Death Song (Tales from the Tarot)

11. Rex

Chapter eleven

Rex

“ W e may have a problem,” I say, sitting down at the chair in my office. Charlie is still sleeping in the spare bedroom, capturing some of what he hasn’t’ been able to have in what is likely far too long. He woke briefly and stumbled into Gibson in the hallway while getting a glass of water, but after a quick introduction to my other chosen brother, he headed right back to the soft bed.

Gibson and Emery step inside, closing the door behind them. They both take a seat, expressions serious.

“You brought the seer home,” Gibson says. There is no judgment in his tone, it is a simple statement of fact.

“I am unsure if he is a seer, but yes. I did. He was unsafe where he was and that leads me to this problem we potentially have to deal with.”

“For the record, I like him, and if the problem is threatening him, I’m in. What’s up?” Emery says.

“Where do I even begin?” I murmur, trying to put things together in my own head as I tell the two closest vampires to me the whole story so far. “He was robbed last night; we can start there. His place was broken into by some man named Colin and artwork he had locked away was taken.”

“Who’s Colin?” Emery asks at the same time as Gibson asks, “What art?”

“Colin is his ex-partner,” I say, looking at Emery. “An asshole, from what I can gather. Charlie hasn’t told me much, but I know their ending was not easy. The art is a different matter.” I pause there, collecting my thoughts for a moment before turning to Gibson. “Charlie paints his dreams. He can’t help it. Some unseen force makes him and inflicts immense pain on him when he doesn’t comply. The paintings that were taken are ones he’s done over the last few months. The subject… is me. My life. My memories, on the canvas in his hand.”

“The painting,” Emery says, catching on quickly.

“What painting?” Gibson looks confused and I’m surprised he hasn’t noticed it yet. I left it propped against the wall in the living room.

“I’ll go get it,” Emery offers, popping out of his chair. “You gotta see this, Gib. It’s frickin’ bonkers.”

He scoots out of the room quickly as Gibson sighs. “I thought we were done with danger, Rex.”

“I know, old friend. I am sorry it’s come for us again.” Though we have never fought alongside each other, we both carry scars from battles waged long ago.

“Are we going to have to rely on them?”

In all truth, there is a possibility we are going to have to enlist the aid of the shifters, and I won’t lie to him. While I don’t know the details, there was a shifter pack that murdered his beloved creator shortly after he was turned vampire, leaving him to fend for himself at such a crucial time. Though he made it through, and his travels brought him far away from the Yukon where everything happened, Gibson has been wary of their kind ever since. “Just Bowman’s chosen pack. Him, Finn and whoever else he’s picked up along the way. Not Hollycreek, I promise.”

Gibson sighs, then nods. “Bowman isn’t bad, I suppose. His father, though? Fuck that wolf.”

I agree and have said as much out loud many times. While Bowman Hollings is the name he goes by now, and I don’t know him that well, I do know of him. I first caught wind of the shifter pack he was once part of when I moved to this city a handful of years ago. He was simply Bo Holly back then, the downtrodden son of the pack’s alpha who was kept out of sight during the minor dealings I had with the pack in getting established in the community. I learned rather quickly that Bowman’s dad is the sort of wolf that deserves to become a throw rug, and I will never call upon him for any help.

“Here,” Emery announces, coming back into the room with the painting of me wearing my crown and regal attire in his hands. He turns it around and Gibson immediately lets out a snorting laugh, his face lighting up as he stares into the painting.

“Holy hellfire,” he comments, leaning forward to see the detail Charlie has put into it. “You look like something else entirely. You sure this is you?”

“So fancy, right?” Emery says, placing the painting down and propping it against the wall of the office.

“It’s me.” I sigh as Gibson laughs again, shaking his head.

“I ain’t never seen you quite like that. Caught me off guard is all. Makes me wonder if I’d been turned back then, would I have kneeled before you like the rest and called you my king? With you lookin’ all fancy like that? Shit, I don’t know, Rex. Is that a toga? Are you wearing an actual toga?”

“Okay, it was a different time,” I say, though I’m smiling as well. “That is a toga. Despite what you may think, we wore them. It was in fashion.”

“Shit,” Gibson says, laughing so hard he has to wipe tears from his eyes. “You look like one of them drunken frat boys.”

“Handsome though,” Emery says with a grin. “I can see why your seer has eyes for you. Did I tell you he brought that poor thing home smelling of sex, blood and pure exhaustion?”

“He didn’t,” Gibson says, faking a gasp.

“Oh, he did.”

“Are you done?” I ask with a laugh. “Or am I to be the butt of your jokes for the rest of this conversation?”

Gibson and Emery glance at each other, then break into laughter again. It delights me to hear it, if I’m being honest, because the news that I must head out on patrol through the city seeking out the one who wanted Charlie’s paintings will be a softer blow if they are in good spirits. They worry for me, I know, despite making a mockery of me. While we are a small group, not even enough to justify the title of coven, we are a close bunch, and what we know about each other’s rebirth into vampire echoes through the bonds built between us.

“Okay, done now,” Gibson says with a happy sigh. “I suppose you want us out there tonight, scraping up information as much as we can. What else do we need to know?”

“This Colin didn’t want the paintings for himself. He has a client that wanted them and that is who I need to find.”

“Your brother?”

“Nikandros is long gone,” I reply. “Bathed in sunlight at the dawn of his third year on the throne. Gallio and Junius witnessed this with their own eyes, and I trust them.”

“I don’t know those names?” Emery asks, confused.

“Old friends I have not seen in a long while. Gallio was loyal to me even when I left Springhollow behind and he sired Junius, who in turn helped him bring down Nikandros’ rule.”

“So many names.”

“So many things happened,” I say with a small shrug. “But I am certain that Nikandros is long gone, burned to ash and dust. But Springhollow remains active, in some capacity. The lofts that Charlie lives in are titled the same.”

“Yeesh.” Emery shakes his head solemnly. “So many ties to the past all of a sudden, huh? We’ve had so many years of peace and now all of this comes rushing up out of nowhere? Strange.”

“It’s Charlie,” Gibson says. “He’s the catalyst.”

“But what drives him?”

That is a question I don’t have the answer for. Silence enters the conversation as I try to put all the pieces I know in order in my mind, leaving gaps for the things I do not yet know. Finally, Emery leans forward in his chair, his eyes wide like he’s just come up with something.

“Did Nikandros have any kids?”

It’s a great thought, but I have to shake my head. “To my knowledge, he did not claim an heir, nor did he create one. He believed he would rule forever with the power he was accumulating out of the veins of those who served the throne.”

“Are you certain of that?” Emery presses, frowning at me. “Were you following him around every minute of every day to know that he wasn’t out there creating babies? Maybe he had a child after you and Marius fled the castle. Shit, maybe he even made one before coming to take your throne.”

“Gallio and Junius did not report that the last I saw them.”

“Yeah, well I ate your bacon for breakfast two days ago and you didn’t know that until just now. Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.” While his words carry bite, the gentle hand he places on my forearm and the cheeky grin he gives me temper the prickle inside me that insists he is wrong.

“Perhaps,” I eventually have to concede.

Gibson hums under his breath, and when I look at him, I can see he’s deep in thought. Finally, he clears his throat like he’s about to speak. “I wonder if this reincarnation idea is something to consider as well. Can a soul that’s been reaped come back somehow? Like make a bargain or something to return? If we believe that Charlie isn’t a seer and in fact could be Marius reborn into a new body, then it stands to reason that someone else could be holding onto Nikandros’ soul.”

He’s not wrong, and while I don’t have the answers for any of that, I do know who would. “Reincarnation or resurrection. We need a reaper. Thomas would know.”

Emery shivers, pulling his hands around himself like he’s caught a chill. “He’s freaky.”

“Thomas and his kind are necessary. He’s actually rather friendly if you’d take the time to chat with him. He has lots of stories to share, and he was about your age when his soul was reaped and he was risen to his position.”

“Just don’t shake his hand,” Gibson adds with a grin as Emery shudders again.

The sound of shuffling coming down the hallway catches my attention and the scent of honey filters to my nose. I know Charlie is awake, and I rise from my seat, compelled to go and see him. Emery and Gibson exchange a glance, then stand up from their seats as well.

“I suppose we’re done here,” Gibson teases, glancing between my face and the sounds in the hallway.

“Your mate has risen,” Emery adds.

“Mate?” Vampires don’t have mates. That’s a shifter connection and tradition that the three Sisters of Fate did not extend to our kind, weighing our souls and finding us wanting.

“Oh, come on.” Emery sighs. “You can’t be this naive. How are you hundreds of years old and you don’t know this? Wait. Do I know something that you don’t?”

His irritation gives way to a grin that lights up his entire face, his dimples popping out of his cheeks and his blue eyes gleaming with pride. Gibson looks just as confused as I am, shrugging when I look his way.

“The fates did not extend that to our kind,” I say, keeping my voice hushed as Charlie moves around beyond the door of my office.

“Does he smell good? Do you think about him all the time? Are you pulled towards him? Does he feel like home and you can’t explain why? Does he dream of you?” Emery says, listing things off while counting them on his fingers like they’re a checklist. “Regardless of whether he’s Marius wearing a Charlie suit or not, all of that stuff equals fated mate. I don’t care what the ancient texts say about fates and vampires and all that shit. From all I’ve read in those books you made me look through; I know that’s mates.”

“Mates are for mutts,” Gibson drawls, shaking his head.

“Ask The Owner if you don’t believe me.” Emery shrugs. “I know I’m right.”

There’s more than knowing gleaming in his eyes. I see hope when I look at him, and a loneliness that he masks with clever jokes and fast talk. Believing that he has a fated mate out there somewhere has to be a comfort for him, and I won’t take that away from him. Instead, I nod, offering a gentle smile his way. “Perhaps you are, Emery. With everything else happening and all these unanswered questions lingering, you could be the right one here.”

“I know I am,” he mumbles to himself, just loud enough that I can hear it. He leaves the room quickly, and I hear his greeting to Charlie echoing through the home. Gibson leaves in his wake, and I take a moment to collect myself before joining them all in the living space.

“This is a weird building,” Charlie comments, pouring blue paint into his plastic tray on the floor.

“How so?”

“Well, the Pinwheel, first of all. That’s very strange, but your home is also kind of strange. It’s like little apartments connected to that big den area and then a hallway that leads to your office and the kitchen?”

“You’re not entirely wrong. It was meant to be two banks of apartments on either side but only the walls were in place when I bought the building,” I offer, watching as he grabs a fresh roller from the massive pile of paint supplies he’s ordered. “We simply changed it into what we needed, creating large bedrooms with attached bathrooms along the one wall and opening up the rest of the place to create the kitchen, dining area and den.”

“And your office,” Charlie adds.

“That too. I offered a space like that to Gibson and Emery, but they declined. Gibson did ask for a space to store his collectibles though, and that we built into his room.”

“Collectibles?”

I grin, about to reveal the biggest secret about Gibson. “He collects dragons.”

“Dragons? Like, statues?”

I nod. “He’s a gruff sort, created into vampire in the middle of the frozen Yukon, but he has a love of fantasy and dragons.”

“So nerdy. I never would have assumed he’d collect dragon figurines. I’d think he’d collect cowboy hats, or belt buckles or something. He strikes me as a sort of cowboy.”

“Once, Emery found a cowboy dragon with hat and black and white cow spots on its scales. I think that’s Gibson’s favorite in his whole collection. He was raised on a failing ranch before the allure of gold took him from the prairies to the cold north.”

“Makes sense,” Charlie says, starting to roll the blue paint on the walls of the entryway.

“And what of you, Charlie? Where did you come from?” Perhaps there is a clue in there as to whether or not he is Marius. I never met Marius’ family directly, but he spoke of them often enough that I know the details of where he came from.

“My mother,” he replies, casting a cheeky grin at me over his shoulder. “Joanna Polston.”

I laugh softly. “And who was Joanna Polston?”

Charlie hesitates, the sound of his roller on the wall the only sound for a few moments. Finally, he turns around to add more paint to it from the tray at his feet and offers me a gentle smile. “She was beautiful. Dark hair, piercing blue eyes. My exact opposite in most ways. Joanna Polston was one hell of a mother.”

His fondness for his lost mom warms me inside as much as it saddens me that she is not here for him anymore. “How did she pass?”

“Car accident. I was seven years old and the police came to my school to tell me about it. I remember being pulled from class by a social worker and brought down to the office. I thought I was in trouble, but no. It was just that my mom had died on her way home from work.” Charlie turns to start rolling more blue onto the wall. “It’s strange though. We had just moved into a new home in the city and she was found in her car out by our old home. The police suggested that maybe she was on her way there to pick things up, but that never felt right to me. We took everything that mattered when we moved from the old mobile home in the trees.”

Strange indeed. “Where in the woods?”

“Out by that creepy cult compound,” Charlie responds, with a slight shudder to his words. “The one with the dogs that howl all night long. I fell asleep so many nights listening to them and was surprised that when we moved into the city I missed their noises because I hated them when we lived nearby.”

Hollycreek Pack Lands. That has to be what he’s speaking of. My head reels as I watch him paint, wonderings about who this human in front of me really could be tripping through my mind. Bowman can sense no wolf inside him, yet that he grew up so close to the pack lands is another piece of the unfinished puzzle in my mind that is Charlie Marius Polston.

“And what of your father?”

“Never knew him,” Charlie says with a shrug. “My mom always told me I didn’t have one. Even as a kid I knew that was a lie, but I never bothered to press her for details. When I was taken into care, they tried to find a relative to take me but nobody stepped forward to claim me so I entered the foster care system. He could be dead for all I know, but I got some things from him most likely. Red hair. Freckles.”

All the markers that make him similar to Marius, though knowing of Charlie’s family doesn’t bring me any closer to understanding the possible connection between the two. As I inhale his honey scent and feel the warmth of sunlight just being near him brings to me, I have to think it doesn’t matter in the end.

Marius or not, Charlie calls to the very core of me.

He turns around again to reload his roller, then moves along the wall to add paint to the white section directly in front of me. I’m sitting on the chair I brought down for him, and as he moves closer I find that there is nowhere else I’d rather be at this moment. Though night has fallen, and I have a reaper to track down, I can’t seem to tear myself away from his presence. Right now, I’d rather be watching him paint than doing anything else.

Except that is a lie. I’d rather be touching him.

His muscles strain as he rolls the paint onto the walls, his body bending and stretching to cover the expanse of white with a pretty shade of sky blue. His shirt rides up as he reaches towards the top of the wall, revealing a strip of pink skin along the edge of his paint spattered jeans, and I can’t stop myself from moving off the chair. I am drawn to stand behind him, placing my hand on that strip of flesh exposed at his back as he startles, nearly dropping the roller.

“Keep painting,” I murmur as I move my lips to his neck, moving my hand to rest on his warm stomach.