The Dead King

by Pamfiloff, Mimi Jean

  Jack didn’t have any success with the doorbell, so he went around the side and disappeared.

  Fearless. But what was there to fear when you couldn’t die? Or you can make people do anything you want.

  Ten minutes later, Jack reappeared and started walking toward the car. He got in but didn’t say a word. His face was red, so I couldn’t tell if he was angry or something else.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  He stared blankly toward the windshield.

  “Jack?” I touched the sleeve of his long black coat. It was cold, like he’d just come out of a freezer.

  I pulled my hand away. Whatever had happened, Jack was in shock or something.

  “Um, could you take us to our hotel now?” I asked the driver. I didn’t know what else to do.

  The man nodded, and we got moving right as the rain started coming down. I was beginning to think the weather was no coincidence. This storm seemed to follow us everywhere, like nature was trying to tell us something.

  When we arrived at the small hotel, Jack exited the car and went inside without a word. He didn’t even grab our bags. It unnerved me, because if something could bother Jack, it had to be bad.

  I thanked the driver and closed out the ride on my app. I grabbed my duffel bag and Jack’s suitcase and went in, finding he’d already been given a key. He was heading toward the elevator, not bothering to wait for me.

  “Hey, Jack!” I called out and caught up with him right as the elevator doors slid open. “What happened back there?”

  “Go to the corner store and buy me a bottle of Scotch.” He stepped inside the elevator.

  I followed. “No. Tell me what you saw.”

  His angular jaw ticked away beneath a thick layer of inky black stubble, but he didn’t speak.

  “Okay. At least let me go put these bags down. Then I’ll go find whatever you want.”

  “I changed my mind. You should not return here today. Come back tomorrow.”

  The elevator stopped, and the doors slid open. He stepped out, and I followed.

  A mistake.

  As soon as I was out in the hallway, he grabbed me by the neck and slammed me against the wall.

  I gasped. More from the shock than from fear. I could kill him just by willing it.

  “You’re catching on,” he said in a low predatory voice, piercing me with his narrowed eyes. “Except for the part that you must kill me first, and you are far too slow. Now leave.” He released me.

  I had no clue what had happened behind that house, but it must’ve been something horrible if it had rattled a man like him.

  “I’ll go downstairs and get another room.” I hadn’t planned to stay with him anyway. Or maybe I had. I didn’t know anymore, and I fucking hated myself for it. I hated that I didn’t mind him putting his hands on me just now. Maybe because I knew I should be scared of him, and I wasn’t. He was quickly becoming my dark addiction—a puzzle I wanted to solve, a puzzle I hoped would lead to my own answers.

  “Find me in the morning.” I dropped his suitcase in the middle of the hall and headed for the stairwell. I needed to sleep. I needed to stew over everything that had just happened.

  I got to the reception desk and asked about a room. “Nothing?”

  “Check-in isn’t until three p.m.,” said the woman.

  “But that man who just…never mind.” Jack did things his way.

  “Would you like a room for tonight?”

  I wasn’t sure. “How much are they?”

  “Four hundred.”

  That was probably about all I had left in my checking account. I still wasn’t sure how I’d be getting home. My next and final paycheck wouldn’t come in for another week. My credit card was probably maxed out, too, if Jack had purchased plane tickets with it.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’ll find other accommodations.” With my red duffel bag hung over my purple coat, I went outside, sticking underneath the overhang.

  This is not good. The rain was coming down in buckets, but I didn’t dare go back up to Jack’s room. Something had triggered him, and I needed to find out what.

  I pulled out my phone and ordered another ride.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The car dropped me off in front of the ominous blue Victorian with blacked-out windows. This time, I had the distinct feeling that someone, or something, was inside watching from the windows.

  What the hell is this place? My eyes scanned the pitched roofline, noting how the dull gray sunlight peeking through the storm clouds seemed repelled by the property. Maybe it was a portal to hell and Jack really was the devil.

  Dripping wet, I took the walkway to the front door. With each step, my feet got colder, the ground sucking the warmth from my body through my boots. My coat was no match for this Arctic hellhole.

  I hugged my coat and approached the front door. Honestly, the home was even more impressive up close. The woodwork looked brand new, including the white wooden railing around the front porch.

  I stepped up to the stained-glass front door and rang the bell, but like before, no one answered. Meanwhile, the air just kept getting colder. Hands down, this house was one scary-ass slice of horror.

  I made my way around the rosebushes to a tall iron gate that reminded me of something from medieval days, complete with wooden slats for privacy. I pushed down on the long handle until I heard a click. The gate swung open under its own weight.

  Okay. Strange. I expected a home like this to be locked up tight. On the other hand, who would be crazy enough to come here? Just me apparently. And Jack of course.

  I stepped inside the backyard, following the walkway along the side of the house. There was a dead tree to my right and overgrown weeds everywhere. I continued on, my skin prickly with fear. What would I find back here? Piles of dead bodies? Some sort of monster? Anything was possible.

  I turned the corner, getting a full view of the back of the house and yard. What the hell? Fallen tree limbs cluttered the ground, most of the windows were broken, and rotting wet leaves covered everything. Old rusted-out lawn furniture sat on the patio next to several dead birds and flooded planters. It was like two different worlds. The front of the home was pristine. The back looked like a war zone.

  In an instant, the rain turned from a healthy shower to a gusty wet windstorm. My coat flapped in the wind, and my duffel bag was getting soaked and heavy.

  I hurried to the back door, which had French-style windows. Many of the squares were popped out. I dug out my phone and shined the flashlight inside. Rat droppings covered the hardwood floor, which was warped and stained from rain. But other than the rodents, there were no signs of life.

  Okay, so the place looked like a haunted crack house, and no sane person would want to live here, but what had Jack seen? It couldn’t have been the dirt or rat shit that got to him.

  Wanting to take a closer look, I reached for the handle. “Ouch!” I snapped my hand away. The door felt hot.

  Faulty wiring? Something more? Either way, I wasn’t getting inside, and I’d reached my tolerance for shivering. It was time to snap off a bunch of photos. I would take a better look later, somewhere dry and warm, and try to figure out what had unsettled a man who defied the laws of nature.

  I hurried back toward the gate, anxious to get the hell away from this place. The moment my foot touched the street, the air warmed fifty degrees.

  Dear God. Whatever that house was, or whatever had been done to it, the owner did not want visitors. What had the crazy blonde woman called it? Warded. She’d said my house had been warded, too, to keep her off the property. Was this the same thing? Some sort of…magic?

  Magic. I hated that word. It sounded silly, like something a child would say when talking about their favorite fairy tale. This was not whimsical or fun.

  I headed down the hill to order a ride. The farther away from this cursed place, the better.

  Once at the corner, I pulled up one of the pictures on my phone, using my coat to shi
eld the screen.

  Other than a run-down house, I saw nothing alarming in the photos. Broken windows around the door handle in the back. A dead lawn. Piles of dead weeds. It looked like there might’ve been a pool back there once, but it had turned into a sludge pond.

  The only thing surprising was that the neighbors hadn’t complained about the state of the house. On the other hand, I doubted anyone was brave enough to snoop over the fence. The only reason I’d gone for a look was because I had to. I had to find out what Jack was hiding.

  With that in mind, I went through my photos one more time.

  Wait. What’s that? I zoomed in on a picture of the back door. One of the intact windowpanes had words etched into the glass. It took several tries, messing with the photo settings to get the contrast right, but there it was: Property of Ten Club.

  Ten Club? What was that?

  “Hey, is there a good café around here?” I asked the Uber driver who’d rescued me from the rain. I’d programmed in the library’s address for my ride, but I needed to eat. Some caffeine would be awesome, too.

  The driver recommended a place by the marina.

  “Thanks.” I updated my destination and started searching the words Ten Club on my phone. Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at the Monochrome Café—all black walls with poems and quotes from famous people painted in white—and I was still searching without any hits.

  Thirty minutes after that, I’d downed a cup of black coffee and a carrot muffin, still nowhere near finding any information. Also, my cell battery was getting low.

  Okay, so the house had to be owned by someone, and ownership required a paper trail.

  I quickly looked up the county recorder’s site. There was a searchable database. I typed in the address of the creepy house and finished off my second cup of coffee while my phone loaded the info.

  No records found? I set down my cup and typed in the address again. Maybe I’d entered it incorrectly.

  Nothing. Weird. I went to the parcel map and found the street, but the lot where the home sat was all grayed out. When I pressed my finger on the square, to pull up the parcel number like I could on the lots beside it, nothing happened.

  Okay. This is suspicious. The land was not imaginary. The house was not imaginary. How were there no records?

  My next stop would have to be the library. Perhaps I could find something in their archives.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  By the time the library closed, I had gone through almost a century’s worth of old newspapers from the pre-internet era.

  The only thing that came up on the house was a very old photo of what it used to look like in the early 1900s. From the black-and-white picture, I couldn’t tell what color it had been, but it was definitely the same house, owned by a merchant named Draco Minos, who bought the property from a wealthy politician. Of course, I found nothing about Draco Minos.

  “Great.” So the house was a ghost. The owners were ghosts. Ten Club didn’t exist either.

  I packed up my stuff and decided my only option was to head back to Jack’s hotel. It was about ten blocks away, so I would walk to save money.

  I grabbed my still damp duffel bag and went outside. The rain had finally stopped, but a thick fog hung in the air like a bad omen, blocking out the final rays of daylight.

  As I walked down the steep hill lined with house after house, business after business, all tightly packed in together like dominos, I thought about what I’d say to Jack.

  I didn’t know how to articulate my thoughts because there wasn’t any clarity inside my mind. I just knew I felt something for him. Or for his presence in my life? It wasn’t a need exactly. It definitely wasn’t love. It was more like…a pull. Because while he terrified me, I couldn’t get him out of my mind. His darkness, his beauty, his deep seductive voice. I could blame my obsession on his body, with endless ropes of powerful muscles set on a tall masculine frame, but what I felt wasn’t physical. Yet, it sorta was. Whatever or whoever Jack was, he affected me right down to my bones.

  That kiss, for example. I’d kissed boys before. I’d kissed men, too, when I got older. College was pretty typical, in that I’d had a few superficial flings, but mostly, I kept to myself. Still, despite my limited experience, I’d never had such an intimate kiss like I’d had with Jack, which only made things more confusing. And, sadly, I wasn’t getting closer to the answers. The best I could settle for was telling him how I felt and hoping he wouldn’t abandon me in the midst of my existential crisis. After I came clean, I would give him the cuff, let the pieces fall.

  I turned the corner onto the street of Jack’s hotel and spotted him walking in the opposite direction.

  “Jack!” I yelled right as a bus passed. He didn’t hear me.

  I followed him for several blocks, getting cut off by a red light and traffic. From a distance, I watched him turn down a small side street.

  As soon as the crosswalk signal turned green, I jogged after him, but once I got to the alley, all I found was a dead end. Iron security gates protected most of the doors, which I presumed were back entrances or emergency exits.

  Where’d he go? I walked down the alley, but there was no sign of Jack. The only place he could have gone was that last door, which was boarded up. The nails were sticking out. Someone had pried open one side.

  I wedged my fingertips under the plywood and pulled. Underneath, there was a glass door. Why would he go in here? The building looked vacant.

  I grabbed my phone and hit the light function, wedging my hand into the opening. There appeared to be an elevator inside. Like the house from earlier, it also looked like no one had been here in a long time.

  I worked the plywood up and slid under, making enough space to access the door, which had been left unlocked.

  Once inside, I used my phone to look around the small lobby, only finding dust bunnies and a gold plaque with a big K on the wall next to the elevator.

  K? Could that stand for King? A million thoughts rushed through my brain.

  I opened the door leading to the dark stairwell, because there was no way in hell I’d take the elevator, if it even worked.

  I took each stair carefully, using the light on my phone to navigate. The air smelled musty and damp. With each step, the air grew colder.

  Jesus, it’s just like that house. Someone didn’t want people coming here.

  I got to the first door and used my coat sleeve to turn the handle. Not hot this time.

  I entered another small lobby with a door that had another plaque next to it. This had to be where he’d gone. If not, then maybe the roof?

  Please not the roof. Please. I’d gone as far as my nerves would let me.

  I stepped inside the loft with high ceilings and thick support beams every ten or so feet. The dusty windows facing the street below blocked out most of the light from the streetlamps.

  “What are you doing here, Jeni?” Jack’s deep voice echoed across the dark room. He stood with his back to me, staring down at a desk—the only other thing occupying the space besides us.

  “I saw you leaving the hotel. I-I called your name, but you didn’t hear me.” I wasn’t spying on you. I promise. “What is this place?”

  “I am unsure, but I dreamed of it. I dreamed of this desk.”

  I blinked at him, trying to process. “Do you think you worked here once?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Given the familiar ominous energy, I had to ask, “And the house? Was it yours, too?”

  “I believe so.”

  I wondered if the name Ten Club would mean anything to him, but maybe it was time to let go of all the questions and get to the answers. The cuff. But first, I wanted to tell him how I felt. For all I knew, this was my only chance. Once he had his memories back, he might not need me anymore. That blonde woman said I’d be useless to him.

  “Jack, I need to tell you something.”

  He kept his back to me. “I am listening.”

  “When you kissed me earl
ier today—”

  “That was a mistake,” he said calmly.

  My heart sagged inside my chest. “Okay, but it felt like you kissed me before.”

  “I assure you, I have not.”

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  He turned to face me and leaned against the desk. He was wearing a dark tie and a sleek suit tailored to his wide shoulders and lean, muscular build. He looked wicked and dangerous. Especially the way the light from the window cast a shadow over his sculpted cheekbones. It reminded me of the night we met. He’d looked so beautiful, like a dark angel coming to save me.

  “How many men have you kissed in your life?” he asked.

  My mouth flapped for a moment. “I don’t know. Four. Five?” Does Kevin in the seventh grade count?

  “Kevin is not the fucking point. None of those men were me, because you would remember if my mouth had been on you before, I promise.”

  Images of his mouth covering my body—lips, nipples, between my legs—flashed in my mind, sending a spike of heat through my cold body.

  Fuck. I inhaled sharply, pushing my secret feelings away. I had no doubt I would remember him touching me. Just imagining it was something I’d keep with me forever. Nevertheless, “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. What aren’t you telling me? Why do I feel like you’re not a stranger?”

  He continued staring across the dark room. “I believe it is time for us to part ways.”

  Wait. What? This was the one thing I didn’t want. “Jack, you can’t walk into my life, turn everything into this fucked-up nightmare, and then say ‘see ya later.’ You’re the only one who knows what’s happening to me.”

  “I do not have the answers you seek, and I assure you, you do not need me to figure out your path.”

  “Jack!” I was losing my patience. “I can kill by wishing it, and you knew that the moment we met. You knew exactly what I’m capable of, so don’t give me this ‘I know nothing’ crap. You know way more than you’re saying, and I’ll be fucking damned if I let you ditch me.” Who would I go to for help? What if I killed someone who didn’t deserve it? How the hell did I get this way?