At a click, the young man froze, expecting Legion to usher him to his throne room in glory. Unsinged on blacktop and still staring at the pointy coronet atop Rischstar Enterprises, Inc., he sighed in relief and inched the door closed on the Lamborghini Gallardo Spyder he’d keylessly borrowed. He tilted his watch to catch moonlight. 2:34. Way early. Hmm. Some of them are too. Sporting confidence and Armani, he glided toward the tower, cradling his gift like a football.

Meetings here in the dead of night, though seemingly shady, merely assured a good time and potential cash. Hungry for both, he joined others to bet on and manipulate pitiful souls, changing destiny. Stakes ran high due to his exorbitant wagers. Hundreds of thousands of dollars fluttered from his hands only to return with gain. Rules didn’t exist, making any move fair.

He’d just smashed his most comprehensive challenge yet. His Queen selection at the onset had drawn accolades with a champagne toast and a shower of delicacies, bubbles and streamers. Tonight, they'll fall at my feet. Can’t wait to see their faces. The astonishment, the awe, the fear. His future gleamed, especially with the near-$5,000,000 coming to him. But, he knew how they operated, was alert to their propensity for screwing others. He’d brought a security measure in case that happened. He kind of hoped it would. He itched to push the detonator.

Six weeks earlier

Black spikes captured Majesty's gaze and made her heart scuttle. Even the exploding fanfare and teddy bears flying from the stands in honor of Mikey's three-run, walk-off homer couldn't break her deadlock on Warren Niles. The oddity of him being here, glaring from behind the fence near third like he wished calamity on them all, kept her transfixed. As though nature had caught wind of Warren's virulence too, shifting clouds wiped sunlight off her arms and buried the surrounding frenzy in shadow.

Being team manager, any victory awarded the seventeen-year-old a detour from anguish to delight, but this was a regional semi-final, a vital win. Her beloved Colts now stood a step closer to defending their title, so why couldn't she tear her eyes off some gothic freak or cease her chills when she wanted to be celebrating?

Players sprang her out of the dugout into a hopping huddle, pulling her out of her freeze. The scent of earth mixed with cologne-laced sweat, which to her rang of glorious triumph. Majesty laughed and shouted cheers with her guys, but hypnotic allure still tugged at her. She'd never seen Warren at any sporting event before. When she looked back to the fence, the prince of darkness with his crown of gelled daggers was gone.

Skimming the grounds, she smirked when she spotted Detective Jennings on one of the crowded hills, dressed down in an Oxford shirt and jeans. Yes. Exactly the person I hoped to see. It didn't matter that he was off the clock. She'd get him to listen this time. She patted some backs, excused herself and jogged over. "Detective!"

With his head tipped back and a Coke can at his lips, he started then coughed as he lowered both. "Back again? Can’t get rid of ya. At least you’re my favorite pest…sometimes." He continued coughing.

Majesty blinked at the sunrays piercing the shade. “Hey. I've earned that favorite-pest tiara with blood, sweat and tears, and I'll swiftly squash any rival to my status...Sorry ’bout making you hack up a lung like that, but I had to talk to you."

“Of course, you had to. When aren't you compelled?" Jennings set his can in the grass and rolled up his sleeves, as if prepping to chuck her off the grounds. "Should tie bells to your shoes though, to avoid assault charges.”

“Oh, and ruin the element of surprise? Never. I’ll take the jail time.”

“Cute. Great game."

"I know. We're almost there. I'm sooooo psyched."

"Good. Maybe with something else distracting ya, you'll get outta my hair. Come on. It’s my day off, princess. Make an appointment with Hazel like a normal civilian.” He squatted and snatched up his soda can, dribbling some on this wrist. He sucked off the amber streak.

“No way. I can’t wait until Christmas. There’s--”

“What's it this time, little girl? A light was on that should've been off? Ghostly whispers? Still think you're being followed?”

“No. It's a new thing. Why don't you ever take me seriously? Aren't cops supposed to serve and protect, solve crimes and stuff?" When his lazy eye drifted to its corner, she didn't know which one to focus on.

"You keep going on and on about this, and every other little conspiracy, but there's no indication of any foul play. It was an accident. Plain and simple."

"Yeah, but if you would just listen."

"Ms. Alistair." He always called her that when the conversation was over.

She clutched his arm for a moment. "Wait. Now I've been seeing this car on my street."

"A car?" he chuckled.

"Yes. With someone...sitting in it, doing like, nothing. I find it peculiar and kinda freaky. Are cops on a stakeout? If not, don't you think it's worth sending a patrol car to sweep the neighborhood and deter a possible crime in the works?"

"To sweep? Funny. We can't go jumpin' at every bump in the night. You know how many old bats call up asking for the same thing? There's no way I'm wasting manpower on what's likely some prayer nut from Shenoah."

"Humor me. It's been there the past two nights. The other day too. Saturday maybe. It could be nothing, but I have a bad feeling about it."

"You always have bad feelings. That's your problem. Are you seeing a counselor like I suggested?"

"No! I don't need counseling." She clenched her fists at his crooked gaze of pity.

"It's normal for people, who've experienced loss like that, to need it. Nothing to be ash--"

"Well I don't! Can you just have someone eye the area? Once in a while? That's all I ask."

"Don't know. Seem to be doing a good job of it, Nancy Drew. Hey. Maybe this was the culprit who took your '07 World Series cap. I'll get right on it."

"Huuuhhh. Turned out my little sister had taken that, but other things are still missing or--"

"Bingo. Wanna press charges?"

"No. I'm being serious here."

"What's this car look like?"

"Um. American. Buick or something. It's maroon. What's the hassle in doin' a drive-by?"

"I'll see what I can do, but promise me you're gonna back off and stop pestering me and my guys. Gut nudges and boogiemen mean nothing to us. Need tangibles. And don’t bug me on my day off again." After downing the rest of Coke, he crushed his can then turned to join his wife. He whispered in her ear, and they walked away hand-in-hand.

Tangibles. "Yeah. Whatever." By that time, it could be too late. Somethin's goin' on. I know it. Grumbling and not paying attention, she spun right into someone. She shivered when she stepped back. Oh gothic lord! Still stewing, she snapped, "What do you want?" Unable to recall speaking to him before now, she wished to retract her terse words.

Warren's brow creased, but that death glare never filled his eyes; they instead crooned notes of misery. "Good game. Gonna celebrate? Your victory annihilation is about to commence."

Laboring with enough of her own woe, she smothered a spark of kinship before it flourished. "Yeah. Thanks." He strode away before she could say anything closer to kind. So weird. She proceeded back to her conquering Colts for supreme liquid war. From the trunk of weaponry remnants, she selected the best looking gun, though cracked and paltry. Oh well. I never lose. She tested the ammo, squirting her hand, gawking at the splotch that so exactly resembled blood.

♦ ♦ ♦

Warren squinted while watching the Colts blaspheme death. This long-standing tradition of warped hide-and-seek following wins befuddled him. Carnage marred the woods on school grounds. He burned with curiosity to know what they'd do if real guns aligned with their chests, heads and dicks. No water, no florescent paint or goat's blood. Just hot bullets, tearing flesh and bone asunder. Whimper and beg for mercy? Bastards! In his fantasies they always did.

Derek McCarthy, the assassin, had located and snuffed out all but Majesty. If it weren't for the time-keeper shooting Derek in the back with a Nerf slug to end the game, Majesty, being trapped in his line of fire, never could've avoided a fatal blow, even with a weapon in hand. Derek's skill seemed almost unearthly. After the players and coaches resurrected and dusted off, they clustered together and yakked about his display.

Warren abhorred sports, more so because athletes secreted malice, minus a few, and the vindictiveness they launched at him burned like acidic spit. No one, not even his dorky sidekick, Jase, appreciated his brilliance and talent. Little did it matter. Soon, he'd amass the respect he deserved...from everyone. People would regret their misdeeds.

He just needed to settle Jase's apprehension about committing a criminal act. Entrusting his plan to such a jittery dolt held the possibility of ruin, but no one else could help. Warren left the schoolyard to meet with him to solidify details.

Finished with player updates, an article for the team website and most deliciously, the call, Majesty laughed, returning her office phone to its cradle. Getting to gloat to the Wasps' athletic director about today's victory thrilled as a definite managerial perk. The Colts and Wasps usually went head to head in the regional finals, but the Dragons just scorched the Wasps: 12-5.

After twisting her dark hair and tucking it under her cap, she snatched flavored water from her mini-fridge before exiting the building. She took off running unhurried, but if she wanted to spurt, her little stature at 5'3" didn't hinder speed. She was conditioned for racing and accustomed to using wide strides to keep up with her pack.

She crossed the field, darted down the driveway then turned left toward the business district. Small American flags and seasonal banners, suspended for the St. Patty's Day Parade, still garnished utility poles. The trimmings always remained until the day after the Independence Day fireworks, which was not necessarily on the 4th...or even in July. Several store fronts, a second-run cinema, St. Mark's Episcopal, one restaurant, one gas station and Spanky's designated the town center of Cedar Creek.

Spanky's, a mini-golf/ice cream shop gone wild, thrived as the only place in town, or the region really, to save the young from utter boredom. With little competition, the owners had jam-packed it with activities like rinks, courts, go-carts and an alcohol-free dance club, to name a few.

The aroma of burgers and bacon from Yesterday's incited hunger pangs. She passed the buzz at Spanky's and the lions guarding Markie's cathedral then sprinted into the common, a fancy name for an ill-equipped park. A forest path on the edge of the common led to a street parallel with hers. Although woods laced through the town, this particular strip aroused whispers. Three kids, who held hands and moved in a circle singing Ring around the Rosie, stopped frolicking and gawked.

One cried, "She's goin' in. She must not be ascared of the spooks."

Traversing from grass to dirt, Majesty chuckled that kids still gave credence to the tale her friend, Alec, had spun eons ago about the spooks, these wood-dwelling people-turned-creatures. "They grow more fierce and evil each day, while waiting for their kings to come and lead them to overtake the region, then the country and eventually the world." Six years ago, a girl disappeared. Theories abounded, but most of the children believed, "The spooks got her."

She jogged along the well-worn trail. Crows cawed, communicating eerie discourse across vastness. The low-pitched sun spilled beams of light through the evergreen towers, creating monstrous shadows deeper in the thick.

Near the tripod, a spot where three towns converged, a coven supposedly danced nude and ghost hunters staked camp, she slowed to a stroll. Birds departed the treetops in a whoosh of flapping wings, but one crow stayed and continued to squawk and annoy. Trash muddled the floor like bits of paper, some trampled Coors cans and a decapitated doll. Disrespect for the sanctuary made her huff in disgust. She unscrewed the bottle cap and gulped her drink, enjoying its grape hint. Upon hearing stifled male voices, she froze with a bead of water dripping down from her mouth. Not all their words came out clear, but what she did gather sent tremors through her core.

"So, everything is--"

"Yep. Got the guns, supplies. It's a go."

"Hope...doesn't blow up in our faces. I've never done...this horrendous."

"Thought we were gonna kill one."

"No. This is better. Don't worry. We've got the best technology...res... What can go wrong?"

Majesty scanned the area. There...little over ten yards.

"But those people won't know what hit 'em."

People?...Can't see anything. Crap. Her neck tingled, ambushed by imaginary ants, and her legs wobbled with each step toward a concealing tree. She braced herself on the massive trunk and peered around it. Due to camouflage and scarves, she couldn't surmise their frames or features. She cursed under her breath.

"That's the beauty...They'll soon know how dead and buried their Jesus is when...nothing to help...start shooting up the church. Just haven't decided how many I wanna off yet. Needs to be spectacular...national coverage. We'll talk later...snatch our gear, do this lame paintball thing...get back to our real shit."

They started walking toward the town of Megan's Corner. Wait! Majesty leaned forward and shifted her weight. If I could just...A stick snapped under her foot. The bossy one stopped and whacked the arm of the other. She cringed and jerked back. No, no. Please don't see me.

"Shh...Hear somethin'?"

"Animal?"

"No. Think someone's here."

Majesty stood unmoving, not even taking a breath. Leaves and twigs crackled. The unnerving noise drew closer. Unable to bear the tension any longer, she took off. Her fright mushroomed as she dashed in the direction of her home. Water sloshed on her leg so she chucked the bottle and its cap into reaching shrubs. Rustling and huffing nipped at her heels with a current of muddled threats, but agility and swiftness aided her evasion, as well as knowing the woods, not well, but well enough.

She bolted through the clearing, hurdled an obstructing tree limb, rounded a bend and deserted the path. Pressing through brushwood as fast as she could, a hollow to the left caught her attention. She jumped into a sea of dead foliage with too much crunch, slid under a bush then clammed her mouth with her hands to prevent gasping. Clomping and scuffling scraped in the distance but edged nearer. She swallowed to rid the tightness crawling up her throat.

"Some girl. See anything?"

"No."

Majesty strained to catch some distinction in their muffled voices, but a nearby stream hazed them even more. A spider tickled her arm. She jerked then swept it off with her hand, lifting betraying whispers into the air. Her heartbeat pounded in her head. She hoped they didn't hear and tried to filter her gaze through the branches and needles.

Following a string of profanity, one said, "She's gone."

Majesty sighed in relief. The watery white noise had proven to be a godsend for her misstep and her ravenous stomach, now crying out for food. A kick sprayed dirt and pebbles her way, sailing a fleck of something into her eye. Wincing, she closed it and pressed her fingertips against her lid.

"Hair was hidden but she had a Colts shirt on."

"Good! She's one of our own. Should...find her."

Majesty couldn't wait. Her eye killed. She blinked and worked the foreign body out with her knuckle.

"But what if she--"

"So. No one can stop us, especially some girl. We're in control. We can tweak. Plus, I'll find her first...eradicate her."

Crinkly footsteps walked away, dissipating into silence. Majesty quivered when she finally allowed her lungs to yank air. She'd never been so petrified in all her life, except for the time when men in blue had come to her door...and she just knew.