Page 2 of Queen of Madness

I smile, grabbing my father around his neck. The little hairs on his chin scratch my face but I still kiss through them, ignoring the sharp twinge of discomfort. “Alright, Daddy.”

“That’s my girl. Now get some rest, and we’ll see you for breakfast.”

With that, my mother kisses my head and pulls up my blanket, tucking in a fluffy white rabbit next to me. “Good night, sweet girl.”

After they close my door, I reach for the discarded book on my nightstand. It isn’t until the third time I reread the book that I start to think more about the angry queen.

Why is she so mad?

Or maybe I should wonder not why but whathappenedto turn her into the cruel Queen of Hearts that a nap couldn’t fix.

Why can’t I be lying on the beach off the island of Tahiti, drinking myself into a light coma? I want to feel the annoyingly hot sand digging between my toes, the cool breeze circling around me as I sip a Jack and Coke, watching the waves crash onto the shore. I’d like to fall asleep there. Preferably with my eyescompletelyshut and without a care in the world.

But I guess I really pissed someone off in my past life.

Maybe that isn’t the word I’m looking for. Pissed is too merciful of a word for the retribution I’m now paying for those mistakes, and it seems as if the debt will never be paid.

Unless I move my hips an inch forward.

Leaning over, I peer past my dangling boots, down the thirty panes of reflective glass, and at the row of busy people skittering below. All of them are going about their lives completely ignorant to the fact that a man is a sneeze away from ruining their Saturday afternoon.

“Zeke. You know I’m all for living on the edge, but you’re beginning to take it too literally.”

Blowing out a deep sigh, I glance at one of the two reasons I’d never pay my karmic bill before it’s due.

Fiona Kane. One half of my heart. The nineteen-year-old street artist who has a heart bigger than her head and is far too good for this damn city.

Shadows tint the thin flesh under my kid sister’s wide hazel eyes as they scan over my frame, waiting for me to lean back into a safer position. Her dark curls are pulled up in a loose bun, swaying softly with the cool Seattle breeze and I wonder the last time she’s gotten more than a few hours of sleep.

It’s always the ones with the biggest hearts that worry the most.

And above all else, my sister worries. Hell, if she could figure out a way to profit from it, we’d be loaded, and I wouldn’t have to put her in the positions that cause her so much stress.

I grin as I grant her mercy and oblige, shifting my body away from the edge and turning to face her. “What are we doing up here, Fi?”

Her delicate face drops, her telltale sign she got herself into some trouble because of that muscle beating away behind her ribs. It reminds me of the time she managed to sweet-talk me into causing a distraction after a Petco worker bagged her up some saltwater fish and she ran out of the store, delivering them to the nearest port. She dropped them in and waved goodbye, the biggest fucking smile on her face.

Then there was the one time I found her digging in the school’s dumpsters after hours, and I had to talk the custodian out of turning her in. Turns out she was getting scraps to feed some puppies that stayed in the alley behind our house every night. I mean, the list goes on with this girl.

Like I said, too good.

“I really messed up, Zeke.” Fiona captures my attention as she tries to run a delicate hand through her hair until she realizes it’s tied up and sighs, dropping it into her lap.

“Yeah, I figured as much. Tell me and I’ll fix it.”

It’s a recurring thing between us—me cleaning up any trouble she might cause. It’s always worth the hassle, though. Almost as if I’m paying a little interest on what I owe to the universe.

She wrings her hands together, her knuckles changing between white and red with her fluctuating force. “Do you remember last week when we went for ice cream? Then you left to grab something from the corner store?”

I nod.

“There... there was this sketchy van at the stop sign.”

I remember the creepy van parked a few yards up. It was a Tuesday, and the street was pretty empty considering the time. I’d left her for two minutes so I could grab a bottle of Tylenol for our mom.

What trouble could she have gotten into in two minutes?

“I walked by the van, kinda running an inside joke in my head that it was a kidnapper’s. But then—” Her voice cracks and tears spring to her eyes, but when I reach out for her, she shakes her head almost too fast.

---