Pandora's Box

by Miller, Gracen

“You don’t.”

  Celeste beat a hasty retreat.

  Nix thought for sure Mads would skedaddle after her mother departed. She surprised him when she turned to Zen. “We should check the perimeter—make sure it’s safe to stay.”

  Spoken like a true Sherlock.

  “We don’t have long, anyway. She’ll tell Micah your location.” Zen stared at the door.

  Mads shook her head. “Nah. She won’t go straight back to Hell. None of them do. They like it here too much.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Four days later

  Hell

  A Cimmerian fairy from the royal court of Nob requested a meeting with Micah. She claimed to come with information from Czarina, the leader of the Nob fairies and he would find what she had to say of great importance. He granted her entrance into Hell for the pure amusement of discovering what she presumed valuable to him.

  Interest tugged at his irritation as the fairy swaggered into his realm as if she were Queen of Hell, rather than his own Madison. With her blue-black hair, sloe eyes and silver pupils, she held his gaze without blinking. Actions marking her as bold and sure, a hint she just might possess something of value after all.

  Diminutive in size, reaching the middle of his chest, the dainty creature’s intricate red and black wings dragged along the stitched skin floor. Her smug smile pricked his confidence. Owing Czarina a favor could be dangerous business. When he’d allowed her messenger entrance, he’d anticipated the meeting wouldn’t rank higher than smoke and baubles. Now, his certainty wavered.

  “King Micah.” Her deep curtsy failed to move him.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and waited, unwilling to be drawn into her theatrical schmoozing. Cimmerian fairies were known as drama queens with a taste for blood.

  “I am Shannya, Prime Royal of Czarina’s court.” He said nothing, just stared at the lofty-ranked fairy. She continued as if cued. “We know the location of Jesus Christ’s heir.”

  Only Madison knocking for entrance into Hell could have garnered more attention, but he remained silent, concealing his excitement.

  Two millennia ago his brother, Jesus Christ, took a foreign wife, Kashmiri. Mary Magdalene had never possessed the charm to entice his brother as twenty-first century conspiracy theorists touted. Jesus’ firstborn, a son, came before the Nazarene’s baptism. His second child, a daughter, arrived two months before his crucifixion. The son became a preacher, delivering many to the Kingdom of God before his death. Jesus’ son held no powers of persuasion or other paranormal attributes. Most importantly, he died unmarried and childless. The daughter, a miracle worker, saved and healed people with all the piousness of her virgin-born father. People traveled from miles around, sometimes for days, just for the opportunity to be touched by her and perhaps be healed. She, however, procreated, giving birth to one daughter.

  Jesus begetting offspring had spawned aspirations Micah never dreamed possible. What if a King of Hell begot children with demons? What could he do with descendants of his own?

  While Micah followed Jesus’ heirs through the centuries, smirking when they became wastrels, he experimented with blending his angelic genomes with demonic genes. His first successful offspring, Petralegija, brought joy to his life. None possibly held claim to a finer or more loyal daughter, always willing to do exactly as he instructed without question. Her sole failing, she held a seat in Hell and could never enter Heaven. Much later, Amos came along, his perfect child. With his mixed lineage, he could breach Heaven’s doors, so long as they were already open. In order to do so, he needed the key, a.k.a. Jesus’ heir. Better known in the angelic community as the Ark of Heaven.

  “Czarina realizes you may disbelieve. This token pressed to the forehead of Christ’s heir will expose his lineage.”

  Micah plucked the object from her hand and held it between finger and thumb. Engraved with Jesus’ sigil, the item hummed with an angelic signature. The Jesus Totem. An item the savior could use to summon his offspring at will. His brother never kept an eye on his descendents the way he should have, the way Micah did. A huge mistake in his estimation. He wouldn’t allow Amos and Madison out of his sight, if given a choice. Too bad his son felt the need to hide them, but kudos at his kid’s show of talent that he could. If what the Cimmerian said proved true, he could rectify that dilemma soon with the aid of the Ark of Heaven.

  “The heir will absorb the Totem into his body.” The fairy’s words drew Micah back to the conversation.

  Micah smirked. The fairies had missed the significance of the Jesus Totem. The Ark of Heaven wouldn’t just absorb the metal into his body. It would prepare him to accept his Messianic magic.

  “Where’d you find the Jesus Totem?” Antsy to know the name of the Ark of Heaven, he cuffed his excitement into submission. It wouldn’t be wise to let the Cimmerian know how much he coveted the particular information.

  She shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  Coy never worked for him. “Does it matter demons are prepared to rip you apart at a signal from me?”

  Shannya blanched and swallowed heavily. “An archangel entrusted the Jesus Totem to Czarina a millennia ago.” He wondered what happened to this particular archangel and as if she read his thoughts, she said, “Czarina plucked his feathers and enslaved him for more than five hundred years.” The tiny satisfied grin curling the fairy’s lips attested to her evil nature. “She allowed a Royal Cimmerian to milk him.”

  Milk him in Cimmerian slang meant they’d ingested his angelic powers, a heady experience for those able to tolerate the potency of angel spirit.

  Micah guessed Shannya had been the high-ranking Cimmerian given the pleasure, an opinion confirmed by the unique buzz of her essence. “Was he completely milked?”

  “He burst into diamonds, if that’s what you ask.”

  Indeed, it was what he asked. He grinned at the idea of the petite creature taking down not just an angel, but a mighty archangel.

  Ingesting all of their powers was one of the few ways to kill one of God’s messengers. They could regenerate, but only if the seraph spirit wasn’t depleted to the point of death. At death, they exploded into diamond giblets. Since she murdered an archangel, the gemstone must have spewed like lava from a magma chamber. He would’ve loved witnessing his holy brother’s defeat. “You have proof of his death? A jewel from his remains perhaps?”

  The color of the stone would validate her claim. Different colors indicated their hierarchy.

  Shannya held out her other hand. “The smallest in the lot he cast.”

  Twinkling in her palm rested a twenty carat red diamond. The rarest in the world. Mankind would never believe the gemstones they coveted came from deceased angels. Red were exclusive to archangels. The basic gems gracing the hands of most women came from run-of-the-mill angels.

  Micah accepted the stone from her palm and rubbed his thumb along its smoothness. Jahiel, an archangel dedicated to Father’s commands without question and never doubted. The imprint of his brother resided in the stone.

  The Cimmerian fairies had possessed the Jesus Totem for a hundred centuries, while he searched for the object all those years. Wasted years. Micah gritted his teeth. Jahiel fucked him on purpose, and he wouldn’t have known without Czarina’s offering. Neither would he have the pleasure of returning Jahiel’s fuck, thanks to the fairy in his presence. “What does Czarina desire for the name of the Ark?”

  “One little favor.”

  Czarina never asked for ‘little’ favors. “What is it?”

  “An alliance with Hell.”

  Surprised by the request, Micah’s eyebrows elevated. Hell and Nob weren’t enemies, but couldn’t be considered friends either. As long as their purposes didn’t cross paths, no bad blood lay between them.

  “An alliance for what purpose?”

  “The gnomes plan an attack.”

  “You fear the gnomes?” The ankle-biting breeds of hobgoblins were a nuisance and could be easily eradicated. Odd for
the Cimmerian fairies to fear them.

  She cast her gaze aside. Did she worry how much she should impart? Her silver pupils shimmered, suggesting she might be in mental communication with Czarina. Micah waited.

  “The gnomes abducted Czarina’s daughter a week ago. If we resist, we’ve been assured they’ll kill her.”

  “No alliance, but I offer this alternative.” Hell couldn’t afford an all-inclusive alliance with the Cimmerian fairies, nor could he completely deny their request. “I’ll slaughter the gnomes, and eliminate their threat forever. Czarina’s daughter will be returned. All I ask in return is the name of the Ark of Heaven.”

  Her silver-pupils sparked again, and a moment later, she nodded. “Czarina accepts your counteroffer, so long as you offer the trade as a blood covenant.”

  Micah held up his hand, extended his claws, and took a step toward her. “Shall I make the blood deal with you, little one?”

  Shannya squared her shoulders and lifted her head at a haughty angle. “Yes.”

  She would go to any lengths for her royal.

  A slash to her cheek opened up a seam from ear to the corner of her mouth. Slapping her palm over the oozing wound, the fairy gasped, her eyes rounding in horror. An angel mark, even that of a fallen angel, would never fully heal. She’d be forever branded by his touch.

  Micah held her eyes as he licked her blood off his finger. “Consider the scar my gift to you for waltzing into my domain as if you’re as highly valued as my Queen.” He took another step in her direction. Forced to tilt her head back to meet his stare, the glimmer of fear in her black eyes mollified him a smidgen. “No one is as highly prized as my Queen. Make sure Czarina understands her misjudgment in sending you. Now, let’s finish.” He pierced his finger and thick blood oozed to the surface. After painting her lips black with his hemoglobin, he waited for her to lick them. “You must accept the covenant of your own free will,” he said when she made no move to finish the contract.

  “Phoenix Birmingham is the name of your Ark.” She flicked her tongue along her bottom lip, sealing their deal.

  Micah’s blank expression slipped, and her lopsided, pompous grin affirmed she’d witnessed it.

  Phoenix, the sole, long-lost heir of Jesus Christ? Micah sucked on his teeth. If he didn’t need the half-breed’s blood to open Heaven’s door, he would suck the Messiah power out of him. Or allow his wife to feast upon him when she came into her demonic inheritance.

  A Heaven-born man wanted his Hell-born wife. The irony. The most unlikely duo–their very natures at cross-purposes. Together they would burn the world to cinders. Could be fun to watch, if he didn’t want his wife for himself.

  Bittersweet to know the Ark of Heaven had been possessed by a demon under his control. Frustrating to discover Phoenix had slipped through their fingers. Once inside Phoenix, the minion must’ve known the scope of the mortal he controlled. Even diluted, the purity of the Messiah’s bloodline couldn’t have been missed. The taste of his pure soul would’ve been too sweet. And the hell spawn that’d been excised out of him by James Birmingham had never uttered one word about Phoenix’s blood.

  Jesus’s lineage changed their names, and moved to the United States decades ago. The demon he assigned to watch the family nonstop had been distracted by a brunette for over a month, allowing the family to escape his radar. Adding insult to injury, the brunette had been mortal. Once Micah discovered the demon’s error—six months later—he personally dealt with the demon in a forever kind of way, but only after terrorizing and killing the mortal woman as the demon watched. Even so the Messiah’s family had been lost for three generations. Until now. Unbelievable that Phoenix’s family surfaced on their radar as James Birmingham’s relation with no reference to Christ. They were slaughtered for the joy of spitting in the Sherlock’s face. His brother, Elias, had been given the pleasure of murdering Phoenix’s family and his daughter, Petralegija, had controlled the twelve-year-old Phoenix while he was forced to watch. Elias would be excited to discover he had sexually tainted the heir of Christ while Phoenix watched him rape his mother. Priceless. It was the way Jesus’ heir deserved to die. Nasty and difficult. But…he needed the sole living heir of Christ. One drop of his ‘I Am’ blood in conjunction with a spell would open a doorway to Heaven. Micah needed the Sherlock if his dreams ever stood a chance of coming true.

  Phoenix would be amazed by his Messiah power. Trusting his gut instinct probably came naturally to him as a Sherlock. His genetics were just as strong now as they were with Jesus’s daughter. The bloodline didn’t dilute through the centuries and was the cause for his wily instincts.

  The goody-two-shoes followed in his ancestors’ footsteps and became a savior of innocents. Micah understood how to taint such purity, though. If he could corrupt the Messiah, Phoenix would be easy. If only the world knew the simplicity of convincing Jesus to take a wife, despite Father’s recommendation to the contrary, few would put so much stock in his salvation.

  Debauching Phoenix would be entertaining on many levels. Pissing on Father’s grand scheme was high among the benefits, but the icing on the cake would be when Phoenix gained him entrance into Heaven. It’d been so long since he stepped foot in his homeland.

  Micah smiled. Fate had just dealt him a winning hand.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Two months later

  Cedar Rapids, Iowa

  Defeated! Defeated by the demon Beliel! Nix would rather have drunk crushed glass than have walked into the trap the demon King set for them.

  Nothing about this hunt had felt different than any other job. They were between stints and all were bored. Their last job ended with nothing more exciting than expelling a ghost, and they were itching for a challenge. Nix was on edge, antsy to find Mads and tell her how he felt. Spending her birthday with her had rattled him more than he could’ve anticipated.

  When the local, California news covered mysterious cracks in Iowa, they were ready to jump at any hint of activity. Nix, Gage, and Zoe had climbed into the Charger and took off to investigate, excited to have another agenda. Nix hadn’t expected to find much. His best hope had been a cold beer and a fast lay because the fissures weren’t classic symptoms of a supernatural presence.

  They walked into a hornet’s nest, mutilated animals, farm and household pets alike, with their organs removed and their carcasses left in the town square. The Sherlock’s best guess was the horrific slaughters were done to taunt the local townsfolk.

  Demons always left a sulfuric imprint, either smell or the substance, sometimes both. None could be found anywhere. On the second night, they discussed the likelihood a human was involved. A sick mother fucker, in Nix’s estimation. The following morning, they found a note written in blood clipped beneath his Charger’s wiper blade. The message: Catch me if you can, Birminghams, signed by Hell’s minion. In retrospect, they should’ve put the town in their rearview mirror. But Sherlocks weren’t easily cowed. Later that evening, a too easy trail of sulfur led straight to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. Before setting out to follow the path, Zoe had remarked the demonic footprints were a trap. Nix suggested he go in alone, but neither Zoe nor Gage would hear of turning back.

  A demon pressed the cold barrel of his gun against the back of his head hard enough to leave an indentation. Galling to have his own gun used against him.

  A baseborn demon forced Gage to his knees and held his head at a hard slant. Any attempt to move put him at risk of having his neck broken. The demon’s claws raked down Gage’s throat, drawing not just a groan of pain, but spending blood and scarring him for life. War-wounds his cousin would display proudly—if he survived.

  Another demon held Zoe with an arm around her waist and a knife pressing into the skin of her throat, a bleeding lip the least of her injuries. Her arm rested at an odd angle, the chalky white of her bone piercing the flesh of her bicep. Wincing at her ashen skin tone and eyes glassy from pain, Nix wished she would pass out to alleviate her agon
y. She’d given the demon hell before suffering defeat.

  A blue-skinned creature the likes of which he had never seen before stepped up to him. “Let me introduce myself.” His voice lowered so only Nix could hear him. “I’m Beliel, one of the Kings of Hell.” Nix stared at the fallen angel, a little awed by his presence. “Each time I meet you, I’m disappointed, Phoenix.” Beliel sucked on his teeth, the sharp, protruding points reminding Nix of a horror flick version of a vampire or werewolf. “After all your exploits, I expected more from you.”

  The demons would be the last thing he saw before dying, and he planned to go out holding his head high, ballsy to the very end. “I would say I’m sorry to disappoint, you gotta know it’d be a lie.”

  Beliel’s eyes flared the bright color of smoldering coals. Maybe angering him wasn’t the best path to follow, but Nix’s only real regret was not following his heart where it concerned Mads. All the years he’d spent wanting her, wasted because he tried to protect her. She was as damned to this life as he.

  “Slice her throat,” Beliel said.

  “No!” Gage screamed as the demon dragged the blade across Zo’s neck slowly—for maximum suffering. Blood bloomed, ran like paint splashed against a wall, and Zo gurgled, choking on the fluid.

  Fuck CPR! She couldn’t come back from the mutilation.

  “Oooo….” Beliel shivered in delight. “The gurgle of death…a composition vastly more beautiful than anything Bach could compose.”

  “I’ll kill you, motherfucker,” Nix promised.

  Gage sobbed, choking out Zoe’s name over and over, a eulogy to the woman he adored. Nix’s hands trembled. God, he’d never wanted to outlive any of his family. First his parents, and now Zo. Pawns in a demonic game.

  “Phoenix…Phoenix…Phoenix….” The King frowned. “We both know I win.” He sauntered toward Nix, his appearance shifting from the blue demon persona to his human form. The demon smiled as his façade settled into a cohesive countenance.