Chasing the Red Queen

By Karen Glista

Donja Bellanger, suffering after the death of her father, finds herself in dire straits when her mom takes a new husband. Forced not only to move to a strange city, but to share a room with her glamorous, new stepsister, Makayla Hampton, her life spirals out of control.
Makayla lures her from goth to glam straight into an exclusive club, not only for wealthy elites but Immortal Descendants. Donja crosses paths with Torin Mancini and he’s too damn handsome to be real.
Torin, who has concealed his identity as a powerful ancient sprit for eight hundred years, sets his eyes on Donja; there’s something about her blood, something he can’t walk away from. He’s not alone. A deadly predator has picked up her scent.
Stalked, she reaches out to Torin, but the lure of her blood has him on edge. As Torin battles his heart desires and feelings he thought buried and gone, one thing is clear: they have as much, if not more to fear of each other, than the predator who would have her life.
Is love enough? Can she accept him for what he is and better yet, can he control his hungry, hungry eyes?
A beautiful love story with relentless action, elite battles and steamy moments... unforgettable!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Karen Glista
• Release date: Mar 5, 2018

Karen Glista

Karen has been writing for years, spinning countless stories from the real to life charac-ters who roam the labyrinths of her mind. Motivated to share these many beloved, some hat-ed individuals she is now debuting Embellished from “The Chronicles of Orian”. When she is not working as a registered nurse in the Great Lake State, she enjoys family, friends, cooking, camping, Facebook, gardening, online gaming, a beloved dog named Fozzie and master of the house, Cassiopeia, the calico cat. For more information, please check out Facebook at facebook.com/karens-books. A web-site as well as book two and three in the Chronicles of Orian trilogy to follow.

Book preview

Prologue

Fact or Fiction

Just because you fail to believe, doesn’t make it a given.

It is written in the ancient birch parchments of the Ojibwe that seven spirits presented themselves to the people in the Land of the Dawn to teach the Mide way of life. The first six spirits were good and kind, but the seventh grew too powerful and killed those in his presence. The other six spirits took to the river and swam back to the ocean from whence they came.

Watercolor Memories

You know, looking back, I remember so well that summer I turned seventeen. Black was my color, goth my life, Debbie Hall my BFF, Kevin my heartthrob, weekends at Silver Beach, the mall, an android phone and a used Honda Civic, my very own. Life was good, really, really, good and then—it all changed.

Twin Cities

The day was glorious with the blinding overhead orb pushing the temperatures past eighty degrees. Cruising down Lakeshore Drive with the waves of Lake Michigan crashing, seventeen-year-old Donja Bellanger bypassed the city of St. Joseph, her destination its sister city of Benton Harbor. She glanced over to Debbie, her best friend since fourth grade, who was applying gloss over her black lipstick. Don’t let me forget to get eyeliner, I’m out! she shouted over the iconic tunes of The Cure.

Just off Napier Road, which was busy for the noon hour, Donja sped through a yellow light and rolled into Benton Harbor. Adrift in the music which was all but rattling the fender wells, she darted ahead of oncoming traffic into the parking lot of the ‘Burger Shack.’ She eased her Honda into the drive-through, manning the steering wheel with her knees while digging in her purse for loose change. After grabbing their sugar-free, vanilla lattes, she careened past a delivery truck onto Pipestone Road. Sipping her latte, she took a fast exit without the courtesy of a blinker, cars honking as she darted into the parking lot of ‘Hurley’s Quick Stop.’ She pulled alongside the pumps and got out, the smell of gasoline nauseating.

Standing beside her rusted-out Civic, pinching her nose tightly while pumping gas, Donja noticed a well-dressed, older woman at the pumps, filling her Cadillac, and she was out and out staring. The woman shook her head with bewildered disgust.

Debbie got out of the Civic and came marching around the rear. You need anything?

No, Donja smirked, her dark, painted eyes bleeding bitterness.

Debbie raised her hands and hunched her shoulders. What’s wrong?

Donja nodded toward the woman. That old bag in the Caddy has obviously never seen a goth. I think she’s gonna stroke out.

Debbie flashed as menacing a look as she could muster to the woman. Her hand found her waist and one of her pointed ankle boots tapped rhythmically.

The old woman, who suddenly seemed fearful, finished up and got in her car. Debbie curtsied as the woman drove away.

Laughing, Donja finished up the gas, waiting for the receipt which was slow coming. With the Honda’s front door wide, she surveyed the floorboards, then snatched up pop bottles and several empty burger boxes from ‘MaFee’s,’ who makes the best cheeseburgers in town. Her demeanor shifted as a genuine shudder rocked her.

Grrr, I don’t want to move. This is not fair!

Just shy of the trash can, with her lips held tightly, it occurred to her that this might be her last visit to Hurley’s, where flirtation with the proprietor who was balding with tufts of hair that stood up on top of his shiny head, could buy you cigarettes without being carded. Dismayed, she tossed the garbage and headed for the car. She saw Debbie exit the store with a couple of packs of cigarettes sashaying through the parking lot just as a souped-up four-wheel drive truck with three rowdy guys came barreling in. The driver leaned his head through the window with a muscled arm hugging the outside of the door, Hey, baby, wanta party?

She ignored them and they got in the Civic. Damn. I forgot to get a lighter.

No worries, there’s one in my purse, Donja said, tossing her black shoulder bag as one of the rednecks from the four-wheel drive came walking toward them. She cranked the car, fired him a ‘get lost’ look, then eased the car to the street and cut ahead of oncoming traffic. Finally, she merged with the flow of cars and set a path back down Pipestone Road.

Debbie turned on the radio and propped one foot on the dash. He was kinda cute.

Donja rolled her eyes. Whatever!

Minutes later, with the windows down and music blasting, Donja sped into the Walmart parking lot. Finding a space, she killed the motor and opened the door, which creaked ominously on the eighteen-year-old bucket of bolts. She got out and Debbie joined her, a cigarette dangling from her painted lips. She took a long drag then gave it to Donja.

What the heck am I gonna do without you? Debbie protested, blowing smoke. It sucks.

And then some, Donja breathed, exhaling. But could we not talk about it; this is our last few days before I get shipped off to Mars.

Debbie sputtered her dismay, flicked the ashes and took a drag. She offered it to Donja as smoke sighed out of her. Go figure. Parents, always messing with your life.

Donja spiked her brows with a hard gaze. Don’t get me started. She scowled, offering the cigarette.

Debbie accepted and with it poised between her finger tips, took another drag, then offered it back.

I’m done, Donja blurted as she spun, setting a lengthy stride.

Debbie dropped the cigarette, stomped it with her boot and hurried after her. They marched, side by side in short, black lace skirts, black ankle boots, fishnet stockings, black spandex tops, black denim jackets and leather dog chokers to match. Sunlight shimmered in Debbie’s spiked, blue-black locks and Donja’s naturally dark tresses would have been blue-black except that she was forbidden to dye her hair. Just as they entered the sliding doors, a wolf whistle from the parking lot forced a giggle and then the greeter flashed a big smile. Welcome to Walmart.

Hours later, after rummaging through and trying on shoes, cute little tops, and sorting through purses and stockings they finally found the packing tape and dog food Donja’s mother had requested. Debbie’s phone beeped a message as they headed for cosmetics.

She dug it from her purse, staring as she walked down the aisle. She bumped into an elderly couple, then mumbled an apology, her fingers flying over the screen. She sighed, mission accomplished and put it back in her purse.

Who was it? Donja asked.

Ashlie. She wants to know what time we’re gonna show up for the party Friday night.

What did you tell her?

Six-ish, after all the little kids go home.

Might be later than that. I bet the beach will be packed the entire week because of the warm weather.

Donja parked the silver cart, her eyes sparkling as she and Debbie descended upon the cosmetic racks, examining every product and within minutes they wound up in an argument over the ease of application of Rivithead versus Maybelline eyeliner. Obscenities began to fly until eventually a Walmart associate peeked around the corner and stalled the debate.

Debbie giggled with a hand to her mouth.

Donja simply feigned nonchalance. She snatched mascara from the rack and then once more browsed the aisle. She opted for jet black liner and metallic-blue after midnight lipstick, while Debbie chose the fierce-glam, glue on lashes and black glitter eyeshadow. They grabbed black nail polish, peel and press tattoos, hair gel and then, a fifteen-minute wait at the checkout found them scanning every magazine cover and swooning over a picture of Robert Patrice, heartthrob of the new vampire series ‘Trice I’ve Been Bitten.’

Isn’t that Triks Molee with him? Debbie asked.

Yeah and Shelley Thibeault told me that they’re secretly engaged.

Surely he won’t marry her, he just can’t, Debbie chided.

Why not? Donja frowned. She’s beautiful, she’s hot, a bit gothic actually and her music’s really taking off.

I really wanted him and Kendra to…

Would you get over it already, Donja interrupted. She’s not into guys.

Well in the movie she was all over him, four kids all over him!

That’s just Hollywood. Donja mumbled.

Doesn’t matter, Debbie smirked. I don’t like this girl, and Triks, she quirked her face. What kind of name is that?

I like it, Donja retorted, "it’s original and anyway, you’re just jealous because you got the hots for Roberto the Vampire," she exaggerated the words and her eyes to match.

Hell yeah, Debbie scowled, I’ll admit it, he can bite me any day of the week and twice on Sunday. She put her hand on her hip and fired a look. And don’t tell me you wouldn’t shit your pants if he planted his lips on your neck.

Girl, you are so crazy.

You’d part them legs in a heartbeat and you know it.

Mmm, careful what you wish for.

Debbie fluttered her baby blues which shimmered behind artificial lashes. Speaking of parting your legs, do you think Kevin’s gonna show up tonight?

Donja ignored her. She pushed her hair behind her ears, then busied herself transferring items from the cart to the checkout counter.

Well? Debbie asked, waiting on a response which never came. Finally, with her lips skewed to one side, she leaned into the cart. Don’t ignore me!

Donja flashed a smile, which didn’t at all match the fire in her eyes. I really don’t care.

The hell you don’t. She smirked. Just last week you were so hot for him, you almost caved, and now you suddenly don’t care. Tell me another one.

I was wrong about him, Donja said, her bad girl image fading

What do you mean? Debbie asked, her face suddenly serious.

I mean, that he’s accepted me leaving and not once did he say, I’m so sorry—I’m gonna miss you, or can we visit or skype, no just—do you think we could get it on before you go?

Debbie exhaled with a huff. That’s cold.

I’m so over him. Donja sighed.

Hmmm, are you sure?

Silence.

That’ll be seventy-six twenty-seven, the cashier said, eyeing them like circus freaks.

Donja swiped with her mom’s debit card and keyed the number on the pad, suddenly wishing she hadn’t bought the tattoos or nail polish.

She’s gonna kill me.

So, are you over him or not? Debbie asked.

Silence.

You’re ignoring me…again, Debbie whispered as she laid her head on Donja’s shoulder. I didn’t mean to be a bitch.

Donja pulled away and fired a look. I’m fine, grab the bags and I’ll get the dog food.

Okay, but you didn’t—

Would you cut the twenty questions already, Donja whispered with a bit more emotion than she intended."

Ouch, Debbie scrunched her face. You’re hurting, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to—

Forget it, I just need a cigarette.

Traipsing back across the parking lot, Donja’s phone beeped.

Seeing ‘Lisa’ on the caller I.D. she warned Debbie. It’s Mom. She stopped, lay the dog food down and raised her phone. Hey Mom.

Honey, Lisa Bellanger blurted, I just got a call and Frankie’s at the emergency room. I’m stuck here at the boutique getting my dress altered. Can you go?

Yeah, is he okay?

I’m not sure, they just said he got in a fight at baseball practice and the coach dropped him off at the hospital with a bloody nose.

Donja sensed her anxiety. Deep breath, Mom, I’m on my way.

She heard her mom take a ragged breath. Good, I shouldn’t be too long, she responded. I’ll meet you there.

Donja put the phone in her purse and snatched up the dog food.

Debbie repositioned the steel blue Walmart bags in her hands. What’s wrong?

Frankie’s at the hospital, Donja muttered without looking, setting a fast pace.

Holy crap, what happened?

Seems he got into a fight, she whispered.

Is he hurt bad?

I don’t think so, but Mom’s clearly upset and the sound of her voice, she paused, wiping at her eyes. Whew! It got me going; the same old pain all over again.

Ahhh, Debbie responded knowingly as they trudged across the parking lot. Donja searched for her keys, then tossed their items in the trunk. Inside, she fired the engine and lit a cigarette with a slight but obvious tremor. She gassed the Honda, darting into traffic then sped through a yellow light, driving as fast as she dared down Napier Avenue. She tossed the ciggy out the window as they passed the St. Joseph River and rifled in her purse for a breath mint as they climbed the hill to the hospital. Outside the Lakeland emergency department she parked the car and they hurried inside, ignoring the stares. Seeing a nurse whose name badge read, C. Frizzell, R.N., Donja approached. I’m here to check on my brother, Frankie Bellanger."

She pointed down the hall. Room four B, but you may have to wait, Doctor Hamel’s with him now.

Navigating the busy hallway, Donja heard Frankie’s voice, and knowing his temperament like the back of her hand, she arched a brow. He’s pissed about something.

Nearing the door, she paused rooted in place, listening.

Yeah, I hit him first, Frankie grumbled. But he deserved it, he was making fun of my sister.

Well, that’s admirable, a male voice which Donja assumed was the doctor drifted out the door. Are you and your sister close?

Kinda except she’s always telling me to get lost.

How old is she? The Doctor asked.

Ouch, that hurts, Frankie complained.

Donja peeked into the exam room, unobserved.

Sorry, but I have to clean it, the doctor said softly, gauze in hand, a nurse standing beside him. Now old did you say your sister is?

Seventeen and she’s a goth.

I see. So how do you feel about that? The doctor tilted Frankie’s head back with a light checking his pupils.

It’s okay I guess, Frankie mumbled. But some of the guys on my team say nasty things about her.

A bit rueful, Donja glanced at Debbie who was solemn as lamb. She swallowed hard, then leaned on the door jamb and exhaled. Hearing footsteps she glanced, and she saw her mother approaching at a fast clip. Now suddenly contrite, Donja met her gaze.

Is he okay?

The Doctor’s with him now, Donja said softly.

Lisa’s eyes narrowed and if the anxiety which Donja heard just minutes ago, still existed, she hid it well. What’s wrong, honey, you look down.

Just one of those days, Donja stuttered, avoiding eye contact.

Lisa darted into the exam room and Donja seized Debbie by the arm. Let’s go.

We better wait for your mom.

Donja glanced back to the exam room and watched the doctor and her mom talking. I suppose you’re right, she conceded.

They strolled down the hallway to a packed waiting room. As they sat down, Donja tugged at her skirt which was riding up her thighs. A fleeting glance revealed two women who were whispering and opposite them, a man who was leering. She averted her gaze and though she was used to it, happened all the time, her temper flared. She exhaled, then forced her eyes on the T.V. watching, but not listening. She folded her arms over her chest with Frankie’s words echoing her mind.

"Say nasty things about her. Nasty things, nasty things, nasty things!"

She slid deeper in to the chair and hugged herself tightly. She knitted her brows and tried to brush it off, but his words stung her cheeks like a slap.

Holy shit, isn’t that the town where you’re moving? Debbie asked, eyes on the news broadcast.

Donja jerked from reverie, focused on the television, listening intently to a commentator who was detailing the murder of a nineteen-year-old Chippewa female found in an alleyway in Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario. That’s horrible, Donja said, but that city’s in Canada. We’re moving to Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan.

Debbie rolled her eyes. Two cities with the same name, are you sure?

Well no, not really, I’ve never been there but… Seeing her mom approaching, Donja’s words fell short. She stood up and clutched her purse to her chest as a guilt-induced nervousness washed over her.

I wonder if the doctor told her Frankie was defending me?

Her heart thumped as Lisa drew near.

Is he okay? Donja blurted with her voice approaching anguish.

He’s got a busted-up nose just in time for the wedding, Lisa said with half raised brows that expressed her annoyance.

Debbie hardly let her finish before she mumbled under her breath, Bummer.

Contrite, Donja dropped her head.

Yeah, I hear ya and it’s all my fault.

Wedding Bells

Your mom looks beautiful.

Yeah, she does, Donja whispered as she flashed her dark eyes at Debbie. They shared a brief look before Donja turned her gaze back to her mother, dressed in a peach colored, knee length sleeveless dress with matching pumps, hand in hand with Carson Hampton, Donja’s soon-to-be stepfather.

She took a breath, the smell of gardenias wafting.

Debbie leaned into her ear. Everything’s so perfect.

Perfect?

Donja felt her pulse quicken as she cast a fleeting glance to the sky; a perfect collage of silver and white, painted upon a bright, blue dome. She lowered her head, eyes locked on the bride and groom.

For everyone but me.

She squirmed in her chair as a sinking disquiet settled upon her. She fought back trembling lips, shaky hands, fearful of crying.

I can’t believe that there’s so many people here, Debbie whispered.

Jerked back to reality, yet unable to escape her misery, Donja exhaled, tears welling in her eyes. She surveyed the domed white tent which was to accommodate thirty guests. It was packed full and others could be seen milling about the grounds of ‘The Knot,’ a popular 1800’s farm used exclusively for outdoor weddings.

And do you, Lisa Bellanger take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, Reverend Carol, a longtime friend of the family asked.

I do, Lisa’s voice rang past the rows of white folding chairs filled with friends, family and half the staff of Lakeland Homecare, where she worked as a registered nurse.

Donja, feeling a bit guilty, gazed across the aisle to behold her paternal grandmother, Anna Bellanger, seated beside Frankie who was sporting a badly bruised nose. Doleful, she furrowed her brows, aware that she should be there, seated with them, but she and Debbie had sneaked off to have a smoke and when they got back, all the seats were taken on her mom’s side forcing her to sit on Carson’s. Her Grandma Anna, who was full blood Chippewa and seemed to possess a sixth sense, must have picked up on her guilt, for she flashed her dark eyes which glistened with tears. They shared a deadlock which lingered for the longest time. Finally, Anna, whose face was stolid, broke the tether and turned her misty eyes back to Lisa and Carson.

Donja exhaled, unaware she had been holding her breath. She knew of her grandmother’s pain, it was palpable. She dropped her head, and everything suddenly felt too soon. It had been only six years now since Anna lost her only son, her mom lost her husband, and she and Frankie lost a father.

Her eyes veiled, the wounds as fresh as yesterday. Her father, Donald Frank Bellanger, while on official government business for the Michigan Department of Agriculture, was killed by a car bomb placed next to the government towers in Norway.

I now pronounce you man and wife, the reverend stated, drawing Donja from misery. She glanced up just as Carson kissed her mom.

You have a new dad, Debbie whispered.

Yes, Donja said, unable to find a smile. She fluttered her misty eyes, thick black lashes forcing tears to streak her cheek and though part of her hated Carson, hated everything he stood for, a far greater part was grateful. He was a good man, successful, kind, considerate and most importantly, he loved her mom desperately. In the beginning, she despised him, stranger that he was, but he stepped into Frankie’s life as if he were his own, baseball, fishing, you name it Carson Hampton was there. He not only spent every moment of vacation, but traveled the seven hundred and forty-four miles round trip every weekend from his home in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, just to be there. He’d tried with Donja and though she resisted him at first, eventually they had settled into, if nothing else, mutual acceptance.

Your liner’s running. Debbie whispered, offering up a tissue.

Donja, wound tighter than clockwork, took the white fluff contrasted by her long, black nails and dabbed at her eyes as they rose to their feet. She lowered her hand to inspect the tissue which was smeared black. Leanne, the photographer’s assistant with short cropped blonde hair, made her way toward her, pushing at the folding chairs. We’re gonna need you and your brother for pictures out by the carriage.

Sure. Donja said with a forced smile.

You’ll need to clean your face, Leanne smirked. Your eyes are dripping black. She scurried away.

Now that’s a judgmental bitch if I ever saw one, Debbie mumbled."

Donja rolled her eyes, though she knew it was true. Half the people she knew were judgmental in one way or another. In the beginning, around age eleven when she found herself obsessed with gothic style, even her mother had fought her tooth and nail. The desire for anything black, followed by falling grades, loud music and horrific nightmares about terrorists, escalated to a point that her mom forced her into counseling. A year and eight months later, the counselor mentioned in family session that the gothic makeup was just a shield to hide from what she could not face. She suggested that their weekly sessions continue to work through her father’s death, but Donja rebelled and finally her mom gave in, and why not? What do counselors know of pain anyway?

She turned to Debbie. Is it bad.

Debbie used her finger to wipe at her black tears. I’ve seen worse, she smiled. Remember how I looked when we got caught in that thunderstorm at the Glad Peach Festival out in Coloma, she giggled.

Oh no, Donja grumbled. Her makeup had rivaled Gene Simmons. She wiped at her cheeks then turned to fall in with the flow of bodies. She saw Carson’s daughter, Makayla, and her uppity friend, Heather, deep in conversation. Makayla, dressed in a beautiful blue mini with spiked heels, raised a hand to brush back her golden locks and they shared a look, though cursory at best.

Makayla averted her gaze.

Your new stepsister’s ultra-strange, Debbie whispered, she looks at us like we have two heads.

Donja spiked her brows. She’s Ivy League in case you didn’t notice.

I think there’s more to it than that. There’s something about her.

Maybe it’s a fear of losing her father.

That’s about stupid.

No, not really. You have your mom and dad, but how would you feel if some woman was taking your mom’s place.

I don’t know, I never thought of such.

Well it’s not easy, I mean, I actually feel a little insecure about this whole thing myself.

But you like him—don’t you?

It’s not about liking or disliking, it’s about him worming his way into our lives and Mom… her words trailed.

What?

Forgetting my dad. Donja mumbled.

Debbie quirked her face to a scowl.

Don’t look at me like that, it’s dumb I know, but Makayla lost her mom just four years ago. Perhaps she feels the same way.

"Well I guess you both better get over it, they’re married now."

Donja dropped her head. Yeah.

"And anyway, your new sister, she emphasized the word, is lucky. She doesn’t have to move."

Don’t remind me, Donja frowned.

Debbie gripped her arm. I’m gonna miss you so bad.

Don’t start, Donja’s lip trembled. I won’t have any liner left and anyway, you and Gina are tight not to mention Faith, who talks like you’re besties. You won’t be alone.

Beside the antiquated black carriage with six white horses, Makayla, Donja and Frankie joined the bride and groom for a photo shoot. Donja noticed Makayla took her father’s side while she took her mom’s, but Frankie took the middle between her mom and Carson and wouldn’t budge. Donja studied his bruised nose, contrasted by his brown, Chippewa skin as wind whipped his ebony locks. He had a smile from ear to ear. Something warm washed over her. He was happy…at least one of them was. She glanced to Makayla and strangely found her sneaking a little glance of her own. Makayla dropped her eyes.

What’s your problem?

One last time, the photographer beamed. Ready?

They froze, and though it was but a moment in time, their candy-coated smiles would adorn the wedding album of Carson and Lisa Hampton, forever.

Excellent! the photographer chimed as the music from inside the barn echoed the grounds.

Donja smoothed her lacey black dress and found Debbie. Together, they moseyed silently through the heavy crowd. Inside the renovated 1800’s barn, where round tables covered in white satin cloth with bouquets of yellow lilies circled a dance floor, they made a beeline and sat down at the bridal table.

Mirella, the wedding planner, microphone in hand, took to the dance floor. And now Lisa and Carson will have the first dance, she announced. The room occupied by a hundred or more, fell silent and the music swelled.

Donja watched as Carson, so tall and handsome led his bride to the dance floor. He looked dapper in his tux. He took a sweeping bow with a fringe of blonde hair falling upon his brow. A few surprised gasps echoed the massive room and then like a story book prince, he pulled her into his arms. Captivated, Donja took a breath; it was all so magical, her mother’s sable locks dangling, her chin tilted up to Carson’s adoring blue eyes. Curious of Makayla’s response, Donja turned her head to look. She was gone.

Strange.

She turned back and watched the dance.

They are so in love, Debbie whispered.

Yes, they are, Donja smiled and it was almost genuine for truth be known, she was happy for them. Kinda. The music stopped as Carson and her mom departed the dance floor.

Where’s Makayla? Carson asked.

Donja shrugged her shoulders.

Carson flipped his phone from his tux and walked a safe distance away.

Honey, Lisa said, smoothing Frankie’s unruly hair. Your grandma will be leaving soon.

Why?

She has things to do. Now I want you to mind her while I’m gone. I’ll call you as soon as we get to Hawaii.

Can’t I go?

No, we’ve been over this again and again. It’s our honeymoon and kids are not allowed.

Defiant, Frankie folded his arms over his chest and frowned.

Lisa ruffled his hair. The circus is going to be in Grand Rapids tomorrow and Grandma’s gonna take you.

The fight in Frankie’s dark eyes faded. Sweet.

Lisa turned to Donja. You going to be okay on your own?

Mom, I’m not on my own. Debbie’s sleeping over and Maestro will watch over us.

Oh gosh, speaking of Maestro, did you get dog food?

I did, but I forgot to get it out. It’s still in my car.

Carson approached as he slid his cell back inside his tux.

Is Makayla okay? Lisa asked.

Oh, yeah, he said with a not so convincing tone. She wasn’t feeling well so she and Heather are driving back tonight.

"That’s a long drive, Carson. I told her they could stay at the house overnight with Donja.

Come on, Mom, she’s not about to sleep with the enemy, Donja thought.

I know, but she’s bashful. She wants to be home, he replied sheepishly.

Donja bit her lip.

Good try, Carson, but it has nothing to do with bashful. Your little princess doesn’t want anything to do with us…especially me.

Well, let’s go greet our guests, Lisa winked as she looped her arm in Carson’s.

As you wish, Mrs. Hampton, Carson said with his lips curling into a smile.

Mrs. Hampton, Lisa mused as they walked away. I like the sound of that.

~~~

Donja woke with a start and realized that Maestro, the family Schnauzer of eight years was on the bed. He was licking her face. She blew air in his face and he backed away as she raised a hand and wiped at her nose and mouth.

Maestro came back for more.

Eww! Donja sputtered. She pulled his writhing body tight and hugged him as she recalled the day her dad brought him home, a tiny silver and black bundle. She fell in love with him and for weeks on end she refused to put him down. Finally, after a month of calling him ‘baby puppy,’ her mom named him Maestro and it fit perfectly.

He wiggled free of her embrace, hopping all over the bed, and then he dashed in and licked at her face. She pushed him away. He bailed off the bed like a silver bullet and took a stance next to the nightstand, trembling with a pathetic whine.

Okay already, Donja mumbled as she sat up with a groggy yawn. A fleeting glance to the opposite side of the bed revealed Debbie sleeping with her mouth gaping open and one leg hanging off the bed. Donja rose to her feet and Maestro went ballistic, jumping up and down like a maniac.

Debbie, roused from slumber, sat up a bit disoriented. She rubbed at her eyes, sunlight spilling through the open window. What the heck?

It’s his potty time.

Debbie swung her feet to the floor and pushed her black locks behind her ear. Would you let him out already? she said gripping her head.

Someone’s in a mood.

Bite me.

Donja laughed, slipping her feet, with shiny black toenails into her flipflops.

Debbie stood up, stretching. Can we go to the Burger Shack, I want a caramel latte?

Sure, Donja blurted, but we gotta get back, no shopping and don’t even ask. I need a manicure and pedicure before the party.

Oh crap, me too but I do need a pack of ciggys. I can’t have a latte without a smoke.

Are you buying? Donja asked with raised brows.

Debbie smirked then threw her pillow.

Donja dodged it, laughing and darted out the door, Maestro yapping to high heaven.

~~~

Cruising down Main Street in St. Joseph with the windows down Donja and Debbie were singing along with the sultry voice of Chelsea Wolfe. Just shy of the St. Joseph River, Donja took a sharp left onto Ship St. and then down the steep descent to Silver Beach. Cars were parked everywhere, and she turned off the music as they eased past the train station with a half visible sun looming over the liquid horizon. Finding a parking spot, she grabbed her beach bag from the back seat. Debbie came around the hood as she slammed the door. Do I look all right? I’m on my damn period and I feel bloated.

Donja cast a surreptitious glance out across the sand dunes to the crowded beach and then back to Debbie’s skull pentagram swimsuit. You look fine.

I feel fat.

All right. You look fat.

You witch! Don’t be crude!

You asked, so get over it!

Debbie lit a cigarette and took a long drag. Donja snatched it and took one of her own, holding it briefly before she exhaled, I’m nervous.

And it shows, you’re always bitchy when you’re nervous.

Sorry, but this driving me nuts.

Chill, he might not even be here. Debbie smirked, blowing smoke.

Oh, he’ll be here, with a hard on. That’s all he thinks about.

Debbie thumped the Virginia Slim with her finger, ashes flying. So, you gonna give in?

Donja snatched the cigarette, took a deep drag and then without a word squatted, snuffed it in sand and set her stride past the rows of cars onto the beach. She scanned the maze of bodies down to the south pier, which was packed. She raised a hand to her brow to shield the setting sun which was glistening orange and red across the horizon. She wiggled her toes in the warm sand, searching the faces.

Donja! A voice rang amid a cacophony of gulls screeching, kids screaming and waves crashing.

Donja spun with gentle winds whipping in from the lake and tossing her ponytail. She saw Steve, Jose, Dumi and Rollie walking toward them, shirtless and barefoot in baggy swim trunks.

We have a group down on the north end of the beach, Dumi said pointing with his hand. His eyes washed over them. Dressed in a bikini, which she only wore to impress Kevin, Donja pulled her beach bag tight over her tummy. Dumi raised his head. Looking good, girl.

Donja smiled, pearly whites flashing.

Did you guys bring any drinks? Rollie asked.

We got a bottle of Jim Beam I swiped from my dad’s liquor cabinet, Debbie said.

Damn, we’re scarce on the good stuff. He sighed. Just a little vodka and some rum but Kyle brought some kick ass smoke.

Where you guys headed? Donja asked.

For coke and seven-up, you guys go on, we’ll be back.

Donja took a few steps then paused, turned and called out. Hey Dumi. Is Kevin here?

Dumi turned to face her with a hand shielding his eyes. Uhh, yeah, he is, he…ahhh. He stumbled on his words. He, uh…he came with Brandy.

Brandy?

Uhh…yeah.

Donja felt a sting, like harsh slap to the face.

That sonofabitch?

She spun, headed down the beach clinging to her beach bag.

Debbie fell in beside her. You wanta leave—I mean, you’re shaking, I can see it and if you do—well, I’m like okay with it, really, I am, she rambled. It’s our last night together and I’m totally good if you—

No! Donja interrupted. I’m not gonna let that two-timing jerk ruin my going away party. Screw him!

Well I think that’s why he’s with Brandy.

Donja glanced sideways with a scowl.

The screw part, Debbie exclaimed with wide eyes. That’s what I meant. She’ll hump anything.

Pa…lease, Donja groaned. That’s one visual I could live without.

Sorry, Debbie said as they maneuvered through a multitude of beach goers. Donja dodged a beach ball and then turned her head just in the nick of time as two young boys engaged in a sand fight all but peppered her face. Just past three girls who were burying some guy in heaps