Page 112 of Kick the Candle (Knight Games 2)
"Oh, I know. I was part of it once, remember?" He took a step closer to me, reached for my elbow.
As his hand approached, I jerked back. I didn't mean to, at least not in such an obvious way, but something had happened to me the night before. I'd given myself to Rick in a deeper way and made promises I had no intention of breaking. "Logan, we need to talk."
"That's readily apparent." His hand hung awkwardly in the air between us, and he grimaced at the arm I'd jerked away.
I sighed. "I'm with Rick."
With a roll of his eyes, he slid his hands into his jean pockets. "I know. He's your caretaker and you're his witch. You need each other to do what you have to do-"
"No." I shook my head. "It's more than that. I didn't understand at first. This isn't obligation, or a shared history. It's more." I wasn't sure how much more, only that I wanted to find out. I owed it to Rick to give this a chance. I owed it to myself.
"I know you have feelings for me, Grateful. I didn't imagine the connection we shared."
"When you were a ghost? That was the soul sorter in me. We were naturally attracted to each other because I was supposed to help you move on."
"And now?"
"Friendship."
A low grunt punched from his chest. "You didn't kiss me like a friend."
I huffed defensively, hands moving to my hips. "I was high on leprechaun roofies! Believe me, I didn't know what I was doing."
"Bullshit."
"Excuse me?" Now I was pissed. Who was he to say what I was feeling?
He pointed a finger at the end of my nose. "The first hint of a fight with Rick and you came running to my apartment. Why did you do that, Grateful? Unless some part of you still feels something for me?"
"I do feel something for you. Friendship."
"Fuck!" All the color drained from his face, and his eyes fixated on the cabinets over my shoulder.
The disappointment must be eating the guy up. "It's gonna be okay, Logan. You'll meet someone else."
He glanced back at me, annoyed, and gestured over my shoulder with an open palm. "My mom is in your kitchen."
"She is?"
"She wants us to follow her."
I glanced over my shoulder but couldn't see anyone. Frustrating. "Lead the way."
With a curt nod, he followed the spirit to the door to my cellar. Why did everything creepy happen in the basement? I hated the basement.
He stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Between the wine cellar and us was an ancient looking pool table with a marble top. Logan paused for a moment, then turned back to me. "She says we need to move it."
"What? The pool table? That thing must weigh a ton."
"Come on Hecate, put those magic muscles to work." He placed both hands on the corner of the table and lowered his shoulder.
"I guess when the ghost of your mom tells you to do something, you do it." I widened my eyes and dropped down into pushing position.
"On three. One...two...three."
Logan grunted, and I pushed with everything I had. The table moved about two inches. On his count, we pushed again and again. Finally, what Logan's mom had wanted us to see was right under our feet.
I didn't understand the ancient carvings that decorated the rectangle of stone we were standing on, but my whole body detected the magic. Dark magic. Demonic magic.
