Amazon Princess
Amazon Academy Book 1
Kate Karyus Quinn
Demitria Lunetta
Marley Lynn
Little Fish Publishing
Copyright © 2019 by Kate Karyus Quinn, Demetria Lunetta, and Marley Lynn
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Dying to Know What Happens Next?
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
Also by the Authors
1
I am beauty, I am grace. I will punch you in the face.
This has become my new mantra since the end of the world. My old mantra was, Miss Teen Wisconsin or Bust, but sometimes ya gotta adjust your goals.
I get out of my beat-to-crap pick-up truck carefully, making sure not to step on the train of my long sparkling gown. Even though there aren’t any more pageants, I still don’t wanna ruin it. All the Swarovski crystals on it cost me an arm and a leg.
Cost me an arm and a leg. That’s kinda a joke, but also kinda not.
Last week, I totally saw Miss Teen Dairy Queen on the side of the road. She was missing her left leg and had clearly bled out. I tried real hard to not think about how that might’ve happened. Years ago she’d had those long legs insured for something like a hundred grand a piece.
Seems unfair the insurance won’t be paying out on them suckers. But a lotta things ain’t fair these days, and I can’t say it was always all that better in the before times either.
I covered what was left of Desirae up with a blanket. And then, even though I’m not much for religion, I had a little chat with God after I got her all tucked in.
“Hey God, sorry I been cursing your name so much lately. Don’t take it personal, okay? I know you get touchy ’bout how folks use your name. But this ain’t about me. I’m calling up to you about Desirae here. Dessie was crowned Miss Teen Dairy Queen three years running. Those cow folks loved her legs. Anyway, you treat her like royalty up there, cuz that’s what she is.”
Who can say whether God was listening? From what I hear ’round town, his response rate isn’t what it used to be.
Now, kicking my truck door shut with a combat-booted heel, and clutching my baseball bat, I head into the Piggly Wiggly.
Six months ago, I was Brandee Jean Mason, resident Beauty Queen. Headed for big things and the bright lights…or at least, the state fair circuit.
Then came the earthquakes.
And the floods.
NYC fell into the ocean. California is now an island.
I mean, that’s the last I heard.
There hasn’t been a news broadcast in months, and the one guy in town who’s got a shortwave radio isn’t inclined to share info unless I do some sharing of other things—and that sure ain’t happening. No way, no how.
I think I’d rather not know, anyway.
Now I grab a shopping cart and wipe down the handle with the wet wipes, still in the dispenser. The apocalypse is not a good time to get salmonella.
Wisconsin weathered the storms better than most states. We’ve got our own farms and fields, and enough people got solar panels and even their own wind turbines, that some folks even still have electric. But unless you know how to hunt, raise, or grow your own food, you’re still stuck shopping.
Which can be a real pain in my ass—my very nice, award-winning ass.
Carl looks up from the year-old magazine he’s reading behind the check-out line. “Hi, Brandee Jean.”
There’s a machine gun next to him on the counter. Bandits killed his dad a few months back and he’s not about to let them get him too.
I relax a little. Carl’s a good guy, always polite. I’ve known him since middle school.
I push the cart over to him, putting a little swing into my hips. “What we got today?”
“Corn. And more corn.” He peeks at me over the magazine. “Nice dress.”
“It’s my armor.” I tell him, doing a twirl, then a little curtsy.
“The baseball bat really makes the outfit. I give it ten out of ten.”
My bat is spangled and painted bright red. I found it at the back of my closet, leftover from a “Damn Yankees” dance routine I did years ago. Weaponry is the to-die-for accessory this season, and I do like to stay on trend.
I smile with a wide-open mouth, showing all my teeth, just like I would on the pageant stage. I put a hand to my chest. “Why thank you. I’m just so very honored to be here today.”
He laughs. “We did get in a fresh batch of Quik Powder…”
“Well, why didn’t you start with that?” I ask.
Quik Powder is a refined food source. You can make bread or pancakes, or just mix it with water and drink it. It tastes like glue, but it also sticks to your ribs in about the same way, which means that you can eat a little and stay full for a whole day.
I load up my cart with five canisters of powder, then with dairy products and beef (God bless the great state of Wisconsin). I push the cart to the front and Carl surveys my take.
“That will be two hundred and fifty dollars.”
Damned inflation. There goes my college fund. Not that I’m going to college anymore. The end of the world really put a pin in my five-year success plan.
I sigh. “Will you take a check?”
“You know I won’t,” he tells me with a kind smile.
I smile back, showing the teeth, then leaning forward and pressing my elbows together just enough to make it clear that my cleavage is very serious about needing some protein.
He looks. Of course he looks. Beautiful girls in gowns aren’t sashaying down these aisles every day. But he also blushes, which is damn decent of him.
“Look, if you pay for the powder and beef, I’ll give you the dairy for free.”
“Deal!”
“So that will be…two hundred even. Cash or trade only.”
“Thanks, Carl!” I throw the bills down on the counter. Before I wheel my cart on out, I ask him the same question I always do. “Hey, uh, any outsiders come through town lately?”
He looks at me with something like pity in his eyes. “Ya know I woulda told you, if I did.”
“Right, I know,” I lie. The truth is, I’m pretty sure Carl would lie. He thinks my plan to get myself kidnapped in order to save my best friend is suicidal.
“I’ll see you next week,” I promise him with one last smile and wave.
I keep an eye on the lot as I move out toward my truck. The group I’m looking to have steal me aren’t the only villains roaming these streets. These are desperate times. It’s best to assume somebody’s watching me, wanting to find out what I bought and how hard it would be to take it from me. And if that somebody decides I’m an easy target, they’ll attack now—while I’m moving stuff over
to my vehicle, no hands free to wield my bat.
I saw a movie once where a secret agent infiltrates a beauty pageant. Her talent is self- defense. I wish I’d made that my talent instead of tap. What, am I going to dance an attacker to death? Although I did take kickboxing down at the Y twice a week, so I know a few moves. Kickboxing burns some damn calories, let me tell you. Also, you could bounce a quarter off my ass after only two months.
“Brandee Jean?” someone says, and I spin around, baseball bat raised, heart pounding with fear.
It’s a girl about my age. She’s beautiful, with long legs and a heart shaped face. With a little refinement, she could kill it on the pageant circuit. She’s also wearing some kind of school girl outfit, from a private school or something. Or a porn film shoot. I hear that business is still doing just fine.
“What do you want?” I ask, brandishing the bat.
She smiles, not at all afraid. “My name is Edie and I’m here to take you to Amazon Academy.”
I spit out a laugh. “Guuurl, I’m not into that line of work.”
I look around to make sure there’s no one else lurking nearby. Sometimes they work in groups. One will distract you while someone else steals your stuff.
“I don’t want your food,” she tells me. “I just need you to listen for a moment…”
I don’t let her finish. I get into the truck and hit the gas, giving her a pageant wave as I speed away. The world is crazy enough. I don’t need a rando girl talking about academies—whatever that’s code for. And given her getup, I’m assuming something slightly south of acceptable.
I watch her grow smaller in the rearview mirror. It looks like she doesn’t have a vehicle either, which means she won’t be giving chase. That’s a relief. My old truck starts to rattle something awful anytime I get over 40mph.
Usually, I can relax a little once I turn onto my street. But as I make the left onto Colby Court, I spot something flying overhead. I immediately pull the truck over, scanning the perfectly blue slice of sky in the rearview mirror.
Is it a helicopter? Is someone coming to restore order and make everything go back to the way it used to be?
I get out, shading my eyes.
Dammit. No, of course not.
It’s a stupid dragon up there.
I give the dragon the finger. The world is a messed-up place now. Six months ago, I would’ve thought I was taking too many diet pills. Or that I just needed a Lunesta and a good long nap.
Now, though, a dragon doesn’t even count as the weirdest thing I’ve seen lately. Before the news went out, there were reports that vampires are real. And I swear, last month I saw a girl change into a cat and run off.
When I get home, the same girl from the Piggly Wiggly parking lot is waiting on my doorstep. I get out of the truck, bat in hand and ready to swing. I’m not playing right now. This is my property. My safe place. But her being here makes it a lot less safe.
And I hate that.
“How do you know where I live?” I ask, tightening the grip on my bat.
“I Googled you,” she tells me with a smirk.
“How did you get here so fast?”
“I flew. And you really didn’t need to flip me off,” she adds.
I’m about to ask her what in the seven pageant hells she’s talking about (circle two is the swimsuit competition), when purple wings sprout out of her back. Crap.
I keep my bat up as I approach her. “You’re the dragon?”
“Are you ready to listen now?”
I hesitate, weighing the risks and rewards. If this dragon wanted to hurt me, she would’ve done it already. Unless she’s a psychopath dragon who likes to play with her victims first. Either way, she seems determined. I’d rather invite her into my home, than have her go all dragon again and come crashing down through the roof.
“Sure,” I say, trying not to look impressed. “If you help me get the groceries inside.” My mama taught me that whatever else is going on, keep your priorities on track. Dragon-girl shrugs and grabs a box of Quik Powder.
“And no shoes in the house,” I call over my shoulder. I put the food in the icebox and motion for her to sit at the kitchen table. I also make two glasses of Quik Powder as a snack. When I place it in front of her she stares at the mixture like it’s roadkill.
“Drink up,” I tell her. “That stuff’s precious.”
“Yes, of course.” She takes a hesitant sip.
“So,” I eye her. “What do you want with me?”
“Well, here’s the thing—god is dead.”
“Oh no, are you one of those end-of-the-worlders?” I shake my head. “I’m not joining your dragon cult and sacrificing myself to the flames, or whatever it is you weirdos do. Sorry, but I already got plans to join this ‘we keep girls in cages’ group next time they come through town recruiting.”
She frowns at me. “You want to join a group that plans to put you in a cage?”
“Long story, I’d rather not get into it right now.” It’s actually not that long of a story, but I don’t feel like sharing it with a stranger. “So if your group is looking for some sucker to feed one of their organs to a warlock who promises to roll back time, well sorry, but I’m not voluntarily giving any of them up.”
One year, Miss North County Bee Hive Queen donated a kidney, faked appendicitis, and had her uterus removed, all in an effort to lose a few pounds. Her scars totally showed during the bikini competition though. Not worth it.
“There are no warlocks who can turn back time. Probably. Not that I know of. And—” She stops and takes another sip of Quik Powder. “We’ve gotten off course. Let me start again. A god is dead. Zeus, to be exact.”
“The lightning bolt guy?”
“Yes. Exactly.” She looks relieved. “You know who Mr. Zee, er, Zeus is. At least that’s one less thing I have to explain.”
“No…I think you still got a lot to explain. But let’s start with Zeus. You’re telling me he’s real and also that he’s now dead. And I’m…what? His long-lost daughter set to inherit everything he left behind?”
“Actually…” She hesitates and I see laughter in her eyes. Like she knows this is absurd. “I’m his long-lost daughter.”
I take a moment to wonder if I got a batch of bad powder and am hallucinating. But, if people accept that vampires are real, and I witnessed this girl—as a dragon—follow me home from the Piggly Wiggly, how much larger a leap is required to accept that the Greek gods are real?
She gives me a sugar-free candy smile. Sweet, but definitely not the real thing. She’d never make it on the beauty queen circuit. “Anyway, after Zeus died, things went to Hades overnight. A bunch of the minor gods went haywire without anybody in charge. There were crazy storms. Earthquakes. Hurricanes. Tornadoes.”
“I noticed,” I tell her. “Here in Wisconsin we had a heat wave in July. Also, you know, vampires. And”—I give her the side eye just so she knows not to make fun of me when I finish my sentence—“I totally saw a girl turn into a housecat.”
“Oh,” Edie lights up. “That was my sister, Mavis. With all the chaos in the world, many of us supernatural creatures have been doing what we can to restore the balance. Mavis has been keeping an eye on you for a while.”
My side eye still stands. “Because?”
“We’re pretty sure some of Zeus’s powers went to you when he died.” She studies me, almost like she’s trying to see beneath my skin. “Notice anything weird lately?”
“Oh, I don’t know, like maybe that time I got struck by lightning and it didn’t kill me?”
Edie leans back in her chair. “Can you walk me through exactly what happened?”
“I was out looking for Bethany Ully—she’s Miss All-Midwest Body Butter. I had a bone to pick with her, on account of I found out she’d been using body wraps to shed some pounds.”
“Is that illegal in a pageant?” Edie asks, and I shake my head.
“No, but we’d all made a pact that we were playing it
straight for the summer. Strictly self-starving. But I spotted Bethany’s name on the sign-in sheet at the Skinned and Tanned—that’s a local business that does real well around here. The husband is a taxidermist and the wife is a cosmetologist.”
“So they’re both into preservation,” Edie says, with a wry smile.
“Anyway,” I say, waving my hand, “I went in for my bi-weekly tanning bed bake and that’s when I saw her big loopy handwriting three slots above mine. She’d been in for a wrap appointment earlier that day.” I shake my head, still peeved about it. “Beth didn’t even bother covering her tracks. You can be shady or you can be sloppy, but not both. At least that’s what my mama taught me. As a friend, I decided to deliver that message to her in person.”
“Just a friendly chat?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.
“Not hardly. I was gonna rip out every single one of her new extensions.”
“Seriously?” Edie looks disgusted and I wonder if she’s some sort of pacifist dragon, but then she adds, “Hair pulling. Slapping. Spitting. That sort of fighting almost seems quaint.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Quaint my ass. She would’ve had bald patches when I was done with her.”
Edie gives a slight nod that almost looks like approval. Not a peace-lover after all, then, I guess.
“So what happened?” Edie asks.
“I stopped home before paying her a visit. I wanted to wear my crown from the Miss Street & Sanitation competition, just to remind her what’s what. I was cutting across the high school soccer fields when the first storm whipped up.”
“Let me guess,” Edie interrupts. “The sky went from bright blue to darkest black in an instant?”
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