You Haven't Gotten Rid of Me Yet

I'm sorry for yet another lengthy absence.  I admit, I've been in a blogging funk.  I had the time, just not the energy or inclination to blog.  The good news is that this funk hasn't extended to anything else.  Since finishing my latest revision of Knights of Avalon in December, I've been busy with a bunch of things:

Reading:  OK, well, I've been trying to read.  I've self-diagnosed myself with literary ADD.  I'll be reading a book I love and then...SQUIRREL!  I don't have a TBR pile, I have a TBF (To Be Finished) pile.  It took me six months to get through Catching Fire.  It's bad, y'all.   

 
I'm happy to say I actually finished Watersmeet and thoroughly enjoyed it.  Next up is Falling Under and then maybe Thief's Covenant, Witch Eyes, or Born Wicked.  

Writing:  I'm still querying Knights of Avalon.  To distract myself while I query, because querying isn't stressful, nuh-uh, I've started work on my next project:  Beautiful Medusa.  It's about Medusa, as the hero.  And yes, she still turns people into stone and has snakes for hair.  That's so inconvenient for her.  I've also signed up for this class  ------> Writing and Selling the Young Adult Novel, taught by the insanely talented Mandy Hubbard.  I've done workshops and attended panels in the past, but I'm pretty much self-taught and I'm hoping a class will help me with some of my problems with characterization and connecting with readers.     

Besides that, I've embarked on an epic quest to tame the roving hordes of dust bunnies living in my house and have been juggling rescue cats like someone straight out of Cirque du Soleil.          

And while I haven't been blogging, I have been attending author events, so keep an eye out for contests in the near future.  I've been hoarding signed books and it's time to get rid of them!

Edits Are Like Shiny Objects...

...I get easily distracted by them.

First off, I'm alive!

Second, I finished my latest round of revisions for Knights of Avalon. It only took me over a year. I actually finished about a month ago, but then the holidays happened, and free time was not happening.

Now that I'm done and the mss. is out with my beta readers, I desperately need to busy myself with something else. Because when you're waiting for your beta readers to get back to you, it's like this:






Yes, I need to chill and just enjoy the puppehs. While I wait, I'm also going to try and update this blog and maybe do a giveaway. Is there any book in particular you'd like me to give away? I take requests! I love to get things for people. I live around the DC area, so if you know of an author headed my way, I can get books signed and hold a contest.

Update:

The always awesome James of Book Chic Club has put together a list of Mid-Atlantic book signings and events. Check the list out. If you see something on there that you want, let me know and I will do my best to get it and have a contest. I want to get you all books! Let me get you books!

Also, the Internet Famous Intern (IFI) has drawn a picture (several, in fact) of Justine, my MC from Knights of Avalon. That's my girl! In stick-figure form. I love it.

It’s Back….PAYA 2011

No, not the fruit.

Bring YA to PA, dedicated to spreading the YA love and supporting Pennsylvania’s libraries, is back with its second annual festival, August 27 in West Chester, PA.

You should go.

No, really. I went last year and had a blast. This year, seventeen amazing authors (with possibly more to be announced), including Leah Clifford, Jeri Smith-Ready, and A.S. King, will be signing books, chatting with readers, and just generally being awesome.

On top of that, there’ll be a bake sale, a raffle, and a writer’s workshop.

You should go to the writer’s workshop.

I’ll be at the writer's workshop.

I don't want to be the only one there. Then I'd be lonely.

Wait, wait! Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you off.

But really, if you have a WIP, you should go. It's $40 if you sign up before August 10, $50 afterwards, and you get to have your opening pages critiqued by either Jeri Smith-Ready, Keri Mikulski, Dianne Salerni, Ellen Jensen Abbott, Charlotte Bennardo, or Sarah Darer Littman.

I went last year and it was so incredibly helpful. You can read about my misadventures here, here, and here. The plan is to actually bring back the opening pages for the manuscript I brought last year, Knights of Avalon, and have the new and improved pages critiqued again.

If you can't make it, (but really, you should go), I'll get some books signed at PAYA and will be giving them away on the blog. So if there's a particular book you're interested in, let me know. I love to giveaway stuff and I definitely take requests.

NaNoWriSlow: Update

I can't believe November is almost over. What happened? I vaguely remember taking down Halloween decorations, getting ready for Faeriecon, then...BAM! All the sudden it's the day before Thanksgiving. What's up with that, space-time continuum? I think I lost an entire week somewhere in there.

How is everybody's NaNo projects coming along? Feel free to give updates in the comments. I'd love to hear how you all are doing. As for me... I've gotten 13 pages done! That's actually not bad, because as you might've guessed by the title of this post, and the turtle pic below, I write slow. But I don't go back to work until Tuesday, so I have an extra long weekend to get more writing done.

As I've mentioned, I'm working on a sequel to my Knights of Avalon mss, about the Knights of the Round Table reincarnated as New Jersey teens. Here's a description of Knights of Avalon from my query:

Sixteen-year-old Justine Kwiatkowski doesn’t believe in magic, she doesn’t believe in reincarnation, and she never planned on having to fill King Arthur’s shoes. All she knows is that last night, the best friend she’s ever had, Gwen Martinez, went missing outside the town of Avalon and she’ll do whatever it takes to get her back.

But if she wants to rescue Gwen, she’ll have to believe in a world she thought only existed in legend, because her best friend happens to be the reincarnation of Guinevere, and fifteen hundred years after the fall of Camelot, the Knights of the Round Table have returned, reborn as New Jersey teens.

Problem is, Mordred and Morgan le Fay are back too, having kidnapped Gwen, and unlike most of the knights, they remember who they once were.

With Mordred murdering the knights before they can regain their memories, Justine has to figure out how to track down the few remaining survivors – a star football player, a brilliant artist teetering on the brink of madness, a high school dropout working odd jobs to support his family - and convince them to bury centuries-old grudges and work together. If she can do that, she just might save her friend, and maybe, the world.

In Knights of Avalon, my MC Justine is up against Mordred, even though she has no idea who Mordred is until the end of the book. Or to use a visual metaphor, it's like this:



Two opponents, equally matched, trying to outmaneuver the other. Awww, aren't they adorable? Thinking they're so tough and bad-ass.

In my sequel, it's Justine vs. Morgan le Fay, which goes down something like this:



Morgan le Fay is the orange cat, if you couldn't guess. The idea is that Justine is way out of her league on this one, and has to do everything in her power just to stay alive. We'll see how it works out.

NaNoWriSlow

Hi, my name's Melissa and I write slow. And that's OK!

Also, I never focus on word count, because I've learned from experience that just doesn't work for me. It's all right if you're different!



So, NaNoWriMo? More like NaNoChanceInHell. But I do want to participate, and I love setting unrealistic and unattainable goals for myself (it's like a hobby), so I'm going to give it a go, playing by my own set of rules.

My goal: Finish the rough draft of the sequel to Knights of Avalon by 11:59pm on November 30.

I'm already about 35% done and I have a definite idea of where the story's going, so it should be less daunting than writing a novel from the ground up.

The Rules

1. It's OK if I don't finish. Even in trying this, I'll have made more progress than I otherwise would have.

2. I won't sacrifice quality for quantity. Channel the spirit of the turtle, slow and steady is the way to go.

3. I don't have to write every night. With my job and other responsibilities, it's just not possible.

4. Most importantly, I will have fun!

The Prizes

Because everything's better with prizes. Here's the deal: I'll post updates throughout the month on how I'm doing. I doubt it'll happen, but if by some miracle I meet my goal, I'll have a huge book giveaway. Even if I don't finish, I'll still do a contest, with me giving away more stuff the further along I get in the story.

I guess I better get started, because I've got a lot of writing ahead of me. Onwards! (Slowly)

Query Update: Neurotic Writer Is Neurotic

I'm not particularly thrilled with the name, but my blog is called 'Surviving Writing a Book' for a reason. There are days, many days, when I feel I haven't so much embarked on a quest to get published as I've embarked on a slow descent into madness.

Just so you know where I stand with things: I have a YA Urban Fantasy called Knights of Avalon, about the Knights of the Round Table being reincarnated as New Jersey teens. I love my story. Yeah, yeah, I know all writers love their stories, but I fully, 100%, believe in this story, in a way that I didn't know was possible until I wrote it.

Problem is, I've been querying for over a year now and have piled up enough rejections to create a very pleasant bonfire with which to roast marshmallows over. I know my query isn't the problem. I've gotten too many partial and full requests for that to be the issue. No, it's something with the manuscript itself.

Some of the agents who have rejected me, very kind and awesome agents, have told me that they just didn't fall in love with the manuscript. I get that a lot and really, that's not a bad response to get, but at some point, when you hear that over and over, you wish there was a more fixable problem. Something like, "There's a giant plot hole...right over there." Yeah, I could fix that. But how do I make someone love something? Maybe have an agent read the manuscript over a candlelight dinner? With a violin concerto softly playing in the background?



I have my suspicions...maybe my main character is too unsympathetic, maybe my words somehow lack emotional impact, maybe I just don't write well enough... but I'll keep working at it, always trying to make my story better, because while I believe 100% in Knights of Avalon, I also believe 100% that there's still room for improvement.

I'm kind of running out of agents to pester though, and at this point, I have the feeling I'm not going to find one. Not right now, at least. It's frustrating, and I would prefer to have one, because my beagle can negotiate a contract better than I can. But I'll go it alone if I have to, and I think I'm going to start querying publishers (reputable ones) who accept unagented submissions. And you better believe I saw Sourcebooks' call for YA manuscripts and sent mine in weeks ago. Wish me luck, because so far my luck's been pretty lousy, and I'll let you all know how it goes!

The PAYA Chronicles: And Then It Hit Me

So, PAYA's Listen and Critique Workshop. NOT.SCARY.AT.ALL. Actually, it was great. After listening to the authors speak, we were broken out into two groups, each with three authors and three/four writers. I'm going to say it again because it can't be said enough: What an incredible opportunity. I feel like I won the writer lottery, because from everything I've heard, you don't usually get this much attention from one author, much less three, and they were awesome.

In my group, the authors were Amy Brecount White, Shannon Delany, and Jon Skovron. I know this is going to sound silly, but woohoo! That's pretty much how I felt. And along with myself and Aine, I was joined by fellow writers Lillie and Ilene, who are very talented.

Lillie and Ilene went first and let me just say...when I get nervous, I play with my pen. At some point, while playing with my pen, I accidentally launched it into the air and hit Ilene. The pen then fell to the ground, and thoroughly mortified, I quickly reached down to get it. And slammed my head on the edge of the table we were all sitting at. Because I have many talents, but apparently hand-eye coordination is not one of them. Now I was beyond mortified, because I had just embarrassed myself in front of Amy Brecount White, Shannon Delany, and Jon Skovron, who are like rock stars as far as I'm concerned, but what can you do, and at least the pen didn't go flying through the air and poke anyone in the eye. That'd be REALLY embarrassing.

Finally, it was my turn. I handed out copies of my lovingly prepared three pages for critique and Amy Brecount White kindly agreed to read for me. Yes, I'm painfully shy, but with her reading, I could take notes and pay attention to people's reactions, so thank you, Amy!

Here's the three pages that Amy read, from my manuscript Knights of Avalon, about the Knights of the Round Table being reincarnated as New Jersey teens, and Mordred is hunting them down and killing them:

Last night, the most extraordinary person I had ever met vanished. She was my best friend Gwen, about the only friend I really had. The call came at three in the morning, one of those calls that I knew would change everything. It was Gwen’s Mom, Mrs. Martinez, asking if I had heard from her daughter that night. It was never the type of call you wanted to get, not when there was a murderer out there, targeting the brightest and most brilliant teens in New Jersey.

I had known Mrs. Martinez for over ten years. The lady was unshakeable. She never raised her voice, never lost her cool. Not even that time Gwen and I had come home covered from head to toe in mud when we were little. She had just stared at us in horror, burst into laughter, and grabbed the garden hose.

Now she was a wreck. According to her, no one had heard from Gwen since 11pm, when she had called her boyfriend after their date and told him her car had broken down in Stone Harbor, right off its main street. Except when the family drove there to pick her up, no one could find Gwen, or the car.

No, I hadn’t heard from her, I said. Not since earlier that day. Mrs. Martinez, ever polite, apologized for waking me up, promised to call back the moment the family had any news, and like that, I was left to fear for my friend in the darkness.

Something had happened to Gwen. Sure, she was sixteen, and us sixteen-year-olds had a habit of staying out late and doing bone-headed things, but Gwen wasn’t like that. We had our adventures, we got into our share of trouble, but Gwen would never scare her parents. Maybe her cell phone had run out of power, maybe it was the other possibility, the possibility I didn’t even want to think about, but she was thoughtful, she was kind, she wouldn’t forget to check in. If she hadn’t called, it was because she couldn’t.

My best friend was the most beautiful person I had ever met, and I wasn’t talking about her looks. I mean, she was pretty enough, slim, with long black hair, dazzling honey-colored brown eyes, and a sublime grace. That’s not what made her beautiful. She had an inner light, a compassion that shone through.

I, on the other hand, was about as huggable as a porcupine. I was a big girl, and I was OK with that. My family was Polish, my last name was Kwiatkowski, but I must have had a great-great-grandmother in my family tree who was a Viking warrior. There wasn’t much else to explain how I had gotten to be 6 foot and built like a linebacker. Well, there was my father, who was 6’2” and built like a linebacker, but I didn’t want to dwell on the thought that I might take after him.

I wasn’t the easiest person to get along with. I was OK with that too. I kind of didn’t care. I had, in fact, given up on caring a long time ago. But Gwen put up with me, which meant maybe I wasn’t as awful as I thought.

When I was five years old, I had found her playing by herself by the creek one day. Gwen always played alone, none of the other kids in the neighborhood seemed to know what to do with her. Not like they knew what to do with me either. Gwen had been trying to catch frogs in a pool that had formed off a sandbar. She was playing in my creek. In my favorite spot. Catching my frogs. I told her that if she wanted to hang out in my spot, that she’d have to prove herself by crossing the creek on a rickety old moss-covered log. Gwen was up for that. She danced across without a moment’s hesitation. Then she dared me to do the same. I wasn’t afraid. But I wasn’t as graceful as she was, and I wasn’t as light. I slipped off into the water, twisting my ankle. Gwen braved the creek to fish me out. Our friendship was instant.

Now, my best friend was missing. My first impulse was to go out and look for her. It was three in the morning and she was two hours away, but part of me wanted to try anyways. What if she had had an accident? What if she had gotten her car going, only to have it break down again in the middle of nowhere? There was a murderer on the loose, searching for his next victim. I couldn’t bear to think of her out there, scared and alone.

I had woken up my mother to talk to her about it. She said I’d have to wait until morning. I didn’t know how she expected me to just go back to bed. I stared across the room, at the Bruce Lee posters on the walls, thinking about Gwen. My room was up on the second floor of our family’s Cape Cod, painted in a tropical blue with a neon purple chair in the corner. Gwen sometimes joked that I must have been color blind, but I just liked it that way. Who said colors needed to coordinate?

I kept my cell phone by my side, hoping Gwen’s parents would call back soon. Better yet, maybe it’d be Gwen on the other end of the line. I know it was stupid, but I tried her number and was taken directly to her voicemail. It felt strange to hear her voice, so breezy and cheerful. I sent a text message next. I really didn’t know what I was expecting. I might’ve tried her boyfriend, talk to him about what had happened, but I had never met him, I didn’t even know his last name, much less his phone number.

Wow, would you look at all that telling and not showing. Way to take a great concept and suck the life right out of it with a bunch of exposition up front. I can see it now. I couldn't see it before. A lot of times when I revise, I have an Ah-ha! moment (as opposed to a "Muhahahaha!" moment), where there's a shift in understanding. That's what I was hoping for with this workshop and that's what I got. As Amy read my manuscript, I could feel the energy just die on the page whenever we got to the exposition, and there's a lot of exposition. So I think I finally get what I've been doing wrong with my opening.

Here's some of the specific feedback I got:

• Add dialogue, the action is too far removed
• There's no paranormal here
• No sense that Justine is heroic
• Play up the murder mystery

OK, now here's my revised opening. Hopefully it's better. Because my main character, Justine, is a skeptic, I couldn't really figure out how to bring the paranormal into the opening pages, but I could definitely play up the murder mystery.

“Hi, Justine. I’m sorry to be calling so late.” The voice on the other end of the line sounded scared, exhausted. “Gwen’s not with you, is she?”

I fought to get my bearings in the darkness, the cell phone clutched in my hand. I was in my bedroom, the Bruce Lee posters on the walls told me that much. I peered at the alarm clock, the numbers flashed 3:11 back at me. This wasn’t good. This was one of those calls you never wanted to get, certainly not at 3am on a school night. Not when there was a murderer out there, targeting the brightest and most brilliant teens in New Jersey.

“No,” I said, trying to get my brain to work right. “Why would she be?”

“You haven’t heard from her at all?” There was desperation in Mrs. Martinez’s voice, a desperation I had never heard before.

“No, what happened?” I asked, throwing the blankets back and sitting up straight, my heart starting to race. “I mean, we talked earlier this evening. But that was it.”

I was wide awake now. It was three in the morning and the mother of my best friend was calling to find out where her daughter was. Only I had no idea.

Mrs. Martinez took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice. “According to Gwen’s boyfriend…” That last word dripped with something bordering on contempt. “According to him, Gwen headed home from their date around 11pm. He’s saying her car broke down in Stone Harbor, right on its main street, that she called him to pick her up. But Gwen’s not there, and neither’s her car.”

“What?” None of this was making sense. “Did he pick her up or not?” I turned on the light, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. I’d get her myself if I had to. I didn’t care that I was over two hours away.

“He said when he got there, Gwen was gone,” Mrs. Martinez repeated, struggling not to lose her composure. “We went there ourselves, we can’t find her either. It’s like she vanished.”

That’s not what I wanted to hear, because Gwen Martinez wasn’t just my best friend, she was the most extraordinary person I had ever met. A straight ‘A’ student who planned on becoming a heart surgeon and working for Doctors Without Borders one day, she had an inner light, a compassion that shone through. There had always been something different about her, something special. Just like the other victims.

They had vanished too. But it was more than that, they hadn’t just disappeared, it was like the Earth had opened up and swallowed them whole. Then they turned up dead, slashed to death with what investigators guessed was a very long knife. No witnesses, no hint of anything suspicious before they went missing. How could a killer do that? And the lack of evidence meant no suspect.

Twelve kids found dead: A fencing champion destined for the Olympics, a martial arts prodigy, an organizer for Habitat for Humanity. One poor boy had won the Hero of the Year award for rescuing a child from drowning only a month before he was killed. They were like Gwen, they were amazing.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Mrs. Martinez continued, realizing that perhaps she had said too much. “Gwen probably got her car towed to a gas station, and maybe her cell phone ran out of power. I’ll call you back the moment we hear from her.”

“And if she does call me, I’ll let you know right away,” I promised as I walked to my dresser and grabbed some clothes. It might’ve been three in the morning, but I was already coming up with a plan to help search for Gwen. Because something had happened to her. Sure, Gwen and I had had our adventures, we had gotten into our share of trouble, but Gwen would never scare her parents. Maybe her cell phone had run out of power, maybe it was the other possibility, the possibility I didn’t even want to think about, but she was thoughtful, she was kind, she wouldn’t forget to check in. If she hadn’t called, it was because she couldn’t.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Martinez said, ever polite, even in a situation like this. Somehow, I didn’t know why, but what I said had given her some comfort. “I’m so sorry for waking you up. Try to get some rest and we’ll be in touch.” Then she hung up, leaving me to fear for my friend, alone somewhere out there in the darkness.

Like I said, hopefully this is better!

Green Men, King Arthur, People Singing to My Camera!

Somewhere, long lost to the mists of time, I promised to regale you all with my adventures at RenCon 2010. So let's go back, back to April 2010, when you could buy pop for a nickel and children always listened to their parents, and I shall tell you a tale of myth and legend and retail therapy.

This was the first ever RenCon, and as such, I didn't really know what to expect. I was thinking 'Indoor RenFaire,' and it was definitely some of that, but along the way, the convention got some Steampunk in their Renaissance and some Renaissance in their Steampunk. Not that that was necessarily bad. I can't hide it anymore, this Steampunk thing is growing on me. Which means by the time I've fully embraced it, it'll be out of style.

But besides the Steampunk and inordinate quantity of fairies, there was this scholarly vibe to the con which I really liked. There were panels on Renaissance food and dress, on the Green Man, and yes, on King Arthur. Because how can you have something called RenCon and not mention King Arthur?

I think as most of my readers know, my YA Urban Fantasy, Knights of Avalon, is about the Knights of the Round Table being reincarnated as New Jersey teens, so I especially wanted to attend those King Arthur panels.

Unfortunately, I missed the one on the Holy Grail, due to my bothersome need to have a job, and to keep a roof over my head and to eat, but I was able to attend the Arthurian Love Triangle panel led by Caitlin Matthews. Yes, THAT Caitlin Matthews, legendary author, artist, and scholar. OK, she's a legend to me, and she's insanely cool, and she sang to my camera, but more on that later.


I've heard her speak before and not only does she know her stuff, but she's a riot to listen to. She actually spent a lot of time discussing Welsh love triangles (for example, the story of Lleu Llaw Gyffes, Blodeuwedd, and Gronw Pebr), before tying them into the Arthurian ones and discussing the concept of the Flower Bride as it pertained to Queen Guinevere. What's a Flower Bride? It's basically an archetype, a woman who represents the strength and life of the land, who is intimately tied to the kingdom itself, and who men constantly fight over, because to have her as a wife is a symbol of right of rulership.

Which is why poor Guinevere is always getting kidnapped, because she's a symbol of legitimate authority.

Towards the end, Caitlin Matthews somehow got onto the subject of how Lancelot became known as Lancelot du Lac (Lancelot of the Lake). As the story goes, his father was a powerful king caught in the midst of a bloody war. As his castle was being stormed, Lancelot's mother took her infant son and fled. During all the confusion, she set her son down for a moment and Viviane, the Lady of the Lake, stole him away. Only Caitlin Matthews acted it all out to hilarious effect. She ran around in a panic, pretending to be Lancelot's mother, then did her best impression of Viviane, sneaking up to the baby and grabbing him when Mom wasn't looking. I guess you had to be there, but it was pretty awesome.

After the panel was over, I went up to Caitlin to ask her a couple of questions and to take her picture...and my camera died. Caitlin was unfazed. She told me she had a trick to getting electronic devices to power up: She sang to them. In her lovely, rich voice, she bade my camera to turn on, and you know what, it did.

Before I left the convention, I did some shopping. Not much, due to the aforementioned need to eat and have someplace to sleep, but I did get myself two pendants: One of Brigid, Celtic Goddess of Fire and Inspiration, and one of the Lady of the Lake.

The Edits Are Done, Long Live the Edits

Edits. They're like the circle of life. You get one set done, only to start anew on another round, the manuscript hopefully a little better, a little more polished, than its previous incarnation.

The good news: I finished my Knights of Avalon re-write last night. The bad news: Well, there's not really any bad news, because I finished my Knights of Avalon re-write last night! And it only took 4 1/2 months! Admittedly, I went over my self-imposed deadline, and I now have to hide from the rabid ferrets, but I ended up making more changes than I thought I would. Those changes included:

• Switching from 3rd person to 1st person POV, which meant having to adjust the voice throughout.
• Darkening the tone, heightening the emotions. I have a real problem with going for the funny and sarcastic when dealing with tragedy. It's a defense mechanism and something I do in real life, but by going for the joke instead of the raw emotion, I was undermining the power of some of my scenes. To quote my father, I tend to "pull my emotional punches."
• Totally overhauled the first three chapters of the book.
• Totally overhauled the last six chapters.
• Improved the pacing so that more happens in the first half of the story.

We're talking some major edits here. And now that I've finished those edits...I'm going to do some more! Most of it is clean-up work, correcting typos, adding a couple of extra sentences of description here and there, but I still have one serious problem I haven't fixed: My first three chapters just aren't working. They're by far the weakest part of the story.

This is, to put it mildly, problematic. Because we aren't timelords, and we tend to travel through time in a linear fashion, we read books from start to finish. Oddly enough, so do agents, meaning that they're seeing the worst of my work, not the best of it. To put it another way, it's like telling someone that the delicious-looking chocolate sundae with the cherry on top only starts tasting good once you've had about three or four bites.



You can see the offending chapters below. For the most part, I think the pacing and the action are fine. It's how Justine, the main character, comes off that's the issue. She's not supposed to be the most likeable person, she doesn't care much about other people's feelings, she's argumentative and headstrong, but that's how I want her to be. I think that's how she needs to be to survive everything she's going to face. I adore her, but I have to find a way to show the readers why I think she's so great and most importantly, why they should care about her.

Sure, I can do that, no problem. Uh-huh.

NaNoEdMo

I'm sure you've all heard of National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), but with all the work I've been doing with my latest manuscript, Knights of Avalon, I wasn't able to join in. That's probably for the best, because I'm more of a turtle than a hare: I write a few paragraphs a day, every day, without fail. Even when I have an entire day devoted to writing, I'm happy if I can write more than a single page in a sitting.

Though I haven't been trying to write a whole novel in a month, I was hoping to have my edits done by the end of November. Well, like many NaNoWriMo participants, I won't be meeting my self-imposed deadline, but I'm not going to sweat it. I edited a huge chunk of my book in November, I'm almost done, and most importantly, I feel that the edits I made were good ones. In the end, that's what matters.

So I am now declaring December to be NaNoEdMo, National Novel Editing Month. Oh yes, the latest round of edits shall be completed by the end of December! And if I fail in my mission, I shall wrap myself in bacon and throw myself into a pit of ravenous ferrets. I'm serious, I'm getting this done, because those ferrets don't mess around when they're hungry.

And you never know, maybe NaNoEdMo will catch on with other writers, because if you write a novel in a month, you're going to need AT LEAST a month to edit. Or if you're me, you'll need about four months, on average. Let's face it, I'm like those Comcast turtles.

And Now for Something Completely Different

Still working on putting 'Knights of Avalon' into first person. I wish I could do the re-write faster, but there's a lot more to it than just switching pronouns. I also have to make sure I'm writing in the main character's voice. That's the fun, if time-consuming, part, because I love my main character and the way she thinks.

So while I re-write, I thought I'd discuss some other topics, like what I'm going to wear for Halloween. This is vitally important! Did I mention that I have to go to a Halloween party and I have no idea what to wear? OK, after much deliberation, I've pretty much settled on a costume, but I thought I'd share all the other ideas I had.

Being short on cash and sewing skills, I was forced to improvise. As I mentioned on my Twitter feed, I do have a lovely Renfest outfit, but I wore it last year with a pair of fairy wings and I didn't want to repeat the costume.

Here were my other ideas:

1. A doll from Dollhouse. I could be Lima, the doll no one ever sees on the show. I'd dress up in a pair of pajamas and wander around with a blank look on my face, saying things like, "Did I fall asleep?" and "I always try to be my best."

2. Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Come on, she's awesome! I already have a black robe and some white lace and I always wear my hair in a pony tail, all I'd need is a judge's gavel.

3. Slacker Ninja, the mysterious assassin who's too lazy to leave the house. All I'd need is a bathrobe, slippers, and some nunchucks.

4. Pandora. I love me some Greek mythology and I collect boxes. The only reason why I didn't end up going with this idea is that I'd have to buy or make a Greek tunic. That said, if I was going to do it, I'd walk around with my box, making a big show of resisting the temptation to look inside. Then I'd ask other people to take a look and if someone did open the box, maybe I'd have a Jonas Brothers CD or Hello Kitty in there, basically something to represent all the evils of the world. :-)

5. Katniss Everdeen. What, you're saying you don't know who she is? Then you've been missing out! I almost went with this idea too. I have some brown pants and thanks to my Ren garb, I do have a flowy green shirt. All I'd need is a bow and arrow, paint some blood on my face, and maybe have someone with a video camera following my every move. If people asked me who I was, I'd make them sit down and read The Hunger Games.

6. Crazy cat lady. I have lots of toy cats. I figured I'd stick one on my head, a couple on my shoulders, etc. Voila! Instant cat lady! Except Halloween is all about being something you're not.

6. Rabbit tamer. This is what I've decided on. So I have a Monty Python Rabbit of Caerbannog, complete with giant fangs. I have lots of kitty carriers because I do animal rescue. I have a brown trench coat and an Indiana Jones-style hat. I bought myself an Indy-style whip. OK, it's going to be a little like Lara Croft, but I'm going to run around, warning people not to let the rabbit out of its cage and once it does get out, I'm going to make a big show of it going for my neck and me having to fight it off with my whip. Sure, it's silly, but that's the fun of it. I might also bring my stuffed Cthulhu for the occasion.

How's My Writing? Call 1-800-Do I-Suck?

I kid. I kid. I know my writing doesn't suck, it's pretty good, I just want it to be better.

Here's the first two chapters re-done in first person (prologue has been removed and chapter two is in a separate post below). I wasn't very sure about it at first, but I think I just might like the POV change.

--

A call at two in the morning was never a good thing. “Justine, sweetie, wake up.” And now I was getting one. It was dark. Not early morning, crack of dawn dark. More like middle of the night, what-is-my-mother-doing-there-standing-over-me-in-her-pajamas dark. I couldn’t see her face, but the clock told me it was 2:13am. This wasn’t going to be good.

“What is it?” I wriggled out from under the covers, trying to get my bearings. My mother clutched a phone in one hand. No, this wasn’t going to be good at all.

“It’s Mrs. Martinez. She wants to know if you’ve heard at all from Gwen tonight.”

“What? Why would…” It took me a moment to get it. Something had happened to my best friend. I was suddenly wide awake and reaching for the phone. “Mrs. Martinez? Hi, it’s Justine. What’s going on?”

I had known Mrs. Martinez for over ten years. The lady was unshakeable. She never raised her voice, never lost her cool. Not even that time Gwen and I had come home covered from head to toe in mud when we were little. She had just stared at us in horror, burst into laughter, and grabbed the garden hose. Now her voice wasn’t much more than a hoarse whisper. I had never heard her like this. “I’m sorry to wake you up,” she said, as polite as ever, even as her voice trembled. “No one’s heard from Gwen since 11 o’clock. She went out with her boyfriend then on the way home, her car broke down. We can’t find her, or the car. We were hoping…”

“I haven’t heard from her. Not since around 7pm,” I said, trying to break the news to Mrs. Martinez as gently as possible, even as I tried to process the news that Gwen was missing. “But I’ll help you find her. Where was she last seen?” I rolled out of bed and headed to the dresser. My mother was glaring at me. I ignored it. Something had happened to my best friend. I had to go out and try to find her.

Mrs. Martinez hesitated. “I know you want to help, Justine. You’re as afraid as we are. I understand, but it’s 2 in the morning and there’s just not that much you can do right now.” Bullshit. There was plenty I could do. But my mother was standing there, arms folded across her chest, staring me down.

Mrs. Martinez’s voice cracked for a moment before she pulled it together. “Keep Gwen in your prayers and we’ll let you know when we get some news, and call us if you do hear from her.”

“I’ll do that,” I promised. “Can you at least tell me where her car broke down?” I was already formulating a plan in my mind.

“Justine, I know you too well to tell you that. If we hear from her we’ll let you know. Could I talk to your mother?”

I handed the phone back to my Mom, listening in while I turned on the lights and rummaged through my drawers for some clothes. My room was up on the second floor of our family’s Cape Cod, painted in a tropical blue with Bruce Lee posters on the walls and a neon purple chair in the corner. Gwen sometimes joked that I must have been color blind, but I just liked it that way. Who said colors needed to coordinate?

“It could be something as simple as her cell phone running out of power,” I heard my Mom say, practical and level-headed. Then again, it wasn’t her daughter that had gone missing. If it was, my Mom would be kicking down doors and interrogating suspects to get her kid back. For a moment, I wondered if perhaps my mother was right, maybe Gwen would be giving her parents a call anytime. But no, I knew better. Sure, Gwen and I had had our adventures, but Gwen didn’t stay out late without checking in. Gwen didn’t forget to call. My best friend was in trouble.

“Hang in there, Gabriela,” I heard my Mom say. “She’ll probably be calling any minute.” No, Gwen would never scare her parents like this, she would’ve found a way to contact them. If she hadn’t called, it was because she couldn’t.

My mother hung up the phone and arched an eyebrow at me. I was standing there, my clothes piled in my arms. “You’re not going out,” she said, and I knew she meant it. My Mom wasn’t exactly a big lady, she was skinny, about 5’5”, with curly brown hair and a narrow face, I wondered sometimes if we were related, but somehow she always loomed larger in my imagination.

“I’m supposed to go back to sleep? Gwen would never stay out till two in the morning, especially on a school night, and she’d never not check in. She could be hurt, or kidnapped…” I didn’t know if I’d win this battle, but for Gwen’s sake, I had to try. She was out there, in trouble. The more people she had searching for her, the better.

“Or she could be someplace without cell phone service, getting her car fixed,” my Mom said. I usually wasn’t annoyed by her logic. “I know this isn’t like Gwen,” my Mom softened her tone a little, “but you can’t launch a one-woman search operation for her. Which is what I know you’re planning to do. Try to get some sleep and we’ll see what the situation is in the morning. We’ll help however we can, but Gwen’s two hours away and you running around South Jersey in the middle of the night isn’t going to do anyone any good.” It could do Gwen some good.

“You promise you’ll wait?” my Mom asked.

“She’s in trouble, I know it.”

“You don’t know that, Justine.”

I looked my Mom up and down. Maybe we were related after all, she was as stubborn as I was. I leaned against the dresser, pissed off. I wasn’t eighteen yet. Hell, I wasn’t even seventeen. I couldn’t do as I pleased, and there was the chance my Mom might’ve been right. If I disobeyed her on something this big, I’d be grounded for weeks, and then I’d never be able to help Gwen. Not to mention, she’d be watching to see if I snuck out. “OK, we wait until the morning then we’ll see.”

“I know it’ll be hard, but try to get some rest.” My Mom touched my cheek. I was fighting off tears. Tears of frustration that I hadn’t won this round. “You can keep the phone by you if you like.”

“OK,” I said, swallowing hard. “But in the morning, I’m going down to Avalon.”

Thankfully, my Mom didn’t disagree with me. Or we might have had an epic battle then and there. “Hopefully Gwen’ll call her parents and you won’t need to.”

The moment my Mom stepped out of the room, I dialed Gwen’s cell. It went directly to voice mail. I tried sending a text message next. No reply. I really don’t know what I was expecting. I would’ve tried her boyfriend next, talk to him about what had happened, where Gwen had last been heard from, but I had never met him, I didn’t even know his last name, much less his phone number.

I turned off the light and stared out the window at the moonless night, wondering where Gwen was right now. Deep down, I knew it was bad. Gwen wasn’t going to be returning my call tonight. That didn’t stop me from keeping my phone by my side. First thing in the morning, if Gwen hadn’t turned up safe and sound, I promised myself I’d drive down to Avalon and tear the place apart looking for her.

Knights of Avalon - 1st Person POV - Chapter 2

Morning. I blinked my bleary eyes, watching the sun filter in through the windows. Gwen had never called. She had never turned up. It was as if she had vanished off the face of the Earth.

I sat cross-legged on my family’s blue couch in a sleep-deprived haze, my long brown hair tucked into a messy bun to keep it out of my face. I was clutching a steaming hot mug of coffee in my hands like it was a life preserver. On any other day, in any other situation, my mother would have made some comment about the coffee. I had started drinking the stuff early, when I was just thirteen. My Mom had warned me that it would stunt my growth. Of course, once I hit my growth spurt, she switched to shooting me disapproving looks. This morning though, we had other things to worry about.

I held the coffee up to my face, breathing in the steam. Then I gulped it down. I needed to be alert and if it was going to take a heart-stopping dose of caffeine to keep me awake, then so be it. I watched my mother pace back and forth as she talked to Mrs. Martinez on the phone. She was a blur to me. My whole world right now was a blur. I didn’t have my contacts in and I was as good as blind without them.

I might not have been able to see much of my mother’s expression, but I could hear what she was saying and I knew it wasn’t good. My Mom had done a full 180 from last night. She had given up on trying to convince Mrs. Martinez that Gwen would be checking in any minute and was now trying to comfort her. “It’ll be OK,” she kept telling Gwen’s Mom in a whisper. Mrs. Martinez must’ve been crying. I told myself crying wouldn’t help. I needed to do something. “We’re here for you. Anything you need,” my Mom said. “I think Justine would be more than OK with coming down to help. She can be there this afternoon if you like.” Now I was wide awake, and reflecting on how awesome my Mom could be.

My Mom hung up and walked over, sinking into the chair across from me. Despite her insistence last night that there wasn’t much to worry about, the dark circles under her eyes told a different story. “I assume there’s no way I can convince you to go to school?”

No way in hell. I had never skipped school, but I had never had a friend go missing. I shook my head, ready for the question. “I haven’t missed a single day this semester, and how could I concentrate on my schoolwork anyways?”

As it turned out, my Mom didn’t need a whole lot of convincing. “I figured as much,” she said with complete understanding. “Here’s the deal,” she said, leaning forward. “Gwen’s parents have checked the hospitals, talked to all her friends, and filed a report with the police. There’s been no word from her since last night. The police have recommended that her parents blanket the area with fliers in the hope that someone’s either seen her or knows something about her disappearance. I know you’re worried sick, and so am I, but so far there’s no evidence of foul play. The police just think it’s best to be aggressive in the search for her. If you want to help with handing out fliers, you can take today and tomorrow off from school. With the three-day weekend coming up, that’ll give you five whole days to help look for Gwen. Hopefully you won’t even need all that time. How’s that sound?”

There was always a deal with my Mom, but she was fair. Still, I could see what she was doing, channeling all of my fear and anger into something she thought would keep me safe. For some reason, my Mom seemed to think I’d try something risky. It’s almost as if after sixteen years on this planet, my Mom knew me. “That sounds good,” I said, managing a weak smile. She had given me five full days to search for Gwen, I’d work with that.

“I’ll write you a note, but you need to be back in school by Tuesday,” my Mom continued. “Mrs. Martinez said you’re welcome to stay in their guest bedroom if you like. Or you could stay with your father…”

I screwed up my face, as if my coffee had suddenly turned into acid.

“Or you could stay with the Martinezes,” my Mom said. She came over and gave me a kiss on the head. I hugged her back. Moms really did have a way of making things a little bit better. “It’ll be OK,” she promised me. “When you go down there, you’ll call right away if there’s any news about Gwen?”

“Sure,” I said. “Do they have any better idea of what happened last night? I mean, where was Gwen last seen, things like that?” I was trying to play it off like it was an innocent question, my brown eyes all wide and sad.

My Mom loomed over me, her lips pursed into a thin line. “You’re not the police, you are not to act like the police. You stay out of their way and do whatever you can to help Mr. and Mrs. Martinez out.”

“I know,” I said, glancing away.

“I mean it,” she said. “We’re worried sick about Gwen, we do not need to be worried about you as well.”

“I understand,” I said, letting out a little sigh. Of course, the best way to help Mr. and Mrs. Martinez was to find Gwen. I just couldn’t be stupid about how I did it. The whole plan was to make things better, not worse, but first, I needed to find out where my best friend had disappeared. “Would it really hurt though if I visited where Gwen was last seen? If I didn’t cause any trouble? Just poked around?”

Sometimes, much to my sleep-deprived surprise, the direct approach worked. My Mom gave in, a little too easily I thought. “Well, you’re going to find out anyways, but on one condition: You get some rest before you head out on the road. You got, what, three or four hours of sleep last night, max?”

Probably more like two and a half. It had been a hard night. I had fought off sleep for as long as I could, and when it finally came, I kept on jerking awake, thinking I had heard the phone ringing. Given how my eyelids were fluttering closed, even with the dose of caffeine, my mother’s demand wasn’t a bad one. “OK, one way or the other, I’ll make myself take a nap before I go,” I told her.

Her condition met, my Mom finally seemed satisfied. She perched on the edge of the chair’s armrest as she spoke. “Do you know where Stone Harbor is?”

I nodded. Gwen had taken me there before. It was just south of Avalon.

“According to Gwen’s boyfriend, she called and said her car broke down on 96th Street. Don’t make me regret telling you that. You hear me, Justine?”

“All I’m going to do is take a look. I need to see for myself,” I said. Four hours ago, everything had changed. My best friend, one of the only friends I had in the entire world, had gone missing. I had to find out what happened.

I jumped into the shower, the warm water only succeeding in making me more sleepy, not less, and got dressed. I wasn’t a big fan of the educational institution known as ‘high school,’ so I wasn’t too broken up about missing a day or two. I enjoyed the learning, especially history class, it was the other kids that I despised. I had forever been branded ‘the fat girl’ by my peers. The fact that I kicked ass in cross country and had a black belt in jujutsu didn’t seem to count for much in my basketball and football-obsessed school.

Well, fuck those kids. I wasn’t fat. I was just big, and I was OK with that. My family was Polish, my last name was Kwiatkowski, but I must have had a great-great-grandmother in my family tree who was a Viking warrior. There wasn’t much else to explain how I had gotten to be 6 foot and built like a linebacker. Well, there was my father, who was 6’2” and built like a linebacker, but I didn’t want to dwell on the thought that I might take after him. When I had been younger, I had been tormented mercilessly by the other kids, except for Gwen, who always stood up for me, but the cross-country helped with the weight and the jujutsu took care of the bullying. I now knew from personal experience that you couldn’t shove an entire kid into a locker, but you could bash their heads into one if they were picking a fight with you. Or if you saw them trying to bully another student. I went from being “the fat girl” to “the mean fat girl,” with most of the kids in my school now keeping their distance, and I liked that arrangement just fine.

I came back downstairs to find my mother had spread out a huge breakfast on our white kitchen table. My Mom was far from an expert chef, mac n’ cheese with orange powder was a fairly regular staple of our diet, but the breakfast looked good. “Eat, sleep, then get on the road,” my Mom said, concern clearly etched upon her face. I could tell she was still in shock about everything that had happened, then again, so was I.

I sat down and piled eggs, bacon, and several wedges of cantaloupe onto my plate. Part of me just wanted to get going, but my Mom was right, I needed to take care of myself before I could help look for Gwen.

“Mornin’,” my little sister Rachel said with a yawn as she shuffled into the kitchen wearing fluffy purple bunny slippers. Poor kid. She was so cheerful and innocent. She hadn’t heard about Gwen yet and I didn’t know how to tell her.

Three years younger than me, Rachel was like a trimmer, cuter version of myself. With big brown doe-like eyes, she was also far more adorable than I had ever been. Rachel took one look at the breakfast spread laid out before her then one look at the tired and worn expressions both me and my mother shared and knew something was up. “What’s wrong?”

“Gwen didn’t come home last night,” my Mom told her as gently as she could. “No one knows where she is. Hopefully all this worry is for nothing and she’ll turn up soon safe and sound.” I was so thankful my Mom was there to explain it.

Rachel took a moment to let the news sink in, perhaps wondering if it was all a dream and she had never really woken up. “Gwen? Missing? She wouldn’t run away…”

I offered a solemn nod of my head. Rachel was a smart kid, she picked up quick. “Yeah, which is why we’re all worried. But like Mom said, hopefully she’ll turn up OK. I’m going down for a few days to help hand out fliers.”

Rachel pulled out a chair and stared at the piles of food, having lost any appetite. “She’s missing?” she repeated to herself. “How worried are you?” she turned and asked me.

Shit. I think I visibly winced at the question. How worried was I? Part of me couldn’t believe this was happening, the other part of me wanted to scream and hunt down whoever did this to Gwen. “Really worried,” I said, trying to sound as if I wasn’t scared out of my mind.

“But it’s too early to be leaping to conclusions,” my Mom said, leaning in to give Rachel a hug. “I’m sure Gwen will turn up.” My little sister made a big show of trying to avoid the hug, complete with a roll of the eyes for good measure. Ah, to be thirteen years old again. It wasn’t that long ago.

Rachel glanced over. “Gwen has to know you’ll be looking for her. I bet that makes her feel better.” I didn’t know what to say to that. I just shrugged my shoulders and looked down at my breakfast. Maybe Gwen was counting on me, if she was, then I couldn’t let her down.

“Think you might run into Dad while you’re down there?” my sister asked after a pause, realizing that if I was headed down to Avalon that I’d be close to our father’s place.

“Wasn’t planning to,” I said. “With everything going on, it’s not really a good time.” I could have said a lot more, but I did have it in me to be diplomatic when I needed to. I didn’t want to upset my sister, especially not today.

“Well, if you do, tell him I say ‘hi,’” Rachel said, ever the optimist. My little sister didn’t hold grudges quite the same way I did. At the moment though, that was the farthest thing from my mind. I had to figure out what had happened to my friend.

Knights of Avalon: Prologue

I'm leaning heavily towards dropping the prologue. I like it, and lots of people have told me they like it too, but in relation to the rest of the manuscript, it's fast becoming superfluous.

--

He had told her not to run from them. Now Gwen was running for her life. She kicked off her heels and raced down the street. There’d be people there, even at this time of night.

As she ran past shuttered shops, she screamed for help, her voice echoing off the empty buildings. There wasn’t anyone here. It was only 11 o’clock. Why wasn’t anyone here?

She stopped in front of a diner, an unplugged neon sign advertising it was open 24 hours. Gwen tugged at the doors, pounded on the windows. The diner was dark, plates full of food left sitting on the counter in front of empty chairs.

Gwen tossed a glance behind her. They were coming. They had never hurt her before, but now she wasn’t so sure. They could see her. They were hunting her.

She fumbled for her cell phone. “Come on, come on.” No signal. “Come on!” It had to be them. This always happened when they were near.

So get away. Gwen ducked into an alley and hit send the moment her phone came to life. She scaled a low brick wall as the phone rang. If he wasn’t there, she’d try Justine.

She counted the rings. One, two, three. On the third, he picked up.

“Tejaun!” Even Gwen was surprised by how desperate she sounded. “I’m in Stone Harbor, off 96th Street. The shadows, they’re hunting me!”

She never got to hear his response. The phone died again. The shadows floated through the air, trailing after her.

Then before her, salvation, and stylish salvation at that. A man getting into a green Porsche. Gwen waved her arms, calling for help.

Her knight in shining armor, the man ran to her aid, meeting her half way. He was tall and handsome, with green eyes, a dark beard, and as it turned out, a British accent. Tejaun would have been jealous.

“Please! Help! Someone just tried to mug me!” Gwen lied. It was more believable than the truth. Ordinary people couldn’t see the shadows. She looked over her shoulder, they had stopped their approach. That was the good news. The bad was that they were taking on a solid form. She had never seen that before. They stood in a semi-circle at a distance, silently watching. Gwen fought off a wave of panic.

Her rescuer glanced at the shadows and smiled. “We’re so happy to have you back, Lady Guinevere.”

Before the shock could even register, the man grabbed hold of her and dragged her back to the car. Gwen jabbed the man in the solar plexus with her elbow and twisted her body to make him lose his grip.

The man chuckled with amusement, not even flinching. “You’ve gotten bold after all these years, m’lady.”

Gwen felt tears run down her cheeks as she continued to struggle. It wasn’t any use but she had to try. The parking lot was empty. Even if Tejaun had gotten her message, he couldn’t get here in time. Her hand slid down to her phone again, this time trying to dial 911 if she could get a signal. Maybe the police wouldn’t be able to see the shadows, but they’d certainly be able to see her kidnapper.

Her would-be rescuer spun her around to face him and snatched the phone out of her hands. “Come now, m’lady,” he said, throwing Gwen’s last hope for escape against the pavement, the cell phone shattering into pieces.

He shoved her into the car, binding her hands behind her. “Don’t be afraid. I have no doubt some knight will come to your rescue very soon. In fact, we’re counting on it.”

Knights of Avalon: Chapter 1

A call at two in the morning was never a good thing. “Justine, sweetie, wake up.”

Justine felt her Mom’s hand on her shoulder, pulling her from her dreams. She opened her bleary eyes to find her Mom standing there in her pajamas, the room bathed in shadows, the alarm clock showing it was 2:13am. One look at her mother’s face and Justine was sitting up in bed. “What is it?” she asked, glancing down to the phone her Mom clutched tightly in one hand.

“It’s Mrs. Martinez. She wants to know if you’ve heard at all from Gwen tonight,” her Mom whispered, covering the receiver as she explained the situation to Justine.

“What? Why would…” It took Justine a moment to get it. Something had happened to her best friend. She suddenly found herself wide awake and reaching for the phone. “Mrs. Martinez? Hi, it’s Justine. What’s going on?”

In all the time Justine had known Mrs. Martinez, and she had known her for over ten years, she had never heard her raise her voice, never seen her upset. Gwen’s Mom was unflappable. Now she barely recognized her on the phone. “I’m sorry to wake you up,” Mrs. Martinez said, as polite as ever, even as her voice trembled. “No one’s heard from Gwen since around 11pm. She went out with her boyfriend, Tejaun, then on the way home, her car broke down. We can’t find her, or the car. We were hoping…”

“I haven’t heard from her. Not since around 7pm,” Justine broke the news to Mrs. Martinez. “But I’ll help you find her. Where was she last seen?” Justine rolled out of bed and headed to the dresser, ignoring her mother’s withering glare.

Mrs. Martinez hesitated. “I know you want to help, Justine. You’re as afraid as we are. I understand, but it’s 2 in the morning and there’s just not that much you can do right now.” Her voice faltered as she struggled to hold it together. “Keep Gwen in your prayers and we’ll let you know the moment we get some news. Just let us know if you do happen to hear from her.”

“I’ll do that,” Justine promised. “Can you at least tell me where her car broke down?”

“Justine, I know you too well to tell you that,” Mrs. Martinez said as gently as she could. “We’ll keep you updated. Could I talk to your mother?”

Justine handed the phone back over to her Mom. She listened in while she turned on the lights and rummaged through her drawers for some clothes. Her room was up on the second floor of her family’s Cape Cod, painted in a tropical blue with Bruce Lee posters covering the walls. Gwen sometimes joked that Justine must have been color blind, but Justine just liked it that way.

“It could be something as simple as her cell phone running out of power,” she heard her Mom say, practical and level-headed. Then again, it wasn’t her daughter that had gone missing. If it was, her Mom would be kicking down doors and interrogating suspects to get her kid back. Justine tried to tell herself that her Mom was right, that it was a misunderstanding, that Gwen would be giving her parents a call anytime, but she knew better. Gwen didn’t stay out late without checking in, Gwen didn’t forget to call. Her best friend was in trouble.

“Hang in there, Gabriela,” her Mom said. “She’ll probably be calling any minute.” No, Gwen would never scare her parents like this, she would’ve found a way to contact them. If she hadn’t called, it was because she couldn’t.

Her Mom hung up the phone and arched an eyebrow as Justine bumped the dresser drawer closed with her hip, her clothes piled in her arms. “You’re not going out,” her Mom said in no uncertain terms. Justine’s Mom wasn’t exactly a big lady, sort of the opposite of Justine. Her Mom was skinny, about 5’5”, with curly brown hair and a narrow face, but somehow she always loomed larger in Justine’s imagination.

“I’m supposed to go back to sleep?” Justine asked. “Gwen would never stay out till two in the morning, especially on a school night, and she’d never not check in. She could be hurt, or kidnapped…” She couldn’t really fight with her Mom, Justine knew she wouldn’t win, but she had to try.

“Or she could be someplace without cell phone service, getting her car fixed,” her Mom said. “I know this isn’t like Gwen,” her Mom conceded, softening her tone a little, “but you can’t launch a one-woman search operation for her. Which is what I know you’re planning to do. Try to get some sleep and we’ll see what the situation is in the morning. We’ll help however we can, but Gwen’s two hours away and you running around South Jersey in the middle of the night isn’t going to do anyone any good. You promise you’ll wait?”

Justine slumped against the dresser. If she disobeyed her Mom on something this big, she’d be grounded for weeks, and then she’d never be able to help her friend. “OK, we wait until the morning then we’ll see.”

“I know it’ll be hard, but try to get some rest,” her Mom said, touching her cheek. “You can keep the phone by you if you like.”

The moment her Mom stepped out of the room, Justine dialed Gwen’s cell. It went directly to voice mail. She tried sending a text message next. No reply. Maybe try the boyfriend, but Justine had never met him, she didn’t even know his last name, much less his phone number.

She stared out the window at the moonless night, wondering what could have happened. Deep down, she knew it was bad. Gwen wasn’t going to be returning her call. That didn’t stop her from keeping the phone by her side. At the first crack of dawn, if her best friend hadn’t turned up safe and sound, Justine would drive down to Avalon, where Gwen now lived, and tear the place apart looking for her.

Knights of Avalon: Chapter 2

The next morning, Justine sat cross-legged on her family’s blue couch in a sleep-deprived haze, her long brown hair tucked into a messy bun to keep it out of her face. In her hands she clutched a steaming hot mug of coffee like it was a life preserver. On any other day, in any other situation, her mother would have made some comment about the coffee. When Justine had started drinking the stuff a few years ago, her Mom had warned her that it would stunt her growth. Of course, once Justine hit her growth spurt, her mother switched to merely giving her disapproving looks. This morning though, Justine and her Mom had other things to worry about.

Justine listened in to her mother’s conversation with Mrs. Martinez as the morning sun filtered in through the windows. She couldn’t hear what Gwen’s Mom was saying, but she knew it wasn’t good. Still no word from Gwen, still no sign of what had happened to her. It was as if she had vanished off the face of the Earth.

Her Mom’s tone of voice had changed too. She had given up on trying to convince Mrs. Martinez that Gwen would be checking in any minute now. “It’ll be OK,” she kept telling Gwen’s Mom in a gentle whisper. Justine knew Mrs. Martinez must’ve been crying. “We’re here for you. Anything you need. I think Justine would be more than OK with coming down to help. She can be there this afternoon if you like.” Justine glanced up, taking a moment to reflect on how awesome her Mom could be.

Her Mom hung up and walked over, sinking into the chair across from Justine. Despite her insistence last night that there wasn’t much to worry about, the dark circles under her eyes told a different story. “I assume there’s no way I can convince you to go to school?”

Justine shook her head, ready for the question. “I haven’t missed a single day this semester, and how could I concentrate on my schoolwork anyways?” There was no way Justine was going to let her Mom talk her into going to school, not when her best friend was out there in trouble.

As it turned out, her Mom didn’t need a whole lot of convincing. “I figured as much,” she said with complete understanding. “Here’s the deal,” she said, leaning forward. “Gwen’s parents have checked the hospitals, talked to all her friends, and filed a report with the police. There’s been no word from her since last night. The police have recommended that her parents blanket the area with fliers in the hope that someone’s either seen her or knows something about her disappearance. I know you’re worried sick, and so am I, but so far there’s no evidence of foul play. The police just think it’s best to be aggressive in the search for her. If you want to help with handing out fliers, you can take today and tomorrow off from school. With the three-day weekend coming up, that’ll give you five whole days to help look for Gwen. Hopefully you won’t even need all that time. How’s that sound?”

Justine knew she wouldn’t get a better deal from her Mom, but she could see what she was doing, she was channeling all of Justine’s fear and anger into a safe activity. For some inconceivable reason, Justine’s Mom seemed to be afraid Justine would do something risky. It’s almost as if after sixteen years on this planet, her Mom could predict exactly what Justine would do. “Thanks, Mom,” she said, truly grateful. “That sounds good.”

“I’ll write you a note, but you need to be back in school by Tuesday,” her Mom continued. “Mrs. Martinez said you’re welcome to stay in their guest bedroom if you like. Or you could stay with your father…”

Justine made a face, as if her coffee had suddenly turned into acid.

“Or you could stay with the Martinezes.” Her Mom stood up and gave Justine a kiss on the head. Justine was too tired and too worried about her friend to squirm away. “You let me know if there’s any news about Gwen, OK?”

“I will,” Justine said. “Do they have any better idea of what happened last night? I mean, where was Gwen last seen, things like that?”

Her Mom pursed her lips into a thin line and leveled her gaze at Justine. “You’re not the police, you are not to act like the police. You stay out of their way and do whatever you can to help Mr. and Mrs. Martinez out.”

Justine looked up at her mother with big, innocent brown eyes.

“I mean it,” her Mom said. “We’re worried sick about Gwen, we do not need to be worried about you as well.”

“I know,” Justine said with a little sigh. The whole plan was to make things better, not worse, to find her friend and not muck up anything else in the process. “Would it really hurt though if I visited where Gwen was last seen? If I didn’t cause any trouble? Just poked around?”

To her surprise, her Mom gave in. “Well, you’re going to find out anyways, but on one condition: You get some rest before you head out on the road. You got, what, three or four hours of sleep last night, max?”

As far as conditions went, that wasn’t a bad one. Justine wanted to head out on the road right away, but she couldn’t help her friend if she fell asleep at the wheel and had an accident. “OK, one way or the other, I’ll make myself take a nap before I go,” Justine promised.

Her mother finally seemed satisfied. “Do you know where Stone Harbor is? It’s just south of Avalon. According to her boyfriend, Gwen called and said her car broke down on 96th Street. Use that knowledge for good, not for evil. You hear me, young lady?”

“I’m just going to take a look. I need to see for myself,” Justine said. Four hours ago, everything had changed and her best friend, one of the only friends she had in the entire world, had gone missing. She had to find out what happened.

Justine jumped into the shower and got dressed. She wasn’t exactly a big fan of the educational institution known as ‘high school,’ so she wasn’t too broken up about missing a day or two. She liked the learning just fine, especially history class, it was the other kids that she hated. She had forever been branded ‘the fat girl’ by her peers. The fact that she excelled in cross country and had a black belt in jujutsu didn’t seem to count for much in her basketball and football-obsessed school.

Justine’s family was Polish, her last name was Kwiatkowski, but she must have had a great-great-grandmother in her family tree who was a Viking warrior. There wasn’t much else to explain how Justine had gotten to be 6 foot and built like a linebacker. Well, there was her father, who was 6’2” and built like a linebacker, but Justine didn’t like to dwell on the thought that she might take after him. When she had been younger, she had been tormented mercilessly by the other kids for being fat, but the cross-country helped with the weight and the jujutsu took care of the bullying. With the exception of her ex-boyfriend Steve, nowadays most of the kids in her school steered clear. She liked that arrangement just fine.

Justine came back downstairs to find her mother had laid out a huge breakfast for her on their white kitchen table. Her mother was far from an expert chef, mac n’ cheese with orange powder was a fairly regular staple of their diet, but the breakfast looked like a feast. “Eat, sleep, then get on the road,” her Mom said, concern clearly etched upon her face. Justine could tell she was still in shock about everything that had happened, then again, so was she.

Justine sat down and piled eggs, bacon, and several wedges of cantaloupe onto her plate. Part of her just wanted to get going, but her Mom was right, she needed to take care of herself before she could help look for Gwen.

“Mornin’,” her little sister Rachel said with a yawn as she shuffled into the kitchen wearing fluffy purple bunny slippers. Three years younger than Justine, Rachel was like a trimmer, cuter version of herself. With big brown doe-like eyes, she was also far more adorable than Justine had ever been. Rachel took one look at the breakfast spread laid out before her then one look at the tired and worn expressions both Justine and her Mom shared and knew something was up. “What’s wrong?”

“Gwen didn’t come home last night,” her Mom told her sister as gently as she could. “No one knows where she is. Hopefully all this worry is for nothing and she’ll turn up soon safe and sound.” Justine was thankful her Mom was there to explain it. She didn’t know what she’d say.

Rachel took a moment to let the news sink in, perhaps wondering if it was all a dream and she had never really woken up. “Gwen? Missing? She wouldn’t run away…”

Justine offered a solemn nod of her head. “Yeah, which is why we’re all worried. But like Mom said, hopefully she’ll turn up OK. I’m going down for a few days to help hand out fliers.”

Rachel pulled out a chair and stared at the piles of food, having lost any appetite. “She’s missing?” she repeated to herself. “How worried are you?” she turned and asked Justine.

Justine winced at the question. “Really worried,” she said after searching a while for an answer.

“But it’s too early to be leaping to conclusions,” her Mom said, leaning in to give Rachel a hug. “I’m sure Gwen will turn up.”

Her little sister made a big show of trying to avoid the hug, complete with a roll of the eyes for good measure. Justine remembered being thirteen, it wasn’t that long ago.

Rachel glanced over. “Gwen has to know you’ll be looking for her. I bet that makes her feel better.” Justine didn’t know quite what to say, but she was pretty sure at that moment that she had the best little sister ever. She shrugged her shoulders and looked down at her breakfast. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Think you might run into Dad while you’re down there?” Rachel asked after a pause, realizing that if Justine was headed down to Avalon that she’d be close to their father’s place.

“Wasn’t planning to,” Justine said. “With everything going on, it’s not really a good time.” Not that she’d want to anyways.

“Well, if you do, tell him I say ‘hi,’” Rachel said, ever the optimist. Her little sister didn’t hold grudges quite the same way Justine did. At the moment though, that was the farthest thing from Justine’s mind. She had to figure out what had happened to her friend.

Knights of Avalon: Chapter 3

She didn’t think it was possible, but somehow, with the curtains drawn and the phone by her side, Justine was able to stretch out on her bed and squeeze in a few hours of sleep. Not that it helped much. In her dreams she saw Gwen running for her life down a dark corridor. Justine jerked wide awake and glanced over at the clock. It was almost noon. Time to get going.

She threw some clothes into the gym bag she usually took to jujutsu practice and fixed some sandwiches for the road. She left her schoolbooks on her nightstand. It wasn’t even worth it to try. She loaded up her trusty cherry red 1999 Ford Escort and prepared to go. That car was Justine’s baby, her pride and joy. She had seen it parked on the side of the road by the Baskin Robbins one day, lonely and neglected, a hand-written sign in black marker advertising it for $995. No one wanted it, but Justine saw its potential, saw what it could be. She had spent the months leading up to her sixteenth birthday working every conceivable crappy job to save for that car and the repairs it would need. Sure, it had a little rust, a couple of dents here and there, and it reeked of weed, but Justine could fix those things and all it took was a couple of air fresheners to get rid of the smell. Justine knew there were plenty of better cars in Jersey, but the Ford Escort was hers, fully and 100%, and that’s all that mattered.

Before she pulled out of the driveway, Justine took a deep breath and dialed Gwen’s number once more. She knew it was stupid to try, but she couldn’t help herself. The phone went directly to voicemail. It was eerie to hear Gwen, so breezy and cheerful. Justine hung up and closed her eyes, then started the car.

The May weather was gorgeous, the sky a perfect blue. Pink azaleas were in full bloom all along her street. Everything was in place for a spectacular Memorial Day weekend.

It was all an illusion. The world was going wrong. There was war in Central Asia, drought across half the world, monster hurricanes dismantling the Gulf Coast when it wasn’t hurricane season yet. Justine wasn’t even going to get into the rumors of magic. The world was screwed up enough without bringing something that ridiculous into the mix.

Even on her peaceful little street, insulated from the suffering and war, things weren’t right. The Azaleas should’ve bloomed weeks ago, the lilac bush in front of her family’s little Cape Cod had flowered a month early. It was as if the natural world itself was breaking down. Gwen going missing was only the latest proof that something was seriously wrong.

Justine turned down the street, past Gwen’s old house. They had known each other since kindergarten, when Gwen’s family had moved into the little white ranch house on the corner.

Five years old, Justine had found Gwen playing by herself by the creek one day, trying to catch frogs in Justine’s favorite spot. Gwen always played alone, none of the other kids in the neighborhood seemed to know what to do with her. Justine glared at the intruder and told her that if she wanted to hang out in her spot, that she’d have to prove herself by crossing the creek on a rickety old log. Gwen was up for that. She danced across without a moment of hesitation. Then she dared Justine to do the same. Justine fell off into the water, twisting her ankle. Their friendship was instant.

Justine still couldn’t believe her friend had gone missing. Gwen was the most beautiful person Justine had ever met. She was pretty enough, slim, with long black hair, dazzling honey-colored brown eyes, and a sublime grace. That’s not what made her beautiful. She had an inner light, a kindness that shone through. And she put up with Justine, which said a lot.

They spent all of elementary school together, inseparable. Then in the seventh grade, disaster struck, at least it seemed that way to a young Justine. Gwen moved out of the neighborhood and her parents enrolled her in an exclusive private school.

Their friendship held strong, even when last year, Gwen’s mother received a promotion and the family moved once more, two hours south to the seaside town of Avalon. The distance wasn’t an issue. Justine and Gwen e-mailed back and forth, spoke on the phone every other day, and Gwen made a point of cheering Justine on at her cross country meets and jujutsu matches. And now she was gone, and Justine was going to find her.

As she turned onto the parkway, she pondered the unspoken fear that everyone shared. Twelve teens had been murdered in the last eighteen months. In every case, the victim had vanished without a trace, only to be found days later, dumped in a river or in the woods. It’s why Justine had to help now, school be damned.

She hugged the coast as she drove to Stone Harbor. Justine had been there before. She had been up and down the entire south Jersey shore with Gwen since her friend moved there, shopping, exploring, and just generally getting into trouble, which the two of them did exceedingly well. She pulled onto 96th Street, slowing down as she scanned the area, viewing the place in a way she never had before. A darkened alleyway, a homeless person begging for change, everything took on a sinister cast.

One day before the official start of Memorial Day weekend and tourists were already getting an early start. She passed by restaurants, souvenir shops, and little boutiques. The world was falling apart, but people came here to forget their troubles, if only for a little while. With one eye still on the road, Justine turned to her left, to catch a glimpse of the Atlantic Ocean stretching to the horizon. She found a moment of peace there, just watching the waves crash against the shore, rolling down her window to catch the cool ocean breeze.

She finally found a spot to park and walked down the street. Here she was, Gwen’s last known location. Justine didn’t know what she expected, but this wasn’t it. She walked past a fudge shop, then a store that sold seashells and postcards. A sno-cone stand came next. The sun was shining, people walked by in shorts or even just in their bathing suits, smiling and carefree. Had something bad happened to Gwen here? If it had, Justine never would have guessed it.

She scoured the area, asking shop owners and locals if they had seen Gwen last night with no luck, her frustration growing. Of course her mother had let her come down here. Her mother knew her too well, knew she would need a way to satisfy her curiosity. She probably figured there wasn’t much harm in letting Justine wander a sleepy little beach town in the middle of the day.

Justine wasn’t beat yet. She turned her attention to a 24-hour diner just down the street. It would’ve been open when Gwen’s car broke down, maybe someone there had seen something. After all, Gwen’s blue BMW had a way of standing out. It occurred to Justine as she pushed open the diner’s door, a couple of bells helpfully jingling to announce her entrance, that Gwen’s car was almost brand new. It’s possible that it had broken down after only six months on the road, but it still struck Justine as odd.

She was rehearsing in her head the questions she would ask when she glanced up. Change of plans. She walked up to the diner’s counter and nonchalantly ordered a Coke and asked for a menu, pretending to take her time deciding what she wanted. Should she get the BLT or the Turkey Club? It all looked so good. The police were here. They weren’t in uniform, but who else would walk into a beachside diner wearing a suit and tie? The woman of the pair was only a little more casually dressed in dark slacks and a black jacket. Hell, it was the end of May and 85 degrees outside. They had to be cops.

In her shorts and tank top, Justine fit right in with all the other tourists. She stared at the menu as she eavesdropped on the conversation. “I’m Detective Barbara, this is my colleague Angela Faust.” The middle-aged man with the narrow face and graying blonde hair flashed his badge and took out a photo. “We’d like to get the names and phone numbers of your nightshift staff, anyone who would’ve been working yesterday evening between 10:30-11:30pm. We’re investigating the disappearance of this young woman. She went missing last night after her car broke down not far from here.” Justine took a peek at the photo. It was Gwen, dressed in a white doctor’s coat from the time she volunteered at the local clinic. The photo was recent, from last month. They must have gotten it from Gwen’s parents.

Recognition lit up the manager’s eyes. “You’re not the first person to ask about her. Her boyfriend, I think it was her boyfriend, was in here earlier. I haven’t seen her. I would’ve remembered a pretty girl like that. Then again, I work the afternoon shift. I’ll give you a list of all the employees who were working that night. And if you like, you can talk to Frank over there. He’s a regular. Chances are he was here around that time.”

It seemed you couldn’t have a respectable 24-hour diner without a regular like Frank to grace your establishment. The guy was in his sixties or seventies, with a gray beard, wearing shorts, flip-flops, and a loud Hawaiian shirt. He looked as if he had packed for Honolulu and somehow ended up in Jersey.

Frank walked over, shaking both the detectives’ hands and slapping Det. Barbara on the back, much to his dismay. Frank held the photo in his hands, looking it over. “Never seen her. I was here last night though. Didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. I hope she turns up. Seems such a pity.”

“Can you tell me what time you came to the diner last night?” Det. Barbara asked. Though he was so far doing all the talking, Justine had a feeling it was the woman who was really in charge. Justine couldn’t take her eyes off of her. By the gray in her hair, Justine guessed she was about the same age as the other detective. She was strikingly tall, though not quite as tall as Justine, with mahogany skin and countless long braids captured into a pony tail in the back. She moved with an air of authority and every once in a while Justine noticed Det. Barbara sneaking a glance over to her, as if seeking her approval.

Frank shrugged his shoulders. “I stopped by around 10:30pm, the way I usually do.”

“And when did you leave?"

Frank opened his mouth to answer and suddenly frowned. “I don’t really remember, but I don’t think I stayed too long. I was having some coffee and pie, then I guess I headed home.”

“You don’t remember leaving the diner last night?” Det. Barbara pressed further.

Frank considered it some more. “Not really, but I got home, so I must’ve left at some point. It’s such a part of my daily routine, I don’t give much thought to it anymore, you know?”

“Did you use a credit card to pay for your meal?”

Frank cocked his head to one side, not really understanding what the detective was getting at. Justine took a sip of her Coke and wondered as well. “I must have. That’s what I always use to pay. Why do you ask?”

Det. Barbara turned to the manager. “Can you go into your system and pull up his payment from last night? I want to see what time he paid for his meal.”

“Know what you’re getting?” the lady behind the counter asked, hands on her hips, surly and world-weary the way any good waitress should be.

“I’ll take the BLT and fries,” Justine said, tearing her gaze away from the cops for a moment. “And can you make that to go?” She watched out of the corner of her eye as the manager checked the computer with a scowl. “That’s odd. I can’t find his check. Between 10:40pm and 11:32pm, I’m not seeing any activity at all. It can be quiet that time of night, but it’s usually not that quiet. Maybe it’s a computer glitch.”

“So according to that computer, there was absolutely no business in your restaurant during that time period. Even though you supposedly had customers here at the time,” Det. Barbara concluded.

“Which is why it has to be a glitch,” the manager responded.

Det. Faust looked all around. Justine quickly buried her face in the dessert menu. “You don’t have security cameras here, do you?” she wondered.

The manager shook his head. “We don’t need them. Even during the height of the busy season, we don’t have much crime, just some trouble with drunks, things like that.”

There was something odd about Det. Faust, but Justine couldn’t put her finger on it. At least not at first. It was her jewelry. Cops didn’t wear jewelry like she did on the job. Carefully, so as not to be noticed, Justine studied the heavy gold pendant that hung around her neck. The large red stone at its center almost glowed. On her fingers were several ornate rings, some with strange markings on them. Justine wondered why the detective didn’t leave the chunky jewelry at home, what with all the running around and beating up on bad guys she must’ve been doing on a regular basis.

If Det. Faust was disappointed at the way the interview was going, she didn’t show it. Justine couldn’t read her at all. “Thank you for your help,” Det. Barbara said as the manager handed over a list of employees for them to contact. Justine looked towards the kitchen as the detectives started to walk out. The cook was carefully arranging the bacon on her sandwich as if it was a work of art and not Justine’s next meal. “Come on,” she muttered under her breath, slipping off her stool and pulling out her wallet to pay for the food. Slowly, ever so slowly, the cook handed off his masterpiece to the grizzled waitress, who tossed it into a box, shoved it into a bag, and plunked it in front of Justine. She grabbed the sandwich and ran. “Thanks,” Justine called out. “You can keep the change!”

Justine stepped out onto the street, back into the sunshine. The detectives were nowhere to be found. “Shit,” she said, searching the crowd of beach-goers. She walked up and down the sidewalk until she caught sight of the two detectives standing in a parking lot behind the shops. She lingered in front of the sno-cone stand, watching them from a distance.

The two detectives seemed to have friends. They must’ve been cops, it wasn’t law enforcement social hour, but Justine had never seen police work like this. How was anything they were doing related to finding Gwen? There was the dark-haired geek with what appeared to be a Geiger counter pacing back and forth across the pavement, then an older woman in a hippie skirt who walked the perimeter of the lot, putting her hands on every tree she passed. People walked by, hardly paying the cops any notice.

Justine continued to observe from a distance, confused and angry. Why weren’t they looking for witnesses? She told herself to calm down. Whoever these people were, Justine had a feeling they knew what they were doing. There must have been some method to their madness, though it was pretty mad. Justine studied the area, suddenly realizing she wasn’t the only one watching the cops.

In a shadow-filled alleyway, a figure crouched down behind a trash can, observing every move the detectives made. Justine wondered if she had finally found a witness to her friend’s disappearance. Walking at a brisk pace, she circled around the shops, stepping into the alleyway from the other side without a sound. It occurred to Justine a little too late that what she was doing was potentially dangerous. Even black belts weren’t immune to bullets and she didn’t know who, or what, she was confronting.

The figure whirled around, almost sensing her presence. It was a dark-haired girl about her age, perhaps Asian judging by her features, but she moved like a feral animal. Her hair was a tangled mess, her clothing falling to pieces. The way she crouched, Justine couldn’t get a full sense of her size, but she knew she wasn’t big. The girl tensed her muscles, as if preparing to make a break for it. “Wait! I have food!” Justine blurted out, holding up the bag that contained her BLT. It was the first idea that had popped into her head. Hopefully it would work.

The girl stayed where she was, tilting her head to one side. “Let me see,” she said in a raspy voice.

Justine pulled the BLT out of the bag and opened the box. The girl’s eyes widened as she fixated on the food. She was painfully thin, Justine imagined she didn’t get a good meal very often. The girl motioned with her head for Justine to set the box down. Justine did so, slowly backing away. “I’m looking for my friend. Her name’s Gwen. Her car broke down not far from here and no one’s seen her since.”

The girl pounced the moment Justine was far enough away, swiping the box and retreating back to the relative safety of the trash can. She lifted the lid and breathed in deeply, savoring the food instead of devouring it. She picked up a French fry and took a bite. “No ketchup?” she asked, finally remembering that Justine was there, her voice taking on a more normal tone.

“Sorry,” Justine said, trying to get a better view of her in the weak light. The girl had a habit of letting her hair hide her face. “About my friend…”

“The queen?”

“Excuse me?” Justine said, figuring she must have misheard the girl.

“You’re searching for the queen,” the girl stated as she munched away on the French fries.

“I’m looking for my friend,” Justine said once more, trying to hide the irritation in her voice. “Her name’s Gwen Martinez. She’s my age, medium height, about 5’7”, with black hair and brown eyes. Her car…”

The feral girl cut her off, speaking almost matter-of-factly. “You’re looking for the queen. I know they took her. They’re trying to make me care. Problem is, I don’t.” She turned her attention back to the BLT, muttering to herself, “A little too much mayo…”

Justine had the sinking feeling she was talking to a crazy person, but perhaps a crazy person who had seen something. “Who are they? Who took Gwen? Did you see something?”

The girl shook her head. “Wasn’t here when it happened, but I know who they are, I know their methods. It’s not your battle. You think you have a belt that says you can fight?” Justine blinked. What the hell? “Forget the queen, forget this war. Or you’ll die, and I won’t care.”

As Justine tried to make sense of what the girl was saying, she grabbed the box of food and took off. Justine ran down the alleyway after her, turning the corner and coming to a dead end. The girl was gone.