The Sorcerer King and the Fire Queen

by Ana Lee Kennedy

  “Thanks, Ruby!” Maureen hiccupped. She rummaged in her backpack and yanked out a makeup kit. “You’ll enjoy the museum. I promise.”

  “Don’t mention it—and I doubt it.”

  “Besides,” she blew her nose, “we’re meant to go there.”

  “What?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “Whatever.” I sighed and concentrated on the twisty road.

  For several miles, we traveled a bi-way that twined up a mountainside. Another ten minutes of tall trees and breathtaking views brought us to a blacktopped lot and a large structure. I’d expected to find Cousin Bubba on a ramshackle porch spitting tobaccy into a Maxwell House can with several hound dogs sprawled around his rocking chair. Instead, half a dozen cars and a few motorcycles sat in the parking area of a building that looked like a new-age church.

  The motion of the Jeep had kept the heat at bay, but once I parked the vehicle and stepped out of it, the humidity grew unbearable. I grimaced, imagining a frosty, salt-rimmed margarita and a hotel room with the A/C turned up so high icicles would hang from the curtain rods.

  In her spiked heels, Maureen tiptoed across the smoldering blacktop.

  “After we’re done here, we’re going to drive for several hours,” I said firmly. “No more stops except to pee or grab something to eat, got it?”

  “Sure.”

  As we crossed the lot, we passed the suicide machines. Surely they weren’t the same ones?

  I counted them.

  Seven.

  “What is it with you and motorcycles?” asked Maureen, a note of wonder in her voice.

  “Nothing.”

  I paid the five bucks admission for each of us, and we entered the building.

  “When do I get some money?” Maureen asked, her voice shattering the stillness of the entrance hall.

  “Later,” I said. “When we have some privacy to divide it.”

  A corridor carpeted in slate blue stretched ahead of us. The faint aroma of new rug fibers, fresh plaster and paint upset my stomach.

  Quiet permeated the building. Faintly, the distant strains of Enya’s “Amarantine” wafted through the halls and rooms. The soft murmurs of the curious drifted to us. We wandered down another hall looking at framed pictures of huge vegetables. In a big display chamber, suspended from a hefty rigging system, a monster pumpkin sat upon a platform as if it were the Great Pumpkin from the Peanuts Halloween episode. A sign announcing its weight as nine hundred and ninety-eight pounds hung under it.

  We followed a small group of people into a room full of authentic fruits and vegetables that could’ve graced any giant’s dinner table. The hugest zucchini I’d ever seen stretched across a stand on our left.

  “Too bad science can’t do the same thing for men,” Maureen said.

  I burst out laughing, the sound echoing rudely throughout the building. People turned to stare.

  She grinned back at me, a dimple appearing high on her right cheek. Our gazes locked. A strange and silent communication passed between us. Feelings I’d never felt before—camaraderie, hope, and even acceptance—awakened in me. The faint, vaporous stirrings of friendship surfaced, but I knew better than to trust such feelings and shoved them aside.

  The subsequent room displayed everything from a preserved two-headed garter snake to a Holstein with three legs protruding from its back.

  And I’d always thought I was the only genetic mishap alive.

  A small cluster of visitors took the doorway to the right. I caught a glimpse of motorcycle chaps, biker boots, and the backside of a Harley tank top, revealing a bare shoulder tattooed with a black panther.

  Fear knotted my gut.

  Maureen and I stepped into a room full of albino animals. Snow-white cows, deer, goats, rabbits, and even a reversed skunk and a few preserved albino snakes stared sightlessly out of pink or pale brown eyes. The attraction that startled me the most stood at the front of the room.

  Maureen reached up with two fingers and closed my mouth. “I told you we had to come here.”

  I threw her an irritated look, my gaze zipping back to the man waiting for the crowd to quiet.

  Dark blue jeans hugged Solomon Xavier’s trim hips and muscular legs. A tie-dyed shirt of blue and purple almost glowed against his skin. His pleasant, deep voice suited the lines and planes of his clean-cut look. How could anyone look so bizarre and yet so appealing? He certainly wasn’t my type, but the draw was there all the same.

  Slowly, Maureen and I edged closer. Solomon launched into an explanation about albinism.

  Maureen nudged my arm. “Isn’t he cool?”

  He caught my gaze. A delighted smile spread across his face. The action reached his eyes, and something familiar tingled inside me, leaving me confused.

  Maureen whispered, “He digs you, Ruby.”

  “No, he doesn’t.”

  “Oh yes, he does.” She leaned closer, and I caught a whiff of antiperspirant, mild sweat and citrusy perfume. “I can tell.”

  “Well, well,” a female voice said behind us, “If it isn’t the bitch from the rest area.”

  There was no reason to turn around. I knew the biker woman was part of the pack, but where was the rest of the gang?

  Maureen tossed me a worried expression, and I barely shook my head, offering a stern look of warning.

  “In conclusion,” Solomon said, “there is one severe form of albinism called Hermansky-Pudlak Syndrome. Although rare, this condition involves—”

  “Freak.”

  Silence fell upon the room. Museum patrons rubbernecked the crowd for the owner of the voice. The stuffed animals sat upon their perches, their sightless eyes accusing.

  “What’s wrong?” the male voice continued. “Is everyone else afraid to say it?”

  I turned slowly. For a moment I wasn’t so sure if it were me or Solomon who had been called a freak. The biker woman and her boyfriend moved through the group, head and shoulders above the rest, and stopped next to me. My insides quaked, and a new kind of fear permeated my thin façade. Maureen drew in a sharp breath and pressed against me so closely I smelled her hairspray. My gaze flickered over the biker dude’s body tattooed in a menagerie of Harley emblems to snakes to weapons of mass destruction. A bushy black beard covered the lower half of his homely mug, and his nose looked as if it had been smashed and rearranged in the center of his face.

  Something cold and dangerous radiated off the bikers. The image of the demonic horse head blazed across my mind’s eye as well as the enormous man who had melted the glass in my apartment door. The beginnings of a tremor began in the soles of my feet and gradually ascended to my legs. If I lost my composure here...if the power awakened...

  “You should be stuffed and put on display with the rest of these freaks of nature,” the riffraff said.

  His woman tucked herself against his side. She kissed his shoulder, leaving a bright red oval upon his skin.

  The biker dude looked directly at Solomon. “You’re a worthless freak.”

  Something inside me snapped. As usual, and despite my fear, my mouth popped open, and the words sprang from it like a jack-in-the-box. “Get lost, asshole!”

  Maureen drew in another sharp breath.

  Murmurs of approval rippled through the onlookers.

  “You bitch!” The biker mama glared at me.

  “I see you suffer a limited vocabulary too.” Inwardly, I groaned at my lack of verbal control.

  The woman let out a scream and lunged at me. The crowd parted, many people uttering gasps and startled cries. Frantic, I jumped to the side, dodging the chick. She landed in a heap on the carpet, got up, and let rip with another banshee screech. She sprang toward me again. Instinctively, I threw my hand up to block her, but I should’ve known better in front of a crowd of onlookers. My body began glowing, fiery colors infused my hair, and my fingertips lit up with bright orange color. The electrical sensation I detested so much zinged down my arms. The biker chick met with an invisible fo
rce, flew backward through the air and crashed against a wall. The impact of her body crumpled the drywall, and she sat up, shaking her head, her bandana falling from her kinky hair.

  Total silence settled upon the room. As the glow surrounding me dissipated, I looked around at all the shocked faces. The momentary silence shattered as all hell broke loose. People shrieked and ran in every direction like ants in a knocked over hill. Many bumped into displays as they jostled one another to get out, the sound of collective footfalls overwhelming the room.

  The Harley dude pointed at me. “It’s her!”

  “Back off,” Solomon snapped. He stepped between us. “Leave quietly, or I’ll call the police.”

  The power I’d sensed in him before at the diner emanated from him so strongly it felt like I was standing in an electrically charged box.

  An expression of recognition slid over the man’s face. He charged Solomon, who failed to get out of the way in time. He grabbed Solomon by the throat and tossed him aside. He landed at the base of one wall, narrowly missing a large deer mounted on a pedestal.

  “It’s him too,” the biker said.

  “Are you sure?” The woman focused on Solomon. Her eyes flashed yellow.

  Terror erupted in my heart. I’d seen her eyes do the same thing at the rest area after all.

  Solomon shook his head and staggered to his feet. “You two better run,” he said to me and Maureen.

  We didn’t have to be told twice. I grabbed Maureen’s hand, and we bolted from the room, her heels snagging on the carpet.

  Within seconds, a shout sliced the air behind us. “Come back here, bitch!”

  I glanced over my shoulder at the biker pounding down the hall behind us.

  “Kick off those damn heels!” I yelled at Maureen.

  She stopped long enough to step out of them and turned, throwing the shoes at the biker. One bounced off the top of his head.

  We raced into the chamber housing the enormous pumpkin. Several people hurried out to avoid involvement.

  The woman who had taken our entry fee shouted, “I’m calling the police.”

  “Then do it,” I barked back.

  She disappeared down a corridor.

  “Where did he go?” Maureen asked, gasping for breath.

  “I don’t know, but let’s get out of here while we still can.”

  We started toward one of the adjoining halls. The psycho jumped out of it with an animalistic howl. I cried out, but Maureen squealed like a little girl, stumbled backward and fell into a curtain. The drape ripped loose, revealing a lever that she caught with her elbow as she slid down the wall. A whirring noise drew my attention to the ceiling panels above us. The suspended pumpkin crashed to the floor. A deafening boom pervaded the chamber, and the squash burst apart like a piñata, spilling seeds and goo instead of toys and candy.

  The biker grabbed Maureen by her upper arms and yanked her out of the curtain. He held her off the floor, feet dangling. “I know who you are too,” he snarled.

  Heat hurtled up out of my gut and out along my limbs. “Let go of her!” I swung at him, but since he was so tall, my fist only connected with his sternum. A whimper of pain burst from my lips, and I clutched my hand against my breasts. The pain pissed me off, and more of the lava sensation sped through my body. The glowing began, radiating off me so brightly the biker looked as if he stood in a spotlight.

  However, instead of being frightened, the jerk merely looked at me as if I were a pesky mosquito.

  Still clutching my thumping hand, I stared up at him. Why wasn’t he afraid?

  The girlfriend jogged into the chamber. Upon seeing us cornered, she grinned.

  “You’re ours now.” The biker dude chuckled.

  “The lady said to let go of her friend.”

  The guy turned, his eyes widening. A few feet away, Solomon pointed a handgun at him.

  Chapter Six

  Slowly, the illumination emanating from me faded.

  Solomon glanced at me curiously then turned his attention back to the biker. “Take your bimbo and get out of here.”

  The Harley mama issued a weird, sinister hiss that sent a shiver up my spine.

  “And what if I don’t?” the guy asked, a sneer on his face.

  “You’ll deal with the police.” Solomon waved the gun. “Until then, I can detain you in a storage room—after I shoot both your knees.”

  There was no doubt in my mind he meant it.

  “You don’t know who we are, do you?” the biker dude asked.

  “Don’t know,” said Solomon, “and don’t care, but I’m sure you don’t want me to shoot you.”

  The woman looked at me and said, “You’ll pay for what you did to us. We’ll be back.”

  What I did to them?

  But the little voice in my head insisted the Harley chick meant something else.

  The biker couple left the museum. The receptionist re-appeared and announced she’d called the police for the second time.

  Solomon held out a large, long-fingered hand with a big silver-and-turquoise ring on it. “Are you two all right?”

  “I think so,” I answered and clasped his hand. Familiarity washed over me. I did, however, recognize his eyes as surely as I knew my name.

  “You know those characters?” he asked.

  “We bumped into them at a rest area in West Virginia.” Maureen batted her eyes like a Southern belle trying to win over a beau. “Ruby accidentally hit the woman with a door.”

  Solomon seemed amused. His gaze locked with mine. “It seems you’re special too.”

  I averted my gaze and pulled my hand out of his.

  The receptionist called out that the police had finally arrived, sparing me from any unanswerable questions Solomon might have asked me. The cops spent half an hour taking our statements. By the time they left, it was nearly the supper hour.

  “I’m hungry,” Maureen said, cradling a foam cup of coffee between her hands.

  “Yeah.” My stomach gurgled loudly. “Me too.”

  “Why don’t you let me put you up for the night?” Solomon offered. He walked into the entrance hall. “The cops are gone, and the night crew can work on the mess in the display chamber, so I might as well close the museum early.”

  “This is “your” museum?” I asked.

  “Yes, I built it a couple years ago.”

  “Cool,” Maureen crowed. “It’s your tribute to the misunderstood souls of the world.”

  Her cutesy tone of voice made me want to smack her into next week. Solomon favored her with a soft look, and I wondered if he was attracted to her. The idea irked me, and warmth flowed over my skin as I began to glow.

  Shit! Go away, go away, tamp it down...!

  Solomon cocked his head to one side, his attention on me again. The illumination halted almost as quickly as it had begun.

  Acting as if nothing had happened, I asked, “What were you doing in Ohio when you stopped to help us change the Jeep’s tire?”

  “I was driving back from Pataskala where I’d purchased another piece for my museum,” he replied. “The last two times I’ve had something shipped here the items arrived battered or broken. It wasn’t a long drive, so I drove up to Ohio to pick up the item.”

  His answer seemed plausible, but it bothered me this was the third time we’d bumped into him.

  “So, what do you say? I’ll feed you a grand meal and put you up for the night.” He didn’t wait for an answer, but indicated to his receptionist that she should secure the front doors. Turning, he disappeared down a hall.

  “I didn’t even get a chance to answer him,” I said.

  The woman laughed and locked the doors. “Solomon is a man who takes matters into his own hands. You’ll be his guests tonight whether you want to or not. But don’t worry. He’s a perfect gentleman and a wonderful host.” She returned to her desk.

  “I take it you stay overnight often?”

  Maureen spewed coffee down the front of her inner tub
es.

  Scowling at me, the receptionist pulled her purse from a desk drawer. “My, my, aren’t you a witty one.”

  “Nah, just to the point,” I smiled, hoping my bitch fangs showed.

  “Let’s just say you couldn’t handle him, sweetie.” She exited through a side door that locked behind her.

  More like he couldn’t handle me. And what the hell is wrong with me? I could care less who the guy has slept with.

  A guilty twinge hit me for being so catty again. I don’t know why the thought of her sleeping with Solomon bothered me, but I had the urge to rip her desk in half with my bare hands. The feeling didn’t make a bit of sense, but it was there all the same.

  We followed Solomon through the side exit. Outside, he slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses and used his cell phone to contact the clean-up crew. A black Ford Excursion sat a few spaces away from my Jeep.

  The heat radiating from the asphalt permeated the soles of my sneakers. Earlier, one of the officers had found Maureen’s shoes and returned them to her. She balanced on the balls of her feet so the spikes wouldn’t sink into the blacktop.

  Sunset wouldn’t occur for a few hours, but the heavy humidity shrouded the sun’s rays, so it seemed later than it actually was. Relieved that the motorcycles were gone, I pulled my keys from my purse and stopped short. Both the front tire Solomon had changed for me and the back one on the same side looked like they’d melted into the pavement.

  “I don’t believe it.” Fury ripped through me. “This has got to be the shittiest day I’ve had for a while.”

  Maureen halted and looked over her shoulder at me. “What’s wrong?”

  “Check out the Jeep’s tires.”

  Solomon met us at my vehicle. “It seems like your biker buddies got one last dig in at you.”

  “Really? I thought maybe the tires came that way, and if I drove really fast they’d fill up with air.” I didn’t mean to be a smartass, but I had the overwhelming urge to smash something—something like a red-painted mouth that screeched like a cat in heat.

  Surprisingly, he chuckled. “Take it easy, Ruby. I can tell you’ve had a rough day.” He stooped and examined the back tire. Next, he moved to the front one. Nodding, he stood up. “Yep, both are knife slashes.”