Mack (The King Trilogy #4)

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  Everyone who lives in San Francisco knows this home that sits high on a hill overlooking the mouth of the bay, constantly covered in a sheet of fog no matter the time of year. The servants believe it is haunted by a ghost. The local merchants say that the man who lives there is mad, but pays a fair price for anything they procure for him. The gentlemen of society say that this man is dangerous, but that he can find anything or anyone. For a price.

  The carriage stops in front of the three-story house with dark blue paint and large white shutters. The unkempt front yard, full of leaves and overgrown vegetation poking through the wrought-iron gate, gives the place a foreboding look. But now I know who and what I am. I remember everything. This place is full of power. And if anyone can help me find what I am searching for, it is him.

  I tell the driver to wait and let myself inside the gate. As I get closer to the multicolored stained-glass door, goose bumps explode all over my body. The air is filled with energy. Bad energy. I can actually see it seeping from the ground and the woodwork.

  I knock, but no one answers. Lord. He has to be in there. I can feel him watching me, reading me. Finally, the door pops and swings open with a loud creak.

  “Hello?” It’s dark inside, and I can see colors—imprints, if you will—of those who’ve entered before me. Some have met their fates in this house. I might meet mine, too. But helping Macarius is all that matters.

  I enter the dark foyer, sensing that something is near.

  “Come into the sitting room,” says an ominous voice that suddenly makes me wish I hadn’t come.

  I cautiously enter and see the dark form of a man sitting in the corner. He’s barely visible to me.

  “What do you want, woman?”

  I clear my throat. “Sir, I am told that you locate objects for people.”

  “And what is it you wish to locate? A husband? A lost slipper?” There’s amusement in his tone, but I ignore it.

  “I wish to break a curse. I have gold if you wish to see it.”

  “What kind of curse?” he says, his interest sounding piqued.

  “The kind that was made by an angry father.”

  The man chuckles under his breath, and it sends sharp painful tingles down my spine. “Let me guess. This father is displeased by your romantic choices.”

  I nod. “More or less.”

  “Well, you best be on your way, little girl. I do not find that which has been lost up one’s asshole such as your father’s patience. But I assure you, his disapproval is not a curse; it is merely an inconvenience. Please show yourself out.”

  How dare he. “I am not some naïve little girl seeking a charm to gain my father’s approval. And if you are as powerful as everyone says, you would know that.”

  I’m wasting my time here, and I turn to leave, wondering how I’ll ever fix the man I care for more than life itself.

  “Wait,” the man says as I step toward the front door. “Come back here.”

  I return to the room, where he’s no longer sitting in the shadows but is standing in the soft light filtering through a gap in the drawn curtains.

  Good Lord. I know him. He looks like Macarius once did. More memories pop into my head—of this man hunting me down with his sword, of me begging for my life. I realize this man is his twin brother. He is vicious and cruel. He has no light inside him despite his utter masculine beauty and fine clothes.

  This is some sick turn of fate.

  And he is a ghost, I realize. A soul who out of sheer spite for this world has refused to go. He clings to this world so fiercely, he appears real to the naked eye. To my eyes, however, I see right through him. Literally and figuratively.

  I instinctively shut it all out. I’ve made a grave mistake coming here. Oh God, this man will kill me if he realizes who I am.

  “I, uhhh…I have changed my mind.” I turn to leave.

  “How unfortunate,” he says, “because I have the answer to your question.”

  I stop just short of the front door, feeling torn between saving myself and saving Macarius. Logic would tell me that his own brother would have helped him by now if he’d had the means. Unless…I am the key as Macarius says.

  I turn and face the towering figure who is a mere five feet away. I know it’s only a question of moments before he recognizes me.

  “What’s the price?” I ask, trying not to sound nervous.

  “This one is on the house, because you will find the answer very disagreeable.”

  I am not encouraged by this, as to be expected.

  He continues, “Death is the only way to truly end a curse such as that.”

  “And if the soul has been cursed?”

  “Then the soul must die, too—it must move on from this world, detach from anything that doesn’t truly belong to it. But you know that already, don’t you, Óolal?”

  Balls. He knows.

  Before another word leaves my mouth, the man evaporates right before my eyes and reappears behind me, snapping my neck. And all I can think of in that split second is that I didn’t kiss Macarius goodbye.

  Will I see him again in my next life?

  ~~~

  “Fuck!” I sat up, clawing at my neck, realizing that I was back in that strange cabin in the desert.

  It’s just a dream. Just a dream. But goddammit, it wasn’t. I was there, in the moment, living every breath and emotion. Each second had felt just as real as the throbbing in my skull.

  I grabbed the sides of my head, grasping how the rest of my body felt. Perfect. I ran my hands over my torso. Whatthehell?

  While I’d been away, I had healed.

  I can heal! That was what I had said during my “dream.”

  Slowly, I got to my feet, noticing the pools of sticky-looking blood on the floor where Mack’s and that woman’s body had been. King and Mia had taken them. To where? Who knew? All that mattered was Mack was dead and I killed him. Killed him. Yes, it was an accident, but that didn’t make it any less painful or horrific. To add frosting on my shitty cake, I then killed a second person. I’d had cause, but once again, what did it matter? Two deaths by my hand. Me. Theodora Valentine.

  But you’re going to fix this. At least, I’d fix one of the deaths. I wasn’t ready to let Mack go three thousand years ago, and I wasn’t ready to let him go now.

  So how would I get him back? That chalice seemed like my only hope. Of course, King was already looking for it, and I had no doubt he would find it. But here was the thing: Mack was dead, and if his soul had crossed over to this other side King mentioned, Mack was now free from my father’s poison. However, if King brought him back, Mack would still be tormented. That had been Mack’s point all along. He didn’t want to live with the pain and guilt of his memories.

  But I can heal him. It was my gift. It always had been. Now I just needed to convince that dark, evil sonofabitch King that just bringing Mack back wasn’t enough. He needed me.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  San Francisco. 8:45 p.m.

  With very little effort, I found that foggy hill overlooking the Golden Gate from my dreams. And though the old dark house had been leveled long ago—a crisp-white, modern-day palace with floor-to-ceiling windows sitting in its place—it was that same dreary old home with that ominous vibe.

  I entered the meticulously landscaped yard filled with vibrant flowers—violets, reds, and yellows—and approached the all-glass front door with a view of the tiled foyer and potted palms.

  I reached out my hand to push the doorbell, but then thought to myself how formality and politeness were a waste of time. King had taken my life multiple times. Once in this very spot. That made us like family, right? A really, really dysfunctional family, of course.

  I clamped down the lever on the door handle and pushed, not at all surprised to find it unlocked. A cocky sonofabitch like King would never bolt his front door because he’d kill anyone who had the gall to intrude. Which was why I half expected him to come rushing toward me with a giant spear or cleaver
or something sharp.

  Instead, I heard music, voices, and laughter coming from a room just off of the foyer.

  A party?

  I hit pause for a moment, thinking this through. My goal was to persuade King to not kill me and to let me help him get his brother’s life back. Would crashing his dinner party help or hinder?

  Help. He might behave more rationally if there were people around he wanted to impress. So that was that; I marched down the short hall and stopped in the doorway of the tennis-court-sized living room. Jeez. Big enough? Although most of the people inside, wearing tuxes and evening gowns, were crowded around the bar at the far end of the room or were pouring out through two French doors onto a patio.

  There had to be at least a hundred people inside.

  “What the hell are you doing here, little Seer?” said a deep, menacing voice.

  I turned and looked up at the very unhappy man with the misleadingly handsome face and dark hair combed back to give him a sophisticated look. It hurt to look at King. It really did. Because all I could see was Mack.

  I cleared my throat. “So. A party, huh?”

  He immediately got the undertone of my criticism. His brother hadn’t even been dead twenty-four hours, and he was throwing a soiree.

  “I should’ve broken your neck,” he growled.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I promised Mia that if you stayed away, I would let you live. I’d like to thank you for not staying away. Shall I kill you now, or would you like a drink first?”

  “How gracious.”

  He dipped his silky head of black hair, and I resisted the urge to run my fingers through its thickness, pretending it was Mack.

  “It’s the least I can do since you’ve granted my wish,” he replied.

  Yeah. Just try to kill me. I fucking dare you, I thought. But instead, I said, “I’m a bit underdressed for your party. Why don’t we go somewhere private? There’s something I need to discuss with you—a proposition I want to make—before you kill me, of course.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t leave my own event—too many wolves to watch,” he said in a low voice.

  I looked around the room, and that was when I noticed it. The colors. Everyone here oozed reds and black. I didn’t really know what the colors meant specifically, other than they were not good.

  “Crap.” There was so much evil in this room, it nearly sent me to my knees.

  “Crap indeed,” said King.

  The small quartet in the corner of the room ended the current ballad and started playing a light jazzy tune. I didn’t know the song, but it was lively and joyful, despite being slow. The polar opposite of the guests in the room.

  King held out his hand. “Shall we dance?”

  “Dance? With you?”

  “Yes. The people here are very dangerous and not without their own gifts. I’m guessing there are at least five who’ve already realized you’re not simply a regular person. And unfortunately for you, Miss Valentine, you are unclaimed property.”

  “That’s Dr. Valentine, and I am no one’s property.”

  He laughed and dropped his hand. “Suit yourself, but you’re in our world now. And here, if you don’t belong to someone, you’re fair game.”

  Disgusting. “Fine. If dancing with you will give me time to say my piece, then let’s do it.”

  He dipped his head in a suave, gentlemanly way and then held out his hand and led me to the corner of the room where the band played. We faced each other and locked hands. The man was definitely at ease in his own skin, because he moved like smooth butter sliding down warm bread. Effortless.

  “Nice moves,” I said with a hint of disdain.

  “Thank you. Now, what is this proposal of yours, little Seer?”

  I tightened my grip on his warm hand, wishing I could cause him a little pain. But even his palms felt powerful.

  “Do you know what my gift is, King?”

  “Yes. It’s annoying the hell out of me and killing my only living blood.”

  I shook my head. Asshole. “I am a healer.”

  There was a moment when he broke his icy façade. He was surprised.

  “You didn’t know that, did you?” I asked.

  “What is your point?” he said, not answering my question.

  “That you’re focusing on saving Mack’s physical form. But not his soul. He’s tormented, King. He wanted to die. He practically begged me to end his suffering because he can’t live with all of the things he’s done over his lifetime. And if you don’t believe me, then ask yourself why he had that necklace removed.”

  King blinked and glanced over my shoulders. Ever the watchful eye.

  “You can relate, can’t you?” I asked, but it wasn’t a question. “You were cursed, too. You probably have nightmares about all of the horrible things you’ve done.”

  Hell, they coined the phrase “Draconian” in his honor.

  “Again, little Seer, I ask you your point.”

  “I can heal Mack. I can take away his pain so that when you bring him back, he won’t just be alive, he’ll be happy.”

  He scoffed. “I think you’re exaggerating your gifts so that I won’t kill you.”

  “I think you’re just looking for any excuse to kill me.”

  “Perhaps,” he conceded.

  Okay then. Could I prove it to him? In all honesty, I didn’t know how to use my gift, but I had to try.

  I closed my eyes for a moment, swaying to the music, reaching with my mind somewhere inside me.

  Nothing happened.

  Try again. Try again. Mack was counting on me.

  Then an image of Mack flashed in my head, and I began to feel the warm glow of white light swirling in a tightly packed ball. Was this what healed people? It had to be.

  I struggled and pushed, thinking of Mack, visualizing that ball of light traveling down one arm and flowing through my hand, through the barrier of my skin, and absorbing into King’s hand. He suddenly froze and then so did I. I felt this strange rush of something going through me and into him, our souls connected. I wasn’t just healing him, I was acting as a conduit of sorts, transferring this…whatever it was…into him. Where the white healing light came from, I could only guess, but as I drew from it, I realized it wasn’t inside me. It was…well, crap. I didn’t know. On some other plane of existence, I guessed.

  Several more moments passed, and then our connection was broken by someone tapping King on the shoulder.

  We both pulled away from each other, shocked and mildly disoriented.

  King and I swiveled our heads to find a medium height man in a tux, with brown hair and a small scar on his right cheek.

  “May I cut in?” he asked with a wolfish smile.

  King looked at me, looked at the man, and then looked at me again. He then did something extremely disturbing: He slid his hands around my waist and pulled me into his tall frame, almost protectively.

  “The woman is mine,” he growled. “So fuck the hell off.”

  The man’s smile dropped, and I saw a look of evil hate in his eyes. “Very well. How much do you want for her?”

  “She’s not for sale.”

  King was protecting me? Holy cow.

  He went on, “I’m saving her for another trade. You don’t have anything I want.” King’s icy blue eyes flickered with a menacing vibe.

  What in the world? These people were really fucked up.

  The man dipped his head. “We’ll see about that.”

  King’s eyes were glued to the back of the man’s head like a vicious watchdog until he disappeared outside into the crowd.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  King snapped out of whatever zone he’d been in and looked at me. “You’re not safe here.”

  I laughed. “And you care?”

  He stared at me with those sky blue eyes, the planes of his handsome face filled with an unreadable distress. “Yes. I do. And if you ever tell anyone, I will deny it.”

&nbs
p; “So it worked,” I muttered to myself, completely astonished.

  King frowned, grabbed my hand, and dragged me from the room.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “To my bedroom to fuck!” he said, nice and loud.

  What the… I tried to pull my hand away, which only provoked a sharper reaction: him throwing me over his shoulder and marching upstairs. Meanwhile the room of guests fell into a swarming sound of whispers, gasps, and laughter. At our expense, obviously.

  Ohmygod. Ohmygod. What is happening? I had to think fast. Clearly King had lost his goddamned mind! Something must’ve gone wrong when I used my gift!

  We entered a room, and he slammed a set of double doors shut, locked them, and then tossed me down onto a large bed.

  “What are you doing!” I yelled.

  “What the fuck do you think?” he yelled back and then leaned in, placing his index finger to his mouth to shush me.

  Screw that! I lunged off the bed to the side and tried to skirt around him. Faster than my eyes could register, he caught me and threw me back down again.

  “Woman,” he hissed, “calm the fuck down. They need to believe you are mine. Understand?”

  Lightbulb. “So you’re not going to rape me?”

  He frowned, blatantly offended by the notion, which only amplified my relief.

  “Do not let the tuxes fool you. These people are animals, Theodora. They only understand cruelty and barbarism. They must believe you are my…plaything, so to speak. It won’t keep someone from trying to barter for you, but at least they won’t steal you. I hope.”

  He hoped?

  “How can they barter for me if you don’t want to trade?” I asked.

  “They’d go after something I want—something that I might value more. If that doesn’t work, they’ll just go after something else until they can force me to trade.”

  “What, you mean like your kid or something?”

  “Yes. Or something.”

  Okay. Now I was officially disgusted by these people.

  He continued, “Now, I want you to claw my face and scream loudly.”