King for a Day (The King Trilogy #2)(11)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

Oh my God. It is him! I was saved.

I leaped my way up the stairs, taking two at a time. When I reached the third floor, however, I didn’t find what I’d hoped.

I gasped. There was a heavy iron door right at the top of the stairs, blocking any possible entrance from the stairwell.

Where had it come from? I pressed my ear to the cold door. Yes, there was loud music playing inside.

“King!” I pounded on the door. “King!”

The door creaked open as if moving on its own, and the music stopped.

I stood there and stared in disbelief. There was no King inside, but the empty space was now filled. And not just with sculptures, furniture, and bookshelves that covered almost every wall, but the space was filled with color. Purple.

This is King’s place. This was where he lived.

But why hadn’t we seen it before? The “K” tattoo on my arm began to tingle and itch. It reminded me of the times that King’s emotions were elevated. Or when you feel his eyes on you when he’s nowhere to be found.

Was King somehow there now, watching me? It sounded insane, but when it came to King’s abilities, anything was possible. The man could appear out of thin air, get inside my head, and make me feel things simply by looking into my eyes.

Was King somehow allowing me to see this place?

I stepped inside and inhaled deeply. King’s seductive scent permeated the air and gave me an unexpected sense of excitement.

How is this possible? How am I seeing this?

The place looked like one of those giant loft apartments you’d see in New York, perhaps something an artist might live in. Only this was the home of a very wealthy, mysterious, controlling man. Rich, dark area rugs, natural-colored hardwood floors, and furniture that had clean and simple lines. No real frills, absolutely nothing frilly, and no walls to divide the living spaces, except for what appeared to be a bathroom to my right.

In one corner stood a giant bed covered in dark gray linens and tons of enormous fluffy pillows—reds and blacks. They oddly reminded me of the Artifact, but that thing, at least the energy it left behind, had a strange pattern to it, like little diamond shapes or crisscrosses. Then there was a small kitchen area—black granite counters, industrial-sized stainless steel fridge, but no stove or oven. There was, however, a large walk-in wine cellar made of glass. So the man had nothing to cook with, but had a lot of cooling capacity. That oddly fit King.

The living room, where I stood, had one simple black leather couch next to a coffee table stacked with old books. There was also a funky antique leather armchair with carved wooden trim that almost reminded me of a throne. I could practically see King sitting there in his casual black T-shirt and faded button flies, digging through one of these books.

My eyes wandered over the rest of the space. It wasn’t homey or comfortable. It was more functional and slightly sterile. Like he stayed there, but didn’t live there.

Had he wanted me to find this place? If yes, then why?

Maybe he wanted you to see where he intends to turn you into his love slave, I mentally growled while my eyes wandered back over to the shelves that ran along both sides of the room about halfway through the space. I counted ten tiers of shelves filled with leather-bound books.

“Why bring me to this place?” I muttered.

“Everything is here, Mia,” I heard King’s voice whisper in my ear.

I gasped and turned my head, but there was no one there. Had it been my mind playing tricks on me?

My tattoo tingled, and I gave it a little rub. “King? King?” I spun and looked around the room. I felt him there with me.

Silence.

You’re crazy. Or maybe I wanted to believe that he’d magically appear and fix this mess he’d left Mack and me to deal with.

I walked over to the shelves and began inspecting. Most were old books, histories of ancient civilizations: the Anasazi, Olmec, Khmer Empire, Atlantis, and Minoans. I vaguely recognized some of the names, but being an advertising major in college and a product of the California public school system meant that I came up pretty darn short in the history of the world department.

I ran my fingers over the books as I read the bindings, hoping that one might jump out at me, and it did: a thick black leather book. I plucked it from the shelf and immediately felt the energy oozing from its pages.

It had to weigh over ten pounds, so I lugged it over to the armchair and sat, opening the enormous thing on my lap. I thumbed through the pages written in a language I didn’t recognize. However, toward the back half of the book, where the ink appeared to be fresher, the words were in English.

Lot #655. Cardamom from the garden of Partavi.

Origin: Parvati Temple at Khajuraho, India

Characteristics: aphrodisiac. 1/8 tspn administered orally = one day of effect

Lot #245. Chalice, Gold

Origin: unknown

Characteristics: produces a sense of intoxication even when filled with water

The lists went on and on. Some of the items had been crossed out with a name written beside it. I could only assume it meant that the items had been traded away for something else.

So this is King’s catalog for all the junk downstairs. I wished I had more time because I could only imagine what all of that strange and powerful stuff actually did.

My head started to pound as it did when my realities—the old versus the new—were at odds. What was my mind fighting with? I didn’t know, but the agonizing storm inside my brain was enough to make me want to fall over.

I stumbled my way to the couch and lay face down, cupping my face in my hands. Go away. Go away. But the pain only increased. My head felt like it might explode. “What’s the matter with you?” I screamed at myself. I rolled over and hit the floor, landing on my back. Red, black, blue. The colors bombarded my head, and I wailed in agony.

Was this King’s doing somehow? His last hurrah? Watching me suffer? “Ahhh. Please stop,” I cried, the tears pouring down my face.

Just then, I noticed a tan, leather-bound book sitting innocently on the floor underneath the coffee table. And just like that, the pain stopped.

Panting, I lay there for a moment staring at the ceiling and catching my breath. What the hell was happening? I felt like King was trying to connect with me, maneuver me from some distant location, although I knew it couldn’t be possible. Could it? Then why did I still feel like that rat being pushed through the maze? Finding the key, then the ring, and this room?

And now, this book? “Is this it?” I asked the empty space in the room. “Is this what you wanted me to find?”