King of the Wicked (The Banished Series Book 1)

by T. R. Hamby

  “If he had known, he would have,” she insisted gently. “He didn’t want me to die. We were going to try to find a way around it.”

  He raised a shrewd eyebrow. “First,” he said, “I know he didn’t want you to die. I know he cares about you. But he was reckless. He was supposed to protect you, and instead he got you involved in a case that got you killed. And second,” he continued, as she opened her mouth to speak, “I don’t think you were trying to find a way around it. He was, but you weren’t, were you?”

  She closed her mouth. Guilt washed over her, and she avoided his eyes.

  “Why would you do that to me, Nora?” he asked, and he sounded so crushed that her eyes filled with tears.

  She looked at him, brushing at her eyes. “This is supposed to be your apology,” she replied, avoiding the subject.

  “So you’re not going to say anything?”

  She took a moment, studying her hands.

  “You never said what you would do when I died,” she murmured slowly. “Back when I was mortal.”

  Mel didn’t reply, and she looked at him again. There were tears in his eyes, and he was busying himself with the bacon.

  “It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, what I did,” he finally said, his voice hoarse. “You would have been in Heaven. You would have been happy.”

  “It does matter,” she insisted firmly. “It broke my heart to even think about it. I had to do something. I didn’t want to do it that way, but he didn’t give me a choice. And then the--opportunity--presented itself, and I took it.”

  A couple tears slipped down his cheeks, and he brushed at them impatiently. He took the bacon off the stove and tried to transfer it to a plate, but his hands were shaking. Nora got up, took the pan from him and did it herself. He leaned against the wall, arms folded, and watched her.

  She set the pan aside and looked at him.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I was trying to protect you.”

  He was quiet for a moment, staring a hole in the floor.

  Finally he said, “I really fucked up. You were crying, and I ignored it. I let my anger get the better of me. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  Nora felt a pang. It was difficult to stay mad at him, when he looked so down. She drew to him, slipping her arms around his waist. He wrapped his arms around her, kissed her hair. Now she felt a little lighter, and she hoped he felt the same.

  “Are we okay?” she asked, looking up at him.

  He still looked a little emotional, but he smiled. “Yeah.”

  They ate their breakfast on the couch, turning the news on. Nothing about Lisia, but they kept it on as background noise. Nora picked at her food--she wasn’t very hungry. Not a good sign.

  Mel noticed. “I’ll call Dr. Nilsson,” he said. “So you don’t have to.”

  She set her plate aside. She felt horrible--sad, stuck. It was like there was a cloud over her.

  “I’m a mess,” she sighed, running a hand through her hair.

  He set aside his plate too, and pulled her against him.

  “You’re not a mess. You’re just under the weather.” He paused, then added, “Last night didn’t help.”

  “Don’t blame yourself,” she replied. “That won’t help me.”

  He chuckled a little. “Okay. What do you want to do today? We can do anything you want.”

  She thought for a moment. “Probably just rest,” she said, “but I’d like to see Michael and Gilla. Maybe we can have dinner tonight.”

  He was quiet a moment, and she knew he was hesitating, reluctant to see Michael after last night.

  But he finally replied, “Whatever you want, diletta.”

  They spent most of the day on the couch, watching shows and talking. She forced herself to go for a run, and then took a bath. She usually was pretty low when she was in the tub, but Mel came in, sitting by the side and telling her a funny story about a tourist he and Michael had come across in Athens. She laughed, holding her stomach, and this improved her mood a little. She flicked water at his face, and he threatened to get in, clothes and all.

  When she was dried and dressed she got a call from Gilla.

  “How are you?” she asked. Nora had told her about her mood, having texted her on and off throughout the day.

  “Okay,” she replied, stretching out on the couch and laying her head in Mel’s lap. “How is rehearsal? Is Enzo pissed at me? He didn’t respond to my text.”

  “You’ll never guess,” she said excitedly. “Enzo’s finally lost it; he fired Fonti and Rosa today. Rehearsals are canceled for at least a week, not counting this week, while he finds new directors.”

  Nora felt a surge of relief. “Oh, god, really? Thank god. I was losing my mind.”

  “We all were,” she sighed. “Everyone’s relieved to have the break. And isn’t this great for you? You finally have some time off.”

  She nodded. “Yeah. I need it.”

  “When do you see your doctor?”

  “Tomorrow. Mel rescheduled for me.”

  “Good. Can we come over for dinner?”

  She smiled. Gilla knew her so well. “I was just about to ask.”

  “Great. Michael and I will bring takeout.”

  “What are you doing now that rehearsal’s canceled?”

  “I’m working on the remodel right now,” she said happily. “Michael ripped up the old tile in the kitchen; I’m putting in the new tile now.”

  “You sound good.”

  There was a pause. Then, “I am good. Michael has helped so much. And you too.”

  “Have you thought anymore about...seeing someone?”

  “I’m still thinking about it,” she said slowly. “It’s just...not something I like talking about.”

  “I understand.”

  They said goodbye, and Nora ended the call. Mel was playing with her hair, and she could tell he was curious.

  She rose up to look at him. “Rehearsals are canceled. Enzo finally fired the directors.”

  He looked relieved. “Good. You need it. How long?”

  “At least until the week after next.”

  He thought for a moment, frowning, and then sat up. “Let’s go to Paris,” he said.

  She frowned too. “We can’t,” she replied. “We still haven’t found Lisia.”

  “We can still hack the booking websites in France.” He took her hands, his voice firm. “It would be good for you. Get away from everything.”

  “Michael might not like it.”

  He paused, and she knew he was trying not to say anything offensive about Michael.

  “You don’t need his permission. He might agree with it, anyway. I’m sure he’s worried about you too.”

  She felt another surge of guilt. She didn’t like anyone worrying about her.

  “Okay,” she said, and he grinned. His smile gave her a thrill of excitement, and she beamed. “Paris.”

  “Paris,” he replied, looking mischievous, and he grabbed her waist, pulling her close and kissing her neck. She shrieked, laughing, and she felt some of her tension fade...finally.

  Gilla

  Dinner was...interesting. It was strange, seeing Mel and Michael, who were once mostly civil, now barely even look at each other. They sat on opposite sides of the room, while Gilla and Nora sat together on the couch, doing most of the talking.

  She could understand both sides of the argument. Michael himself had said he should have watched over Nora better. But she also felt that Mel was being a little unfair. After all, like Nora had said, it was she who had acted alone, putting herself in danger.

  Michael had hesitated only for a second when Nora had announced that she and Mel were going off to Paris. Then, to Gilla’s relief, he had agreed, taking her hand and kissing her cheek. Mel hadn’t looked pleased to see that, but he kept quiet.

  It was a couple days later. Mel and Nora were in Paris now, having flown in that morning. Nora was already texting Gilla pictures--the
Eiffel Tower, the Arc du Triomphe, Mel making a silly face on the plane. Gilla was relieved--her friend seemed to be feeling much better already.

  She was finished with the tile in the kitchen, and was now working on the trim. Michael was in Athens, still hunting for Lisia. She hadn’t mentioned it yet, but she had a feeling--one that she had had for a while now--that Lisia wasn’t in Athens. It just didn’t make sense--there were multiple countries he could have fled to, with languages that he spoke. Why go to Greece?

  And she didn’t think he was in a hostel, either. Michael and Mel had visited so many they had lost count, and yet no sign of Lisia. And Mel and Nora had hacked into just as many booking sites, and none of them had any record of a Lisia or a Baros.

  Something wasn’t right.

  Her phone pinged, and she put down her hammer and picked it up. It was an email--another email from Will.

  Her insides went cold, and she took a couple deep breaths. He had been messaging her a lot lately, and her fear was slowly turning into anger.

  She opened the email. It read, Found this article about you. I miss your singing.

  There was a link below.

  She frowned and tapped on it. It automatically sent her to an ERROR page, and she rolled her eyes. He had never been tech savvy. He had even, somehow, managed to get through life without a cell phone when she had first met him. And he had had trouble making a phone call when he had finally bought one.

  Whatever. Fuck him. With a cactus, as Nora liked to say.

  She heard footsteps coming from the bedroom and knew Michael was home, having Traveled from Athens.

  She got up, smiling, and watched as he emerged from the bedroom, looking grumpy.

  She gestured at the windows. “Tack!” she exclaimed proudly. “We are officially finished.”

  He looked at the trim and smiled. “Very good.”

  She approached him, slipping her arms around his neck. He felt tense, and there was a dark look on his face.

  “Nothing?” she asked, as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

  He shook his head.

  She hesitated, then said quietly, “I don’t think he’s in Athens, Michael.”

  He heaved a sigh, and nodded. “I think you’re right. We should have listened to you.”

  “You didn’t have anywhere else to look.”

  “Well, now we’re completely lost,” he said, frustrated.

  She squeezed his shoulders. “We at least know his alias.”

  He nodded, looking lost in thought. “Yeah.”

  “Are you going to keep Traveling to Athens?”

  He thought for a moment before shaking his head. “No. No point.”

  He brushed at her hair, almost absentmindedly, frowning. “Any more emails?”

  She felt her face fall, and she nodded. “Just now, actually. He wanted me to read some article.”

  His jaw was tight. “That worries me. That’s the fifth email in two weeks.”

  “He does this sometimes,” she whispered. “He’ll go through...phases when he tries to contact me.”

  “But he hasn’t asked where you are.”

  She shook her head. “Not yet.”

  He sighed, and her heart ached; she hated worrying him. She took his hands, squeezing.

  “You need to go to Paris too,” she joked, and his lips twitched.

  “I could say the same about you.”

  “Let’s go for a drive,” she suggested. “You haven’t driven the Lamborghini in weeks.”

  He brightened, and they went down to the garage.

  They drove around the city, arriving at an abandoned lot he had discovered a couple months ago. He gave her a devilish smirk and gunned it, sending the car careening down the asphalt. Gilla shrieked, gripping her seat and laughing. He spun the car around, performing all sorts of tricks, grinning at Gilla, who was delighted.

  They took a roundabout way back home, and hit traffic. Neither was bothered, though. Gilla turned up the music, and Michael leaned back in his seat, his hand on her thigh, a relaxed smile playing on his lips.

  He became antsy, though. As the traffic crept along he shifted in his seat, frowning. Then he sat up, turning the music down and peering out the windows.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  He stared out the windows, carefully studying the crowd of people making their way down the sidewalk.

  He shook his head. “I feel something.”

  She sat up. “Like...a Presence?”

  He nodded. “Like an Angel.”

  She frowned. “Mel?”

  “But he’s in France,” he replied, “and he would have to fly back here; he’s shit at Traveling. He couldn’t have come back that fast.”

  Still he was tapping on the screen in the console, and Gilla knew he was calling Mel. She felt a hint of nervousness--would Mel react badly to a call from him?

  He answered right away, his voice coming from the car’s speakers. “What is it? Is it Gilla?”

  She felt an ache, touched by his concern for her.

  “You’re still in Paris, right?” Michael asked.

  There was a pause.

  “Obviously,” Mel replied, and she could hear the coldness in his voice. “Why?”

  “I think there’s an Angel in Rome,” he said. “I just felt a Presence. On Fori Imperiali.”

  “Really?” Mel asked, now sounding curious. “I wonder if it’s anyone we know.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “We’re not the only Angels who have come down to Earth,” he said. “You know that.”

  “The last Angel we came across killed four women,” Michael murmured darkly.

  “Well, there’s not much we can do,” he replied, a little impatiently. “Unless they start murdering people, or Father says something, or they make themselves known to us.”

  Michael didn’t say anything, and Gilla could tell he was stumped. After a long moment Mel asked, “Is that it?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yeah.”

  Mel didn’t say goodbye. The console beeped, alerting them to the finished call.

  “Prick,” Michael muttered.

  Gilla took his hand and squeezed it. “He’s still angry.”

  He nodded, staring at the car in front of them. “I can’t blame him.”

  “He’ll get over it. He has to.”

  “Not likely,” he whispered, and his voice was hoarse. “I’ve essentially killed both his loves.”

  She flinched a little. She was still, in some ways, coming to terms with Michael’s past. She loved him more than anything--and she did forgive him--but it was still horrible to think about. It was easier to just...not talk about it.

  She kissed his hand. “He knows you would do anything for her. He’ll come around.”

  He was quiet for a moment, studying their hands clasped together. The traffic was at a standstill.

  “Do you think I’m a monster?” he whispered, so quietly she almost didn’t hear.

  She sighed, her heart aching. “No. I don’t.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  “Well, I don’t,” she said firmly. “And you shouldn’t either.”

  He continued to study their hands for a long moment, before looking at her and nodding.

  It took them nearly an hour, but they finally got back to their building. He was quiet--more than usual--and she longed to cheer him up. She took his hand and led him to the music room. Her Steinway--vintage, 1943--had been delivered yesterday, and she hadn’t given it enough love yet. Michael sat on the bench, and she sat in his lap. He chuckled, wrapping his arms around her waist and looking over her shoulder as she played.

  She played for a while, singing some of her favorite songs, including one that had been playing in the car earlier. He was quiet for a while, but then he eased her off his lap, pressed his fingers to the keys and tried to copy her. It only took a few tries before he had the opening of a song down. He had talent.

  She watched him play for a moment, wat
ched his dark eyes focused on the keys. She felt a pang. He was so full of guilt, of regret. And she knew--though he didn’t let it on--that there was a lot of self-hatred, too. He didn’t see the gentleness, the kindness that he had. The need to help--to protect. In many ways he was still lost in his past, just as Mel was. A hole that was difficult to escape--that needed to be clawed out of.

  She reached out and touched his hand, pausing his playing. He looked at her, and she said, “You know that I love you. Right? I love you, and I trust you.”

  They didn’t say “I love you.” And honestly, Gilla preferred it that way. She had heard it so often from Will. But she had to be sure that he knew just how much she cared for him.

  He looked away, down at the keys, his jaw working. Then he finally looked at her, and smiled. “No you don’t.”

  She was shocked, but then she saw a devilish glint in his eye, and she smacked his arm. “Yes I do.”

  “Don’t lie.”

  “You are such an ass,” she laughed, smacking his arm again, and he grinned, chuckling.

  He scooped her into his arms, brushed at her cheek.

  “All these years I’ve been alone,” he murmured. “Now there’s you.”

  She smiled. They were small words, but they meant so much coming from him.

  She knew then that he would be okay. He had something to live for.

  And she wasn’t going anywhere.

  Nora

  Nora had never been to Paris before. There had been a study abroad program in college, and she had wanted to go so badly. But Daddy had died, and there was no money anyway. Izzie had gotten her a book on the Louvre as a sort of consolation prize, and it had been the sweetest gift Nora had ever received from her.

  Now she was here, and there was so little time. Mel didn’t have any connections in the art museum world, so they would have to explore the old-fashioned way. She found a map of the Louvre and made a plan of attack.

  It was lucky Mel’s body had Regenerated, because they did a lot of walking their first day. She had a list of paintings she wanted to see, and she dragged him to every single one, waiting for the crowds to shift so she could get a good enough view, chattering the entire time about the shading or the composition. Mel always had a smile on his face--sometimes of amusement, other times of fondness. He listened attentively, and looked at all the pieces as if he’d never seen them before. But she kept catching him staring at her, and she would flush and smack his arm. No distractions--they were there for art.