Queen of The Hill (Knight Games)

by Genevieve Jack

  “How did he check if you had fruit in your system?” I suspected how but had to ask.

  Logan extended his wrist to show me two puncture wounds. “The vampire way.”

  We both wrinkled our noses.

  “Actually, if I didn’t know better, I’d say Julius has a thing for you, Grateful. The way he told the story of how you rescued him and slayed Tabetha, it was like one of those Pepe Le Pew cartoons where you could see his heart beat through his chest.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “You’re his hero.” Logan grinned and raised both eyebrows. “You are a vampire legend.”

  I snorted. He laughed. And then the humor slowly drained from the room. “I’m sorry, Logan, that this happened to you. Your life has been nothing but crazy since you met me.” I glanced down at the toes of my socks.

  “As I recall, I was a ghost in your attic when you met me. I don’t think you started the crazy.”

  “Maybe not,” I admitted.

  “Are we friends again?” he asked seriously.

  I smiled. “The best there is.” I held out my fist, and he bumped it with his own. “Who else would sign up for this?” I gestured toward myself.

  He moved for the door. “I need to check in at the restaurant, and you …” His gaze flicked over me. “Need a shower.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for coming to see me. I’m relieved things are okay between us again.”

  He nodded. “For sure. When you reschedule your wedding, Valentine’s will do the catering. Just let me know the date.”

  I shifted my eyes from him to the wall and bit my lip.

  He paused. “You are going to reschedule, aren’t you?”

  I swallowed. Needles pricked the insides of my eyes, the pain of tears held back too long, denied their proper course. “I’m sure we will,” I lied. “Maybe a longer engagement this time. The whole event was kind of rushed.”

  There was a long pause, and then Logan said, “Who could blame you for taking your time?” His eyes met mine, and he flashed me a crooked smile.

  Who could blame me?

  With a nod and a wave, he slipped out the door and went back to his life.

  CHAPTER 32

  New Beginnings

  After Logan left, I checked on Rick. He’d changed positions and was curled on his side. I glanced at Poe to ask if there was any other change, but my familiar was asleep on my dresser with his head under his wing.

  “Rick?” I asked. “Are you back?”

  His eyelashes fluttered.

  I moved to his side and squeezed his hand. He did not squeeze mine. I passed a hand in front of his face. His eyes glazed over again.

  Frustrated, I decided Logan’s suggestion of a shower would be a great way to wait this out. I started the water to heat it up, then in a stroke of genius, stepped back out to striptease in front of him. Nothing. He was definitely drugged. Healthy and conscious, I’d be under Rick before I could say go, blood or no blood.

  The spell would have to break soon, wouldn’t it?

  I stepped into the shower, filled my palm with my tea tree-and-mint shampoo and started washing the blood, sap, and purple fruit from my hair. As I massaged my scalp, I repeated this mantra: Rick will wake up soon. Rick will wake up soon. I pictured him stepping into the shower with me, grabbing me from behind, and promising he’d never leave me again. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

  The water turned cold. I stepped out and dried myself off. I checked Rick. No change. I dressed and dried my hair. I put on makeup and cologne.

  No change.

  “Poe.” I shook his raven body until he was awake.

  “Oh, how mature. Are you retaliating because I woke you earlier? If you are looking for an apology …” He rolled his eyes at me.

  “No. No. Nothing like that. Rick still hasn’t snapped out of it. I think something’s wrong. The spell isn’t wearing off.”

  The feathers over Poe’s eyes dipped down into a sharp vee over his beak. He flapped his wings and flew to Rick’s side. After nudging him repeatedly, Poe bit down on his ear.

  “Hey! What are you doing?” I yelled, seeing blood bubble up from the bite.

  “Trying to snap him out of it,” Poe said. “He didn’t even flinch.”

  I wiped away the blood and licked it off my thumb. Thankfully, the wound had already healed. “His caretaker power is still working. His injury healed.”

  “Have you fed him your blood?”

  “I tried. He won’t bite.”

  “It’s been more than fourteen hours,” Poe said. “Maybe longer. We don’t know what she gave him or even when she fed him the last dose.”

  I straightened and inhaled sharply. “She’d meant to bury him and feed off his power. She might’ve given him anything. What did she care if she fried his brain?”

  Poe huffed through his nostrils. “Try feeding him your blood. See if that wakes him up.”

  I drew Nightshade and scored my wrist. Blood bubbled to the surface. I lunged onto the bed and pulled Rick’s head into my lap. Tipping his head back, his lips parted CPR style, and I pressed my wrist to his open mouth. Blood dribbled over his tongue. Eventually, his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed reflexively.

  “That’s it. Come on, Rick. Drink,” I said, running my fingers along his hairline.

  He sputtered against my wrist. “He’s choking,” Poe said.

  I pulled my arm away. His body struggled for air, coughing and wheezing.

  “Poe, what’s happening?”

  The raven shook his head.

  Rick’s body trembled violently. “He’s having a seizure.” I tipped him on his side while the muscle spasms rocked through him. When they finally stopped, he heaved vomit across my bed and onto the floor.

  “He’s throwing up my blood!” I looked to Poe in panic. “What’s going on? What do we do?”

  Poe shook his head again.

  I helplessly rubbed Rick’s back and shoulder. After some time, I risked running to the bathroom for some towels to clean up. He was done being sick, but was no less vacant. Expressionless. Zombie-like.

  My blood was not the answer.

  “How do you get blood out of carpet?” I asked absently, scrubbing the floor.

  “Carpet cleaner,” Poe said just as absently.

  I sat back on my heels. “What if he stays like this?”

  “Don’t think that way.”

  Poe and I stared at each other. We were both thinking it. What he really meant was not to say it out loud.

  The sound of the doorbell made me jump. “Who could that be?” A glance at my watch told me it was almost midnight.

  “Only one way to find out,” Poe said.

  I dropped the towel I was holding and descended the stairs. A peek through the side window had me double-checking that Nightshade was on my back. Tree sprites. Were they here to exact their revenge on me for killing their queen? Carefully, I opened the door, trusting the protective ward around my house and the hum of my power in the air around me.

  The sprite at my door had birch-bark hair and wore a green strapless moss dress reminiscent of Tinker Bell’s. Her delicate features had an unmistakably carved quality. She blinked her eyes at me, then sank to her knees. Behind her, a dozen more of her kind did the same in my yard.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  The sprite at my feet extended her hands, a tightly rolled scroll resting in her palms similar to the invitation Tabetha had sent for dinner. I didn’t immediately accept it.

  “Grateful Knight, daughter of Hecate, sorceress of the dead, and queen of Monk’s Hill, we are here today to pay you homage and ask your just and generous hand to rule the once great territory of Salem.” Her voice had the reedy quality of a woodwind and the clarity of silver bells.

  “Wha—huh?” I said dumbly.

  She cleared her throat and spoke again. “As the emancipator of Salem’s realm from Tabetha the Great and Terrible, you are now the rightful Witch of Salem.” She extended her arms
another inch. “To accept your right and proper duty, simply read and sign the scroll and all that was Tabetha’s shall be yours.”

  Poe landed on my shoulder as my hand slowly reached for the scroll.

  “Don’t do it. You will anger the goddess,” Poe whispered. “She wasn’t happy when Tabetha acquired two of the five elements of magic. What if you end up on Hecate’s hit list?”

  I unrolled the scroll. A quill fell out into my hand. Tucking it between my thumb and forefinger, I began to read. Poe was right. I’d promised Rick I would not accept the territory for exactly the reason that it might put me on Hecate’s hit list. Of course, that was assuming I’d inherit two elements. With Polina back in power, there was just one in question.

  “I get her grimoire, Poe,” I said. “If I have her book of magic, maybe I can reverse the spell on Rick. It’s our best hope.”

  “Your mother might kill you,” Poe warned.

  “She gave me permission to kill Tabetha. The goddess would know the consequences of that blessing.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this? It’s a hell of a lot of responsibility.”

  I looked into his beady black eyes. “I don’t want to do it. I have to do it.”

  Poe said nothing but leaned his soft feathers into my ear. It was the raven equivalent of a hand on my shoulder. I rested the scroll against the wall and lifted the quill. It scratched the parchment without leaving a mark.

  “Do you have ink?” I asked the sprite.

  She folded her tiny hands in front of her hips and in that childlike voice said, “It must be done with blood.”

  Blood. Of course. It was always blood. The point of the quill was sharp, and I stabbed it into my left hand, hard enough to break the skin. Then in sweeping red letters, I signed at the bottom of the parchment. No sooner had I crossed the T in Knight, than the parchment dissolved between my fingers, leaving me only with the quill, which transformed into a crooked branch … no, a wand.

  I turned back toward the sprite, thinking her knees must hurt by now from kneeling. She lowered her face to the concrete. Her entire willowy body trembled with fear.

  “It’s okay. Stand up. I won’t hurt you,” I said.

  Slowly, she raised her head and met my eyes. I tried to make my face soft. The sprites had been treated like slaves by Tabetha. Who could blame them for believing their new master would be the same sort of devil?

  “I won’t hurt you, but I need my new grimoire. Where is Tabetha’s book of magic?”

  She motioned toward the lawn where the rows of sprites parted and four male tree sprites moved forward, carrying the great book like pallbearers. This book was as large as The Book of Light but covered in tree bark with rough-hewn letters that said Copse Magicum.

  “Forest magic,” Poe translated. “In the old language.”

  The procession stopped at my threshold, the knees of the fae buckling under the giant tome’s weight. I blew across the cover and then wrapped my magic around it to levitate the book inside. A collective “Ooooh” came from the gathering. They’d all seen wood magic but maybe never air.

  Once the book was safely on my dining room table, I turned back to the waiting sprites.

  “Thank you for coming. You can all go now. Rest assured, I will rule you and your territory with the same tender loving care I do my own.” I gave them all a small wave and promptly shut the door.

  I peeked out the side window and watched their confused faces turn toward the trees.

  “Do you think I was supposed to do something else? Some sort of ceremony or something.”

  “I have no idea,” Poe said. “In all of my lifetimes as a familiar, I have never witnessed a witch with two territories.”

  “Great. I’m a trailblazer.”

  He chuckled. “I can’t think of a more qualified candidate.”

  “Let’s see if my qualifications help me find a spell to get my caretaker back.” I flipped open the bark cover and perused the first pages. No table of contents. The spells weren’t even in alphabetical order. “How can a witch live this way?” I asked in frustration.

  Poe groaned. “Ask it, Grateful.”

  “Oh, I always forget I can do that.” I held my hand over the book. With a clear mind, I stated, “Show me the antidote for persigranate poisoning.”

  When I asked The Book of Light a question, the whole book glowed and the pages flipped in the wind. Not so with this book. A vine of ivy grew out of the spine and used its spade-shaped leaf to flip through the pages. When it reached the one it wanted, it laced itself along the crease, bookmark style. I leaned over the page and read the spell.

  “Persigranate requires an even hand.

  Too much sours the plan.

  To undo the overdone,

  mix one part milk thistle to two parts rum.

  Add the fresh egg of a quail.

  Administer raw, without fail,

  before sunset at any cost.

  Wait too long and suffer loss.”

  I looked at Poe. “The sun has already set.”

  Poe went statue still. “I will obtain the quail egg, my lady.”

  I nodded. I opened the front door, and he took flight. Once he was gone, I finally let myself cry.

  * * * * *

  “Drink,” I said into Rick’s ear. I propped him against my chest and raised the potion to his slack lips. He wasn’t helping me at all. Limp-limbed, he leaned in my arms.

  Poe paced on my dresser. “Just give it to him. Time is of the essence.”

  I placed one hand on Rick’s forehead and coaxed his head back. When his lips parted, I dumped in a splash of potion, then moved my hand from forehead to chin to hold his mouth closed. After three more times with this procedure, he’d swallowed all of it.

  I held him for a minute and then lowered him to the bed, our noses almost touching. As my arms started to cramp, I wondered if he’d ever come back to me. If his brain was fried, would he live out his immortal life in this empty and unresponsive state, until the mountains crumbled and the earth came apart? I couldn’t stand to watch him exist like that.

  An unwelcome thought wiggled at the back of my consciousness. I had Tabetha’s spell book. I could make another candle. If I made Rick human again, he could die. Would it be better to let him die than live like this? Without a doubt, death was what Rick would choose if he had the choice.

  But could I do it? No. Probably not. I buried my eyes in his chest and gave myself over to the surge of helplessness I’d fought valiantly since my ruined wedding. I dove head first into a sobbing, pitiful, self-indulgent wallow.

  “Come back to me. Please, come back to me,” I said in the squeaky, broken voice of a desperate woman.

  Time stretched on.

  Pressure. A hand rested on the back of my shoulder. I stopped breathing. Poe couldn’t transform into anything with five fingers, and I hadn’t heard footsteps enter the room. Slowly, tentatively, I raised my head from Rick’s chest and tipped my face to see his.

  He was looking at me. Soft gray eyes met mine, and the corner of his mouth crawled up his cheek in a jerky, measured grin.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “How fare thee?”

  His lips had moved, and he’d produced words. My heart leapt. I grinned and grabbed his face, melding my mouth with his. He stiffened and pushed me away.

  According to Logan, when he came out of the effects of the persigranate he remembered everything he’d done under its influence. Perhaps Rick was remembering what happened. It would be like him to be consumed with guilt over Tabetha as well as leaving me at the altar.

  I pulled back. “It’s okay. It’s all okay now.” I smiled reassuringly.

  Rick sat up, swinging his legs out from under me and over the side of the bed. The action forced me to do the same, and we ended up shoulder to shoulder on the edge of the mattress. His eyes narrowed. “What have you done to your appearance?”

  I snorted. “Nothing.” I looked down at myself.

  His eye
s darted around the room in confusion. “Isabella?” It was a question, not a statement.

  With a small nod of my head, I pressed a palm into my chest. “Yes … Well, not anymore,” I said uncertainly. “Grateful now, remember?”

  “I watched you burn,” he whispered.

  “That was hundreds of years ago, Rick—”

  “Enrique,” he corrected me.

  Confused, I looked to Poe, who was watching silently from his perch on my dresser. “What year is it, Enrique?” Poe asked.

  Rick startled. “The bird speaks? Is this your doing, Isabella?”

  I placed my hand on Rick’s thigh. “What year do you think it is?” I asked again.

  He stared at my hand on the denim of his jeans. “It is 1698. You … died.” He furrowed his brow. “I thought they all died.”

  I narrowed my eyes and searched his face for any indication he was joking. “Fuck. Me.” I ignored the way Rick jarred at the curse and turned toward Poe. “I think he’s lost more than three hundred years.”

  EPILOGUE

  I walked alone in an alley of questionable repute, looking for a vampire with humans on his mind. This part of the city was populated with strip clubs and massage parlors. My magic mirror told me the happy ending this vampire had in mind had more to do with blood than pleasure.

  Silently, I blended into shadow, out of reach of neon lights and beyond notice of the occasional smoker who lit up behind the dumpsters. My boots were enchanted not to make a sound, and Nightshade made me almost imperceptible to supernatural beings.

  The thump of bass poured into the alley as the door to one of the clubs opened and a vampire exited, woman in tow. She might’ve been a stripper or a scantily-clad patron. I wasn’t there to judge her, just the vamp.

  “Come on, baby,” the vampire said. “I’ve been waiting all night to get you alone.”

  She giggled. “In the alley? Wouldn’t you rather take me back to your place?”

  He pressed her against the brick wall. “I think here will be just perfect.”

  She shook her head. “I’m cold, and I don’t like this.” She pushed him away. “If you want to be alone, take me home.”