Page 81 of The Ghost and the Graveyard (Knight Games 1)
"Stop, Marcus. If you kill me, Rick will have your head."
"I think not. With your blood strengthening me, I'll have his. And you know the beauty of caretaker flesh is that it goes on forever."
With that, he bit the place where my neck met my right shoulder, and I heard the rush of my blood flowing down his throat before my flesh tore from my neck. As I died, I had one piece of magic left the Helleborine couldn't restrain; it wasn't tied to this body. I released my soul, allowing my light to escape through my open mouth. It blew west on the fall wind. The spell took me into town, inside the open window of the nearest woman of appropriate age. I fluttered to her abdomen, and then sank beneath her skin before the blackness swallowed me.
My last thoughts were of Rick. I prayed for his safety.
As I died in my memory, the book spat me out and I was back in the attic, gasping for breath and holding my neck. I collapsed to the floor.
"Oh my," Prudence said. "I suppose reliving one's death would be a disturbing experience." She took my pulse and propped my head in her lap.
I met her eyes. "It was my mother. I saw the light enter my mother."
"I told you, you were very powerful."
I sat up to see Prudence more clearly and crisscrossed my legs in front of me. I had so many questions, I didn't know where to start. "What happened to Marcus after I died?"
"Rick tried to kill him. They fought until dawn when Marcus was forced to retreat into the underworld. With your blood and that of the two humans giving him power, he's become the leader of the vampire coven inside the Hellmouth. The vampires haven't found a way out of the cemetery yet, but Rick's been working overtime to keep it that way."
"Marcus said someone had told him to use Helleborine on me."
"Yes. Helleborine does not grow within the graveyard. Marcus had help from the outside. Maybe from the same entity that provided Monk with the Book of Flesh and Bone. Rick's spent years trying to track down your true killer."
"And without me, Rick is weaker?"
"Yes. Not only has the world missed your talents for the last twenty-two years, every day that Rick goes without you as his partner becomes more difficult for him."
"But there could be another, right? If I say no, the part of me that is the witch will move to someone else."
She sighed. "Yes. When you die, the piece of you that is the witch will be freed from your body and find another host. There has to be balance. But that would take a lifetime. And what about us? Do you know what will happen to Logan and me?"
"Logan said that the next witch might be able to sort you, but the longer it took, the harder it would be."
"Death is the great forgetting. You as the Monk's Hill witch sort the souls who are caught between life and death. You do so by remembering for us. You give us a name. You call us out and send us on. Every day that a soul isn't sorted, that soul loses more memories of his or her life. Eventually, there aren't enough clues left for you or any witch to name the dead. Logan has already forgotten. If you accepted your responsibility tomorrow, it might not be soon enough for him. And now that the magic you've given me is wearing off, I will forget too. I've been here two full years waiting for you. Logan's only been here a few months. Think how fast I will forget now that my purpose has been fulfilled."
All anger had bled from Prudence's expression, and she patted my hand, the nurse in her coming out over all else.
"I'm too young for this kind of responsibility, Prudence. I'm sorry."
"Do you know why I kept the scrapbook of your life?" Prudence asked.
"Uh, no. Stalker comes to mind though, to be very honest."
"Every stage of your life proved your worth. At six-years old, you never forgot to feed the dog. By eleven, you were cooking meals for your dad. Do you remember?"
I nodded reluctantly.
"You are here because you are responsible. A lesser person might declare banckruptcy and move on. Not you, Grateful. You are working off every dime of Gary's debt."
"It's the right thing to do."
"And at twenty-two, you are choosing to do the right thing. Seems you are more responsible than you give yourself credit."
She had a point, but I wasn't ready to pull the Band-Aid off. It was all happening too fast. I needed more time.
"Let me think about it," I said.
nce Meriwether
