King for a Day (25 page)

“Um. Wow,” was all I could say when I peeked inside. Not that she’d understand me anyway if I’d come up with an appropriate articulation of the scenery before me. The room, aka “Greek bath oasis of my dreams,” was ripped straight from the days of Zeus and Athena. One entire side of the luxurious suite was completely open, stretching out to a white stucco balcony overlooking the sapphire-blue ocean. Huge white columns adorned every doorway, and murals of beautiful goddesses in flowing white gowns covered every wall. In the center, a large sunken pool of water released inviting wisps of steam, and in the corner stood an enormous fluffy bed draped in white linen curtains that billowed gently with the cool ocean breeze flowing through the room.

The woman said something and pointed to the pool.

“Oh. Uh…shower?” I mimed water spraying on my head and washing my hair. I wasn’t exactly in the spa mood, though it certainly looked tempting. Especially as I imagined King in all his naked, muscled glory, stripped down to nothing, soaking away. Did ghosts actually bathe? I wondered.

The woman nodded and gestured for me to follow.

She turned the corner and entered the adjacent, attached room with another breathtaking view of the ocean and a sitting area with a white chaise longue and several comfy-looking chairs. She opened a door and pointed.

“Ah. Thank you.” Inside was an open, modern bathroom with just about anything anyone could ever want—steam room, large open shower with multiple heads, and a rectangular cement water sculpture in the center where the water flowed into another small pool.

This is King’s place?
I still couldn’t believe it.

She pointed to the stack of white, fluffy towels and opened a closet door to show me the supplies. “Thank you.”

Wow. I guess I’ve died and gone to heaven.
But this was not the sort of place I would imagine the cold, tortured-soul-of-a man to reside. This looked like the palace of a wealthy, modern-day…

King?
I almost smiled to myself, but then remembered where he was: a horrible dark basement underneath Vaughn’s home.

The woman left the room walking backwards and making little bows.

“Uh. Thanks?” I bowed my head back, feeling ridiculous. I knew nothing about Greeks other than what I’d learned in mythology, but I’d thought repeated bowing was a Japanese tradition.

After she left, I took a moment to strip off that nightmare of a dress and inspect myself in the mirror. Other than a bit of a rash from the sand on my hips and waist, my skin looked completely normal: seriously pale and in need of some sun. I checked my eyes. Yep.
The same old baby blues.

I don’t know what I expected, but that “dying and coming back to life” thing felt way too easy.
Shouldn’t there be some sort of side effect
? But I felt great. Completely normal.

While I showered away the sand and salt stuck in my hair, I closed my eyes and tried to think through my next steps. If King’s people were loyal to him, then I expected they’d be rushing to his aid. But what about Justin? Would they help him, too?

I began to shake. If Justin died, it would be my fault. I hadn’t anticipated that Vaughn would be so angry that he’d go after my brother. I hoped it wasn’t too late.

I finished up my shower and wrapped my hair and body in soft white towels. That shower had been just what I’d needed to feel human again. When I stepped out of the bathroom, looking for that nice but rather frantic woman, a waft of sweet air hit me in the face.

“King?”
Is that you?
“King?” I felt those strange tingles in my limbs and over my tattoo. I tiptoed into the room with the pool, but it was empty.
King, please. If you’re here, please don’t hide like this. Please, I’m begging you.

There was no response. The sensation and smell dissipated as quickly as it had arrived. Had I imagined it or had King escaped Vaughn’s clutches for a brief moment? I wanted to believe he had and that he’d seen I was all right.

I was about to head back to see if any of the closets in the bathroom had robes or something else to wear when I noticed someone had laid out a long, flowing, white linen dress with blue embroidery on the bottom hem and a slit up one side. A white slip to go underneath and a pair of white sandals were also set out. I put everything on, happy they fit and even happier to once again be wearing something comfortable and dry that had not been in contact with a body bag.

I headed straight for the door, resisting every urge in my body to snoop through the house. After all, this was King’s real home. His ocean-side, Greek palace. I’d bet that I’d find real clues about the man and who he truly was: Tortured soul searching for salvation? Or evil bastard with no hope of redemption? I knew what I believed, but what I wouldn’t give for something more than just a flicker of green light as I’d seen when we were inside Vaughn’ s basement.

I made my way downstairs and went in search of the horde of Spiros. It didn’t take long because all I had to do was follow the sound of screaming. I passed through a formal living room—a gorgeous, modern space with sleek, black-and-white furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows, all overlooking the ocean—and found my way to the dining room. It had a white rug over chocolate-brown floors and a long, beautiful, black table surrounded by white-upholstered rectangular-backed chairs. I seriously had to compliment King’s decorator if I ever met him or her. The place belonged on the cover of
Modern Greek Living
.

I stood in the doorway for a moment, watching the twenty men and women point and yell at each other. Officer Spiros stood at the head, gesturing for calmness. Clearly they were divided about something. But what?

I cleared my throat, and silence fell over the room like an icy blanket. I intuitively stepped back. Their unwelcoming faces—especially the women, who half-snarled—displayed a look of disbelief. Were they going to attack me? Yell at me? I didn’t know.

I held up my hands. “Look. I just want to help King; we’re all on the same side.” Their eyes gravitated to my tattoo, and the women in the room, five of them with olive skin and dark brown hair and eyes, gasped. Everyone turned back toward each other and started pointing and screaming.

I blew out a breath. “Listen!” I barked, grabbing everyone’s attention once again. “I just experienced death-by-ghost heart failure and was brought back to life—a very horrific and creepy experience, I should add—and while I appreciate that you’re a big, big family that I know absolutely nothing about other than Arno seems to be a nice guy, and it probably takes you folks a while to work through your issues—I’d like to point out that some psycho son of a bitch is after my baby brother, and he has King trapped in his basement. So I would super-duper appreciate if you could all table your dispute and get whatever the hell you need from me so I can get on my merry frigging way!” Once again, no one spoke. I glanced at Officer Spiros. “Am I missing something?”

He shook his head slowly from side to side. “No. Why would you think that?”

Oh, crap
. He was a worse liar than I was; he was hiding something.

I blew out a puffy-cheeked breath. “Okay. Does anyone know where I can find a phone and get a passport? And an American Express office? A U.S. Consulate? B of A?”

More stares.

“What?”

Officer Spiros stepped around the table. “Why don’t we speak in the other room while my family continues the discussion?”

I followed him out into the living room and through another doorway that led to a huge monster of a showroom kitchen. He called for that older woman again—
Piretria?—
and when she appeared like magic, he rattled off some instructions. She jumped to work, grabbing ingredients from the refrigerator.

“Who is that?” I asked.

“She is one of the king’s servants,” he said with a thick accent.

It was so odd to hear King referred to as “the king.” My mind simply couldn’t wrap around any of it.

“Is she part of your family?” I asked, wondering who everyone was and how many people worked for King.

He looked almost insulted. “The Spiros are the king’s loyal servants. But we protect him, assist him in managing his affairs, and fight for him if necessary. We do not scrub floors.”

“And her?” I asked, glancing at the woman in the head scarf.

“She is a simple
Ypirétria
. A maid. Just like her mother and grandmother and all of the women in her family before her. They are servants of the king.”

Again, I couldn’t begin to understand how King, a ghost, lived in a palace, had servants, and entire families dedicated to him.

“So she works here for King. Was this place a hotel once?” Because it really did look like a resort, not a home.

“No. This is our king’s palace. He began building it a few years ago in anticipation of…” His words trailed off.

“What?” I leaned into the counter.

“Of a special event he plans to hold soon.”

I lifted my brows. “Special? Like a party?”

“Yes. Like a party.”

I shrugged. “Seems a little extravagant to build a house just for a party, but hey, I’m just a resurrected Seer of Light. What do I know?”

He swallowed as if I’d said something unsavory. “You are a Seer?”

“Okay. Enough with the bullcrap. Why is everyone acting so strange? Did I do something wrong?”

Officer Spiros, who looked like a thinner, slightly older version of his brother Arno, wasn’t handsome in a traditional sense, but he carried himself with a certain air of authority. Authority he was struggling to maintain around me. Why?

“No. Of course not, it’s just that…” He scratched his clean-shaven chin. “Our king has waited a very, very long time to…”

“To what?” I asked.

He blew out a breath and looked at his feet. “A Seer? You are really a Seer?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

Again he sighed and shook his head, cursing under his breath. “It is simply that my people are not especially fond of your kind. Not after…”

“Oh. I get it. Hagne. You hate Seers because of Hagne. But I’m not her. I didn’t curse King.”

He shook his head. “History and tradition are important to the Spiros. And our tradition of hating your people goes back many generations.”

I blinked and shook my head. Complete silliness. “Fine. Whatever. It’s not like I’m going to live here. So hate me all you like, just as long as you help me—”

“But you will live here. Your place is beside our king. And this is your home. He has waited a very, very long time to find his true queen.”

If I’d been holding a glass or some other breakable object in my hand, it would have crashed to the floor at that moment. “Queen?”

“Didn’t he tell you?”

I shook my head no, but the man had to be mistaken or playing a joke.

He cursed under his breath.

“Look, uh—what’s your name? I can’t keep calling you ‘officer.’”

“Stefanos.” He made a little dip with his head.

“Okay. Stefanos, I’m not sure what King told you, but I am not his woman, girlfriend, significant other, or anything else.”

“But you bear his mark.”

Why did everyone keep pointing that out? “I know, but—shit, never mind; it’s a long story. I really, really need to start tracking down my brother. I’m not joking.”

Stefanos nodded. “Yes, of course. How can we be of assistance?”

“How about a phone?” I would start by calling my parents to see if they’d heard anything from Justin. Plus, by now, they had to be worried. And my poor mother, this was not a good time to be pushing her mentally.

He hesitated. “I cannot allow that. Not until you’ve told us what happened. We must ensure you are not in any further danger.”

Oh Lord
. “You just asked how you can help. I
need
to call my mom. She just had a stroke, and my disappearing will not help her.”

“Five minutes. Sit with us for five minutes so that we may fully understand the facts. Then we will help you.”

“Fine.” I marched back toward the madness in the other room. Once again a stark silence fell over everyone.

“Please, sit.” Stefanos gestured me to an empty chair at the head of the table.

I took it and quickly began rattling off everything that happened over the past few weeks since King went missing. The five women and fifteen men, all in their mid to late thirties, had the same olive skin and wavy, dark brown hair and big brown eyes. Eyes that they used to slowly drill right through me as they stared like hypnotized fanboys and girls.

“Okay. That’s enough. I am not his queen. Stop looking at me like that.”

“But you bear his mark,” said one woman to my right with long, wavy hair.

“Yes. That’s because King put me to sleep and then—you know what, it doesn’t matter. I am not his. And why is everyone so concerned with my mark when King is being held prisoner? Don’t you think that’s a bit more important?”

A few of the men mumbled quietly to one and other, but I didn’t understand.

I looked at Stefanos. “Well?”