The Phantom King (The Kings)

by Heather Killough-Walden

  So she’d pushed it from her mind as if it would have been the last straw, that dividing line between what and who she was and what and who her magic wanted her to be.

  And now, ten days later, she moved through the days with a shadow hanging over her, and a ghost of a man who lingered, watched, and waited.

  But for what?

  Siobhan pressed her hands into her eyes and shook her head. The truth was, she didn’t really want to know.

  Chapter Two

  Roman D’Angelo called the meeting to an end. The 13 Kings were now aware of the sudden and unexpected halt in Hunter activity that had occurred over the last seventy-two hours and would be on alert for any nasty surprises. No one had any clue as to why the Hunters had disappeared, standing down after the onslaught of nearly epic proportions they had initiated over the last few months. That wasn’t to say that the supernatural world wasn’t grateful – only wary. And rightly so.

  Roman rose from his seat as the others did and stood at the head of the table, waiting silently as the kings began leaving one by one. Some of the indomitable men walked through the door of the underground meeting room in the usual fashion and would most likely take the warded elevator back into the mortal world. Others disappeared in clouds of inky smoke or slipped into the shadows or opened up cracks in the very fabric space and stepped through them. To each his own.

  The Akyri King, Marius, was always one of the first to leave. He was a poster boy for Michelangelo-style pulchritude from his thick, wavy blonde hair to his striking ice blue eyes. The man used his beauty to its most fruitfully debauched end.

  Roman was probably as fond of Marius as he had been of Charles Ward. The Akyri King was petty and cruel, his appearance a beautiful mask to hide the monster beneath. His power was bloated on the darkness of the very magic he was forced to absorb in order to stay alive; adequacy was not a stopping point for the Demon King. He was a lecherous philanderer who had made his way through so many female warlocks, Roman likened him to some of the more notorious vampires of his own early reign. Those vampires were no more. And he’d just as soon see that the Akyri King was no more as well. But for the king to be replaced, he would have to be killed by another Akyri, who would then become king in his place; the sovereignty of the demons was similar in that respect to the hierarchy of the vampires. It would take a decidedly powerful and destined Akyri to pull off such a feat.

  Also, the truth was that as far as ruling was concerned, Marius had long had things well in hand with his Akyri. It was the one thing that until recently Roman couldn’t fault him on – and it was the one thing that counted in the Council of Kings.

  Recently, a few odd rumors had surfaced that rogue Akyri were attacking warlocks in order to absorb their powers. Such a thing had never occurred before, again most likely due to the iron-grip hold Marius had over his people. Roman wondered what it was that had changed, if anything. Perhaps it was rumor and nothing more. It was a topic for a private conversation and another time.

  The Warlock King, Jason Alberich, was one of the last to leave the meeting.

  Roman found his attention focused on the tall young man as Alberich slowly pushed his chair out and rose. He was dressed all in black, as was customary for the warlock, but the darkness of Alberich had thickened somehow. He was not the relatively inexperienced and torn man he had been several months ago.

  Now he was just torn.

  Roman’s forehead furrowed slightly. Lalura would call him sentimental, but for some reason it bothered Roman that the Warlock King had made this transformation. He hadn’t been given a choice.

  Of all of the sovereignties in the supernatural world, that of Warlock King was arguably the most difficult. Warlock magic was inherently nasty, outright cruel at times, and those who wielded it more often than not gave in to its murky pull, becoming fitting vessels for its wrathful legerdemain. Warlocks were mean. At least, most of them were.

  Now Jason Alberich occupied the highest seat in their society. It was up to him to not only create warlock law, but to make certain that it was upheld.

  He wore the responsibility surprisingly well. As Roman studied the warlock’s strong profile, it occurred to him that Alberich had been born for this position.

  And quite possibly a good deal more.

  Thus far, three different attempts on Alberich’s life had been made by warlocks who felt they could do a better job at ruling over their kind than he could. The Warlock King had batted them down as if swatting flies. The power he’d come into this world possessing had grown exponentially, and now it was like an armor around him, sturdy and dark. It draped itself over his broad form as if it knew who its master was.

  It had been like that for Malachi Wraythe. But Roman had to admit that even Wraythe hadn’t carried it with such grace and ease. Alberich was a natural.

  And that was perhaps the crux of what bothered Roman. If Alberich was a natural warlock – a born Warlock King, in fact – what would become of his morals? What would befall his soul? Would he ultimately become like Wraythe?

  As if he could sense that Roman was considering him in such detail, Alberich turned and shot him a look filled with ice. His green eyes speared through Roman as all but one other of the 13 Kings left the room. There were three remaining around the table now – Roman, Jason Alberich, and the Phantom King, Thane.

  Alberich broke the silence. “Malcolm Cole sends the queen his congratulations on making the New York Times bestseller’s list,” the Warlock King said. His smooth voice echoed the power he’d amassed. It had deepened right along with his magical knowledge.

  Roman lifted his chin as he said, “I’ll be sure to give her the message.” Roman was the Vampire King, and Evie, his wife, was the queen. Evie had recently hit the New York Times list with a self published novel, something not many authors did. Malcolm Cole, author and exonerated killer, was one of the most famous werewolves in existence. He’d no doubt been well informed of Evie’s success.

  Due to Roman’s friendship with Lalura, the ancient witch who acted as receptacle for all supernatural knowledge, Roman had it on good authority that Alberich had been spending a lot of time amongst the werewolves lately. And for good reason. The young and powerful Dannai Caige, also known as the Healer, was a werewolf. She was also very important to Alberich, and she was eight months pregnant. Ever since she had attempted to heal an injured woman at a mall in December and fallen ill because of it, both her husband Lucas and Jason Alberich had taken turns never leaving her side.

  It was an uneasy and somewhat uncomfortable arrangement, as Lucas Caige and Jason Alberich had once been mortal enemies. In fact, it was Caige who’d put silver bullets in Alberich’s heart and sent him careening down a spiral of death, resurrection, and imprisonment within the home of the former Warlock King.

  Ironic, that.

  But Caige and Alberich put up with one another by sheer force of will, begrudging acceptance that they needed each other’s help, and a shared love for Dannai. Jason, for all intents and purposes, had become “godfather” to Dannai’s unborn twins. Amongst the witches of the various covens throughout the world, a man in his position was referred to as the children’s Patronum or Patra, for short.

  Roman reasoned that there was probably nothing else in the known world that Jason Alberich cared as much for as the welfare of those two souls. And Alberich had been forced to watch over them despite the uprisings amongst his warlocks, the major adjustment of becoming their king, and… something else.

  There was a distracted air about Alberich. Roman had been dealing with people for a very long time, so it was with a practiced wisdom that he determined the Warlock King’s distraction did not stem from his worries over the health of the Healer and her unborn children. Nor was it the various attempts on his life that had him preoccupied. He had more than enough power to deal with that, anyway.

  “How is the Healer coming along?” Roman asked.

  “She is well,” Alberich replied. To their left and across
the table, Thanatos the Phantom King waited silently and patiently, his quicksilver eyes studying Alberich as carefully as Roman’s did. However, Roman had taken it a step further. Thane wasn’t in Jason’s head – Roman was.

  And it was there that he glimpsed the image of a woman with long, light blonde hair and sea-blue eyes. The picture was incredibly easy to come by; these thoughts were on the surface of the Warlock King’s mind and it was clear that they had been for some time. The woman was an Akyri, and she was running away.

  Something about her struck Roman as familiar… she reminded him of his own wife, Evie.

  My god, he thought suddenly. The blonde woman was a queen. She was one of the thirteen queens Lalura had spied in a vision. And she was Alberich’s queen.

  The news was more than stunning to Roman. It was prophetic. It meant that Lalura was absolutely, unequivocally right. There really were thirteen queens out there somewhere – one for each of the kings of the supernatural world. And for some reason, they were making their appearances now.

  No wonder Alberich was distracted. If he felt even remotely toward this blonde stranger as Roman did toward Evie, then no doubt every nerve ending in his warlock’s body was screaming at him to go after her. Wherever she had gone. But his love for his chavas or unborn “godchildren” and his devotion to Dannai, who was quite possibly his only and best friend in the world, kept him here at her side. It must have been killing him.

  “She’s due any day now, isn’t she?” Thane asked, continuing the conversation about Dannai’s pregnancy as if he could tell that Roman had been temporarily distracted.

  But Alberich was no fool. Not now. His green eyes cut to Thane in brief acknowledgement and then slid back again, settling on Roman with a knowing gaze. At once, Roman’s mental tie to the Warlock King was severed, as if he’d been caught with his fingers in the cookie jar and they’d been harshly slapped away. “Yes,” Alberich said, allowing his irritation to lace his tone. “Any day.”

  Roman met his gaze head-on. A second passed. Another. And with that, Alberich slowly turned and stepped away from the table to leave the room. Roman watched him go.

  Once he was gone, Thane asked, “He kicked you out, didn’t he?” His handsome face wore a knowing smile.

  Roman shot him a warning glance that was really more amused than anything. “Indeed,” he admitted. “He’s grown much, much stronger.”

  It wasn’t that Roman couldn’t have fought past Alberich’s barriers and delved right back into his mind to extract whatever he wanted. He could have. But it would have taken a good deal more strength than he was willing to expend, and Roman wasn’t one to go pushing his way into people’s brains when they clearly wanted him out anyway.

  All in all, he was duly impressed.

  “Yes, he has.” Thane leaned forward in the chair he had yet to vacate, and the white button-up shirt beneath his suit coat stretched taut across his broad chest. Thane always wore a suit to these meetings, and they were the finest tailored suits that money and magic could buy. None the less, he never failed to appear less than comfortable in them. It wasn’t that they were ill fitting, quite the opposite. Thane could have modeled for any designer label. But Thanatos was a solitary sort of figure, an outsider normally found in blue jeans, black leather, and tattoos that morphed and changed to become as varied and telling as his moods.

  Still, he was a king, this was a meeting place of kings, and Thane was smart enough to defer to tradition when the circumstances called for it.

  Hence, the rebel rider currently looked like a sable haired god of war trapped in a three piece cage. His hair had been tamed into place, the five-o-clock shadow of scruff normally darkening his chin had been cleanly razored off, and the silver of his expensive tie set off the lightning in his mercury gaze. He gave the appearance of being well bred, but slightly out of place.

  And barely contained.

  Roman joined him at the table, re-taking his own seat. The Phantom King looked down at his hands where he had them clasped on the table top. His cuff links glimmered in the light of the overhead lamps. “Alberich’s power is what I want to talk to you about, actually,” he said. “Do you think he would consider using a bit of that dark magic as a favor to me?”

  Roman’s brow rose. The Phantom King had use of a warlock’s magic? His attention was officially captured. “I’m intrigued,” he admitted. “Elaborate.”

  Thane looked up, met his gaze for a moment, and then took a deep breath before letting it out in a heavy sigh and leaning back in his chair once more. “A week and a half ago, a spirit popped into my world like usual,” he said. “And then not a minute later,” he paused, spread his hands in an open gesture, “he popped back out again.”

  Roman touched the fingers of his right hand to the polished wood surface before leaning forward. “What do you mean ‘he popped back out again’?”

  “He vanished,” Thane replied simply. “He came in more solid than any Anime I have ever dealt with and then re-opened the portal to this realm and stepped right back through it.” Thane crossed his thick muscled arms over his chest and shook his head. “I have no idea how it happened or where he went. And here?” His silver eyes looked bewildered. “I have no power to track him down here. Once I find him, I can take him back where he belongs, but until then….” He trailed off and once more shook his head.

  “And because he’s dead, you think a warlock can help you locate him.”

  “Warlocks have an affinity with the dead whether they’ll admit it or not,” Thanatos said, though it was nothing Roman didn’t already know. “And whether they like it or not,” he added with a slight turn of his chin.

  They were silent for a moment while they each no doubt imagined certain warlocks and their struggles with the dark side.

  “Plus,” said Thane when he finally broke the silence, “There was something surrounding the Anime who disappeared.” He paused, frowned, and added, “I think it was warlock magic.”

  “The Anime was a warlock?”

  “No,” Thane shook his head. “He didn’t have that feel about him, and someone killed him by setting him on fire. Any warlock worth his salt would be able to get out of that mess with a single word.”

  “Was he resurrected?” Roman had always wondered what happened to a soul that had been unjustly taken – hence, shot into Thane’s realm – and then resurrected by a warlock. He’d never asked.

  “Resurrected souls never enter my plane,” Thane told him now. “Fate knows they aren’t going to hang around long, so they never rematerialize. They remain intangible, invisible, floating nowhere, and then return to their bodies at the finish of the spell.”

  You learn something new every day, Roman thought.

  “And this dark magic surrounding the Anime,” Thane continued, speaking as if he were merely thinking aloud now and grateful for the company while he did so. “It was warm… and different.”

  “Warm black magic?” Black magic was cold and unpleasant. What Thane was suggesting was a supernatural oxymoron.

  “It was quite beautiful,” Thane admitted with a bemused expression. The look made his silver eyes even lighter; they stood out in the tanned frame of his face, stark beyond normality.

  “I see.” Roman waited, brow raised, not really knowing what to say. This was very, very interesting. He couldn’t help but wonder whether it might have something to do with the queens. If he’d found his only months ago and Alberich’s was out there somewhere waiting, then it was possible Thane’s existed here and now as well. Not that he could fathom how this Anime business might have anything at all to do with Thane’s future bride, but Roman had a feeling he would be connecting everything with the queens for a while.

  But Thane said nothing further. After a while, he simply sighed and pushed out his chair to leave. “I’ll approach Alberich with the request,” he told Roman as he made his way around the table. He stopped at the doorway to the room and glanced back. “But I have a strange feeling about this one
. So if I don’t show up to the next meeting, you’ll know why.”

  Chapter Three

  “You can’t go alone,” he told her, his hollow voice bouncing in a muted and odd fashion against the counters and cupboards of the kitchen. Siobhan hugged herself. Being around Steven made her feel cold these days.

  “I have to Steven, you know that. You need to stay in the house; you shouldn’t even be in this plane, much less shadowing me.” She spoke the words under her breath, as if she were embarrassed to say them aloud. And maybe she was. But not for herself.

  “What if the demon attacks while you’re out?” Steven asked.

  “Me or you?” she questioned, knowing damn well he meant her.

  He knew it damn well too; he’d been a detective in life and was far from stupid. So he simply gazed at her expectantly.

  “I can handle myself,” she told him. “Unlike some people.”

  That was a cheap shot, picking on him for dying, and she felt terrible as soon as she said it. Steven had been up against a demon, from what he’d described to her, an unusually powerful Akyri-like demon, and he’d faced the monster on her behalf. To protect her.

  He hadn’t stood a chance, of course. He’d died trying to keep her safe.

  “I’m sorry,” she said almost immediately. “I didn’t mean that.”

  “Yes you did,” he said with a half-smile. His keen eyes were filled with clouds now, but a ray of light shone through them, illuminating the ghostly knowledge he’d acquired. He hadn’t been unintelligent in life, and he was far from that in death.