King of the Wicked (The Banished Series Book 1)

by T. R. Hamby

  He returned with laptop in hand, and sat with Nora at the table. He found the post, made by povero22, and sent a message to their account.

  Povero: I admire your plans to commit the ultimate murder. Are you able to tell me more?

  That seemed like a start...and now to wait.

  He drove Gilla home later that morning, and of course she invited him in. They had been seeing each other--casually, of course--for weeks now. They spent a lot of time together--Gilla seemed to be either with Michael or with Nora now. It wasn’t uncommon for Michael to walk into Nora’s place, only to find Gilla there, smiling that smile at him.

  He checked his laptop for the fifth time from her bed. Still nothing. He swore under his breath. He was impatient--it had been a month now. They needed to get this guy today. Yesterday.

  Gilla was at the sink, her back to him. She sang as she did the dishes, a Swedish song Michael had never heard before. She sang a lot, and he loved it. He wondered sometimes what she sounded like when she was performing, and considered asking if he could attend that flute show when it finally premiered.

  He got up, moving past the counter and approaching her. He went to slip his arms around her waist when she jumped, dropping the dishes in the sink and whirling around, shrinking from him.

  He immediately backed off, holding his hands up.

  “Fan,” she breathed in Swedish, gripping the counter shakily. “Please don’t do that.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, still stunned at her reaction. “Are you okay?”

  She took some deep breaths, straightening and brushing her hair over her shoulder. It took her a moment to finally look at him, and when she did, he saw that her face was ashen.

  She nodded shakily, and he took a careful step towards her.

  “Let’s sit down,” he said gently. “Can I...can I touch you?”

  She hesitated for just a moment, then nodded, reaching out and taking his hand. They went to the living area and sat on the couch. After a moment Gilla leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms around her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again, quietly. “I shouldn’t have snuck up on you.”

  “It’s all right,” she sighed. “You didn’t know.”

  He waited for her to explain, but she didn’t.

  She didn’t have to. This explained her nervousness when they were first together, and perhaps her chronic anxiety now. Sometimes she was jumpy, especially when they were out in public. She never said much about what she did when she wasn’t with Michael or Nora, and he wondered if she simply stayed home. Maybe that was why she spent so much time with the two of them. She was afraid to be alone.

  She had been hurt. To what extent, Michael didn’t know, but it was enough to affect her like this. Anger flooded through him, and he seethed. He really hated humans--some of them, anyway. It had to be a particularly repulsive creature to have hurt someone as sweet and innocent as Gilla.

  He brushed his hands along her arms, and he felt her relax against him.

  “I’m visiting my parents in a couple weeks,” she said, as if nothing had happened--though her voice still shook.

  He absorbed this. “How long?”

  “Just until Sunday,” she murmured, absentmindedly playing with a button on his shorts. “My flight is that Friday morning.”

  He thought for a moment. “I can drive you,” he said. “To the airport. I know you hate taking cabs.”

  He had originally thought she had simply hated it due to her trouble with Italian, but now he knew better. She was scared of strangers--especially, he assumed, of strange men in confined spaces.

  She flushed sheepishly. “You don’t have to.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

  “What about work?”

  He felt a surge of guilt. He had been unable to avoid lying to her. He wasn’t like Mel; he didn’t like touting his true nature to humans, when he knew they wouldn’t believe him anyway. He had told her he was a private detective--it was the only thing that came somewhat close to what he truly did.

  “It’s just a drive,” he reminded her. He thought for a moment, remembering her nervousness in crowds. He added, “We can eat there. I have the time. I’ll stay with you until you board.”

  She considered this, still looking sheepish. A faint smile appeared on her lips, and she finally nodded, grateful.

  She took his hand and squeezed. “We are good friends, aren’t we?” she murmured.

  He frowned a little. He hadn’t considered that before--but he supposed it was true. They had become good friends in the past few weeks. Him and Nora too. He hadn’t gotten this close to a human in centuries--maybe ever. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for them.

  He felt his lips twitch into a smile. “Yeah.”

  “I hope you know…” she said slowly, “how much you two mean to me.”

  He nodded. He was starting to.

  Nora

  As soon as the final performances for the show were done, rehearsals for The Magic Flute began. Gilla and Nora became hard at work, from early morning to late afternoon, Monday through Friday, and sometimes Saturday. Michael continued hunting for their newest serial killer, while waiting for him to respond to his message.

  After rehearsal one day Gilla and Nora went back to Nora’s place, bearing cappuccinos and some cannolis. They sat on the couch, drinking and eating, taking most of their time discussing gossip at the opera.

  Once that subject was exhausted, Nora broached a new one, smiling mischievously.

  “You and Michael are getting along well,” she said with a smile.

  Gilla flushed, but gave her a look. “We are good friends,” she replied.

  “Nothing in the future, then?” she asked. She knew Michael wouldn’t like this conversation--it wasn’t really her business, and he was so insistent that he didn’t love Gilla, couldn’t love Gilla. But Nora wasn’t so sure.

  They were clearly close now...they were even going out, here and there, to dinner or a movie. Michael had even gotten a cell phone, and had learned how to text her.

  Gilla picked at her food; she had barely eaten her cannoli. “I don’t think I am ready,” she said quietly. “There was...what is it...pressure in the last relationship.”

  Nora remembered what she had told her at the gala about her last relationship. He turned bad...said awful things...I had to run. It was what she had been thinking of when she had told Michael that Gilla had problems.

  She shifted, cautious. “Michael isn’t like that,” she said gently. She suddenly remembered Lilith, but shook her head. No. He wasn’t like that anymore.

  Gilla was staring at her coffee, an almost haunted look on her face.

  “He...come behind me,” she whispered. “Two weeks ago. I thought it was my ex.” Her voice was shaky. “He must think I’m crazy.”

  Nora frowned. She knew her ex had been an asshole--abusive--but she had thought it had all been verbal. But then she remembered--I had to run.

  Tears were in Gilla’s eyes, and she brushed at them. “He had been so wonderful first,” she whispered, and there was something like grief in her voice. “We were going to marry. I thought I met my...what is it...husband.”

  She took a sip of her coffee, eyes down, her hands trembling. “Then he...was so angry. We move to Brussels; he was angry I still worked. Wouldn’t let me go out. Said I sleep around. I couldn’t speak Dutch--didn’t know people.” She let out a bitter chuckle. “I was stupid. Let him near my bank account. He is banker, so I thought…”

  She shook her head. “We argue once. I had never stood up to him before. He pushed me.” She finally looked at Nora, almost pleading. “I really thought it was an accident. I argued; I never argue, and he lost himself. I forgive him, but I wanted him to go to therapist. He said he would...but he didn’t.”

  Tears were now flowing freely down her face, and she tried desperately to dry them, seizing a tissue from the table. Nora finally had enough; she drew close to her and wrapped he
r arms around her shoulders.

  She leaned into her, taking deep breaths. “He made me do things,” she breathed, gripping Nora’s arm. “He grab me...hurt me…”

  Nora shushed her, and she was quiet, breathing deeply, trying to calm down. They sat like that for a while, Nora holding her tight.

  Finally Gilla straightened, brushing at her eyes. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly.

  “Don’t be sorry,” Nora said, handing her another tissue.

  Gilla took it and dabbed at her eyes. “I haven’t told people...but you, and my parents. I ran...they had to send money. I stay with them for a while, then went to London, try to start over. He found me there. Asked me to take him back. He didn’t hurt me then...he was sweet again.”

  Nora was furious, and she scowled. It was Leo Ricci all over again, torturing a defenseless person for his own scummy pleasure. It made her nauseous.

  Gilla shrugged, sighing. “Anyway. That time I call police, and it scared him away. Then I came here.” She looked at Nora again, her eyes and nose red from crying. “He still email me. I save them...just in case I need police again. I don’t think he knows where I am now.”

  She squeezed her hand. “Gilla...I’m so, so sorry.”

  She smiled sadly. “Thank you.”

  “If you need anything--anything--I’m here. A place to stay...anything.” She thought for a moment, then said slowly, “Maybe...only if you’re comfortable...you could tell Michael. He could find him, keep tabs on him.”

  Gilla seemed to be considering, frowning at their hands clasped together.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. “It will hurt him.”

  Nora felt a pang, realizing that she was right. It was hard to think of Michael hurting, when he was usually so stoic.

  “He would want to know,” she said.

  She looked at her. “He might already,” she whispered. “Since I...what is it...freak out that time. He’s been driving me...so I don’t have to taxi. And he holds my hand.”

  Nora did a double take. “He holds your hand?”

  She smiled and nodded. “Outside...around people. Where my ex could be.”

  She felt a pang. Michael was becoming increasingly more affectionate with Gilla, and it made her wonder.

  “What’s his name?” she asked.

  Gilla looked away. “Will,” she whispered. “Will Bakker.”

  They were quiet for a moment. Then Gilla looked at her, and said, “Gilla Johansson isn’t my real name. It’s Maja Lindstrom.”

  Nora smiled. It warmed her heart that Gilla trusted her enough to tell her her real name--but it also pained her to know that she had had to abandon it in the first place. She couldn’t imagine having to go by a totally different name, in a foreign country, alone and friendless, constantly looking over your shoulder.

  “Anyway,” Gille sighed, picking up her coffee and taking a sip, “fuck Will.”

  Nora grinned, and raised her coffee in a toast. “Fuck Will. With a cactus.”

  She frowned. “What is cactus?”

  “A very prickly plant,” Nora replied, and she laughed.

  “Yes, with cactus,” she sighed, and they giggled. “A very large cactus.”

  They were all so busy that for the next two weeks Nora completely forgot about her favor from Michael.

  “Have you...heard from God?” she finally remembered to ask. It was a Friday evening, and Michael had come over for dinner. It was one night that Gilla wasn’t present; she had taken her flight back to Sweden to visit family.

  He immediately tensed, and fussed over his pasta. He had been grumpy lately, and she wasn’t sure why.

  He didn’t say anything, and she felt her heart drop. “Oh. He said no?”

  He took a deep breath and sighed, looking at her. “It’s not good news, Nora.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean...it’s just…” He let out another sigh, running a hand through his hair. “He’s agreed to make you Immortal. But,” he added, as she swelled with excitement, “it’s not going to happen.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because I won’t let it,” he said, and there was a touch of impatience in his voice. “He agrees to make you Immortal...but he says the only way for you to achieve it is if you die.”

  There was a silence. Nora was frozen, and she stared at Michael incredulously. Michael stared back, a furious look on his face.

  After a long moment she whispered, “If I die? How?”

  His jaw worked. “Any way...it doesn’t matter. You must die first.”

  She shook her head, still unbelieving. This wasn’t how she imagined this would go at all.

  “But...doesn’t that defeat the whole purpose of Immortality?”

  He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Humans do become Immortal after they die. It’s just that they go to Heaven, whereas you would be down here.”

  She shook her head again. “But why? Why make me do that?”

  “It’s a test,” he said darkly. “To prove your willingness.”

  She suddenly felt rather hollow, and looked down at her hands. She couldn't believe it. God wanted her to die. Not only that, he wanted her to kill herself, to prove just how much she wanted to be Immortal.

  She felt a wave of fear wash over her. She couldn’t do it. Could she? No, she couldn’t. She couldn’t bring herself to do such a thing. What if it didn’t work?

  “Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” Michael said dully. “I won’t let that happen. It was a mistake asking.”

  She felt hot tears suddenly well in her eyes. She thought of Mel, standing at her graveside one day, alone and grief-stricken. How long would he wait before…?

  She could hardly bear to think about it.

  “Don’t cry,” Michael sighed, his voice a little gentler, and he got up and went around the table to her.

  He took her hand and squeezed, and she swallowed back the lump in her throat.

  “There’s got to be something else,” she moaned, wiping at her eyes. “I can’t leave him alone, Michael. He’ll die. You understand? He’ll die.”

  He looked pale, and she knew he had been afraid of the same thing.

  “Okay,” he replied softly. He hesitated, then continued, “We’ll think of something. And we have time. You’re still young.”

  She nodded, allowing his words to soothe her. She had a horrible ache in her chest. “God. I miss him so much,” she whispered.

  He looked somber. “I know.”

  “Do you think he’s still sleeping?”

  He nodded. “But I’ll know when he wakes up. He’ll Call me.”

  This reassured her a little, and she nodded. She did get up, though, and fix herself a glass of wine. She needed it.

  Michael sat back down, picking at his food and frowning. “Gilla’s gone for the weekend,” he muttered, almost to himself.

  She looked at him curiously. “Yes. To see her parents.”

  He leaned back in his chair, brow furrowed. “She’s lost weight.”

  She frowned, leaning against the counter. “You think so?”

  He nodded. “I can tell.”

  “She’s thin to begin with. She’s built like a model.”

  But he shook his head. “I’m with her enough that I know. I see the difference.” He paused, then asked, “Have you noticed how much she eats?”

  She sat beside him at the table, setting down her wine glass. “You think she, like...has a disorder?” she asked cautiously. She had an idea where this conversation was going, and was wary. She didn’t want to talk about Gilla behind her back.

  “I don’t know. She barely eats,” he said, looking at her. There was worry on his face, and he twisted his fork around in his fingers. “Maybe a handful of food at most.”

  She sighed. “She can’t eat when she’s nervous,” she said quietly. “And she’s nervous a lot. She gets pretty anxious.”

  He stared at his fork, a dark look on his face. They were quiet for a long moment, Nora s
taring at him, waiting.

  Finally he spoke, and his voice was quiet. “What happened to her?”

  She felt a horrible ache at the pain in his voice. She shifted uncomfortably.

  “You need to ask her, Michael,” she said softly. “I can’t tell you. It wouldn’t be fair to her.”

  “I’m worried about her,” he said, almost pleadingly, and she felt another pang.

  “Have you guessed?”

  He sighed. “Yes.”

  She stabbed her fork into her pasta. “I don’t have to tell you, then.”

  He looked almost murderous.

  She studied him. Again, she was struck with amazement at how much he cared for Gilla. Just a few weeks ago he had been aloof, completely distant from humans. Now he was with the two of them all the time, gaining a lover and a sort-of sister in a matter of weeks.

  “You should call her,” she finally said, gently.

  He frowned at her. “Why?”

  “To talk to her,” she said pointedly. “Jesus, Michael.”

  “We don’t have phones up north,” he replied, raising an eyebrow. “I’m still new to it.”

  “So what? You don’t want to talk to her?”

  He thought for a moment, frowning at his plate again. “I guess I do.”

  “She would like it if you did.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve never made a phone call before.”

  Nora felt a flash of impatience. “You’ve seen a movie from this century, haven’t you?”

  “All right,” he said, taking out his phone.

  “You’re lucky I love you.”

  “Whatever,” he replied, but his lips twitched almost into a smile. He stared at his phone, cocking his head. Suddenly he said, “I need my laptop. He replied to my message.”

  “What?” she exclaimed. “How do you know that?”

  “Email notification,” he said, holding up his phone.

  She gave an enormous eye roll as he disappeared into thin air. “Oh, so he knows how to use email…god forbid it’s something that requires social skills…”

  In a moment he was back, catching himself on the kitchen counter. He sat back at the table, opening his laptop and pulling up the software that connected him to the seedier side of the internet. Nora stood behind him, leaning in order to see the screen.