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    Lore Mongers: Lesbian Adventure Club, #16
    Lore Mongers: Lesbian Adventure Club, #16
    Lore Mongers: Lesbian Adventure Club, #16
    Ebook231 pages10 hours

    Lore Mongers: Lesbian Adventure Club, #16

    By Rosalyn Wraight

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    About this ebook

    Once more, Ginny and Kris are sending the crew backwards. This time, they're headed to the end of their first scavenger hunt, and the task given there will force them back to the very beginning of time. Confused? Join the club.

    Lesbian Adventure Club, Book 16

    Approximate word count: 60,000

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDon't Waste Daylight
    Release dateAug 22, 2019
    ISBN9781932014754
    Lore Mongers: Lesbian Adventure Club, #16

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      Book preview

      Lore Mongers - Rosalyn Wraight

      Chapter 1

      Pedal to the metal, I aimed my car for Granton’s city limits, being extra careful not to spill from my Road Swill cup. The last precious drops of civilized coffee, I figured. No one ever said, Hey, let’s head out into the country for a cup of coffee. Rural coffee: There wasn’t such a thing, and I would protect what little I had of the good stuff until the last moment, which would probably be the very second Claudia yelled at me for having coffee so late.

      As though she was there, already lording over me, I glanced to my watch: 6:04. Yes, it was far too late for coffee; I risked being up all night. Yet, here it was a Friday night and I was just leaving work, having been majorly waylaid by our stupid-ass governor, whom I respected only in my capacity as a reporter. Kate Q. Public loathed him, and I would not have voted for his sorry ass even if he were suddenly the poster child for gay rights and a dogged proponent of triple pay and automatic master’s degrees for all reporters. Nope. No way.

      Today, I had been tasked with covering his comings and goings in our fair city. At four o’clock, he was to have hopped on his plane at the Ledder County Airport to head back to the capital. But since the moron was trying to sell some education-gutting policy to the masses, he apparently decided that endless schmoozing with people at the airport was to his benefit. Fish in a barrel. Smart fish, I hoped. Regardless, he took forever to get the hell out of Dodge, and the very second his hatch closed, I filed my story with my editor and took off just as fast but without the need for propellers.

      Because of him, I was already two hours late for our Lesbian Adventure Club weekend. I was relatively certain I knew where I was going, only because I hadn’t heard otherwise from Claudia. Actually, I hadn’t heard a frickin’ thing from her, and I wasn’t quite certain if that was good or bad.

      See, last week we received a very cryptic invitation from our hostesses, Kris and Ginny. It basically said they were done with scavenger hunts—for the moment anyway—and that we were to return to the end of one, from whence we came. Claudia immediately understood that to be Drixel’s Terrace, where we had once found the shitheads and encountered the legendary sanguinary humdinger brine. No, this time wasn’t supposed to be a scavenger hunt, but we were still aiming for that frickin’ pickle, or maybe we’d be in a pickle, if we were wrong. Claudia’s calls to the others, however, proved there was a consensus, and the eventual decision was that even if we were wrong, we were spending the weekend at Drixel’s—in the camping area, not the restaurant, and even if Vernon dared don his hockey mask and come at us with a chainsaw. I seriously figured he wouldn’t, choosing instead to believe that after being our gracious Humpty Dumpty Drill Sergeant, he’d have developed a fondness for us—or at least some sympathy—and not want to scare the shit out of us. At least I hoped to hell that would prove to be the case.

      The country roads on this evening were far busier than I had anticipated, and the more miles I progressed, the more I realized that was because Granton had bled outside itself, forming subdivision after subdivision. The city blurred with the country, but I finally felt more as though I was truly getting away when cows in their fields outnumbered the subdivisioners in their sensible but snazzy sedans. I opened my window and took a whiff, just to be sure. I wanted the city far behind me. I wanted to get to Claudia, to our friends, and simply wallow in our own little world. I was sick to death of school and work. My head hurt from my sometimes ungraceful maneuvering through the rat-race maze.

      I took a swig of my coffee, lit a smoke, and did my best to relax.

      Soon, I came upon Haley Springs’ sign, finding it soothingly familiar: Population Winter: 50, Summer: 5,000. I wondered what the headcount was on this mid-September day. Not summer. Not winter. I wished to hell it was a grand total of ten.

      It wasn’t too long after that pleasant thought that a nasty reality seized me. As soon as I made it down Drixel’s long, tree-lined road, my jaw dropped. There were a bazillion cars in the parking lot. Seriously, it would have taken me two days to count them all, and this confused the shit out of me. I suddenly doubted this was where Kris and Ginny had summoned us. We usually stayed out of the fray, and this was smack dab in the middle of it.

      A quick scan gave me not one recognizable car, and certainly not one belonging to either Janice or Alison, who had agreed to chauffeur Claudia. Why the hell hadn’t she called to tell me we were wrong? ... She would have if we were wrong. So we mustn’t have been wrong.

      I crawled to a standstill, and as I lit another smoke, I rolled down my window. That was when it hit me. Just as the smell of cow pies had done, another odor helped orient me. I inhaled deeply the smell of fishy grease. This was the Midwest, and this was Friday, ergo, the customary Friday Night Fish Fry. Okay, but a fish fry? Seriously, a DWD fish fry? That was the plan? And what the hell was the vegan supposed to eat? And why the f-word had we gone to the trouble of packing all our camping gear?

      Aha, camping! Duh!

      My head swiveled until I saw the sign: Campground. Its arrow, I hoped, would point me in the direction of my salvation and the damn good reason Claudia found to not call me. With rabid intent, I aimed my sensible and not-so-snazzy sedan.

      As soon as I turned onto the dirt road, the forest canopy seemed to close, placing me in an entirely different world. Gone were the cars and the fishy grease smell. Gone was most of the light, and yet, I felt more hopeful that I was headed in the right direction.

      I always figured that if the speed limit is five miles per hour, you may as well get out and walk. Yet, I didn’t. I inched along, quite literally, on the one-lane road that zigzagged through acres and acres of land. It was spotted with campsites, most of them unoccupied, but a few showed signs of life, just none that I recognized. Someone chopped wood. Someone stoked a fire. Someone slunk into a restroom. Someone filled a jug from a spigot on the side of the road. Not one of them looked like a Dyke Who Dared. Okay, maybe the woodchopper did, but I sure as hell didn’t want to spend the weekend with her ... or him ... to be honest, I wasn’t quite sure.

      This was insane. Hadn’t they said they were done with scavenger hunts? It sure as hell felt like one. I took a deep breath, the very last swallow of my civilized coffee, and then I reached into my jacket pocket for my cell. If she didn’t have the mind to call me, I would call her.

      I was about to hit her speed dial number when I saw the little flashy thing at the top of my screen. A text message! Trying to be the dutiful reporter in the presence of the gubernatorial goober, I had silenced my phone. I yelled at myself as I navigated to my inbox to discover a message from her, sent over an hour prior. Drixel’s it is. See you soon. Drive carefully.

      Okay, she was off the hook—as a direct result of my stupidity. But still, See you soon was hardly a map to get me there. Then again, maybe there weren’t a bazillion cars when she arrived and getting to where she needed to be—where I would eventually need to be—had been a piece of cake.

      Jesus, I suddenly realized just how hungry I was, having missed my own lunch to watch the moron sample the local fare.

      Onward, I charged. I’d find her without having to ask and look like a fool. How the hell many more acres could there possibly be out here ... um, in the middle of the boondocks?

      Okay, there were a few more. Okay, many, many more, but eventually, I spied Maggie and Susan dart across the road some distance from me. I sped up a little, and while I could not see them anymore, I did recognize four cars, one of which was Janice’s, which meant Claudia was close.

      And then, I received irrefutable proof that I had indeed arrived. Yet another sign read: Camp Thunder Thigh. I skidded to a stop, shoved the car into park, and as I withdrew my keys from the ignition, I scanned the area to receive even more mind-blowing surprises. In the near distance was a line of small cabins ... six to be exact. I wasn’t at all sure that was where we’d be staying, but I got my hopes up nonetheless. Curse tents, especially when the nights had already dipped into the thirties.

      I squinted enough to see signs in front of several cabins, and not a second later, I was out of the car and barreling to them. Camp Wan Na Ta Ta. Camp Crystal Lake. (Jesus, that was like begging Vernon to come get us!) Mischievous Camp Counselors. And last, but way not least, Camp Kis Cak was there in all its glory, and that made me smile ear to big ear. I had arrived!

      I clambered up the tiny cabin’s tiny step and onto its tiny porch. I knocked so as not to startle her, but she startled the crap out of me by whipping open the door.

      There you are! she gasped as she grabbed me. I was starting to get worried.

      I put a lovely swearword of an adjective in front of the governor’s name and gave her the shortened version of how it was all his fault. Then, I asked how her day had been.

      Very busy, she answered, but that made it go fast. She pulled back, grabbed my hand, and instructed, Come in, honey, and get a load of Camp Kis Cak. It’s rather cute and cozy.

      So was she, I could not help note as she turned her beautiful backside to me. Life always felt a hell of a lot better when I was near her.

      Ta da! she trumpeted after tugging me inside. Pretty cozy, huh?

      Hmm... Cozy was apparently a euphemism for cramped. The entire cabin could have fit inside any of our rooms, and probably in Janice’s linen closet, with which I was now on intimate terms. Okay, maybe I exaggerated a tad, but not a whole hell of a lot. It was majorly tiny.

      There were tiny windows on the tiny side walls that gave us a glimpse of other tiny cabins. The tiny back window faced the big woods. The swing arm wall lamp had tiny moose and tiny pine trees on its shade. A dark wooden table took up most of the tiny room, and I spied the drip coffee pot atop it just as Claudia pointed to it. I sensed she was probably fonder of the electric kettle that claimed the space next to it.

      Like it? she asked. Seems a heck of a lot better than a tent this late in the season.

      That was surely true.

      She pointed to the other corner. There’s even a little space heater. We’ll be all toasty warm in the morning while we have coffee and tea in our sleeping bag.

      Speaking of which... Um, where exactly do we put the sleeping bag? Do we have to stack the table and chairs?

      I’m getting to that, she said rather coyly and then clutched my forearm.

      Shit! What, Claudia? Getting to what?

      She suppressed a giggle, cleared her throat, and then kissed my cheek. Turn around and look up, she directed.

      I spun around like a wobbly top. My eyeballs pivoted up to see... Holy shit! Oh shit, it’s a—

      It’s a loft, and we’ll be just fine up there.

      Up there? Way higher than a bed. Way higher than a hanging bed. I hated heights, and I never really thought it made sense to lay on something off the ground and then surrender your consciousness to sleep. But a loft? That was like feeling faint and heading to the nearest skyscraper. Jesus, up there?

      She must have heard my thoughts, for again she clutched my arm and kissed my cheek. It’s really not that bad up there, she assured. I went up to make sure. Climb the ladder and see for yourself. She pointed.

      Ladder was a euphemism for tiny frickin’ boards nailed to tiny frickin’ wall. This was not a ladder. There was no angle to it that you could lean on as there was when I braved ours to clean the gutters.

      But she had such faith in me. It was in her smile. It was in her eyes. It was in that gentle yet forceful nudge that moved me to the tiny frickin’ boards nailed to the tiny frickin’ bare wood wall.

      Raise your arm, honey, she suggested.

      I thought she meant for me to seize one of the boards, which I reticently did, but she corrected, No. I mean touch the edge of the loft so you can see that it’s not that high. It’s nowhere near as high as our roof.

      But it’s higher than our bed. It’s higher than our hanging bed. Hell, I’d have to get high to want to be that high. But she had a way about her, and so I reached, surprised that I could not only touch the edge of the loft, but hell, I could put my frickin’ hand inside it. Okay, so it wasn’t that tall. I attached both hands and tried to do a chin-up. My failure had nothing to do with the height of it. It had more to do with the fact that I wasn’t a Laura; I was a wuss.

      I placed my foot on one of the frickin’ boards and launched myself. While it wasn’t a complete landing, most of my torso was in, and the dangling of my feet didn’t give me the sense that I would plummet a million miles. It really wasn’t that bad. I elbow-heaved to get myself completely inside, and then I looked around.

      The tiny space’s peaked roof made me think of it as a pyramid-shaped tomb. After taking a few seconds to ponder that horror, I realized that if you’d sit up fast, you’d smash your brains, which, ironically, I found comfort in. That hazardous fact would stop me from sleepily wandering to the edge and falling to my death. Okay, falling to my broken arm. Okay, falling to my sprain. Okay, falling to my severely bruised ego.

      Suddenly, there was a way sexy woman on my back and a kiss on my cheek.

      See. Not so bad, huh? she challenged.

      Not so bad, I admitted, feeling surprisingly certain. It’d be much better, though, if I could roll over.

      Go for it, she said with a laugh as she boosted herself up with her elbows and soles.

      I rolled, and when her full blessed weight returned to me, I wrapped my arms around her. We held each other for a long moment, and then I braved the obvious question, Is this what we get to do all weekend, or do they have something difficult planned as they usually do?

      I have no idea what they have planned, honey. They wouldn’t say anything without you here. Then she shot upright and bashed her head into the pyramid-shaped tomb. Shit! I was supposed to let Ginny know the moment you arrived. She rubbed her knocked noggin and said, I’ll call her. Do you want to start getting our stuff from your car?

      While I simply wanted to linger there a bit longer, I realized she had jumped into full project manager mode, and I’d be swept along regardless. I nodded and made her reassure me that her head was okay—physically, anyway. She requested a kiss for the throbbing egg, and I happily obliged.

      Then she got herself down from the loft as though simply walking down the tiny cabin’s tiny front step. I, on the other hand, had no frickin’ clue how the hell to get down without it being head first. But the project manager was in top form, dragging a chair near my intended landing spot and telling me to turn around and come down the way I had gone up, foregoing the tiny frickin’ boards nailed to the tiny frickin’ wall. Oddly, it worked like a charm.

      By the time I even touched the doorknob, she had already called Ginny. By the time, I had my foot on the front step, I had been informed that we’d be heading to dinner in twenty minutes. I assumed that meant the busy fish fry, and if that further meant all-you-can-eat fish fry, Drixel’s was about to take a financial hit. I was frickin’ starving, and I would be accompanied by the ever-hungry them.

      Speaking of them...

      I had just walked off the tiny cabin’s tiny step when Maggie boomed from the tiny cabin next to ours, Dilly!

      Hey, humdinger! How the hell are you?

      Good! Really good, she replied and then scolded, You’re very late, Kate. We’ve been starving waiting for you.

      As I headed to my car, I added a different swearword adjective to the governor’s name and then informed her

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