The Sorcerer King and the Fire Queen

by Ana Lee Kennedy

  “Do you have everything?” I asked her.

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  I looked back at Sam, who raised one gnarled hand in farewell and ascended the steps. He slipped into the cabin without a backward glance.

  “He believes it’s bad luck to tell someone goodbye,” said Maureen.

  “I’m not so sure he’s wrong,” I replied, wanting to sob.

  Chapter Ten

  We drove through the remaining mountains of Virginia and into North Carolina. Maureen must have sensed my mood. She said very little—thank God. I concentrated on driving, watching the names of towns and cities on the Interstate signs as the pavement rolled away under the new tires. However, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t keep my thoughts from straying to Solomon and the way he made me feel as he’d kissed me on the porch and then again in his bedroom.

  Then, on the flip side, the memory of the creatures encroaching on the cabin’s back deck shot rockets of ice through me, freezing my innards.

  It didn’t take long to reach Statesville. There, we pulled into a truck stop to gas up and grab some cold-cut sandwiches and Cokes. I pulled the Jeep up to a pump, shut off the engine, and reached for my purse, which always sat between the stick shift and the console.

  No purse.

  Frowning, I looked on the floor, in the backseat, and even got out to rummage through the hatch.

  “What’s wrong, Ruby?” Maureen asked.

  “Did you put my purse somewhere?”

  “No, the last place I saw it was on Sam’s kitchen table this morning,” she said serenely.

  “You saw my purse sitting on the kitchen table and you didn’t pick it up?”

  She twisted in the seat to look at me, both eyebrows raised in identical arches. “I figured you’d get pissed like you do everything else, especially with all that cash in it.”

  “You could’ve reminded me where it was!”

  “Well, since you were the one who put it on the table, I assumed you knew where it was.” Maureen’s eyebrows lowered, but a furrow appeared between them. “Don’t try blaming me for this one, Ruby.”

  Her response wasn’t what I’d expected. For the first time since picking her up, my Marilyn Monroe hitchhiker was standing up to me.

  “Shit!” Letting the hatch fall shut, I leaned against it and watched the endless stream of tractor-trailers entering and exiting the truck stop. I’d parked on the gas station side, but a large black, red and neon green billboard by the exit ramp advertised a traveler’s restaurant around the back. A trucker’s parking lot took up the far left. Heat waves shimmered up from the blacktop in huge silvery curtains. Two hookers, a blonde in a micro mini skirt and a redhead that was an obvious dye job, climbed out of a nearby truck.

  Maureen got out of the Jeep and stood at my side. “What do we do for money now?” she asked.

  I nodded at the prostitutes sashaying toward the next semi.

  Her mouth dropped open. “Uh...do we really—?”

  I gaped at her. “Jeez, Maureen, I was just being a smartass.”

  “Oh.”

  With a sigh, I felt in the pockets of my shorts. Empty. I walked around to the driver’s side, searching through the console, the various pockets, shelves, slots and nooks for loose change or carelessly tossed bills.

  “I don’t suppose you have any dough put back for emergencies, do you?”

  The sound of heels clicking on asphalt reached the passenger door, and Maureen poked her head through the open window. “Are you kidding? I’ve been bumming off you.”

  That brought a smile to my lips. She irritated the hell out of me, but at least she was honest.

  “Well, I found three dollars and ninety-five cents.” Straightening, I rubbed the small of my back. A tension headache had begun in my forehead and slowly crossed my skull to my spine.

  “Good! It’s hot and I’m parched.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of telephoning Solomon.”

  “Do you have his phone number?” Maureen asked.

  I wilted. “No.”

  I laid my head on my arms across the doorframe. The developing headache teetered on the edge of a stroke. Several minutes slipped away as I tried to clear my head enough to think straight. I didn’t have any friends or any relatives other than Dad, and he’d never part with enough money for gas back to Solomon’s. I could hear him now, “If you need money, use your damn power.”

  And to top it all off, I felt like an ass for the way I’d spoken to Maureen.

  “Uh, Ruby,” Maureen said.

  “Not now,” I muttered.

  There was enough gas in the Jeep to go another twenty miles, give or take, but what then? Solomon’s cabin was a good sixty miles behind us.

  “Ruby,” she said again.

  “What?”

  “Ruby Nutter?” a man said.

  My head whipped toward the voice so fast that pain shot from between my shoulder blades, over my head, and then settled between my eyes. A North Carolina State Highway Patrolman stood looking at me with cool blue eyes. His black uniform with its rectangular arm patch outlined in gold promoted a high factor of intimidation. A round trooper’s hat with the three divots in the crown perched on his head, and a black nametag trimmed in silver and gold adorned his left pec. I looked at Officer Sherman Zwight and wondered what I could have possibly done wrong.

  “Can this day get any worse?” I moaned and leaned against the driver’s door for support. Several other names popped into my head. I considered using Jane Doe, Cleopatra, Mary Magdalene—anything. “I’m Ruby Nutter.”

  “Are you Maureen Galbraith?” he asked, looking at my hitchhiker.

  “Yes.” Her voice sounded so small and scared that I felt like slugging the cop in the mouth for frightening her.

  “I need you two ladies to come to the station with me to clear up an issue that was reported a few hours ago.” He pulled out a notepad and scribbled on it with a pen. Upon his left shoulder, a mic imitated the sounds of a deranged chimpanzee. “Would you two please get in the back of my car?” He nodded toward the sleek black-and-silver charger parked a few yards away.

  “What’s this about?” I asked, my stomach falling into my sneakers.

  “I’m not at liberty to say, ma’am,” he responded and indicated that we start walking toward his cruiser. “This can all be settled at the station if you simply cooperate.”

  “Ruby, we better go with him,” Maureen said, a faint quiver in her voice.

  He smiled coolly and nodded toward his car again.

  “Shit,” I whispered and urged my feet across the parking lot.

  After he settled us in his vehicle, he moved my Jeep from the gas pumps to a safe parking spot, locked it, and slipped my keys into his pocket.

  Unshed tears sparkled in Maureen’s eyes, so I refrained from saying anything for fear of starting a deluge. Besides, if she started bawling, I would too.

  ****

  Except for the occasional squeal of the police radio, we rode in silence to the trooper’s station. A female voice babbled across the airwaves with strings of codes, addresses and Interstate ramps mixed with perp information and details of traffic accidents. Maureen mutely stared out the window.

  The officer took an off-ramp, made a right onto a two-lane highway, and about a quarter of a mile down the road, promptly pulled into a parking lot on the left. The square brick building sat upon a small knoll surrounded by trees and one lonely radio tower protruding from the backside like a steely pimple. He parked the cruiser and helped us out of the backseat.

  “Are we under arrest?” I asked somewhat snappishly and grimaced at the stricken look Maureen shot me.

  He favored me with a bland smile that didn’t reach his icy blue eyes. “No, we just need to ask you a couple questions then you can be on your way.”

  “Does this have anything to do with those bikers who trashed the museum in Virginia?” Maureen asked.

  The officer paused and quirked an eye
brow. “Should it?”

  “Never mind.” She dropped her gaze dropped to the toes of her platform sandals.

  The cop led the way to the station’s front door.

  “Way to go, ditz,” I whispered.

  She offered me a helpless shrug. Disgusted, I strode slightly ahead of her. The clickety-click of her heels followed me as she stumbled over the stray pebbles strewn about the pavement.

  Inside, the patrolman led us to a window where he stopped to fill out a timesheet and address a short, gray-haired man with brown eyes and a salt-and-pepper mustache. “These are the two women who were reported, Marty,” he said. “I’ll put them in a detaining room until our other party shows up.”

  “That’s fine, Sherman.” Marty glanced at me and smiled.

  Officer Zwight turned and indicated that Maureen and I walk down a pine-paneled hall. He unlocked a door on the left and pointed for us to enter.

  He shut the door behind me with a firm thud.

  Maureen poured a cup of coffee and parked herself at a round table in the center of the room. A cabinet sat behind her as well as a cheap coffee maker and several towers of foam cups. Riddled with cigarette burns, an ugly turquoise sofa from the late 1960s occupied the left wall beneath a large print of the North Carolina state seal. The coffee-stained, mustard-yellow carpet clashed with the couch so badly I could almost hear the two hues screaming insults at one another.

  “Wonder what they want to question us about?” Maureen mused, nervously drumming the nails of her free hand on the table’s laminate.

  “Who knows?” I sighed and pulled out one of the hard plastic chairs. “It could be anything from the bikers at the museum to Loretta Detzer paying us to pick up her document in Key West.”

  “Who could’ve known about that?” Maureen’s eyes grew as big as her boobs.

  “That diner was packed the day we were there,” I said, deciding I would try the black syrup in the coffee pot. I walked over to the cabinet and poured a cup. “Anyone might’ve eavesdropped on our conversation and made up a lie to detain us. Then he could go to Key West and pick up both the document and the money. The way our luck has gone so far, I wouldn’t rule out anything just yet.”

  “Good point,” Maureen muttered.

  Thinking back over the events of the past two days made my head throb worse. For the millionth time, I wondered why I’d agreed to let Maureen tag along. Her obvious fear of our situation only served to make me feel guilty.

  Stirring creamer into my coffee, I sat at the table again. Maureen stared off into space, her fingernails still tapping incessantly. She leaned against the table edge. The action created a tsunami of pale flesh that bulged over the neckline of her low-cut shirt.

  With the way things were going, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to stop in Florida to see my son. No, I had to see him, warn him, make sure he was safe. But for now, it was best to concentrate on why we were detained at the highway patrol station. The clock on the coffee maker blinked 11:45. Placing my cup in the center of the table, I crossed my arms on the laminate, laid my head on them, and closed my eyes.

  Maureen shifted in her seat and exclaimed, “Oh, good, a National Geographic to read.”

  The thought of Maureen reading National Geographic was pretty damn amazing. No, that wasn’t fair.

  Hurt before I’m hurt first.

  As I dozed, thoughts of Cindy Sandsburg and Jody Kefferstine rose unbidden. Cole Vandercourt’s handsome face transformed into a cruel mask as he used me, and then dumped me in front of the entire football team and cheerleading squad, their jibes and jeers echoing in my brain.

  The A/C breathed down on me from a vent in the ceiling. I dropped off into a deep slumber and heard his voice again: I never fucked a witch before.

  When Cole, a senior and the handsomest and most coveted guy in school, started chasing me, leaving beautiful notes and letters in my locker, carrying my books, and calling my house, the other girls hated me even more.

  The truth was that I’d always been smitten with Cole. His Italian heritage had blessed him with dark, brooding looks. He’d flash that perfect white smile, his blue eyes stark against his olive complexion, and I’d turn into a ball of goo.

  Finally, despite my reservations he could have any girl he wanted, I went out with him. We hung out at the mall and then saw a movie. I had a great time, and Cole even kissed me at my front door, promising to take me to the school’s biggest football game of the season.

  I was so stupid for letting him talk me into going to the after-game party. So stupid to trust him, to believe he only wanted alone time with me.

  As I always did, I saw the door burst open, the kids filing in to watch as Cole taught the witch a lesson. I fought...fought so hard, but although my power rose again, it didn’t stop Cole. He’d boned the witch while she’d glowed and screamed for him to stop. He’d reveled in my power cascading over him as I cried. He’d used it to prove to the others how fearless he was.

  And poor Anthony was the one who had paid for it all.

  “Ruby?” a familiar voice said next to my ear. Something nudged me gently. “Ruby, wake up.”

  The sensation began before I roused fully. At first I thought I was still dreaming, but the prickles and stinging flowed into my arms as my consciousness floated to the surface of my brain.

  I never fucked a witch before. Cole’s words stabbed my heart again.

  The fiery sensation permeated my hands, shot into my fingers—I jolted awake. My concentration centered on my hands now flat on the laminate. Bleary-eyed, I tamped the urge, the need to fry everything, down into the well of my soul.

  “Ruby, it’s okay. Wake up,” Maureen soothed.

  The orange of my nails faded to natural pink, but the aroma of burning plastic tainted my nostrils. Sleep fuzzed my mind. My attention moved to the coffee maker’s digital clock: 12:33. Someone squatted next to me, and I turned to look into Solomon’s eyes. He wore a look of relief and pleasure.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked as the illumination surrounding me vanished.

  “He brought your purse, Ruby,” Maureen chirped from the sofa, the magazine spread across her lap.

  “How did you know we were here?” I frowned at Solomon, my brain finally functioning properly as it chased the dream away and my power slumbered again. “I never got a chance to call you.”

  “I have a buddy on the Virginia State Highway Patrol,” Solomon explained. “After I told him about you and that you’d left your purse with all your cash in it, he took down the make, model and license plate number of your vehicle and called another buddy, a Sherman Zwight, who got lucky when he found you at the truck stop outside Statesville.”

  A bright blue dress shirt accentuated his eyes and hair. His lack of natural coloring no longer seemed strange and alien to me. Oh, no. Solomon looked great, so much so my breath hitched.

  “Zwight had the patrol station hold you here until I could drive down with your purse. I apologize for rummaging in something so personal, but I thought maybe I’d find something to help me get in touch with you. When I found the wad of cash and all your credit cards, I realized you were in an unfamiliar area without money, I.D., or even a couple of quarters to make a collect call for help.” He grinned. “And nowadays, what woman doesn’t carry a cell phone with her?”

  I shrugged and grinned sheepishly.

  “Isn’t he a sweetheart, Ruby?” Maureen said like a lovesick girl.

  Heat singed my cheeks. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Well...” Solomon smiled.

  Suspicion fluttered in my heart.

  “Let me go with you to Key West,” he said. “I’ll even let you drive my Excursion, and I’ll pitch in for gas and other expenses.”

  “Why?”

  “I already told you.”

  “You have money, Solomon. Why not travel to Italy or maybe Japan? You can certainly afford it.”

  “I find you fascinating.”

  He’d told
me that last night. What was fascinating about me? Well, besides blowing things up, my sunshine glow, and rapier wit.

  His smile grew wider. He reached out and smoothed back that one stubborn tendril of hair that always dangled in my eyes. “Yes, Ruby, you’re fascinating, even more so than going to a foreign country. There’s more to you than you let on, and I want to find out what it is.” He cupped my cheek, his thumb caressing my lips.

  “Yeah, she’s rude, mouthy, profane, and sometimes she’s downright mean,” Maureen quipped.

  I threw her a look that spoke volumes about my temper.

  “See?” she said, but amusement danced in her eyes.

  “If you don’t like hanging with me, you can go back to hitchhiking,” I grumbled half heartedly.

  “No, thanks.” She grinned, sat on the sofa again, and picked up the magazine.

  “So what do you say?” Solomon asked. “Sam says I need to stay with you to fulfill some sort of destiny, and if you ask me, it sounds like a good excuse to get to know you better.”

  I searched his eyes for some clue to his true intentions. How was it possible that such a compelling man wanted to spend time with me? Leaving this morning was how it always ended with the men in my life, especially if they found out how weird I was. His hopeful expression tugged at my heart.

  He offered me a smile that hammered at my resolve. “Come on, let me go with you.”

  “You don’t even know why we’re traveling south.”

  Solomon chuckled. “If it’s with you, I know it will be interesting. I’ve even closed the museum for a couple weeks.”

  “You’re better off staying away from me, Solomon.”

  “Let me be the judge of that.” He brushed his lips against mine, startling me into silence.

  I couldn’t comprehend his need to travel with us. However, he did manage to find us through his cop buddies and had driven from Virginia to North Carolina just to bring me my purse full of cash. He could have easily taken it, claiming he’d never found my purse, but he was already wealthy, so that theory fell flat.

  I hate it when I feel like I owe someone something. On the other hand, I was elated he wanted to go with me. I certainly enjoyed his company, and since leaving him that morning, I’d felt lost.