A Knight to Remember by Bridget Essex

Author:Bridget Essex [Essex, Bridget]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Rose and Star Press, First Edition
Published: 2014-07-16T00:00:00+00:00

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I can’t sleep. Maybe it’s because every single time I close my eyes, I see images of the monster from the video flickering in my line of vision, and the images of the monster keep merging with the lightning flashing and how I saw the beast last night, only as a shadow, but so enormous, so monstrous. So…huge. All of this merges together in my mind’s eye, and I can’t tell the images apart anymore, how the monster looked in the video, and how the monster looked in my backyard. I sigh, my hand over my eyes, and turn over one last time. The sheets are hot, and Shelley is sleeping on my legs, her dead weight pressing me into the mattress, and both of my feet are fast asleep from her weight against them. At this rate, I’m never going to get to sleep.

I need tea.

And the book that’s always given me comfort when I needed it most. I need The Knight of the Rose.

I get up as quietly as I can, but Shelley still grumbles because her pillow of my limbs is now removed, and—crazy dog—the actual fluffy mattress is apparently less comfy than sleeping on my limbs. I put on my fluffy pink robe, shove my feet into my slippers, and then pad gently down the steps, avoiding the top one because it creaks.

But Virago isn’t asleep on the couch, like I thought she’d be. She’s not in the living room at all, or the kitchen, and the door was open to the bathroom, so she’s not there either. She’s not in the study, and she’s not in the library. I stay very still for a long moment, holding the robe closed over my chest, my heart beating wildly against my hands as I stand in my living room, listening to the stillness of the house. Did she leave?

She wouldn’t have left—would she?

And why does it matter so much if she did?

Yeah, right, Holly. I grimace, sigh, biting my lip. You know the answer to that.

As I stand in the middle of my living room, my heart pounding, a flash of light to the left makes me turn. I’d drawn the blinds over the back sliding door before we got ready for bed, but they’re pulled up now, and the sliding glass door to the backyard is very slightly left ajar, maybe by a few inches. I cross over to the door, my fingers brushing against the handle as I peer out into the darkness.

It’s not that dark out—after all, it’s almost the full moon, and the light from my neighbors’ porch lights and the street lamps out front make the backyard pretty illuminated.

So I can see that out in the center of the yard is Virago.

The flash I that drew my eyes to her was light glancing off the blade of her sword, for she stands, holding the hilt in both hands, as she crouches on the lawn, the blade hefted high and at attention over her head.

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