Page 98 of The Ghost and the Graveyard (Knight Games 1)
Annoyed, I grabbed my coffee and headed for the parking lot. I looked both ways, seriously freaked out by the old man's vibe, and then strode toward my car as quickly as possible. The girl must have been half deaf and blind to miss that guy. Not to mention the smell. Ew.
I'm not sure what set me off. I didn't hear him come up behind me, and his body was out of sight. But I knew when he lunged for me. I expected it.
One of his hands shot around my waist, the other clutched at my mouth. I grabbed both and lurched forward, sending my backside into his fat belly and using his forward momentum to launch him over my shoulder. He landed flat on his back on the pavement. Thank you Hapkido. I slipped inside my Jeep and used my key fob to lock the doors. Cell phone, STAT! Receipts and tissues flew as I dug through the Bermuda triangle of handbags.
I ditched that plan when movement out my window caught my eye. The wrinkled old man rose unnaturally from the pavement, tipping up onto his feet like gravity forgot about him. Fuck! I slammed the keys into the ignition. Who the hell was this guy? The impact from that fall should've broken something, and it wasn't like he was in tip-top physical condition.
He lunged for my car. I shifted into reverse and slammed on the gas. The man pursued me. Like a high school track star, he sprinted after my Jeep. Tires squealing, I stopped, shifted, accelerated forward in a car-on-man game of chicken. He didn't flinch. I swerved before impact, narrowly missing him and gunned it toward Red Grove. I only slowed when I'd put miles between his wrinkled face and my bumper.
With shaking hands, I dialed 911 and relayed what had happened. Identifying myself as a nurse, I suggested the man was mentally ill and probably on PCP or something. The dispatcher promised to send a squad car.
Describing the scenario forced me to analyze it with a clinical eye. Nurses are assaulted more than any other helping profession. Sick people aren't in their right minds, and drug users often have what seems like superhuman strength. I'd taken self-defense classes for years and used my skills on more than one occasion. The fact the man attacked me outside the hospital was irrelevant. He'd seen my scrubs and wanted something from me. What had he said? Hecate? Probably a new name for heroin. Maybe he thought I could get him some.
Halfway home, I remembered the coffee in my cup holder. I didn't need it anymore. The scare woke me right up. I drank it anyway, for comfort more than caffeine. Why did my life have to be so bizarre? I came to Red Grove to get over Gary and move on, but all I'd found was one crisis after another. I wanted a normal life. I didn't want to be a witch, and I didn't want a supernatural relationship.
I contemplated leaving Red Grove and all of my problems behind. My mind raced while my subconscious drove. It wasn't the safest way to travel. But before I knew it, the garage door was opening, welcoming me home.
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.
