Horrorscape Read online

  HORRORSCAPE by NENIA CAMPBELL

  Copyright © 2012 Nenia Campbell

  All rights reserved.

  DEDICATION

  Put your name here: .

  Thank you so much for purchasing this book.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  1. OPENING

  2. DECOY

  3. WAITING MOVE

  4. ANTIPOSITIONAL

  5. UNDERMINING

  6. CAPTURE

  7. HANGING PAWN

  8. COMPENSATION

  9. EXCHANGE VARIATION

  10. WILD

  11. EN PESSANT

  12. SHAM SACRIFICE

  13. BREAKTHROUGH

  14. ATTRACTION

  15. CASTLING INTO IT

  16. TRAP

  17. DOMINATION

  18. VACATING SACRIFICE

  19. TREBUCHET

  20. COUNTERPLAY

  21. THREAT

  22. OVERLOADED

  23. RELATIVE PIN

  24. PASSIVE

  25. CHECKMATE

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  There was something delightfully intimate about the relationship between predator and prey: the careful dance, neither party quite willing to make the first strike or reveal their true intentions. In many ways, it was a courtship ritual—a ritual that continued until the whole game was brought to climax, and the predator reaped his just reward.

  He was fascinated with predators of all kinds. Wolves. Hawks. Lions. Creatures that had been known throughout history for strength, nobility, and the ability to inspire fear. Symbols of power. Symbols of conquest. Symbols of evolutionary superiority. He felt he, himself, embodied many of these traits. He even had his prey—oh, yes—and her name was Valerian Kimble.

  She wasn't beautiful in the classical sense but he enjoyed looking at her nonetheless. He liked the subtle curves of her willowy form, with its awkwardness that belied her athletic ability. How quickly she could run.

  He liked how dark her eyes got, downcast in fear. How the light could morph them from jade to evergreen. Most of all, he liked her hair, and the way it flared like a bank of glowing embers in sunlight, and her lovely mouth—as sweet and as soft as the crushed petals of a rose.

  He felt her, even in sleep.

  He lowered his eyes to the desk, though there was nothing meek in the gesture. Several sheaves of paper lay before him. Most of them were crumpled, others had been tossed aside in rejection. He toyed with the fountain pen in his hand for a while. Then he sighed and closed his eyes.

  For a long time, he did not move at all. His face was as solemn as one in the midst of prayer. But it was not God of whom he was thinking, and his thoughts were far from holy.

  Damn her. He got up abruptly, disappearing into one of the upstairs rooms. There was a click as the door closed and locked. Silence.

  Minutes passed, hours. Somewhere in the depths of the house a clock struck six. The door opened, and he emerged wearing a pair of black sweatpants. He sat down at the desk again, freshly inspired. All thanks to dear, dear Val.

  A work of art: a work in progress. Not quite ready for the showcase. She possessed a number of flaws he intended to paint out. Weaknesses of character aside, the most nettlesome of these was her boyfriend and the sheer defiance he represented on her part.

  Dull. Wholesome. Hardly a worthy adversary. He was nothing more than a bully who, like many of his type, had found an outlet for his adolescent aggression in sports, and while he might be able to kick a ball around a field, he wouldn't be able to dodge a bullet or a blade. And if it ever came right down to it, he wouldn't be able to protect Valerian from one, either.

  Perhaps that was why she had chosen him; perhaps she enjoyed feeling in control. Is that it? He wondered, a cruel smile marring his face. Well. I'm afraid that's about to change.

  Chapter One

  Opening

  Val walked out of Conceptual Physics in a daze as her best friend, Lisa Jeffries, babbled about the latest in her most recent line of conquests.

  She'd gotten another one of those phone calls this morning, asking her if she liked to fuck dangerous men, that girls like her were “proof that some women were asking for it.” Just when she finally thought they had stopped, too. But then isn't how it always goes?

  Tears stabbed at her eyes and she set her teeth, refusing to blink and let them spill. Not here at school.

  Suddenly, powerfully, she wished her mother were here to hug her, to hold her in her arms and tell her everything was going to be all right. She felt it like an ache in her chest.

  “What about you, Val?”

  “Huh?” She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, faking a yawn.

  “Your thoughts,” Lisa said, dryly.

  “I can't wait for the three day weekend.”

  “Why? Do you have plans?”

  Val gave her a half-hearted swat.

  “What was that for? I only asked what you were doing this weekend?”

  “We both know what you really meant.”

  Lisa rolled her eyes. “Seriously, though. What are you doing?”

  “Probably nothing. We're getting the house remodeled. Everything's getting ripped up, torn out…I'm probably going to end up shut in my room with my computer for six-odd hours.”

  “So the usual for you, then.” She dodged another swat. “No hot date with James?”

  Val shrugged and adjusted her messenger bag. “Guess not.”

  “You guys have been dating for four months. You haven't gotten hot and heavy yet?”

  Val flushed. She looked away. “No.”

  “Has he—you know—asked?”

  The redness moved down her throat. “That's none of your business,” she said stiffly.

  “He has! He has, hasn't he? And you said no.”

  Val closed her eyes. All her ambivalence from earlier returned full-force. She felt faint. “I'm not ready. He doesn't understand.”

  “Of course he doesn't. You're holding out. There's no other explanation necessary; you're the evil one.”

  “James isn't like that. I told him about…what happened. He knows why I can't—”

  “Val, I hate to burst your bubble, but even if he's pretending it's no big deal, it is. All guys are secretly like that. Sex-obsessed, I mean. Whether they show it or not is just a test of character—and any guy who says otherwise is either a liar, a cheater, or both. You just wait until the honeymoon period is over. Then you'll see.”

  “No, I won't. Because that's just not true. And anyway, it's none of your business so discussion is closed.”

  Lisa sighed. “It's completely beyond his control.”

  (control can be)

  “What's beyond whose control?”

  (a powerful aphrodisiac)

  Val stumbled. Two warm arms caught her and she found herself staring up into a pair of sea-foam green eyes. “Whoa, steady on there, Clumsy. You're taking 'falling for you' to a literal level, aren't you?”

  (it's hard to resist)

  And far too easy to give in.

  James frowned at her. “Hey, you're shaking. You okay?”

  She smiled weakly. “No. I mean, yes, I'm fine. I just tripped.”

  Lisa jumped in. “We were just talking about—”

  “How great the break will be. Right, Lisa?”

  “Oh, that's right, all right,” Lisa said. She gave Val a devious smile which she didn't trust for a minute.

  James was still frowning. “Your parents still doing the construction thing this weekend?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  His face fell. “So we can't hang out at your place.”

  “Probably not. I'm sorry.” Val wished he wasn't doing this in front of Lisa, and her too-shar
p eyes.

  James shrugged. “Too bad.”

  “Why do we always have to go to my house? Yours is bigger than mine.”

  “Because my brother's an ass, who acts like an even bigger ass when you're around.” James snorted, glancing at Lisa. “He has the biggest crush on her, it's not even funny.” He turned back to Val. “You wouldn't understand, you're an only child. But he seriously makes me want to punch him in the face sometimes. That's why.”

  Val tried to laugh it off. “Hey, he's fifteen. I don't care.”

  “I do.”

  She tried not to flinch. His voice was pleasant enough but she still felt a tug of anxiety. She'd had to blow him off a lot recently. First because of football season (she was in band, and had to travel to various other towns for competitions, as well as play at all of the major home games), and then again because of midterms. James was a senior, like her and Lisa, so he should have understood her problems. Especially since his classes were much, much difficult than hers.

  She would rather go out with him than do stupid homework or practice her clarinet. It was only the threat of failure and post-apocalyptic parents that had kept her on track and out of her boyfriend's house on weekends. Well, that, and the fact that lately, it seemed like he tried to jump her whenever they happened to be alone.

  “Well, maybe we can do something else. Go out for once.” She smiled timidly. He returned the smile with markedly less enthusiasm.

  “Maybe.”

  Great, Val thought, as he and Lisa fell into a discussion about the football game this weekend. A discussion that conveniently excluded her. He's mad.

  “We can all go to the game,” Lisa suggested. “It's close enough that you'll be able to help out if your parents need you, right Val? I mean, you have a cell phone.”

  “Val's parents are kind of overprotective,” James said, before she could even open her mouth.

  Now she was annoyed. “They are not!” She paused and added in a sour voice, “And considering what happened before, I wouldn't really blame them, even if they were!”

  She gave him a look.

  “Sorry, Val,” he muttered, pulling her into a hug made awkward by the bulk of their backpacks. He smelled like Old Spice, and his sweatshirt was so soft and cuddly she had to resist the impulse to nuzzle her face against his chest. She was still angry at him; she didn't want to give in so easily.

  “What?” Lisa sniffed. “No apology for me?”

  Val glanced at her over James's shoulder. “Why should I apologize to you?”

  “For snipping at me earlier.”

  “I'm sorry, Lisa.”

  “Next time don't sound so sarcastic and it'll be perfect.”

  James glanced at his watch. “Better get moving, ladies.” He released Val. “Bell will ring any minute.”

  The three of them walked to the 600 hall, where their lockers were. From the way the halls were filling up, Val guessed it was more like a matter of seconds.

  Only forty-five more minutes of class and I can go home.

  Val grabbed her math book. Hopefully she'd be able to pay attention today. She was starting to feel a little sick.

  Did I remember to take my medication?

  The bell rang, shattering her thoughts like brittle glass.

  I feel so strange.

  James walked her to class. His Calculus class was only two down from her Geometry classroom. “Why do you take it?” she asked. “Isn't it hard?”

  “I like being able to do things other people can't do.”

  And he kissed her. On the mouth. In school.

  She knew she should feel pleased, but all she felt was that same shapeless worry. Is that why you kept asking me out? She wondered suddenly. Because I kept saying no?

  “Later,” he said, pulling away with a smile and a wave.

  Seeing him smile—just for her—should have brought a feeling of indescribable happiness. He did make her happy. Sometimes. She just couldn't be passionate with him; the moment he got too close, he made her want to run away.

  This was so not functional.

  Part of her yearned for the early days of their relationship, when they were still too shy with each other to be anything but platonic. He'd tried harder back then, too. And he'd been wittier. More engaging. He still invited her over to his house. Now, she wondered.

  Does he love me?

  Do I love him?

  That was unpleasant to think about, though, so Val pushed the thoughts away.

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  The Geometry classroom was dim and stifling. The old blinds were stuck fast, and nearly impossible to get open. Mr. Giles had made a show of going to the thermostat and fiddling with the various knobs and switches, making it quite clear that changing the temperature was an exercise in futility itself.

  Hot and sniffy, Val glared down at her math problems for a long time. She thrust her arm into the air. “I need help.”

  Yes, you do, someone whispered.

  “What do you need help with?” said Mr. Giles.

  “The proofs.” Val pointed. There was a nervous squeak in her voice. She cleared her throat. “I don't get them.”

  “What about them don't you get?”

  “The proofs.” She stabbed an accusatory finger at a picture of a triangle. She was beginning to feel like she was in the middle of one of those old Abbot and Costello routines her dad thought so hilarious. “I know I'm supposed to explain them using theorems and postulates—”

  “—And the definitions.”

  “Yes, and those,” Val agreed impatiently. “But I don't know when to use them. I mean, I can barely solve the problems themselves.”

  “You're supposed to have the definitions memorized,” Mr. Giles said. “Which you obviously haven't done, judging from some of your quizzes, Valerian. Perhaps if you actually did the homework you would have an easier time in class.”

  She didn't imagine it; somebody definitely laughed.

  “It's hard,” she said, feeling hopeless. She was just another slacker to him, trying to weasel out of work. “I can't think logistically.”

  “Logically,” the teacher corrected, with a sigh. “You can't think logically.”

  “What good is logic?”

  “Well, in chess, for example, logic is very important.”

  A shiver snaked down her spine. “I don't play chess.”

  Mr. Giles blinked, startled by her vehemence. “It might improve your scores. Chess can be very remedial for math.”

  (care to make a little wager?)

  She was saved from having to respond by the crackle of the intercom. “Valerian Kimble to the administration office, please. Valerian Kimble to the administration office.”

  She'd been in high school for four years, and they'd never paged her before. It couldn't have happened at a better time. She glanced at her teacher.

  He waved her off. “You had better go. We'll discuss your homework when you return.”

  Oh, boy.

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  While a welcome distraction from proofs, the administration office was a dark and gloomy place with ugly wallpaper that hadn't been changed since the sixties. A vague smell of disinfectant hung loosely in the air. It probably came from the nurse's office down the hall, but seemed prominent everywhere else, too.

  Mrs. Fields was on duty that afternoon and she gave Val an unimpressed look as she walked in through the door. Behind the Bride of Frankenstein makeup, she looked tough. Not surprising, considering her name, and the fact that it was an open invite for jokes pertaining to cookies and her unfortunate girth.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Um, you called for me on the intercom?”

  “You're Valerian, are you?”

  “Val, yes.”

  Ignoring her, the secretary reached behind her desk and pulled out an olive-green planter box. “This came for you.” A leafy green plant was growing out of it, speckled with little pink flowers. “And this,” she added, dropping an
envelope on top of the plant, crushing the fragile blossoms. “It your birthday or something?”

  “No.” Val stared at the flowers. She had never seen anything like them before.

  “Better get back to class. Do you need a pass?”

  Val shook her head. “Who is it from? Who sent it?”

  “I don't know, he didn't say. Now get back to class.”

  He?

  Val left the office, puzzled and a little too warm. Why would a boy be sending her things? Or was it a man? She stopped outside to set the flowers on a bench so she could read the card.

  They couldn't be from James. He would have made a point of mentioning it, of dropping heavy hints. He would have gone with the more traditional roses; they were safer.

  She wished she'd thought to ask the secretary what the sender looked like, but it was too late now. She was dealing with an angry-looking parent now, sheepish child in tow. She could see the drama unfolding through the window.

  She returned her attention to the card. The paper was grainy and left her hands feeling dry. She licked her finger before sliding it under the flap and slicing it open with her nail. The paper inside was plain and off-white, like parchment. It smelled expensive.

  Frowning now, she unfolded the stationery, revealing inky black writing. A few flower petals, pink like the ones growing on the plant beside her, fluttered to the ground at her feet.

  I've been watching you for some time. I know you're passionate about the things and people you love—an disinclined to do things that don't suit your interests. In that aspect, you remind me of a powerful predator, a hunter. But in many other ways, you are a lower-scale being. The hunted. The prey.

  I have singled you out because you have potential. I want to play with you. I want to play suicide chess with you. You with your pawns, and me with mine. Together, we will level the playing field. And do you know what else? I know you'll do it. Because the same passion that fuels your affections drives your curiosity. You like a good challenge. I think you'll find me quite a challenge.

  In all regards.

  Even now, I know you're looking for me, wondering who I am. Where I am. How I know what I do.

  These questions will be answered over the course of my game, although when the time comes, you may no longer desire the answers.