Faegen, Trinity - Mephisto Covenant, The

by BTKT

  “It’ll make me . . . sick.”

  “It won’t, I swear.” He watched her take the glass and said, “Small sips.”

  She drank a little and made a face. “It’s like Nyquil.”

  He resisted smiling at the comparison of his two-hundreddollar reserve scotch whiskey to a four-dollar bottle of cold medicine. “It gets better.”

  She kept sipping until it was gone and handed him the glass. “It did get better.”

  He set it on the bedside table, and after she was lying down again, he tucked her in. “Try to sleep. I’ll stay right here until you wake up.”

  “Jax, I don’t want to go back, but I . . . don’t have anywhere else to go, and I can’t leave Chris there all alone, especially now, when his dad is going to be gone.”

  “I know, Sasha. We’ll talk about it when you wake up. Go to sleep now.” He’d force her to sleep if he could, but she was way past his being able to manipulate her in any way.

  “Why did he do it, Jax? He hated Melanie, never even looked at Brett, made fun of the Ravens.”

  “Everyone wants something, and if they want it bad enough, and if the Skia can figure out what it is, they’ll cave. Tim wanted something—I don’t know what—and he believed Bruno when he told him he could have it.”

  She was quiet for a while before she asked, “Would you sit here with me for a while?”

  He sat and stroked her hair, watching for her lids to get heavy.

  They didn’t. She was wide-eyed, staring up at his ceiling. She shivered.

  “Are you still cold?” She nodded. “Would you get in with me?” Standing, he shrugged out of the trench coat and tossed it to

  a chair, then took off his boots and got into bed with her, still in jeans and a T-shirt. He pulled her next to him, and she laid her head against his shoulder, wrapped an arm around his middle, and was asleep in two seconds. He figured he’d stay awake until his brothers came home, then leave her there asleep while he went down to meet with them and figure out a new plan to keep her safe.

  Instead, he drifted off, and when he woke up, he was on his side and she was curled into him like they were spoons in a drawer. He realized he’d woken up because Phoenix was standing next to the bed. “How did it go?” he whispered.

  “We put Tim on the floor of his bedroom and set it up so he was comatose, and M worked on his heart. We put Melanie in the room so she’d see him right away. Chris wasn’t asleep, but Ty fixed it so he was after the freeze faded. That’s when shit got crazy.”

  “How?”

  “Melanie saw Tim passed out on the floor, but she didn’t call an ambulance. She got dressed, then went to see if he was dead yet. He wasn’t, so she went downstairs and made coffee. She had a cup, went back upstairs and checked again. She was pissed off he still wasn’t gone, and cussed him for living. This went on for over an hour, until Key said to hell with it and made Chris have a bad dream so he’d wake up and want to check on his dad. We were there almost two hours before an ambulance came to get Tim.”

  “If Eryx knew, he’d take her out.”

  Surprising him, because he thought she was still asleep, Sasha asked, “Why? I thought when they die, he takes their soul and it makes him more powerful.”

  Phoenix said, “All true, but he wants them to live as long as possible so they can recruit new followers. If a lost soul kills another, it’s automatic death, and Melanie’s not calling an ambulance for Tim is like trying to kill him.”

  Jax withdrew his arms from around Sasha, turned over, and sat up, blinking the last of sleep from his eyes. “What day is it?”

  “Thursday,” Phoenix said.

  Glancing at the clock, Jax said, “School starts in two hours. I’ll take Sasha home for some clothes and her books, then we’ll come back here, get dressed, and meet over breakfast.”

  Phoenix said, “I’ll tell Key,” then disappeared.

  Sasha rolled to her back and looked at him. “Jax, what am I going to do? Maybe I’m stronger that before, but last night, he was . . . I couldn’t get away from him.” The concept of being overpowered wasn’t something he could comprehend, but looking into her eyes, he could see how frightened she was. “Did you eat dinner?”

  “Just what we had at the coffeehouse.”

  He shook his head. “Not enough. You’ve got to eat protein. If you get in a bad situation again, if you’ve eaten what you need, you won’t be as weak or helpless. As for Brett, we’ll think of something, Sasha. He won’t bother you again, I swear it.”

  She sat up and slipped her arms around his neck. “I wish I could stay here until they’re all gone, but I can’t leave Chris.”

  “I wish we could take them all out, immediately, so you wouldn’t be in harm’s way.”

  “I want Bruno gone so he can’t take any more oaths, and I want the others gone so they can’t talk people into pledging, but when I think about what happens after they’re gone . . .”

  He sighed. “Is there just no way you’ll change your mind, Sasha?”

  Pulling back, she looked into his eyes and didn’t say yes, didn’t say no. “We should get dressed.”

  ---

  No one was at the house when Jax took her to get some clothes; they were probably at the hospital with Tim. She hurriedly stuffed some things in one of the Macy’s bags from their shopping trip, grabbed her laptop and backpack, then he popped them back to his room.

  “You can use my shower, and I’ll go next door to use Phoenix’s. If you need something, press the intercom button and ask for Mathilda. But fair warning, she’ll pop in really quickly.”

  He left then, and she went to his bathroom, gawking at how huge it was. He had a ginormous bathtub, a separate shower, and a sauna. A sauna!

  She walked farther and was in his closet, which was as big as the bathroom. He had a gazillion pairs of black leather boots and scads of shoes. He had at least twenty suits, all black, and dress shirts hanging in a perfect row, separated by color. He had tuxedos and flannel, sweaters and jeans, and a whole section was nothing but leathers. Standing there, looking around at his clothes, where he got dressed every day, she was overcome by his scent, that lovely fragrance of cider and spices, making her think of everything warm and wonderful.

  In the middle of the back wall was a long, built-in dresser. She moved closer and noticed a small wooden box. It was rough hewn, almost primitive, but smooth and shiny from years of handling. Unable to quell her curiosity, she picked it up and lifted the lid. Inside was a small scrap of fabric, maybe linen, faded to beige, impossibly thin and worn in one place, as if he’d rubbed that spot over and over, wearing away the fibers. She lifted it out and saw a lock of dark hair beneath. It had to be his mother’s. He’d had this little box for a thousand years, kept it where he’d see it, every day, took out that little bit of fabric and touched it so he wouldn’t forget, so she’d never die in his heart.

  Blinking, not wanting to cry again, she put the fabric back, replaced the lid, and carefully set the box back on the dresser.

  She went to the shower and couldn’t stop thinking about that little box. She was still thinking about it when she stood in front of the mirror in his bathrobe and blew her hair dry.

  He knocked and came in with a towel around his waist. Oh, man, he was amazing to look at. “Sorry. I need to get in my closet.” His gaze swept her from head to toe, not failing to notice the robe was dragging the ground, and he smiled.

  “I hope you don’t mind. I was wet, and cold.”

  He walked on toward his closet. “Of course I don’t mind. What’s mine is yours.” He closed the door, and she went back to drying her hair, wondering if he was looking inside that little box. Did he do it every day, before he got dressed? Or at night, before he went to bed? Maybe by now he didn’t take it out except every once in a while.

  Why couldn’t she stop thinking about it? What was it about that little box with his mother’s mementos that fascinated her so much?

  By the time he opened the do
or, dressed in jeans and another henley, this one red, she was curious enough to ask. “Don’t hate me for being nosy, but I looked in your closet.”

  He shrugged while he took a seat on the bench close to the tub and pulled on his boots. “Not sure why you’d look. Just a bunch of clothes.”

  “It’s a girl thing.”

  “Really? Girls like to look in guys’ closets?”

  “If it’s a guy they like, they want to look at all his stuff.” She fidgeted with the hairbrush. “I’m kinda curious about that little box on your dresser.”

  Done with his boots, he stood and disappeared into the closet, returning a few seconds later with the box. “This one, you mean?”

  She nodded, not admitting she’d already looked inside. “It looks so old.”

  He came close, the box on his palm, and lifted the lid. “I made it when I was a kid, from an old dead hickory tree on Kyanos. Took me a couple of months of whittling.” He moved still closer, to show her the contents. “When my mother died, we each took a piece of her robe and a lock of her hair before we buried her.” His fingers lifted the fabric from the box, and as if instinctive, he rubbed it. “Some day, it’ll disintegrate, especially if I don’t stop touching it, but it’s funny, I can’t help it.” He looked up and met her gaze. “Kinda weird, huh?”

  “No,” she whispered around the lump in her throat, “not weird at all.”

  He put the lid back and returned to the closet, calling out as he went, “Are you about ready? I bet you’re hungry, and Hans is making his famous pancakes, just because you’re here.”

  “Hans?”

  “He’s the cook, a Purgatory that came to the mountain during World War One.” He returned to the bathroom and watched while she put on some makeup. “You don’t need all that stuff, Sasha. You’re unholy gorgeous without it.”

  “You’re such a guy.” “I’m just pointing out the obvious.” “You’re prejudiced because I’m Anabo. Also inclined to flattery.” She leaned closer to the mirror to put on mascara, well aware he was watching her every move.

  “That looks hard to do.”

  “You get used to it.” She dropped the mascara into her cosmetics bag and dug around for lip gloss. When she was done, she pulled out her clothes. “I’ll go in your closet to get dressed.”

  “Do you have to? Let me watch.” She walked away. “You’re bluffing. If I said yes, you’d leave.” “You’re right, but only because we need to get downstairs, and I’d be way too distracted.” “What is it with guys and naked girls?” He was following her. “Not girls. Girl. Just you. I only want to see you naked.” She’d never understand why she did it, but she jerked the tie belt loose, flung off the robe, and turned to face him. “Okay, there. Now you’ve seen me naked. Is it really such a big deal?”

  He wasn’t looking at her body. Just her eyes. He looked a little hurt. “You don’t have to make fun of me.”

  Everything went still. So still, she’d swear the rivers stopped running and the birds weren’t singing. “I would never make fun of you, Jax.”

  Turning away, he walked out and closed the door behind him.

  Not sure what had just happened, but feeling like she’d kicked a puppy, she hurriedly got dressed, then went to find him. He was standing at the window in his room, looking out at the mountains. Moving to stand next to him, she reached for his hand. “Are you mad at me?”

  “No. It’s okay, Sasha. I don’t know when to stop, and I forget sometimes that you’re seventeen and still so innocent.”

  “I know what’s up, Jax. It’s not like I exist in a bubble.”

  “Sure, you know, but you haven’t lived it.” His hand tightened around hers. “And for all that I’ve been alive a thousand years, I’m about as clueless as you are when it comes to how this works.” He sighed. “I want to be with you all the time. I want to know everything you do, and why. I wish I knew how to be romantic, and I think a lot about stuff they do in movies, but then it just seems so corny, and I know I’d start laughing and ruin everything.”

  The sun was sparkling on the snow, and the sky was so blue it almost hurt to look at it. “You do lots of romantic things, without even knowing it.”

  “Like what?” He obviously thought she was lying.

  “Like scattering all over the school a million copies of a note that changed everything for me. Like saving me every time I turn around. Can’t get much more romantic than that. And taking me shopping when you hate shopping, then buying me all those clothes, and the computer. You stood up to Brett for me at school, which made you stand out when you said you didn’t want that. You’re always making sure I eat, because you know I’m starving all the time.” She turned her head to look up at his profile. “And you’re not trying to coerce or cajole me into staying, even though it means so much to you if I do.” She didn’t mention the little box, or that she thought that was the sweetest, most amazing thing ever.

  “So you’re not thinking I’m lame because I don’t bring you flowers, or write poems about you?”

  “It’s not romantic if it’s not real, and the things you do for me are because that’s who you are, so it’s real.” She smiled. “Like really real.”

  He squeezed her hand, then turned to walk her to the door. “Let’s eat and figure out how we’re going to keep you safe until next week.”

  The hallway was wide; the walls were painted dark red, dimly lit by candles in sconces; and every so often, they passed a door or a painting. After a while she realized the paintings weren’t copies. “Jax?”

  “They’re all genuine, and unknown because we commissioned them when the artists were alive, and no one but us has ever seen them. There are hundreds, all over the house.”

  She heard a Green Day song that got louder as they approached another door.

  “That’s Zee’s room. He’s a music freak. You should see his music room. He has every instrument known to mankind and can play all of them. In his room, he has a stereo system that’d blow you away.”

  They turned a corner and were in another long hallway. “How big is this house?”

  “It’s three floors, five if you count the basement and the attic. There are six suites. You maybe didn’t notice, but there’s another door in my room and it leads to a little sitting room, then another, smaller bedroom, that could be a study, or whatever. All the suites are like that. Then there are twenty regular bedrooms, I think, but I’ve forgotten.”

  “Why so many? Do the Purgatories have their own rooms?” “No, they don’t sleep, or shower, or do anything human.” “How old is this house?” “Over a hundred years. After Phoenix lost Jane, we moved from Yorkshire, thinking a change would be good for him. It didn’t make any difference, but here we are.”

  “Did you always live in Yorkshire until you came to Colorado?”

  “No, we started in Greece, then Russia. We were there over four hundred years, until we moved to Jamaica, but it turns out we like snow more than sand. Then we moved to Yorkshire.”

  They came to a staircase, wide and sweeping down into a circular grand hall with a white marble floor, inlaid with a black M, just like Jax’s birthmark. When they were standing on the M, she looked up. Far above the entry hall, the ceiling was domed, painted with sky, clouds, and angels; a round skylight was at the pinnacle. The walls were paneled in rosewood, edged in gilt, populated by portraits of men, women, and children in clothing from centuries past. There were three curved consoles spaced against the rounded walls, each one decorated with inlaid wood, topped with pink marble and a candelabra. To her right was a double doorway that led into what looked like a living room, equally as opulent and awesome as the front hall. To the left appeared to be a library. Jax steered her in that direction.

  Bookshelves went from floor to ceiling all the way around the humongous room, and a narrow catwalk intersected them halfway up, accessed by a spiral staircase. An enormous fireplace graced the wall opposite the doorway, a portrait of a woman in a blue Regency-era dress hung abo
ve the mantel, and candle sconces provided soft, golden light to the dark corners where the sunlight from four large windows didn’t reach. It was like stepping into the pages of a nineteenth-century novel.

  “You’re blown away, yeah?” “Blown. Away.” “Thought you’d like it. When you come back, you can hang out in here and look over the books. We have lots of first editions, some of them autographed.”

  Still holding her hand, he walked her back through the front hall and around the stairs, toward an open doorway that led to the dining room. There was a table big enough to land a plane, gorgeous china, two humongous chandeliers, a sideboard with silver platters and chafing dishes, and five really big guys staring at them as they walked in. For some weird reason, seeing them like this, fully dressed, awake, and not in a panic, made her anxious. These were Jax’s brothers, and she wondered if they would like her, if she’d like them. If she stayed, they’d be her constant companions for the next million years.

  They each had the same black hair and were dressed almost identically, all in black, standing a few feet apart, obvious in an attempt to look casual, but none quite pulling it off. She felt like a specimen in a lab experiment, and these were scientists, studying her to see what she was made of.

  Jax began introductions. They were the same in so many ways, yet entirely different in their facial features, in the way they wore their hair, in their personalities. Denys was the gregarious one, the life of the party, she thought, the guy who made it his mission to make people laugh. He spoke first, eyeing her red dress and Jax’s red shirt. “Okay, fess up, you guys planned that whole dress-like-each-other thing, didn’t you?”

  Considering the five of them were all literally dressed alike, it was funny, and she laughed.

  The tallest of all of them, Ty, said, “Do you ride horses?” “No, I grew up in San Francisco.” “Then I’ll get you a horse and teach you to ride.” The brother next to him elbowed him, and he looked insulted. “What? I was just trying to be nice.”