Silver at Midnight: A Paranormal Romance Urban Fantasy (The Keepers of Knowledge Series Book 5) by Bridgette O'Hare (best large ereader .TXT) 📕

An oversized stone fireplace adorned the far outside wall to the left of the windows. I noticed firewood ready and waiting in the fireplace, so I whispered the command. Seconds later, fire engulfed the logs and began to push the chill from the air. It also released a glow into the room, bouncing from the dark wood accents and the pale blue walls. A warm fuzzy feeling spread through me as I picked out an overstuffed chair situated perfectly between the fireplace and the wall of windows, knowing immediately it would be my favorite spot in the room.

It was only the second time I’d ever felt as though I stepped into a magazine layout. The first time occurred when Kara took the position as Head of Acquisitions for Natra, and I helped take some of her things from her small house in Virginia to her apartment in New York.

I placed the coffee cup and paper bag on the granite countertop that divided the kitchen from the living area and began a quick tour of the downstairs. There were two small bedrooms with a full bath between them, which meant the master bedroom would be on the second floor.

I started toward the staircase so I could settle in and unpack. Before I made it up more than a few steps, I paused, went back to the door to double check that I had locked it behind me, then added a protection spell to the house. One might ask why I would need a protection spell in a town of my own kind, and one would be told that being in a town filled with Supernaturals is exactly why I needed a protection spell. Humans weren’t nearly as much of a threat as beings that possessed special abilities and powers . . . unless they happened to be a member of The Saiad. Members of The Saiad were a unique kind of human—the kind that knew Supernaturals walked among them, and the kind that knew magic and artifacts existed which could be used against said Supernaturals.

Once the protection spell secured the house, I breathed a little easier and made my way back to the stairs. It was one less concern to plague my thoughts. Cian McCallister was already doing a bang-up job in the plaguing department, so I had enough to consider without the worry of immediate physical safety. Like where I’d be sleeping, for instance.

I wasn’t disappointed. The entire second floor was an open-space master suite. In fact, it was nearly the size of my entire flat in Dublin. Just as on the first floor, the wall facing the ocean was comprised entirely of windows with a set of double doors that opened onto a balcony boasting two comfortable looking chairs that I intended to put to use, only not right away.

I made a quick check of the bathroom to see if I needed to turn on the hot water, but then remembered that I wasn’t in Ireland and hot water was built in, so to speak. So, I unpacked and took a hot shower to wash off the last twenty-four hours of traveling and supernaturally induced stress. It might have been one of the most relaxing showers I’d ever experienced.

When I was done and dressed in my favorite teal fuzzy pajama pants and a black tank, my stomach grumbled reminding me I had only eaten once today. With that, I headed back to the kitchen to see what Cian had sent in the paper bag and made a mental note that a grocery run was on tap for tomorrow. A girl needed her bedtime snacks.

I was pleasantly surprised to find a double chocolate muffin and two thick slices of banana nut bread nestled in the bottom of the bag. If anyone ever needed to win me over, baked goods were an excellent start. Particularly chocolate baked goods. I heated the coffee in the microwave and unwrapped the muffin before grabbing the warm cup and walking back up to my bedroom to settle in for the night.

A faint blue light, concentrated on the wall next to the bed, flashed in sequence through the dimly lit room, indicating that I either had a missed call or a text. I plopped down on the bed, placed the coffee on the nightstand, and took a bite from the muffin before I picked up the phone.

Kara’s name showed in my missed calls notifications. It had been less than two minutes since she’d called. Just as I was about to send her a message, a text popped up on my screen.

Kara: CALL ME NOW! Like, yesterday now.

I didn’t even bother with a reply. I clicked the video icon at the top of the screen and waited for her to answer . . . an entire point three seconds.

“Oh good! You’re good. Everything’s good.” She exhaled a visible sigh of relief without even bothering to say hello.

“Sooo . . . yeah. Hi,” I said. “Why wouldn’t I be good? You wanna tell me why you’re bein’ a lit’l squirrely?”

She tilted her head slightly and gave me an inquisitive glare. “Tell me something. Who is Cian McCallister?” she asked. “And why did you have me run his background?”

“That’s kind of a loaded question, K. I mean, I’m still tryin’ t’ figure out who he is myself. Why? What’s going on?”

“He doesn’t exist. That’s what’s going on.”

“Wait? What? What do ya mean he doesn’t exist? He made me coffee. He runs a café. I had a rather . . . intense conversation with him. How can he not exist?” I prattled without taking a breath.

“Okay . . . we are going to get back to the intense comment. But first, let me clarify. He has a birth certificate, school records, military-service dossiers, and travel documents—including passports, visas, and plane tickets—all in a neat little package. Every document you would expect someone to have in order to prove their existence. He has