's up?"

"It's nothing." The teenage whine had started to creep into her voice as of late. Fantastic.

"No way, you don't use that voice with me. You're not even thirteen yet. Come on. Spill."

"It's nothing." Amy stormed out of the room like a true teenager.

"You'd better be ready in five minutes," I yelled.

She was. In fact, she was waiting in my rusting Subaru before I'd even gotten my hair up. Dad was still snoring when I threw my backpack over my shoulder, so I didn't bother to say Good-bye.

I let Amy pick out our driving music. Of course, she picked Taylor Swift, which was awesome. We didn't have much in common when it came to music, but our love for Taylor Swift breached the barrier. I dropped her off a suitable distance from the school so her friends wouldn't see my lame car. The CD ended, so I turned on the radio. I was trying to choose a station when I felt him again.

Turn it back, I like that song.

Jeez, he was demanding. I deliberately didn't turn it back, and turned up the volume on the song I wanted to listen to on the pop station, singing loudly.

"You didn't say 'please,'" I said over the music.

Turn it back.

"This is my car. If you want to listen to music, go hover over someone with the same tastes."

I'm with you now.

The words didn't make sense, and I had a feeling he was talking about more than just the music. He was an odd one.

"Okay, but I'm going to school and it's going to be boring."

The living have no concept of what boring is.

"Suit yourself," I said and went back to ignoring him.

I found a parking spot at the very back of the bottom lot, and I had to squish my car in. Bessie had wide hips, but I could maneuver her into a spot like nobody's business.

He must have been serious about coming to school with me because he was still there when I put the car in park. I'd half expected him to leave when I cranked Nickleback. Most guys hated that.

I turned the radio off. "You're really coming with me to school?"

Yes.

I shrugged, grabbed my bag and sloshed through the half-rain, half-slush that late April had decided to dump on us, to the main building. Eagle Academy had once been majestic with warm brick buildings and students traipsing from class to class in uniforms. It was kind of in shambles now, with a leaky roof and pipes that froze and you never saw anyone wearing a tie except the basketball players on game days.

He floated along behind me. At least I always imagined them floating, but for all I knew, they walked like normal people. Or maybe they were just wisps of vapor, like fog. I wondered what this one looked like. I still didn't know his name, but he didn't either.

"Hey, did you finish that math homework? I could not get the answer to number three," said Nora as I walked to my locker.

She twisted her long brown hair, and picked at her black fingernails. Whereas Amy had a blue addiction, Nora's one true love was black, which somehow she managed to pull off without looking emo.

She, Felicity and I had formed our little Trio of Weird back in the first grade sharing circle. Some people had an issue with the fact that Nora had two moms. But then some people still thought I was crazy, so there you had it. Next year our trio would be split up. Me to U of M to study education, Felicity to Yale for biochemistry and Nora to Middlebury for poetry and graphic design.

"Um yeah, the answer's -1," I said. I could feel him wanting to say something, but he didn't. This was going to be an interesting day.

"Well crap, I already crossed out my answer too many times. I hope Mr. Varney is at least going to give me credit for trying." I resisted the urge to tell her to stop picking her nails.

"Yeah, like that's going to happen," I said.

"You suck, Annabelle."

I held my hands up in a peacemaking gesture. "Hey, I'm not the one who signed up for calc. It was your idea, remember?"

She sighed heavily and leaned against the locker next to me. "That was before I knew how hard it was."

I tried to give her a sympathetic face as I crammed my books into my backpack.

She is your friend?

Why the heck did he care?

"Yes," I said.

"What?" Nora said, staring at her nails.

"Nothing. Just thinking out loud."

She does not know about us, does she? Secrets don't make friends.

Why was he talking to me when I couldn't answer him?

No, my friends did not know about the spirits. I'd tried talking to them about it before and it hadn't gone over well, thank you very much. They were part of my normal life. My homework-and-Saturday-night-pizza-and trashy-movies, life. The spirits were part of a different life that I liked keeping separate. They had intertwined before, and it hadn't ended well. I rubbed my arms, pulling down my sleeves.

Do I make you uncomfortable?

From his tone, I could tell he wanted me to be uncomfortable. Yup, he was messing with me. I swatted at the air, as if I was waving away a bug. So far, he had been.

I am not a fly you can swat. I wished I could have shot a death glare in his direction.

Felicity came around the corner and waved at us. She was also not a morning person, as evident by the puffiness under her eyes and her slumped shoulders.

"Did you guys finish that math homework? I couldn't believe how easy it was," she said, tucking her red hair behind one ear. She'd recently got it cut, and I wasn't sure if she was used to her new bob. It looked adorable on her. I thought she looked like she'd been ripped from the 1920s and plunked into the future. She loved vintage clothing and filmy fabrics. Most of the time, she looked like she floated instead of walked. One of these days it was going to give me a complex. Standing next to her, I felt both short and inferior in my skinny jeans and black t-shirt that read Zombie Response Team and had a hazard logo on it. I did have pretty clothes, but I looked like a dork in them.

Felicity had already taken calc, but was re-taking it for an extra math credit, so she could keep her perfect 4.0. Nora and I just looked at each other. The fact that she was freakishly smart was not one of the reasons why we were friends, but it helped.

The bell rang and we all dashed off to our separate classes. Me to AP English, Nora to band and Felicity to AP Spanish. The only class we had together was calc, which wasn't until the afternoon, so I was pretty much alone for the whole morning. Except for him.

You are irritated with me.

"Shut up."

Three

By the end of the day, I was ready to strangle him. He was mostly silent, but his presence disturbed my brain. I hadn't had a spirit follow me that closely in months. It scared me, if I was being honest with myself, but I wasn't going to show him that. Instead, I ignored him as much as I could, which was so much harder than it sounded. I only acknowledged him when I got in the car at the end of the day.

"So, now that you've followed me all day and gotten the full high school experience, will you finally tell me what you want?" I backed out of my space, turning on the radio.

Nothing you can give me.

"So why are you here?" Seriously, dude. WTH?

I like to follow pretty girls around and harass them.

Did he just call me pretty? I completely ignored the comment as a blush crawled up my face. I knew he was lying. Seven months ago, I might have been. Not anymore.

"You certainly lurk more than any other spirit has. I might use the word haunt. All the others just needed an ear so they could get something off their chest, or to get a message to someone who was still alive. Once they were done with me, they went... wherever it is they go." I wasn't sure what I believed about them. It seemed silly that there would be a place on Earth for spirits to hang out, but not another place for them to go. I tried not to think about it too much, but that was hard to do when you were being constantly reminded of it.

Death and I had an interesting relationship.

Back. They go back.

I kept glancing at the passenger seat, as if he was sitting in it. "What do you mean 'back'?"

Back where they came from.

He was going to make me play Twenty Questions.

"And where did they come from?"

That is the greatest question of all. Men, and women, have spent centuries trying to answer it.

I was suddenly feeling uncomfortable, talking about something so intimate with a spirit I had just met.

"I'm sorry. I should have introduced myself. I'm Annabelle Alicia Blake." I'd never told a spirit my full name before. I'd never wanted to.

I know.

How did he know? "Okay... Have you remembered your name?"

No.

He seemed to get bent out of shape when I asked him personal questions. "Well, if you're going to hang around, I'd like to at least call you something. How about Jack?"

Jack?

"Yeah, you feel like a Jack to me." I couldn't say why I had to give him a name, but a name was an important thing.

Then I'm Jack.

"Well then, Jack, I guess it's nice to meet you. I can't really shake your hand."

He didn't answer.

I pulled into my driveway, which was empty. Dad must have gone to the gallery, and Mom was still at the hospital. Amy had gotten dropped off at a friend's, so I had the house to myself. Sort of. His presence hummed in my brain, kind of like a fluorescent light, only more pleasant. Like a tickle. Maybe I could get used to it. Like white noise.

I made myself a snack of peanut butter and crackers and slouched over the counter to eat.

What are you eating?

"Peanut butter crackers. Did they have these when you were, ah, you know?" I also avoided the A word. Alive. That also tended to upset them. I still hadn't felt him out enough to know if he'd be offended.

I do not remember, but my gut says no. They look good.

"They are," I said, licking some off my fingers.

Since I'd become a vegetarian by choice, peanut butter had become my protein of choice. I could whip you up a mean chocolate chip cake with butter cream frosting or a chili that would knock your socks of. I had testimonials from both Felicity and Nora agreeing with me.

What are you thinking about? You look as if you're concentrating.

"I wasn't thinking about much, really. I think I'm going to make some cupcakes. You can watch if you like." A peace offering for Amy. Something was up with her, and I was going to weasel it out of her. Cupcakes were a good start.

I started getting things together, banging around in the cupboards to find all the ingredients. He faded for a moment, but he hadn't gone far.

I was instantly suspicious. "What are you doing?"

Looking at your house.

"Oh, well, go ahead."

There really wasn't anything I could say to stop him, and I didn't mind. It gave me a chance to focus on baking. Our house wasn't a mansion, but it wasn't a shack either. It was very white-picket-fence-American-Dreamish. My mom kept it clean as part of her obsessive, controlling personality, but my father's photographs were scattered everywhere.

The first thing I thought of when I thought of my house was _warm_. Finished in rich wood floors, reds and browns and rusts, it made you feel comfortable when you walked in the door. The furniture might not have matched exactly, but everything seemed to come together anyway. The kitchen was in the front of the house on the left, the living room on the right with the stairs in between. My parents; master suite was in the back on the first floor, along with my dad's darkroom. Upstairs was my mom's office, my room, Amy's room and a guest room.

My neck prickled, telling me he was close again. I cracked another egg with one hand, tossing the shell fragments in my garbage bowl.

You have a lot of photographs.

"Yeah, my dad's a photographer." I pushed a strand of my hair out of the way of the batter bowl as I whisked the eggs.

"I wish you had hands, so you could help me." He was silent. Maybe that was too forward a thing to say. Maybe I'd offended him with talking about his lack of arms.

I wish a lot of things.

There was a super-awkward pause. "I bet."

I got back to my baking, and he stopped talking, To keep it less weird, I read the recipe out loud to him, and explained every step. It was sort of like doing a cooking show for an invisible audience.

"You have to make sure not to mix it too much. Then the batter gets tough." I didn't know why I was babbling on, and I stopped, worried he was bored with me.

Keep going.

Maybe not.

I finished the cupcakes and was frosting them when my dad got home. I'd been chattering to Jack the whole time, but the minute I heard my dad's Subaru, I shut up. Wow, I'd been talking for a really long time. I couldn't remember when I'd last talked that much. And to a complete stranger, too. What was up with me?

"I'm sorry if I'm being rude, but I don't want my dad to know I can hear you."

I don't mind.

I was about to respond when the door closed with a bang. I jumped, smearing frosting on the counter.

"Hey kiddo, how was school?" My dad came in and kissed my forehead and stuck his finger in the frosting bowl. I swatted it away and gave him a smile.

I looked more like him than my mom. I had his blondish hair, chin and nose. She'd given me her greenish-bluish-brownish eyes, which she like to call 'hazel,' and the rest of my face. I'd also inherited her lack of height. My skin had once been pale and relatively clear. I missed those days.

I caved and stuck my finger in the frosting bowl. "Fine. I got my grade back for my Hamlet paper. A-."

"Good job. It's lucky that you got your mother's intelligence."

"And your good looks," I said, hugging him around the middle.

"My modesty and charm as well," he said, laughing as he stuck his finger in the frosting bowl. I batted it away. Jack was still here, but he kept his mouth shut.

"You're not supposed to be eating sugar. It's not good for your heart."

"What your mother doesn't know won't hurt her. Where's Bug?"

"At Raven's."

"Uh oh."

We shared a look. "Exactly." Raven was Amy's on-again off-again BFF. Right now they were on, but judging by how she'd acted this morning, I sensed an off again.

"Well, good luck with that." He winked at me, and went back to his darkroom.

I'd see him once more for dinner, but that would be about it, unless he ventured out to watch one of his nightly sitcoms. I loved him to pieces, but sometimes I felt like he escaped to his own world too much. I couldn't count how many things he had missed because he was either working, or sometimes he forgot. My mother was the solid one, the one who carried around a day planner as if her every waking moment must be scheduled. I thought of myself as a happy medium between the two of them.

You look like him.

"Thank you. Um, if you don't mind, I'm going to take a shower, and I'd appreciate it if you left me alone for that. I know I can't stop you, but I'd like at least a moment of privacy."

I'll stay here.

"Don't you have somewhere more interesting to be?"

No.

"Okay, here I go. Please don't follow me."

I didn't know why the idea of him seeing me naked made me blush, but it did. Maybe it was because he called me pretty. Maybe it was because I didn't want him to see my bare skin and the burn scars that still covered it from The Incident.

I'd been surprised a time or two when spirits showed up when I was indisposed, so I was wary now. There was nothing like having your privacy violated by someone who didn't understand embarrassment.

True to his word, he faded when I went upstairs. I took a long time, conditioning my hair, which I had let grow out. It was time for a change, but I just hadn't gotten around to it. It was a silly thing to do, but I locked my bedroom door when I went in to put on my pajamas. Seriously, if he wanted to see me, he could just go through the wall. But I hoped the locked door would send a signal. Keep out.

"You can come up now," I said as I untangled my hair. He was there in a second, back so fast that I had to sit down.

"Geez, you scared me."

Sorry.

He didn't sound sorry at all. I could almost hear the smirk in his voice. Inwardly, I rolled my eyes. Amy must have been home because I could hear her from all the way upstairs. Not good.

Your sister is upset.

"Yeah, I can tell. She probably had a fight with Raven. Again."

With Dad tucked away in his photocave, and Mom frazzled from work, it was up to me. And I had to make up for being a meanie.

"Hey Ames, what's up?" Her eyes were distinctly red.

"Nothing," she sniffed. Mom gave me a look as she unpacked her thirty-thousand pound briefcase. Sure, I'd play along. Jack hummed in the back of my mind. Listening.

"I'm gonna order pizza. What do you want on it?" She loved artichoke hearts, olives and green peppers. Such a strange child.

She shook her head and I leaned over to give her a hug. With that, she broke down. Mom grabbed some tissues from the bathroom and we all sat down in the living room on the couch.

"Raven said (sniff ) that (sniff ) I was (sniff) a dumbass!" She ended with a little wail. Oh, nine-year-old troubles.

"Why would she say that?" Mom put her arm around Amy, but let me do the talking.

"Because (sniff) I said I didn't like (sniff) her earrings." I patted her shoulder. Oh, tween drama.

"Ames, look at me." Her face turned up, and I wiped the tears from her eyes. Mom looked on. She might have been good at nicknames, but she wasn't good at taming Amy's freak outs.

"Raven can be mean. I know she's your friend, but friends don't call each other morons. Okay? Why don't you see if you can find a new friend?"

"Because Raven is my _best_ friend."

"I know Bug, but sometimes friends change." She was too worked up to be offended at the nickname. "Okay?" She nodded and let me hug her again.

You're good with her.

Glad I had Jack's approval. I wondered if he had a little sister and what had happened to his family. Mom came over and gave both of us hugs.

"My independent girls. Sometimes I wonder if you even need me."

Amy and I protested that we did need her, but part of me thought she was right. It wasn't that my parents didn't love me or anything like that. But there was something between us that we couldn't seem to get around. I could say it was the whole spirit-thing, but it was more than that. Some deep level of understanding we didn't have for each other. I hoped one day that could change, but I wasn't going to hold out for it.

Jack stayed with me while I called in a large cheese pizza with artichoke hearts and olives and green peppers and extra cheesy breadsticks. He stayed with me when I went to pick up the pizza. He stayed with me as I set the table and talked to my mother about her day. He listened to her rant about nurses with superiority complexes and surgeons with God complexes and my dad talked about the concept for his latest group of photographs, flowers growing in front of tombstones. Life in the midst of death. He listened to Amy talk about her science fair project on ants.

All the while, Jack kept talking, responding to them as if he was sitting in the chair next to me. It was completely and utterly distracting. Everyone kept giving me weird looks. My face must have been twitching from all the crazy going on in my head. Amy seemed to have calmed down and even scarfed down three slices. I didn't know where she put it, but it must have gone somewhere.

Jack's observations were wry and interesting and sometimes funny. I had to stop myself from snort-laughing at something only I could hear. He got a kick out of that, because he kept doing it. He also called me pretty again, which caused me to drop my knife on the floor, and my face to flame up like a campfire coated with gasoline.

He stayed when I went up to finish my homework, only putting in his two cents on my calc and bio homework. I did my best to ignore him and carry on, but he was persistent.

Finally, I called it a night and went to bed. He stayed with me as I brushed my teeth and washed my face and all of those other things. I read for a while and half-considered reading aloud to him, but I figured he could just see over my shoulder if he was interested.

What are you reading?

"A book about zombies," I said, licking my finger to turn the page.

Zombies?

"Yeah, zombies. You know, _Night of the Living Dead_ and brains and all that?"

I am not very familiar with zombies.

How could you not know about zombies?

"You'd better get familiar because the zombie apocalypse is coming."

And that would be...

"For real? Come on, I would have thought you'd have inside information on that, being in touch with other forces and all that."

I have not heard of this apocalypse you speak of.

"That's good to know. I guess." I couldn't help but be a tiny bit disappointed. I went back to my book for a few minutes and then turned off the light.

But I couldn't sleep.

I folded my hands behind my bed and stared at the ceiling. There was a dent where I'd hit my head jumping on the bed with Nora seven years ago.

"Jack?" I hoped he would answer to the name I had given him.

Yes.

"Do you remember what happened when you died?" I took a risk saying the D word.

I don't remember much. I often hear that it's like going through a tunnel toward a light. I guess that would be the best way to describe it.

"How old were you... are you?"

I am ageless. But in years of my last life.... How old are you?

"Seventeen."

Something like that.

"Oh." I didn't know why I suddenly felt sad, and shy.

Do I bother you?

He'd asked me the same thing earlier today, and the answer was yes. But it was like he'd had a personality change and had become this kinda cool guy.

"Sometimes. I mean, I only met you yesterday." Somehow it felt like yesterday was years ago. Weird.

Time has no meaning here.

"What?" I'd never heard that before.

The things I did know about the spirit world were pretty limited to what they could tell me. Firstly, you kept only vital information with you. Your name, where you died, how you died, your family, etc.

Second, you only hung out in the human world if you had some reason. You had a message to deliver, something you'd left undone, something you needed to take care of. Once that was done, they went on to wherever they went.

Third, that while I couldn't see them, some had the power to move objects when they wanted to, including a frying pan full of bacon.

When you are no longer controlled by the world of the living, you can slip in and out of time.

"So you could go anywhere in history, and you chose to hang out with me?" I found that impossible to believe.

I have seen the world. Now I am visiting with you.

The way he said it made my skin tingle.

I laughed a little. "You're going to get bored fast." He could throw a rock and hit a more interesting person than me.

I doubt that.

"What could possibly be interesting about me?" I pushed my hair away from my face. It wasn't golden blond or platinum. It was what they called dishwater. I didn't have a million friends or a great voice or awesome grades. I wasn't interesting or mysterious or sexy. I was damaged goods, both inside and outside.

I'd like to find out.

I sat up and looked around. "Where are you, right now?"

Sitting on the edge of the bed. By your left foot.

I reached out, trying to feel some substance, something that would tell me he was there. Nothing. I lay back down and pulled the covers over myself.

"Are you going to watch me sleep?"

Perhaps.

I snorted. "That's a little creepy, you know? It kind of freaks me out."

Then I will leave you. Good-bye.

"Are you coming back?" My voice sounded weak and timid in my ears.

Yes.

"Okay. Well... see you later. I mean, talk to you later."

Four

The first spirit I'd ever seen was a girl about my age who had been in a car accident. I'd told my parents in my four-year-old voice about my new friend, Abby, and how she had been in a smashed car. They humored me and went along with it, even "talking" to Abby.

I thought they could all see her.

It wasn't until I went to school that I realized no one else could see my friends. But it wasn't until my teacher called my parents in for a serious talk that I knew it was something I had to hide. The night after they came home from the serious talk they sat me down and told me that I was going to see a doctor, a psychologist the school had recommended.

We played games and I drew her pictures and she fed me cookies and asked me about my friends. I thought she was nice until she told me that the people weren't real, that they were in my head. My mom was adamant that I needed to be on medication, and she refused to prescribe it for someone so young, so they found a doctor who would.

Dr. Chase had put me on medication that had gotten rid of the spirits, but it had turned me into a robot. I went off and on them for a few years before my parents decided to pull the plug. I would have been right back on them if they knew the truth about The Incident, but fortunately, they believed my lie.

The fourth thing I knew about spirits was that if they didn't take care of whatever they needed to take care of, they didn't get to cross over. That meant they wouldn't leave me alone.

At first it started out with me mailing messages and instructions and things they needed to say. So I got really good at finding people. Amy wasn't the only secret agent in the family. Even if I just had a last name and a date, or a location, I could find just about everything out about you. Not all of my searches were, um, quite legal, which was why I'd learned how to route my computer through a different IP address. Just in case.

It didn't matter if the person believed the message I sent or not. All that mattered was the delivery. As long as they got it, the spirit could move on. That was why I did it. Yes, having them around was an irritation, but how could I not help them?

A few years ago Amy had caught me talking to a woman who wanted to get a message to her daughter about some stock certificates she'd left in an unknown safe-deposit box that were worth quite a bit of money. She was getting upset, and I was trying to calm her down so she'd stop screaming at me. If you've never had someone scream at you inside your head, count yourself lucky.

I'd only been able to stop Amy from going to our parents when I'd told her the truth. She'd kept her mouth shut ever since. That was the thing about my sister. We might be night and day personality-wise, but we understood each other.

I'd put a strain on our relationship when I'd asked her to lie about The Incident. Our parents believed me when I said it was an accident. Felicity and Nora had believed me. But none of them knew the truth. That, they wouldn't believe, even if I wanted to tell them. Somehow, instead of pushing us apart, my secret had made us that much closer. Yes, she still annoyed me and wouldn't get out of my room and borrowed my socks. But she kept a promise for me that not many adults could handle, and that was worth all the irritation in the world.

***

I was polishing off a cupcake for breakfast and trying to convince Amy it was a nutritious choice when another voice interceded in my brain. This time it wasn't Jack. And this time, I could see her, standing in front of me. I'd just taken a bite and ended up dropping the rest on the floor, frosting side down. Wasn't that always the way?

Hi Annabelle. It's Tracy Smith. Do you remember me?

Her voice had more substance than Jack's, less in my head and more in my ears. It was like that, the closer they were to life, the more corporeal they were. I inhaled a bite of cupcake and started choking. Amy rushed over to bang on my back and handed me a glass of juice.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." I closed my eyes and opened them, but there she was. Still. A vapory 2D image of how she had looked on the night she had died, complete with short shorts and pink lip gloss.

It had only been about eight months since she had been hit and killed by a car while walking home from a party. It was a hit and run, and the culprit had never been found. If she was seeking me out, there could only be one reason.

"What are you looking at?" Amy would have been blind not to see me freaking out. Tracy walked toward me. Okay, so they did walk. I flinched in my chair as she got closer. "Annabelle!" Amy snapped her fingers in front of my face. "If you don't tell me what's going wrong, I'm telling Dad." That snapped me out of it.

"There's someone here to talk to me." This was my code phrase.

"Who is it?" Tracy seemed to wait for me to explain to Amy.

"Her name's Tracy. You remember from last summer?" I never knew if they'd get offended if I spoke about the circumstances surrounding their departure. I hadn't gauged Tracy yet.

"She's here?" Amy grabbed onto my arm. I had to pry her fingers loose and put her under my arm.

"Yeah, she's right there."

Amy started at the spot I pointed to, as if she was trying to squint Tracy out. Her body trembled under my arm. Regret flooded my veins, almost choking me. I'd tried so hard to protect her from this, and the one time she needed me, I'd failed.

"What can I do for you, Tracy?" I didn't know why she had found me, but I had an inkling as to who sent her.

I need your help.

"Okay," I said slowly. "I'll do what I can, but I can't make any promises. She's asking for help." The last part I said to Amy. Her face was still all squinched up as she tried to see Tracy.

_I need you to get them to forgive themselves._ Her mouth moved when she talked, but the voice was in my head.

"Who?"

Everyone. The people at the party who let me leave, my sisters who were too busy and drunk to notice I was gone.

We'd all read the articles in the newspaper, heard the gossip. How the underage party had gotten out of control and all her friends were too wasted to notice she was gone. They hadn't found her body until the next morning when someone saw her on the side of the road. A shame, everyone said. A Lesson in the Dangers of Underage Drinking. Just another statistic.

"What about the person who hit you?" That was what I really wanted to know about. Amy tried to say something, but I shushed her. We were going to be beyond late, but it didn't matter. I'd forge Mom's signature on a note.

It doesn't matter. They will have to answer for it someday. My family wants revenge, but I just want them to have closure. And forgiveness.

I hadn't really known Tracy that well. She was only a sophomore when she died, and we didn't orbit the same group of people. She was the epitome of all-american girl. Tracy had the right blonde hair, the right clothes, the right friends, a boyfriend, a cute car, a good family. She had the world at her feet when it was taken in one moment. So it was going to be a task to get that message to them. In fact, I'd never had to deliver a message to anyone I'd known before. This was going to be interesting.

"Anna, we're going to be late." Amy wanted to get out of there. ASAP.

I rubbed her shoulder, trying to show her that it was okay. "Sorry Bug, why don't you go out to the car? I'll be right there."

Grabbing her blue-flowered backpack she dashed out the door. Tracy stepped closer. I could see the silver earrings in each of her ears and the scar on her forehead that I'd never known how she'd gotten.

They can't hear me; they can't see me. But you can. And you can hear me, and they can hear you.

I felt another presence trying to creep up on me. Only he was about as subtle as a jet plane.

"Jack?"

I'm here.

"Was this your idea?"

Maybe.

I was going with yes. He wasn't a very good liar, apparently.

"Tracy?"

It was easier to talk to her, because I could face her, but also more difficult, because I could face her. "I want to help you, but I don't really know how. I've never really helped anyone I actually knew before." I swiped my hand across my forehead. It was only Tuesday, and already I wanted the week to be over. Amy beeped the horn.

There is no one else to help me, and I can't move on until I know they will be all right.

Smoke Hill, Maine was a small community, so the reverberations of Tracy's death were going to echo for a long time. It was one thing for someone to die in their sleep at the age of ninety-one after a long and full life, but it was another for a sixteen-year-old to die alone in the middle of a dirt road. I shivered just remembering the photos of the crime scene.

"I seriously don't know what I can do, but I'll try."

I slung my bag over my shoulder and ran to the car, sliding a little in the spring muck that was half-snow half water.

That's all I ask. Thank you.

"We have to go!" Amy shrieked as I gunned the car out of the driveway.

"I know, I know. I'll write you a note. It will be okay. I swear."

"Are you sure?" Her legs jiggled up and down, an anxious movement, which, in turn, made me nervous.

"Yes, yes." I hit the gas, and broke a few speeding laws and might have burned a few tire marks just outside of the school zone. Amy flew out of the car with a hastily scribbled not from "Mom" about her tardiness. The bell rang just as the door slammed behind her.

"Why did you do that to me?" I snapped at the spirit that had vaporized into my car.

Do what?

"Bring her here, and then ambush me. A little warning would have been nice."

She found me. There wasn't time to warn you. Besides, would you have refused to help her?

"Of course not."

There you go.

I wanted to protest, but I really couldn't.

"Still, you could have warned me."

I will try to do better next time.

"Let's make a deal. If I help her, you promise not to do this to me again. Enough of them find me by accident, and I can't help all of them. I just can't." Anywhere from 150,000 to 300,000 people died per day in the world. Even if only a fraction of them found me, I could never help that many. There was a pause. I guessed he was thinking.

Deal.

I was late for school, but I went to the office and sweet talked Mrs. Finch, the secretary and she let me have a late pass. When you were an honor student, in the National Honor Society and taking a bunch of AP classes, you could pretty much get away with anything. Felicity was one of the worst offenders of playing hooky I had ever met. But what teacher would punish someone who had a 4.0 and had gotten into Yale?

I'm sorry about throwing Tracy at you.

Jack had stayed silent most of the morning, but I was tucked into my favorite library corner so we could chat.

"It's okay." I was on edge, constantly listening to see if someone could overhear me. I didn't need any rumors getting started about me talking to myself. Then I had an idea. Taking out my phone, I typed a question.

_Of course I can read that. I am dead, not blind._ Wow, _he'd_ used the D word.

I typed another message. **Touchy much?**

Only sometimes.

Are you sure you don't have anywhere else to be?

Not at the moment. There will be times I am called away to do other things.

**Like what?** I'd never heard of that before.

I'm like a... facilitator. I don't just float around and haunt people.

So I'm not special. Aw, that breaks my heart.

Somehow I find that hard to believe.

**What's a facilitator, anyway?** He paused for a really long second. I almost held my breath. What did that mean?

It's nothing you need to worry about.

Does it mean you have super powers?

Not exactly. Let's say that I have the ability to make things appear. Objects. For a brief amount of time.

**I've never heard of that before.** It wasn't one of the normal things spirits could do. But the more I learned about Jack, the more I suspected he wasn't your average spirit. He was something more. Something powerful.

What kind of objects? Can you show me?

Wait and see.

He was as interesting as he was frustrating. I decided to ask the question I wanted an answer to the most.

Have you met anyone else who could talk to you?

Yes.

I made a weird sound that was kind of like a cough. I'd never heard of anyone else who could do what I could. But I'd never really left Smoke Hill. It was also impossible to walk up to a person and ask them if they could talk to spirits. You'd get carted away faster than you could say ghost.

Who?

No one you know.

**How do you know?** It was impossible for me to explain to him how much I'd always wanted to meet someone else who could do what I could. Anyone. Just one other person on the planet that would know.

I know a lot of things.

That was all I was going to get out of him right now. Disappointment runs hot and cold through me. I was relieved he couldn't read my mind. Just speak to it.

Do you know why I can see her?

The only explanation I can think of is that you were meant to.

Fate? You believe in fate?

I believe that some things are supposed to happen.

A spirit who believed in fate. He was getting more interesting by the minute.

**If you're a facilitator, what are you doing here with me?** Part of me wished I was speaking aloud so he could hear the sarcasm when I said 'facilitator.'

I don't really know. I go where the wind takes me.

He sounded like a poet. I decided to change the subject.

The bell rang, signaling the end of my chat with him. I glanced at my pile of unfinished work.

I can help you with calculus tonight. If you want.

Will you be nicer this time?

Maybe. Maybe not. I am not very nice in general.

I couldn't argue with him there. But he hadn't been a total jerk.

You were nice to Tracy. To tell her about me. What made you decide to help her?

It was the right thing to do. I have not done the right thing in a long time. I have a lot to make up for.

I didn't have anything to say to that, so I shut my phone and walked to English, thinking about Jack and who the heck he could be. And what he could be.

***

He was in and out for the rest of the afternoon, coming and going without saying a word. He was obviously "facilitating" something. I grabbed a grumpy Amy from school.

"You said I wouldn't get in trouble and Mrs. Kenner gave me the hairy eyeball when I walked into class." Amy pouted while I laughed.

"Sorry, Bug. I'll do better next time."

"You shouldn't talk to _them_ so much." Her voice got quiet.

"What do you mean?" I turned down the Taylor Swift so I could hear her. Jack was here, listening again.

"Sometimes... Sometimes I'm scared that you're going to stop talking to living people. And I'm scared of what happened last time." She turned her face toward me and her eyes burned into me before tracing the scars that ran from my arms to my chest to my face. Amy had this way of putting something in a way that threw me off. Almost like she was much older than nine. Amy was too perceptive for her own good. That scared _me_.

"Don't worry so much, Ames. You'll get wrinkles." I mussed her hair to break the tension.

"I will not!" Ducking out of the way of my hand, she turned the radio back up. Crisis averted.

For now.

Five

I dropped Amy off at home, saying a quick hello to Dad before I grabbed a granola bar and hopped back in the car to get to Teagan's before she got off the bus. I'd been watching her since she was a baby, and I didn't know what I was going to do when I went away to school and couldn't see her every week. She put things in perspective. When most people looked at me, their eyes scraped over my scars, usually skipping away to look at something that didn't make them uncomfortable. Teagan never noticed them.

_Hello._ Jack was back.

"What's up?" I felt like an idiot saying that, but I didn't know what else to say.

Your sister is wise beyond her years.

"You heard that?" I knew he had. I pulled into the Collamore's driveway and parked to the side of the three car garage. You could say that Teagan's parents were wealthy, seeing as how they had enough money to pay me to babysit three days a week and several weekend days a month.

I hopped out of the car and unlocked the house, punching in my code to the alarm.

Something happened to you.

"I don't know what you're talking about." The bus rumbled outside and I dashed out to greet Teagan.

Should I go?

I had to think about it for a second. "No, you can stay."

Teagan burst off the bus, carrying a huge piece of construction paper at arm's length. She danced around me as I laughed.

"Anna, Anna, Anna, I made this for you!" I couldn't tell if it was a giraffe or just a really long-necked dog.

"It's beautiful. Why don't we take it inside so it doesn't get ruined?" She bounced next to me, her Disney Princess backpack banging against her back. It was so large it nearly reached her knees.

She has a lot of energy.

"No kidding," I mumbled. Teagan was too busy babbling about how Sadie Perkins had stolen her snack and then made fun of her shoes to notice.

"That's rough. Did you tell your teacher?" I picked her up and set her on the kitchen counter so she could help me make her snack. I got out a knife, a fresh bag of celery, peanut butter and a bag of raisins.

"No." She unscrewed the lid of the peanut butter, her little face red with the effort.

"I really think you need to speak up. If you don't do anything, she's just going to keep doing it. You don't want her to push you around, do you?" She shook her head, her curls springing everywhere.

"Can I have some orange juice, please?" We'd been working on please and thank you lately.

"Of course you can, Teacup. Thank you for asking." She giggled, and I went to get her favorite sparkly drink glass. We finished making and eating her snack and somehow she managed to get peanut butter in her hair.

I sat her down with her 'homework,' tracing the letter M on a sheet of lined paper, as I listened to the radio. I'd read somewhere that classical music made your baby smart, so I always played the classical station for Teagan. She'd have years to listen to crappy pop music. Throughout it all, Jack hummed in the back of my head. I guess he was done facilitating for today.

Midway through reading _The Berenstain Bears_ , Mrs. Collamore got home. She rushed in, threw down her briefcase and slipped off her heels. Much like my own mother.

"Hi Annabelle, sorry I'm late. My clients always choose to call with some crisis when I'm walking out the door." Mrs. Collamore was a lawyer, mostly land disputes and civil cases. She came over and hugged Teagan as I got up to leave.

"Oh, before you go, would you mind staying late on Friday? Jim and I are going out to dinner."

"Absolutely, no problem. We'll make it a girl's night, okay Teagan?" Her eyes lit up. That meant nail polish and girly movies and staying up later than she was supposed to.

"'Kay." Teagan tugged at her mother's skirt, asking when dinner was. Mrs. Collamore rolled her eyes and sighed. She had a run in her pantyhose and her hair, once coiffed to perfection, had fallen limp.

"See you tomorrow," I said, grabbing my keys.

"I'll have your check tomorrow, too. Thanks again," Mrs. Collamore called as I shut the door.

"Bye Anna!" Teagan called.

I blew her a kiss. "Bye, Teacup."

Jack didn't speak until I was in the car.

You're good with her as well.

"Thank you. She's the reason I want to go into teaching." I'd never really thought about what I wanted to do post high school until I started watching Teagan two years ago. Watching her learn letters and numbers and counting and new words was magic. I didn't know how excited I could get about 2+2=4 until Teagan had learned it.

You're going to be a teacher?

"Yeah, I hope so."

I didn't expect that.

"What did you expect?" Why did he have expectations of me? He'd known me for a grand total of two days.

Nothing. You just keep surprising me.

The way he said it made me tingly again. That was twice he'd made me feel that way.

"Well, now you know everything about me and I don't know anything about you except for the fact that you use the D word and you're a facilitator."

That is all you need to know. For now.

He was totally frustrating.

You're adorable when you don't get what you want.

"What?" I nearly hit a tree.

You should pay attention when you drive.

"And you should stop talking." I hated, hated, hated how he affected me with only his words. Nora would punch me for being so moronic. I turned the radio on and blared the music, but I couldn't find a good station.

Go back, I like that song.

It was _Soul Meets Body_ by Death Cab for Cutie. I wouldn't have pegged him as a Death Cab kind of guy. Also, it was kind of ironic.

"Yeah, me too."

***

Tracy found me later that night as I was brushing my hair. Jack had been MIA for a few hours. Facilitating, I guessed. I pretended not to care when he said he was going to be gone for a while. One of the best ways to find information you want was to act like you didn't want it. That was my plan.

"Hi." She really did look the same. Not that I'd seen her the night of the party, but people had snapped pictures and put them online. The wonders of the internet. Even her toes were still painted a baby pink in her sequined flip-flops.

Hey. I just wanted to come and thank you for what you're doing. I know it's a lot to ask, but I don't have a choice.

She sat down on the edge of my bed and crossed her legs. Flipping her hair back, she looked at me as if we were having a casual girly chat.

"It's what I'm here for," I said, giving her a smile. Even being almost translucent, she was tanner than I was. "Why do you think I can see you? Jack thinks it's some sort of fate thing." I really wanted her take on it.

I wouldn't go so far as to say fate. I really don't know how many other people can do what you can. It was a miracle I found you. Actually, Jack found me and brought me to you.

"Where have you been?"

Here, there and everywhere. You kind of forget who you are when you die. It takes a while to put the pieces back together, or at least it did for me. It wasn't until I saw a black Jetta in a parking lot with a pink rhinestone license plate border that I remembered who I was. Funny that was the thing that triggered it, but once it did, most everything came back.

"Wow." I knew a little about the triggers, as I called them. It was almost like those who didn't cross over were forgotten and had also forgotten themselves. They were left to float endlessly until something brought them back to themselves. I wasn't sure if it was a punishment, but it sure sounded like one. I was still on the fence about who controlled everything.

_There's another reason I'm here. Since you're the only one who can hear me say it, I also wanted to apologize if I ever said anything to hurt you. I was a little wrapped up in making sure I was what everyone wanted me to be._ She got up and paced the room. I didn't know spirits paced like that.

What do I have to show for it? My life ended in a moment, one stupid drunken decision and now my family and my friends are suffering for it.

"It really isn't your fault. People go to parties and get drunk every day, but it doesn't kill them. Things just... happen." I felt kind of weird giving advice to a spirit. They were usually the ones telling me things.

Her answering smile was sad as she sat down again. How she didn't go right through the bed was beyond me.

_Thank you. That means a lot. What I'd really like is if I could do something so that this doesn't happen again. I know it will, but if I could save just one family from going through this, it would be worth it._ Her legs kicked out and in. I didn't know her well enough in life to know if that was normal for her.

It sounds so Mother Teresa-ish for me to say that. But being dead gives you another perspective. When I was alive, all I wanted was to have a boyfriend, to be liked by everyone and to hang out with my friends. I didn't think about anyone but myself and I've paid for it. I just don't want my life to have been a waste, you know?

"Yeah."

Her legs stilled for a moment. _I know who did it._

"You do?" Tracy shook her head before I could ask who it was.

I'm not going to tell you. Even if you asked.

I'd had lots of confessions from spirits. Some of them were, well... unsettling. I'd had a few come out of the closet to me, a few who told me their children were really not biologically theirs, a woman who'd had an abortion when she was fifteen and always regretted it and a man who had stolen money from his parent's company for years by cooking the books. I considered myself as sort of a Pandora's Box of spirit secrets. They needed a place to keep them, and I was that safe place. Kind of like a confessional. I locked them up and kept them safe.

I wish we could have been friends. You're a good person.

I felt uncomfortable, and was about to say something when she got up.

_I'm going to go now. I like to watch over my family at night, just in case. If you have any ideas, please let me know. Bye._ She faded out and was gone.

"See you later."

Six

My dreams were strange that night. I found myself lying on a blanket in the sand. The sun was bright and warm on my face at Smoke Hill Beach. Funny, but I was dressed in my pjs.

"Hello, Annabelle," a weirdly familiar voice said.

I sat up to find a boy walking toward me. Believe it or not, but I couldn't tell how tall he was, or what color his hair was, or anything concrete about him, except he had the most lovely gray eyes. Their color swirled, like storm clouds and were the only thing I could focus on in his face. Everything else about him shifted and changed as soon as I tried to look at it more closely.

How did he know my name?

"Hi." He came and sat down on my blanket, leaning back on his elbows. My dream self didn't ask him who the hell he was or wonder where he had come from.

His face turned toward me and grinned. Or at least I thought he did. It was gone too quickly. "You don't know who I am, do you?"

I met his hurricane eyes. "No."

"That's all right." He gestured with one of his arms. "Do you mind if I sit with you?"

"Go ahead." We sat there on the beach, until the tide came in and lapped at our toes. He sighed and closed his eyes. With a click, the dream shifted and he was gone. Suddenly I was in the grocery store and I had a giant pineapple in my cart and was running from a man in a hotdog suit.

When I woke in the morning, I couldn't remember much. Just those eyes, and the feel of the sand between my toes. The more I tried to remember it, the more it faded. I spent the rest of the day trying to hold onto it.

***

"I don't think Annabelle's listening," someone said.

"What?" Nora's voice had brought me back to the crowded cafeteria. It was Wednesday at lunch and I was still trying to remember my d"Sorry, what?"

Nora sighed heavily before she continued, "I was saying that we should do something this weekend. I know Lissie's got that stupid smart people thing, but we could do something Saturday night."

"It's a lunch for some of the Academic All-Stars, thank you very much." Felicity pretended to be offended, but she was smiling.

"Exactly, a smart people thing. So you in Anna?"

"Girl's night away from my house? Totally."

May I come?

And he was back. I pulled my phone out of my bag and typed **No.**

"Who are you texting?" Nora tried to see my phone. I threw it back in my bag.

"No one."

"Okaayyy. So, Mom and Ma are going out so we can do it at my house." She threw a grape in the air and caught it in her mouth. One of her many talents.

"Sounds good," I said.

Why can't I come?

I swore, he was going to drive me insane.

"What is up with you? You look like you're about to punch someone," Nora said.

Both Felicity and Nora stared at me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Now that I'd tossed my phone away, I had no way to communicate with him.

"I'm good. Just having a moment." Felicity and Nora knew about my moments. _Having a moment_ was code for _I'm having spirit issues that I can't tell you about because you'll think I'm crazy._

Luckily, they had a ton of patience with my moments. Through the years I'd tried to tell them about the spirits.

When Nora got a Ouija board for Christmas one year, I'd thought that was my chance. They'd thought I'd grown out of my imaginary friend phase, so when I told them I could talk to dead people, they laughed. I'd gone on to explain the whole thing, and they'd both sort of changed the subject. I'd tried to bring it up again, but without much success. They just shut down when I talked about it. And I loved them and didn't want to lose them, so I figured it was something we just couldn't talk about.

And then The Incident happened. They'd been so concerned about me and supportive and believed my insane story about how I'd dropped the frying pan and the grease had splashed back on me. Since then, I'd decided that my regular world and spirit world were going to stay as far apart as I could make them.

Jack was making that difficult.

"So, girl's night? I'll bring pizza," I said, plastering a normal smile on my face. They both breathed a sigh of relief and we planned the rest of our weekend with no further interruptions.

***

Since I'd first seen Tracy, it was like the rest of her family was stalking me. I'd seen her sisters and her former boyfriend more in the past two days than ever before. Or maybe I was just more aware of them. They all had the same hollow, haunted look in their eyes. Everyone had seen them on television, pleading for information about who had hit Tracy. It had been all over the local news for weeks, but had faded gradually into the background. Their parents had scraped together enough money for a small reward, but it hadn't enticed anyone to come forward.

I wanted to reach out and tell them that Tracy was with them, and that she was in a good place. That she had come to terms with what had happened to her. I wanted to, but I couldn't. Even though Beth was also a senior, I had had practically zero contact with her. Missy was a freshman, and we had art together, but that was the extent of it. I figured I'd start with Missy.

That afternoon, I threw caution to the wind. Tracy had been hanging out with me for the past hour, so I was feeling the pressure. Not that she said or did anything, but her presence was like a flashing neon sign.

"Hi," I said to Missy as we both cleaned our brushes at the sink in the art room.

"Hi," she said, looking down. One of her brushes fell on the floor and I bent to pick it up.

"Thanks," she said as I handed it back. It was the perfect conversation opening. I wanted to ask Tracy to give me some sort of tip, but she was silent, standing next to Missy and looking at her in a way that made my chest ache.

"You're welcome. I know this is going to sound weird, and you've probably been asked a hundred times, but how are you doing?" She looked up at me, stunned. Her brown eyes were wide, and I could see she had Tracy's nose.

"How do you think?" she snapped, then blushed and went back to the sink.

I joined her again. "Yeah, I figured. I know you don't know me, but if you ever want to talk about it, I'm a pretty good listener." Instead of sounding concerned and comforting, I sounded like a creeper.

Missy coughed and shook the water off the paintbrushes. "Um, thanks. I need to get to class," she said, throwing her brushes in the jar and grabbing her bag. She must have thought I was nuts. Tracy took her place beside me.

You tried. She's just really shy, that's all. And blunt. You're going to have more luck with Beth. Stay away from Jeremy.

I hadn't even tried the boyfriend yet. It would just be too awkward. So far my mission to help had been a disaster. They should have picked someone less socially awkward. Anyone but me.

***

That night I woke to a strange sound coming from Amy's room. Without hesitating, I ran in, thinking in my sleep-addled brain that someone was hurting her. A quick survey of the room showed nothing out of the ordinary. I ran to the bed where Amy was thrashing, making strangled noises in her sleep. A nightmare.

"Amy, wake up." I shook her shoulder and her eyes flew open.

"Anna!" She threw herself at me, as if to make sure I was real. " _They_ were going to hurt you."

I tried to pull her little arms away from my neck so I could breathe. For a nine-year-old, she was strong.

"Shh, who was going to hurt me?" I pushed her sweaty hair out of her face and sat down next to her.

" _Them_. They set the house on fire and I couldn't get to you."

"Oh Bug, that's never going to happen." I hugged her again, wishing the words I said were true. I wished that more than anything else, because I could handle the spirits. But I'd be damned if they would hurt my family.

"But it did, Anna. They did hurt you." She grabbed my arms with her crazy strong arms and forced them in front of my face. The doctor said that soon the scars would turn white. For now, they were still pink, puckered, ugly and they covered nearly half of both arms and wound their way up to my right shoulder, my neck and a few tiny spots on the right side of my face. It wasn't bad enough for skin grafts, and it wasn't good enough to cover with make-up.

It had started out the same as all the others. A man had come to me asking about his wife, wanting to know if she was taken care of. So I did a little research and ended up finding out she'd gotten remarried. He'd only died seven months prior to the wedding and when I told him, he went ballistic. He demanded that I do something about it. He wanted her dead, along with her new husband. I thought I could talk him down, but I couldn't. I was in the process of cooking bacon and eggs with Amy, and I shouldn't have ignored him. I also shouldn't have underestimated him. He'd thrown a few things here and there, but he hadn't tried to hurt me.

He ended up trying to kill me instead by chucking the frying pan full of bacon grease at me. His aim was bad, and I'd been able to turn and block most of it. Thank God Amy had been standing on my other side, or else she would have gotten it instead of me. She'd gotten home from a play date only minutes before.

I don't know what happened to the spirit. Only that I never saw him again.

Slowly, my burns started to heal, but the scars from that day would remain for a long time.

"I know Bug, but one bad apple doesn't ruin the barrel."

Amy trembled in my arms, trying to hold me closer. "I don't want you to die." Pearly tears fell from her eyes onto her blue comforter.

"I'm not going to die, Ames. You're just tired. It's time for bed."

"Will you stay with me?"

"Sure." I pulled the blanket up and tucked myself in, folding Amy under my chin. "I won't let anything happen to you. I promise." It was a promise I'd do anything to keep.

Despite being cramped in Amy's twin bed, I ended up falling asleep and having the dream about the boy with the gray eyes again.

"Hello, Annabelle," he said, same as the first time. He sat down next to me, same as the first time. But my dream self was more curious this time.

"Who are you?" He tipped his head back and laughed.

"If only you knew."

"Oh." Dream self was satisfied and went back to listening to the waves and enjoying the sun.

When I woke up, I wanted to punch dream self. She was an idiot.

Seven

I was taking care of Teagan the next night when Jack returned. I'd already put Teagan to bed and was watching TV when suddenly, there he was. I hadn't seen him in nearly two days.

_Hello, Annabelle._ His voice was louder than I was used to, and it made me jump.

"You're back. Where the hell have you been?"

Were you worried about me?

I flipped the channel to the latest reality show. "Not really. You just surprised me, that's all. Your voice is louder, too."

Is it?

Yes, it was. Crisper, too. Like he was standing right next to me.

"You can't tell?"

_Not really. You look the same to me._ Once again, I couldn't tell if he meant to be insulting.

I watched as two girls in ball gowns cried on a couch over... uh... something. "So what were you up to?"

This and that.

"Facilitating?"

Yes.

"Do you get a kick out of messing with me, or do you just like being mysterious?"

Both. Oh yes, I could definitely hear amusement now. That was loud and clear.

"You're a pain in my–"

"Who are you talking to?" Teagan's sleepy face emerged at the top of the stairs, scaring the daylights out of me.

I clutched my chest, making sure my heart hadn't left it. I swore I could hear a chuckle inside my head, but it quickly faded.

"Teacup, I thought you were in bed."

She hugged Bun Bun, a stuffed rabbit she'd had since she was two that had seen better days. I myself had done several Bun Bun surgeries.

"I had a bad dream. Can I come down with you?" Her lower lip quivered, and I melted. That kid could get away with murder.

"Come here," I said, holding out my arms. "Do you want to tell me about it? It might not seem quite so scary." I pulled her onto my lap on the couch. She curled up under my chin, squeezing the life out of poor Bun Bun.

"There was a man with a black mask on that was trying to get in my room. I hid under the bed, but he kept knocking on the door."

"That does sound scary, but you know what? I would never let anybody hurt you, or scare you like that, okay? And Bun Bun wouldn't either."

"'Kay." She sighed and snuggled closer. It was so easy to make her terrors go away.

_May I tell her a story?_ Jack said. I was too surprised to do anything but nod.

"Do you want to hear a story?" I often made up stories for Teagan, usually involving brave princesses rescuing princes from dragons. I didn't want her to have a damsel-in-distress complex, despite what Disney told her.

Once upon a time, in a land far away there was a magical spirit who had misplaced his body.

I smirked and then said it out loud. It was an odd way to tell a story because I had to wait for him to finish before I could say anything so we didn't talk over one another.

The story went on with the spirit finding a beautiful and kind girl to help him look for his body. They finally found it locked up in a tower guarded by an evil witch. They outsmarted her and got the spirit's body back. Turned out he was a long lost prince. Go figure. The prince and the girl declare their love, married and ruled the kingdom with wisdom and grace for many years. And of course they live happily ever after.

It was a sweet story, and Teagan really liked it. By the time I was done, her breathing was deep and regular. I carried her back upstairs and put her to bed, tucking Bun Bun in with her.

I kissed her forehead before closing the door. "That was really sweet. Thanks."

You're welcome.

"That story isn't autobiographical is it?"

Maybe a little.

"Oh." I was suddenly embarrassed, and hoped he couldn't see me blushing. "Do you really feel that way? Like a genie trapped in a bottle?"

Sometimes. My existence is an endless cycle, never going anywhere. Never changing.

"Why haven't you moved on?"

Next question.

"Does it have anything to do with the facilitating?" I leaned sideways on the door, making sure Teagan was, in fact, asleep.

Next question.

I fiddled with the doorknob. "That's really depressing. If that's the case."

Tell me about it.

I laughed quietly. "You're kind of funny sometimes."

I guess you bring it out in me.

I walked back downstairs. The Collamores were out late on a date night. My homework called from the coffee table, but I didn't want to shut Jack out just yet.

"Sometimes I wish I could see you."

I am sitting on the couch next to you.

I turned and stared at the seemingly empty spot on the couch. I couldn't see anything, but there was... something. A buzzing of energy.

Put out your hand.

I raised my hand up as if I was going to give him a high five. _Do you feel it?_

I held my hand perfectly still and closed my eyes. There was a pressure against my skin. A cool tingling. A bit of resistance.

"Oh my gosh," I whispered, and my hand twitched against the feeling. It wasn't unpleasant... just strange. I took my hand down.

I'm sorry. Was it really unpleasant?

"No. It just was... kinda weird." I looked down at my lap. When he had just been a whispery voice in my head, I hadn't really thought of him as a person. Not that he was a person, but now it was different. "What does it feel like for you?"

_I feel nothing._ There was an awkward silence that was interrupted by the Collamores coming home.

I won't follow you if you don't want me to.

"It's okay, you can come," I said when I was back in my car. "You said you could do other things."

Yes. It is part of the facilitating.

"What do you want?" I'd asked him so many times, and he hadn't answered.

Nothing from you. I will not hurt you, Annabelle. Believe that.

"How do I know that for sure?" I absentmindedly rubbed my scars, a habit I'd picked up.

_I will not hurt you, Annabelle._ A cool pressure danced up and down my right arm, right across my burns. I froze. He was touching me. _The one who did this to you will never do it again._

"How do you know about that?" My own voice was no more than a whisper. Thin and fragile.

You don't have to worry about him.

"Why?"

_You don't have to worry about him_ , Jack said again.

The coolness stayed on my arm this time. It was calming somehow. Despite not knowing his real name, or anything about him, he made me feel safer than I had in a long time.

"Thank you."

***

I didn't try to talk to Tracy's sister, Beth, until we were leaving an NHS meeting. I had even less a reason to talk to her than Missy. Other than NHS, we didn't orbit the same planets even though we were in the same class. Tracy was shadowing me again. I couldn't imagine being her. Following her family around but unable to say anything to them.

I told Felicity I had to get something from my locker so I could follow Beth. I'd spent the entire meeting thinking of a reason to talk with her. She was vice-president and needed ideas for our end-of-the-year charity project. I couldn't think of anything better than a project to honor Tracy. I was actually surprised she hadn't already thought of it.

"Hey Beth?" I sounded like a moron.

"Yeah?" Her voice was flat, and dark circles were permanently etched under her eyes. She'd stopped wearing so much make-up, and her skin was shades lighter than it normally was, due to not visiting the tanning bed. Her blonde highlights were dull and needed touching up. She looked like a mess and it broke my heart.

Beth leaned against a locker, as if she was too exhausted to stand anymore. "I think I've got an idea for the project, but I wanted to ask you about it." Tracy had already given the go-ahead to this plan. It was easy to see they were related, even though Beth was taller and more athletic than Tracy. They shared the same blonde hair and had the same mouth. It was much easier to see when Tracy stood next to Beth.

"I think we should do something, you know, to honor your sister. We could raise money for a scholarship fund in her name, and we could start and organization for teens and parents so that the kids could call for a ride, no questions asked. What do you think?" She'd been silent as I talked, her face blank. But now she looked like she was going to cry. And then her eyes narrowed. Uh oh.

She crossed her arms. "Why do you care? You didn't even know her."

I took a step back. "I know, but it's just so sad what happened and I think something should be done so this doesn't happen again."

"You have no idea what you're talking about." She slammed her fist against a locker and ran to the girl's bathroom. Crap.

Tracy rolled her eyes. _I knew she was going to act like that._

Luckily the hallway was empty. "Then why did you tell me to do it?"

We had to start somewhere. Go after her.

I started walking toward the bathroom. "What should I say?"

I'll tell you.

"Beth?" I tapped on the bathroom door. I could hear her sobbing. I cracked the door open, making sure we were alone. Phew.

"Go away." Her voice was clogged with tears.

Tell her that you talk to me.

"What?" I said aloud to Tracy.

"I said, go away." She banged on the stall wall to make her point.

Tell her that I'm here. That I can hear her.

I took a breath before I said it. I hoped this ended well. "Tracy's here, Beth. She's with me right now. She can hear you." I took a few steps closer to the stall until I was right outside the door. Tracy hopped up on the sink.

Tell her that I don't blame her for leaving me to make out with Travis Bigellow.

I said it without thinking. "She doesn't blame you for leaving her to make out with Travis Bigellow." There was silence behind the stall door.

Tell her that I miss her pancakes. And singing karaoke in the car. Thanks for feeding Oreo.

"She misses your pancakes and singing karaoke in the car and thanks for feeding Oreo."

There was a gasp. "How could you know that?" Beth opened the door, looking at me through the tears that dripped down her face.

"Tracy told me. She's sitting right here on the sink." Swinging her legs and humming to herself.

Tell her I like her new red dress and it doesn't make her butt look big.

"She says to tell you she likes the red dress and it doesn't make your butt look big." I thought Beth was going to slap me, but she laughed instead.

"That sounds like Tracy." She stared at the sink, but stayed back. "Is she really here? Is she haunting you?"

"It's more like she's following me around. If you put out your right hand, you'll touch her foot." Beth slowly raised her right hand and walked forward.

That's my knee.

"A little higher." I took Beth's hand and pulled it up. Tracy put out her own hand, and then they were touching. The room was so quiet. I prayed no one would walk in on this moment.

"I can almost feel her," Beth whispered. "Is she a ghost?"

I can feel you. And we prefer the term spirit. Or departed.

"She says she can feel you. They prefer spirit, by the way. Ghost sounds too creepy and morbid." Tears started to run down Beth's face again as she stood with her hand outstretched. Tracy started to laugh, and if she could have cried, I think she would.

"I miss you," Beth whispered.

I miss you, too Bethy.

I was a necessary intruder, but I wished I wasn't.

"Why do you believe me? You don't even know me," I said.

"I've felt her around. I knew she was with us. Just because I can't see her or hear her, doesn't mean I don't know she's here. You have no idea how lucky you are." I had never, for one moment, considered myself lucky.

"It doesn't always feel that way. But thanks for believing me and not running away and thinking I'm insane." I laughed a little.

"Sure thing."

Tracy was smug. _I told you I knew what I was doing._

"I know, I know."

Beth looked at the space where Tracy was. "Are you talking to her?"

"She's telling me that she knew you would believe me."

"Tracy is always right, even when she's wrong. She knows how to convince you otherwise," Beth said, laughing. My ears caught the fact that she had used the present tense.

Tell her why I'm here.

"She wants me to tell you there's a reason she's still here. That she hasn't moved on. She wants to make sure that you, Missy and the rest of your family are okay, that you've moved on with your lives and don't blame yourselves for what happened." Beth fell forward against the sink and crumpled to the floor.

"But it is my fault. If I hadn't been so stupid and so selfish. God, if I hadn't gotten so wasted, she'd still be here."

That's not true.

"She said that's not true."

"Don't tell me what I know. I just wish that I had died, too."

Don't say that. I don't want that. Bethy, I want you to live because I can't.

"Don't say that, she doesn't want that, Bethy, she wants you to live because she can't."

"It's too hard." She sobbed, great gasps that sounded like they were going to tear her chest apart. I crouched down beside her and put my hand on her shoulder.

"I know. But the hardest things to do in life are sometimes the most important. She needs you to be the strong one, the one who keeps everything together." Tracy had been hissing the words in my head and I said them fast. Beth raised her head.

"Will you help me?"

"Of course, that's what I'm here for." For the first time ever, I felt like I had been given the ability to speak to the dead for a purpose and I was going to use it.

End of this sample

If you enjoyed this small sampling of Whisper you can pick up a copy in the Kindle Store.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Chelsea M. Cameron is a YA writer from Maine. Lover of things random and ridiculous, Jane Austen/Charlotte and Emily Bronte Fangirl, red velvet cake enthusiast, obsessive tea drinker, vegetarian, former cheerleader and world's worst video gamer. When not writing, she enjoys watching infomercials, singing in the car and tweeting. She has a degree in journalism from the University of Maine, Orono that she promptly abandoned to write about the people in her own head. More often than not, these people turn out to be just as weird as she is.

Visit her online at

www.leftandwrite7.blogspot.com

twitter.com/chel_c_cam

