Page 18 of One Bad Knight

I decided to take my car. My insides quaked at the memory of sliding on my bike.

Once I got to the studio, I pulled my easel into a corner where no one could see what I was painting. With my headphones covering my ears, I blocked out the world and sunk into the heavy beats of my music. My brush worked against the canvas in blues and blacks with occasional gold highlights, bringing to life the image I felt burning in my soul. It needed to be made physical, or the image would incinerate me from the inside out.

Viet eventually showed up, but she was careful not to try and take a peek at my canvas, knowing how private I could get. She asked how the rest of my night had been and she’d been worried when I didn’t text her. I played it off perfectly as though nothing eventful happened.

Maybe you should tell her? About the demon? About the man who saved you. About the boy who visited you as a child?

I immediately flung that idea out the window with the baby and the bathwater. I learned long ago not to share. Viet was a fun friend, but I wasn’t sure I could trust her with all the scary whackadoo stuff going on.

The day went on almost painfully normal, though my world felt tilted on its axis. But there was no time to call my therapist and sort things out. I had responsibilities.

When I got home, I threw on an evening gown. Emerald green and silk with thin straps and a slit up one leg. It was one of my favorites, even though it was a little on the risqué side for the garden party. I pulled my hair into an elegant updo and slid on some stilettos knowing the garden was well paved. I wanted to feel my power and not cower in a corner. After last night, it was important I reminded myself I could handle anything, or fear could infect and mold me. I refused to be molded by fear, especially in an age where monsters were real.

An hour later at the party, I was already exhausted from playing the vapid and shallow game of “How are you?” and fielding too many inquiries about me looking forward to law school. I hadn’t even applied yet and everyone kept cementing my future until it felt like it would be the concrete block that drowned me.

My uncle seemed pleased, though, and my cousins and Dave and Gabe were completely in their element. They were heavily involved in my uncle’s politics, and Dave would soon follow in his footsteps. Gabe’s girlfriend was present as usual. They’d been together for two years now. Molly Kramer was petite, blonde hair, porcelain skin and light blue eyes. She rarely spoke, always showed up in the perfect outfit that was modest and elegant. We were always polite to each other, but she usually let Gabe speak for her.

I retreated to a far corner of the garden with a flute of champagne to recharge my emotional battery. As I wondered if it was too soon to make a quiet yet graceful exit, I felt a presence join me.

Heat prickled along my skin and raced down my body in an almost automatic Pavlovian reaction of arousal.

“What are you doing here?” I asked in a flat voice.

Gatsby stepped out from the shadows cast by the tall wall of hedges. “You are in danger.”

“You are in danger of me calling security to remove you from this party,” I said matter-of-factly, before sipping my champagne.

Gatsby claimed not to have killed my father. But I didn’t trust him.

Yes, you do, a voice whispered inside me.

I tried to brush that stupid voice off.

“You need protection,” Gatsby said.

Finally, I turned to face him. He fit in about as well as a Doberman wearing a kitten costume. Though he was in suit jacket and slacks, he’d skipped the tie, leaving the top several buttons undone, revealing his neck tattoos.

The vision of him as a child overlapped with his grown self, and again I had the sense I was face to face with the original lost boy. But I wasn’t Wendy, and life wasn’t a fairytale.

He sported nearly worn-out boots instead of dress shoes, and a sword hung over his back in its sheath. Not that it was as unusual to see people packing weapons since the dimension to hell opened, but our security usually favored guns.

Even then, everyone knew bullets sometimes weren’t enough.

I couldn’t believe Gatsby had gotten in here without being pegged as a party crasher. If someone attended one of these things in less than a thousand-dollar suit, they were panned in whispers for weeks.

I turned away to keep from drooling over the strip of his inked, exposed chest and neck. Gatsby didn’t belong, but he somehow managed to look like a rugged sex god who could lay anyone out and destroy them in a single thrust.

I shrugged off the disturbing yet enticing thought.

“I take care of myself just fine,” I insisted. “Last night was a fluke. I am perfectly capable of defending myself and staying safe. I’d gone a little on the wild side last night, but my late nights out are coming to an end anyway.”

My stomach dropped as I fast-forwarded my life into sitting in some gray lecture hall, listening about the difference between criminal and civil cases.

Suddenly angry, I poked him in the chest to keep him at arm’s length. “So next time you think I need saving, just cruise right on.”

Instead of being pushed away, his warm, dry hands covered my mine. They were callused, but smooth. He drew near until he was practically standing over me. Sharp gray eyes pinned me while his scent wrapped around me, making my knees weak. “You wanted me to come save you.”

I scoff. “Didn’t you hear me? I don’t need saving.”