Page 16 of The Ghost and the Graveyard (Knight Games 1)
The entire inside of the stone cottage glowed like a shrine. Candles flickered. Crosses reflected the light. Skulls-human skulls circled the room. A painting of a skeleton woman dressed like the Virgin Mary loomed against the far wall. And that was all I saw because, at that point, my overwhelmed brain decided to turn off.
I'd never been prone to fainting, but the world tilted on its axis, threatening to toss me unfettered into the black universe. I collapsed backward, expecting to crack my head against the stone walkway.
The last thing I remember is Rick catching me in his arms as the darkness closed in around me.
About My New House
The stench of dirty feet brought me to my senses. Where was I? I sat up and cracked my back. Memories of the night lingered like a bad case of food poisoning. What the hell happened last night? I'd sworn to stay off men until I had time to heal. After the Gary incident, I'd had to go to therapy, months of soul-wrenching therapy where I promised myself I wouldn't hand my future over to the next guy who came along. I'd given Gary control of all of my financial resources because I thought I loved him. Who does that? I'll tell you who. Push-overs. Women who need boundaries. I needed boundaries. I needed control. I needed to not straddle every cemetery caretaker who walked through my door.
I'd crossed a line into mildly slutty last night. I slapped my forehead, which was beginning to throb in protest of yesterday's alcohol ingestion. With a deep breath, I decided there was no need to berate myself. So, I'd slipped. I chalked it up to the wine and the stress of moving into the new house. Nothing too serious had happened. Last night was a test, one I'd barely passed. Obviously, Rick was my catnip. Now that I understood his effect on me, I would be more careful around him.
I cracked my back again. The family room couch did not make a good bed. Light streamed between the wood blinds. Crap. I glanced at my watch and then leaped to my feet. I'd have to hustle if I was going to make my shift at the hospital and, unfortunately, I hadn't unpacked my moving box. I'd have to dig out my scrubs and bathroom sundries.
Hauling my awkward cargo up to the bedroom, I retrieved all of my stuff and took the world's fastest shower. The mirror was covered in a thick layer of steam, and I struggled to get ready with a throbbing headache on top of impaired vision.
"Ow!" I yanked the mascara wand out of my eye. I was going to look like a raccoon if I wasn't careful. A raccoon with a migraine.
I dug in my purse for some ibuprofen and gulped them down with water from the sink. That's when my hangover became the least of my worries. I had the distinct impression that someone was watching me.
"Hello?" I called, sticking my head out the bathroom door.
There was no one there.
Weird. This creaky old house was messing with my head. I sighed and dressed in my scrub top, an ice-blue one with tiny penguins. As the cloth slipped over my head, I thought I saw a man's face in the foggy mirror, for a fraction of a second. Once my vision was unobstructed, nothing.
I made a second mental note to cut back on the liquor. On my way out the door, I grabbed the ugly bouquet with its dirty-foot odor and tossed it into the garbage can. The smell was definitely not helping my hangover.
As I backed out of the garage, I retrieved a frosted strawberry Pop Tart from my glove compartment and a bottle of Frappuccino from the case behind my seat. "Breakfast of champions," I mumbled to the windshield, hoping I'd make it to work on time.
* * * * *
One of the perks of being a nurse is the twelve-hour shifts. Sure they're long, but you only have to work three days a week. Plus, because of Michelle, I got in good with the staff during clinicals and was hired on day shift, 7 a.m to 7 p.m. Cool gig for someone like me with no spouse or kids. Off early enough to enjoy a night out, plus four days of freedom a week to spend as you choose, or in my case, as I can afford. My new digs added a thirty-minute commute in each direction, twenty if you drive like I do. By the time I got home, I was mentally and physically exhausted, ready and willing to do my best impression of a slug on the couch for the rest of the night. Unfortunately, my workday wasn't over.
As part of my financial rescue strategy, I'd taken on a second job as a phone nurse. The idea was that I would do it on my days off, but that hadn't worked out this week. My coworker had some kind of personal conflict, so I was left covering the rest of her shift, eight to midnight. It wasn't exactly how I wanted to spend my night. Visions of the caretaker danced through my head, but I brushed them away with a sweep of my hand. I had work to do.
I tossed some cheese and crackers into my mouth, booted my laptop, and donned the headset that made me look like Uhura from Star Trek. Like a good little call center rep, I logged in at exactly eight o'clock and the calls started rolling in.
"No, Mrs. Sakston, brown urine is never normal, even if you did have asparagus for dinner. Please see your doctor."
And more calls.
"Even though the PMS is really bad, it isn't a reason to take your wife to the emergency room, Mr. Johnston. Please call her doctor in the morning for an office visit. No, I don't think she'll kill you, but maybe you should stay out of her way."
And more calls.
"How far apart are the contractions? Five minutes? Yes, you should go to the hospital now."
Until finally, around 11:30 p.m., the calls seemed to stop and I watched the clock inch toward midnight. I was more than ready to be done with the day. The scrubs I'd thrown on that morning clung to me like a straitjacket. I longed to spend the night in a real bed after my backbreaking stint on the couch the night before.
Static in my ear at 11:59 was an unwelcome warning that a call was coming in-the sound of the switchboard routing to me. It was all that I could do not to log out and make the patient call back. But I'm not the type of person to leave my work for someone else, so I waited for the familiar beep that would signify the call's connection.
"Hello, you've reached the St. John's medi-line. How can I help you today?"
"Are you the sorter?" a grandmotherly voice asked.
"Excuse me? Ma'am? Can I help you?"
"Do you seek the book and blade?"
