The Phantom King (The Kings) by Heather Killough-Walden Page A

may have been innocent, but she was probably far from stupid. He was a grown man, a stranger, and she was a beautiful woman, otherwise alone. His words and his presence were the unfortunate straw that broke the warlock’s resolve, and Thane experienced a stark sadness as he watched her magic pool into her hands, her natural response to the beckoning of the danger he presented.
    Because of him, she was going to use magic against a person. It tore at him, that knowledge , and he hated himself for what he was forcing her to do.
    Even so, he remained resolute and moved forward, entering her house uninvited to shut the door firmly behind him.
    Of course, the bolt of power that shot from her hand had no effect on him. He was th e Phantom King, and as such, magic on this material plane had as much of an impact on him as it would upon a literal phantom – a ghost. That is to say, none .
    The energy bolt wrapped around him, diverted as if by a shield until it fizzled out of existence entirely.
    “How….”
    “Your magic won’t hurt me, warlock,” he told her, taking a step forward and shaking his head in reprimand. It was best to look as threatening as possible, though the very thought of it was pulling at something in his guts and making him slightly sick. “And I have to say,” he added, as if in defiance of his own hesitation. “That wasn’t very nice.” He allowed his expression to darken and smiled a cruel, closed-lipped smile.
    He also moved forward again, making his way further into the house, feeling the weight and pressure of time as he sent out his mental feelers in search of the Anime. He still came up emp ty. Steven Lazarus must have known who he was, what he was, and what would happen if he appeared. Clearly, he’d been a detective in life for a reason.
    But Thane was only partly upset by Steven’s refusal to show. The waiting dead were piling up and time was not his friend, and yet a very large part of him wanted this to go on forever. As long as Lazarus resisted… Thane would be here, in this house, backing the little warlock into a corner.
    Was it wrong of him?
    Who the fuck cares.
    Siobhan ’s second attack was stronger . She raised both of her arms this time, and the power that gathered in her hands was ten times greater than the blast she’d initially released. It was her fear reacting now, charging her up like an electrical outlet and setting her off like lightning.
    If he allowed her power to simply bounce off of him this time, there was a chance it would damage things around him – the door, the walls, the floor. And there was also a chance that some of it would escape, possibly through the windows or even straight through the structure of the house. A bystander might see or even be harmed , and Siobhan’s secret would be out.
    So Thane raised his right hand this time and waited for the blast to come his way. When it did, he concentrated, absorbing it into a single pin point of ever-densening magic before crushing it in his palm with a tightening of his fist.
    T hat did it. The te rror was plainly visible in the warlock’s eyes, an echo of her desperation that set the sparks of gold blazing. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded. “Oh my God,” she said before he could reply, “y ou’re the demon. You killed Steven.” There was a tremor to her voice, an unsettled wavering to her tone that hinted of hysterics.
    You’re a bastard , Thane , his inner voice accused.
    But he frowned at the mention of a demon. Demon ? And then he remembered. Steven Lazarus was killed by a demon . The detective had been murdered by a monster who’d literally s et him on fire.
    He realized that Siobhan thought he was that demon , and that he’d returned in order to finish the job.
    “No,” he said right away . “I absolutely did not kill Steven Lazarus.” He wanted that to be very, very clear. “But he is the reason I am here,” he added. He stepped forward again, and Siobhan stepped back. The tiny