Path of the King - Chapter 10 (Patreon)

Back in my first life, I probably would have started panicking pretty quickly. Sarah was dead and I was the last person to see her. Guys that looked like I did didn’t have the best relationships with the cops. I wasn’t stateside so I probably wouldn’t get shot right off the back, but things could have easily gotten very unpleasant very fast.

Here, I wasn’t nearly as worried. People disappeared all the time, to an extent that probably should have worried the general public a lot more than it did. I’d never really been interested in that sort of thing during my first life––I’d listened to a couple true crime podcasts, but they weren’t my favorite––and didn’t have a great grasp of the numbers, but the statistics I’d seen online looked way worse than I thought they probably should.

Between heretic gods, dead apostles, unscrupulous magi, and simple bad luck, keeping the mundane population ignorant took covering up a lot of corpses. One body was easy. It wasn’t like I’d depopulated a town or anything. And Sarah had lived conveniently alone in a rather rural area. As long as the right procedures were observed, it wouldn’t be an issue.

I gave the site a brief once over using a mystic code designed to detect other mystic codes, but didn’t find anything. That didn’t necessarily mean there wasn’t anything to find, but I’d let my family’s experts deal with thoroughly exploring this place when I sent them the location in a few weeks. I was pretty sure I’d already found the jackpot hidden here, and time was ticking. 

It was very late when I finally made it back to Sarah’s cottage, but there was still work to do before I could turn in for the night. Despite having spent most of the day driving or hiking, I wasn’t feeling tired at all. Each time my fingers brushed against the haft of my new spear I felt invigorated, alive. This was it. A sign. My path was right, my ideas proven. The knowledge I’d brought into this strange world was incomplete, but far from useless.

Everything was going to work out.

I brought Sarah’s remains—packed away neatly in the cooler she’d been carrying for ease of transport—inside, then called a very familiar number. I’d wanted to make sure I was the first person to reach Sarah’s home––there were a few details I wanted to take care of personally––but now it was time to get things moving.

Ever-dutiful Gamal picked up on the second ring. “Young Master,” he greeted, and I could imagine him bowing his head to the phone stand. He was always proper that way. 

I didn’t bother with pleasantries. “I need a corpse cleanup, potentially sensitive. Single female, twenty-seven year old Sarah Brown,” I rattled off a few more details such as her address and the names of the handful of relatives she still talked to. “She saw something she wasn’t supposed to and decided to make things difficult. Might have additional valuable information on her computer and in her notes, plus photos that need to be disposed of. I want everything taken care of in house as much as possible.”

Gamal listened patiently until I was finished, the soft scratch of a pen barely audible through his side of the call. He continued to write for a few moments, then set his pen down with a soft click. No doubt he already knew most of what I’d told him—my relationship with Sarah wasn’t much of a secret and I had no doubt someone had been keeping track of her movements and residence—but protocol existed for a reason. “Understood. I’ll have someone at the house by morning to deal with her possessions.” He paused for a moment, then added. “I’ll make sure her personal effects are available for your perusal. Will the body require any special treatment?”

I paused for a moment, considering the question. “It’s packed away in a cooler on the kitchen counter. Transfer it into something more appropriate, then put it away with her other things. I’ll decide what to do with it later.” 

As unfortunately as it had ended, her life had served a higher purpose beyond what most could hope to achieve. I wasn’t sure if she still qualified, but the corpse of a devoted pet or servant could be used for all sorts of things; service in life, service in death—a worthy fate. If not, I’d still ensure she received something better than an unmarked grave. 

“Will it require multiple containers?”

“Just the one. Desiccated, not in pieces.”

If Gamal was surprised by my response, he didn’t show it. “Very good, Young Master. It will be done. Will you remain at the location?”

I shook my head. I’d spend an hour poking around and grabbing a few choice items, then continue on my way. As much as I knew on an intellectual level that the whole murder thing wasn’t going to be a problem, I still wanted to be out of this country as soon as possible. “Not for long.”

“Very well. Will that be all?”

“Give Dalia my love.”

“Of course, Young Master.”

“And Anet.”

“I will, Young Master.”

“And make sure Isi eats. She missed at least two meals while I was home.”

“Four, Young Master.”

I scowled. “Force feed her if you have to,” I ordered with more vitriol than the words required. It was easier to be angry when she wasn’t there in front of me. “Make sure she knows that I require my Hephaestion to be in working order when I return.”

“I will, Young Master.”

I paused, the urge to gnaw on my cheek or tap my finger on the table or fidget with something rising up inside me. “I should be back home by the end of June.”

Gamal did not immediately reply, though he did not remain surprised for long. “That is good to hear, Young Master. Young Mistress Anet was upset that you were not here when she came to visit this morning.”

There was a note of challenge in his voice. I hadn’t told her I was leaving. I hadn’t told anyone, not even Gamal, though that hadn’t stopped him from waiting for me in the garage with my luggage when I needed to go to the airport. There was no point in saying goodbye—I wouldn’t be gone long. 

Not this time. 

There was a short pause, and then Gamal continued, a tiny note of hesitation entering his voice. “The Mistress has organized a ball to commemorate the end of the Council’s summer session.”

I smiled tightly. The last meeting of the summer session was always held on the day of the summer solstice, and there was always a huge event to celebrate later in the week. For the first time since I was a child, I was looking forward to that particular ball. “I’m aware.” 

“The Master plans to summer at the Greek Estate this year, with plans to depart in early July.”

“I’m aware,” I repeated.

“Very good. I will ensure appropriate preparations are made. Safe travels, Young Master.”

I made to hang up, then impulsively raised the phone back to my mouth. “Take care of her, Gamal. And yourself.”

He didn’t ask which her I meant. That was good, because I wasn’t sure I could have told him truthfully if he asked. I wasn’t sure if I knew myself.

“Always, Young Master.” It was hard to tell over the phone, but he sounded incredibly pleased. 

I hung up and dropped my phone onto Sarah’s kitchen table. It bounced, coming to a stop beside the bottle of maple syrup still sitting on the table. 

I was hungry, but the only thing worth eating left in the fridge was Sarah’s chocolate cake. I liked Sarah’s chocolate cake. It didn’t look pretty—she was very bad at icing and it usually ended up a little lopsided to boot—but it tasted amazing. I’d complimented it many a time and her blush was always as adorable as the first time I’d done so. It was a family recipe, passed down from her twice-great grandmother. She’d baked it for me on our second date and nearly every time I’d come to see her since. 

I snatched my phone off the table and stalked out of the room, carefully not looking at the cooler standing innocuously on the kitchen counter. I wanted to hit something, kick something, or, better yet, stab someone. My free hand clenched and unclenched around the textured shaft of an invisible spear. 

Sarah’s book still lay on the couch, its spine clearly showing that this wasn’t the first time it had been left open like this. I picked it up, started to mark the page, then snapped it shut and tossed it aside. It landed on top of my bag with a thump and I decided there was probably no harm in leaving it there. I’d put it away before I left. 

I stopped at the foot of the stairs. There were four small, matching picture frames hanging on the wall at regular intervals along the steps. The paintings within were crude, but done with great care, each one depicting the same scenic view at different times of year. The second one up––fall––was askew. I vaguely remembered Sarah’s foot hitting it as I carried her up to her bedroom. 

I closed my eyes and took the steps two at a time. Time was ticking and I wanted to be out of here by the end of the hour. 

I made it back to Oslo just after midnight. Two duffle bags, a battered old ski case, and a heavy backpack made traveling alone somewhat irritating, but it was still mostly manageable. I’d gotten some funny looks––it was June, not exactly peak skiing season––but probably fewer than if I’d tried to just wrap Gáe Bolg in a couple towels or something. 

I’d gotten a few hours of sleep on the road, but was still utterly spent by the time I shuffled through the door to my quaint house in the city. Well, quaint by my new standards, to the point that the attendant who’d dealt with purchasing the property in my name had tried multiple times to point me towards something more ‘fit for my station’, even though he was one of the ones who didn’t particularly like me. 

I personally thought it was quite nice. Two stories, lots of windows, recently renovated, and in an excellent location just a few minutes walk from the university. It even had a rather large basement and a spacious yard to boot––features I was much more interested in than a pool, arched entry hall, or whatever else.

The house was dark when I arrived, but not wholly empty. I recognized Ada’s shoes in the rack, and one of the hats she wore religiously when the sun deigned to peek out from between the clouds with its wide, floppy brim was perched precariously on the corner on the corner of the couch. 

Ada Koch, like Sarah before her, was one of my projects, though a much more recent one. She was in the year below me at the University, studying mathematics, statistics, and something to do with computers that went entirely over my head when she tried to explain it (I knew how to use a computer rather well if I said so myself, but what she was studying wasn’t that at all). The poor thing was absolutely brilliant, but painfully shy and awkward with all the social graces of a three-legged hippopotamus in a china shop. 

I hadn’t necessarily expected her to be here when I returned, but I wasn’t particularly surprised either. She had a standing invitation to come stay with me whenever she needed to get away from her frightfully intolerant family who didn’t approve of our relationship, which tended to be about four nights out of every week during the summer and winter holidays. I almost had to wonder if they were trying to drive her straight into my arms with their behavior. 

Well, intentional or not, their loss was my gain. Ada was no Anet, but she was cute enough, obedient, and well on her way to utterly loyal. In a few years I had no doubts that her skills and knowledge would be worth a thousand times more than what I’d invested in her. I’d have to revise my plans for her training––I would not tolerate another Sarah––but in a few weeks it would be utterly trivial to access the resources I’d need to ensure she never even imagined turning her back on me. 

I dropped my two duffle bags by the door, then more gently deposited my overstuffed backpack on the couch. Not bothering with the lights, I kicked my shoes off and headed deeper inside, weaving easily around the furniture with the ski case cradled gently in both arms. A prick of a needle and a whispered password opened the locked door leading to the basement and let me through the bounded field surrounding it. 

For the first time in my life, I felt the difference as I walked down the stairs and into my workshop proper. The air outside had been clear and thin like upon a mountaintop. Within the bounds of my bounded field however, it was more like the staticy ozone that came before a storm, slightly sweet and almost tangy. It was heavier, richer, and carried a number of flavors I was too inexperienced to truly parse. I thought one of them might be sunlight, but I’d never really tasted sunlight before so it was hard to say. 

The basement was one big room, though I’d sectioned parts of it off with linen sheets hanging from the ceiling. The first thing I did was check the series of clear crystals set in a wooden board hanging at the bottom of the stairs and then the sixth crystal cleverly hidden behind a slightly loose brick. Not being a magus myself I couldn’t really interact with the bounded field once it was set up, so I’d had to tie the formalcraft and mystic-code into physical objects to monitor things. 

It didn’t look like anyone had tried to break in while I was gone, and the secondary monitor hadn’t detected anyone tampering with the field keys either. That didn’t mean that someone hadn’t managed to break in––a sufficiently skilled magus, witch, or Hime-Miko could absolutely bypass the protections I’d managed to set up––but this was the best I could manage for now. Anonymity and the risk of angering my family were my primary protections. The bounded field was mostly here to prevent any of the magical energy in the basement from leaking out and keep non-magi out. 

Despite the untampered-with crystals, I didn’t relax until I’d visually confirmed the presence of everything important I was keeping down here. The glass sphere was in its cradle, the amulets and minor artifacts I’d collected were all in their cases, the magical reagents were all still in their containers where I’d left them, and every book and mystic code was accounted for. 

Only then did I finally set down the ski case on a clear countertop and head back upstairs. As eager as I was to finally, finally, get to work, I was in no state to do so tonight. I still had time. Not much time, but it would do me no good to finish my preparations and discover that I was in no state to…do the deed. 

I found Ada sprawled across my king-sized bed, the comforter kicked off to one side and a peaceful smile on her face. She didn’t wake up when I opened the bedroom door, nor when I turned on the overhead light, and I watched her from the doorway for a long moment before moving deeper into the room. 

She was naked but for the unadorned black leather collar around her slender neck, a dark line against her pale skin, giving me a clear view of the half-dozen similarly black tattoos all up and down her body. My favorite of the lot was the one just below her belly button, an intricate design of spades and vines all centered around the same trio of hieroglyphs that adorned Isi’s usekh––my name. A collar was a good start, but there were few more visceral signs of ownership than a womb tattoo featuring your name. 

Her other tattoos followed a similar design. Vines with spade-shaped leaves wrapped around her left shoulder and right thigh, a trio of flowers also with spade-shaped leaves decorated her hip, and, though I couldn’t see it now, I knew there was another tattoo of my name on the back of her neck hidden beneath her collar. The best part was that the tattoos were her idea and had only inflamed her issues with the rest of her family.

I trailed my eyes down her body, following the lines and curves of her tattoos. Ada’s family was a mix of nationalities. She had one Norwegian grandmother, an Asian grandmother, and two German grandfathers. Once I’d made sure she was eating and exercising something other than just her brain, the combination had turned out quite lovely. From a parenting perspective they’d failed her terribly, tearing her down year after year as she cracked and broke under their impossible standards and expectations, but I’d always been a fan of kintsugi. 

She was no supermodel, but she was tall and slender with perky breasts, wide hips, and plump thighs. In addition to her tattoos, a pair of silver rings gleamed in her nipples, a third peaked shyly out from her folds, and four diamonds connected by short chains sparkled around her belly button. 

I was smiling as I quickly stripped out of my travel-stained clothing, washed up, and slipped into bed beside her. The indentation her body left in the mattress was pleasantly warm in the heavily air conditioned room. She stirred as I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her back against my chest as my hands moved to toy gently with her piercings. She sleepily started to mumble something, but I shushed her, my breath making the strands of hair over her ear flutter. 

“It's just me, kitten. It's late. Sleep now.” 

Her head lolled back to rest against my shoulder, her long black hair silky-smooth against my skin. “Welcome home, sir,” she whispered, her voice nearly lost in the gentle rumble of the house’s central air. 

My hands tightened around her, hard enough that I’d probably left marks on her breast and thigh, but Ada just moaned softly as she drifted back into sleep’s warm embrace. I took several slow, deep breaths past the lump in my throat, filling my lungs with the scent of my shampoo on her hair and my lotion on her skin. 

Ada was not Sarah, I reminded myself. And she never would be. She was mine, now and forever. Loyal. In life and someday in death. 

I didn’t need to see the ink to trace the lines of her tattoos with my finger. They hadn’t been my idea, but they were the designs I’d chosen and Ada would have never even considered having them done without my explicit approval. 

My finger brushed against one of the diamonds dangling down onto her belly and I paused. Perhaps tomorrow I’d take her to have some more work done. Probably not a tattoo––those took time and planning––but perhaps another piercing. Something…intimate. I’d discussed a few other options with the body piercer the last time we’d gone, but had so far limited things to the safe and conventional. I was absolutely certain that Ada would agree to anything I suggested, but perhaps it would be good to…verify things under controlled circumstances. 

Yes, that would be good. And a nice gesture to boot. 

I closed my eyes, pulled Ada ever tighter against my chest––her body warm, soft, and utterly mine––and let my mind drift away.