Page 131 of The Ghost and the Graveyard (Knight Games 1)
Repositioning my blade, I reached for the door.
The darkness of the shanty made me temporarily blind, but I was not deaf. I heard a shotgun cock. The back of Rick's arm slid in front of my waist, pushing me behind him before the room came into view. Curled on the dirt floor, a man rocked cross-legged, staring at us through the sight of his rifle.
"Get out," he rasped. His left side was covered in blood. A bite mark on his neck still oozed onto his shirt. Hmm. Marcus had a snack before going to sleep for the day. A bead of sweat dripped down the hunter's forehead onto his shoulders. Shaking. Sweaty. Pale. He was hypovolemic from the blood loss and close enough to going into shock to make me wonder how he was still sitting up.
"What's your name?" Rick asked.
"Shut up," the man said.
Rick held out a hand. "You've been infected. The thing that bit you has poisoned your blood. We can cure you, but you need to come with us, and we have to kill the one who's buried beneath you."
The man shook so hard I thought for sure the gun would go off in his hands. Tears streamed down his cheeks. "Just go away," he pleaded.
Marcus is controlling his mind, Rick thought into my head. The man may be as good as dead. If Marcus forced him to drink some of his blood, he might be a changeling, a servant of the damned soon to become a vampire himself.
How do we know if we can fix him or need to kill him? I asked.
Check if his heart is still beating.
And just how am I supposed to get past the gun to take his pulse?
I'll take care of the gun. Rick shot forward, lightning-fast.
Crack. The gun fired, and Rick curled over.
Over, Buffy
After a shower, I threw on the most comfortable sweats I owned and returned to the attic to copy down the spell for Locating Paranormal Entities: Vampires from the Book of Light. Rick had left to make preparations to execute the spell at his cottage. When I leaned over the book, pen and notebook in hand, the antique trunk near my feet hummed to me. I crouched down and lifted the lid. My sword, all ivory bone wickedness, waited there for me next to the silver bowl, candles, salt and other witchy paraphernalia. I hadn't picked up after the fight with Marcus, and I was the only one who could touch my sword. I guess my attic had magically organized itself. Cool.
Near the back, the sword's sheath was tucked away. The crisscross of the straps reminded me of my death at Marcus's hand. I'd worn this sword on my back that night. The memory the Book of Light had shown me played out vividly in my head. I clenched a fist, remembering. I owed Marcus. I'd have my revenge.
I yanked off my t-shirt and slipped into the harness. It took me several minutes to sheath the blade while it was on my back. Donning my shirt again, the hilt poked out at the neck. I practiced withdrawing the sword a couple of times and rotating it, clumsily, through the empty attic.
If I had to use this, I was doomed.
Stiff and awkward, I walked to Rick's cottage.
"You found the sheath," he said.
"How did I ever fight with this thing on? It feels like I have a steel beam strapped to my spine."
The corner of his mouth lifted impishly. "Give her a name."
"Excuse me?" I flashed him my most confused look and paused under the wind chimes.
"You always name her. She responds better to a name." He shrugged.
"Of course she does. What magical sword made from the femur of a dead saint doesn't?" I stepped backward into the yard and pulled the sword from its sheath. The bone reflected the sun, its white blade taking on an almost blue glint. Memory or raw emotion flooded me with awe for her, so magnificent, so powerful. But what would I name her? "Nightshade," I said. A twang like singing metal rang out around me.
"Same thing you called her last time," Rick murmured, stepping from the porch.
I resheathed Nightshade and immediately noticed the difference. She seemed smaller and lighter on my back, almost as if she was an extension of me. An extra limb.
"You mentioned you had the ingredients for this spell," I said.
He nodded. "The herbs that grow around the house are yours. You planted them in your last life. Everything from goldenseal to lungwort on this property and in the wooded acres to the back."
I gazed at the wild field to the side of the cottage. "How do I know what's what?"
