The Sorcerer King and the Fire Queen

by Ana Lee Kennedy

  “I guess you feel a little insecure about traveling with me, so you need some information.”

  A chill swept over my body, and I thought about her prediction of meeting Solomon again let alone all the other little odd things she’d mentioned that had come to pass.

  “Yeah,” I conceded.

  “My mom died when I was very young, and since Lula raised me, I go back every few months to make sure she’s well.” She hugged the toiletries as if they were the most important things in the world to her. “I’ve always known I had family in Florida, but I finally grew curious, contacted him, and we decided to meet.”

  “Makes sense,” I said. “Where are you meeting him?”

  “Florida City.”

  “That works out well. It’s the last city before the Keys.”

  She smiled, but I suddenly felt as though she were merely humoring me.

  “You said you had to take care of something in Florida,” she reminded me. “Where?”

  “St. Augustine.”

  She brightened at that. “I’ve always wanted to visit St. Augustine, but never did for one reason or another.” She disappeared into the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind her. “I’m taking a shower,” she yelled through the door. “Holler when the food arrives.”

  I sprawled on the bed and thought about what my Marilyn Monroe lookalike had just told me. So, she was an orphan who had been raised by a friend. How had Maureen’s mother died? Somehow, I sensed it would be a sore subject to pursue.

  Remembering Loretta Detzer’s number in my purse, I decided to check in with her. I dialed out and then punched in the phone digits. An answering machine picked up, so I left a message.

  Again, why were we being paid the remaining ninety-five grand in Key West? Why not give us a portion for picking up the document to ensure we returned to West Virginia with it?

  The answer hit me. She’s not worried about us returning to West Virginia.

  That brought another question to mind. Aside from the document, what was so important in Key West?

  There were just too many questions spiraling in my brain. I clutched my head in both hands, bracing my elbows on my knees, and sighed.

  My thoughts strayed to the biker woman at the truck stop. How the hell were the bikers able to change their eyes in such a creepy manner? I know I wasn’t seeing things because Solomon and Maureen had witnessed the same phenomenon.

  Besides, I couldn’t deny what had happened behind Solomon’s cabin in the wee hours of morning. I didn’t want to think about those things, but I couldn’t get the image of them encircling the lawn and Sam out of my head.

  “COME TO US, RUBY. YOU KNOW WHAT THEY ARE. HURRY!”

  Yellow eyes.

  Smoke monsters.

  Very large, unusual bikers with weird attributes.

  A gasp ripped from my lips. I snatched at the bed covers in an attempt to keep the room from spinning, but the carpet rushed up to meet me. Lying there with the A/C whispering across the floor and over my body, I wrestled to comprehend the implications of my theory.

  A knock sounded on the door, and I roused, scrambling to my feet, looking around wildly as my heart crashed against my ribs. The canine let out a soft woof before lowering his head to his paws again. I recalled where I was and that it was probably the pizza delivery person. My legs shook beneath me, and as I rounded the corner of the bed, I tripped over my sneakers and sprawled out on the floor next to the overgrown fur rug, who calmly licked my cheek.

  I jumped to my feet again and peeked through the spy hole. Relieved, I grabbed my purse and opened the door.

  “Pizza delivery for Nutter?” a girl, barely twenty, asked in a thick Southern drawl.

  “Yes.” I rummaged for a twenty in the bottom of my purse.

  After the girl took my money then left, I studied the parking lot draped in shadows where the security lights didn’t reach. Was something lurking out there? Watching? Waiting for me to slip up?

  I shut the door with a bang and locked it.

  ****

  The noise was subtle, but it awakened me with a jolt.

  I lay listening in the darkness. The bathroom light had been left on, and the door stood ajar so Maureen and I could find our way around the room should one of us get up. Maureen snored softly in the other bed. I even heard the dog’s breathing at the bedside. The A/C had shut off during one of its power-saver cycles. The distant rumble of tractor-trailers on the Interstate reached me.

  Relaxing, I started to slip back into sleep. The noise roused me again, so I sat up. Finally, I identified the sound.

  Someone is trying to jimmy the lock on our door!

  At almost the same instant, the dark, shaggy form of Shunka’s head rose above the mattress’ edge. The dog issued a rumbled warning. Every hair on my body stood at attention.

  “Maureen!” I whispered.

  She continued to snore. It was no wonder she slept like the dead, considering the woman had consumed four slices of pizza and three plastic cups of cola.

  The doorknob clicked again, followed by soft metallic jiggling. The dog issued another menacing snarl. This place didn’t have the electronic keycards like most motels and hotels used, so, if given enough time, whoever was trying to pick the lock might succeed.

  “Maureen!” I whispered louder.

  She kept snoring.

  In just my Cleveland Browns nightshirt and a pair of cotton panties, I crept from the bed, padded around the dog, and over to the door of the adjoining suites. Opening it a couple of inches, I listened. Solomon’s deep breathing drifted from his bed. As I peeked inside, total darkness greeted me. Plucking some courage, I stepped into his room and picked my way across it until I found the footboard and felt around the mattress to his side. Behind me, the canine panted in agitation.

  “Solomon!” I shook him. “Someone is trying to break into our room. Hey, wake up!”

  “Hmm? What?” He rolled over.

  The streetlights’ glow slipped through the edges of the curtains providing just enough illumination that his eyes glowed eerily.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, sleep heavy in his voice.

  “Someone is messing with our door.” My eyes had finally adjusted enough that I picked out the other furniture.

  He shoved back the covers and stood wearing only a pair of dark boxers, his skin luminous in the shadows. He slipped on his loafers, walked quietly to the door, and opened it without a noise. The dog waited at his side, nose pressed to the crack in the door, tail swishing from side to side.

  The memory of the bikers and my new theory about them returned fresh in my mind. I prayed they hadn’t found us again. How were the riders and their demonic bikes linked to my visions? For a moment, the room swayed and spun. I placed my hand on the dresser and waited for the discomfort to pass.

  Solomon situated himself so the Malamute couldn’t get out the door. He stuck his head through the opening then pulled back and closed the door.

  “You’re right, Ruby, someone’s working on the lock.”

  “What do we do? Call the police?”

  “No, by the time they get here the guy will probably be inside. I’m going to let Shunka out to deal with him.”

  “If Shunka hurts the guy, the authorities will take the dog and prosecute you.”

  “Don’t worry. He’ll incapacitate the guy until the law does get here.” Solomon patted the dog. “Ready, buddy?”

  The canine shivered with excitement. He let out a gentle woof as if to say “Hell, yeah!”

  Holding the animal’s collar, Solomon opened the door again, and then leaned over to speak in the dog’s ear. The Malamute padded out slowly as if he were a wraith gliding upon a night zephyr. It crossed my mind he should’ve been born a panther instead.

  In moments, snarling like a rabid, foaming-at-the-mouth animal, followed by a man’s low, frightened voice, punctuated the night.

  “Easy, boy, easy. Just let me stand up and I’ll be on my way. Easy now.”r />
  Solomon stepped outside. The smell of cooling asphalt, chlorine, and exhaust fumes from I-95 wafted in and over me. The glow of the digital clock to my right showed it was just a few minutes past four a.m. Now, wide-awake, I felt as if I had swallowed a bottle of pep pills.

  I moved out behind Solomon, peering down the walk where a man slowly stood. The Malamute advanced on the perpetrator, hackles raised, lips peeled back to reveal pink gums and white razor teeth. Growls raged deep within Shunka’s chest.

  “Easy, fella. I won’t hurt you,” the guy said and backed up.

  Why did that voice sound so familiar? Frowning, I moved abreast of Solomon, my mind searching for an answer. As the perp continued walking backward, he moved into a security lamp’s light.

  With a sharp intake of breath, I shouted, “Wayne Blacktree! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Wayne had been so focused on the Malamute he hadn’t even noticed us on the sidewalk.

  “Shit!” He whirled, sprinting for his pickup parked on the opposite side of the parking lot.

  The dog took off. He barked loud enough to awaken the dead, his claws scrabbling over the asphalt as he hurtled after Wayne. That first bark set off a series of frustrated barks from the bed of Wayne’s truck.

  “Do you know that guy?” Solomon asked.

  “Sort of,” I replied. “We bumped into him in West Virginia. His dog wanted to eat Maureen and me, and Wayne interceded then bought us lunch to apologize.”

  Wayne yanked open the driver’s door, jumped in, and hurriedly rolled up the window.

  “Shunka Wakan!” Solomon called. “Come!”

  Reluctantly, the Malamute obeyed. He dropped to all fours from where he’d been standing with his front paws on the driver’s door, his muzzle pressed against the glass. He turned and trotted across the lot, but Wayne’s dog broke the tether holding him in the back of the truck.

  The furry, snapping-teeth machine leapt from the pickup bed, barreling toward the Malamute. Solomon’s dog whirled and took the first blow from Wayne’s mutt.

  I screamed, “No!” and felt Solomon grab me. I hadn’t even realized I’d started after the canine.

  Wayne jumped out of his four-wheel-drive shouting, “Buford, no! Buford! Truck! Now!”

  Buford was too high on doggy adrenaline to give a shit. His buzz-saw mouth snapped and bit at the Malamute, but Solomon’s dog stood up on his hind legs and lunged for Buford’s throat. They struggled that way for a few seconds, their snarls background noise for a bloody scene in a horror movie. Several motel room doors opened, and sleepy tenants stared out at the dogfight in the parking lot. A few grew interested, but others turned, slamming their doors. One yelled an ear-numbing string of profanities, followed by a threat to call the police if the dogs’ owners didn’t break them up.

  Wayne’s dog let out a yelp, and a distant crunch prompted the remaining pizza in my gut to look for a quick exit. Shunka let go of the mutt. He stood sniffing him for a moment then padded back to Solomon.

  “Buford?” Wayne called. He strode over to his dead dog and knelt next to him. He stroked his head and gently patted Buford’s side. “Come on, buddy. Get up.” He raised Buford’s head, pulling a penlight from his shirt pocket and shining it in the dog’s eyes. “Buford?”

  “Oh, Solomon.” Tears flooded my eyes. The guy was a virtual stranger, but his affection for the dog dredged up sympathy that rocked me with its intensity.

  Solomon let go of me and walked out to Wayne. I couldn’t hear what they said, but soon Wayne’s voice cut through the night.

  “No, I don’t need your help,” he yelled. “Get the hell away from me!” As his voice cracked with emotion, more tears slid down my face.

  A woman three rooms down stepped out with a blanket in her arms. She walked across the parking lot dressed in fuzzy white slippers and a long, pale nightgown. A little boy about ten years old trailed her.

  She stooped, said something to Wayne, and handed him the blanket. Quickly, she returned to her room.

  Solomon helped Wayne lay the dead Buford on the blanket. He stepped back as Wayne carefully wrapped up his dog. The man stooped, slipping his arms under the enormous bundle, lifted the body and staggered with it to his Dodge. Solomon dropped the tailgate, and Wayne hefted the corpse into the pickup bed.

  Even from that distance, I heard Wayne’s sobs, and, despite my anger at him for trying to break into our room, I cried with him.

  Wayne started the truck and tore out of the motel lot, tires squealing.

  Once Solomon reached me, he pulled me into his arms.

  “It’s okay,” he said softly.

  Startled, I croaked, “Let go of me.”

  “You’re crying.”

  “Whatever gave you that idea?” I pushed against his bare chest. His body was so warm, and my pulse raced in response. The aroma of shampoo, cologne, and his maleness rendered me powerless.

  “People are complex creatures,” Solomon’s voice rumbled in my ear. “In a matter of minutes that man went from criminal intentions to fear to acute grief, and as a result, he inspired emotion in everyone who witnessed it.”

  His arms loosened around me enough that I could look up at him. I shoved against his chest again. He gazed down at me, his eyes reminding me of a vampire’s seductive look. If vampires were truly full of sex appeal as well as magic, I suddenly understood why people succumbed to them.

  “What grief do you harbor, Ruby?” he said so quietly I wasn’t sure I’d even heard him.

  “None of your—”

  His lips met mine, igniting a fire inside me. Stunned, I started to melt against him. However, in that instant, the sensation that I knew Solomon from somewhere before proved so sharp I gasped against his mouth and rammed my hands into his shoulders. I broke loose and fell backward through the doorway. My night shirt flipped up over my hips, the hem nearly reaching my breasts. Solomon’s gaze met mine, and surprise settled over his face. He held out a hand to help me up and then he disappeared.

  A man who looked like a king stood in his place. We wore a dark robe that fell to the rushes on the floor and a thin, gold chaplet around his head with a bright stone in its center. A fresh, pink scar sliced his face in half diagonally, but instead of making him appear frightening, it gave him a rugged look. A set of piercing blue eyes met mine and he held his hand out to help me to my feet. I glanced down at a long tunic-style dress with heavy embroidery adorning the hem.

  Blinking, the vision was gone. It was him! I didn’t know how or why, but man in my visions and Solomon was one and the same. Fear of the unknown pierced me, and I scrambled through the doorway of our adjoining suites on my hands and knees, my cotton-pantied ass in the air.

  Solomon caught me by the ankle and dragged me, belly down, through the threshold and back into his room.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Solomon released my ankle, pushed the door shut, and then locked it. He hauled me to a standing position. The vision I’d had and the sensation that we’d done this before made no sense to me, but it pierced my mind and heart all the same.

  Drawing me close, he pressed his length against me.

  “No,” I whispered, the heat emanating from him almost searing my skin.

  He stared directly into my eyes. Desire roiled within his, their coloring deepening to a steel gray. “How can you say no? You feel it, too, don’t you?”

  Words failed me. As bad as the vision had frightened me, I wanted Solomon so much it rendered me powerless. I remembered the mental flash I’d had while showering at my apartment, the way I’d felt such sorrow after it had ended, how I’d missed the man in my vision.

  Solomon’s entire body trembled. “I don’t know why,” he gulped and shut his eyes for a second, “but it’s like I’ve done this with you before.”

  His words skewered me with a needle of unease, and I marveled that I had such an affect on him. What if I let him make love to me and it set something untoward in motion? Half-heartedly, I pu
shed against his chest, but he pulled me against him again, nibbling at my earlobe, hands caressing and rubbing my ass. His body scent, something all male and utterly intoxicating, swept over and around me, heightening my over-stimulated body. Electricity sizzled along my nerve endings. I was so carried away by the feelings he created, I momentarily forgot to breathe. My legs began shaking, and shockwaves cascaded throughout my limbs.

  Solomon cupped one of my breasts, and my traitorous body responded by pushing closer, needing the ultimate contact. He grabbed the hem of my nightshirt and tugged it up over my body to toss it aside. I tried to cover myself, but he captured my hands, followed by his head dipping to my chest where he seized a nipple in his mouth.

  Fire spread through my limbs, leaving me vulnerable and craving more. My head fell back, and the sounds that escaped my lips both embarrassed and thrilled me.

  He straightened and slowly walked me backward toward the bed. The backs of my knees met the mattress, and together, we fell onto it limbs akimbo. He kicked off his loafers and wriggled free of his boxers.

  Solomon glanced over at the television and then back at me. “Don’t go anywhere,” he whispered and kissed me softly.

  He rose and flipped on the television, muting the sound. The glow from the screen illuminated his body. The Bible says that the sons of God—whatever they might have been—went in unto the daughters of men. I often thought, as many people do, that the sons of God were angels. If so, then I understood how those women were seduced if such immortals had been fair, muscled and well endowed like Solomon.

  He turned to face me, and I could only sit and stare at him standing before me totally nude and unashamed, an impressive erection straining against his lower abdomen. I couldn’t decide what fascinated me more—his chiseled six-pack abs or the erect, glorious cock surrounded with closely cropped platinum hair that was enough to make any woman pause in awe.