Kick The Candle (Knight Games) (13 page)

“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.

C
learly, bank teller Maggie thought I was either a drug dealer or a prostitute. She glared at me out of the corner of her eye as she counted and recounted the money from Gary’s leather bag. While I’d hoped to get this out of the way earlier, it had taken me an entire week of working at the hospital during the day and taking up the slack for missing-in-action Rick at night to make it to Winshire Bank and Loan. I just hoped the process would be fast and easy. I hadn’t heard from my father since Thanksgiving, but I didn’t think he’d wait forever.

“Not many people come in here with this much cash,” she said with an upswing in her tone that clearly indicated her desire for me to explain my situation.

I didn’t. It was none of her blue-eyeshadow-wearing, curly-headed business. Lips pressed together, I stared at her impatiently.

“And you would like to deposit the entire sixty-thousand into your savings account?”

“Yes. And I need to talk to one of your loan officers about a possible mortgage loan.”

“Oh, I see.” A supervisor removed my bag of money, and Maggie handed me a receipt with my new savings account balance of $60,800. The extra eight hundred was the result of the closing transfer from my previous savings account, everything I had in the world. “Wait here and I’ll see if a representative is available.”

I nodded. Soon, a balding man in a tan oxford and striped brown tie was shaking my hand vigorously. His too-long mustache tickled the lip over his crooked teeth.

“Maggie says you’d like to talk about a loan. I’m Chuck. I can help you with that,” he said excitedly. He released my hand and adjusted his square-framed glasses on his nose. The lenses were dirty. I had the strangest urge to remove them from his face and chamois the glass.

“Yes. I’m interested in buying the house I’m currently living in.”

“Excellent. Step on down to my office, and let’s get some info.”

I followed him to the cubicle he called his “office” and took a seat in a springy chair across from his desk. For the next thirty minutes he grilled me about my income, expenses, debts, and the estimated value of my property. Thanks to my dad letting me stay in the house rent-free, my debt to income ratio was above average, and I’d kept up on my credit card payments, so my credit score was decent as well. The money was as good as mine; I could feel it.

“There’s just one tiny fly in the honey,” Chuck said, rubbing a knuckle across the tip of his nose. “Our bank requires twenty-percent down. I see you have that in your account but it was made with a large deposit of cash. We’re going to need documentation on the source of that cash.”

My jaw dropped. “Why do you need that?”

He fake laughed a low hardee-har-har. “Can’t have any illegal funding going on. You’re not a drug dealer, are you?”

I smiled. “Nope.”

“Well then, we just need some documentation to prove you didn’t come by the funds illegally. See, the twenty-percent has to be from legitimate income sources. You couldn’t, say, take out a loan against your credit card for the cash or even borrow the cash from a relative. Both of those activities would add debt to your portfolio.” He pointed a finger gun in my general direction.

I nodded slowly, letting my eyes drift to the cubicle wall behind him.

“So…ah…where did you get the sixty-thousand dollars?” He leaned forward, giving me the sense that his question had as much to do with his curiosity as the loan requirements.

“I’d loaned it to a boyfriend and he just paid me back.”

“Hmm. That could be a pickle. What we’re going to need is some documented proof that you earned the money, gave it to him, and then he returned it to you. Account statements and the like. Will he vouch for you?”

I worked my jaw, my mind searching for a story that wouldn’t come back to haunt me later. I could probably come up with documentation on the forty thousand, but part of those funds had been a cash advance against my credit card and the additional twenty thousand was a gift from Julius. Not to mention that the person who was supposed to “vouch” for me was technically dead and legally missing. “I’ll have to get back to you on that,” I said.

“Okey dokey, artichokey.” He grabbed an empty folder from his credenza and placed all of my paperwork inside. “Come back and see us when you figure it out.” He stood, handing me the folder with his left hand while simultaneously offering his right. I recognized the move as the diploma handshake, meant to be quick and to give you a psychological nudge to move along and not hold up the line. Was there some form of training loan officers went through for this? Obviously, the practiced body language was meant to usher me out of the office as quickly as possible.

Like a good little customer, I left his cubicle and headed for the revolving door. Halfway around, I saw Chuck leaning up against Maggie’s counter.
Drug dealer,
he mouthed. I knit my brow. Cell phone in hand, I scrolled through my database of spells. Who knew getting a loan would be this difficult, or that an itching pox was soon to befall the staff of Winshire Bank and Loan?

* * * * *

A
s I approached Red Grove, my mood was about as dark as it had ever been. No loan. What were the chances my father would give me another extension? He couldn’t put Mr. Nekomata off forever. Under better circumstances, I could ask Rick for the money. He’d mentioned he was loaded; he’d made some good investments in the 1940’s, and it wasn’t like he had many expenses.

The problem with that plan? I wasn’t sure where Rick was. I hadn’t heard from him since our fight. I was still angry and wasn’t exactly counting the moments until our reunion, but I was beginning to get concerned. For one, I still didn’t know what had happened with the drowned woman in the ER. Plus, it wasn’t like Rick to go this long without a feeding. If we didn’t get it on soon, he’d start to weaken, which wasn’t a good idea for either of us with Julius turning up the steam on his search efforts.

Where was the
Book of Flesh and Bone
, anyway? And why did the baddies think
I
had it? My head pounded with questions. Crap, I needed a nap.

I pulled into my driveway, stabbing the button for my garage door on autopilot, then slammed on my brakes when a brightly colored poster in my front yard caught my eye. My father’s smiling face stared back at me from one of his real estate signs, wire legs piercing the snow. That was new. Under his cat-who-ate-the-canary grin was a sliding panel. What I saw there made my blood run cold and my breath catch. This had to be a mistake.

With one shaking hand, I retrieved my phone from the cup-holder and used my thumb to hit my dad’s number. My foot wandered, and the Jeep lurched forward. I slammed on the brakes. Holding the ringing phone to my ear, I eased into the garage and parked. My dad and I were European mutts with heritage so blended we simply called ourselves American, but at that moment I was feeling full-on Soprano Italian. I needed both hands for this conversation.

“Robert Knight,” my father’s voice trickled out to me, brimming with real estate sunshine, even on this cold December day.

“You sold my house.” The words were venomous. Quiet in a deadly way.

There was a pause, my father undoubtedly registering who I was. “Grateful, Mr. Nekomata offered me twice the market price. I don’t know why he wants the place so bad but that was an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

“You don’t know what you’ve done.” My voice cracked. I was trembling so hard I could barely grip the phone.

“Oh Grateful, I know you liked the place but honestly, it’s for the best. I’ll help you buy a condo downtown with the proceeds. We’ll be closer, and you won’t have such a long commute to work. Seraphina always says how important it is to keep family close and I think she’s right. It will be good for us to see more of each other.”

“Seraphina? Seraphina doesn’t know Jack, Dad. You promised me you’d give me time to buy this place.”

“It’s sold, Grateful. Get over it. If you don’t want to move closer to us, fine, but you don’t have to attack Seraphina for problems you brought upon yourself.”

“Us? Is she living with you now?”

The exasperated sigh he let out gave him away. “I was going to tell you in person, the next time I saw you.”

Head spinning, I stared out the windshield, the engine still rumbling in the garage. Words tumbled out of my mouth faster than I could censor them. “I don’t know if I can forgive you for selling my house.”

Silence. Part of me wanted to take it back, but I was too devastated. I couldn’t. Not yet.

“Grateful.” One word, loaded with hurt and disappointment.

I poked the end call button. Never had I disrespected my father like this. He was my only family. But as I lowered my forehead to the steering wheel, and fat tears began to flow down my cheeks, the wrong I inflicted on him seemed justified by the terror that flooded me.

Somehow, I had to stop this sale or I’d be forced to move my seat of magic. Was that even possible? How could I manage the graveyard if I wasn’t here? What about the portal in my attic? Would lost souls like Logan’s know where to find me? I couldn’t even begin to think about Rick and me; I had too many questions about our relationship already. At this point, every option seemed insurmountable, and I could almost feel my skin splitting from the weight piled on my shoulders.

I pulled the key from the ignition, threw open the door, and stomped into the snow covered yard to rip the sign, wire frame and all, from its place. Once my dad’s smiling face was safely beneath the Rubbermaid lid of my garbage can, I tried to comfort myself by saying things couldn’t get any worse.

But they could.

Way worse.

“W
hat are we going to do?” I sat cross-legged in the middle of my attic floor, head in my hands, bundled against the daytime cold that coursed through the plastic wrap covering my broken window.

Poe’s beady black eyes lacked their usual sharp luster. “I’m not sure.” The flat words didn’t hold the sarcasm or wit I’d come to expect from the raven, which meant my situation was all the more serious.

“What good are you?” I snapped. “The woman in my hallucination said you were exactly what I needed. Help me, now!”

The bird bowed his head. “You don’t need to be hurtful. I’m sure we’ll find a way. I have feathers in the game after all.”

“Feathers in the game? You don’t want to be associated with a washed up witch?”

He jumped down to my level and looked me in the eye. “I have served you in various forms over your many lifetimes, Grateful, and by many different names. I die when you die.”

“Oh.”

“Here’s what I know for sure: if you lose this attic, you can establish a new one—”

“I can?”

“—but it will leave you vulnerable. You’ll need Rick.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, Rick’s not here,” I snapped. “He’s been gone for over a week. I have no idea where he is or what he’s doing. I’m not even sure I can trust him! This is the worst possible time for this to be happening. Who is this asshole anyway? Who buys an ancient house in rural Red Grove in the middle of winter?”

Poe’s eye’s widened and a shiver traveled the length of his feathers. “Oh dear. What if it’s not a coincidence?”

“Huh?”

With a flurry of flapping, he hopped up to the desk with the book. “Ask the
Book of Light
to tell you who Nekomata is.”

My feet obeyed my command to stand, although ungracefully, and I approached Poe and the book. “Show me Nekomata,” I said loud and clear toward my grimoire.

The pages flipped so fast a breeze caused my hair to blow off my shoulders. The book settled open on a page near the back. I leaned over, noting the sketch of a ferocious looking cat-creature with a forked tail in the corner of the page.