Page 62 of Kick the Candle (Knight Games 2)
He cawed in my face. "Really? Well, you know what I need? To eat every four-to-six hours. You'd know that if you'd taken the time to learn anything about ravens. And it's not like you left me a lot of options. Your pantry is a joke."
I huffed, feeling like my head might explode. When it was clear Poe didn't feel the slightest bit of remorse for his crime against my house, I rolled my eyes and reached for the doorknob. Not surprisingly, it swung open. Rick never locked his door; he didn't need to. I strode into the sparsely decorated living room. "Rick?" I called, but there was no way he was home. If he had been, I'd be naked and draped over the couch by now. I was at a loss.
Poe circled the small living room, then disappeared through the bedroom door, returning almost immediately. "He's not here."
"I'd surmised that much. Did you see anything strange tonight, Poe?"
"Strange how? One of the field mice I ate gave me heartburn but otherwise, no."
I gave him a quick rundown of what happened in the ER. He raised the muscle over his left eye that might count as an eyebrow. "You know, it had to be Rick. Who else would find her out here? Plus, there's this." He pointed his beak toward the linoleum kitchen floor.
A few steps closer and I could clearly make out a puddle. The door to the garage was slightly ajar. With two fingers, I nudged it the rest of the way open. Rick's car, a Tesla roadster I quite admired, was missing. Wet floor, near drowning victim in Red Grove Lake, missing Rick. Hmm. How was he involved? Where had he gone? Why hadn't he contacted me for back up? I didn't like this. Not at all.
"You can't possibly blame him. After you went all cray-cray about the Gary incident, it's no wonder he wanted to give you some space."
Blink. Blink. "Cray-Cray?" I wiped a hand over my face to try to calm my burgeoning temper. "Rick knew I was in love with Gary and watched his heart stop beating under the fangs of Anna the Vampire."
"Anna the Vampire." Poe ruffled his feathers. "You wouldn't be talking about Anna Bathory would you?"
"Yeah. I guess she owns the Mill Wheel. According to Gary, she runs a tight ship."
Poe bobbed his head. "Anna Bathory was daughter to Erzsebet Bathory, countess of Hungary in the late 1500's, also called the Blood Countess."
I knew I'd heard that name before! "That's right, Erzsebet killed hundreds of young girls before she was put to death. She was the most notable female serial killer in history." I'd seen her story on the History channel as a possible origination of Vampire lore, along with Vlad the Conqueror.
"Anna was her daughter. Interesting thing about Anna, no one is sure when she was turned, or by whom, but many believed her mother was feeding her early appetite."
I hugged my stomach, suddenly feeling cold even though Rick's house was a comfortable temperature. "So, you are telling me that a five hundred year old vamp is running a bar in Carlton City and is responsible for turning my ex-boyfriend."
Poe bobbed his head again.
"Look, I get what you're saying. Anna is like this ancient, uber-evil vamp and Rick was at his weakest. Even if I could understand why Rick wouldn't be in a position to confront her at that point, that doesn't explain why he didn't do more to help me. Why not find a way to tell me? I was in misery, Poe. I cried for days. I lost my apartment." Tears formed in my eyes just thinking about that time in my life. "I couldn't even get out of bed. I felt abandoned, worthless. Those first weeks, after I realized he wasn't coming back and the money was gone, were the only time in my entire life I considered suicide. Rick may not have caused that low, but he allowed it to fester by not revealing himself to me sooner."
"Some things have to happen in their own time," Poe said softly, sounding eerily human...until he rotated his neck and started preening his feathers.
I searched the counter for a pad of paper, finding a promotional stack of sticky notes from Winshire Bank and Loan next to the fridge. Finding a pen next to it, I scratched Rick a note that I needed to talk to him pronto. Then, on a whim, I tore off a blank sheet from the bottom.
"What do you need that for?" Poe asked, hopping to my shoulder.
"Hey, watch the talons. New scrubs," I said. He loosened his grip. "As it so happens, I have some banking needs, like, for instance, a big leather satchel full of money, and if Rick uses Winshire then I feel very safe placing my wad into their hands."
"Ah. Can we go home now?" he asked.
"Sure. We have a window to fix. And I haven't had dinner yet. Of course, depending on the mess you left, maybe I'll be having raven."
I was joking, of course, but when I opened the door, Poe disappeared into the night.
The next morning, the emergency room at St. John's was unusually quiet. Good thing because I was distracted by the horror of my father's new romantic interest. What did she want from him? Money? Probably not. She made her own. Attention? Maybe. I told myself for the fiftieth time that it wouldn't last. I wasn't going to worry about it. She'd realize he was all about his work and leave him the minute the novelty wore off.
Hours ticked by filled with average, run-of-the-mill illnesses and broken bones. I had a patient with an appendicitis around ten, and otherwise uneventful cases the rest of the day. Around six that night though, an ambulance phoned ahead, something paramedics do for the seriously ill and injured, and I was called in to respond.
"Dr. Anderson needs you in the trauma room, stat!" Julie, my charge nurse, pointed at the trauma room. "I'll take your beds."
My heart started racing from the adrenaline zing that flooded my system. It had been months since I helped in trauma. It wasn't my specialty. With my limited experience, I couldn't have been Julie or Dr. Anderson's first choice, but the day had been so slow she'd sent a few of my fellow nurses home, leaving us short staffed. To call me in, the situation had to be desperate.
I shoved the door open with my shoulder and eyed my friend Jay with a sigh of relief. A Certified Trauma Nurse Specialist, nothing shook this guy. I'd seen him reach into a gunshot wound half the size of New Hampshire to clamp down on a nicked artery. Jay was made of fortified steel.
