Can't Remember Dick: Elemental Mythicals, #1

By Candice Gilmer

The future. The past. It's all relevant.

 

At least, when you can remember it.

 

I, unfortunately, can't remember anything about my life before three years ago.

 

Especially not these big men, like this guy Richard, who seems to know me very well. (And ho-boy does he make my motor run).

 

I might have stayed away and avoided him. At least, until me and my sister needed help.

 

Now the past I can't remember may be the only way I have to save her.

 

Because if what they're saying is true, then I'm a time traveler, and I may have to figure it out if I'm going to save my sister.

 

 

While a standalone, it does take place in the Mythical Knights/Vampire Mythicals world.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Flirtation Publishing
• Release date: Feb 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393225317

Candice Gilmer

USA Today and NY Times bestselling author Candice Gilmer leads a dangerous double life as a mommy and a writer. In between boo-boo healing and fixing broken toys, she writes stories usually to the tune of children’s television shows. Growing up in the Midwest, Candice stays close to her family, especially the ones with basements when the tornadoes come around. All in all, she stays very busy, but really, she wouldn’t have it any other way. Well, maybe a little less children’s television.

Book preview

2

Three years later…

Business was bangin’—as was the music—at Mythical, the club where I occasionally picked up shifts. My tip jar was stuffed to capacity, and I’d already cashed it in twice for bigger bills. Of course, that could be from the black eye I sported tonight.

People took pity on me. I didn’t tell anyone it was from kickboxing class. I’d gone left when I should have gone right.

As slammed as we were tonight, I should have brought my Roller Blades instead of my boots.

Guess I should have expected it. Even with the rain outside, there was a full moon, and people were weird when full moons came around.

I hardly got to chat with Jenny, the bar waitress as the night went on. She’d stop long enough to wash a few glasses for me while I made drinks. And if I wasn’t filling orders, I was cleaning and running back to the stockroom to get more of everything.

I might get to pay rent on time this month.

I stood sentry at the center of the bar. I took a quick second to roll my shoulders and pull at the achy left one. My only visible evidence from the car accident was a huge, ugly round scar—a pole had punctured me when I got hit. That same accident had wiped out my memories from everything before three years ago.

Hurt like a mother when it rained.

So guess what?

It was aching like a son of a bitch tonight.

I considered popping another ibuprofen. But that would mean leaving the bar and going back to the break room to get one.

Not happening tonight.

Guess I’d deal.

All the customers seemed content and happy this second. Even Jenny didn’t have any orders. I held out my hands like a relay racer, ready to charge from one end or the other to fill an order.

A customer came up, and I darted over. What’ll it be? I asked, then looked up.

How about a glass of kickass? came Taylor’s voice over the thumping music. Oh wow!

Hey, what’s up?

Your eye still looks horrible! I feel so bad! Taylor said, pulling out that pouty-girly look.

I smirked. I need to learn left from right.

Yeah, that might be good. She winked. It was her elbow that had blackened my eye.

So what’ll it be? I asked.

Wanted a good drink from my favorite bartender.

Taylor was probably my only girlfriend. We’d met in the parking lot of my apartment complex right after I’d moved in. She was gorgeous. Designer everything. Her shoes probably cost more than my rent. Brunette, tanned, dark eyes that made her all kinds of mysterious.

Tonight, she wore a pair of jeans and a sparkly top that shimmered under the strobing lights of the bar.

I grabbed a glass and made her a Sexual Roller Coaster, one of Mythical’s specialty drinks. Pretty much everything behind the bar, with a splash of OJ and cranberry juice.

Here, I said. Two-fifty.

Taylor raised her eyebrow. Discount?

Of course, I said with a grin.

She handed me a ten-dollar bill. I dropped the bill in the register and yanked out the change. She waved me off. Keep it.

I wondered if it was being generous, or guilt…

She had hit me pretty hard tonight in class.

She looked around the bar. I’m feeling lucky tonight. She took a sip, her full mouth in that perfect girl pout that got plenty of attention. When she added the practiced casual hair flip, men gawked.

I rolled my eyes. Typical Taylor. She’d been trying to teach me how to do it, but I just couldn’t get the gesture right.

Let me know if you see anyone. I’ll tell you what I know.

Taylor nodded.

Jenny came behind the bar.

Order?

She shook her head. Potty break. Jenny always smiled, until she looked at Taylor. That smile shifted to a nasty scowl. I was about to say something, but she sat her tray and apron down and dashed off for a probably much-needed potty and smoke break.

For some reason, Taylor and Jenny were like oil and vinegar. If they bothered to speak to one another, it was usually very nasty.

Which I didn’t get, because I liked them both and figured they’d both get along well enough.

I returned my gaze to the customers. Taylor moved away to mingle, and in a couple of minutes, I’d lost sight of her in the crowd.

Most of the patrons weren’t giving me the time of day. Well, some were—they just weren’t very interesting.

Like Pale Boy here. Skin whiter than mine, eyes the color of a blue snow cone, and dressed to the nines in his gothic gear with chains all over his black ensemble. Including his face.

And he was checking me out. Seriously checking me out.

Joy.

I preferred men with a bit of meat on their bones. And you didn’t find too many emo, goth or even hipster guys, for that matter, who were thick with cut abs. Thick, sometimes, but not in the awesome ways.

Maybe it was because I was five-eleven and three-quarters and athletically built—muscular legs, defined muscles in my arms.

Petite was nowhere in my vocabulary. Not even in the men I liked.

Yo, Aria! What are you doing here? called a guy from off to my left. I darted over to him and smiled.

It was Jay, a regular at my other job, Downtown Perk. He was nice. A bit of a hipster, but I didn’t hold that against him. Not anything to write home about, but he tipped, so I smiled.

Dante needed some extra hands tonight, I said, setting a red glass in front of him. What’s your pleasure?

Good grief, girl, who hit you?

Evidently, my makeup didn’t cover my bruised eye very well. Would have to touch that up later. Kickboxing class. I went left when I should have gone right.

Well, okay. As long as it wasn’t anything bad. He leaned in, his concern truly genuine, though, him being only about a buck-fifty and four inches shorter than me, I doubted he would be able to do anything to anyone.

I shook my head. Thanks for the concern. What’s your pleasure?

Bourbon coke. Top shelf.

Of course, I said, and snagged a bottle of bourbon and mixed it with the soda. I might have held the bourbon count a second too long, but hey, I like Jay. He’s nice.

As I moved, the huge red rock pendant on my necklace clanked against the glass.

What’s that? Jay yelled.

I looked down, at first thinking he was eyeballing my boobs that attempted to burst out of my tank top, but realized it was the necklace.

Good luck charm, I said, holding up the stone. The little iron cross that hung on it flashed in the pulsing lights.

It’s huge, he said, motioning me closer.

I shook my head. Superstitious. No one touches it, sorry. I tucked the stone inside my tank, letting it join my boobs. I handed Jay the glass, and he handed me cash.

What kind of stone is it? he asked. I collect rocks. Hobby.

I raised my eyebrow. You spend time digging in the ground?

He laughed. Sure, that’s why my hands look like this. He held up his torn-to-shit fingertips.

I snorted.

Another guy came up to the bar. He definitely had that off vibe to him. Angry Emo Boy. Black hair flat-ironed to within an inch of its life covered most of his face. His gray tee shirt had some rock band on it that I had never heard of, though from the way he was tapping the counter, it might have been what the deejay played.

I didn’t care for the music of Dante’s bar. I wasn’t much for music at all, to be honest. Never had been. Taylor says I’m crazy because I buy all those ‘sounds of nature’ CDs at Target. I’d much rather listen to nature than music. Nature was my music.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

I pulled back from Jay and started toward Emo Boy, waving as I did. Jay tipped his glass in salute as he took a sip.

Back to work.

What can I get you? I asked the guy with the flat iron obsession. He barely looked old enough to get in the door.

Emo boy leaned over the bar a bit. Doll, bring me a rum and coke.

I raised my eyebrow. Hand.

He held his right hand up. No mark. Underage patrons were stamped on their right hand.

I wasn’t buying it. Left hand?

The guy held up his other hand, looking irritated. Bring me my damn drink.

I grabbed his right arm, clenching his forearm in my grip. He jerked against me, but I held true.

Bitch!

Calm down. I pulled out my handy-dandy black light from my hip and ran it over his hand. Sure enough, there were tell-tale signs of the stamp. He’d evidently washed it—another hint being how cold his hand was—to get the regular ink off. Dante had everyone underage double stamped—one with black ink, the other with black light ink, for cases like this.

Blacklight ink doesn’t come off as easily.

I released his arm. I’ll get you a pop.

I want a rum and coke, the guy said.

You’re underage. Forget it.

He spat out a gnarly spew of curses. I crossed my arms, letting him go. Then I grabbed a cup, filled it with ice, and put pop in it. Snagged a straw, and I handed it to him.

He cussed me a bit more. And proceeded to fling the cup at me.

He was probably pretty impressed with his aim. At least at first.

I leaned to the left, my arm coming up and batting the glass and its trajectory away, sending it spinning toward the floor.

And of course, no one at the bar seemed to find this at all offensive. They merely scooted down a bit, away from raging emo guy.

Jerks.

Evidently security—meaning Lou—was lax at the bar tonight. He was probably talking it up with some cute girl.

Emo boy lunged at me from across the bar.

I grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled his ass behind the bar, using the momentum to make sure I slammed his head into the cabinet behind me.

Glass broke as he hit. Bottles tumbled down, shattering. I winced as three of the top shelf vodkas fell to the floor, spilling everywhere.

Shit, there went my tips.

The guy acted unfazed at having his head slammed into a cabinet. He was on his feet in seconds, hands out in a martial arts stance.

Great. The only whiny emo boy in the Midwest with a karate belt. Exactly what I needed tonight.

Could this get any better?

Behind him, Jenny came up to the bar, she saw this guy, her eyes widened, and she took off. Hopefully to get help.

Emo boy flew at me, hand in a punch, ready to attack.

I blinked.

And suddenly, his attack slowed down. It was like I could see in paused mode or something. Everything was quiet—all the noise, the horrible thunder of the music gone. I reached over, grabbed one of the house liquor bottles, and stepped to the side as his punch came lumbering toward me, as if he was stuck in molasses.

Took hardly any effort for me get out of the way as he moved. I hit him over the head with the liquor bottle, sending him to the floor.

The amber liquid splattered, as did the glass, but there was no sound. I stepped back, bumping into the bar. Everything moved in normal speed again. A wave of—hell, I wasn’t sure what that was—radiated out from me. A shockwave thing, I guess.

Totally fucking weird.

But I got nothing.

The quiet vanished, and the raging music overwhelmed me, and I covered my ears.

What the heck was that? I shook my head, trying to figure out if I had imagined the thing.

Surely, I did.

I had to have…

Emo boy shook his head and glared at me. What are you?

What?

He stood up, a few inches from me. What are you?

I’m a girl. The opposite of you, I replied. An innie verses an outie.

He opened his mouth to say more when two very large hands grabbed him from behind and jerked him out of the bar area.

I relaxed a bit, realizing it was probably Lou, the four-hundred-pound bouncer who usually stuck to the door, saving my butt.

I hadn’t thought Lou was strong enough to manhandle someone over the bar. Surprise, surprise. I turned, ready to say something.

Two hands latched onto me, yanking me from behind the bar as well.

I kicked and screamed as someone huge threw me over his shoulder, like I was a gym towel. I stared at his ass—the very hard rock of an ass. This wasn’t Lou carrying me, that’s for sure.

Trying to free myself, I kicked and twisted, but he didn’t let go. The more I squirmed, the tighter he held me. I even went so far as to hit him on the ass a few times, but it wasn’t affecting him.

Knock it off, he growled at me.

Put me down!

We continued through the bar toward the door. I twisted around and saw Dante. I tried to get his attention, to show him that two huge brutes were carrying out his customer and employee, but he didn’t seem to care.

He only met my gaze for a second, and if I was right, the look on his face was more of a, What do you want me to do about it?

Call the police, you dickhead, I yelled at him.

He raised his eyebrow at me as if this was normal, and I was out of my mind.

What in the hell was wrong with everyone tonight? Not even the customers seemed to care people were being hauled out by two giants. I tried twisting to the side, when I saw it.

This guy had a huge friggin’ curved sword strapped to his hip.

Shit, that can’t be good.

We headed into the foyer, and I went for my last plea and reached for Lou.

Lou jumped up and gave us a wide berth.

Thanks, asshole.

Hope to see you again, Aria, Lou replied.

I growled as the guy carrying me marched me out onto the sidewalk. I cannot believe this. You bastards—eeiiiiaaaaa— I landed with an unceremonious thump on the ground.

Correction, thump and splat. The ground was sopping wet, and the jerk had dropped me in a puddle.

The emo guy scrambled to get away from the big guy who hauled him out—the streetlight showed he had blond hair and was roughly the size of a refrigerator.

Correction, the size of a smaller refrigerator, compared to the guy who’d hauled me out. Wow, he said, glancing at me. This really was a good idea, Richard.

The one in front of me, with his dark brown hair, even darker eyes, and general snarl, was the size of a big refrigerator. Like industrial.

And he totally wasn’t pleased to see me.

I gulped.

What in the hell are you doing here? he growled in my face.

I blinked. I work here.

He latched onto my arms and dragged me from the ground. His pinchers were digging into my upper arms.

What happened to you? Did he do that? He pointed to emo guy.

I shook my head. No… no… I—

He slapped his monster hands on my face, tipping me back and forth. What happened?

Kickboxing class! I jerked out of his grip. Who the fuck are you?

He grabbed my arms. I stomped on his foot. Isn’t that what they say to do in the kickboxing?

He didn’t even budge.

My efforts to break away weren’t working with this guy.

Shit.

You should have come to me, Aria! Inches from my face, his breath hit me, his rage fuming, and he shook me.

How did he know my name? And why would I come to him for a black eye? Who the hell was this guy? Ow, ow, ow! You’re hurting me!

He let go of me like I was on fire, and for a second, he looked ashamed of himself. But that only lasted a second.

He jabbed his finger in my face. You should not be here! We have been looking for you!

I jumped back. Okay, first off, you’re not my mother. If I want to work in a bar to make rent, that’s my business, Mister Refrigerator Man.

You do— he replied.

I cut him off. Second, I don’t report to anyone. I’m twenty-one years old, damnit. I put my hands on my hips.

He paused. You’re how old?

I blinked. I’m twenty-one! I’m not a child! I pivoted and headed back to the bar door. A cry from Emo Boy made me turn back around.

Blondie pulled his own huge, medieval looking sword from his hip, and in a flash, took Emo Boy’s head off.

I screamed.

Emo Boy disappeared in a puff of ash.

I hate to admit it, but I fainted, right there, against the door to the bar.

And not even the puddles of water woke me up.

3

Slam. Slam. Slam.

I hit the ground, hard.

I pulled my hands up to block—

White face, white hair, white-eyed woman snarling. With fangs. Ready to eat me.

You can’t beat me, girl.

I bolted upright, hand on my necklace, squeezing the red good luck stone.

I was at my apartment, in my bed.

The sweat on my brow was proof my dreams were getting more intense. Shaking my head, I took a few more deep breaths. I’ve had nightmares ever since I came out of the coma three years ago. A dream would flash, and I would remember nothing except the feeling of being in danger—of fighting for my life.

Or fighting for something important I was determined to win.

Lately, though? I could hear every word, remember every nuance. The horrible and the tiny bit of good.

My White Knight would pop into the occasional dream, riding to my rescue, sword at the ready. Though not this time. This dream only had that same white demon-looking chick-creature. A female, I realized that, but a demon too. A monster.

I made myself breathe in and out to shake off the terror that pumped my heart at full speed ahead.

This would be a great morning for yoga to calm me back down.

Wait.

How’d I get here? I glanced out the window toward the apartment complex’s parking lot. My Land Cruiser sat in my designated stall. The last thing I remembered—I was outside, with the huge refrigerator men…

And Emo Boy disappeared in a puff of ash.

What the hell was that?

I rubbed my head. Had they slipped me something? Standing, I wobbled a little, but no more than I did when I first got up. My first thought was the worst—that I’d been… Ugh, I couldn’t bring myself to even think the ‘R’ word. Nothing felt sore or messed up. I stretched a little back and forth, and everything felt okay.

Besides that whole freaked-out thing I had going on.

Over and over in my head, I saw Emo Boy disappearing right before my eyes. He was there, then he was gone. The big blond dude had just chopped his head off.

Shouldn’t there have been blood? How was that possible? Surely, I made it up.

Maybe it was a dream, I muttered. I tried to think back, to remember the night. Yet all I could recall was those guys hauling me out.

Everything else, well, that’s when it became like a dream. I mean, even that guy trying to fight me in the bar.

That doesn’t happen.

Like ever.

Did I hit my head again? Did Emo Boy land a punch and knock me out?

Maybe dreamed all the rest?

My hard-up self would dream about a sexy dude yanking me out of a fight to protect me—I’d been dreaming about a white knight for years.

It had to have been a weird dream.

Yet, how did I get home?

This didn’t make sense. That must have been what happened. I must have hit my head. Two head shots in one day—first Taylor at the kickboxing class, then Emo Boy.

It had to be my head. I must have passed out or something.

The lingering headache, which I tended not to have very often, started throbbing. Damn, I muttered and rubbed my temples like—

Someone told me that was a good way to relieve headaches.

I don’t know who.

Story of my life. Maybe this is just another side effect of the amnesia.

I didn’t remember losing time before, but amnesia affects everyone differently, or so the doctors told me. They said I would remember who I was when it was time.

Whatever the fuck that meant.

Speaking of time…

What time is it? I looked out my window, taking in more details. Sun was up. Full sun. The clock radio read ten-thirty.

Shit shit shit. My brain kicked in, registering my schedule for the day. I had thirty minutes to get to the salon for my appointment. No time for a shower. Rachel will just have to deal with bedhead. I jerked my jeans on from last night.

And I froze.

I didn’t know if I had enough money to pay for my hair, much less my rent. Those bottles that had shattered, hell, that was at least seventy bucks right there. Probably more.

Dante, I’m sure, would charge interest or a handling fee, or something for breaking them.

I wedged my hand in my pocket and pulled out the bills.

And about died.

What the hell? There were four fifty-dollar bills in between the tens and twenties I’d stuffed into my pocket last night. I rubbed my head. This doesn’t make any damn sense.

I stuffed the cash back in, then pulled it out again. Recounted.

Yep, it’s two hundred extra dollars. I checked my other pockets.

No more cash, but there was a business card wedged down in my back pocket. The front had one of those iron crosses embossed on it—the one that each side was the same length. Like what the Templar Knights used way back in the day.

Just like the cross that hung with my red stone.

I picked up the necklace, but only to touch the little cross.

Laid it over the cross on the card.

Yep. Exactly the same.

That’s kinda… yeah, I muttered, realizing there was more on the card than the cross.

Underneath was a phone number.

I flipped the white card over.

Sorry for the inconvenience

I clenched the stone, the little cross poking into my hand. The stone’s jagged facets immediately calmed me down. I stroked the long flat side a couple of times while I took deep breaths.

I had hoped that last night’s experience had been another bad dream.

Shit. Guess not.

Glanced at the clock.

Crap, I had to get going.

I had every intention of not saying a word about my bizarre night—because talking about it would make it real, and frankly, I didn’t want to think about those refrigerator guys in my apartment. Or finding my apartment. Or cutting off Emo Boy’s head.

All of the above.

But, like anyone who goes and gets their hair done, suddenly, they have diarrhea of the mouth, and everything poured out. Though some filter in my brain thought to not mention Emo boy disappearing after being speared with a sword.

Probably a good thing.

My hairdresser Rachel listened as I laid out what I could remember. And then gave the most obvious reply possible.

So, was it real or a dream?

I don’t know. That’s the weird thing. And saying it all out loud, I still wasn’t sure.

No, the weird thing was finding money in your clothing.

Well, that’s true. If it wasn’t for the cash, I would have written it off as a nightmare, and moved on.

Maybe they were my tips???

Though when have I made two hundred in tips at Mythicals?

Never.

Like ever.

Trina, the stylist at the next station, snorted. Sounds interesting.

I rolled my eyes as Rachel flipped around a few pink-coated pieces of my hair. I’m thinking about calling the number from the business card. See what I can find out.

Use a payphone, Trina said.

Are those even still around?

You can find one sometimes, Trina said.

Trina, Rachel said with a sigh. It’s probably a security company.

With swords, I muttered under the hum of a blow dryer being turned on.

What was that?

Nothing important. A memory came—the men from last night, and the big-assed swords they both wore on their hips.