RunAWay Love © 2009
by Cat Meyers
Successful business excutive Cassandra Adams was 35 years old when she ran away from home.
She didn't plan to run away. It started out as little get-away. A spur of the moment trip with a blast from her past. Just for a fun. What you should know about Cassandra is that she doesn't do "spur of the moment" and she definitely doesn't do fun--well, at least she hasn't for a very long time. Even Cassandra had to admit that this impulsive trip was out of character for her. Yet the longer she stays away, the more she realizes she has missing out on so much. Hiding behind her fortress of long hours, schedules and rules, shielded her from joy and fulfillment and...love. Ah, sweet love! It was love that finally lured out from behind her fortress. Will love drive her back into hiding?
She didn't plan to run away. It started out as little get-away. A spur of the moment trip with a blast from her past. Just for a fun. What you should know about Cassandra is that she doesn't do "spur of the moment" and she definitely doesn't do fun--well, at least she hasn't for a very long time. Even Cassandra had to admit that this impulsive trip was out of character for her. Yet the longer she stays away, the more she realizes she has missing out on so much. Hiding behind her fortress of long hours, schedules and rules, shielded her from joy and fulfillment and...love. Ah, sweet love! It was love that finally lured out from behind her fortress. Will love drive her back into hiding?
Sample Chapter
Prologue
The thunderous pounding she heard must have been the door. It certainly wasn’t her heart –surely that had died three days ago. And it couldn’t have been the throbbing temples from her massive hang over. She didn’t even have a hang over. She was numb enough as it was. Alcohol would have only made her nauseous. What was that pounding? Make it stop. Please, God make it stop! All she wanted to do was sleep. Keep her eyes closed and disappear. Fade away. But the pounding was making that impossible. It was a blatant reminder that she could hear, that she could feel and was, therefore, still alive. She didn’t know what that pounding was, but she did know that voice: “Enough is enough, Cassandra Adams. Now open this door or I’m calling the police!”
“Okay. Okay.” Cassie heard her mouth say. She didn’t even recognize the sound of her own voice. Possibly because her throat was so dry from all of the wailing and moaning she had done over the past few days. Possibly because all of her hopes and dreams had been sucked out of her. Possibly because her face was still buried in the sofa. Cassie peeled her face from the beige leather cushion and sat up. The clock read 2:12 in the afternoon, but the gloom of the room made it seem like midnight, curtains pulled tight blocking out any trace of sunlight and cheer.
“I mean it, Cassandra. I’ve got my phone out. I will dial 911.”
“I’m coming!” Cassie whined, like a twelve year old being dragged off to church.
With each step she retraced the tracks of her tears that led her to the couch that day. Bare feet stepping gingerly on ivory colored invitations with ornate silver script. Bare feet striding over the white cardboard box strewn on the floor, which once held her veil. Bare feet stopping at the door where a two carat ring lay discarded, no longer the source of envy but of humiliation. Cassie took in a deep breath, braced herself and opened the door. The look on her mother’s face said it all: My daughter, the walking zombie.
Cassie didn’t say a word. She turned and trudged back to the comfort and security of her sofa. Darlene followed with quiet footsteps. As she walked, she studied her little girl. She almost looked like a little girl—a pathetic little girl—but a girl none the less. Frazzled hair, barely held together in a ponytail. Baggy, University of Pennsylvania gym shorts drooping off of her backside, and a tiny a white tank hanging off of one shoulder.
Cassie wrapped herself in her comforter and plopped back on to the couch. Darlene cleared off a space on the loveseat. When she sat, she crossed her legs and leaned her body away from Cassie, as if she was infected with an incurable disease --bad relationship-itus. Well, f I am infected, I got it from you. Cassie thought.
“So, how are you?” Darlene asked, cheerfully, after a moment of silence.
Cassie shrugged, then fumbled with her French manicured finger tips.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do?”
Cassie rolled her eyes and said smugly, “Oh, I don’t know. I was thinking about going over to the salon and getting a mani-pedi.”
Darlene’s face instantly became flushed. “Don’t sass me, young lady. This is not my fault.”
It absolutely was her fault, Cassie thought. Darlene was the one had who filled her head with all that junk. Made her believe in lies. Read bedtime stories to her, since before Cassie could speak. Stories of handsome princes, riding in on pretty white horses, to carry fair maidens off to their happily-ever-afters. Darlene was directly responsible for feeding Cassie a steady diet of the “Find your Mr. Right and all your problems will be solved” doctrine. Sure it was irrational thinking, but Cassie wasn’t interesting in being rational at the moment. But beyond that, she wasn’t interested in anymore drama either. She didn’t want to pick a fight with her mother. She would listen to Darlene, let her pretend to be the devoted mother for a couple of hours and then sink back into the beautiful misery she had found nestled deep with in the cushions of that old leather couch.
“No. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do, yet.”
“It’s okay. No rush. It’s just, the caterer called and wanted to--”
“Mom. Please. Not now.
Darlene raised her hands in the air in surrender. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to push,” she said in her high-pitched “I’m not trying to be a bother” voice. She folded her hands and sat quietly, not sure of what to say now. Darlene looked around the room and resisted the urge to clean it. The place looked like a tornado had just blown through. A large white sack lay at the base of the sofa. She looked closer. That was no sack.
“Is that your…” Darlene gasped then scooped up the designer wedding gown and cradled it in her arms like a wounded soldier. The dress they had hired some big name designer from Los Angeles to create. The dress they had both wept over when they first saw Cassie wearing it. “This is a $20,000 dress. You can’t just throw it on the floor like an old sweat sock.”
“It’s not like I’ll be needing it.”
Darlene lowered herself back into the seat and said grimly, “So you have made your decision.”
“What choice do I have?”
“He’s not the first man to cheat, Cassandra.” Darlene pulled the bulk of the gown on to her lap and began smoothing out its silk bodice. “I mean, if we all threw away a man because he was unfaithful, the world would be filled with a lot of lonely ladies.”
“True. Or maybe the world would finally be filled with men who learned to treat women with respect.” Cassie shot back.
“So, no room forgiveness? No allowances for mistakes in your perfect little world?”
“I’d hardly call lying to me, so he could spend all weekend in the bed with the Double Mint Twins, a mistake. It all seemed pretty deliberate in my book.”
That made Darlene pause. “He didn’t tell me they were twins,” she said, and stared off for a second as if visualizing the whole scene, then quickly shrugged it off. “Regardless, Scott is handsome, successful, well respected at his firm—prime husband material! You want to throw all that away because he has one tiny flaw? That’s like refusing to buy a Rolls Royce because it has one tiny smudge in the interior.”
Cassie threw back her comforter in a huff. “Excuse me, but if I’m shelling out all that money for a Rolls, there better not be any smudges on the interior! I think I’m entitled to at least that much.”
Darlene’s eyes narrowed on her daughter. She folded her arms, causing her bracelets to clink and clank against each other. “All right, Miss Holier Than Thou,” she said. “So what are you going to do now?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? The thing Cassie had been wrestling with on the couch for the past three days. For two years her future had been set. Her future was Scott. Two weeks from Saturday they would’ve been married. Three weeks in the Greek Isles for their honeymoon then back home to their happily little life as husband and wife. Cassie would putz around in her dad’s company for a couple of years until she was ready to have a baby, then quit. She would spend the next couple of decades being a loving mother: Mommy and Me, den mother, PTA, football boosters, prom chaperone. Her life would be devoted to caring for husband and their three children (two boys and a girl). And if she ever got bored, she could always go back and work part-time in daddy’s company. But honestly, how could she ever be bored with a life like that? Then when the nest was empty, she would take up photography, travel the world with Scott and spoil her grandchildren rotten.
Three days ago, her life was set. Then she got the bright idea to make a surprise visit to her fiancé’s house. Ha! She was the one who left surprised. She was the one whose jaw dropped. She was whose head was spinning try to figure out which direction her life would now take.
Now standing in the shower—forced to take a shower by her mother—Cassie let the warm water permeate her brain, flushing out all memories of Scott. She could hear Darlene in the living room, ripping open the curtains. Cassie imagined the blinding white light of sunshine flooding the room. By the time Darlene finished, the room would be sparkling clean and lovely and beautiful, as if no darkness ever dared invade that space. Good riddance.
Meanwhile, Cassie shampooed, shaved and sugar scrubbed until her body tingled. Tingles of possibility. It dawned on her: The end of Scott meant the beginning of Cassandra. When she really, really, really thought about it, she did have something to be excited about. She had a chance to remake herself. Looking at the face staring back at her through the steamy bathroom mirror, she did not like what she saw. Everything about her, even down to her wet blond lochs, screamed Scott (she was naturally a brunette, but Scott loved blondes, so she dyed it). Ridiculous. She might as well have had “Scott’s Girl” tattooed on her forehead. Never again would she allow a man to exert that much influence in her life. She would be her own person. Chart her own destiny. And if a man wanted to tag along for the ride, he would have to be the one to dye his hair blonde –or something like that. Bottom line, no more fairy tales. She would write her own happy ending.
A knock at the door. Before Cassie could answer, Darlene stuck her head inside and, in hushed tone, announced, “Um…Honey? Scott’s at the door.”
Damn!
The thunderous pounding she heard must have been the door. It certainly wasn’t her heart –surely that had died three days ago. And it couldn’t have been the throbbing temples from her massive hang over. She didn’t even have a hang over. She was numb enough as it was. Alcohol would have only made her nauseous. What was that pounding? Make it stop. Please, God make it stop! All she wanted to do was sleep. Keep her eyes closed and disappear. Fade away. But the pounding was making that impossible. It was a blatant reminder that she could hear, that she could feel and was, therefore, still alive. She didn’t know what that pounding was, but she did know that voice: “Enough is enough, Cassandra Adams. Now open this door or I’m calling the police!”
“Okay. Okay.” Cassie heard her mouth say. She didn’t even recognize the sound of her own voice. Possibly because her throat was so dry from all of the wailing and moaning she had done over the past few days. Possibly because all of her hopes and dreams had been sucked out of her. Possibly because her face was still buried in the sofa. Cassie peeled her face from the beige leather cushion and sat up. The clock read 2:12 in the afternoon, but the gloom of the room made it seem like midnight, curtains pulled tight blocking out any trace of sunlight and cheer.
“I mean it, Cassandra. I’ve got my phone out. I will dial 911.”
“I’m coming!” Cassie whined, like a twelve year old being dragged off to church.
With each step she retraced the tracks of her tears that led her to the couch that day. Bare feet stepping gingerly on ivory colored invitations with ornate silver script. Bare feet striding over the white cardboard box strewn on the floor, which once held her veil. Bare feet stopping at the door where a two carat ring lay discarded, no longer the source of envy but of humiliation. Cassie took in a deep breath, braced herself and opened the door. The look on her mother’s face said it all: My daughter, the walking zombie.
Cassie didn’t say a word. She turned and trudged back to the comfort and security of her sofa. Darlene followed with quiet footsteps. As she walked, she studied her little girl. She almost looked like a little girl—a pathetic little girl—but a girl none the less. Frazzled hair, barely held together in a ponytail. Baggy, University of Pennsylvania gym shorts drooping off of her backside, and a tiny a white tank hanging off of one shoulder.
Cassie wrapped herself in her comforter and plopped back on to the couch. Darlene cleared off a space on the loveseat. When she sat, she crossed her legs and leaned her body away from Cassie, as if she was infected with an incurable disease --bad relationship-itus. Well, f I am infected, I got it from you. Cassie thought.
“So, how are you?” Darlene asked, cheerfully, after a moment of silence.
Cassie shrugged, then fumbled with her French manicured finger tips.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do?”
Cassie rolled her eyes and said smugly, “Oh, I don’t know. I was thinking about going over to the salon and getting a mani-pedi.”
Darlene’s face instantly became flushed. “Don’t sass me, young lady. This is not my fault.”
It absolutely was her fault, Cassie thought. Darlene was the one had who filled her head with all that junk. Made her believe in lies. Read bedtime stories to her, since before Cassie could speak. Stories of handsome princes, riding in on pretty white horses, to carry fair maidens off to their happily-ever-afters. Darlene was directly responsible for feeding Cassie a steady diet of the “Find your Mr. Right and all your problems will be solved” doctrine. Sure it was irrational thinking, but Cassie wasn’t interesting in being rational at the moment. But beyond that, she wasn’t interested in anymore drama either. She didn’t want to pick a fight with her mother. She would listen to Darlene, let her pretend to be the devoted mother for a couple of hours and then sink back into the beautiful misery she had found nestled deep with in the cushions of that old leather couch.
“No. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do, yet.”
“It’s okay. No rush. It’s just, the caterer called and wanted to--”
“Mom. Please. Not now.
Darlene raised her hands in the air in surrender. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to push,” she said in her high-pitched “I’m not trying to be a bother” voice. She folded her hands and sat quietly, not sure of what to say now. Darlene looked around the room and resisted the urge to clean it. The place looked like a tornado had just blown through. A large white sack lay at the base of the sofa. She looked closer. That was no sack.
“Is that your…” Darlene gasped then scooped up the designer wedding gown and cradled it in her arms like a wounded soldier. The dress they had hired some big name designer from Los Angeles to create. The dress they had both wept over when they first saw Cassie wearing it. “This is a $20,000 dress. You can’t just throw it on the floor like an old sweat sock.”
“It’s not like I’ll be needing it.”
Darlene lowered herself back into the seat and said grimly, “So you have made your decision.”
“What choice do I have?”
“He’s not the first man to cheat, Cassandra.” Darlene pulled the bulk of the gown on to her lap and began smoothing out its silk bodice. “I mean, if we all threw away a man because he was unfaithful, the world would be filled with a lot of lonely ladies.”
“True. Or maybe the world would finally be filled with men who learned to treat women with respect.” Cassie shot back.
“So, no room forgiveness? No allowances for mistakes in your perfect little world?”
“I’d hardly call lying to me, so he could spend all weekend in the bed with the Double Mint Twins, a mistake. It all seemed pretty deliberate in my book.”
That made Darlene pause. “He didn’t tell me they were twins,” she said, and stared off for a second as if visualizing the whole scene, then quickly shrugged it off. “Regardless, Scott is handsome, successful, well respected at his firm—prime husband material! You want to throw all that away because he has one tiny flaw? That’s like refusing to buy a Rolls Royce because it has one tiny smudge in the interior.”
Cassie threw back her comforter in a huff. “Excuse me, but if I’m shelling out all that money for a Rolls, there better not be any smudges on the interior! I think I’m entitled to at least that much.”
Darlene’s eyes narrowed on her daughter. She folded her arms, causing her bracelets to clink and clank against each other. “All right, Miss Holier Than Thou,” she said. “So what are you going to do now?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? The thing Cassie had been wrestling with on the couch for the past three days. For two years her future had been set. Her future was Scott. Two weeks from Saturday they would’ve been married. Three weeks in the Greek Isles for their honeymoon then back home to their happily little life as husband and wife. Cassie would putz around in her dad’s company for a couple of years until she was ready to have a baby, then quit. She would spend the next couple of decades being a loving mother: Mommy and Me, den mother, PTA, football boosters, prom chaperone. Her life would be devoted to caring for husband and their three children (two boys and a girl). And if she ever got bored, she could always go back and work part-time in daddy’s company. But honestly, how could she ever be bored with a life like that? Then when the nest was empty, she would take up photography, travel the world with Scott and spoil her grandchildren rotten.
Three days ago, her life was set. Then she got the bright idea to make a surprise visit to her fiancé’s house. Ha! She was the one who left surprised. She was the one whose jaw dropped. She was whose head was spinning try to figure out which direction her life would now take.
Now standing in the shower—forced to take a shower by her mother—Cassie let the warm water permeate her brain, flushing out all memories of Scott. She could hear Darlene in the living room, ripping open the curtains. Cassie imagined the blinding white light of sunshine flooding the room. By the time Darlene finished, the room would be sparkling clean and lovely and beautiful, as if no darkness ever dared invade that space. Good riddance.
Meanwhile, Cassie shampooed, shaved and sugar scrubbed until her body tingled. Tingles of possibility. It dawned on her: The end of Scott meant the beginning of Cassandra. When she really, really, really thought about it, she did have something to be excited about. She had a chance to remake herself. Looking at the face staring back at her through the steamy bathroom mirror, she did not like what she saw. Everything about her, even down to her wet blond lochs, screamed Scott (she was naturally a brunette, but Scott loved blondes, so she dyed it). Ridiculous. She might as well have had “Scott’s Girl” tattooed on her forehead. Never again would she allow a man to exert that much influence in her life. She would be her own person. Chart her own destiny. And if a man wanted to tag along for the ride, he would have to be the one to dye his hair blonde –or something like that. Bottom line, no more fairy tales. She would write her own happy ending.
A knock at the door. Before Cassie could answer, Darlene stuck her head inside and, in hushed tone, announced, “Um…Honey? Scott’s at the door.”
Damn!
About Runaway Love
Glam shot!
This was the first novel that I ever wrote; and in many ways it has been my labor of love. It so embodies my own fears and longings about love that I felt it too personal to share (though none of the events in the book reflect anything that ever happened in my life). Yet, I find myself coming back to this book and getting lost in it all over again. Over the years it has grown and evolved, as I have grown and evolved. Last year, I began to think maybe there is someone out there who can relate to Cassandra like I do. Someone who desires love and fears it all at once. If so, this book is for you.
But it does need some polishing. Over the next few months I will be posting other chapters, photos and other inspirations as I work to clean up RunAway Love and make it shine for you. So check back from time to time and see where I am. Feel free to share your thoughts as well on the book as you follow me on this journey. I've set a target date of December 2015 for the release, which is my birth month. What a fitting way to celebrate my birthday, sharing a story that I love so much with the rest of the world. -Cat
But it does need some polishing. Over the next few months I will be posting other chapters, photos and other inspirations as I work to clean up RunAway Love and make it shine for you. So check back from time to time and see where I am. Feel free to share your thoughts as well on the book as you follow me on this journey. I've set a target date of December 2015 for the release, which is my birth month. What a fitting way to celebrate my birthday, sharing a story that I love so much with the rest of the world. -Cat
Book Excerpt:
Chapter 1
A Bad Feeling
A Bad Feeling
All alone in the bowels of the palace, Edgar Laurence had plenty of time to reevaluate his life choices. He did not deserve this. None of this. Ten years ago, he was the trusted personal assistant to the king—King Callum of the House of Beaumont. He did such a stellar job that the king appointed him to be the assistant to his sole living heir, Princess Vega.
“She’s lost her mother,” the king said. “I’m too busy to teach her these things,” he said. “Teach her to be a royal, Edgar. Serve her as faithfully as you did me,” he insisted. And the payment Edgar received for his faithful service? A death sentence. He had served his princess faithfully and was rewarded with a swift ticket to the dungeons. And a date with the firing squad.
Some of his coconspirators—as labeled by the king—had already kissed the gun. Palace guards, Stone and Silver, and interrogators Oaks and the Duchess, whose only crime had been serving the princess and dutifully keeping her secret. Edgar would be joining them soon.
He patiently awaited his turn, even now, as he remembered that faithful night when Princess Vega came to him, tears streaming down her delicate cheeks. “She’s alive, Edgar! What am I going to do?”
“Who’s alive, Princess?”
“My sister. Astrid’s alive, Edgar. What am I going to do?”
“Who’s been telling you these lies, Highness? You know your sister was murdered with your mother.”
“No!” The princess grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “That’s the lie. She was not murdered. I saw her with my own two eyes on that island. She’s one of them.”
“One of who?”
“The Underground. All this time, she’s been living on that…that island of freaks. Mother must have arranged it before she died,” Vega said. “She’s probably up in heaven laughing at me, right now. She always hated me.”
“Your mother loved you, child,” Edgar replied, even more confused by the direction of this conversation.
“Then why is she still punishing me all these years later.” Vega whirled around. “Did I tell you she has a voice now?”
“Who does?”
Vega nearly blew her stack. “Keep up, you idiot!...Astrid! Astrid has her voice.”
“That’s impossible. How could that be?”
“It could be because she’s been living on that island of freaks, with their witchcraft.”
Freaks? Witchcraft? Little girls coming back from the dead? He was afraid some sort of fever had overtaken the princess while she was on that island. But when Vega brought him to that room, that little room on the lower level of the palace, Edgar nearly fainted. There she was. Lying unconscious on that sliver of a mattress. The spitting image of Princess Vega—except this unconscious girl’s hair had not been dyed candy red like Princess Vega.
“Believe me now?”
“Unbelievable!” Edgar replied, in a state of shock. He reached down to touch her, but caught himself, as it was forbidden to touch royalty without permission. “Is she alive?”
“For now. I didn’t know what to do with her. She could ruin me, Edgar?”
He tore his eyes away from the unconscious twin and fixed them on the frantic twin. “How?”
“How?…B-sh-she…because she has a claim to the throne,” Vega sputtered.
“Hardly. She’s deficient.”
“I told you she can speak.”
“But her birth record still says deficient. Once deficient always deficient. Do you seriously think the Citizen’s Council would want a deficient ruling over them? That would be scandalous!”
“I don’t put anything past that council. They’ve never liked me. And what about the Underground?…They’re all sorcerers. They could use their witchcraft to influence the council.”
“Princess, I think you’re being a little—"
“I’m not being dramatic, Edgar.” Why was everyone always accusing her of being dramatic? “I saw it with my own eyes. She had us under her spell. There was a room filled with her friends right before our eyes and we couldn’t see them. Until we shot her with that serum…”
“Serum?”
Vega rambled on. “…And I think she even had Chance under her spell while he was there too.”
“Is the lieutenant all right?”
“He is now. Now that he’s with me. But you see now, Edgar, don’t you? I need your help. Please?”
What else could he do? He helped. With the assistance of his most trusted guards, Silver and Stone and a few others, they hid Princess Astrid—right there in the palace, right under the king’s nose. Edgar knew it was dangerous, but his responsibility was to Princess Vega. And he was hoping to buy some time to come up with a better solution—one that didn’t involve the murder of a royal. At the same time, Vega was not just interested in keeping her sister a secret, but also to get her hands on that magical elixir that had restored Astrid’s voice. Apparently, Princess Vega detested magic, unless it benefitted her. This healing water, Vega hoped, would make her military unstoppable. Chance had told her about it, and she was desperate to find it.
But time ran out. Chance, apparently still under Astrid’s spell, had helped her and her friends escape, somehow the king got wind of it, and now here Edgar sits, biding his final hours in this black hole at the bottom of the palace. He would have it no other way. He had done his job. And if the reward for doing his job well was a death, he would proudly accept his trophy.
“You’d think they’d at least give me a final meal,” he said to no one. His stomach growled so loudly that it echoed through the dark empty chamber.
The growl lasted a little too long. Edgar realized the sound he heard wasn’t his stomach at all. It was the scraping of a heavy metal door.
They were coming for him.
His heart started racing. He wasn’t ready to die. Even at sixty-three, he was too young. He had so much to live for.
Footsteps grew closer, as did the clanking of the keys. There was another loud scraping sound as second heavy door was yanked open. Next came the ultrabright light from a flashlight that flooded the cell.
Edgar cowered in the corner with his eyes shut tight. “Don’t!...Please, don’t kill me,” he whined. “I throw myself on the mercy of the king!...Mercy! Mercy!!!”
“Are you finished?”
He recognized that voice. “Highness?”
“Yes, you whimpering coward, it’s me.”
“How did you…”
“I’ll explain when we get upstairs. It reeks down here.”
That was all Edgar needed to hear. He scrambled out of his cell door on his knees then struggled to get on his feet. His back had stiffened while being stuck in that cold, cramped cell. He rocked side to side, hoping to roll himself onto his feet.
“For the love of God! Here.” Vega reached down and helped hoist him up.
“Thank you, Princess. Thank you, so much. Thank—”
She waved him off. “You can thank me later. We’ve got a coronation to plan,” she said, leading him out of the dungeon. “And a body to dispose of.”
*****
The stench of rotting garbage was the first clue that Astrid was entering Oceali waters. Just three miles off the coast rested the enormous barge that held the bulk of the nation’s refuse. A few minutes later, the cruiser washed up on the southern shore of Oceali. All of the ports were closed due to the king’s memorial. The southern coast was the most remote, only inhabited by a few wealthy families who owned stately homes that dotted along the coast.
Mitsi docked the boat near the home of a family that was very loyal to the Underground. They could be counted on for a closed mouth and an open dock—as well as a storage shed full of food and other supplies. The boat made a dull thud, bobbing against the dock, while Misti tied it to the post. The thud was enough to wake Astrid, but Alfred was still sound asleep.
She didn’t realize how tired she was. Astrid barely slept the night before, waiting for the perfect opportunity to sneak away from the hideout and hijack this boat—hijack Mitsi to hijack this boat. Alfred must not have had any sleep either, because he slept like a rock, even as Astrid lifted him out of the boat and laid him down on the dock.
“Thank you,” was all she could say to Mitsi, because she wasn’t sure what else to say to someone she had just used her power on to coerce into stealing a boat and bringing her and Alfred to Oceali. “Go back now and—” she started to give Mitsi a new command, but Mitsi put up her hand and silenced her.
“For the record, kid, your powers stopped working on me two hours ago.”
“They did? Then why did you…But you brought us here anyway. Why?”
Mitsi smirked, as she made her way to the shed at the other end of the dock, “Let’s just say, it wasn’t just the children who were cheering you on during your little speech, yesterday.”
A fact that Astrid had not been aware of. Her little speech. As Dr. Grace, the interim head of the Underground, laid out the plan for them to abandon the Isle of the Never Mind and search for a new home, that plan didn’t sit well with Astrid.
“Why should we remain in the dark?” she demanded of Dr. Grace. “Why keep running? Aren’t you all tired of hiding? We’ve done nothing wrong. Why should we have to live in fear all the time?”
Dr. Grace wasn’t at all bothered by Astrid’s outburst. She actually seemed to welcome it. Dr. Grace said nonchalantly, “Sounds good. What are you suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting we fight.”
Astrid’s words were met with a raucous cheer by the other kids. She thought it was only kids. But apparently, at least one other adult in the room quietly supported her opinion.
Even if Mitsi and the other children supported Astrid, Dr. Grace shot her down immediately with four words. “Queen’s Order Number One.” Vega’s plan to destroy the Underground after obliterating the Never Mind. They had no choice but to flee their home, even Astrid had to admit that. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t return to Oceali and fight on her own. Which is what she fully intended to do.
She had a plan. Steal a few vials of healing waters. Hi-jack a boat. Hi-jack Mitsi to drive that boat. Sneak into Oceali with her sidekick Alfred—well Alfred wasn’t part of her plan, but he came along anyway, so Astrid incorporated him into the plan.
“So, what’s your plan?” Misti asked. She had retrieved a couple of canisters of fuel from the shed and was now in the middle of refueling the cruiser. “I’m assuming there is an actual plan.”
“Oh, there’s a plan, all right,” Astrid replied, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “But it’s probably best if I don’t tell you…For your protection.”
Mitsi’s eyes lit up. “My protection? But the kid, here, can handle it.” She gestured toward Alfred, who was now awake and highly offended.
“Hey!” he said, mid-yawn.
“Take care of her, little flea…” Mitsi reached down and patted Alfred on the head. “…And yourself.” She popped the top on the empty fuel canister and set it back inside the shed. When Mitsi returned, she announced, “Well, since I’m not needed here, I guess I’ll head back to my post.”
“Thanks again for your help.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Mitsi hopped back into the cruiser.
“Hey! One more thing…” Astrid reached into her knapsack and pulled out Dr. Grace’s fancy tech-watch. “Can you show me which number belongs to Russell Bitters?”
“Where did you get this?”
Astrid grinned at her, proud at how she easily she was able to lift that watch off of Dr. Grace under the pretense of an apologetic hug.
“Forget I asked.” Misti snatched the watch from Astrid’s hand and scrolled through a series of four-digit numbers. “This one. 0415. Everyone picks their own number. I forget what Russ’ number—”
“It’s his son’s birthday.” Russ—Uncle Russ to Astrid—the man who had cared for Astrid after her mother was killed, during the failed escape. He too had lost everything that was dear to him because of the Royal Proclamation—the decree that required all deficient, including Astrid, to be sent to the dreaded facilities at the age of six. As a longtime member of the Underground, Russ was no friend to the royals—except for Astrid. She knew she could count on his help. “Thank you,” she said again to Mitsi, taking the watch back from her.
“Sure thing.” She tugged on the loose wires of the hotwired cruiser and the motor sprang to back to life.
“One more thing,” Astrid said, raising her voice to be heard over the motor.
“Yeah?” Mitsi yelled back.
“Do you have any money?”
