Mack (King #4)(49)

“Maybe he didn’t trade it at all,” I said, the thought slamming into my skull like a falling brick. It was simply a hunch. But considering Mack’s story about the first time we met, I knew how determined he’d been to make his way back to Minoa with that rock. He loved his brother, and Mia I assumed, and would’ve wanted them to have the real chalice after he’d gotten what he wanted and double-crossed a few very powerful and scary people. The question was, where had Mack hidden it?

That is, if I’m right.

I looked at King. “Now that I’m thinking about it, he kept saying something about being warm or buried somewhere warm. Does that mean anything?”

King’s beautiful face contorted into a very unpleasant-looking and nasty snarl. “I am going to kill you, Theodora. But this time it will be for pure and simple pleasure.”

I instinctively leaned away in my chair. Not that it would do any good. At best, I’d make it to the other side of the kitchen if King wanted me dead. Anyway, I took his reaction to mean that Mack had given me some sort of code. Still…

“Screw you, King. The man I love was bleeding out in my arms, gasping for air. It kind of overshadowed the freaking moment. So where is the chalice, then?”

“My brother was likely trying to say that he was ‘keeping it warm’—a phrase we used as children when we took something from each other without asking. I would catch him red-handed, playing with my hunting blade, and he would simply say he was merely ‘keeping it warm for me.’ I would take his bows, and when he caught me, I’d say the same thing.”

I swallowed hard, fully understanding what this meant. Mack had had it on him somewhere, which given the leather jacket he’d worn was entirely possible. The cup wasn’t all that big and he could’ve easily had it tucked inside a pocket. I never would’ve noticed since I’d only seen him wear the jacket when he’d been in my backseat. After that, he’d taken it off, but I had no clue where that jacket went.

“Did you happen to see his leather jacket at the cabin?” I asked.

King rubbed his forehead and groaned. “I laid it over him when we buried him. That was his favorite jacket.”

“And you buried him…?”

“In that ancient burial ground. It was the only place that had ever given him peace without having to kill.”

Crap. It was one thing to have to watch Mack die, but it would be an entirely different breed of horror returning to the scene of the crime and watching King dig him up.

Seriously. I need to track down whoever erased my memories. I was beginning to wonder if they’d only been doing me a favor.

~~~

Unwilling to once again brave the “deplorable conditions” of commercial airlines—King’s words—or risk his necessary “supplies” for the ritual being touched by anyone, we made the nine-hour drive back to that cabin in the desert. For the first hour of the trip, I had to listen to King curse the gods of ancient Greece because his helicopter was somewhere on the East Coast. Then the next four hours, the car—a black Mercedes sedan with tinted windows—was filled with a dreadful silence, interrupted by his phone ringing every five minutes.

“If you’re not going to answer it, why don’t you shut it off?” I finally asked around five in the afternoon, on my last leg of any civilized emotions.

His blue eyes, with eagle-like intensity, remained focused on the road. “I am waiting for a very important call.”

“I see.” I glanced his way and noticed how he had a blue light all around him.

“What do all of the colors mean?” I asked.

He looked at me for a brief moment and then brought his eyes back to the road. “Every Seer is different, I’m told, but red is anger, hate, rage, and pain. Black is death. Green is life.”

“What about blue?”

“Sorrow and regret.”

“That’s what I thought.”

His phone rang again and the name “Mia” popped up on the screen of the center console.

“Avoiding her is only making it worse,” I said. “She’s probably worried.”

“I am aware of this,” he replied coldly.

“Just answer it. Tell her what happened. I’m sure that the not knowing is torturing her.”

King sneered. “This, coming from you, is rich.”

“Why?”

“Haven’t you wondered why you cannot remember your past?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“Because you couldn’t take it anymore—this truth you speak so fondly of. It was too much for you.”

He had to be messing with me, but that look on his face said otherwise. “So what did I do?”

“Fifty years ago, I tracked you down in London. Your Seer gift was just beginning to awaken, as were your memories. This is how I always knew you were coming—your thoughts become quite loud. And because you’re connected to Mack, and I to him, it’s not hard for someone of my particular skill set and background to find you.”

I bobbed my head and looked out the window at the winter sun dipping below the horizon without fanfare or glitz. Quiet. Melancholy. Just like me. I didn’t like where this story was going.

He continued, “But this time, before I took your head, you didn’t fight, you didn’t cry. You simply begged me to give you a moment. You said you couldn’t bear it anymore.”