Mack (King #4)(48)
“Maybe,” he said, completely absorbed in is preparation of the five-foot-wide, witchy-looking circle he’d drawn with blood in the center of his hardwood floor—an outrageous cliché. He’d finally removed his bow tie and had rolled up his sleeves to avoid getting messy, but there were smatters of blood and some ashy stuff smudged on his face and shirt.
“I’m going to take that to mean you’re not sure,” I said.
Kneeling, he adjusted the small silver chalice so that these little arrow-like symbols on the sides lined up with markers on the circle. “Maybe.”
I lifted both brows. “Really? You’re going to wing it?”
His head of dark shiny hair whipped up, and his cobalt eyes burrowed into me. “Have a better idea, Dr. Valentine?”
I mashed my lips together. “Nope.”
“Then please be quiet. I’m trying to concentrate.”
“Fine. Okay.” I blew out a long breath, hoping this would work. After all that we’d been through, this would be the end of a very, very long journey for Mack, myself, and for King. No more curses. No more killing. Just living and being happy. I only hoped I could help Mia overcome King’s very disturbing infidelity. Basically, he’d been…ugh…forced to choose between not only Mack, but Mia and his child too.
Dear God, what does Talia have hanging over this man?
Whatever it was, getting Mia’s heart to heal wouldn’t be easy. She’ll be hurt regardless.
“Not helping, Theodora.” King twisted the small silver cup a little to the right.
“Sorry.” But you really should stay out of my head.
“Not likely—I’ve been doing it for so long, it’s almost involuntary.” He got to his feet and stared down at his handiwork. “The wait is over. If I’ve done this correctly, Mack will appear as soon as we place an article of his inside the chalice.” King took a silver necklace with an Egyptian ankh from his pocket and placed it inside the cup. That had to be the necklace Mack told me about. I guessed King had tracked it down—probably not too difficult for a man like him if he truly was as good at finding things as Mia had said.
“I am better than good,” King said, correcting my thoughts. “And now for the blood of an innocent baby.”
I gasped. “What?”
“Relax.” He frowned. “I called in a favor and procured some from a stillborn.”
My mouth turned down at its corners. “What is wrong with you people?”
“Do you prefer we take the blood from a living, healthy infant?”
Wincing, I said, “No. But…”
“But nothing. The infant’s life will serve a greater purpose, and no harm came to him on our account.”
Trying not to be sick, I flicked my wrists through the air. “Just…hurry—get it over with.” Not like he needed my permission, but I wasn’t going anywhere and I was beyond anxious.
He walked over to the bar in the corner and ducked behind it, reemerging with a small bag of blood. He then returned to the circle and knelt beside it, his finely featured face turning into an oasis of serenity. Eyes closed, he began chanting in an ancient language that reminded me of Hebrew with lots of deep-throated phlegm-like sounds. He then opened his eyes and squeezed the syrupy contents into the silver chalice. Surprisingly, the chalice wasn’t this huge goblet-like thing I’d imagined it to be. In fact, it reminded me of those small glasses used for sherry only this one was made of metal.
The room immediately began to glow and then the walls around us started pulsing and throbbing as if we were inside some sort of heart.
But as I watched the chalice, I noticed its form dissolving. “What’s happening?”
King stopped his voodoo chatter and stared down at the thing with outrage. “Fucking Mack!”
“What? What!”
“It’s a fake,” he groaned.
No. No. Noooo… I covered my face. Mack, what in the world did you do with it?
~~~
King and I sat in his sleek, stainless-steel-everything chef’s kitchen, sulking at the black granite breakfast bar, sipping copious amounts of scotch. Yes, for breakfast. After all, it was eleven in the morning and we needed some sort of fuel for our long day of misery ahead.
“You gonna answer that?” I slurred.
King’s cell phone kept ringing. It had to be Mia. Poor guy. I couldn’t blame him for not wanting to have that conversation, but eventually, he would have to face her along with the fact that he’d been forced to f*ck a woman he loathed for a forged chalice. It was a sad, sad moment for this man, and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.
“Please don’t remind me,” he grumbled in reply to my thoughts.
Sorry. “So do you think Talia switched the chalice?” I asked.
“No. She would not knowingly give me a fake.” Still in his dirty tux, he poured another tall glass of scotch into his glass tumbler, his head sagging a bit.
I sipped on my second glass and bobbed my head. “Well, Miranda said that Mack gave her a phony chalice, too.” She’d chucked it at his head. “That means Mack made two fakes and the real one is out there.”
“Aren’t you the sharp one,” he grumbled.
Oh, shut up. I took a swig of scotch.
“Of course,” King continued, thinking aloud, half mumbling, “something so rare and powerful would have to be kept in a safe place.”