Lunacy

Lunacy

Book #1 of The Ragnarok Legacy

R.A. Sears

This is a work of fiction; everything in this text is
a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to people,
living or dead, places, and events is completely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced,
distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored
in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written
permission of the publisher.

R.A. Sears

Copyright © R.A. Sears 2012

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 9781301595891 (Darq Deviant Press)

Published by Darq Deviant Press

Edgewood, MD 21040

http://www.darqdeviantpress.com

DEDICATION

For my parents, who told me never to give up. For
all my English teachers along the way who encouraged me (especially
Mrs. Canell and Mrs. Wichelns). For everyone on fictionpress.com
who ever left me a review, good or bad. And most importantly, for
you, the fans who’ve been with this for nearly a decade and more
rewrites than I care to count. Thank you, and I hope that you’ll
continue to join Kacea on her adventures after this book is
done.

Chapter 1

“Kacea Marie! Get your skinny ass out of bed!” I
groaned something unintelligible into my pillow in response, not
even lifting my head to acknowledge my mother, the harpy of the
morning. “DoitNOW!” Everything came out as one word that was a
screech through my door, driving broken shards of glass into my
ears.

“Alright! I’m up!” I hollered back, throwing the
blankets off and half falling out of bed onto the plush carpet. I
caught myself with a hand on my night stand, glancing at the
picture that sat there. From the days when I was younger and things
were simpler; when mom and dad cared more about togetherness than
maintaining their monetary status. We’d gone to the zoo when I was
five and the three of us smiled together, the lines around mom’s
eyes weren’t there yet, with me in the middle happily cuddling a
tiger cub to my chest. It was small enough that its eyes were still
blue, but it was the happiest memory I had of the days before the
reality of life caught up with me.

I’d slept like the dead the night before. The
restless dead, that is. Insomnia and I had been in a love, hate
relationship for a long time. Despite my mother’s urging, I
resisted any medication for it. Dulling the senses might have
worked for her, but it wasn’t something Dad and I could ever get
behind. As I stumbled into my bathroom I took a cursory glance at
my disheveled and displeased reflection. Red-rimmed greenish blue
eyes with dark circles and black hair sticking up in directions
that defied gravity…

Oh yeah… I’d been tossing and turning worse than I
thought. I turned on the stereo and spoke to it, “Simon. Play ‘Wake
Up Playlist.”

“Normal or random?” The computerized male voice
queried.

“Random,” I replied, tossing off my pajamas and
turning on the water.

The voice recognition software made a few beeping
noises and some Japanese symphonic metal poured from the speakers
set into the walls, heavy enough to shake the floorboards and send
vibrations through every object in the bathroom.

I stepped into the shower, now filling nicely with
steam, and proceeded to quickly soap up and rinse off. The glance
at the clock on my night stand told me I had half an hour to get
ready and be on my way to school. Senior year. The last big hurrah
before the veil of childhood was burned away to nothing and the
real world could sneak up and bite a huge chunk out of your ass.
Unless you grabbed it and got a bloody mouthful of flesh first,
that is.

I grinned at the thought, wringing water from my hair
and climbing out. I dried off quickly, getting dressed in the
typical attire that my mother loathed and dad thought was
hilarious. A well-worn black tank top, as offensive as possible
without breaking school rules, said “I’m just one big f#$%ing ray
of sunshine, aren’t I?” That combined with a nearly knee-length
asymmetrical black skirt, neon orange fishnet tights, and combat
boots made up an outfit barely legal for school wear. I threw on
some heavy black eyeliner and mascara, pulled my hair into two long
braids that fell almost to my waist, and I was on my way down to
breakfast.

I skidded into the kitchen, almost falling over as
the tread on my boots caught on the linoleum. Dad looked up from
the paper and his coffee with a smirk at my usual clumsiness.
“First day on your new feet?”

I laughed and kissed his forehead as I went past. “I
did get these clown feet from you, ya know.”

Mom rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh at us.
“Two peas in a pod, ya pains in my ass.” I kissed her on the cheek
and gave her a one-armed hug as she handed me my two pieces of
cinnamon toast and I grabbed a single serve Sunny D from the
fridge. “Do you ever wear any color other than black, Kacea?”

I lifted my left leg and pointed to my electric
orange stockings. “Yesh indeed I do. Just for you, Mom.” She just
shook her head and laughed.

Tossing my school bag over my shoulder and stuffing a
piece of toast half in my mouth, I waved over my shoulder and said
a muffled, “Bye! Love you both!” before sprinting out to my car in
the driveway.

The little black and red Dodge Stratus R/T waited
there patiently for me. She’d been a project Dad and I started
working on when I was fifteen. I bought it with money from my
savings, stored up from years of Christmas and birthday cards and
working nights and weekends at The Palace, our resident theme
restaurant and bar.

I hopped in and brought her to life with a very quiet
roar. The music I turned up as I rolled down all the windows was
far from quiet, and the bass set off the car alarm of our nearest
neighbors, the Reece family. I snickered and gunned it before
taking off, sliding my sunglasses on as I began the drive towards
my school, Oberon High. The Reece’s son, Alain, and I had a bit of
a history. A history that led to me not wanting to go to the highly
esteemed private school nearby, Savage Academy. My parents had
money now, but we were poor once, and I refused to show off our
recently acquired wealth. Aside from that, all my friends went to
Oberon. To hell with the other snotty rich kids and their uniforms.
I might die if I had to wear the same clothes every single day.

Pulling into the school parking lot, I grabbed a
parking space near the back to minimize the abuse to my car while I
was in school. The vertical lambo doors made it easier to get in
and out in parking lots, and added a lot of flash to the car, but
the last thing I wanted was some jerk that wasn’t paying attention
slamming their doors into the side of my Baby.

I half dashed across the parking lot, glancing at the
time on my phone and setting it to silent before stuffing it back
into my bag. I’d managed to get to school with five minutes to
spare before the homeroom bell without speeding. “Will wonders
never cease?” I asked the Universe with a sigh.

Inside, I slowed my pace while I rifled through my
bag for my class schedule, wanting to double check my homeroom
number before rolling in. I raised it in my fist with a cry of
triumph, accidentally slamming my fist into the very solid chest of
the boy I’d been pining after since we were thirteen: Jynxx
Davison. Stoic as always and used to my klutzy nature, he patted me
on the head and walked on without a word or even a glance from his
dark eyes. I narrowed my eyes at his retreating back due to his
lack of acknowledgement, like I was an insect of no import.

“Happy senior year to you too, ya jerk!” I called
after him. He lifted his hand in a half-hearted “I hate mornings”
wave and disappeared into the sea of other sleepy teenagers. If
things went like they usually did, we’d have the same homeroom
anyhow. I didn’t even bother with my locker yet. I could mess with
that and the combination during lunch.

Up the stairs I went to the senior wing, finally
finding Room 404. I was met by two of my best guy friends at the
door, Tarren and Raul, both of them sharing similar geeky grins at
the room number. “Ah, Room 404, the room that doesn’t exist.”
Tarren drawled out in his cultured British accent, so out of place
here in semi-rural New York.

I rolled my eyes and threw my arms around their
shoulders so we had to squeeze to fit through the door. “Yes, from
the days when dial-up internet was all that existed and you’d get
the error message when a site was under construction or if you were
disconnected.”

“And then you’d have to reconnect and the modem made
this awful high-pitched squealing noise that let everyone know you
were looking at porn at one in the morning.” My friend Taylea, as
fair of features as I was dark, stood before us with her hands on
her hips and we were all stunned silent at her response. She rolled
her violet eyes. “Please,” she snorted. “As if that never happened
to either of you.” Her gaze took in Tarren and Raul and the boys
held their hands up in an almost defensive gesture.

We hugged and laughed and I made a beeline for one of
the seats by the window, taking one directly behind the dreamboat
of darkness, Jynxx. He was wearing a simple black tee that clung to
him in all the right places, fitting like a second skin so I could
see his muscles underneath ripple as he leaned over slightly to
search for something in his bag. I was almost disappointed when he
finally emerged victorious, a pen clenched in his fist. He had a
small notebook on his desk, one of those pads where the pages
flipped vertically, but I couldn’t read a word of it from where I
was, even as he scribbled furiously on it.

It was like he was in his own little world, lost in
whatever words he had to commit to the page. He was so caught up in
it that the ringing noise over the P.A. system that preceded the
Principal’s yearly introduction actually made him jump slightly. I
couldn’t help a small smile at his back. We’d never really talked
much, but there was something about him that I really liked.
Something that had nothing whatsoever to do with his perfectly
sculpted muscles that would have put Michelangelo’s David to shame,
or his thick black hair that was as shiny as a Camaro with a fresh
coat of wax. It was something about him that called to me. Not in a
weirdo soul-mate way or anything; I don’t believe in that crap.

As the Principal’s speech ended, I anticipated the
bell by a few seconds to sneak a peek over Jynxx’s shoulder as I
headed for the door. Chained and barred, Collared and fettered. I
am a thing to be toyed with…

It looked like… song lyrics? I was intrigued, but
knew that prolonged snooping would definitely get me caught. I
hurried past him to the door and was the first one out, heading to
my Shakespearean Literature class. Best English elective available,
worst possible time slot to have to wrap your brain around iambic
pentameter.

Chapter 2

As I plodded through my first few classes, I was
under the distinct impression that I must have been on crack when I
was setting up my schedule at the end of the last school year.
Shakespearean Lit was bad enough for the first class of the day.
Then to add insult to injury, I threw Calculus on after that,
followed by gym class.

Aside from giving myself a migraine before eleven in
the morning, the first two classes were fairly uneventful. Gym
class threw a monkey wrench of weird into the day, though. Extreme
volleyball was what the coaches, apparently wanting to see someone
bleed before lunch, had decided on to keep us busy for today. They
separated us by hair color, reds and blonds on one team, dark
haired kids on the other. That meant Jynxx and I were on the same
side of the net.

How was I going to pull this off in a skirt and
combat boots? Like a champ, obviously. A champ with the
coordination of a three year old with a sippy cup full of Red Bull.
Their third sippy cup of Red Bull, that is.