Page 14 of The Ghost and the Graveyard (Knight Games 1)
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?"
She sounded old. Maybe she was confused. "This is the hospital phone service. Are you in trouble? Do you need help? What's your name?"
"My name is Prudence, dear."
"Prudence, are you ill?"
"Oh no, I'm not ill."
"Can I help you with something?"
"Are you the sorter?"
"I don't know what that is, ma'am."
Click. The line disconnected. My hand reflexively shot forward and hit the button on my computer to log out.
"Freaking weird," I said. I wondered what kind of situation the lady was in. Maybe she was an Alzheimer's patient or something. She certainly wasn't making any sense.
I was in the process of removing my headset and making plans for a long, hot bath when the sound of a door swinging open on squeaky hinges made me turn toward the stairs. The sound was coming from up, way up. I rose on shaky legs and took three big steps toward the foyer.
I'm not sure what I noticed first, the woman herself or the light that surrounded her. She had the curly gray hair of a grandmother, round cheeks, and a black button front sweater over a high lace collar. Her face was a scowl and below her waist ...nothing. Tendrils of mist-that was it. The glowing torso of an old lady leered at me from the top of my steps. I stopped breathing. I blinked once, then twice. She locked eyes with me.
