Kick The Candle (Knight Games)

by Genevieve Jack

  I worked my jaw, my mind searching for a story that wouldn’t come back to haunt me later. I could probably come up with documentation on the forty thousand, but part of those funds had been a cash advance against my credit card and the additional twenty thousand was a gift from Julius. Not to mention that the person who was supposed to “vouch” for me was technically dead and legally missing. “I’ll have to get back to you on that,” I said.

  “Okey dokey, artichokey.” He grabbed an empty folder from his credenza and placed all of my paperwork inside. “Come back and see us when you figure it out.” He stood, handing me the folder with his left hand while simultaneously offering his right. I recognized the move as the diploma handshake, meant to be quick and to give you a psychological nudge to move along and not hold up the line. Was there some form of training loan officers went through for this? Obviously, the practiced body language was meant to usher me out of the office as quickly as possible.

  Like a good little customer, I left his cubicle and headed for the revolving door. Halfway around, I saw Chuck leaning up against Maggie’s counter. Drug dealer, he mouthed. I knit my brow. Cell phone in hand, I scrolled through my database of spells. Who knew getting a loan would be this difficult, or that an itching pox was soon to befall the staff of Winshire Bank and Loan?

  * * * * *

  As I approached Red Grove, my mood was about as dark as it had ever been. No loan. What were the chances my father would give me another extension? He couldn’t put Mr. Nekomata off forever. Under better circumstances, I could ask Rick for the money. He’d mentioned he was loaded; he’d made some good investments in the 1940’s, and it wasn’t like he had many expenses.

  The problem with that plan? I wasn’t sure where Rick was. I hadn’t heard from him since our fight. I was still angry and wasn’t exactly counting the moments until our reunion, but I was beginning to get concerned. For one, I still didn’t know what had happened with the drowned woman in the ER. Plus, it wasn’t like Rick to go this long without a feeding. If we didn’t get it on soon, he’d start to weaken, which wasn’t a good idea for either of us with Julius turning up the steam on his search efforts.

  Where was the Book of Flesh and Bone, anyway? And why did the baddies think I had it? My head pounded with questions. Crap, I needed a nap.

  I pulled into my driveway, stabbing the button for my garage door on autopilot, then slammed on my brakes when a brightly colored poster in my front yard caught my eye. My father’s smiling face stared back at me from one of his real estate signs, wire legs piercing the snow. That was new. Under his cat-who-ate-the-canary grin was a sliding panel. What I saw there made my blood run cold and my breath catch. This had to be a mistake.

  With one shaking hand, I retrieved my phone from the cup-holder and used my thumb to hit my dad’s number. My foot wandered, and the Jeep lurched forward. I slammed on the brakes. Holding the ringing phone to my ear, I eased into the garage and parked. My dad and I were European mutts with heritage so blended we simply called ourselves American, but at that moment I was feeling full-on Soprano Italian. I needed both hands for this conversation.

  “Robert Knight,” my father’s voice trickled out to me, brimming with real estate sunshine, even on this cold December day.

  “You sold my house.” The words were venomous. Quiet in a deadly way.

  There was a pause, my father undoubtedly registering who I was. “Grateful, Mr. Nekomata offered me twice the market price. I don’t know why he wants the place so bad but that was an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

  “You don’t know what you’ve done.” My voice cracked. I was trembling so hard I could barely grip the phone.

  “Oh Grateful, I know you liked the place but honestly, it’s for the best. I’ll help you buy a condo downtown with the proceeds. We’ll be closer, and you won’t have such a long commute to work. Seraphina always says how important it is to keep family close and I think she’s right. It will be good for us to see more of each other.”

  “Seraphina? Seraphina doesn’t know Jack, Dad. You promised me you’d give me time to buy this place.”

  “It’s sold, Grateful. Get over it. If you don’t want to move closer to us, fine, but you don’t have to attack Seraphina for problems you brought upon yourself.”

  “Us? Is she living with you now?”

  The exasperated sigh he let out gave him away. “I was going to tell you in person, the next time I saw you.”

  Head spinning, I stared out the windshield, the engine still rumbling in the garage. Words tumbled out of my mouth faster than I could censor them. “I don’t know if I can forgive you for selling my house.”

  Silence. Part of me wanted to take it back, but I was too devastated. I couldn’t. Not yet.

  “Grateful.” One word, loaded with hurt and disappointment.

  I poked the end call button. Never had I disrespected my father like this. He was my only family. But as I lowered my forehead to the steering wheel, and fat tears began to flow down my cheeks, the wrong I inflicted on him seemed justified by the terror that flooded me.

  Somehow, I had to stop this sale or I’d be forced to move my seat of magic. Was that even possible? How could I manage the graveyard if I wasn’t here? What about the portal in my attic? Would lost souls like Logan’s know where to find me? I couldn’t even begin to think about Rick and me; I had too many questions about our relationship already. At this point, every option seemed insurmountable, and I could almost feel my skin splitting from the weight piled on my shoulders.

  I pulled the key from the ignition, threw open the door, and stomped into the snow covered yard to rip the sign, wire frame and all, from its place. Once my dad’s smiling face was safely beneath the Rubbermaid lid of my garbage can, I tried to comfort myself by saying things couldn’t get any worse.

  But they could.

  Way worse.

  Chapter 13

  Ancient History

  “What are we going to do?” I sat cross-legged in the middle of my attic floor, head in my hands, bundled against the daytime cold that coursed through the plastic wrap covering my broken window.

  Poe’s beady black eyes lacked their usual sharp luster. “I’m not sure.” The flat words didn’t hold the sarcasm or wit I’d come to expect from the raven, which meant my situation was all the more serious.

  “What good are you?” I snapped. “The woman in my hallucination said you were exactly what I needed. Help me, now!”

  The bird bowed his head. “You don’t need to be hurtful. I’m sure we’ll find a way. I have feathers in the game after all.”

  “Feathers in the game? You don’t want to be associated with a washed up witch?”

  He jumped down to my level and looked me in the eye. “I have served you in various forms over your many lifetimes, Grateful, and by many different names. I die when you die.”

  “Oh.”

  “Here’s what I know for sure: if you lose this attic, you can establish a new one—”

  “I can?”

  “—but it will leave you vulnerable. You’ll need Rick.”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, Rick’s not here,” I snapped. “He’s been gone for over a week. I have no idea where he is or what he’s doing. I’m not even sure I can trust him! This is the worst possible time for this to be happening. Who is this asshole anyway? Who buys an ancient house in rural Red Grove in the middle of winter?”

  Poe’s eye’s widened and a shiver traveled the length of his feathers. “Oh dear. What if it’s not a coincidence?”

  “Huh?”

  With a flurry of flapping, he hopped up to the desk with the book. “Ask the Book of Light to tell you who Nekomata is.”

  My feet obeyed my command to stand, although ungracefully, and I approached Poe and the book. “Show me Nekomata,” I said loud and clear toward my grimoire.

  The pages flipped so fast a breeze caused my hair to blow off my shoulders. The book settled open on a page near the back. I leaned over, notin
g the sketch of a ferocious looking cat-creature with a forked tail in the corner of the page.

  “The Nekomata is an ancient supernatural being first encountered in China in the year 589 AD. Nekomata is a shapeshifter that can take any form, including human, but prefers to spend time in a natural state resembling a large cat with a forked tail. The Nekomata tends toward allegiance with the Dark One as it is a necromancer, gaining power by using the dead. As such, it is extremely dangerous to Hecate as it preys on the gravesites that are conducive to her power.” I slapped my hands over my face. “Oh shit, Poe.

  “Looks like Nekomata knows exactly why this house is worth twice the market price.”

  I brushed back my bangs and ran my palms over my hair. “Wait, wait. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Maybe the name is a coincidence. I’ve got a spell on this place. Nothing supernatural gets in without an invitation. Even Rick had to ask my permission.”

  Poe clacked his beak together. “Your father invited him in. He is the rightful owner of the property and is of your blood. Depending on how the spell was cast, that would be enough.”

  I moaned. “Wouldn’t I know to restrict it to my own invitation?”

  “If you had, Prudence wouldn’t have been able to invite Rick in if she needed him. You were thinking ahead.”

  “Fuck. Fuck. Double Fuck!” I stomped in a circle. “I’m such an imbecile. He even used his real name.”

  “Cocky SOB.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Mmm, High Priestess of the Grave, I think I should point out that the timing seems noteworthy…the Book of Flesh and Bone is in such high demand trolls and finfolk are dying for it, a possessed human says she thinks you have it, and a Nekomata shows up to buy your house. If I was a betting bird, I’d say someone knows something about you that you don’t.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like maybe the book is hidden in this house.”

  I stared at him dumbly. “If it was, wouldn’t you know? You said you’ve been with me in my past lives.”

  “Not all and not always. Plus, Dear Witch, there were things so important you kept them even from me.”

  “Then how do I find out? I don’t remember and there’s no one left alive to ask.”

  Poe tipped his head to the side. “Why not ask yourself? The book holds your memories…remember?” He chuckled.

  And that’s when it dawned on me, I’d been so worried about learning what was written on the pages, I’d forgotten the magic of the book itself. The Book of Light held my memories. All I had to do was ask it to show them to me. I’d conveniently forgotten to use this particular ability because the last time I had, I relived my own tragic death, pain and all. In fact, it was the death that kicked me out of the memory. I wasn’t entirely sure how to control how much I experienced of my former life. The idea of being a prisoner of my past frightened me, and I wasn’t just speaking metaphorically.

  “I don’t want to do this.”

  “Your only other option is to ask Rick.”

  “I have no idea where he is.”

  “Then put on your big witch panties and get in there.”

  “You wouldn’t possibly know how to put the brakes on a memory would you?”

  He shook his head. “I only know that the past can’t hurt you. Not really.”

  “The past can totally hurt you. That’s why people say ‘don’t live in the past.’ People who suffer from PTSD are injured by their pasts on a regular basis.”

  Poe cleared his throat. “You won’t physically die.”

  I rolled my eyes and gave him a sarcastic thumbs-up. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

  “Just trying to help.” He sighed.

  I turned back to the book, resting my hands on either side of the crease. In a loud and clear voice, I said, “Show me what happened to the Book of Flesh and Bone.”

  Light poured out of the pages, filling the attic, blinding me. When I could see again, I was in another world.

  * * * * *

  The smell of dried herbs and smoke filled my nostrils. I was nestled in a wooden chair, watching the fire crackle under a cooking caldron. As before, I was living my memory from the inside out, along for the ride as my former self took the wheel and drove me through the events of her past. I was in a cozy cottage. Daylight shone through a small window near the door and my stomach growled for the lunch warming in the pot.

  There was a knock on the door. I made sure my lengthy black hair was braided and coiled neatly behind my head. With a surprisingly dark, russet-colored hand, I smoothed the fabric of my floor-length black skirt as I moved to answer it. I was covered in yards and yards of black material only broken by a wide lace collar.

  Rick was on the other side of the door. Not the Rick I knew, but a softer, more innocent version. Human. He was dressed in the Puritan fashion, black suit, white collar. His dark hair fell in long waves to his shoulders.

  “Good day, Enrique.”

  He smiled, and a blush colored his cheeks. Breath caught in his throat, his eyes flicked away bashfully. “Miss Lockhart, you must excuse me, as I find your beauty arresting and forget myself even as I try to speak.”

  “If thy speaketh truth, then come partake of it, as you have before.” I gave him a sultry smile, leading him inside by the hand, and closing the door behind him.

  Rick’s voice broke when he answered me, “I pray a day will come when I can openly do so as your husband. But not today. I’ve come to warn you. Monk is convinced of your guilt and will not be undone. He comes now to take you to the stake.”

  I snickered. “Monk will not take me. The impertinent windbag hath not the strength.”

  “Please. I beg of you. Run. You must flee.” Rick took my hands in his, tears flowing openly down his face. “You cannot ask me to watch you burn. Though the flames not touch my flesh, the fire would consume me, eternally.”

  “Do not worry thyself, Enrique. I shall plead my case, and Monk’s wrath shall pass over me.” All I had to do was look Monk squarely in the eye, and I could bend his thoughts to my will.

  “Pass over you? When you have stew in your pot and still the hint of meat on your bones.”

  “I’ve kept stew in many pots.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “But even I have limits.”

  A gaunt cheek pressed against mine, and I could feel his bones under the thin blanket of his skin. He was starving. All of them were starving. And I had a pot of stew. “Would you share my lunch with me?”

  “No, no, listen to me. It is different this time, my love. The entire town, aside from me, is chanting for your blood. Please take my words into your bosom and flee. There is a place in the woods to the north. If you leave now, you can make it before dark. The whole town is coming.”

  “Chanting? The town is chanting?”

  “Monk has a book. They are chanting a prayer to weaken you because they say you are a witch.”

  Pulling back, I peered at him shrewdly. “You’re sure?”

  He nodded, his eyes pleading with me. “Listen. You can hear them coming.”

  He spoke the truth. The sounds of a crowd in the distance were already audible and the first pangs of fear rocked through me. “Enrique, we are betrothed, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you intend to give yourself to me, body and soul?”

  “Of course.”

  “Will you pledge your life to me now? Bind your soul to me, whate’er may come, we will be together into eternity?”

  With both hands, he cradled my face. “Yes. I love you, Isabella. For eternity.”

  Locked deep within his gaze, I reached into my pocket. I’d made the ointment for an emergency such as this. Still, I hesitated. I cared for Enrique, and if the spell came to pass, he’d be cursed by my hand. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

  Between us, I opened the tiny jar. Under the lid was a razor sharp barb. I captured one of his hands from my cheek, and positioned it palm up, then jabbed the barb into his fing
er.

  He gasped. “What are you doing?”

  “Binding us for eternity.”

  He did not argue, just searched my face with the trust of a child.

  I watched his ruby red gift drip into the balm, then plucked my own skin. My darker, older blood oozed over his. Mixing the concoction with my finger, I commanded him. “Unbutton your shirt.”

  “Isabella, there is no time.”

  On my tiptoes, I planted a brazen kiss on his lips, snaking my tongue into his mouth, all passion and wet heat. Rick responded with the inexperienced lips of a virgin and another shiver of guilt passed through me.

  He unbuttoned his shirt.

  I found the place over his heart, yet unscarred, and drew a scythe with the gooey paste. In the old language, I spoke the spell.

  “In the name of my mother

  Goddess of night

  I bind thee, my vessel,

  Caretaker of light

  Willingly given

  Sacrifice thine

  Human no longer

  Caretaker mine.”

  The chanting had grown louder, and I could sense the crowd outside the door. Suddenly my skin felt too tight. Damnation! Where had Monk found that spell?

  The door was kicked in and clawing hands swept me from my home. In a sea of black wool and white collars, I lost sight of Enrique. My body, weakened by their chant, was pinched, yanked, and torn until I was brought to a stake near the church. Once they bound me to it, Monk arrived.

  The man of little stature approached with a great book engulfed in his arms. I recognized the tome right away, the Book of Flesh and Bone. A sister from Salem had told me about it but I never thought it would make it this far. The pages were made of flayed human skin, the cover layered with the same. The ink contained human blood and the inlaid design on the spine was not pearl but human teeth. Legend said it was written by the devil. I wasn’t sure I believed in a devil, per se, but if there was a source of all evil and darkness, certainly he was the author of this tome.