Kick The Candle (Knight Games) Read online

  I reassured myself that I could fix this without ruining my dad’s life with the truth. Nekomata was only a man after all, and I had a book of magic on my side. Maybe I was getting ahead of myself, anyway. Mr. Nekomata might change his mind and not make an offer. Even if he did, buying a house took time. Likely, I’d have months before the closing to do what I needed to botch the sale. Perhaps his financing wouldn’t go through or some other misfortunate event would render the sale impossible.

  With a deep sigh, I took a step back. “What do you want to do about Thanksgiving?”

  He glanced around my foyer as if he expected it to crumble around us at any moment. “I don’t think we should have it here.”

  Stupid. Stupid. Why had I made this house seem dangerous? I offered an olive branch. “Your place?”

  “One o’clock?”

  “Sure. A late lunch would be fine with me.”

  He shook his head. “Oh no. We’ll be having dinner. I need you there at one to help me cook the bird. We’re not ordering out this year. We’re going to do this the traditional way or not at all.”

  I tried to remember the last time my father and I cooked together. Nothing. The part of my brain compartmentalized for cooking was empty and cobweb filled. “It’s your stomach,” I said cynically.

  Chapter 6

  Logan

  After an uneventful day at the hospital, I caught up on some badly needed sleep. Good thing because I had to get up early to help Logan through physical therapy. For the last six weeks, I’d been assisting with his outpatient recovery. My involvement was more than simply cheering him on. Every Tuesday and Thursday I met him at the rehab center, my special energy shake in hand.

  Of course, the drink was actually a healing potion from the Book of Light. I hadn’t exactly mentioned its magical properties to him, afraid he might forgo the benefits, but in this case the ends justified the means. I’d noticed a marked improvement over the last several weeks.

  I filled a sports bottle with the elixir from a pitcher I kept in the refrigerator. The stuff was foul—hunter green and smelled like feet. I’d told Logan it was wheat grass. If he suspected anything, he’d never let on.

  Warily, I backed down my driveway. There was only one way to get to Logan’s physical therapy, and it required passing Rick’s place. As expected, my caretaker was brooding in the middle of the road.

  “You’re going to see him,” Rick accused. His breath fogged the glass of my window. I pressed the button to roll it down.

  “We’ve been over this. I’m a nurse, and Logan’s my friend. I’m helping with his recovery. That’s all. I promised him I would, and I intend to see it through.”

  The line of Rick’s jaw hardened and his eyes bled to black. “I don’t like it. He wants you Grateful. He always has.”

  I popped my chin into the air. Jeez. Rick’s jealousy hadn’t dulled at all over the last six weeks. Tough cookies. I wouldn’t go back on my word. “Then I suppose you’ll just have to trust me.”

  “It’s him I don’t trust. I take care of what’s mine.”

  I rolled my eyes and leaned away from him. “You don’t own me.” I wanted to add that we weren’t even exclusive, but I was afraid it would start an argument that would make me late. As it was Rick looked like he wanted to punch something.

  I rolled the window back up.

  * * * * *

  St. John’s Rehabilitation Center is attached to the hospital, a state of the art facility with physical therapy, massage, and acupuncture. When I walked in the front door, Logan was already in the waiting area, his cane propped against his leg. Thinner than he had been as a ghost, his physique had come a long way over the last six weeks. The outline of long, lean muscle was visible under his clingy athletic shirt. He’d shaved the beard he’d grown while in the coma, but left his hair a little longer than it had been in his spectral state.

  His smile was the same as always. “Grateful, you came.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” I handed him the drink. When he took it from me, he grabbed the bottle right above my hand, engulfing my fingers in his. He didn’t immediately pull the goods away. I retracted my hand and placed it safely on my hip. “How are you feeling today, anyway?”

  “Good. Right hip is still giving out on me occasionally. I think another couple of months of this, and I’ll be able to resume some normal activities.”

  “Another couple of months?”

  “Yeah.” He tipped back the sports bottle, and I watched green liquid slosh into his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut against the taste and chugged.

  I popped out a hip, my bottom jaw jutting forward in an exaggerated pout. “That’s funny because I heard you’re going back to work at Valentine’s this weekend.”

  He choked on a swallow. In a fit of coughing, his hand lashed out to cover his mouth and knocked over his cane. Face red, he set the sports bottle down on the side table and really poured on the steam, hacking like a machinegun.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, and I also heard there’s a welcome back party next Saturday night, that I wasn’t invited to.”

  As if he could explain everything if only he could survive the siege on his lungs, he waved a hand dismissively. I noticed the eruptions from his throat becoming more controlled, even forced. The jig was up. I swiped his hand out of the air and leaned forward until our noses almost touched. He gave one last pitiful cough as my eyes dug into his. “Just admit it, Logan. You’re better.”

  He dropped the charade. After checking over his shoulder to make sure none of the rehab staff were watching, he bounded from his chair and swept up his fallen cane before returning to his seat.

  I gasped theatrically. “You little weasel!”

  “Oh, please. You suspected as much all along. You’ve been playing the game as well as I have.”

  “What? Don’t try to turn this around on me.”

  “No? You’re innocent, eh? Just so you know, this energy shake tastes like ass.” He picked up the green juice and poked a finger in my direction. “This ain’t wheat grass, darlin’. You’ve been slipping me a potion against my will.”

  I pointed a finger back at him. “That was for your own good. And it wasn’t against your will. You chose to drink it.”

  “I didn’t know it was magic.”

  “Obviously you did, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “And obviously you suspected I was better because you’ve been pumping me up with healing juju the last six weeks. Jesus, I might never catch a cold again.”

  My jaw worked, opening and closing in a weak attempt to form a rebuttal. I composed myself, straightening up so I was looking down my nose at him. “You should be thanking me.”

  “Thanking you?”

  At that moment, Miss Physical Therapist America passed by and gave me a harsh look. Really, who has a waist that long and thin without plastic surgery?

  “Please, keep your voice down,” she reprimanded me sternly.

  Logan’s eyes darted in her direction and he flashed her an overly charming smile followed up by a short wave. His eyes twinkled. Was that a dimple in his chin?

  She smiled back. “Just a few more minutes, Mr. Valentine.”

  “No problem, Sally. And please, call me Logan.”

  “Okay, Logan. See you soon. I hope you’re ready to work.” With one last warm, flirtatious smile for him and a death stare for me, she continued on her way. I thought my eyes might roll out of my head.

  Logan leaned toward me and whispered, “Did it ever occur to you that I don’t want to be better yet? Huh?”

  “Why wouldn’t you want to get better?” I asked incredulously.

  He startled backward, lifting an eyebrow at me like I was insane. His wide eyes said it all. I was temporarily taken aback by the vulnerability I saw there. Michelle was right. He still had feelings for me.

  “You’re afraid… of losing me.” I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. “That’s not going to happen, Logan. We’re
still going to be friends, right?”

  “Sure.” With a sigh, he leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. He rubbed a toe on the floor.

  “But?”

  “It’s not going to be the same. We won’t have a reason.”

  “That’s just silly. We—” I had to stop midsentence. He was right. Without the excuse of helping him through rehab, I wouldn’t see him regularly. He’d be busy at the restaurant, and I’d have my nursing job and my responsibilities as the witch. Could we maintain a friendship? Probably. But I couldn’t promise our relationship wouldn’t change.

  “Okay, Logan, I’m ready for you.” Sally was back, her red curls bouncing over her perky shoulders.

  He reached for my hand and used it, along with his cane, to shakily stand. It was very convincing.

  “I’ll bring your drink,” I said, grabbing the sports bottle off the end table with my free hand. For the next hour, I needlessly assisted Logan through his therapy, while Sally cheerily guided us. When we were done, I pretended to help him to his truck.

  “This is the last time I’m doing this,” I said. “It’s a lie. As much as I believe Sally enjoys working with you, it’s practically insurance fraud.”

  “Yeah, I thought so.” With speed and agility, he dropped my hand, pulled open the door to his black, half-ton pickup, and propelled himself into the driver’s seat. He tossed me the cane. “So, ah, since I’m not going to see you for the next appointment, can you come to my welcome back party at Valentine’s next Saturday?”

  “Should I just forgive your dishonesty and unctuous secondhand invite?”

  The charmer he beamed my way should’ve been illegal. It actually made my knees buckle. I had to use the cane. “Yes, you should, because if there’s anyone in this world who understands the extenuating circumstances, it’s you.” One green eye winked at me. Jesus, he actually winked!

  I groaned. “Okay, I’ll see you then. But you owe me a drink.”

  “Excellent. See you then.”

  Before I could say anything else, he backed out of the parking space and was gone. I tossed his cane in the dumpster. Things needed to change. It was inevitable. What I needed to figure out was how much… and how fast.

  Chapter 7

  Stupid Gary

  After a rough night of tossing and turning, I put in a twelve-hour shift at St. John’s. I’d been transferred from the ICU to the ER, a move I liked because my day usually rushed by, allowing no time for my brain to taunt me with its unanswered questions. But today, even though I’d been off of witchy duty the night before, I was dragging, and a cup of tar-thick cafeteria coffee didn’t seem to help.

  Over my break, I texted Michelle.

  Valentine’s next Saturday. This isn’t a request. You’re going with me.

  Like I’d miss the drama.

  What drama?

  Watching you interact with Logan should be interesting.

  No doubt you plan to analyze my interactions and report back to me on my repressed feelings.

  U bet.

  Oy. Not repressing! I made a choice.

  Hmm.

  We can talk about this then.

  Looking forward to it.

  At the end of my shift, I drove home on autopilot. I had to get some sleep tonight. Besides worrying about the house, the dead finfolk in the alley, Rick, and Logan, tomorrow was Thanksgiving, just a month until Christmas. I didn’t even have a tree to put up, let alone any shopping done.

  The driveway was dark as I pulled in, the new moon doing nothing to help break the bleak night. Distracted as I was with my problems, I almost plowed into the silhouette of a man standing in front of my garage door. Luckily, the reflective glint of my headlights off his inhuman eyes came in time for me to slam on the brakes.

  Vampire. Nightshade was in the attic, but I grabbed the shovel I kept in the back of the Jeep in case of snow emergencies. Faster than humanly possible, I was out of the car and had the vamp thrust against the garage door with the edge pressed into his jugular. That’s when I saw who it was, my ex-boyfriend turned vampire.

  “Gary.”

  “Uh, hi Grateful.”

  I pressed a little harder on the shovel.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He held up a large dufflebag. “I have your money. With interest.”

  I searched his face for any sign of threat or insincerity but his fangs were retracted and his eyes, although slightly nocturnal looking, were without guile. I lowered the shovel and grabbed the bag. Damn! It was heavy. I unzipped the top and my heart started to pound. It was filled with bricks of twenty-dollar bills. The satchel thumped to the pavement and I investigated further, flipping the bills through my icy cold fingers. Each brick had ten bills, $200, stacked twenty high and fifteen wide. $60,000. I licked my lips. This would get me out of debt and provide a small down payment; I might be able to qualify for a loan to buy my house.

  “Are these real?” I asked Gary.

  “Of course they’re real! Do you think Julius would pull one over on you? Contrary to your apparent assumption, he enjoys having his head attached to his body.”

  “You only stole $40,000. That’s some pretty crazy interest.”

  Gary squatted down next to me in the driveway. “So young, so naïve.”

  All of my negative feelings toward him channeled into a look that could cut glass. He actually waddled back a step. “If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

  “You’re Hecate, acting goddess of the dead in this district. Julius is sucking up to you on behalf of the coven. We’d all like to stay on this side of the gate.”

  “Yeah.” I wasn’t buying for a minute that Julius was scared of me. I suspected he was behind the increase in supernaturals in the area and the money was his attempt to grease the scales of justice in his favor. I fully intended to keep the money, but refused to promise anything in return. But then, Gary hadn’t asked for anything.

  “Thanks for paying me back,” I said. “I better go inside. My fingers are getting numb.” I stood, lifted the heavy bag to my shoulder, and side stepped to the front door so that I could keep one eye on him.

  “There’s something else, Grateful. We need to talk.”

  Here it was. He was going to tell me what this bribe was for. I needed to hear it, to know what I was getting myself into by taking the money, but first, I needed to get warm. And there was no way in hell I was inviting him inside.

  “Can you wait out here for fifteen minutes? I just got off work. I need to get out of these scrubs and take a bio break.”

  He glanced at the door, seeming to resign himself to not being invited in and nodded. It wasn’t a big deal for him. Undead bodies didn’t get cold. As for me, I was inside before I could take my next breath.

  * * * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, I returned to my porch dressed for an Antarctic expedition, complete with snowpants, poofy jacket, hat, gloves and boots. I turned on the porch light, so I could see Gary better, and plopped down on a dining room chair I’d dragged out because I didn’t have any patio furniture. Poe came out with me, circling Gary’s head before taking off to do some hunting.

  “Damned, winged rat!” he said, swiping at the air Poe had just vacated.

  “Hey! Don’t badmouth my familiar. You’re on borrowed time, so say what you came to say and get out of here.”

  “Got one for me?” he said, gesturing toward the chair.

  I glanced at the door and the five other dining room chairs behind it. “No.” I made myself comfortable.

  He leaned against the railing, dressed only in a dress shirt and slacks. If he’d been human, he’d have frostbite by now. “I need to tell you something about the night I became this.” He circled a hand through the air in front of his body.

  All of the feelings around his abandonment of me came back like a reoccurring sore. I was over Gary but I wasn’t over ‘it’. Why had he left? What was wrong with me? I needed answers. “Okay. I’ll listen. But f
irst, answer me this question. Did you leave me because you became a vampire or did you become a vampire after you left me?”

  Turning toward the road, he scanned my snow-covered yard with the interest of a nocturnal predator. I could picture him leaping over the banister in one lithe movement to capture a rabbit between his teeth.

  “I wanted to open our bookstore. I really did. But then I met this woman,” Gary began.

  “Uh huh.” There was venom in my voice. So, he left me before becoming a vamp. For another woman. My ego curled up at the pit of my stomach.

  “No, it wasn’t like that. She’d heard my poetry and said she was a big fan. When I told her I was thinking about opening a bookstore, she insisted it was suicide. ‘People don’t buy paper books anymore,’ she said. ‘Everything’s going electronic.’ Instead, she convinced me to partner with her to open a coffeehouse designed around readers. We were going to call it Drink, Eat, Read. Free wifi. I was excited to tell you about it.”

  “Wait. Are you saying this happened while we were still together? You never told me about any of this!”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “She was a vampire.”

  I narrowed my eyes, willing him to tell me more.

  “She compelled me to empty your accounts and give her the money.”

  “Why? To open some lame café?”

  “No. She never intended to follow through on that idea. She turned me the night I handed the money over.” The last sentence came out so quietly I could barely hear it.