Wicked Legends: A Dystopian Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection

by hamilton, rebecca

  I will do my best to make you as comfortable as possible tonight. I did want to warn you that because of your prior experience with possession, you will have to undergo a cleansing. I promise it will be quick and painless. It should help shield you from all the magic that will be in the air tonight.

  The only other thing I wanted to warn you of is you must be inside the gates at six-thirty, or your passage will be revoked. Also, we don’t allow weapons of any kind, not even magical items within these gates. As such, all your belongings will be searched before you are allowed entrance.

  I look forward to spending the night with you, Miss Lane.

  Till then,

  * * *

  Mac Harker

  * * *

  The last sentence whirls around in my head like a mini tornado threatening to blow me over. I take in deep, sharp breaths. I’m reading too much into it. I have a tendency to do that. Find meaning where none exists. But still, did he sign all his letters that way? That’s one thing I don’t know about Mac Harker. Did he always tell women he was looking forward to spending the night with them?

  I roll my eyes at myself.

  Don’t be ridiculous, Kinsley. He’s just trying to make you feel welcome.

  Then, something else occurs to me. They’re going to search my belongings before I can go in.

  Somethings tells me narcotics are probably on the list of things they ban. Witches are notorious for solving their ailments through natural remedies. If you ask me, because they use magic, it’s totally cheating.

  And narcotics are my own brand of magic. Kinsley craft. They might buy that, right?

  Ugh, who am I kidding? If I had a script for the damn things, sure. But, I don’t. Plus, my mother would find out I’m still taking them. No problem. I’ll just have to find a way to sneak them in. Creeper can help me with that because no way am I getting through this night without chemical crutches.

  I swiftly make my way through the rest of the packet. Just a map, menu, sleeping arrangements, and a list of rituals you can participate in throughout the night.

  Stuffing everything back in its place, I hop up and head for the bathroom to get ready. I take my second shower of the day, hellfire hot, then blow dry my hair. My medicine cabinet is a hot mess. Random objects clatter and spin down toward the drain in my sink as I try to locate my makeup.

  Not bothering to clean it up, I take care with my makeup today. Or, at least I try to. It’s not easy to apply mascara with shaking hands. Mac’s written words are still swimming through my head. I feel silly and excited all at once. Taking in a deep breath, I shake out my hands and will myself to calm down. Then, I get back to the task of making my eyes pop.

  I’ve mastered the smoky eye look. That and a bit of gloss are all of my makeup tricks. I shove everything back into the cabinet, bounce to my room, and put on my dress. Instead of the shoes that are super cute but are going to kill my tender feet, I slip on a pair of Dallas Cowboys slippers and place the heels gingerly in my bag. After I grab my purse, I glance down at my cellphone.

  Good, I’ll be at Creeper’s early.

  That’s very good.

  4

  GOING TO CREEPER’S house always frazzles my nerves. Not that most things don’t, but this task in particular makes me uncomfortable. I have no idea why. His parents are so nice. Maybe that’s it. Too much niceness. I’m not used to it. I don’t know how to behave around mothers who don’t cut their children to bits with words.

  So, when Creeper’s mother appears at the door, I plaster a big, dumb smile onto my face.

  “Kinsley!” She throws a dish rag over her shoulder and smiles at me.

  Unlike my smile, hers is genuine.

  She eyes me up and down and whistles. “Well, look at you! Don’t you look gorgeous!”

  “No.” The verbal spit-up comes out of my mouth before I can catch it. Now it’s out there, splattered all over Mrs. Bates, staining her dry-cleaned floral blouse.

  She arches an eyebrow at me and smiles wider.

  I reach for my hair, then push it back before I have a chance to put it in my mouth.

  “Well, um. Come in.” She opens the door wider, and I step in.

  The scent of apples and brown sugar drifts up my nose. That’s another thing I can’t get used to. Creeper’s house always smells like baked goods. Growing up, my house smelled like bleach and afternoon cocktails. I always thought it was normal.

  “Jason is in the living room. He’s expecting you.”

  I nod and smile politely. She turns and leads me down their walkway. I take my time, eyeing all the family portraits lined up on either side of the hall. Creeper as a boy scout. Creeper with his prom date. The Creeper family at Thanksgiving, Christmas. A wedding portrait of Mrs. and Mr. Creeper.

  They were so proud of their family, they displayed their life like it belonged to some rich history. After my father died, most of the pictures of us as a family vanished. My mother couldn’t deal.

  Walking into Creeper’s living room is like tapping your heels three times and arriving in Kansas. This is what a home should look like. Warm browns in the furniture. Light tans on the walls. More family photos in frames with cheesy slogans at the top: Family is forever. Home is where the heart is. There are even baked goods laid out on the coffee table.

  Mrs. Creeper turns to me. “Would you like something to drink, Kinsley? Sweet tea? Water?”

  “Um, I’ll take a water?” Everything I say to Creeper’s parents always comes out as a question. I’m not sure of anything I say or do in this house.

  She nods, heads back down the hall, and cuts a right into the kitchen. I sweep the room with my eyes until they land on Creeper. He’s seated in his wheelchair with some video game remote in his hands and a half a sandwich hanging from his mouth.

  “You’re early,” he says without looking at me. His fingers jab into the remote control, and he gobbles up the rest of his snack.

  I sit down behind him on the couch. “Yeah.”

  His mother re-enters the room, and whatever else I was about to say vanishes from my mind. Poof. Lost in space forever. She reaches out and hands me a tall glass of water with crushed ice. I love crushed ice. I think I told her that ages ago, and she still remembers.

  I smile up at her as I take it.

  “Anything else I can get you guys?” Her hands plant on her hips and her gaze darts between me and Creeper.

  “Nah, we’re good, Ma.”

  She smiles again and smooths down the front of her pants. “Alright, well, I have preparations to make. Holler if you need anything.” She looks at me. “Congratulations on receiving passage this year, dear. I hope you’ll stop by after and tell me all about it.”

  My mouth falls open, and I nod dumbly.

  “Yeah, if we’re still here.”

  Creeper’s mother walks up behind him and smacks him lightly on the back of the head. I’ve been around them often enough to know this is a loving gesture.

  “Ow! Geez, Ma!”

  “Don’t talk like that, young man.” She glances back at me and shakes her head. “What am I going to do with this one?”

  I laugh.

  “Thanks a lot,” Creeper says.

  She ruffles his hair then leaves the room. When she’s gone, Creeper pushes the hand control on his chair and wheels up to his console. He reaches out and turns it off.

  “Your mom is so cool.” I sip my water.

  “Yep.” He wheels around toward me. “Why are you here early?”

  I take a strand of my hair and start chewing on it. Over the years, I’ve grown accustomed to the taste of my hair. It soothes me like a pacifier soothes a screaming baby.

  “Uh oh. This isn’t going to be good.”

  I dart my eyes around to make sure his parents aren’t lurking in any corners. They don’t seem like lurkers, but you can never be too sure.

  “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”

  He nods. “Follow me.”

  The chair
emits a low buzz as he wheels it down the back hall. I stand, place my water on a coaster, and follow. Every time I enter Creeper’s room, I do a double take. Each time is like the first time.

  As I eye the posters tacked up on his walls, I shake my head. “Dude, you really need to take these down.”

  Creeper grabs hold of a rail and hoists himself onto the bed. Then he grabs the supports hanging from his ceiling and shuffles himself into a comfortable position.

  He throws his hands behind his head. “Nah, they make me happy.” Then with a wink, he adds, “Friendship is magic.”

  I just stare at him. That’s right. Creeper is a bronie. Don’t know what that is? You’re lucky. I’m going to ruin your life and tell you, because as long as mine is ruined, why not drag everyone else down with me?

  A bronie is a guy, more specifically, a grown ass man, that is into My Little Pony. They even have conventions and dress up. Creeper hasn’t gone that far— otherwise I would have never let him into my pants—but he does have posters of the damn things all over his wall and he collects the figurines.

  His favorite is Fluttershy.

  Yeah. The shit is real.

  “You’d probably get laid a lot more if you got rid of this crap.” I sit down in his wheelchair.

  “I get laid plenty.” He grins his Creeper grin. “Now, what’s got your curlies up in knots?”

  I glance toward his wide open door then back at him.

  He sighs. “If you close it, my ma will think we’re up to no good.”

  With a sigh, I lean forward and whisper, “It’s about tonight.”

  He mimics my body language. Leaned forward, arms twisted together. “What about it?”

  I splay my fingers, glance behind me one more time, then focus my gaze on him. “Tonight, before they let me in… They’re going to check my bags.”

  Creeper lets out a deep rumble of a laugh. “Of course they are.”

  I lean back in his chair and frown. “It’s not funny.”

  “It’s a bit funny.” He shuffles around and settles into another positon. “But, I don’t get the problem.”

  My eyes widen at him. The whites of his eyes expand as he mirrors my expression. I shift my gaze toward my purse, which I’ve hung on the edge of his chair.

  “You know…”

  “Not really. You plan on packing?”

  “The pills,” I say from the corner of my mouth.

  His head leans against his shoulder. Then he rolls his eyes. “No way. Don’t tell me you need more already!”

  * * *

  I feel the sudden need to grab one of his My Little Ponies and lob it at his head. “Of course not!”

  “Then what are we talking about here?”

  If I lean toward him any farther, I’ll be in his lap. “I need a way to, you know, smuggle them in.”

  He blinks three times at me, then once more, as if I’m something he’s seeing for the first time. Then, he covers his mouth. Probably to hide a smile.

  “What?” I lean away from him.

  “Oh, honey.”

  Heat rushes to my face. “What?”

  “You are too adorable. Hold on, just let me…” He reaches over and pulls his cellphone from his nightstand. Aiming it at me he says, “This moment is going on Instapics.” A flash goes off in his face.

  Leaning back, I scowl at him. “I’m being serious.”

  “I know you are, otherwise it wouldn’t be adorable.” He sighs. “Just tell them they came from a doctor, Ley. It’s not a big deal.”

  I glance behind me one more time. Maybe I should sit facing the door. I turn back and avert my eyes. “My mother will be there. Nelson, too.”

  “Ah.” His cellphone thuds as he throws it back down. “Now it makes more sense. You don’t want any shit from Mommy Dearest.”

  “She already tried to put me in a program.”

  He gives me his serial killer stare. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

  I laugh. “Says my dealer.” I stare at the poster of Rainbow Dash above his head. “My mother is always trying to put me into a program. Remember when she tried to send me to fat camp?”

  Creeper scoffs. “And bible camp. And charm school. Yeah, she’s bush wacked.”

  This makes me smile. “I don’t have a problem.”

  He holds up his hands. “Fine, you don’t want shit from Mom. You can always hide it up your…” His eyes slide down my body and rest on a place that makes me blush.

  I reach for a handful of hair. “You can’t be serious.”

  He laughs. “Unless you plan on having it searched tonight, I am quite serious.”

  I cross my legs. “You’re such a perv.”

  “Women do it all the time.”

  “You’re an idiot,” a female voice says from behind us.

  I jump in Creeper’s chair and spin around. Trixie is there, her hair up in a serious-looking bun, eyes alight with amusement.

  “Geez!” I huff. “How long have you been there?”

  She saunters into the room and takes a seat at the edge of Creeper’s bed.

  “Long enough to hear about you trying to smuggle those stupid pills into Harker Heights.”

  Her voice is much too loud for my liking.

  “Keep your voice down.”

  Trixie grins. “If you really want to smuggle them up there, I’m more than happy to help.”

  “Yes!” Creeper raises both hands in the air then grabs his phone. “Shut the door. I’m so filming this.”

  “Shut up, Creeper,” Trixie says. Then she turns to me. “He watches too many movies. Just put your hair in an up-do. Hide the damn things in there. But if you ask me, you shouldn’t take them.” She pinches Creeper in the leg. “And you shouldn’t be giving them to her.”

  “Selling them,” Creeper corrects. “And you know I can’t feel that shit, right?”

  “Too bad. I was going to give you a dick rub while Kinsley watched.”

  He reaches for his belt buckle, and Trixie laughs. As they go back and forth, I consider her advice. I hate wearing my hair up, but I do have enough of the stuff to conceal a bottle of pills. I breathe easier just knowing I have a plan. Finally, some use for my hair other than it frizzing up to high hell in the heat, which in Texas, is damn near year-round.

  “Kinsley, you wanna try this shit or not?”

  I jump and face my friends. They’re both looking at me expectantly.

  “Um, try what?”

  Creeper grins and pulls out a little plastic baggie with green in it.

  My tongue runs across my lips as I stare at it. “I thought you quit that.”

  He shrugs. “Tonight is a special night. And I borrowed a vaporizer from Lena.”

  I cringe at the name. Lena is a nineteen-year-old slut bag who uses Creeper for his drugs and money. She’s super-hot, so I guess she thinks she can get away with it. It’s a one-way relationship in which Creeper does all the giving. The last time I was around her, I did something out of character and slapped her in the face. Creeper has kept her away from me ever since. Thinking about bitches I hate that date my best friends—not that Lena is dating Creeper, more like promising to date him—my mind drifts to Sarah.

  “Where’s your girl at?” I ask as Creeper motions for me to get out of his chair. I stand up and peer down at Trixie.

  She shrugs her thin shoulders. “I didn’t bring her.”

  “Why not?”

  She meets my gaze. “Well, we’re moving our lock-in here, and I know Creeper hates her… Plus, she wanted to be with her family.”

  “I do not hate her.” Creeper huffs as he slides himself back into his chair. “Ley, get that door.”

  Creeper’s room is at the back of the house, and he has a door that leads out into the backyard. Anytime we come over, it’s where we spend most of our time. I stroll over to the door, unlatch the lock, and head outside. His mother is always out there gardening.

  She’s Martha Stewart with a little less thug in her. Gardenias and
rose bushes line the edges of the yard, and the sun bounces off them, creating a Garden of Eden effect. There are even apple trees out here.

  We all sit around the marble table in the center of the yard, and Trixie sets the vaporizer in the middle of the table. It looks like a centerpiece at a pothead dinner party. As Creeper packs it, I let my head fall back and stare up at the cotton puff clouds in the sky. My imagination forms unicorns and big, exotic sea turtles. Thoughts of tonight drift to the forefront of my mind. I wonder what being around Mac will be like. He’s probably dreamier than he is on television. I wonder if I’ll get to see him perform magic.

  Fuck a duck, I’d faint.

  “Ley, your turn, baby.”

  Creeper is holding out a long, black tube with a mouth piece attached to the end. Leaning forward, I take it in my hand.

  His eyes glint in the sunlight as he smiles at me. “You ready for this shit?”

  I nod, placing the mouth piece to my lips.

  “No, seriously. Be prepared to forget everything you know about weed.”

  I stare at him expectantly.

  “You sure you ready?”

  “Oh, just turn it on!” Trixie says.

  My gaze sweeps over to her. She’s staring at her hands as if they’re cut from diamonds. Then, she giggles.

  “Hurry up and let her hit that!” Creeper says.

  Finally, Creeper turns on the machine. It whirs like an air conditioner switching on, and I inhale. The vapor whips up to my brain and gives it a hug. I take another hit, and the weed starts to make love to my mind. With a huge smile, I let the tube drop.

  Creeper catches it and gives me a knowing smile. “Any chance of you changing your mind about me getting laid before you leave?”

  I laugh out loud. And I mean out loud. When I think something is really funny, my shy giggle becomes a witch-like cackle. Tingles run up and down my arms, across my chest, and through my hair. My mouth falls open and I try to answer him, but find I don’t know what I want to say.

  Trixie gets up, drags herself back inside, and returns with my purse.