Queen of The Hill (Knight Games) (3 page)

I furrowed my brow as I stripped out of my puffy white parka. “What, Poe? You know nothing about the magic of that candle. Are you going to babble off some made-up statistic about the chances I could be preggers? I’ll save you the trouble. It doesn’t matter if it’s one percent or ninety percent, I’m peeing on this stick.”

Smugly, I marched into the guest bathroom. I was in there all of thirty seconds before I realized I never used the guest bathroom and marched back out. No toilet paper. With an indignant swagger, I jogged up the stairs to the bathroom off my bedroom, tearing into the box on the way. I tossed the package in my overflowing trash can.

What if I was pregnant? How could I raise a baby when I couldn’t even empty my own trash or keep toilet paper in my guest bathroom? Michelle made her own baby food from organic produce. I could barely make a sandwich.

“Please don’t let me be pregnant. Please don’t let me be pregnant,” I chanted as I took the test. I placed it on the back of the toilet while I washed my hands. Two minutes. Two minutes until I would know for sure if my life was over.

Into my bedroom I paced, heart thumping and mind racing. If I were pregnant, I’d have to keep the baby. This would be my only chance to ever have a child with Rick. Would the kid be normal? I was a witch. I had magic in my blood. What if the baby was born with horn stubs? Would electric lights flicker when it cried?

Poe flapped into the room and landed on my dresser. “By the goddess, breathe into a bag or something. You’re going to give yourself an aneurism.”

I laughed and wiped away the tears in residence on my cheeks. “What are you talking about?” Poe couldn’t read my mind, but familiars, by nature, were intuitive of their witch’s feelings. It bothered me a little that I couldn’t hide what a mess I was about this from him.

“Whatever the outcome, it won’t help the situation to have a magical meltdown. In the time I’ve known you, my worrying witch, in this life and the last, you’ve been uniquely adaptable.”

“Adaptable. Not nurturing or intelligent. Not … parental.”

“No one is parental until they become parents. But you’ve become a great witch in just a few weeks. You could become parental if you had to. You are … resourceful.”

I plopped down on my bed. “I could learn to cook.”

“Or hire a cook,” Poe said under his breath.

My line of sight followed the trail of clothes on the floor to the dust on my dresser. “Also, someone to clean.” Rick had money thanks to some wise investments in the early 1900’s. What better use for it than improving his child’s environment?

“Exactly. If by some miracle you are ‘preggers,’ as you say, you shall overcome.” He blinked at me slowly.

I nodded, relaxing a little.

Poe rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “It would, of course, be helpful if we knew the nature of the candle Rick used. What did he tell you about the source?”

“Nothing. Every time I mention it, he puts me off. On his deathbed he told me it came from Salem’s Hecate, but whenever I ask for details, he changes the subject.”

“Hmm. I’m afraid Salem’s Witch has a reputation that precedes her.” Poe narrowed his eyes like he was trying to choose his words carefully.

“Spill it.” My demand went unanswered when the timer on my phone chimed. I tapped the screen to stop the alarm. “Hold that thought. Time to learn if I have a bun in the oven.”

On shaky legs, I traversed the formidable space between my bed and the toilet. Lifting the test from the porcelain with both hands, my eyes focused on the little round plastic window. One line for not pregnant, two lines for pregnant. Simple. I blinked. Blinked again. Then, I tossed it in the garbage. It rolled off the top of the heap and clanked on the floor.

“Well?” Poe asked.

“You were right. Not preggers. Probably the flu.”

“Ah. All is well then.” He bobbed his head joyfully.

“Yeah.” My spacey gaze found the gnarled branch of the oak tree outside my window. “Hey, Poe, I was up really late last night and I’m still not feeling the best. I think I’m going to lie down. Do you need me to let you out?”

“No. I’ve been using the flap in the attic window.”

I groaned. He’d shattered a glass pane a few weeks ago, and I’d never replaced it. What was the point? He needed a way to go in and out during the day and the flap of plastic worked. I had more important worries, even if it did mean my heating bill was atrocious.

“I’m going to take a nap,” I said. I removed my sweater and leaned Nightshade against the corner near my closet.

A raven’s eyes are beady and black, but Poe’s brimmed with pity. He transformed into a small black dog and curled up on the braided rug in front of my bed. Instinctively, I knew he wouldn’t leave until I was asleep. Poe could be a pain in the ass, but he was a good familiar.

As I climbed under my quilt and began to shed new tears, I took comfort in Poe’s understanding presence. I’d just lost my last chance at a real family. For as much as I didn’t want the test to be positive, at the moment, the negative was far, far worse. I closed my eyes, and slipped off to sleep, trying my best to forget losing the precious thing I’d never even had.

“
Mi cielo? Mi cielo?
” Rick’s voice brought me out of a deep slumber, his hand rubbing my shoulder gently as he perched on the side of my bed. Maybe I was getting sick. Everything felt heavy. My body pressed into the mattress like I’d gained four hundred pounds. I struggled to shake the paralysis of sleep from my limbs.

“Hi.” With some effort, I rolled onto my back so I could see him better. Black wavy hair that curled below his ears, gray eyes, full lips. Even exhausted and flu-ridden, the sight of him lit my fire. “What are you doing here?”

“I fixed your window.”

“You fixed my window?”

“The one in the attic. I installed a pet door for Poe.”

From the direction of the dresser came an offended caw. Poe was bird-shaped again. “Veritably, I am not a pet,” he said.

Rick turned toward me so only I could see him roll his eyes. “They were all out of doors specifically for magical familiars,” he said under his breath.

“Thank you,” I said. “My heating bill has been ridonkulous lately.”

“I began to worry when you did not wake. My work wasn’t quiet.”

I glanced toward the window. Late afternoon daylight streamed in, casting light against the far wall. I tapped my phone on the nightstand. Four o’clock. “Sorry. I’m not feeling well.”

He placed a palm on my forehead, the tips of his fingers brushing my hair. “Do you need blood?” His wrist hovered in front of my lips.

“No.” I threaded my fingers into his and lowered his offered arm to my chest. “Just tired, and I was nauseous this morning. I’m better now though.”

“I discovered something on your bathroom floor.” From my bedside table, he lifted the pregnancy test. “Can you explain this?” The concern in his voice tugged at my heartstrings. I hadn’t intended to tell him about this afternoon, but I felt the truth press against the inside of my teeth, an unrelieved pressure. After all we’d been through, why keep secrets?

“I thought I might be pregnant with your baby,” I blurted. The confession slammed awkwardly into the space between us.

The corners of his mouth twitched, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “
Mi cielo
, I explained to you, I am unable to produce children. Immortals are sterile,” he said kindly. He brushed my hair back from my face.

“The candle made you human. Maybe not completely, but I thought, maybe …” The waterworks started again, and I turned my face away.

He placed a finger under my chin and returned my gaze to his. “You
wanted
to be pregnant?”

I sighed. Sitting up, I tried to put it into words. “Not really. Not initially anyway. But then I started to think about it. Now is not the best time, but when is? I just feel like I missed our only chance.”

“If it is important to you, we can explore alternatives once we are married. Although, I beseech you to consider the inevitable hardships of raising a human child. We will live forever. Our child will not.”

His point wasn’t lost on me. Still, I picked at the corner of the quilt. “I was thinking, what if we bought another candle.” I shrugged. “When we are ready, we could try again. We could make you human temporarily. I could use magic to improve our odds.”

His face fell. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I cannot obtain another.” Eyes shifting away from me, he moved to stand.

“Why not?” I demanded.

With a groan, he placed his hands on his hips and shook his head. “Isn’t it enough to adopt? Perhaps a supernatural infant?”

I shook my head. “Don’t change the subject. Why can’t we get another candle?” I gave him my strongest I-will-not-let-this-go look.

He sighed. “Will you walk with me? The story is not a simple one.”

I nodded. “Give me a minute.”

Ten minutes later, hair and teeth brushed properly for the first time all day, I wrapped myself up in my puffy white snowman parka and followed Rick into the woods across from my house. A thick layer of snow crunched beneath our boots as we wound between the dormant trees. The sky above was gray but bright. I couldn’t see the sun behind the clouds.

“I need to tell you about the candle,” Rick began. “When I saw you kiss Logan—”

“
He
kissed me,” I clarified.

“So I have learned, but at the time, given the circumstances, I was convinced that you would choose him in my place if given the opportunity.”

“I see.”

“I visited Salem’s Witch, Tabetha. She comforted me.”

I stopped abruptly, my women’s intuition perking ears at his words. “Define
comforted
.”

He sighed, ignoring my request. “I’ve known her for hundreds of years. She offered to help me. To free me.”

“She sold you the candle.”

“She made me the candle. There has only ever been one.”

Holy shit
. This witch made Rick the candle from scratch. A custom spell was a lot of work to do as a favor or at any price. “How close were you two?” Jealousy crept into my voice, and I saw a muscle in Rick’s jaw twitch. Oh my God, had he had an affair? “How close, Rick?”

He looked away. I had a feeling he was going to say more, but at that moment, the sound of splintering wood demanded our attention. I squinted, leaning forward to get a better look at the tree nearest us. “Is that—?”

A face formed in the bark, fine boned and feminine. The eyes popped open, sending me jumping back with a yelp. Rick barely flinched.

“She is coming,” the bark lips said, and then a shoulder burst from the wood followed by a woman’s body.

“Tree sprite,” Rick whispered.

“Obviously,” I deadpanned.

Once out of her tree, her skin took on the grain of birch wood; her hair, oak bark; and her dress, layers of green leaves. She bolted past us dancing, leaping, and twirling between the branches. She brought company. Sprites hatched all around us, giggling and bounding between the trees.

“She is coming. She is coming,” they sang as they flit by.

“Isn’t it early for them to awaken?” I asked Rick. It was twenty degrees outside. I wasn’t familiar with tree sprites, but I was fairly sure they should be sleeping when the trees were sleeping. In fact, I was almost positive Soleil had told me as much when explaining why her fae cousins hadn’t come to our aid during the winter solstice.

Rick didn’t answer me. His brows knit, and his head dropped forward. I followed his line of sight and watched the snow melt beneath our boots.

“What the fuck is going on?” It was like spring was tearing through winter from the inside out.

“She’s come,” he said.

“Who?”

“Allow me to introduce myself,
sister
.”

I turned toward the potent voice. A tall figure in a hooded cloak stood in a warm space of her making. A large scarab brooch fastened the cloth at her neck, the same scarab beetle I’d seen imprinted on the candle Rick was trying to tell me about. Her boots were tall. Her skirt, red leather. A black corset emphasized her sleek figure. As her long, graceful fingers brushed her hood back from her raven-black hair, my mouth fell open. The woman was stunning. She looked like Cleopatra—dramatically dark with flawless olive skin.

Her full red lips completed her introduction. “I am Tabetha.”

“W
hat brings you here, Tabetha?” Rick’s voice was firm but not threatening. It resonated with professional politeness.

I was too taken aback to speak. Tabetha was everything I wasn’t. To my short and curvy, she was tall and lanky, like a ballerina. I was blonde; she was dark. In her hand, she cradled a jagged twig that glowed purple at the tip. A wand. She had a magic wand. I didn’t have a wand. Why did she get a wand and I didn’t?

Pointing the purple glow in Rick’s direction, Tabetha stated her purpose in a voice thick with power and lacking the politeness Rick had shown her. “We had an agreement, caretaker. I’ve come for payment.” Her eyes flicked toward me. “When the magic of my candle called to me, I expected you to seek me out, as we agreed. I did not think I’d have to retrieve you.”

Rick shifted a fraction of an inch, placing himself between Tabetha and me. “I apologize for the confusion. The spell was not completed. I am as I was before.”

Tabetha stepped closer, sending the tree sprites swirling and leaping in the warm spring air that followed her. “That was not our agreement. Our arrangement was clear: if you used the candle, I would receive payment.”

Finally, I found my voice. “What the hell is going on?”

“
Mi cielo
—”

“Sister,” Tabetha interrupted, holding her wand hand up to Rick. I cringed at her familial label for me. While it was true the goddess Hecate was the mother of our magical selves, I had a family, and Tabetha was not part of it.

“What do you want here,
sister
?” I said the last through my teeth, like a curse. She didn’t seem to notice.

“It is a shame such awkward circumstances have brought about our first meeting, Grateful Knight, but you should know your caretaker promised himself to me in return for the use of my candle, and I am here to collect.” Power rolled off her, sending goose bumps marching across my arms.