Darkest Knight. Karen Duvall
“I’ve been on my own for a long time, Aurora. I know what’s best for me.”
She shrugged. “Maybe you do, but you have us now. Isn’t it time to let those who care about you into your life?”
I looked at her. “I’ve done that. Aydin cares about me. He saved my life.”
Aurora’s chest heaved with a sigh. “Okay, I’ll give you that. We would have lost you if not for him.”
Nodding, I said, “Exactly my point. Aydin’s a good man.”
“But he’s not a man anymore. And that’s my point.”
“Rafe isn’t a man, either.”
“Touché.” She scooped a glob of peanut butter out of a jar and dropped it in the bowl she was stirring. “But he could be. It’s what he wants.”
I blinked. “The only way that can happen is if…”
My grandmother gave me a hard look. “Your grandfather and I have been happy together for over fifty years. He was a wonderful guardian angel, and he’s an equally wonderful man.”
My skin heated at the thought of Rafe and I doing the wild thing. I didn’t think of him that way and it wouldn’t be right. It was hard enough being friends with the guy. He was more like an overprotective big brother than anything else.
I rapidly dropped more dollops of dough onto the pan. “He and I don’t really know each other.”
“That will change with time.”
“He’s not my type.”
“You two are more alike than you think.”
This conversation was making me more uncomfortable by the second. “Don’t get your hopes up. I have other plans.”
She folded her arms across her chest and waited for me to go on.
“Aydin won’t be a gargoyle much longer.”
Her expression softened when she said, “Honey, I know it’s hard to accept, but once humans have transformed—”
“They can become human again by eating the heart of their bonded gargoyle.”
Her eyes squinted in thought. “That old myth? Chalice, you’d have to kill a gargoyle to take its heart. The creature would turn to stone so fast you’d never get hold of it in time.”
I glanced behind and around me to make sure we were alone. I peeled back the shield on my senses and heard murmurs from both men in the other room as well as three distinct heartbeats somewhere else in the house. I knew my grandparents had other knights living with them and the three I sensed were far enough away they couldn’t see us.
I reached inside my inner jacket pocket and touched the warm chunk of polished stone that was Shojin’s heart. It seemed to pulse in my hand, though I knew my imagination got the best of me. The heart was just as dead as the gargoyle it came from.
Treating it like a fragile piece of glass, I held it out for my grandmother to see.
She looked puzzled before recognition brightened her eyes. “Oh, my.”
I smiled, feeling warm affection for the gentle monster the heart had come from. “This is the heart of Aydin’s gargoyle. All he has to do is eat it and he’ll become human again.”
“But how…?” She swallowed. “I don’t understand. It should have shattered along with the beast when it turned to stone.”
I slipped the heart back into my pocket. “I know, but there’s a reason that didn’t happen. It’s a long story.”
The mixing bowl I held grew suddenly warm. Glancing down at the lumps of dough on the pan, I saw steam begin to rise as if the cookies were baking. What the hell? The edges were turning brown and they weren’t even in the oven.
The wooden spoon in my hand exploded in flame.
“Oops,” said a quiet voice from the doorway.
I threw the spoon onto the stone-tile floor and stomped on it to put out the flames.
“Rusty! What have I told you about using cloaking spells in the house?” My grandmother soaked a towel under the faucet and tossed it over the smoldering spoon. “I hate it when you sneak up on me like that.”
Sneaking? I was more concerned about the fire. Even so, the very idea of a cloaking spell that could evade my senses had me worried.
Aurora crouched down and mopped up the mess of burned wood and ashes. “Honestly, Rusty. What were you thinking?”
“It was a joke,” said the young woman who stood leaning against the counter. “I didn’t mean for anything to catch on fire.” Her hair was the color of flame, long and wavy, and she appeared close to me in age. Maybe a year or two older and about five inches taller. Forest-green eyes reflected an odd combination of confidence and uncertainty. Her gaze flicked over me, then back to Aurora. “I thought it would be a fun way to introduce myself.” Her mouth tilted in a smug smile.
My grandmother shook her head and tossed the ruined towel in the sink. “Chalice, this is Rusty, one of the Hatchet knights staying with us.”
My heart fluttered. A sister knight, and she stood right in front of me. This was a moment I’d been longing for, but I somehow didn’t feel all that pleased to meet her. Rusty’s choice of introduction left a bad taste in my mouth, not to mention burned fingers.
“Hello, Rusty.” I blew on my hand. “I’d shake your hand if it wasn’t for the blisters.”
Aurora grabbed my arm to haul me to the sink. She flipped the knob on the faucet and cold water flowed over scorched flesh that was already starting to heal.
“Honestly,” my grandmother mumbled. “Rusty can be such a show-off.”
“Sorry, Chalice.” Sincere regret shone in Rusty’s eyes and my irritation waned. She was my sister. I couldn’t stay mad at her forever.
I grinned. “No worries. It’s already healing. See?” I waved my pink fingers at her.
“No wonder I have so many gray hairs,” Aurora said as she tossed me a fresh dish towel to dry my hands.
Another young woman, her small stature and dark complexion in sharp contrast to Rusty, joined us in the kitchen. She was about my height and had an ethnic cast to her features; her shoulder-length hair was stick-straight and shiny as black glass.
“Hey, Natalie,” my grandmother said. “This is Chalice.”
“Hello,” I said, happy to meet another sister.
She waved a small hand. “Hi.”
An awkward silence followed.
“You’ve witnessed Rusty’s ability firsthand,” my grandmother said as she tossed a glare at my red-haired sister. “Natalie has a unique talent for finding things.”
I was pretty good at finding things, too. I wondered if she shared my freakish anomaly of heightened senses. “That’s a handy skill to have.”
“I’m a psychometrist,” Natalie said.
Oh, yes. I’d met a few psychometrists in my previous line of work. They were clairvoyants with a unique ability to read psychic impressions that people left on objects. There were some who could even recite the history of things that were hundreds of years old. The Vyantara had often used psychometrists for authenticating the cursed and charmed objects I stole for them.
When the phone rang, everyone jumped. I imagined recent bad news to be the cause, though its delivery would have come via angel and not fiber optics. It was obvious that the nerves around here were strung as tight as a hangman’s rope.
Rusty