Double Fated (Book One)

Chapter One

Four weeks earlier…

Unexpectedly waking up, I jerked in fear. The pile of books I had opened to study went crashing to the floor. I must have dozed off for a few minutes.

The library is nearly deserted at 2:50 in the morning. Most sane people hit the books long before now. Sometimes I can reclaim my focus after a power nap, but that wouldn’t happen tonight.

The travel book of exotic destinations was still propped open. The picture I selected was of Devil’s Bay located in Virgin Gorda. I have been there, twice. My first visit was with my g-mom, Elizabeth Stewart, when I was seven-years-old.

My g-mom, who raised me on her own, is the most adventurous person I know. She likes to call my ‘K-12 school days’ our stationary years. We did live in the same house in Western North Carolina and I went to the same school, all thirteen years. Our lives were anything but stationary.

She sprang the Virgin Gorda trip on me in mid-January. The weather had been bleak and snowy at home. She was half-way through her shopping when her weather mood changed abruptly. Demanding the return of summer, she was determined to track it down.

After signing me out of school, we went straight to the airport without luggage or any preparation. I stored my coat and snow boots in an airport locker. We arrived in Virgin Gorda with her purse and our passports. We walked onto the island, barefooted like natives. She cut off our jeans and sleeves…bought us each a bathing suit and a towel. And, that was our whole wardrobe until we flew back home, three days later. I have a picture of us covered in sand, blowing kisses to the sun.

The next time I visited Virgin Gorda was for my college sendoff. It was also a quick, unplanned family trip over a loosely defined, long weekend. But, our two-some family had grown, exponentially by that point.

The other picture taken of me and my family standing on this beach in Devil’s Bay is also hanging in my bedroom. The angle of this generic travel photo is eerily similar to that one.

I can easily recall everyone’s facial expression…including my own. We’re holding lit sparklers and the large banner in the background reads: Congrats, our Little KK…college bound! We’ll miss you too much…don’t go!!!!

Ember was my best friend in high school. We were inseparable and always closer than sisters. Eventually, Ember and her entire family would spiritually adopt me and my g-mom into their family, through a sacred ritual.

The ritual Ember performed forged a permanent spiritual connection between all of us. This joining ritual is the only one I have ever participated in or experienced. Describing it is impossible…

So, the second time my feet touched that island sand, I had two sets of additional parents and my Grandma Edie (who is like another g-mom to me). I have three big sisters – Ember, Willow and Fallon, along with three big brothers – Tray, Jaysen and Reid.

Technically speaking, I also have a little brother…Zander. But, I call him my nephew and he refers to me as Aunt Krista. This keeps our family’s little ones from getting confused.

The bond Zander and I share is so much more…complex…unfathomable…I don’t even know how to describe it to myself. So, he and I stick with our nephew/aunt titles and keep our ponderings to ourselves.

I have one adorable niece and, counting Zander, I have four handsome nephews. The five of them are considered our kids. Our youngest members rule whatever roost they happen to be nesting in. Although sad to admit, the kids command our every move.

Our entire family situation would be considered eccentric by anyone’s standards. We are spiritually sealed – an adoption created by the Divine. The Creator brought us together and made us into a family. We are profoundly close to each other, in ways I cannot possibly understand. Trying to define our family-connection is impossible too.

I miss each member from some depth in my heart that I never knew existed until we became a family. There is an emptiness when we’re not together…

At 3:15 I was still mentally in Virgin Gorda. Here lately, my mind vacations. So, I decided to head back to my sorority and look at the real picture. My family photo was the one I wanted to stare at, anyway. Maybe, I’ll start carrying it with me.

That generic picture distracted me for twenty five minutes. Who knows how long the real deal will captivate me? I don’t currently have any available minutes to spare, daydreaming. So, I really should leave the picture hanging on the wall.

During my first two years of college, I had easily managed a full-time honor’s schedule with a dual major, a part-time job, cheerleading, acting with the drama club and had led a fairly active social life. I’m only a month into my junior year and my formerly manageable life is swerving towards a crash and burn.

Retrieving my iPhone from my pocket, I ran toward the parking lot. I need to schedule a reminder, to set aside time, to find an actual late night study group. Unfortunately, I only had a one minute block vacant during the day to perform a search.

Scrolling through my jam-packed calendar, I wonder how and when everything had become a priority. Well, not everything…I neglected to schedule in a meal. The solitary five minute snack break I have wedged in will be useless without readily available food. A morning run and two hours of cheerleading practice this afternoon requires calories.

My alarm is set to go off in ninety minutes. I can’t call Torry and cancel this late. Resigned to schedule in a time for sleeping…soon…I made angry faces at my technological monster. Its innocuous display is taunting me – 24 hours is not enough time to get my life accomplished.

You are the enemy, I announced to my iPhone like a mental patient.

I rushed through the all-night market, grabbing protein bars. I also snagged a cart full of other healthy snacks. Dropping nearly one hundred dollars, I made a mental note to never go grocery shopping when I’m starving.

The only available parking space near my sorority was two lots over. Somehow I balanced four bags of food, a heavy backpack, a laptop and my purse. Then, I started the slow trek to my front door.

Campus security is always hawking reminders about how students should remain aware of their surroundings. But, at this point, a weeklong kidnapping/hostage situation would be a welcomed vacation.

I felt a strange, pressing need to yell an invite for any would-be kidnapper to either take me away or at least, steal some of these heavy groceries. He would wave a gun, make a few threats and I would say, No need to bother convincing me. I thank you, criminal-minded stranger, for saving me from myself. Here, have an apple!

Laughing at the absurdity, two bags teetered and fell. I followed them, landing on the grass and just gave into the laughter. I really need some sleep…

Then suddenly, I heard a loud pop and a sizzle. Screaming, I covered my head, defensively thinking an armed gunman is about to take me up on my unspoken offer. I apologized to the Creator for tempting Him before taking a peek at my surroundings.

Sitting in the dark shadows, I realized the streetlights overhead had simply blown out. Okay, heaven…I get it.

Cosmic justice…sucks!

Sighing in relief, I collected my belongings in the dark. I have fifty minutes left before my run. The only thing on my mind was a thirty minute power nap when I noticed the movement out of the corner of my eye.

A small window in the maintenance shed was opening. The girl emerged without bothering to look around. Once she was safely outside, she tossed her backpack on the ground and used it as a makeshift chair.

Stuffing items into my bags, I ran into my house and tossed everything on my bed. My napping plans were forgotten. Investigating the mysterious girl and the equally mysterious happening going on in the maintenance shed takes priority.

Pulling on a black outfit, I grabbed a flashlight before slipping outside. This reminds me of high school. My best friend and sister, Ember would be stoked and ready for this nighttime adventure.

By the time I returned the girl was gone. Crawling toward her ‘escape’ window, I took a swift peek around the corner – only darkness. Still, I decided to wait my customary seven (my self-declared lucky number) minutes before going inside to look around. After all, the girl might not have been chilling out, alone.

Sadly enough, I wasn’t even nervous about my impending trespass. My g-mom is a real character. She raised me by herself and had no qualms with breaking-and-entering, anywhere. I don’t remember her setting any rules for me…well, besides the one about not showing off my pink-bodied, purple-eyed unicorn tattoo to anyone until I turned eighteen.

She and I got our matching ink on my eleventh birthday. Her tattoo is still flawless, but mine now resembles a distorted Chinese sumo wrestler with four thin appendages and two splotchy purple bruises for eyes. The pitiful guy seems to be wearing a pointy clown hat, too. I refuse to have my tattoo removed or even get it covered. I picked out the design and I’m very attached to it. When I feel sad and alone, I look at my distorted unicorn in the mirror and smile. My g-mom and I have always shared an unusually close connection.

All the sage advice she has given me through the years sticks with me…especially when I’m taking a risk going in someplace that I shouldn’t be at.

"Don’t get caught! If someone in authority happens to notice your presence, act like you belong and/or politely speak in riddles. If those things fail, twist your hair to keep your hands busy, smile sweetly and deny, deny, deny…" my g-mom had taught me when we waltzed into a rock star’s dressing room without an actual invitation.

She repeated our sacred mantra every time we took off on a new, outrageous exploit. More than a few of our hedonistic excursions could have resulted in a not-so-cozy county hospitality suite (a.k.a. lock-up). And, a couple of them could have easily started an international incident – one of those was narrowly avoided by well-timed tears from six-year-old me and my g-mom having a ‘private pep talk’ with two agents of the Moroccan government when we were visiting their country.

My g-mom promised to teach me how to conduct her legendary pep talk as a golden, mid-centurion gift. In other words, when I turn 50 years-old she will share that secret with me. I plan to take her up on that offer at my mid-centurion midnight because I will have been highly anticipating it for 37 years at that point. Her legendary pep talks have gotten us out of the frying pan more times than I can count.

I miss her…and Ember…my niece and nephews…I miss every member in my unorthodox, adopted family. My homesickness can be directly attributed to my active summer. I stayed on campus instead of going home because I needed to choreograph five new cheerleading routines. Our squad has been on a winning streak since I joined the team. We compete in almost every competition and have snagged the national championship for the last two years.

Some of the credit for my inventive and unique routines goes to my sisters – Ember, Willow and Fallon. But, most of the choreography credit goes to my Grandma Edie. She is a gypsy matriarch. Gypsies not only love to dance they use them to perform various rituals. My grandma knows thousands’ of routines and taught me moves that I didn’t even know existed. She had plenty of time to educate me too because we spent the estimated equivalent of six years together.

I stayed with Ember, in the Sacred Hallows, throughout her entire pregnancy with her twins – my niece, Haven and nephew, Luke. We also remained until Willow gave birth to my nephew, Mikey. Time is calendared differently in the Hallows than it is in earth’s realm. Then, I jaunted around between various realms and the Hallows for a few years before I decided to enroll in college.

It’s odd to consider how I know people from other realms. This fact doesn’t even faze me, anymore. When people ask where my g-mom lives, I tell them she’s too busy travelling the planet to settle into one stationary living condition. I just never actually reveal what planet she happens to be exploring. She has a home here, one in the Ava’shay realm and a massive suite of rooms in the Rising Light House in the Tarrish realm, too.

When I discovered that there are other realms, I laughed about the absurd way space aliens are depicted. If only earthlings knew how wrong their suppositions are, they would be falling over in hysterics with me.

All other-worldly travelers I have ever seen, regardless of what realm they hail from, look like all other human beings. They don’t have green skin or oversized insect-like eyes. None of them have long probing fingers attached directly to their brains either. And, they don’t require spaceships to freely come and go. They use various forms of spiritual travelling.

Once I discovered that aliens live among us, science fiction lost all its appeal. My g-mom even had a memorial service to mourn the death of my childlike Sci-Fi innocence. She cried for an entire day, when she realized there would be no going back.

Sorry Santa…sorry Easter Bunny…but, childish whimsy exited my life when I heard my typically formal speaking brother-in-law, Ava’shay Prince Jaysen Ivester, accidentally use the very earth-realm term freakin’ in a proper sounding English sentence. He was lucky Daddy-Jax and Momma-G weren’t around when he used it. They are very opposed to careless use of the English language. I have only slipped up once in front of them and got a thirty minute grammar lesson.

Jaysen is their biological son. He was raised to speak in proper fluency no matter what language he might be using. So, if he gets caught using slang terms, he gets so much worse than a lecture.

Seven minutes had finally elapsed. I slipped inside the shed in stealth mode. I had covered the lens of my flashlight with my shirt sleeve to help mute the light. So, the shadows looked unreal and eerie.

I found tools, holiday ornaments and miscellaneous campus signs that were either outdated or damaged. The very apparent lack of dust and dirt was my only abnormal finding. This is the cleanest shed I have ever visited.

Nothing in here is worth stealing. I don’t smell any type of smoke or alcohol. I must be missing something. People do not sneak into sheds without having a compelling reason.

I was prepared to continue my investigation into the (evidently) hidden, but fascinating world that is the campus tool shed. No sooner had I jimmied opened a drawer, than my phone rang and I yelped.

Two scares in less than an hour…that has to be an omen.

Hello… I answered in a whisper.

Where are you?? Torry demanded.

Be right there… I replied and hung up without answering her question.

My heart was lodged in my throat as I giggled and headed to the door. The heavy duty bolt requires a key to unlock it. I bet the mysterious girl who was in here earlier is a newly accepted sorority pledge procuring items for her House’s scavenger hunt. Meaning there is no big mystery to be solved or discovered…that’s disappointing.

When I met Torry, she launched into her latest tale of boyfriend drama without questioning me further. Normally, I can feign interest in young college student topics, even though I am 26 years old with the life experience of someone who is well over 80. All those years I spent in the Hallows, the Tarrish realm and the Ava’shay realm prevented me from physically aging. I look to be about 19. My g-mom says one day I will appreciate my eternally youthful appearance. But for now, it’s either mildly to moderately annoying, depending on the given circumstances.

At least, Torry isn’t drilling me for information on my recent break-up with Lyle. Lyle Harring is what most girls would consider a real catch. He has a promising future in the NFL…as evidenced by the legion of head-hunting scouts that stalk him. His father is a Senator and his family comes from old-money.

When we first met, I thought he was very different from his family. I was quite familiar with his snobby sister, Margaret…social queen, constantly looking down from her high, self-constructed entitled throne. Lyle belongs to a fraternity with a reputation for hardcore partying. Although I had never seen him get sloppy drunk, I had never taken him up on his invitations to join him at a frat party. I do plenty of volunteer work for my sorority. But, I even skip our house’s social mixers. I have no interest in getting hooked on any chemical substance or partying.

I only joined a sorority because my g-mom had pledged back in the day. She never lived in the Alpha House, but her legend still lives on in Alpha-infamy.

By the time I finally enrolled in college, all my high school acquaintances had either, already graduated or were married with kids. So, I needed some built-in friends. Pledging g-mom’s former sorority was taking the lazy way out – socially. Building a network is time-consuming, though. It requires serious effort to cultivate friendships with strangers.

During my freshman year, I acted like a teenager. So my behavior would match my appearance. But, the discrepancy between my life experience and my youthful appearance is expansive. As the weeks wore on, I transformed into my sorority’s honorary big sister/therapist.

My break-up with Lyle had been received by my friends in an assortment of ways. Some of the girls appear to be distraught when in fact, they are secretly ecstatic to discover he is available. Others have genuine concern for me, fearing that I might attempt to hurt myself or quit school over the romantic tragedy.

I had broken off our long-term relationship because I wasn’t ready to engage in a ‘physical demonstration of our love’. He had been pressuring me to sleep with him and I had no interest. This was the same reason I had broken things off with every other guy I had dated in college. Sex is a relationship tie that tangles into severe knots.

My g-mom is candid and vocally opinionated about every topic. She gave me longwinded, and often comical, sermons about clothes, friends, food choices, how to talk my way out of a speeding ticket and virtually, everything else that I might encounter. But surprisingly, she has never preached on the subject of premarital sex or offered any sermon to guide me.

I remember her saying, Virginity is a rare and special present. You can only give it once, but you’ll remember the exchange and the receiver for a lifetime. So, make sure the recipient of that precious prize is gift-worthy because otherwise, the memory will stalk you instead of warming your heart and soul, like it should do…

That was all she offered me after I told her about meeting my first legitimate boyfriend. And, she has never mentioned sex to me, again…

A smile spread across my face. It just now occurs to me that my g-mom had used a most effective, hit-and-quit parenting technique that day. She imparted wisdom and left the subject alone. Even though I believed I had been making a conscious decision based on my morals, I had simply been following her advice. My rare and special present has yet to be given. It will likely stay in my possession until I’m married.

My g-mom needs to share that sneaky strategy with Tray and Willow. They are the parents of my fourteen-year-old nephew, Quinn. Quinn is a good-looking, outgoing, precocious kid and the modern day, teenaged reincarnation of Casanova. He is so charming it’s frightening to watch him operate…

Although I realize that it is normal for college girls to have sexual relationships, I rarely do what everyone else does. My life has always been completely unconventional and I suspect it will stay that way. I don’t know of any other way to live.

Lyle’s snobby sister, Margaret will be giddy when she hears about our break-up. I assume his parents will be equally happy about the rift, too because my name has never appeared on the society page. I would actually be mortified if it did make it to that section.

My picture and my name are splashed everywhere because of cheerleading and drama. So, I am not exactly a low profile girl. But, I have no desire to be associated with high-class, stuck-ups and their shallow pursuits. The only friends Lyle and I have (or used to have) in common are the ones on the football team. Most of the players have banished me to the deep freeze because of our break-up. Evidently, there is some unwritten rule that the star football player and the cheerleader are required to remain couple-exclusive until the season is over.

The untimely (during season) demise of our relationship shattered their fragile illusions. Lyle must have shared the truth with a few of his teammates. They have closed ranks and been giving me the cold shoulder. This bizarre tactic could be their ineffective, strategic way of forcing me back into girlfriend-compliance. They collectively feel like I should be willing to proverbially, take one for the team.

Lyle is a first-string wide receiver with the nickname, Stick. He earned this title because if he can place a single finger on the ball, it will stick to his hands. He claims he’s lost his focus because we parted ways. Apparently, the team is suffering and I’m the reason. That’s what Coach Nullis blatantly announced when I walked by him one day last week.

Lyle was much more into our relationship than I was. I never shared my lack of true heartfelt intimacy with him. That realization should make me feel guilty. But, in my own defense, I never saw a need to have a serious relationship discussion with a guy who unapologetically farts in public and gives his friends’ high-fives for his stellar toxic rating.

His frat boy, love ‘em and leave ‘em, reputation preceded him. And, I didn’t think he would actually fall for…

Are you even listening?? Torry inquired, interrupting my internal dialogue.

I’m having trouble following…apparently, sleep and food are mandatory for appropriate brain functioning, I responded, lightheartedly.

You were thinking about Lyle, weren’t you?? she interpreted based on her assumptions.

You caught me…sorry.

It’s gonna be okay. You’ll find somebody else… she offered the platitude.

You’re right, but I need to force myself to wait. Rebound relationships always end in disaster, I explained.

She agreed a little too eagerly. Torry is rooting for the chance to become Lyle’s next girlfriend.

Reading body language and facial expressions has always been my talents. I spend an inordinate amount of time reading people and helping them if I can. Once I figure out what another individual secretly needs/desires, I can’t seem to walk away until I help them.

In Torry’s case, she is considering how to get an introduction and a possible date with Lyle. But, she doesn’t want to offend me in the process. She doesn’t realize that I would be overjoyed for them if they started dating. It would save me a tremendous headache.

Lyle is normally the party calling it quits. I turned the table and ended things with him. So, he was shocked and angry. He has a long list of devastated girls he has left in his wake. That means he wasn’t equipped to handle (what he perceived as) my unexpected decision.

Like my Alpha sisters and everyone else, Torry naturally assumes Lyle dumped me. That fact doesn’t bother me…in fact, I couldn’t care less. So, I am allowing everyone to mentally include me in Stick’s long list of devastated former girlfriends.

The three minutes I had scheduled for my morning shower was over, but I couldn’t seem to extract myself. Ignoring the alarm on my digital monster, I mentally cancelled my primping appointment. Yanking on sweats and pulling up my soaking wet hair, I rushed into my first class under cover of my hood and sunglasses. Surprisingly, a few of my sorority sisters actually acknowledged my existence throughout the morning. Although I had to decline, two of them even offered to buy me lunch and catch up (code for: we want the skinny on your shattered relationship).

Alpha sisters are always expected to: 1. Dress in fashionable, name-brands 2. Look like we just left a hair salon and 3. Wear make-up, outside always. So, they could have just as easily shunned me as punishment for my breach of the sorority’s social obligations.

I had inadvertently stumbled on a loophole in the time-consuming contract. Sorority girls get a free pass on following the stringent appearance rules when they are reeling from depression over losing a prime frat catch. We are also provided with a myriad of excuses (given to us by our other sisters) for any social lags – hooray. If I had known how much time I could have saved by ending my relationship with Lyle, I would have done it sooner.

The day rapidly progressed between classes, drama club activities, more classes, meeting with my academic advisor, cheerleading practice and working a four hour shift at the Java Den. The three gallons of coffee I consumed did me no good, whatsoever. Once again, I woke up in the library after 2 a.m. with a half-completed assignment taunting me.

Not bothering to look at the time, I gathered my items. My grades are starting to slip from my nightly naps. The only time I have to do my homework is in the wee hours of the morning. The library is just too quiet. I need to be surrounded by other, noisy students if I’m going to study this late. So, I will skip my first class and use that time to find a legitimate study group. I’m not prepared for that class, anyway.

Yawning and distracted, I pulled out my keys and walked toward my vehicle. But, the lot was empty. My car isn’t parked in its usual place!

Now alert and panicked, I scrutinized my surroundings for any criminal types as I breathlessly ran toward the nearest campus emergency phone. The blue light started flashing the instant I picked up the receiver.

Then, something dawned on me…

Your current location is Library Commons Parking Segment C. Help is on the way! What is your emergency? he announced and inquired.

I…um…my car…me…but not, anymore…I just forgot…no emergency…sorry… I rambled, incoherently as my tongue tried to catch up with my foggy brain.

Becca had given me a ride to the library after practice. My car is parked in front of our house. She had even voiced her concern about how I planned to get back home because it’s too far to walk. I assured her I would call a cab. In my sleep deprived reverie, I had simply forgotten.

The campus police came screeching into the parking lot believing I was in trouble. After explaining what happened, I apologized for creating a stir. Then, I told the officers I would call for a ride.

They silently listened to my excuse, but didn’t acknowledge my desire to call for a ride. The younger one opened the back door, gesturing for me to get in the cruiser. The older one demanded my address and told me to buckle up. On the ride home, he would launch into a lecture.

My name is Officer Morst and this is Officer Plabel. Miss… he inquired.

I’m Krista Stewart… I told him.

Miss Stewart, campus security is not intended to be used as a taxi service… Officer Plabel informed me.

He must have missed my repeated offers to call for a ride.

It’s imperative to stay alert, especially at night. A small, unaccompanied young lady presents an attacker with a prime opportunity… Officer Morst stated.

He continued his carefully worded, politically-correct speech about female students placing themselves in dangerous situations. He wouldn’t be giving me this lecture if he knew that I could disable and disarm them both, in less than thirty seconds. Stifling my laughter, I mumbled affirmations intermittently.

My big brothers, Tray, Jaysen and Reid are fighters. They battle each other in the Ava’shay Prowess Arena. I honestly don’t know the reason behind their altercations. And, I’ve never thought to ask them either. I suppose I have always assumed the Prowess Arena battles are the Ava’shay equivalent to the UFC. But, no matter what reason they have for engaging in their matches, they excel in the violent art of fighting.

When I announced my intention to leave home and go to college, Tray tried to persuade me to attend school in the Ava’shay or Tarrish realm. I politely deflected and avoided those two suggestions. At the time, I was longing to experience some earth-type, adult freedom. So, he asked our R-daddy to intervene and try to convince me.

My R-daddy is a powerful shaman and the ruler of the Vaydem people. He did his best. He offered to get me enrolled in the prestigious Vaydem University of Higher Academia and Spiritual Enlightenment. It is the most secure college in earth’s realm.

I gave his suggestion some serious (albeit brief) consideration. VU offers better than Ivy League education. I would have to live on campus – therefore, away from home. Every tenured professor has multiple doctorate degrees in at least, three different disciplines.

But, Vaydem-lineaged students are spiritually gifted. They have abilities to offer when they graduate in addition, to their academic degrees. They learn how to channel and perform sacred rituals while they study for their chosen profession.

Except for g-mom, my family members are spiritually gifted and can channel various things. My sister, Ember explained how channeling works. She said it’s similar to casting magic spells.

She had demonstrated a couple of channels, by using them on me. The effects were a mind-boggling thrill. But, the only magic tricks I can learn to perform are the ones that can be found at any local Toys-R-Us. So at VU, I would stick out like a double-edged razor in a room filled with overinflated balloons.

I politely and appreciatively declined my R-daddy’s most generous offer because I am merely human, with no spiritual giftings. I enrolled in State to be with members of my own (otherwise talented) human species. It’s a large, diverse, public institution.

All my brothers would be considered protective. But, Tray especially, is overly everything when it comes to safety and security. Although biologically-speaking Tray is Ember’s brother, he and his wife, Willow adopted her. I always knew Tray was Ember’s dad, even before the legal formality proclaimed it. He was (and still is) the most protective parent I have ever encountered.

Officer Morst moved on to ways to avoid appearing vulnerable to a rapist. His fatherly underlying panic-driven speech makes me really miss my family…

Once Tray realized that I was recklessly going off to some unsafe, totally unsecured earth-realm college (his words), he asked me to take Self-Defense 101 – big-brother-style. Although he didn’t plan to use any spiritual gift to convince me to learn those skills, I knew he would relentlessly pester me until I surrendered. So, I agreed without protest and accepted their instructions.

It was fun. The three of them each selected one song and taught me their unique brand of fighting. All was going well up to that point. Then, the topic of disarming an attacker with a loaded gun cropped up and my training stalled.

The testosterone-laden paranoia became a living being in that training session. Thoughts of gun-toting maniacs, skulking around my campus, stirred all three of them into an internal frenzy.

My brothers each took a fresh and creative stab at convincing me to alter my college plans and remain at home, indefinitely. Jaysen even offered to hire the entire Princeton faculty to homeschool me. I’m still not sure whether that was meant as a true offer or a fanciful/outlandish suggestion. In either case, their efforts were unsuccessful. I was ready to spread my wings and fly away. So, with no real way to dissuade me, they schooled and skilled me in 163 different ways to eliminate an enemy target(s) – whichever the case might be.

"You must avow to remain wary of those surrounding you, and every object in the environment, at all times…" Reid strictly requested at the conclusion of my training.

I solemnly avowed as I muffled a snicker.

"Krista, an enemy can use your perceived comfort level to draw you close and strike without warning. Therefore, it is imperative for you to always remain mindfully cautious while in the company of friends and acquaintances outside of your home setting. Might I receive your sworn word on this?" Jaysen questioned me in his typical formal tone.

I swore to be mindfully suspicious of even the friendliest, friendly. And, I stated it in the snobbiest language I could muster.

"Now, I want you to promise me that you’ll use what we taught you, without showing mercy or the slightest hesitation. Don’t let anyone play on your sympathies and get the jump on you. This goes double for any friggin’ familiar sucker that tries to get too close when you’re not ready (Tray-speak for any guy that makes a forward romantic move contrary to my desire).

"Promise me Krista, ‘cuz I still enjoy sleeping on a few, rare occasions…" Tray pleaded with me.

"I promise…I will come to be known and feared as Cold and Calculating, Krista to all would-be attackers who might size me up. And, I will be dubbed as Frigid Ice Queen, Krista to any male who shows the slightest romantic interest. I’ll even announce that it takes me, at least, four years to thaw for a kiss. Any guy that’s willin’ to spin his wheels for that long deserves something – right, brothers of mine?" I comically replied.

"A four year reward will certainly be in order…" Reid surprisingly agreed.

"At that time, we will be delighted to give him that something too…" Jaysen concurred.

"Yeah, we’ll plan a bro-type celebration and give him his props. Won’t be much rubber left in those tires of his by the time you turn 60…" Tray responded, stating the last sentence under his breath and I burst out laughing.

"I’m actually relieved to hear you say that! The last time we discussed this, the Tray-approved dating age was 70…"

Even with my numerous achievements as a lethal self-defending 115 pound weapon, my brothers took turns shadowing me around through my freshman college semester. They still believe I never saw them watching me…I love my brothers…I miss my family.

We arrived at my sorority, but the lecture wasn’t over. The officer illegally double-parked (ironically enough) behind my car and turned off his lights.

I was sitting quietly when I noticed the shed’s window being opened. Officer Morst must have caught a glimpse of it too because he turned towards the movement.

I’m sorry, Officer Morst, right?? What did you say?? Was it pepper spray is more effective or did you say something about screaming and making noise? I need a pamphlet or spray or training… I urgently declared with a death-grip on his shoulder.

The unknown student wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings. The other officer automatically turned to see what his superior was looking at. I grabbed the younger officer’s shoulder with the other hand and my items landed in the floorboard.

"Lemme assure you both, right here and right now, I would never use security as my taxi. This backseat isn’t exactly what I’d call spacious. Wait, I think it rolled up front…please, we’ve gotta find it…

See fellows, I just don’t know how much more I can take! First, Stick crushes my dreams and now, it rolled into your front seat floorboards and I can’t get to it… I frantically spoke in riddles.

The officers had no idea what it was, but they started the search anyway. They offered a few awkward and comforting words to calm me down.

The student walked away unaware of how close she came to being cold busted. I need to find out what item she is scavenging for in that shed. I will place it in plain sight for her.

The girl is breaking g-mom’s rule on uninvited visitations to unauthorized places which is…never stopover at the same place, twice. Breaking and entering at the same place more than once is a surefire recipe for receiving unwelcomed company…

Oh sorry, I just found it! Would you like to come inside? I can make us some coffee and we can continue our chat about mean frat guys… I eagerly offered, as I opened my door to get out.

Not so surprisingly, their lecture was over. Neither one accepted my invitation to come inside, but Officer Plabel escorted me to the door.

Thanks for everything. Are you sure you don’t want to come in? I repeated my invitation.

No ma’am! he responded too swiftly.

Okay, goodnight… I said with a wave and wicked little smile.

Chapter Two

The only late study group I found, that meets each week night, is located at a Hookah lounge. Although I dislike the idea of studying in a smoke-filled environment, I more dislike the idea of failing and repeating classes.

When I entered the lounge at 10:30 p.m. on a Tuesday night, I was astonished by the number of students. They were equally divided between tables and comfy-looking couches. Most were hitting the Hookah, but some were hitting the books. The lounge was buzzing with voices and filled with various aromas. One of those familiar smells could land us, collectively in a jail cell.

Fortunately, I just turned in my two-week notice at work. Otherwise, I would have been worried about failing their random drug screen. My manager was frustrated by my unanticipated announcement. The guilt trip she sent me on was lengthy. I would have packed a bag if I had known it was going to be an hour long misadventure.

Quitting was actually a spontaneous decision. I used to enjoy having extra money for frivolous items, concerts, movies, etc. But, sleeping has become a coveted luxury in my otherwise, insane life. Fun and fun-money slid off the priority scale when it hit me that I could re-acquire 20-30 hours of my week by resigning.

The late night study group was more diverse than I expected. So, I mentally mapped my first night area. My g-mom believes in working a crowd. Even though she knew how vast my social circle was in high school, she was concerned because I had (in her perception, at least) limited myself to the familiar. In her view, familiarity breeds contempt only because those who remain stationary lose touch with their many other fascinating options.

Her words echoed through my mind and I finally broke down. Texting her with a secured message, I said, I love you… in English, Ava’shay, Tarrish and Vaydem.

The Ava’shay Command’s Communication’s Post sent me back a reply.

Miss Elizabeth is on an ‘outing’ with Reigning High Lady Arroway-Quinton. Ranging is spotty in their locale. Your message will be forwarded, posthaste and delivered at the first available opportunity. May I be of any further assistance?

Smiling at my phone, my g-mom and Grandma Edie are off on an adventure. I responded with…please forward a copy of this message to my Grandma Edie, too. Then, I typed in…Thankies Command, keep it real until next we text.

I hit send and laughed, hysterically. The smoke is already starting to takeover…

Much to my g-mom’s chagrin (if she were here and knew about my selection, that is), I landed at a table of football jocks. They were all high as kites and on the team’s third string. So, my break-up with Stick didn’t even register.

Somehow, I managed to finish my assignment and socialize with them, simultaneously. We discussed upcoming games – which cheerleaders on my squad are worth scoring down (whatever that means) and which professors blow. There is some type of blow-down scoring system for the professors too, but how the players’ rate them got lost in translation.

When 2 a.m. rolled around, I had actually accomplished something. I was also awake to appreciate my conquest.

The next night my football players had swelled to ten members. They called me over and I did socialize with them for a bit. But soon, I started scouting for a new set of study buddies. My g-mom has an uncanny ability to discover what I’m up to, even when she is out of cell range. Fearing the accompanying sermon, I wandered over to a large circular couch.

Hi, mind if I join? I asked.

All are welcome… the glassy-eyed female replied.

Here… the guy sitting beside her offered me his pipe.

Thanks…maybe, later… I told him and he shrugged in disinterest.

I would eventually secure everyone’s name around the cushion. One girl, who introduced herself as Audrey, seemed familiar. A long, but casual investigation revealed no common interests. She had never even heard of the Java Den.

Once again, I mingled, stayed alert and made it to the last chapter of my book. Within three days, I had met all the regulars. The hodgepodge collection of students included honors students, jocks, young mainstream Americans and burn-outs. We all happily co-exist in this unique environment.

The team’s first away game was played on Saturday evening. Oddly enough, I was longing to see my lounge of fun-loving misfit study buddies while I was cheering. Between missing my family and being out of my new late night routine, I was already struggling. Then, Lyle hunted me down like a predator after the first quarter and half-asked/half-bullied me into riding back to campus with him. Wishing I had driven my own car instead of catching a ride, I hesitantly accepted his offer. Maybe, he will be more understanding of my decision if I explain the reasons for ending it.

Cheering in the fourth quarter of our winning game, the butterflies in my stomach seemed to be offering a warning. I was considering how to get out of riding home with Lyle when the perfect excuses found me.

I’m not sure how I feel about a little slip of a boy catching my beautiful and only Bunny Baby…

She had slipped up behind me…as usual. I closed my eyes, fighting back the tears.

Lizzy, you and I have differing opinions on what constitutes a ‘little slip’. That young fellow must weigh two hundred and…

Edie, that boy would have to be the size of a baby elephant before I’d willingly trust him to be used as Krista’s landing gear. She had to be three stories up when they tossed her higher…

Smiling widely, I listened to my g-mom and Grandma Edie banter about the dangerous stunt I just completed.

I planned to reveal that I had been secretly fattening up, Jarron (my spotter), so he could gain his baby elephant status. But, my emotions overwhelmed me when I saw them. Gathering them both in a death-grip, I started sobbing.

Sshhh…no need to be troubled over your spotter’s safety. We haven’t been hunting baby elephants for sport in quite a while, Grandma Edie declared, humorously in between her kisses. Now, now, sweetie girl…you’re smearing.

See Edie, I told you this would happen if we didn’t wait to see her until the time stopped ticking! my g-mom exclaimed, attempting to shift the blame.

"That’s an interesting accusation. I seem to remember it happening the other way around – as in me, trying to convince you that we should wait until that skinny boy tossed his toy ball or gave it away for the last time before we rushed to the painted grass. So, impatient…that’s what you are.

And, aren’t you the one that grabbed grumpy old striped shirt man from behind and told him to blow his dinky whistle?? We had a better shot of convincing him to end this game early, if we knew the team’s animals. We could’ve said, blow that dinky whistle and announce the Bengal Bobcats the losers. How can Striped Shirt take us seriously, when you demand that he declare the Purple Pajama Boys the winner?? Grandma Edie questioned.

Well, Purple Pajama Boys is more ladylike than what you were going to call them… my g-mom responded.

I realize they are using a comical distraction in an effort to calm me down – and, it’s working. My squad looked on with a mixture of humor and astonishment. There is no explaining away the actions of my g-mom and Grandma Edie. So, I (and every other cheerleader on the team) ended up winded as we succumbed to the hysterics.

Grumpy old Striped Shirt did not comply and end the game as they ordered. How he survived that denial is beyond me. The referee, named Pete, did courageously approach my g-mom after it was over and ask her for her number.

I’m only willing to part with it, if you are willing to admit the Blue Pajama Boys never had a chance… she told him.

I’m only allowed to call the plays I see when I’m reffing… he replied, red-faced.

"Well, perhaps you can explain why you blow your whistle and make a loud fussing announcement to the crowd when those young fellows do something you don’t like. One corrective measure should be sufficient.

Oh, and speaking of fussing and seeing, I’d love to hear how all you Reffings can see the tiniest movements those boys make that you don’t approve of, but not a one of you can seem to tell time or do simple math…even with that great, big countdown timer and an extremely lopsided, illuminated scorecard… she told him while she wrote her digits on the palm of his hand.

My g-mom loves attending live sporting events (and meeting players in filled locker rooms), but she had never taken an interest in learning anything about the actual sports. I offered to fill her in on the general rules of football when I started cheerleading.

She responded with, No need, Bunny Baby. It’s not necessary to being a spectator.

Knowing her, she will accept Pete’s date and will never discover that he is called a referee and not a Reffing. I bet the word ‘football’ will never be uttered either.

I asked g-mom and grandma to wait with my squad while I quickly searched for Lyle. He was soaked in Gatorade by the time I discovered his whereabouts. A glance over my shoulder revealed my team, eyes wide and mouths covered. I need to hurry before they get scarred for life…

Sorry, my family decided to pay me a surprise visit. Can we go out for coffee, tomorrow? I apologized and asked.

Depends…can you fit me in?? he questioned, sarcastically.

I’ll work it out…let’s say 3ish…at the Den. Oh, great game…congrats on the win! I offered without waiting for him to answer.

I scheduled it in my calendar before we went out for a late night dinner. They kept me in stitches and I caught them up on my life.

When was the last time you ate? my g-mom inquired.

Earlier today…

When was the last time you ate a meal? Grandma Edie asked the more specific and dreaded question.

Can I count this one?? I responded, deflecting.

So, we have our answer… Grandma Edie perceptively stated.

My schedule has taken over, lately. But, you’ll both be pleased to know I turned in my notice at the Den. And, I dropped one of my majors to a minor. See, I’m getting it back together… I told them.

Even though I wanted to put down my fork to help further relieve their anxiety, I couldn’t get my growling stomach to cooperate. Inhaling food like eating was going out of style, I made a mental note that a handful of Goldfish crackers does not a meal, make.

When I finish, can we go dancing…drinking…wherever? I questioned in between bites.

I had a few reasons for making my unexpected request. I wanted to extend our time together. A subject change is necessary because they will freak if they discover what my current life involves. In order to sidetrack them, I need the request to be something uncharacteristic for me and appealing to them. And finally, I have been craving an adventure…my life has become too predictable.

We’ve got other plans on the agenda for us, this evening… my g-mom revealed, looking impish.

Other plans, indeedy… Grandma Edie agreed with a wink. By the way, I notice you don’t have on your jewelry.

Cheering and blingage doesn’t mix. My bracelets would cause a mid-air catastrophe because Jarron couldn’t get a grip on my wrists…

Surely you’re not going to tell me that young man grabs you around the throat for a stunt… my g-mom said…her way of mentioning my absent charm necklace.

"Now g-mom, don’t be ridiculous. I made him give up manual strangulation when he asked to be my personal baby elephant. I refused to run the risk of being trampled and choked, simultaneously…

I can’t wear my necklace because the charms tend to smack me in the face when I’m upside-down and airborne. They’re all locked in my safe at home. So, why are you both asking?

It has something to do with our plans for the evening… Grandma Edie revealed.

If we’re going gypsy shopping in a locked jewelry store, I need to change out of this flashy outfit. A running escape from unexpected uniformed company is pointless when a glitter trail’s involved… I told them, comically.

After our meal, Grandma Edie called the Portaling Master at Ava’shay Command. Evidently, she had our trip pre-arranged because we landed in an unknown place of business. The receptionist who greeted us was dressed in a wild costume. Or, she might be clothed in the most mundane outfit her realm has to offer, if we happened to be located, other-worldly.

Mind your P’s and Q’s, Bunny Baby, my g-mom reminded me.

The lobby had bright red furniture and pictures of buxom, scantily clad Amazons. Some were slaying Titans with swords and some were actively seducing them. I felt my cheeks get warm just looking at the prints. I glanced at g-mom and Grandma Edie.

They were filling out forms. So, I wandered around and attempted to fill in the blanks without interrupting them with questions.

What is this place?

I’ll need her signature if you want to take her back… Vampirex stated, removing all but one form and handed them back the clipboard.

Here, sweetie girl…scratch out your Jane Hancock and let’s get on with our adventure, my Grandma Edie said, offering me the pen.

The excitement was building when I read the form. It stated: I, (insert your name), attest that I am of appropriate maturity to partake in all endeavors inside the walls of Man’s Fall to Ruin. Voluntary avail into the inner domain means waiving my rights to seek redress in all instances.

The three of them looked at me, impatiently. It was very apparent that no one is going to clue me in on what’s about to happen. I scribbled my name and handed the clipboard back to Vampirex. I hope I didn’t just sign my life away…

The receptionist deposited the papers into something that looked like a bank slot and pointed us to the metal vault door.

Here’s your passcode. Hotsie, will meet you on the other side. Enjoy your visit and stay as long as you like, Vampirex stated as she unlocked the steel vault door and pointed us inside.

Select an outfit and a mask. Those must be worn for the duration, as our guests seek anonymity. Should you be asked to reveal your name during this upcoming journey, we request that you re-create yourself, by choosing a moniker that best fits your personality. Real names and identities are not allowed to be voiced once inside the Sanctorium. Failure to comply meets in ejection from the premises… Hotsie read the rules while we changed into our costumes.

I chose the name, Mystery because I didn’t have a clue about where we are and/or what we are doing. My g-mom chose the name, Timeless and Grandma Edie selected, Eternity. They ordered me a glass of champagne.

You know my allergy to that stuff remains unchanged since our European jaunt, my dear Timeless… I reminded her.

You’ll thank us for further contributing to your delinquency, momentarily. Here, we’ll switch. Drink up, while we select a color for the art, Eternity told me.

The drink she handed me was a glowing purple beverage named Risqué Smash that tasted suspiciously similar to an ordinary daiquiri.

The best I could figure, after conducting my room-to-room investigation, is this is a role-playing club for wanna-be underworld dwellers. My investigation was rapid, so I might be slightly off in my assessment. Certain rooms I had to vacate more expeditiously than others. While no man ended up dead by the sword, some of the Titans were letting Amazons try their hand at seduction. And, not all the costumes are made the same. Some lack in areas that are normally covered.

This place is over-the-top, even for my adventurous g-mom!

Are you sure you want Egyptian hieroglyphs? We’ve still got time to switch to Aramaic… my g-mom questioned Grandma Edie.

We agreed, earthbound and pyramids, she replied.

Alrighty, then…comon’ Mystery Bunny…let’s get this show on the road, my g-mom told me without the slightest hint of apprehension.

Dare I ask about this show?? I whispered to Grandma Edie.

Neither one answered my inquiry. So, I held my breath and followed them.

The venue was a walk-thru drama. The writer was obviously shooting for dark and enigmatic, but the only real way to describe it was murky and perplexing. The actors had thick New York accents, leaving little question about where we are currently located. Otherwise, I was clueless.

The other people in our group surrounded one of the stars and begged for autographs.

Is it over?? I quietly asked g-mom with serious reservations.

Certainly…and, certainly not… she offhandedly commented as she walked away.

Ahhh…well, okay…bye, I responded – evidently, I am left guessing.

Timeless, you can’t just leave our beautiful girl hangin’. I’ll explain…certainly means, the play has indeed, ended. Don’t ask us to tell you what happened because we’re just as stumped by that pseudo-performance as you are. I think someone said it’s called Visionary Vanguard Integrative Dramatics, but it’s awful. Don’t let those people back there fool you with their photograph taking or swooning over that actor". They don’t get what happened either. They just like to live in the moment and New Yorkers’ get bored, easily.

"Okay, where was I? Oh yeah certainly not means, the play wasn’t the real reason we came here. Everyone who wants to see the artistry craftsman has to survive through that play/fantasy/bore-fest…call it what you will.

I guess artistry master High and Haughty gets a kickback… Grandma Edie explained part of it while simultaneously, confusing me further.

"And Eternity, I wasn’t going to leave her blowing in the wind! They asked for feedback and badly needed it. Oh, I signed another waiver for all of us too. They were demanding to see Mystery’s I.D. because she looks underage. It’s not readily available. And, we are not trekking through, whatever that was again, to get back here.

"Mystery, Sir Absalom, the artistry craftsman who we are getting ready to see, is a renowned body modifier. Eternity and I are going to get one piercing and you will be getting two. We decided earlier, that you could choose the modification location and we would get ours in the same place.

"Once that’s done, we are all getting small, matching tattoos. These are designed to scroll around the piercings. So, keep that in mind when you choose the location.

I’m not even going to suggest getting the one on your shoulder redone, because I know how attached you are. But, the offer is still open. I will be happy to expose mine and you can have an identical one placed on the other side… my g-mom stated.

No, I’ll keep what I’ve got… I told her.

You might not be a blood gypsy, but your spirit is a different story. Tried and tried to tell Timeless, us Ay’sha girls form lifelong sentimental attachments, Grandma Edie interjected with a snicker.

The artistry master looked nothing like I envisioned. He didn’t have a single visible body modification of his own. He was short and mousy with a thin, handlebar mustache. His costume was indescribable. I couldn’t place his accent because it turned out to be completely phony.

My g-mom removed a small, ceremonial wooden box from her pocket. It held four hoop rings filled with glowing mist. The mist looks similar to the duck charm Zander gave me a long time ago that has his spiritual essence encased inside it.

As a rule, it’s dangerous to wear jewelry while cheerleading. Two naval rings should be alright. However, a new piercing requires time to heal and has to stay in place.

Excuse me, Sir Absalom, might I trouble you with a question? I asked with a bogus accent of my own that made g-mom and grandma double-over laughing.

Proceed at your peril, child… he replied suspiciously, still worried about my age.

I stand before you an adult in my mid-twenties and wish to inquire about my piercing alterations. Will the holes maintain their integrity if removed for a scant, few hours? I managed to speak the snooty question before having to muffle my snickers.

Your dual piercings must remain affixed, until the grave takes its claim! I refuse to craft a piece of artwork if your intention is to defile it on a girlish whim! Would you remove the smile from the Mona Lisa for a scant, anything?? Sir Absalom shouted.

My Grandma Edie intervened and worked her magic to calm him down while my g-mom pulled me to the side for a private discussion.

"You know what’s inside the hoops, right? They need to stay in place, always. The tattoos Edie and I are getting say ‘sister infinite’…fairly self-explanatory. Yours will bear runic symbols of the Vaydem and gypsy persuasions. I’m not sure on the exact wordings, but Zander’s spiritual essence is needed to power them…if you get my drift. The hoops were his idea. He wouldn’t even share what’s in the extra one. He just made us swear that we would get you to wear them.

"I know you can’t accessorize with dangling bobbles when those kids are tossing you in the air. And, while we’re on the topic…honestly, I didn’t realize the ten years of gymnastics’ lessons I manipulated you into taking would be used as a coronary weapon against me. So, this cheering is how you choose to rebel, huh??

"And yes, I still remember the great pink tutu debate when you were four. You warned me that you only wanted to take ballet dancies with the pretty frwilly-willy skirt…not