The Phantom King (The Kings)

by Heather Killough-Walden

  And Thane turned to let the next spirit in.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The day had passed like an impossible dream. She’d begun it in fear and uncertainty, deciding to go about her quotidian existence by tending to the ordinary tasks of gardening, cleaning, and maybe a little low-level magic to fix up a few clocks she had in a back room. She’d never imagined that before the sun set, she would come face to face with a being like the Phantom King.

  And never, not in a million years, could she have forecast everything that happened after that: The revelation that Steven was an Akyri, the attack by the Akyri King, on her home, the slip through the portal into Thane’s strange and lonely world, and finally the heart-rending interactions with the wronged spirits he had to deal with day in and day out. It was game changing. It was life altering. It was actually so enormously bizarre and extraordinary, there were no words to properly describe it.

  And now, a full thirty-seven spirits later, Siobhan leaned against Thane’s gleaming black Rolls Royce Phantom feeling forlorn but strangely satisfied. She was drained, but in a good way.

  “Here, drink this,” came a deep, wonderful voice. Siobhan looked up to find the Phantom King standing beside her holding two ice cold bottles of beer. He’d just returned from his kitchen and the bottle was frosted over, the cap already removed. No drink had ever looked so inviting in all of Siobhan’s life.

  He held one out for her.

  She took the bottle and immediately placed it to her lips. It was so cold, so refreshing, she closed her eyes as the liquid slid past her tongue and down her throat. Smooth, delicious, invigorating. She took several long pulls, drinking deeply before finally lowering the bottle again, now half empty.

  When she opened her eyes, it was to find Thane smiling down at her, his silver eyes twinkling with amusement. “I like a girl who can guzzle beer.” Thane joined her in leaning against the car.

  “A Rolls Royce Phantom,” she teased. “You do that on purpose?”

  He chuckled, the sound positively delicious. She took a long drink of her beer to hide her blushing reaction to his nearness and the deep, glorious treble of his voice. “I just like the car,” he said, his smile broad and beautiful.

  The two shared a long silence then, each of them drinking from their own bottles, Siobhan more or less hiding behind hers.

  Finally, when she trusted herself to talk again, she asked, “Where do they go?”

  “The Anime?” Thane asked.

  She nodded.

  He cocked his head to one side, considering her for a moment. “I’ll show you.” He straightened, coming off the car, and walked toward the garage wall. It was metal and vast, and would probably take some muscle to push to the side.

  The Phantom King placed his beer on a work bench against the wall to his left and shrugged off his leather jacket. Siobhan swallowed hard and felt her belly begin to grow warm.

  Holy Mary have mercy….

  He was living perfection, every hard curve and cut edge seemingly sculpted from stone and dyed a deep tan. Colorful and expertly rendered tattoos graced the bends and rise of his biceps, scrolling over his broad shoulders and disappearing behind the thin material of his black t-shirt.

  With unnatural grace, he tossed his jacket onto the bench beside his beer and then grabbed the garage’s metal door handle with both hands. Siobhan stood there and watched, her mouth watering and her legs turning to jelly as every muscle in his body flexed and the door began to slide open.

  Oh fu-

  Before she could complete the lascivious thought, a harsh light streamed into the room from beside him, robbing her of her incredible view and blinding her on the spot. She raised her hand in front of her face and blinked into the swirling dust motes that surrounded her. Across the room, the screeching of metal against pavement finally came to a stop and was followed by the sound of boots coming her way.

  Siobhan squinted, lowering her arm. A shadow moved in front of her, filling her vision, and she found herself looking into Thane’s eyes so close it stole her breath. He could kiss her right now. Just a few more inches…. She caught his scent; leather and soap and something like engine oil or grease.

  Her stomach was warm again, filled with moths and indecision. He smiled, showing her those white teeth with fangs that were just waiting to lengthen, and turned slightly to gesture toward the ultra-bright doorway he’d opened across the garage.

  The tattoos he sported seemed more vibrant now than they had before. And… was it her imagination, or had they changed?

  She stared at them, a phoenix of fiery red on one arm, a stone and silver dragon on the other. She marveled at the way the art wrapped around the curves of his generous biceps. She felt transfixed by them.

  Then his hand was at her back and she was being gently nudged toward the light. She blushed again, furious with herself for her uncharacteristic lack of willpower, and followed him through the garage.

  A warm breeze greeted her as she stepped out into the noon-bright glare of day. She blinked a few more times, adjusting to the difference. When her vision cleared, she faced an endlessly vast expanse. Miles and miles of flat land, of desert and nothing else, stretched into the horizon. She turned, taking in the view from every angle. It never changed; the desert went on forever in every direction.

  Siobhan moved away from the garage and walked out several yards from the house. Then she turned back to face it.

  Against the backdrop of a landscape almost dream-like in its stark solitude stood a lone single-story house of white painted wood and a one-car garage. Siobhan frowned. Where was the hangar she’d just been in?

  Clearly, the image of the house she viewed now was not what was truly there. And should she be surprised? She turned in place, at awe with the unchanging landscape. Nothing made sense that day, so this wasn’t anything new.

  That day…. She just realized it had been night in Salem when they’d left. It was high noon here. The dry, desolate expanse baked beneath an unforgiving sun.

  She shook her head, not knowing what to think. “Where are they?” she asked, referring to the Anime she’d asked about. Other than Thane, who was now walking toward her, his hands thrust into the front pockets of his jeans so that the muscles of his arms were clearly outlined, she didn’t see a single soul.

  Thane came to stand beside her and his gaze pierced the endless distance. “They’re out there,” he said.

  Siobhan gawked at him. “What, just out there? Just – out in that nothingness?”

  Thane looked down at her. The silver in his eyes was muted out here, more a gun metal gray than the glowing silver they sported in the darkness. He looked a little more humble, too. The wind rustled his hair, the dust of the desert settling into it. He looked tanned and troubled, like the “Desperado” of an Eagles ballad. He also looked older. And profoundly sad.

  “This is where souls come to forget,” he told her. “The wounds are deep and it takes time. They’re given that here.”

  Siobhan felt rocked to her core. She looked from Thane to the horizon and back again. “No,” she said. She closed her eyes, shook her head, and opened them. “No, that’s not right.” There was something so fundamentally wrong about what Thane was telling her, she could barely find the words to express it.

  She turned to face him fully. “’Life isn’t fair.’ That’s what they say. That’s the thoughtless, regurgitated expression we’re always given when things go pear shaped in life,” she said. Her tone was rising, her words coming faster and with more fury. “But this?” she said, gesturing to the parched land. “This is death. And goddamn it, at least in death things should be fair for once, don’t you think?” She exhaled a shaky breath and threw up her hands. “You mean to tell me that people who are murdered or who die in terrible ways are sent to this wasteland with no – no – no empathy? No kindness, no comfort, no nothing? They suffer in life, suffer in death, and suffer again here?” She couldn’t hold it in. “That’s bullshit!”

&nb
sp; “They don’t suffer here,” Thane said, his tone placating. “They just are.”

  Siobhan found herself both glaring and open-mouthed. She started to say something, then stopped. Her mouth shut. She shook her head. “No,” she finally said. “That’s not good enough.” She looked away, her gaze traveling the horizontal line in the distance.

  It was a while before either of them spoke. The wind filled the silence, the sound hollow and lonely.

  “I don’t think it is either.”

  Siobhan slowly straightened, frowning. She turned to face the Phantom King. He was watching her with soulful eyes now a dark gray, like stone. “I’ve never felt it was good enough,” he told her. “It’s just the way it is. And I was created to do what I do because I just was. I don’t have an explanation for any of it. I can’t make any excuses.” He stepped forward, closing the distance between them and shutting out the rest of Purgatory. “But I’ll tell you this,” he said. His voice had dropped to become more intimate. “In the brief time you’ve been here, Siobhan, you’ve helped more souls than I have during my entire reign.”

  Siobhan felt the ground shift beneath her feet as Thane reached out and brushed his fingertips across her upper arm and then gently took it in his hand. A buzz-like thrill passed through her skin and into her blood, heating her from the inside out. “There might be something to that,” he said.

  Like what? she thought distractedly. Suddenly, all she could concentrate on was his touch.

  It ended too soon. He lowered his hand and his expression changed. “I’m sorry Siobhan,” he told her. “I have to get back and help if I can.”

  Siobhan frowned. “Help? With what?” He couldn’t mean the fight with Marius. They’d left hours ago. Surely it was over by now, good or bad. She wasn’t worried about Steven any longer; clearly magic had no untoward effect on him. And she didn’t even know the blonde, green-eyed man who had appeared and claimed her as “one of his own.” He was a charismatic figure, that much was certain. But he was neither friend nor family. She had nothing to lose in the fight they’d left but material wealth, and because of her magical ability to repair any item, material things had never meant all that much to her. She could always get more.

  “When I will it to, time moves differently in Purgatory,” he said. He took a deep breath and let it out. “I have to return to your house, but you need to stay here.”

  “Do you mean that Steven and the others are still fighting?”

  “I honestly don’t know,” he said. “I won’t know until I get there. It’s been minutes in your realm, but I can’t keep up the time difference much longer.”

  Siobhan looked from him to the small house in the middle of nowhere. “You can’t leave me here.”

  “I can’t take you back with me. Marius is after you.” He was resolute in this; she could hear it in his voice. But Steven had been right about her. She was a head-strong woman, and there was no way she was going to be left behind in this limbo indefinitely.

  Her gaze narrowed and she could feel the magic within her raise its head and prick an ear as if it could sense that it was finally about to really come out and play. “You take me with you, Phantom King, or I swear to God I will make you regret ever laying eyes on me.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Siobhan paced with restless fury back and forth across the large study. It was well appointed, furnished in things so old and yet so brand new, they might as well have been antiques she’d repaired herself. There were no windows in this room, only tapestries and book shelves and massive leather chairs adorned in throws so soft, she wanted to pick one up and carry it around with her.

  And then there were the guards. Four of them, two on either side of the closed door inside the room, and two in the hall in the same position. Seriously! Four men? Each was the size of a tank, and each had an aura about him that felt distinctly non-human.

  When she’d demanded that Thane bring her back to the “real” world with him, he’d run his strong hand through his thick black hair, his eyes had flashed like lightning, and then he’d finally taken a deep breath and nodded. “Fine,” he said. “But you still need protection. And I know just where you’ll get it.”

  With that, he had taken hold of her wrist in a grip that both thrilled her and made her distinctly nervous, and he’d waved his other hand to open another portal. She watched it grow and expand, an actual rip in every law of physics that existed, and then she stumbled slightly as he quickly pulled her on through.

  The trip was disorienting again, and this time a little draining. She wanted to sit down, take in her surroundings, and get her bearings, but the Phantom King never gave her the chance.

  Instead, she found herself in a room that was already occupied – by two men who were as tall and as impressive as Thane. One had lighter colored hair and was dressed in a butler’s clothes, which somewhat surprised Siobhan. She had no idea people even used butlers any more. He stood beside the door as if awaiting instruction.

  The other occupant of the room, a dark haired man with pitch black eyes, was intimidating on sight. When the portal opened up in what appeared to be his study of all places and Siobhan and Thane stepped through, the man turned from where he’d been facing a bookshelf, a phone to his ear, and disconnected the call.

  His eyes met Thane’s and some kind of silent communication went on between the two. Meanwhile, Siobhan had simply stood there sagging beneath the weight of the portal transport and one mystery too many.

  “She’s a warlock,” Thane said. “And she needs protection.” He looked down at her, his fully grown fangs showing clearly as he added, “Lots of it.”

  The tall dark-haired man nodded and said, “Consider it done. And I’m assuming you’d like to add another reason why the thirteen need to meet.”

  Thane had nodded, just once, further adding to Siobhan’s general confusion. Then he released Siobhan’s wrist, and she ran a shaking hand over her face. She felt flushed and something in her brain buzzed.

  “Jaxon, please help miss Ashdown to a seat and see that she consumes something.” Siobhan lowered her hand and looked up at the black-eyed man. His voice was stunning in its unnatural command. And how had he known her name?

  The butler came forward, took her gently by the upper arms, and steered her toward the nearest leather-backed chair. “I must insist that you have some tea, miss Ashdown,” Jaxon the butler told her. His voice was calm and soothing, and when he told her she needed to have some tea, she had to admit that it sounded like a really great idea. So she nodded, and he tucked one of those uber-soft throws around her and disappeared.

  “We’ll speak further in here,” the black-eyed man said, gesturing toward a second door that led from the study. Thane glanced at Siobhan. As he did, two shadows filled the doorway. Siobhan turned to find two more men standing on either side of the open entrance.

  She looked back at Thane and he seemed to come to a decision. He followed the other man to the door and through it. They closed it behind them. And she was alone with two strangers.

  Jaxon the butler returned a few seconds after that carrying a tray covered with a steaming tea pot, milk, cream, sugar, honey, three different kinds of tea, and at least five different kinds of cookies. He set the tray down on a coffee table in front of her, told her to help herself and ask one of the guards should she need anything further, and then he left once more.

  As he disappeared through the door, he was replaced by two more “guards.”

  And that was how she’d ended up here, under the watch of four highly intimidating men.

  She was edgy; her magic didn’t like the fact that she was under lock and key. It was the stubborn part of her, the headstrong part. She looked at the men – and her magic begged her to poke holes in them.

  The clock on the wall told her she’d only been there for twenty minutes, but she was sure it was wrong. She was sure it had been days. She felt displaced, without a home, without a purpose or even a general understanding of w
hat was going on in life any longer.

  She’d eaten the entire plate of two dozen cookies. It was a sure sign that she had reached some kind of breaking point. Her fingertips itched, as if they were being very gently shocked. Her head felt light.

  Finally, she looked back over at the two men standing on either side of the closed door and found herself wondering which one it would be best to attack first.

  *****

  It took all of five seconds for Thane to relay the situation to the Vampire King. Just as he’d known would be the case, no words were needed. Roman D’Angelo had taken one look at Thane upon his appearance with Siobhan in his study and he’d delved straight into the Phantom King’s mind to take the information he needed. There was a supernatural battle going down in Salem that involved Marius, Jason Alberich, and the new and oddly powerful Akyri Steven Lazarus, and Thane was asking for Roman’s help.

  For Siobhan’s sake, Thane had spoken a few very basic things aloud: She was a warlock and she needed protection.

  Roman had already gathered as much though, no doubt. With the outward calm and grace of a 3,000 year old king, D’Angelo had gone to the trouble of trying his best to put Siobhan at ease by having Jaxon tend to her. At the same time, he’d mentally called his guards to watch over her. And then he’d led Thanatos through a normal, every-day door and into a separate room from which they could transport away.

  As they stepped through the portal that would take them from the Vampire King’s safe house to the streets of Salem, Thane could sense that there was more at work than even he was aware of. When he’d appeared in the study with Siobhan, he had been instantly hit with the impression that Roman D’Angelo was already troubled. There was an aura about the room, and the mansion in general, that was wrong.

  Now thane could see that the power was building up around Roman at a nearly frightening pace. He was agitated. He’d been able to mask his internal rage back at the mansion – but the monster inside was rearing its head now.