The Mephisto Kiss (The Redemption Of Kyros)

  Sliding out of his coat, he tossed it aside and moved toward Phoenix, gripping the hilt of one sword in position to begin a match. He tossed the other into the air, and for a nanosecond, he thought Phoenix might let it split his head in two, but he caught it in the nick of time and immediately pointed it directly at Key. “You arrogant, overbearing piece of shit, you had no right. None. There was no discussion, no request.”

  His brother didn’t know anything about Mariah, because he’d popped out almost as soon as she’d arrived. He had to know she was Jordan’s sister, because the resemblance was so strong, and he definitely knew she was Anabo, because he’d caught her scent. But that was it for him. He didn’t want to know anything more. He had come to Jane immediately. It was just as Key feared, and he didn’t have any idea what to do about it.

  Except fight. And so, here he was, sword in hand, about to spill a lot of blood because Phoenix couldn’t handle Mariah’s existence. “She’s all that’s good. And she’s Jordan’s sister.”

  “I don’t give a damn if she’s our sister. Nobody brings a Lumina recruit to the mountain without asking.”

  “Let’s skip the bullshit, Phoenix. Do you want to fight, or do you want to stand there and yell at me?”

  “I’d like to cut your heart out and feed it to the buzzards.”

  Key whipped his rapier through the air. “Bring it.”

  Phoenix lunged, and Key parried, the loud ping of steel against steel ringing through the cold morning air. Next to Jax, Key’d always been the best of them when it came to swords, but not today. Phoenix had cold, steady rage running through him. It wouldn’t last, but for now, Key knew his brother hated him as much as he hated Eryx. And no one hated Eryx as much as Phoenix. Not even Jordan.

  His brother fought with single-minded purpose, fierce and powerful, his black eyes hard with hate. Key wasn’t going to hold back and let him win, but when Phoenix thrust his blade into his only weak spot and skewered his side, he realized he just might lose. He redoubled his effort, but Phoenix forced him into retreat, and they moved around the perimeter of Jane’s grave. He hadn’t eaten, so he was weakening, and Phoenix knew it.

  “Take her back.”

  “You can’t be serious. Her life is crap, Phoenix.” He made another thrust, but his brother easily deflected and countered with his own, slicing into Key’s upper arm. “She’s not just some girl, not just Jordan’s sister. She’s Anabo, and we need her.”

  “I don’t need her.” He was savage in his attack, his rapier moving with lightning speed.

  Grimacing in pain when Phoenix sliced across his chest, Key came back and slipped beneath his guard, landing a hard jab into his brother’s shoulder. “She’s another soldier in our dirty war.”

  Phoenix came after Key and made another slice across his chest, shredding what was left of his shirt so that it hung in tatters from his shoulders. The snow on the ground was stained with blood, mostly Key’s. Phoenix was practically snarling. “Always about the job, isn’t it, brother? God forbid you do anything that isn’t about Mephisto.”

  Key waited to feel righteous, to be pissed off enough really to go after Phoenix. He hated it when one of them accused him of caring more about their war with Eryx than about his brothers. Didn’t they realize what he did for them? Did they have no clue how much he cared about them?

  Seeing the pure hatred in Phoenix’s eyes, he knew the answer was no. They saw him as an asshole dictator, a machine without feelings.

  His righteousness never materialized, and he wasn’t angry. Instead, he was overwhelmed with sorrow. His brothers didn’t know him at all, and it was his own fault for distancing himself from them. And as much as they didn’t know him, did he really know them? They had formed alliances with one another centuries ago, while Key had held himself apart, always the watcher, the referee, never in the game. He had grieved for Eryx, living in the past, and had missed what had been in front of him all along.

  He was tired. So tired. But Phoenix needed a real fight, so he carried on until he couldn’t anymore, and when his brother went for his heart, he didn’t raise his sword to protect himself.

  Phoenix stopped with the tip of his rapier an inch from Key’s chest. “You’re going to let me take you out?”

  “I’m not letting you do anything. I’m fucking exhausted. Just do it.” He saw his brother hesitate. “Do it!”

  The sword slowly moved away from him, and Phoenix said in a dead voice, “No.” He held the rapier hilt toward Key, and after he’d taken it, he turned and walked back to the foot of Jane’s grave. “You need to think real hard about talking her into staying, Kyros, because she won’t be Mephisto, and if that’s all she means to you, it’s cruel to keep her on the mountain.”

  He was telling Key that he’d never kiss her. Key wanted to believe his brother would cave, eventually, but Phoenix had kept Jane in the forefront of his mind for over a century, her memory so strong, he wouldn’t even touch an ordinary human girl. A guy with that kind of iron will wasn’t going to cave easily, if ever. Key had the urge to weep again, and he wondered at himself because he never cried; but knowing how horribly conflicted Phoenix was made him painfully sad. “That’s not all she means to me.” He was aware that blood was dripping into his boots. “She’s Jordan’s sister. She’s been through a lot, and she needs us to help her find her way back to her own humanity.”

  “If you think I’ll feel sorry for her, you’ve—”

  “She wouldn’t want anyone to feel sorry for her. She’s all about Jordan, and if all she can ever be is a Lumina, I think that’s just fine. There’s no rule that says a Mephisto has to accept an Anabo, just like they don’t have to accept us.”

  Phoenix was staring at Jane’s headstone. “So there’s no way you’ll take her back?”

  “If you knew … if you could see where she lives, and what she’s got in this world, and if you could understand how she feels about Jordan, you wouldn’t want her to go back. Besides, it’s not as if her being away from the mountain will make any difference. She’ll still be Anabo, and you’re still Mephisto, and you know she exists. It’s not going to make her any less tempting.”

  Jerking his gaze to Key’s, he scowled. “I’m not tempted. I’m not interested at all. And that’s not going to change, ever.”

  Key’s gaze moved to the headstone. “Of course Jane would want you to stay true to her, and you’re nothing if not loyal, Phoenix.” He was lying, because no way did he think Jane would be happy with Phoenix burying himself for over a century, or ignoring Mariah, whom Jane would see as a gift directly from God. He remembered Jane well. She was sweet and gentle and kind, and as much as she would want Phoenix to let go and move on, she’d want Mariah to find happiness.

  He hoped his words would go a little way toward waking Phoenix up, but no, he took them at face value and nodded as he said, “She’s got nothing to worry about.”

  Jordan had pointed out that Mariah must be very strong to have done what she did, and that gave him a measure of comfort. So maybe his brother was determined to make himself miserable, but that didn’t mean Mariah had to join him.

  “I’m sorry, Phoenix.”

  His brother looked up and turned his head. “Did the mighty leader of the Mephisto just apologize? Is this the apocalypse?”

  Key bent to get his coat so Phoenix wouldn’t see that he had tears in his eyes. When he straightened up again, he had himself back under control. “I wish I’d known she’s Anabo so I could have warned you. I’d never have done that to you, but I just didn’t know.”

  Phoenix stared at him for a while before he said, “Why can’t we see it?”

  “Because of her life. She’s been … things have happened that caused her to …” He sighed and watched snowflakes land on his brother’s dark hair. “She’s broken.”

  He’d swear Phoenix flinched before he quickly refocused on Jane’s grave. “Go home and eat, Key. You’re still bleeding, and you’re pale as a ghost.”

 
Knowing that the conversation was over, Key left his brother to his memories and disappeared from England.

  Jordan’s reunion with her sister was bittersweet: extremely joyous and heartbreakingly sad, all at once.

  Before she’d say a word about herself or any of their history, Mariah insisted that Jordan tell her about her life, about her parents and being the First Daughter. Then she wanted to know about Key, and Sasha, and where this room was where they were visiting. She had no idea they were in Colorado. Jordan knew Key intended for Mariah to stay, if she wanted, and Jordan was over the moon at the prospect of having her here, so she carefully sidestepped certain details, like Phoenix and the Mephisto-Anabo scent thing, and, most especially, the Mephisto Covenant. But she told her about Eryx, and the lost souls, and what the Mephisto did, and what had happened to her after she was abducted.

  She found it extremely strange how Mariah accepted all of it, asking a few questions but never appearing anything more than curious. After a while, she realized her sister was completely insulated. She’d wrapped herself within a blanket of safety that didn’t allow anything—good or bad—to filter through to her heart. Or her soul. That was why her light was so dim.

  Jordan had talked for almost an hour when she finally said, “Okay, you know everything about me. It’s your turn.”

  With that soft, hesitant smile, Mariah said, “I’m happy to talk about our parents, what I can remember of them, or my life now, but everything in between is best left unsaid, Viorica. I hope you understand.”

  Just like Holly. Don’t talk about it, shove it under the rug, pretend it didn’t happen. Jordan knew that pushing would only make Mariah close up more, so she let it go for now and said, “What did our parents look like?”

  “I have some photographs I can show you, if Kyros will take me home to get them.”

  “If I take us to the orphanage, can you direct me from there?” Jordan asked, way too eager and excited to wait for Key.

  Mariah nodded, and two minutes later, they stood on the steps of the old church. They were holding hands, and they stood and looked across the street for a while before Mariah turned to Jordan and said, “I live close enough to walk, if you like.”

  Jordan nodded and wished she knew how to put them under a cloak, but since she didn’t, she pulled up the hood of her jacket, effectively hiding her hair and shielding her face. As they walked, she couldn’t stop imagining the two of them walking this way fourteen years ago, except in the opposite direction. Her hand tightened around Mariah’s, and her sister looked at her, silently telling her that she had the same thought.

  Several blocks later, she stopped in front of a building that made Jordan want to cry. She’d lived in the beauty, comfort, and security of the White House for the past five years, while her sister had lived on poverty row. Upstairs was worse. She would tell Key the minute she saw him that he’d absolutely done the right thing getting Mariah out of here. There were cockroaches everywhere, making her skin crawl, but Mariah didn’t appear to notice.

  She tried to hide her revulsion over the place. Her sister was obviously humbly proud of her apartment. Jordan wasn’t sure if it was because she’d provided it for herself by working and earning her own money, or if it was because this was the first thing in her life that was truly hers.

  Mariah offered her tea, but Jordan didn’t want to stay. She could hear someone shouting, the smell in the building was awful, and she was freaking over the roaches. There was also something making her very antsy, some sixth sense of danger nearby. “If I’m caught here, there’ll be no way to explain it, like there was in London. Is it all right if we go back to Colorado?”

  Mariah nodded, her expression never changing from easy acceptance. “The pictures are here, in this album,” she said, pulling a book from a shelf that held a few chipped dishes and an ancient toaster.

  Jordan noticed she had a copy of the book her mom had done for charity before she died—homey stories about life in the White House, with pictures of the three of them. Just next to that was a Bible, and next to that was Kafka’s The Metamorphosis. It was a strange collection.

  Mariah turned with the photo album in her hand. “I promised I’d stay for a few days, and I’ve already called Gustav to tell him I’m taking off of work, but I don’t have any clothes in Colorado. Maybe I should get some while I’m here.”

  If Mariah decided to stay on the mountain, she’d have to give up her things, including the photos, and allow all of it to be returned to this apartment. For now, however, she was simply a guest, so Jordan nodded her agreement.

  Jordan nodded. “Good idea.”

  Her sister went to a flimsy curtain in the corner of the small room, just next to the narrow bed, and pushed it aside, revealing a tiny space with a pathetically small amount of clothes hanging there. She took out a pair of jeans—the only pair—a couple of simple cotton blouses, and a threadbare sweater. Jordan thought of her closet at home, stuffed with designer jeans and couture ball gowns. As soon as she was back in Colorado for good, she was taking Mariah shopping. She’d buy her anything she wanted, in every color.

  She supposed Mariah didn’t have a bag, because after she added two pairs of panties and an old T-shirt that Jordan decided must be a sleep shirt, she rolled the clothes up into a tidy ball, then strapped a belt around it. Turning, she smiled again at Jordan. “I’m ready.”

  Jordan was moving closer to reach for her hand and pop them back to Colorado when the door to the tiny apartment flew open and a guy in blue coveralls and a shadow across his eyes came in. A superfast glance at Mariah told her this wasn’t a neighborly visit. Her eyes were wide with surprise. Jordan simultaneously remembered the night she was abducted and Jax’s lesson from just a few hours ago. “Assess the situation and stay cool. You’re ten times stronger than any lost soul, and equal in strength to a Skia, but that’s not much help if you panic. Stand your ground.”

  This lost soul wasn’t going to take her. Not this time. She faced off against him and wished like everything she had a knife. She couldn’t pop out without Mariah, who was just out of reach. He stared at her for three beats, then stunned her completely when he turned toward Mariah. Before she could register that he was after her sister, not her, he’d pushed Mariah to the bed and was shoving her blouse up and over her bra.

  Filled with rage, Jordan grabbed the old toaster, launched herself onto the guy’s back, and smashed his head as hard as she could, gratified when she saw blood. He grunted and collapsed on top of Mariah.

  “Creepy son of a bitch,” Jordan mumbled in English as she shoved him off of her sister. “Do you know this guy?”

  “No, I’ve never seen him before.” Mariah smiled up at her. “You’re really strong, aren’t you?” She’d just been attacked by a stranger, but there was no fear in her eyes. Only that calm acceptance. And she hadn’t fought. For those few seconds that guy had been holding her down, Mariah had passively lain there and made no move to fight him off.

  With her heart shattering into a million pieces, Jordan returned her sister’s smile. Her whole life, it was the hardest thing she’d ever done. “Yes. Very … strong,” she managed to whisper around the ginormous lump in her throat. “Let’s go home now.”

  As if nothing had happened, Mariah sat up, tugged her shirt down, reached for her bundle of clothes, and accepted Jordan’s hand. “Maybe we should drag him out into the hall.”

  “I’ll get Key and come back for him, Mariah. He’s a lost soul.”

  Her sister never looked at the guy. She nodded and said, “Okay.”

  Key had stripped out of his bloody clothes and taken a shower as soon as he got home. He was looking forward to getting something to eat after he dressed, but before he was even finished drying off, he heard Jordan calling his name. Wrapping the towel around his hips, he went into the bedroom and saw her standing next to the bed, eyes wide, looking at him like he was all that stood between her and Hell. Hurrying to her, he grabbed her next to him just as she beg
an to cry. “What’s happened, Jordan? Shhh, it’s okay. I’m here. Tell me what’s wrong. Is it Mariah?”

  She nodded against his chest and explained that they’d gone to her apartment for some pictures, and a lost soul had busted in. “I thought he was there for me, but he went after Mariah, and I smashed his head with a toaster. She never fought, Key.” She clung tighter to him, her fingers digging into his back. “She just … lay there.”

  All kinds of alarms were going off in his head. “You say he pushed her shirt up?”

  She leaned her head back and looked up at him. “I think he intended to rape her.”

  “If that was his intention, he would have done something to restrain you first so you couldn’t run for help. I think he was looking for her birthmark.”

  Her face went white. “How would he …” She looked totally confused.

  “Were you on the street at all?”

  She nodded. “We started at the old church.”

  His first inclination was to give her a lecture about going into the world as Mephisto when she was still faking real life at the White House, but he decided that was something for later. “Did you see the guy anywhere on your way?”

  “No, and Mariah said she’d never seen him before.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “In her room. I called Mathilda to look after her while I came to see you.”

  He dropped one arm and kept the other around her while he walked her toward the bathroom and guided her toward the chair next to the sauna. “Wait right here while I get some clothes on.”

  She was staring at his chest. “My God, Key, what happened to you?”

  “Phoenix was visiting Jane’s grave, and I figured he’d talk himself into doing something extremely stupid, so I took a couple of swords and let him work a little of it out.”

  She was still staring at his chest. “I think he worked a lot of it out. Is he this wounded?”

  “No, but I managed not to lose my dignity completely. It’s all okay, Jordan. Just wait a minute, and I’ll be ready.”