The Sorcerer King and the Fire Queen

by Ana Lee Kennedy

  A week later, Cindy Sansburg and Jody Kefferstine befriended me, even sitting with me in the cafeteria of Whetstone High School. They’d insisted what Cole had done to me was wrong. They convinced me they wanted to be my friends, and as a trio, we could protect one another and watch each other’s backs. Together, we went to the Christmas Snow Dance as a dateless trio.

  That night Cindy told me I’d been named as the dance’s Snow Queen.

  I couldn’t believe it, had been blown away by the news. It was too good to be true, and I should have realized that. The need for friends and acceptance had nearly gotten me killed.

  Jody had led me to the girls’ restroom to put on a tiara and cape before the announcement was made to the school.

  Stunned, I’d followed them, but six other girls waited there for me. The tallest one pushed me so hard I sprawled out on the tile in my pretty red-and-white satin gown. The first kick landed in my ribs. The air had rushed out of my lungs, and pain radiated up into my chest and down into my groin. A series of kicks, slaps, and punches rained down on me. Blood and tears blurred my vision as shrieks burst from my lips like the cries of a snared rabbit. Even curling into a fetal position had done nothing to save me from their onslaught.

  The power surged up out of my guts. It traveled along my arms, and I glowed so brightly the girls gasped and cowered together against the wall. With my hair whipping and flowing as if afire, and my fingertips as red as coals, the curse found its way out of me again. The water in the toilet bowls boiled and bubbled, cracking each one. The hems of the girls’ dresses burst into flames, and they ran shrieking like banshees from the restroom. One tripped over me and hit the tile with a sickening thwap.

  She stared eye to eye with me, but finally realized she was still on fire and sat up long enough to smack out the flames eating at her gown.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “You’re a freak,” she said without looking at me. “You do weird things, know stuff before it happens, and you see visions, monsters, and talk about spirits. Freaks don’t belong in this world.” She jumped to her feet and ran sobbing from the restroom.

  Later, during lonely, sleepless nights, their shouts of “freak,” “weirdo,” and “witch” echoed in my mind. Two months later, I discovered I was pregnant by Cole. The only thing Dad ever said about me putting his grandson up for adoption was that it was probably for the better because dealing with me was difficult enough.

  I stared at the Interstate passing under the Jeep’s tires. After a few brief relationships that ended in disaster once my freaky abilities were revealed, I resigned myself to a life of loneliness, but I still pined for a few good friends. Hell, I’d settle for just one good friend, someone to talk to and laugh with, someone who didn’t care that I blasted things into oblivion whenever I was scared or upset, and one who wouldn’t judge me because I saw things straight out of Grimms’ Fairy Tales.

  Irritated, I slammed my right hand against the steering wheel. The tingle began in my palm and seeped into my fingertips. My nails flared like large, flat sparks.

  I tried to stop the surge of power, but failed this time. It wasn’t the first instance of a window, mirror, or other shiny surface reflecting my power. Overall, the worst that had ever happened was a few scorched hairs or temporary flash burn to my eyes. However, I inadvertently jerked the steering wheel, veering into the emergency lane. Before I could right the vehicle, the Jeep ran over something on the berm. My SUV jolted, and a whump issued against the undercarriage. I righted the vehicle and manhandled it back into the correct lane of traffic, but the Jeep veered again, and the steering wheel turned sharply to the right.

  With effort, I stayed in my lane, but let off the accelerator. Ahead, a young woman sat on the guardrail, early morning fog twirling around her. Hitchhiking on an Interstate is illegal, but she perched there all the same with her back to the traffic. She faced the opposite side as if admiring the swampy hollow below the road. I caught a glimpse of pale hair and a huge backpack as the Jeep whizzed by.

  Gradually, I brought the vehicle back onto the emergency lane and slowed it to a stop, my hands clenching the steering wheel so tightly my palms cramped and my knuckles protested. I knew how to change a tire, but it had been several years since the last one and that had been on a Chevette.

  I shut off the engine and groaned. Was this a sign of how the rest of the trip would pan out?

  Screw it.

  I’d change the tire, resume my journey, and buy a replacement as soon as possible.

  A tractor-trailer roared by, its tailwind jiggling the SUV. At least the Jeep’s color, a bright canary yellow, would be easily seen by motorists. Thoughts of all the caught-on-camera accidents along interstate roadsides filtered through my head.

  I waited for a lull in traffic. Frustrated, I clambered over to the passenger seat and got out on that side. Although still early, the humidity had become palpable. The aroma of heating asphalt and hot rubber pelted my senses. Every now and then, I’d catch the odor of swamp water wafting up from the shallow pond below the road. With a sigh, I removed the tire cover and bolts on the hatch’s door, then retrieved the jack, rolling the spare around to the front. After positioning the jack, I reached for the four-way and squatted by the flat tire.

  “Need some help?”

  I paused with the four-way an inch from the first lug nut. There, at the back bumper, stood the blonde from the guardrail. She shrugged out of the backpack and dropped it on the pavement. I blinked. There was no way I was seeing a Marilyn Monroe look-a-like with big boobs, wearing Daisy Duke cut-offs and wedge sandals.

  “I’ve never changed a tire,” she said in a soft, child-like voice. She stooped slightly, and her massive boobs surged to the edge of her scooped neckline. “But I can work the jack.”

  I eyed her skeptically, my inner voice screaming this chick was pure trouble.

  “So, do you want help?” she pressed. She placed her hands on her hips and shifted her weight to one foot so a healthy dose of ass cheek hung out of her shorts.

  I wondered if Tits R Us could be of any real help.

  “Sure,” I said.

  I focused on the lug nuts, turned to look for a pavement divot to set them in so I wouldn’t lose them, and froze in horror. The woman’s ass cheeks hovered inches from my face as she bent over to retrieve the jack. Appalled, I shifted my attention to the next lug nut.

  “I’m Maureen Galbraith,” she said in her baby-doll voice.

  “Uh...Ruby Nutter.”

  “Nutter? You mean like a crazy person?”

  “No, like the name.”

  “Oh.”

  I managed to loosen the other lug nuts. “Jack up the Jeep, please.”

  She stooped and started pumping the lever. I blinked again. Her breasts rushed forward in a wave of cleavage that was impressive to say the least. I fought the urge to duck.

  A vehicle pulled in behind mine. The driver waited for a pause in the traffic, stepped out of the flatbed diesel and made his way over to us.

  “Can I be of service, ladies?” he drawled and tipped his crumpled cowboy hat.

  Instantly I sensed trouble. “No thanks,” I said.

  Maureen leaned over and resumed working the jack.

  “Hoowee! Baby, bend over a little more!” The truck driver sauntered closer, ogling Maureen’s backside.

  “Do you mind?” I snapped. The look I threw over my shoulder should’ve fried him into a pile of ash.

  “Yeah, pretty mama, show me that stuff between your legs!” the driver continued. His tone reeked of too many cigarettes and one too many hookers. “Bet I could poke you until you begged for mercy!”

  That did it. I stood up, hands on hips, and glared at him. “Just the thought of that ten-gallon gut hanging over your one-ounce dick is enough to make me beg for mercy.”

  “GAWD, you’re crude, Ruby!” Maureen straightened, her expression aghast.

  I gaped at her. “ME?”

  “Bitch!” the trucker sn
apped. “I stopped to help two pretty women and—”

  “You stopped, thinking you might score a piece of ass, you jerk-off!” I retorted above the roar of passing semis. My palms itched. If I started glowing as I thrashed this guy’s ass all over the roadside, I could only imagine the shocked motorists and resulting fender benders.

  “Why you—!” He took two steps toward me.

  The hitchhiker gasped and grabbed my arm. I leaned toward her, but whether for my comfort or hers, I wasn’t sure.

  A horn sliced the air, and a black, expensive-looking Ford Excursion slowed as it passed my Jeep to pull over in front of it. A door slammed.

  I prayed the person wasn’t another jerk.

  Footsteps crunched on the gravel littering the asphalt.

  “Is there a problem here?”

  Something in the stranger’s voice shot an arrow of recognition through me.

  “Not at all,” the truck driver said. He backed away. “Thought I’d offer my help to these ladies, but they obviously have everything under control.” He spun on his heel and bolted for his flatbed. As he pulled out into traffic, forcing a car over into the passing lane, a horn blared.

  “That guy was giving you trouble, wasn’t he?” the man asked.

  I turned, and my mouth dropped open. Not one word would emerge from it.

  The stranger smiled. I’d never seen an albino in person before. His pale skin almost blended with the dwindling fog and mid-summer haze. I caught a glimpse of a bad scar that dipped along his neck into his deep green Polo shirt that stood out starkly against his coloring. Hair like gossamer curled around his ears and collar. Mirrored sunglasses covered his eyes, which I could only guess were as white as his skin. Faded jeans clung to trim hips and slim, muscular legs. My gaze traveled down to a pair of expensive alligator-skin cowboy boots poking out from the hems of his jeans.

  The only albinos I’d ever seen had been in movies. The character Whitey from the movie Foul Play and the twins from The Matrix Reloaded popped into my head. This man, however, wasn’t what I’d deem unattractive, but he certainly looked unholy, eerie. Although some aspects of him were shocking and bizarre, I was simultaneously repulsed and drawn to him.

  And he seemed so familiar. Somehow his pleasantly deep voice stirred memories, memories just out of my reach like a forgotten word dangling on the tip of my tongue.

  “That guy was being nasty, but Ruby here,” Maureen jerked her thumb over one shoulder, “can hold her own. She’s got one hell of a mouth on her.”

  Frowning, I cast the hitcher a warning look. “He ticked me off.”

  “Would you like me to finish changing the tire for you?” he asked.

  “Sure!” Maureen chirped.

  I said nothing, just stepped back and watched him work the jack, wrangle the flat tire off and shove the spare on in its place, followed by the lug nuts and tightening each one securely. The muscles worked in his arms and shoulders, and my body responded. The guy wasn’t my type. I liked tall, dark-haired men with dreamy green or brown eyes. This guy was just too—unnatural.

  That’s the pot calling the kettle black.

  Shame warmed my skin, but I blamed it on the humidity and the sun.

  He affixed the tools and flat in their proper places and then shut the hatch. The man turned his attention to me, his full-lipped mouth spreading into a wide grin, revealing teeth whiter than his skin.

  “All done,” he said as he shoved his shades atop his head.

  I withdrew a twenty from my dress pocket and held it out to him, but his gaze stunned me into silence yet again, a gaze of ice and azure that seemed to slice through my soul.

  “Thank you for your help,” I finally stammered.

  I thought he was going to take the money, but instead, he squeezed my hand, and a warm smile lit up his face. His powder-blue eyes bored into mine, and the interest I saw in them rendered me stupid. It was almost as if I was meeting a long-lost friend or lover. Stranger still was that I had the overwhelming urge to step into his arms and snuggle my head against his shoulder.

  “No charge,” he replied. “Just helping someone in need.”

  “Thank you,” I croaked. At the tremble in my voice, heat rushed to my cheeks.

  The man continued to gaze into my eyes, and, with obvious reluctance, released my hand. “Maybe we’ll bump into one another again sometime.” He nodded to me and Maureen. “I need to get out of this sun and get going. You two take it easy and stay safe.”

  “We will see you again,” Maureen called out.

  He paused, glancing over his shoulder. Finally, he nodded a second time, but I sensed his bemused expression as he turned away. The man climbed into his Excursion and left. An odd sense of abandonment swept over me.

  I eyed Maureen in bewilderment. What was this “we” talk?

  “It was uh...nice meeting you,” I said and climbed in on the passenger side to crawl into the driver’s seat. Maureen opened the passenger door, flung her backpack on the back floorboard, hopped in shotgun, and fastened her seatbelt.

  Flabbergasted, I asked, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Riding with you,” She blinked innocent, pale green eyes.

  “Who says?”

  She looked hurt. “I thought...I thought we were friends.”

  Eeriness washed over me. The voices of Cindy and Jody echoed in my ears. Hadn’t I just been thinking of how nice it would be to have at least one real friend?

  My eyebrows rose so high I momentarily wondered if they’d crawled up into my hairline. “We’re not friends. I don’t even know you.”

  “Please let me ride with you, Ruby.”

  The whine in her voice made me want to take my own life, but regardless, something about the woman both warned me away and urged me to give her a ride. Maybe it was the fact I needed female companionship, a friend, but despite the mental whispers, a louder, more insistent voice screamed over the rest. It said I “needed” to help her.

  “I’m going to Florida.”

  “Really? So am I!”

  I sighed. How convenient.

  “All right, but if you try anything funny, I’ll kick your ass out doing sixty-five.”

  She frowned as if confused. “What would I do?”

  “Never mind.” I started the Jeep and shot out into traffic before another car or semi appeared in my side mirror.

  I didn’t understand why I’d given in to her plea, but whatever the reason, the one voice out-shouting the others in my head had finally won. I hated that voice.

  Chapter Three

  “Where’s your family?” I asked Maureen to pass the time and occupy my mind.

  “I have my Aunt Lula in Indiana, but that’s all,” she said.

  Her evasive tone snagged my attention. “So why are you hitchhiking?”

  “I like to be on the move. Aunt Lula home-schooled me, and once I got my diploma, I decided I wanted to travel the United States. Everything I own is in my backpack.”

  “How do you survive without money?” I questioned, glancing at her French-tipped fingernails, which weren’t cheap. “Where do you sleep?”

  “If I want something, I do an odd job here and there. Aunt Lula wires me money when I need it, but I don’t always rent rooms. If the weather is nice, I’ll save my money. I’ve slept in doorways, barns, in cars, or wherever it’s safe.”

  Safe? Was that possible in today’s world, especially when there were things that went “bump” in the night?

  I began the drive through the mountains of West Virginia. Ten miles later, I kicked off my sneakers. Wriggling my toes, I glanced down at Maureen’s feet. How could she stand walking around in high heels? My unusual hitcher had to be a few bricks short of a full load.

  I glanced over at her. “Why do you wear heels to hitchhike?”

  “I only wear them when I’m not hitching,” Maureen explained. “High heels make my legs look great, but these don’t really count. They’re wedges.”

  Wit
h my gaze on the road, I worried that I’d picked up Coconuts, the Fruit of the Loom guys’ lost sister.

  I tried turning up the radio, but Maureen talked over it until I gave up and lowered the volume. After an hour of listening to her constant chatter and high-pitched laughter, I started praying for a quick death. Kicking her out of my Jeep wasn’t in my nature so long as she didn’t do anything to “really” piss me off.

  My thoughts strayed to the albino man. Despite his unusual appearance, something about the man seemed so familiar too. I knew I’d never met him before. It would be impossible to forget a man like that, especially one who looked like he’d just stepped out of the special effects department.

  “What did you mean back there about us meeting that guy again?”

  Maureen stared out the passenger window. “Oh, just that life can be weird. People bump into one another all the time.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You said it like you were certain we’ll meet him again.”

  She shrugged. “It’s just a feeling.”

  The gal was too much. Of all the people in the nation I could run into, it had to be a fruity Marilyn Monroe copycat, who played the baby-doll routine to the hilt and hinted she was psychic.

  And I’d thought I was weird.

  The miles passed under the Jeep’s tires. Maureen prattled on about places she’d been and people she’d met, but I only half listened.

  Oblivious to the fact I was only making noncommittal noises to her chatter, Maureen kept babbling. “I worked at a restaurant for a couple of months, but only because I had a terrible crush on one of the busboys...”

  With Virginia not far away, I pulled into a rest area to pee and change my clothes. The August humidity had defeated me, and since my Jeep Wrangler didn’t have air conditioning, I craved fresh, dry clothing on my body and a cold drink. Besides, Maureen’s constant talking had me dreaming of driving into oncoming traffic.