The Mephisto Covenant (28 page)

“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 door, 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 retur
ned 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 flat
tery.” 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 t
o get downstairs,
and I’d be way too distracted.” “What is it with guys and naked girls?” He was following her. “Not gir
ls. 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. Af
ter 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 ent
ry 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 above 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. W
hen 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.”

“Hello, Sasha,” the elbowing brother who had a ponytail said with a smile. “I’m Kyros, but everyone calls me Key. We’re glad you’re here.”

“We’re glad you’re alive,” said another brother, Xenos, who went by Zee and had severely short hair, a tattoo of a question mark on his neck, and a very large diamond stud winking in one ear, “and we’ll be even more glad if you decide to stay. Do you like music?”

“Only a lot.” “Like who, for instance?” She named a few of her fav
orites and he nodded, as if she
passed inspection. “Have you ever heard of Arcadia?” “Zee, back off,” Jax said. “She’
s not going to like your grunge
punk.” “Actually, I have. They’re ou
t of Britain, and played at the
Filmore in San Francisco. Some friends and I snuck in and saw them.”

Jax looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. “You snuck into a concert?”

“We’d have bought tickets, but it was closed to anyone under twenty-one.”

The last of the brothers was Phoenix. He didn’t smile. “I have an idea about how to keep you from getting into any more trouble at the Shrivers’.”

“What is it?” “Don’t go back.” Before she could respond, a deep voice said from behind her, “Breakfast is getting cold.”Turning, she had to stifle a gasp. A man with dark skin and dark eyes stood in the doorway, wearing an outfit that was straight out of the Arabian Nights. He looked ready to jump a horse, grab a broadsword, and raid a village in the name of Mohammed.

“Sasha,” Jax said
, “this is Deacon, our butler.”

All righty, then. It was weird enough to have a butler, but to have one who looked like Deacon made it severely wack. “Hello, Deacon. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The man nodded slowly, just once, not making eye contact. Then he turned and left.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No, he’s old school and won’t look directly at a woman who’s not in his family. He’s a Moor, our first Purgatory, who came to us during the Crusades. His wife and daughters were killed by crusaders, and he’s nowhere close to forgiving God for letting that happen.”

“Why would a Muslim man be named Deacon?”

“It’s a nickname. He’s been after us for centuries because we’re filthy infidels who offend him, so he’s forever lecturing us. One night, maybe three hundred years ago, Key called him Deacon, and it stuck.”

Phoenix said, “Let’s eat.”

Ten minutes later, Jax wondered why he had thought it would be a good idea to introduce S
asha to his brothers. He should
have listened to Phoenix, who told him to have breakfast served to her in his room, and to meet with the brothers alone. He’d warned him this could lead to disaster. At the far end of the table, Phoenix ate his breakfast without saying a word, but Jax knew what he was thinking, knew he would take the first opportunity to say, I told you so. Jax decided he’d pound him. Just as soon as he kicked the living daylights out of his other brothers.