Chapter Fifteen
Purgatory….
Siobhan looked up at him, at the room around her, and the bed beneath her, and tried with all of her might to make sense of the fantasy her life had become.
Not an hour ago, she’d been gardening outside in the sun, and now she was falling through the floor and onto the soft, warm, after-shave scented bed of some incredibly tall, dark and sexy stranger who was apparently a phantom and a king, and the bed was apparently in his bedroom in another plane altogether and supposedly that plane was called Purgatory.
And she was fairly certain that a white rabbit had preceded her down this hole.
With effort, she swallowed, and the difficult action was loud in the new stillness. She stared at the hand he offered and then looked back up at his eyes. Swirling silver gazed steadily, keenly, as always taking everything in.
“Am I dead?” she asked. Purgatory was where you went when you died, right? Hadn’t she heard something about that at some point? Wasn’t it something like hell but not quite as bad?
“No, Siobhan,” he said softly. Her name on his tongue sounded like a blessing. Like a curse. Like something she wanted to hear again. “You’re not dead,” he continued. “You’re safe here.” He didn’t retract his hand, and in fact leaned in a little. “Come with me and I’ll show you.”
She hesitated, her hand traveling nervously over the sheet that was tangled around her right leg.
He smiled, showing her his teeth. The fangs had retreated again.
And she was shocked to find she was almost disappointed.
“Siobhan,” he said, granting her secret wish that he would say it again. “Take my hand and let me help you out of my bed… unless you’d rather I join you there again.”
Siobhan’s eyes widened and her face flushed instantly hot. His expression was shameless, his smile a mile wide and hot as hell. Her hand slammed down onto his and at once his strong fingers curled over it, locking it in a firm grip.
“That’s a good girl,” he gently teased. With his other hand, he leaned over and pulled the sheets off of her legs, freeing her from their tangled embrace.
She stood quickly at first, and then slowly wobbled. Her legs were unsteady.
“Give it a few seconds,” he told her. “Traveling between realms can be disorienting for mortals.”
Siobhan felt her heart hiccup. Mortals, she thought. She’d never thought of herself as a “mortal” before. It had always been more like she was just different. She was a magic user, someone with a dark gift. Someone special. Now she was bumping elbows with seemingly immortal kings and Akyri and who knew what else? And she’d gone from being at the top of the supernatural hierarchy to more or less being at the bottom. That was disorienting.
“I’m fine,” she said, pulling her hand from his. It took a bit of effort; he didn’t want to let her go. And she didn’t want him to. It was two fighting against one. But in the end, she was free, and she was running her palms over her jeans in the half-hearted attempt to straighten out the wrinkles.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked suddenly. Siobhan looked up at him. He was watching her carefully, his expression concerned.
She shook her head. “No, thank you.” Then she asked, “How old are you, Thanatos?”
“Please,” he said, smiling a small smile. “Call me Thane. Thanatos is what the other kings call me.” He looked away, seeming uncomfortable for a moment. “And the Anime,” he finished, turning his gaze back to her.
“Okay,” she said. “Thane.” She swallowed, and then she squared her courage and asked, “What are you?”
The room, which Siobhan hadn’t yet had a chance to fully take in, grew quiet. Thane’s gaze narrowed, the silver in them intensifying. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” she started slowly, “you say that Steven is an Akyri. And I know I’m a warlock. You’re supposed to be the Phantom King. But what is that?”
“It isn’t a what,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s a who. And I’m afraid I have nothing to compare it with because there’s only one of me.”
That told her absolutely nothing, and her expression must have said as much because Thane took a step back and gestured toward the bedroom door. “Come with me and I’ll show you.”
The space he suddenly put between them afforded Siobhan room to breathe. When he was near, he was overwhelming, all-encompassing, and he acquired every ounce of her attention. However, now she was able to look around and take in her surroundings.
The room was quaint, the walls white-painted hardwood, the floorboards the same. The floor was scuffed from what looked like years of boots treading upon them, but they were spotlessly clean. There were no hanging decorations, and only three pieces of furniture: a small side table with a tin bowl and a few other objects on top of it, a large wood and leather chest, and the bed covered in crisp white linens. To her left was a single window. It was open, and a gentle breeze came in through white gauzy curtains. A clear vase sat on the window sill; it held three perfect daisies and half a cup of water.
It was peaceful. Quiet, a bit lonely. But peaceful.
As if he’d known that she needed to gain her bearings, or perhaps because he was simply a gentleman underneath that rough exterior, Thane allowed her the time to look around. But when she looked back up at his face, it was to find his eyes so light, they were nearly glowing again, and his jaw was set. Tense.
He seemed distracted, impatient, and perhaps even in pain.
“Are you alright?” she asked, suddenly very wary.
It took him a moment to respond. When he finally did, he had to take a deep breath first. It wasn’t a good sign.
“This realm is home to the Anime,” he began. “They are the spirits of those who have died wrongful deaths.” He paused. “There are seven billion people on the planet right now, and homicide runs rampant.”
Siobhan absorbed that, her mind spinning with the implications.
“In the last hour, more souls have come knocking on my door than I’d care to count,” he said. “They’re waiting. And I'm not sure how much longer I can put off doing my job.”
She stared up at him, his tall form, his dark visage, his incredible beauty, and she thought about what his “job” must entail. If he was the king of this place, Purgatory, and he had to tend to all of the souls of those who had died wrongful deaths…. She could scarcely think of a worse profession. A more lonely one certainly did not exist.
“You have to deal with each one?” she asked quietly.
His eyes confirmed it. “Every one.”
*****
He could well understand her silence then. She’d been hit with a lot over the course of the afternoon, but this final bit of news was most likely mind-numbing. He was actually very impressed with how well she was handling it all.
He, on the other hand, was not doing so well. There were too many wars, too many things people found to fight over. The human race was as diverse as any species he had ever come across, and yet they were the least equipped to deal with that diversity. They simply could not accept differences. Instead, they relied upon those differences to validate their hatred.
The result was astronomically, profoundly sad. And he had to deal with it now; it simply could not wait any longer.
“Come with me,” he said, holding out his hand once more. “I’ll show you.” This time, he prayed that she would simply take it. He prayed for it with all of his might, because he felt bereft in that moment, helpless and lost, and more than anything in the world, he wanted her touch. He couldn’t explain it. It was just what he craved – more than he craved air to breathe.
Like a blessing or a miracle, Siobhan looked down at his hand and slipped hers into it. She was so small, so seemingly delicate in the contained strength of his grip. She had no idea who it was she was touching, the death he’d seen, the battles he’d fought, the knowledge he possessed. And that innocence took her own beauty to another level. She’d been an in
conceivable angel in his eyes, somehow strong enough and good enough to fight the pull of black magic her entire life. But now?
Now she felt out of his league.
Which was what made his fingers curl over hers and his grip tighten before he turned toward the door and led her out into the hall.
He could let the spirits in anywhere, but no one had ever seen the interior of his home. No one but Siobhan. He didn’t want to change that now. For some reason, sharing this small thing with a warlock he’d barely met was important to him.
Instead he took her out through his kitchen, small but clean and barely used for anything but coffee, and through the door to his adjoining garage. His boots made a hollow sound as he descended the three steps to the concrete floor of the cavernous space. He heard Siobhan hesitate behind him; the garage was dark and she didn’t know what to expect.
He leaned over, flipped a switch, and waited as one by one the massive lights fifty feet overhead popped to life. A long and sturdy tin roof protected the garage from sun and wind. The interior space was cool and calm and seemingly endless.
It was not really so much a garage as a hangar. There were walls of aluminum that he could pull closed to section off parts of it from time to time if he wanted to, but right now, they were all wide open and the hangar and its inhabitants stretched into the distance.
As he always did when entering his garage, he found himself standing still, admiring the view.
And then he realized that the woman behind him was doing the same thing. He turned to look at her. Her beautiful light brown eyes were wide, her lips were parted, and from somewhere deep inside, she muttered the softest oath he’d ever heard.
He smiled. He was proud of his garage.
“Holy… mother,” she muttered, coming down the steps like a zombie. She moved around him as if in a dream. “You’ve… you’ve got… a Mercedes Benz 540 K?”
Thane blinked. How did she know that?
“And a Maserati 3500 GT!” she exclaimed softly. “Oh my God, you have a BMW 327 Sports Coupe! Thane, these cars are worth a fortune! They’re collector’s items! And they’re….” Her voice trailed off as she moved out into the garage in a state of wonder.
He was beginning to feel himself slip into the same state.
“They’re all perfect,” she muttered. Her hand reached out as if to touch the nearest of the vehicles, a massive beast in white from the 1940’s, but stayed several inches above the paint as if touching it would ruin the illusion. And the gloss of the paint. “Jesus, you have a 1948 Delahaye 175 Coupe de Ville,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I always wanted to find one of these and fix it up.”
Thane was certain that as he stood there and watched the young warlock make her way through his garage, he felt more stunned than she did. In all these years, he’d never met a person who knew as much about them as he did. Not until today.
The wonder on her face was breathtaking. She had moved between the glossy-coated vehicles and slipped into a darker space beyond when he heard her gasp.
“Holy shit, a Brough Superior SS100!”
Thane breath caught and his pulse quickened. He moved through the garage to stand beside her. She gazed down at a bike from the 1940’s in absolute awe.
“This thing is eighty years old if it’s a day and it’s worth a quarter of a million dollars,” she said breathlessly. “I can’t believe I’m looking at one. And I swear to God it’s in pristine condition.” She managed to pull her gaze off of the motorcycle in order to look up at him. “Have you ever even ridden it?”
It took Thane a moment to find the words to speak. He had several dozen motorcycles in this garage, both sports bikes and cruisers. They were lined up like chrome soldiers, each unique in its own way. But the Brough Superior was his all-time favorite bike, and she’d picked it out of the line-up in no time. Just like that. Had he ever ridden it? Holy fuck, had he ever.
Would you like to go for a ride? he wanted to ask.
But the spirits were banging restlessly on his door, their varied darknesses amassing like a thunderhead.
Thane had never hated his job before that moment. He’d never really minded what he had to do. It had been a desolate existence, and it had been never-ending, and it troubled him that he’d been progressively busier at it as the centuries passed. But until that very moment, he’d never actually resented it.
Now his duty as the Phantom King stood in the way of something he wanted. And suddenly it was nearly unbearable.
With great effort, Thane pulled his gaze from Siobhan’s and turned away to run a hand through his thick black hair. “Yes,” he told her flatly. “I have.”
She was silent behind him, no doubt surprised by the shortness of his reply. He wanted to kick himself. But there was no time, not even for self degradation.
“This is what I wanted to show you,” he said, tasting the bitterness of his own words. He raised his hand to the darkness of the deeper end of the garage – and opened the door.
The air wavered, the darkness lightened to gray, and a fracture erupted in the fabric of space and time. A figure appeared in that darkness, a middle-aged man with leathery skin, wiry hair, and linen clothing. He wore a countenance of misery, as so many had before him and no doubt so many would to come.
As if he’d been born knowing what to do when the time came, the man stepped forward, seeming to hover in the air above the vehicles several yards away.
“Cover your ears,” Thane said, speaking to Siobhan. He saw her obey out of his peripheral vision, her palms pressed to ears just in time as, behind the male spirit the portal began to close once more. It crashed shut behind him, filling the air with the sound of thunder.
“Where am I?” he asked in a quaking voice and speaking his own language. Thane would not have bothered with the translation, but because he wanted Siobhan to understand what it was he did, the Phantom King allowed the words to change. They were spoken in one language – and heard in another.
“You’re in Purgatory,” he told the spirit, using cultural terms and synonymous words that the man would be familiar with.
“Why am I here?” he asked next.
Before Thane could do as he always did and explain the situation to the new Anime, Siobhan stepped forward beside him. “You were trying to protect your son, weren’t you?” she asked quietly.
The man’s eyes grew wider, and the stark pain of his expression deepened. “Yes!” he said, releasing the word in a half-sob. “My little boy….” Another sob escaped, and the man’s pain became palpable. “Oh God, my son. My precious son.”
“A car bomb went off,” Siobhan spoke, the voice distant and numb-sounding. She went on, as if she had to explain the situation to Thane, who had been doing this for centuries. “His son was trapped in the building beside it. He went in to save him and was shot in the back.”
Thane gazed at her in shock. How had she known that? How the hell had she known all of that?
“Yes,” the man breathed, his entire body shaking with emotion. He looked at Siobhan with as much surprise as Thane must have been showing.
“He’s not here,” Siobhan said. “He hasn’t come here, which means he lived.”
Now Thane felt the wind knocked from his lungs. What the fuck?! There was no way she could know that for certain! He’d only begun letting the spirits in to Purgatory; this was the first and they were backed up by at least three dozen. How would she know that this man’s son wasn’t among them?
Unless….
I know it, don’t I?
He did know it. As the Phantom King, he knew all that was essential when it came to the Anime. No one else possessed this inherent knowledge, only the ruler of the realm, only the sovereign of this vast and desolate kingdom.
The words Roman D’Angelo had spoken to the council of Kings when he’d told them of Lalura Chantelle’s vision now floated through Thane’s mind. “There were thirteen kings on the chess board. And thirteen queens.”
A world
of deep understanding seemed to pass from the spirit to Siobhan, a silent stream of empathy and sympathy and something intangible but more important than all of the riches in the universe. And then the man raised his hands, palm up, and with all of the gratitude in his heart, he said, “Thank you.”
He stepped back, and the portal that had closed behind him re-opened. It was like watching what had happened with Steven Lazarus all over again. But this time, there was no sparkling black magic surrounding the spirit, and Thane knew that he wouldn’t be returning to Earth. He was simply leaving. He would not be staying in Purgatory. There was no need.
Because of Siobhan, the understanding she’d shown him, and the reassurance she’d given him, he was letting go. Because of her, a spirit was being laid to rest.
The man’s ghost dissolved into the portal, and the portal closed once more. As if she’d done it a thousand times and no longer had to be warned, Siobhan placed her hands over her ears as the thunder passed through the garage.
A few seconds later, she lowered her hands again, but her eyes remained focused on the empty space where the spirit had been. Thane gazed down at her, his entire world tipped on its axis. He’d never seen anything more miraculous than what he’d just witnessed. He’d never seen anything so beautiful.
Can I keep you? The words raced through his mind, a thought – and a nearly undeniable compulsion.
Keep you.
Finally, Siobhan blinked. Then she slowly turned to look up at him. “I don’t understand what just happened,” she said. “I mean, I know what I did. I do know… deep down.” She blinked again, pressed her hand to her heart, and looked down at the floor. “But I don’t know why or how.” Her eyes returned to his. “Thane, what’s going on?”
There were probably a hundred different things he could have said in that moment. But only one really seemed to fit.
“Do you think you could do it again?”
The Phantom King (The Kings) Page 11
