BloodStar

  Montoya / BloodStar 1

  Chapter One

  Marley woke up shipwrecked and sore on her own couch. Last night’s clothes—check. Last night’s mascara—check. And this morning’s pile of rubble where her brain should be? Holy hangover, Batman, what happened? She dredged up a blurry memory of a hostile squadron of sorority sisters coming at her like heat guided missiles, but that was all she could conjure for her good-girl-at-the-party accountability report.

  Then awareness bloomed fast and furious, not unlike the welt on that Platinum-Pollyanna’s Estee Lauder cheek when Marley slapped her upside her hundred-dollar hair-do.

  Oh yeah. Marley knew exactly what happened last night.

  Again.

  She’d let Jenna talk her into another frat party to celebrate Marley’s twenty-third birthday. She just didn’t know how to play nice with those crumpets-and-caviar kids.

  Then again, these days it was hard to find a crew Marley did mix with. And let’s be honest, Jenna didn't have to work that hard to convince her to go out. Marley’s puny stash of alcohol was dwindling, and she’d wanted to let some rich kids host her fun for a night. Marley remembered wrapping herself in a blanket of Southern Comfort immediately upon arrival at the big, colonial style frat house, and proceeding to shit on every promise she’d made over the past month to her new friend.

  And now Jenna was pissed. Like, en fuego pissed.

  Marley was supposed to test-drive pacifism at the party, but what did those bitches think happened when you poked the bear? If they could have shelved the stink-eye for even five minutes, maybe everyone would be waking up all snuggles and morning-breath instead of hangovers (Marley) and black-eyes (Sorority Hag Number One).

  Shit got a bit more real than just political incorrectness when Marley decided to knock back the hard stuff, and Marley always went for the hard stuff.

  What she needed to do was get up and get to groveling.

  But first, some minor house-keeping details. Marley wasn’t any different from others of her kind. She had smoked her perfunctory, only-while-drinking cigarettes on the porch at various intervals throughout the night, and now a sooty film Saran wrapped her tongue. Her dehydrated brain was in no condition to face the hard truth: there was nothing "perfunctory" about a pack every couple of days. But that’s what happened when "only-while-drinking" described an everyday event.

  No. Not going there. For now, toothbrush. Coffee.

  Marley remembered something else. Sometime during the night while her cheeks were fused to cement steps and a cancer stick hung from her lips, she caught sight of pure, unbridled hotness at a lame ghost-town party across the street. This guy was a whole lot of tall-dark-and-handsome, almost to the point of formulaic. Granted it was nighttime, he was at least twenty yards away, and there was an element of liquor-induced myopia, but there was no misreading the fact that he stared back just as hard.

  Don’t mind if I do, thought Marley, but before she could part ways with the entryway landing outside the frat house door, he vanished. Kind of a shame because the only prospects on her side of the street were the Biffs and Chips and Chads (none of which were her type), and a freshman named Jackson with a giant Adam’s apple who kept offering her shots of Jagermeister.

  Marley chalked the disappearing act up to the elitist frat boy factor. The guy was probably too caught up with the Roman numeral behind his name to come down from his pedestal and mingle with the common folks. Well, fuck that and fuck him.

  Although, considering how many details she’d lost from last night to the booze-black-hole, fucking that and fucking him was exactly what might have happened if she had engaged, so maybe better that he took off. Young Miss Marley was about through with anonymous sex. Holding her breath while waiting for HIV and Herpes results really wasn’t her style, and no one wanted to be the regular at the free clinic testing centers.

  Jesus, back in Vegas she could have listed, in rank-order, which ones had the best coffee and free pastries. Not exactly a source of pride.

  Hells bells, she didn’t have time to reminisce her almost close encounter with Mr. Roman Numeral. She needed coffee.

  And that toothbrush, for the love of God.

  Going vertical was a mistake, and Marley launched for the bathroom as her gut threw out a mayday. Although she didn’t recognize anything floating in the toilet, she felt good enough fifteen minutes later to contemplate a trip to her favorite hangout, The Basement, a coffee shop/brewery in Old Town. Oh, and of course, it also happened to be Jenna’s place of employment and ground zero for most of Marley’s morning-after apologies.

  The air outside was crisp and Marley was vaguely aware of the recently grounded autumn leaves whirling and swirling in the streets.

  More came back to her from the night before, and Marley chuckled. Those sorority girls were such the cliché, running off to tell Biff or Chip or goddamn Chad the frat-house Baron to kick Marley out on her ass. And for what? She was too drunk? Well, maybe, but not when they first started fucking with her. Because she was too pretty and just old enough for the male contingency to be intrigued but not too old to be overlooked? Or maybe she was just the unwelcome, peripheral guest patrolled by the pride’s females.

  Whatever. The second Biff/Chip/Chad caught sight of Marley, seven-deadly-sins shone in his eyes and the sorority-sisters couldn’t do a damn thing about it. He ushered Marley off in a big-brother variety headlock, and she chose to overlook the three times his hand accidentally grazed her breast as he wrestled her away. Small price to pay.

  She hadn’t come out with the intent to terrorize, and didn’t remember the exact event that led to cold-cocking the sorority girl later, but it had to be a serious affront for Marley to get physical. At least this is what she told herself as she rounded the corner and headed to the warmth inside The Basement. Her hands were freezing from the wind chill despite the sunny sky.

  It was only a half-flight down the sheltered stairs into the shop. Marley always chose the smaller back entrance, not liking the way the main door forced her directly into the path of the employees; some she wanted to see, and some she didn't. And sometimes she needed that space between the back stairs and Jenna to gather her last reserves of strength and humility to apologize just right.

  The Basement really was a basement, but it was one of those deals where the windows were just about ground level, sort of like a walk-out affair that you couldn't just walk out of. It was kind of cool to unwind there, not only because of the beer option, but because there was a weird, Laverne-and-Shirley's-apartment feel to it with people's legs marching by with purpose, off to their various assignments and errands.

  Jenna was looking fresh and petite as usual. She stood about as tall as Marley’s collarbone and weighed perhaps a buck-ten. Today she had silver stars pasted on the outside corners of each eye. Normally that kind of nonsense won nothing but a snort and permanent disdain from Marley, but on Jenna, it was somehow charming. The blood-red streaks in the girl’s hair were faded to a dull pink, but she still could have been an extra on Desperately Seeking Susan with her Madonna holdover style. It went well with the profusion of Halloween decorations growing like fungus on every surface of The Basement.

  Less than a week to go. Chocolate and a fat ass for everyone! What a holiday.

  Marley looked Jenna in the eye as she walked past the couches with the big fluffy pillows and deep seats. Her friend stared right back the entire trip from the back entrance up to the counter, arms crossed over her chest. The smell of coffee triggered another urge to heave last night’s mystery-munchies, but Marley was nursing a weapons grade hangover, and her need for caffeine had reached critical levels despite the nasty-factor in her stomach.

  But she was about to confront a hostile native. She’d have to make a
mends before she got her fix. Damn.

  Marley couldn’t afford to lose Jenna’s friendship. Jenna was the first real person Marley had met in years, the first person that wasn’t using Marley as some means to an end. They were almost past the can-I-trust-you-can-you-trust-me formalities, and Marley badly wanted to call Jenna true-blue, someone she could confide in. Marley had baggage, heavy goddamn trunk-style suitcases of it, and talking about it lightened the load; problem was, people tended to freak out when Marley handed over even the little carry-on.

  Jenna stared at Marley. "Really?"

  "Sorry," said Marley.

  "As sorry as last Thursday?"

  "Whatever." Instinct, gut reaction, past practice—they all made Marley want to whip the bitch-badge out, polish it to a high shine, and tell Jenna to just go fuck herself. Friendship wasn’t worth this bullshit.

  But she choked it back.

  Because even though she hadn’t had a real friend since she was twelve, Marley knew this particular girl was worth it, and more than that, Marley was guilty of everything Jenna threw into that exasperated look on her Material-Girl face.

  "Whatever? Nice." Jenna was more than pissed. She just wasn’t having it. Normally Marley charmed Jenna with lewd humor when they were on the outs, but this last episode may have broken Jenna’s funny bone, and with this hangover, Marley was fresh out of cast-plaster to set the fracture.

  Instead of continuing along the whatever vein, Marley asked, "How did I get home?"

  "Sam drove you," said Jenna.

  Fuck me, thought Marley. Sam was Jenna’s boyfriend, a guy Marley still hadn’t met officially but had seen from a distance a few times. This was bad. She could just see Jenna and Sam dragging her out of the party after the mayhem. Marley wasn’t sure how out of control she’d gotten, but oh yes, judging by the malcontent in Jenna’s eyes, there had certainly been havoc. Jenna and Sam probably fought all the way home about how Jenna needed to cut Marley off.

  He was probably right. And even though this was the worst time to back that big-shouldered, badass fucker up, Marley said, "I thought he didn’t like me."

  "He doesn’t."

  "He’s never even talked to me."

  "That’s because you always pass out," said Jenna as though explaining a simple concept to a child. Jenna’s grace had a shelf life, and the expiration date was coming due today if Marley didn’t find a way to get around this.

  "Then why the change of heart?"

  "No change of heart. I just didn't want to see you face-down in a pile of your own puke with your pants around your ankles."

  "Jesus," said Marley.

  Jenna performed the sign of the cross. It was a hostile gesture, sardonic, and it hurt, but there was humor there. Was the confrontation almost over? She hadn’t even really settled into her grovel-posture yet.

  "Was I that bad?"

  "How’s your hangover? That should answer your question."

  "I feel like refried shit, but it’s down to DEFCON 3. This morning it was a national emergency."

  "Marley, why do you do this to yourself?"

  Oh, of course. Pocket-psychologist to the rescue. So that was why Jenna was giving in so early. "If I don’t, who’ll do it for me?"

  "You’re a hard girl to like sometimes."

  Well, that certainly wasn’t from the pocket-psychologist playbook, and Marley had no rebuttal. She didn’t like herself most of the time. Not when she’d exchanged sex for a place to stay for the night, not when she used her five-finger discount to cop dinner from some convenience store, and never during the dozens of times the fruits of Tiny’s loins leaked down her preteen legs. Hating herself somehow made cleaning up afterward easier under the watchful eyes of an armada of stuffed animals he bought her, as if they made up for his nighttime exploits.

  "Try not to hold back, Miss Jenna."

  "I never do. You’ll see, if I let you keep hanging around. If you quit making a fool out of yourself every time I take you out to meet the cool kids."

  An allusion to the future, or potential for a future. It was enough. Marley was in for now; Jenna was granting her a stay of execution. Too bad she didn’t deserve it—just another reason for Marley to hate herself a little more.

  "Want to know what I found? It’s a little scary," said Marley.

  "You’re not slick at subtle subject changes."

  "I wasn’t trying to be subtle. Want to see?" Marley really did want to show Jenna. It blew her mind, and she wanted to get it out of her head and into the world. Wearing it wasn’t enough.

  Jenna sighed, softening some. "Let’s see it."

  "I haven’t seen this in years."

  "Something good?" Jenna looked genuinely intrigued.

  Marley reached into her pink thermal shirt and pulled a pendant hanging on a silver necklace from between her breasts. She dangled the old-fashioned onyx charm in front of Jenna, who leaned over the counter to examine it up close.

  "It’s beautiful. It’s been packed away all this time?"

  Packed away. That was funny. Marley hadn’t had more than a backpack when she’d split the Sin City scene.

  "No. That’s the scary part. My asshole ex took this from me back in Vegas right before he beat the shit out of me."

  Jenna looked at Marley, on the verge of saying something. Damn, why did she have to go and let that little morsel slip?

  Chapter Two

  There was a lot Marley could have told Jenna, things that would answer her earlier question: Why do you do this to yourself? But shit always got weird when she jumped the gun and talked about her past too soon. Either people freaked out, or they decided she was an easy mark, or they just plain bailed. She could have left off the part about Julian sending her to the emergency room, but it popped out before she thought better of it. Unlike Marley, Jenna was an easy girl to like, and the effortlessness of the new friendship lowered Marley’s guard and loosened her lips. She’d have to be more careful.

  "So the question is," said Marley in a conspiratorial tone, "where did it come from? Ooh, a Halloween mystery." Marley’s eyes dazzled with drama, and she hoped it propelled them a little further along Forgiveness-Street and away from Marley’s-an-Asshole-Avenue.

  "You don’t think the ex put it back in your stuff before you left him?"

  "Julian? Never in a million years. I’d say it must be fate, only I don’t believe in that."

  "You don’t believe in fate? You did last night," said Jenna. When Marley only looked at her, not sure what her friend was saying, Jenna shook her head, and patted Marley’s.

  Jerking her head away from her friend’s hand, Marley said, "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "Gorgeous frat-boy across the street? Hotboy, Roman Numeral, father of your babies? None of this rings a bell?"

  Yup. "Nope." She had no idea she’d shared her little obsession with Jenna. Obviously, however, she had, and probably ad nauseum as she was apt to do when going at the Southern Comfort hard like she did last night. "Do you believe in fate?"

  "Once again, not slick at the subtle subject changes." Jenna smiled and leaned over the counter again, took the pendant between her forefinger and thumb, and looked it over. "I guess not. I have a hard time believing in stuff I can’t prove and defend."

  "Well said professor. And my studies have revealed that fate is a convenient explanation for coincidences people welcome, and a bullshit excuse for the ones they don’t." Marley took the pendant between her own fingers, kissed it, and said, "I guess it doesn’t really matter. It’s mine now."

  Jenna smiled. "Yeah. I like that. Too bad I can’t take that attitude with my men. It’d be nice to not give a shit whose bed Sam shared before as long as he’s in mine tonight."

  Both girls cracked up, and Ben walked over, eying Marley with his usual approving expression. It made her feel like a champion show dog during judging, and that was just too funky for her to stomach. She didn’t know why that particular analogy always popped into her mind, but she was helpless
to stop it.

  Ben was the self-advertised grad student that worked at The Basement with Jenna. He had aggressively befriended Marley, almost against her will. He was tall, skinny, and had a Jack Skellington look about him surrounded by all the Halloween décor. Ben was about as interesting as a CSPAN broadcast of Congress in session, and never without his camera. He was a photography student, and apparently coffee patrons made for fascinating subject matter. More than once Marley looked up to find a lens in her face, and it was beginning to wear her nerves a bit thin.

  "What are you two heartbreakers laughing at?"

  "Nothing," said Marley. Jenna rolled her eyes and Marley started digging in her purse for her wallet, trying to look busy. "Can I get my usual?" she asked Jenna.

  "A little coffee with your cream?"

  "Hey. So I like a lot of cream. I help pay your salary, so serve it up with a smile or I’ll fill out a comment card, and I won’t be shy." Marley left some money on the counter while Jenna got busy on her order. She turned around without another word to Ben, trying to make a hasty getaway to her favorite table.

  Ben followed her uninvited, and Marley quickened her pace but it was a lost cause. Ben was determined despite the fact that Marley hadn’t bothered to clean her mascara and her eyes were a mess of stuck-together lashes with duffel bags underneath. She didn’t think he even noticed her wrinkled thermal shirt and sweats, worn Ugh Boots, and a beanie that she still hadn’t taken off. Clumpy mascara was one thing but the fro she was sporting without the beanie was grounds for a technical.

  Ben pulled a slim, shiny digital camera out of his pocket, and said, "So check it out. Nice, eh?"

  "I really wouldn’t know, Ben. It looks expensive."

  "I could teach you everything you wanted to know. Seriously, open invitation."

  "Nah, I…" Marley trailed off, not really articulating anything. For a moment Ben looked stricken, but he shook it off and gestured for permission to sit down at her table. The last thing she wanted was a tutorial on shutter speed, but Ben wasn’t a bad guy; in fact he was nice, probably too nice for his own good. She shrugged her shoulders, going for the most neutral look she could, not inviting but not an asshole-denial, either. She hoped he’d take her lack of enthusiasm as a hint and get back to work, but the urge to propagate his species was just too strong and he sat down.