Page 115 of Knight

Walking into the kitchen, I’m looking for a snack to be my distraction. There has to be something luxurious and delicious in these cupboards. Damien started Isobel on a new schedule and the place has been both spotless and stocked. She’s around less but damn, I hope he’s paying her well.

After a few minutes of rummaging through the cabinets, the pantry is where I find the golden treasure. Boxes of cookies, candy and chocolate sit on one shelf and I pull out one of the many boxes of Toblerone. Seems like we share a sweet tooth. Unwrapping it, I drop the wrapper into the trash, but something familiar sticks out. Something out of place.

A receipt with a name I know all too well. “Anansi’s Kitchen.”

My brows furrow, scanning over the words on the receipt while I take a bite of the bar. I swallow hard on the glob of chocolate in my throat. It looks like a receipt for a meal for one. Jerk chicken, rice and a soda. But it’s the date that hits me. This is from only a few days ago.

Backing away from the trash, I stare at the receipt. I’m trying to make sense of it, pacing back and forth in the pantry. There has to be an explanation.

Is Isobel from The Grove? That has to be it. It’s crazy to think Damien’s up to no good and I’m supposed to be trusting him. Glancing back into the kitchen, I move towards the pantry door.

But what’s a few questions?

Heading to the phone hanging off the kitchen wall, I exhale. Isobel’s number is stuck to it and I give it a dial. She picks up after the second ring and I wait for her to say a greeting. It sounds rowdy in the background, like a sports game. “Yes, Mister Damien? Is everything okay?”

“Isobel? It’s me, Jo.”

“Yes?”

“This might sound like a weird question but, I’m from Glendale Grove and I was wondering if you were too?”

“No. I am from Poland.” She lowers her voice, “Why do you ask?”

“Have you been there recently? To The Grove?”

“Oh no, people from Eden say it is a bad place. Why? Do you need something from Glendale?”

Fuck. “No. No, it’s okay.” Shaking my head, my finger hovers over the button. “Nevermind, enjoy your night.” I rush off the phone, my brain spinning, my head with it before I’m reaching for my phone to call Damien again.

No answer.

Trying to tell myself not to panic is redundant because I’m already panicking.

Pacing the kitchen, I tap a sandy brown finger against my cheek, repeating the mantra, “Don’t freak out.” This is exactly the kind of thing Damien would expect from someone who doesn’t trust him and I do trust him. At least I think I do.

So why is there a gut-feeling that something’s off?

The minutes go by like a snail. Every second feels like an hour. The next hour feels like a lifetime. What if Damien did get to The Grove and he’s in trouble? No one knows those streets like I do. Besides, what else have I got to do? Zane’s not out to get me anymore.

Grabbing my jacket off the front staircase, I pull it over my hoodie and black leggings. After ensuring I have enough money in my backpack, I sling it over my shoulders. Picking up my phone, I give Damien one last call before I solidify my position.

My hand on the door, I stop in my tracks.

Shit. Willow.

She’d kill me if I went back to The Grove and didn’t tell her. So I shoot her a text, hoping she’s way too distracted by her rich friends to care or notice and head out the door. The minute my face hits the cold winter air, my phone chimes.

Willow: The Grove???

I’m texting her back a quick explanation when she texts back first.

Willow: I’m coming!

Then another.

Willow: Be there in 10.

My shoulders drop and I give her a call. She picks up on the first ring, “Don’t try to talk me out of it.”

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