Page 101 of The Ghost and the Graveyard (Knight Games 1)
Entering the kitchen from the garage, the smell that wafted around me made my mouth water. On the stove, a bubbling pot stirred itself. The oven opened, and a roast slid out, basted itself, and retreated.
"Logan?"
He formed in front of the kitchen island. "Grateful, welcome home. How was your day?"
"Fucked up. An old man with drug-induced strength tried to kill me at the coffee shop." I gave him a blow by blow of the incident.
Logan frowned. "He called you Hecate? You're sure."
"Ah, yeah! A girl wouldn't forget something like that."
"Hecate is another name for what you are."
My breath caught in my throat. "Are you saying that the man knew I had part of the witch inside of me?"
"I'm saying he probably wasn't a man. Prudence says now that you know what you are, you'll start to change. It's part of the transition until you take your power back or reject it. The magic inside of you is visible by certain...creatures."
I threw my keys on the counter so hard they skidded into the wall. "Isn't that just the theme of the fucking year? Everyone knows about how this works but me."
"I'm sorry-"
Prudence formed then, crossing her arms over her chest. "Probably a demon. I'm not sure a vampire could tell who you are. Not yet. But a demon might be able to smell it on you."
"But what does Hecate mean?
"Hecate is an ancient name for the goddess of the dead. It's fitting. They say Isabella was a daughter to the goddess herself."
I huffed. "Goddess? I have a big enough problem with the title witch!"
"A sorceress by any other name would be as powerful." She laughed. "You called yourself the Monk's Hill witch in your last life because you thought it had a ring to it, but truly Hecate would be more accurate.
I rolled my eyes. "Save it. I don't need this right now." I was pissed. I wanted my life back. "What is this, Logan?" I waved a hand over the bubbling mess that was my kitchen.
"Dinner. I thought we could have a date."
"It's not even ten. You're hardly opaque. It's too early for you."
"I knew you'd be tired, and I wanted to spend some time with you before you fell asleep. You've worked every night this week."
"I..." What could I say? It was a thoughtful gesture, so why did it feel so suffocating? Even as I asked myself that question, I knew the answer. After what happened at Java Jane's, I wanted to be alone, to pretend for one night that my house wasn't haunted.
Plus, this was exactly what Michelle had warned me about. He was too dependent on me. I wasn't ready to be in a relationship, especially one that felt forced. Logan lived here, and I lived here. What did that mean for my desire not to choose? I needed time and space.
"I need a bath," I said, marching toward the stairs.
"You don't have to decide, Grateful."
I turned back toward him. "No? How about if I decide I want my life back? No ghosts. No demons. No caretakers. That's not going to happen, is it?"
"You're considering being with Rick, aren't you?"
"I'm not having this conversation with you. You're the one who told me I had a choice. It goes both ways, and the only one who can make it is me."
Logan flickered. Whatever was on the stove began bubbling over. I hurried to turn off the burner. Clarity came to me in Michelle's words: How do you know they are what they seem?
I focused my attention on what I could see of Logan's head. "Be honest. What's the real reason you don't want me to become the witch? What would make you want to be a ghost forever?"
By the length of time it took Logan to answer, I knew I was onto something. He blended into the wall, his desire to dodge the inquiry bleeding the energy out of him. But I wasn't going to let him off that easily.
