Page 23 of Shadow Scorching

“Me too,” I said. “Okay, let me make certain the kitchen door is locked and we’ll leave.” I headed into the kitchen and, as I reached to check the door, there was a loud noise and I turned to see a skillet sailing directly toward my head. I yelped, ducking, as the skillet went over my head with inches to spare. “Dante!”

Another noise and a glass slammed into my arm, shattering as it hit me. A shard lodged in my bicep and I yelped again, trying to pinpoint where my opponent was. But the trouble with spirits was that you couldn’t target them, especially if you couldn’t see them.

Dante and Orik burst into the kitchen. I turned to tell them what happened when Orik tackled me, knocking me down. As we fell to the floor, a fork shot past, right where I had been standing. It would have plunged into my heart if I’d still been standing.

“Crap—out! We need to get out of here.” I scrambled up, motioning toward the living room. “We’ll check the door from the outside.” I didn’t even notice the pain in my arm, so much adrenaline was flowing through my veins.

We grabbed Sophia and then, once outside, made sure both kitchen and front doors were locked. As we headed back to the car, I glanced over my shoulder. We knew now that we were being watched, and that whoever was haunting that house, saw us as the enemy.

The snow was still fallingas we reached my car. It wasn’t piling up quickly, but it was sticking and the cold, crisp air cleared my senses.

Once in the car, Sophia drove while Dante and I sat in the back. Dante examined my arm. “I’m going to have to extract this glass once we get back to the office. It’s lodged deeply. In fact, we should stop at the doctor. It may require stitches.”

I impatiently shook my head. “I can yank it out?—”

“You willnot,” Dante said. “You’re not invincible and you know it. Yes, we could probably yank it out, but honestly? You need a new scar like you need another hole in your head, and I’m not talking about a new piercing. Sophia, can you stop at Urgent Care?—”

“We’re near Dr. Lana’s. I think she’s open.” I reached for my phone with my wrong arm and groaned. Dante retrieved it from my purse.

“What’s her name?”

“Dr. Lana Neilstrom.”

“Here it is.” He punched in her number and turned it on speaker phone. He held the phone up for me.

“Dr. Neilstrom’s office. May I help you?”

I recognized Ronette’s voice. She’d been with Dr. Lana for years, and she sounded far younger than she was. She kept things running smoothly for the doctor.

“Hey, Ronette. Kyann Sarasan here. I was wondering if the doctor could see me for a little emergency right now?” I hated taking up her time, but Dante was probably right.

“What’s wrong?” Ronette asked.

“I have a shard of glass lodged deeply in my arm, and we’re near the office right now. I don’t want to sit in Urgent Care when other people are probably?—”

“Worse off than you. Right. Hold on, let me talk to the doctor.” She put me on hold as we came to a red light. Sophia eased on the brakes, gently bringing the car to a stop. The traffic was light—not many people wanted to drive in the snow.

“Kyann? Dr. Lana said come on in. She’s can see you, if you can get here in twenty minutes.”

“We’re about five minutes away,” I said. “See you in a few.” I gave Sophia instructions to the doctor’s office, and we were on our way.

Dr. Lana was waitingfor me. “What did you do?” she asked as I came in the door. My arm was streaked with blood by this point. She escorted me back to an examination room.

“I was on the receiving end of a glass that a ghost threw at me. I didn’t duck in time.” I grimaced. “I wanted to pull it out but Dante convinced me it might be wise if I sought medical attention.”

“Up on the table,” she said.

I hopped up on the table, using my good arm to brace myself. “Anyway, yeah. So, we were near here and I decided to?—”

“Put your arm on this, please,” she said, interrupting. She slid an adjustable table over to where I was sitting and raised it to where my elbow could rest on it.

“I feel like an idiot,” I said. “It sounds ridiculous when?—”

“Hush, let me look at this.” She glanced at me, then grinned. “You don’t have to explain away an injury. You’re hurt, I’m a doctor. It isn’t rocket science.”

I quieted down. I tended to ramble when I was nervous or embarrassed, and I wasn’t sure why, but I was feeling insecure. Maybe it was that I hadn’t noticed the glass before it hit. Maybe it was that I’d been unprepared when I went in the kitchen alone. Or maybe, I was thrown off by the magnitude of the activity in Michael’s house

The doctor carefully washed around the wound, then applied some sort of antiseptic. After she had examined the wound thoroughly, she began easing the glass out of my arm. It had been deeply embedded, and the blood began to flow, but the shard came out in one piece. At least, I thought it did. She set the piece—which was at least two inches in diameter—on the tray next to her, and then—putting on a magnifying headset—began examining the wound. That stung more than the actual glass. But, after a moment, she took off the glasses and began to irrigate the wound.

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