Curse of the Nandi (Society for Paranormals Book 5) Read Online Free PDF Page B

territory, I informed the vampires, “I’ll consult with Dr. Ribeiro and provide you my response in three days.”
    “As you wish, Miss Knight,” Yao answered for them, as his sister was too enraged by Jonas’ disinterest to vocalize more than a snarl. With a word to her and a slight bow to me, Yao zapped into his firefly form and flew out the window. With a hiss, Yawa followed.
    “Well, now, what a pickle that is,” I said into the silence.
    “Yes, it is,” Mr. Timmons said. “And I shall have to protest.”
    “At what?” I queried. “At Kam’s pronouncement that Nairobi is my domain?” I couldn’t suppress the smirk, and I wasn’t really the smirking sort.
    “Of course not, dear,” he responded with a knowing smile. “It’s just that everyone insists on referring to you as Miss Knight, and that simply won’t do.”
     

 
     
     
     
    Chapter 7

    Bubonic Plague is unpleasant under any circumstances, but particularly so when one is confronted with it over breakfast.
    Generally speaking, breakfast is a dreadful time for announcing news more dramatic than the flavor of jam. To take advantage of that delicate time of day to provide details more demanding than the condiments available for spreading on toast is entirely uncivilized.
    Sadly for my breakfast, Dr. Ribeiro had little hesitation and even less regard for such delicacies, or so it seemed. Mr. Timmons and I had only just sat down when the zebra-training doctor burst into the house with barely a knock and tipped his brown felt hat in our direction.
    I waved a hand at him before he could speak. “Please don’t tell me you’ve brought another brainless head with which to instruct me,” I implored him as I smeared a yellowish jam over our freshly burned toast. The jam, I noted, had a consistency not so dissimilar to mushed corn.
    “Oh no, there are no brainless heads today,” Dr. Ribeiro said as he waggled his own, which fortunately still contained a brain. “I am only wondering if now is being an appropriate time to converse about the Plague? You are remembering I mentioned there is Bubonic Plague in the camp?”
    “How could we forget?” Mr. Timmons observed dryly as he reached for the jam.
    “Oh bother,” I muttered, eyeing my metal teapot. It was embossed with swirls and vague images, and was the only memento I possessed from my mother. It was also full of tea, which meant I had yet to imbibe the requisite liquid in sufficient quantity to coherently engage with any conversation more complex than the weather.
    “You are remembering, Miss Knight?” the Goan doctor persisted.
    “Humph,” I said and poured a cup before offering the pot to our guest.
    “I am thanking you most profusely,” he enthused. “But I am too distracted for that.”
    I stared at him, aghast. “Surely you jest. How can you ever be too distracted for tea, Dr. Ribeiro?”
    “You are so correct, Miss Knight, my very most, profuse apologies,” the doctor corrected himself and accepted the proffered pot. “Still I am most distracted and perturbed, and even a little bit worried, Miss Knight.”
    Mr. Timmons cleared his throat. “I believe the appropriate appellation is Mrs. Timmons,” he suggested and twitched an eyebrow while observing my response.
    I hesitated, for I’d been Mrs. Knight (or, to the locals, Miss Knight) for long enough that it had become who I was. The moment passed and I nodded, adding, “Absolutely correct,” to compensate for my hesitation.
    “Oh yes. Mrs. Timmons, Miss Knight, same-same,” Dr. Ribeiro said around a mouthful of tea and toast. Before either of us could inform him that it most certainly wasn't ‘same-same’, he continued. “You are still being you, madam. But the Plague!” He clapped his hands against his temples. “It is being more serious than the brainless heads.”
    I hurumphed at that, wondering if the Kerit’s victims would’ve agreed with the doctor’s prognosis. “Be that as it may, I’m not sure what you