Amazon Princess

by Kate Karyus Quinn

  The boy steps away, still not breaking eye contact. “And there we are. Again, my most sincere apologies.” He does this courtly sort of bow. Then, grinning, he turns his attention to Edie, letting her back into the conversation. “I haven’t quite mastered this teleportation thing yet.”

  “Tele-pa-wha-wha?” I ask, looking at Edie, who seems amused.

  “Instant travel,” she explains to me. “Inherited from Zeus.” She looks up at the tree then back to the boy. “My guess is there was a big storm and you were struck by lightning?”

  “Yes! And then I could teleport!” the boy says. “It’s not easy. I accidentally sent myself into the New York City sewer system yesterday.”

  “Ugh,” I wrinkle my nose. “I hope you telepore-tated straight to a bubble bath right after.”

  “Teleported,” Edie corrects me, and I repeat it. Elocution is very important in the pageant world.

  With the blush receding and the sticks out of his hair, this guy isn’t half bad. In fact, I’d say he’s a Wisconsin 10, which translates as a 7 on the east coast. His cheeky quality could easily bump him up a whole number higher.

  But I’ll stick with seven. It’s always been my lucky number.

  “I’m Brandee Jean,” I say, holding out my hand. I’ve got my hips cocked, one shoulder dropped, neck slightly tilted so that my hair is falling just right, fanning slightly in the breeze.

  “Alaric,” he says, shaking my hand. “My friends call me Rick. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Dreadfully sorry about…” His eyes flick down to my cleavage, then back up to my face. “Everything,” he finishes cutely.

  “Not your fault,” I say, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Teleporting sounds really difficult.” I pronounce it perfectly and flash him my best smile.

  “Brandee Jean,” Edie says, clearly irritated. She grabs me by the hand, pulling me away from Alaric and into the shade of the tree.

  “You realize he’s your competitor, right?”

  “Competitor for my heart,” I shoot back, glancing over my shoulder as Alaric lifts his T-shirt to wipe sweat from his face. He’s got a six-pack. Wait no…my eyes drift downward. Make that an eight-pack.

  “Brandee!” Edie jerks me back to reality, her eyes hard on mine. “How do you think you win at Amazon Academy?”

  “By being the best, duh,” I tell her.

  “No,” Edie shakes her head. “You win by being alive. I don’t care how hot Alaric is. You may have to kill him.”

  5

  “Shut the front door,”I say. “I’m gonna have to kill some people?” I turn on my heel and head back down the cliff path. “Nope, no, nah ah. Not happening.”

  As I pass Alaric he looks really confused. “Um, my mentor said that killing was a possibility, not a requirement.”

  I stop and turn to Edie, arms crossed. “Well? How Hunger Gamesy is this contest?” I ask.

  “It’s dangerous,” she tells me. “People will get hurt and people may die. But no, you won’t necessarily have to kill anyone.”

  “Then why…”

  “Because you might…” She eyes Alaric. “Can you, you know, leave us alone?” She waves him away like he’s a bad smell.

  “Oh. Right. Sure.” He gives me a wink and then saunters away. I was kinda hoping to see him do that teleporting thing, but I guess he’s not wanting to risk it.

  “The fate of the world rests in your hands.”

  “I know, but I haven’t had a decent manicure in weeks.”

  “Brandee, this is serious.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not a wimp. You can’t win a pageant crown and be a wimp. I just don’t want to actually kill anyone.”

  “Okay. I understand that. But well, just know, whatever you do, I’ll be here for you.”

  “Like, whatever I do?” I ask, eyes narrowing. “If I skinned a dog and ate it, you’d be like totally cool with that?”

  Edie considers for a moment. “If it’s one of the tests, absolutely.”

  “You’re too much. I really hope there’s no eating weird things test,” I tell her, but I can’t help smiling back at her. That is, until she sprouts her wings.

  “Um, where you going?” I ask. “Don’t we have work to do?”

  “You have work to do,” Edie says. “I’m your mentor, but I’m only allowed intermittent contact. I’ll be in touch throughout the competition, but I can’t be by your side constantly.”

  “And why the hell not?” I ask, grabbing her wrist and jerking her back down to the ground as she tries to ascend. “You’re my coach. You’re supposed to eat, breathe, and sleep the competition. Besides, you’re the one that got me into this mess!”

  She pops a talon and gives my hand a little slice, forcing me to let go. “No,” she says as she rises into the air. “Zeus is the one that got you into this mess. And the only way out is to take his place. Or lose.”

  “Brandee Jean Mason doesn’t lose!” I scream up into the sky.

  “Good,” Edie shouts back. “Then get your ass to the assembly before you’re disqualified.”

  She points to a white building with pillars and a dome on top, something that looks like it belongs in a cemetery, or politics.

  I’m still wearing my yoga pants. I do not want to walk into a campus-wide assembly looking like I just hit the gym.

  As the last few stragglers make their way into the building, I weigh my options. I don’t have time to do a full wardrobe change. And makeup is out of the question. Edie seemed to think I could be disqualified if I didn’t show up to the assembly on time, and I’m not DQ’ing on my first day. Not this girl.

  Mama always said that confidence is half the battle. The other half is having a tight ass. And these pants do show off my commodities. Now for the confidence…

  I unzip my bag and then find the padded dust bag hidden at its center. I yank a brush through my hair and tuck it behind my ears before carefully removing my best crown and placing it on my head.

  Instantly, my shoulders go back and my chin rises high.

  I have no idea what I’m walking into, but they better be ready.

  ’Cause Brandee Jean has arrived.

  You’d think a room full of drop-dead-gorgeous, all out tens would make a girl feel insecure. Not me. I was raised on the pageant circuit, eating Vaseline and putting hairspray on my ass since I was like, five.

  But when you add in that some of the girls in the room have bows strung over one shoulder, it does make things a little more tense.

  And I don’t mean ribbons and bows. I mean like, bow and arrow.

  And all the gals touting them look pissed.

  “Brandee Jean?” A woman with serious resting bitch face approaches me the second I walk in. The clipboard clutched to her chest nicely complements the wicked-looking crossbow strapped across her back.

  Crap. I can’t compete with a clipboard and a crossbow.

  Mama always says one clipboard is worth five crowns in confidence.

  Still, I’ve got at least three inches on this girl, so that’s something—and she’s wearing heels.

  “I’m Brandee, yeah,” I say. “You looking for me?”

  “Yes.” She extends her hand for a shake. “I’m Taylor, Athena’s assistant. Amazon Academy Graduate. Mistress of Film Studies and CEO of Craft Shaft.”

  “Craft Shaft!” I exclaim. “I love that place!”

  Seriously. Craft Shaft is the destination for sequins and body glitter. The fact that every storefront also looks like the Washington Monument makes them really easy to pick out from the interstate—smart marketing on their part. Craft stores are usually so old lady, but the Shaft makes even cross-stitching seem cool. I practically consider it a home away from home since they’re all over. I’ve had so many busted out seams on road trips that Mama’s membership card achieved platinum status before I was in fourth grade.

  But why is the CEO of Craft Shaft on a magical Turkish island? She must get that question a lot, because she’s already answering it.


  “Athena is the goddess of many things,” Taylor says. “She delegates some of her duties to her assistants. I drew arts and crafts.”

  “Okay,” I say. “Well, I’m Brandee… uh,” I stammer, searching for words. Taylor followed her name up with a slew of titles. I feel like I’ve got to throw something out there or I’m gonna lose face, real fast.

  “Brandee Jean Mason,” I say. “Miss All-State Cottage Cheese Princess three years running. Five times nominee to Miss Teen Wisconsin Anti-Antibiotics Court, and future Miss America.”

  Okay, the future Miss America thing is a bit of a stretch, since pageants don’t exactly exist in the apocalypse and I might die here anyway. but I feel the need to get a little creative as Taylor’s smile turns upside down, and she glances at her clipboard.

  “Um…” She keeps her eyes on her clipboard, fanning sheets as her confusion grows. “Brandee, I…” She finally looks up, exasperated. “Are you sure you’re supposed to be here?”

  “Excuse me?” I say, raising an eyebrow so high that it touches the rim of my crown. “I am definitely supposed to be here.”

  Taylor follows the path of my derisive eyebrow, her own raising in response. “I’m sorry are those…” She reaches up and runs a finger over my crown. “Are those rhinestones?”

  “All one thousand two hundred and fifty-three of them,” I tell her archly. “The Miss Quad County Interstate Princess Board didn’t skimp last year.”

  “The Miss…” Taylor tries to repeat what I said, but seems unable to keep up. It’s probably the number of rhinestones that’s so shocking.

  “Brandee,” she says, turning her clipboard around so that I can read the paper. “I think there’s been a mistake. You have to understand. The other contestants competing here at Amazon Academy are actual royalty.”

  “Am I not on the list?” I ask, and glance at her clipboard.

  There’s a list of names—my competition, I assume. The next column has their mentor listed, followed by their titles. Like, real ones. I spot a duke and a princess, plus a czarina.

  Taylor whisks the chart away before I can read more, but what I saw was enough to leave me feeling like the country mouse who just got hit by the big city bus.

  “You are…technically, I guess,” Taylor says, resting a hand on my arm. “I just don’t think you belong up there.”

  I follow her gaze to the stage, where eight other teens are sitting. They’re all disgustingly beautiful, with the kind of posture you only acquire from premium genetics. Around me and Taylor, the audience of angry girls is still milling around, adjusting their bows and quivers of arrows as they find their seats.

  “If you’d like, I can arrange for transportation back to…” She glances at her clipboard again. “Back to Wisconsin.”

  She says Wisconsin like it’s got the taste of a day-old tampon. Screw this girl. There was another section of that sheet I saw before she snatched it away from me. Our special powers were marked there. Maybe I need to remind the CEO of the Craft Shaft that Brandee Jean Mason does, in fact, belong up on that stage.

  Mama always said, “There are times when actions speak louder than words.”

  So I reach out and get a good grip on Taylor’s hips. She looks confused, so I smile, and then throw her straight up into the sky.

  6

  I was never into ball sports, so my stance and follow-through and whatever else they teach about throwing ain’t all it could be.

  But I guess I’m a natural, because that girl sure flies a good ways up regardless.

  She’s just a little speck of a person at her highest point.

  In gym class they taught us the bit about keeping your eye on the ball, so I watch her steadily, not even blinking, as she starts to descend. I gotta shuffle a few steps over to make the catch—my second of the day, I realize.

  Taylor looks a little stunned as she lands in my arms. Behind us her clipboard clatters to the ground and shatters. That’s my bad for sure. Forgot to keep my eye on that.

  I set Taylor back on her feet. She wobbles a bit as she blinks up at me, stunned.

  “Super strength.” I point a finger at my chest. “Came about after I got hit with lightning. So it seems like Zeus chose me.”

  Taylor wrinkles her nose, then leans down to gather the pieces of her shattered clipboard. When she straightens again she looks disappointed to see me still standing here in front of her. She sighs. “You may go join the other contestants now.”

  Adjusting my crown, I give Taylor a regal nod, and then turn to climb the stairs up onto the stage where the rest of the competitors sit waiting.

  Luckily, stage fright isn’t something I’ve ever experienced. Mama used to say I was a natural exhibitionist. Other girls had a harder time. Mollie McGregor had to keep a puke bag on hand at all times for when her nerves got the best of her.

  There are two empty seats; one next to Sophia, my vampire friend from the flight in. She’s got her nose so high in the air it looks like she’s examining the clouds Taylor punched a hole through. You’d think that sort of active bitch face would get ugly after a while, but there must be some sort of vampire magic at work, because Sophia looks hot as hell.

  I guess that explains why the boy on the other side of her has got an erection from hell. Catching sight of it, I do an actual double-take. I could camp under that thing. The poor guy must think he’s hiding it by wearing a shirt that’s two sizes too big, but he’s really not. I can see why he’d want to keep it under wraps, though. In the audience, several of the angry Amazon girls are pointing in his direction. They definitely do not look happy about the impressive display of manhood in their midst. In fact, several of them are making sawing gestures.

  Eesh.

  I quickly move on, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire.

  The only other empty seat is next to a girl who has a mane of red hair that would set fire to the beauty pageant circle. Too bad about the freckles. She’d need a bucket of foundation to cover those bad boys up. I plop down next to her, accidentally knocking into her quiver of arrows.

  “Sorry,” I say, as she adjusts them without giving me a glance. “You can get those lasered off, you know.”

  She turns, giving me a sweeping head-to-toe as I cross my legs at the ankle. “What?”

  “The freckles,” I tell her. “You don’t have to walk around looking like that.”

  “Excuse me?” she says, her voice rising a little higher this time.

  “Oh damn,” I say, after seeing the person to my other side. She looks like a bag of dried skin with wings attached. And I’m only guessing at the pronoun. There’s a pair of withered bumps on her chest that I’d cover up if I were her.

  “Never mind,” I tell the redhead. “You’ve got this.”

  “Who in Hades do you think you are?” she asks me.

  “I’m Brandee Jean,” I say, sticking my hand out. Maybe the frenemy tactic won’t work for this competition like it does on the circuit. “What’s your name? Ginger?” I give it another shot.

  She remains unmoved. “My name is Rada,” she says, eyeing my hand. “I’m representing the Amazons. My power is healing.”

  She takes my hand, and most of it is swallowed up by hers. “I’m representing Wisconsin,” I tell her. “My power is kicking ass.”

  Rada’s mouth twitches in response. I won’t call it a smile, but at least it’s a reaction. Speaking of reactions…

  “So, what’s up with Captain Horny Toad over there?” I nod toward the poor guy with the pole boner, who is manspreading. Not because he’s rude, but because he has to. I figure a little gossip about our fellow contestants might help us bond a little.

  Rada flicks a glance in his direction and then back at me. She studies me for a long moment, and I can almost see her struggling to decide whether she should tell me everything she knows or tell me to mind my own damn business.

  The urge to gossip wins as Rada leans into me and drops her voice low. “That’s Constantine. He’s the son
of a werewolf queen.”

  “Oooh, fancy,” I say. “And what’s with his…” I spin my finger in the air.

  “That’s the power he inherited from Zeus.”

  “Duuuuuude,” I say, drawing it out. “He’s got a super dick? Good thing a girl didn’t get that!”

  “Virility,” the dried-out bag next to me corrects. She sounds like she smokes three packs a day.

  I give her some side-eye to let her know this gossip-fest is by invitation only.

  Rada whispers, “I hear Constantine’s the only person determined to lose the competition. Poor guy’s flying at full mast until Zeus’s powers are taken away.”

  I jerk my head toward the audience full of angry girls. “If he can’t help it, why do they all seem ready to neuter him? Are all Amazons man-haters and lesbians?”

  The warmth goes out of Rada’s eyes. “I’m an Amazon.”

  “Oh.” Realizing I’ve stuck my foot in it, I backtrack. “When you said you were representing the Amazons, I thought it was some sort of sponsorship thing. But you’re an actual Amazon, which wow, I’ve heard you’re like the Navy Seals of, um, magic people schools.”

  Rada fights another almost smile. “We are not all man-haters or lesbians. But every girl who comes here does so because she cannot stand ever having a man rule her.”

  Confused, I squint at Rada. “It’s a dick, not a magic scepter.”

  The hag next to me laughs at this. Leaning in she jumps into our conversation once more. “No kidding. He’s got such bad blue balls, he’d probably be eternally grateful to anyone who took a moment to jerk him off.”

  I turn to her, not quite so shocked by the ugliness anymore. “And it would definitely only take a moment.”

  We cackle together while Rada just shakes her head.

  “That’s the problem with these cloistered schools,” my ugly new friend says with a shake of her head. “These girls think men are good for nothing except target practice.” She holds out a talon to me, and after a moment of hesitation, I realize I’m meant to shake it. Gingerly I grasp her ugly claw and give it a firm shake as she says, “I’m Zahara, a harpy Marquessa.”