Black Knight by Christopher Pike Read Free Book Online Page B

sandals, though, are odd. No buckles, no straps, no shine; they look like someone carved them out of wood.
    The guy is tall; he’s got bulk without being fat. The word “burly” suits him. His hair is long and scruffy, more white than gray. Despite his age, his crusty skin, there’s a spring to his step, to the way he moves. He’s clean shaven but a part of me suspects that’s a recent development. He looks like the sort that’s used to a long beard and whiskers. If he weren’t clean shaven, he could pass for a wizard. His eyes are a rarity; cerulean blue with a hint of green. My daughter has similarly colored eyes.
    The old man sits at the table with Syn and Kendor as if they’re old friends. They acknowledge his arrival with a nod and for once turn away from their ice cream. The man points in the direction of the movie theaters, and to the mannequins in a store window. He talks as he directs their attention and it’s odd because it’s as if he’s explaining what they’re seeing. It’s only then I realize that might be exactly what he’s doing. Syn and Kendor appear dazed, almost as if they’re sleepwalking.
    “Did the bastard drug them?” I say aloud, when I really should be asking how the guy brought them back to life.
    They stand, the three of them, and the old man deftly guides them toward the nearby escalators. They head down, into the mall’s parking structure, disappearing from view.
    Quickly, I grab the box containing my new outfit and jump to my feet and follow. I’m not a big believer in coincidence—I can only assume the old man chose to parade Syn and Kendor in front of me on purpose.
    If that’s the case, though, he goes to no trouble to wait for me in the underground lot. I barely catch a glimpse of the man helping Syn and Kendor into the backseat of a blue SUV—opening and closing the door for them—when I have to turn and run for my own car. It’s like he’s chauffeuring them around, while playing a game of cat and mouse with me.
    I’m lucky to catch up with them at the booth at the exit—the SUV is right in front of me. The man hands his ticket to the attendant and the guy charges him for parking, which means they’ve been at the mall for some time. The first ninety minutes are free. When my turn comes, I’m waved through with hardly a pause.
    I tail their SUV onto Wilshire Boulevard and worry as they drive into Santa Monica. That’s where I live with Jimmy—even though I’m in witch world right now, I’m still not comfortable calling him James—and Lara and my mother. For several frantic minutes I’m sure they’re headed to my home but they pass by my street until they hit Pacific Coast Highway, where they go north.
    A feeling of déjà vu sweeps over me.
    That’s the same direction Marc Simona drove last night while hidden in the trunk of that movie star’s car. It makes me wonder if the dream does have something to do with reality, in the real world or witch world.
    Yet the old man doesn’t take Syn and Kendor as far north as Marc traveled in my dreams. When they reach Sunset Boulevard, he turns right and heads into Pacific Palisades, turning left at a major artery that winds through a pristine community of new and expensive homes. He parks at an adorable house that sits on a corner property atop a bluff—that gives it staggering views up and down the coast. If nothing else the old guy must have money, I think. The garage door opens and he swings into the driveway, and Syn and Kendor vanish as the door closes behind them.
    I park half a block away, across the street, and turn off my engine. I have my cell with me—now that I’m a mom I always have it with me—and know I should call my father. I’ve already promised him that I’d drive straight from the mall to the airport to catch my flight to San Francisco so I’d be on time for the Council’s meeting. My dad hates that I’m not always punctual. Now, at the very least, it looks like I’ll definitely be