Pandora's Box (2 page)

The statement tugged at Nix’s bizarre sense of humor, and he chuckled. She glanced at him sharply, eyes narrowing as he commented with a lopsided grin. “The first step on the road to recovery is admitting there’s a problem.”

The look she gave him could have withered roses. “You find this funny?” she snapped. “He’s five, Mr. Birmingham—”

“Nix,” he corrected, catching his uncle’s disapproving glance and disappointed sigh.

“—and your humor is inappropriate.”

He scratched the back of his head, and shuffled his feet like a chastised five-year-old. “Sorry.”

“Your insensitivity is duly noted.”

Chapter Three

“We should look at that.” Madison nodded at the blood saturating his shirtsleeve, hoping the gash wasn’t too deep.

The square-jawed stranger overdue for a shave, jabbed his finger between the sliced material of his shirt and widened the opening to get a better look at the wound. He winced, and shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

“Not in my home.” She shuffled her fingers through Amos’s hair, ruffling the flaxen strands off his forehead. “He’ll be out a while. My first aid kit is in the kitchen.”

“Mind if I sit with him?” James stared at the child with a thoughtful frown on his face.

“Why?” Suspicion should be her middle name. Trust should be earned, except, she needed to trust someone. Georgie had sent them; she’d come through, which was more than she could say about any of the other psychics.

“To keep an eye on him.” The older man pulled a device out of his pocket. Lights covered the top of the contraption. With no idea what the item could be used for, Madison watched him manipulate its gauges. “I promise I won’t do anything to him without asking your permission first.”

She tossed every rule she ever taught Amos out the window. The men were strangers, but she would allow them to stay. She glanced at Phoenix. Light brown hair, spiky in the front, giving the impression his fingers couldn’t stay out of the short strands. A slightly crooked nose, probably been broken at least once. A walking pheromone, quite possibly the sexiest man she’d ever seen in a pair of well-worn jeans. Not that she liked his abrasive attitude at this point.

“I guess it’s okay.” She grimaced, a headache threatening to batter her temples. “Come on,” she said to Phoenix, who glanced at his uncle before following her. “Sit,” she instructed when they entered the kitchen.

The chair Nix pulled out scraped against the floor, as she retrieved the first aid kit. “Mind if I ask you some questions?” Phoenix sat and stretched his long legs out in front of him.

“Go ahead. Want some coffee?” She dumped the supplies on the table. “It’s already brewed.”

“Yeah, thanks. Black.”

She poured the coffee, placed the mug on the table and pulled out a chair beside him. “Give me your arm.”

Phoenix laid his arm in front of her. He watched closely as she rolled up his bloody shirtsleeve. A conglomeration of tattoos flanked his arm and disappeared beneath the torn pieces of his shirt. She wondered how far they went up and how many blanketed his skin. She resisted asking. They appeared nicely done, but she knew little to nothing about tattoos and couldn’t make an informed opinion.

She bent over the cut and got to work. As she cleaned away the blood, she realized the gash wasn’t as bad as she thought. A stitch or two might be preferable, but it’d heal okay without them. The swirly hieroglyphic stylized tattoo wouldn’t be as lucky. Cleaved in two, it would be forever dissected. He should consider himself fortunate. If not for his quick reflexes, Amos might have hacked his arm off.

“How long has he been like this?”

“Amos?” She glanced up. Phoenix nodded. “A little over three months. He was fine one day, happy, chatty, and the next….” She struggled to hold it together. The strain wore on her, she couldn’t sleep, couldn’t focus on daily chores, worried without end, and hope had grown thinner than a sheet of ice. “The next day, mute and homicidal.”

“Did he suffer any trauma?”

Madison jerked the antiseptic soaked gauze over his arm. “I swear to God if someone asks me that one more time, I’m going to take his head off!”

“Or arm,” he said dryly.

Her glare snapped to his. She’d just about endured enough of his smarta—and suddenly she grew aware how forceful she’d become in her anger. Contrite, she muttered, “Sorry.”

He let her finish cleaning and bandaging the wound in silence. Probably out of self-preservation.

“Your tattoo won’t ever be the same, but you’ll live.”

He shrugged. “Won’t be the first tat to suffer.”

Unsure what to say to his statement, she remained silent. She finished securing the bandage, and he flexed his arm.

“Nice dressing.”

“Thanks.”

“Nurse?”

She shook her head. “No.” She packed the supplies back into the box. “Just lots of practice lately.”

Phoenix placed a hand over hers, keeping her from tucking away the kit’s contents and motioned to her neck. “You’re bleeding, too.”

Madison touched her throat, shocked when her fingers came away smeared with blood.

“May I?” He held up the medical supplies.

She nodded and watched as he doused gauze with antiseptic. “Dr. Nix at your service,” he said with a grin, two adorable dimples charming her where words failed.

Madison rolled her eyes, and tipped her head to the side to give him better access. He brushed her hair off her neck, back behind her shoulder. Such a simple gesture, yet it felt terribly personal. The air grew thick and sticky with her awareness of him. She shifted in her seat and crossed her legs.

Madison stared into his eyes. Green, she thought, his eyes were green, gorgeous and intense, with ridiculously long eyelashes women would fantasize about. If they didn’t, they should. A flicker of compassion, concern, and something else she couldn’t identify flashed in his eyes.

“Ready?” he asked.

The husky tenor of his voice forced her gaze to shift to his mouth. Nice, sexy lips, designed for kissing. She gave a mental shake but couldn’t resist wondering how his mouth would feel on hers.

“Madison?” Humor deepened his voice, a touch of a smile tilted the edges of the lips she’d been fantasizing about, and she realized she still stared at them. “You ready?” he asked again, and her eyes widened in embarrassment over her foolish stupor.

She swallowed hard. “Yeah.” She whispered past the lump in her throat and forced her vision to lock on the wall over his shoulder. Good God, what was wrong with her? Her pulse throbbed like crazy, and she felt woozy. Loss of blood! Must be why she reacted that way. No other explanation made sense.

Even though the antiseptic stung like hell, the gentle touch coming from such a gruff man surprised her. “It’s not bad,” he said, dabbing the blood away. “Just a nick.”

Well, she could nix the blood loss theory. Exhaustion and stress were the only other excuses she could come up with. “I’ve suffered worse.” Her voice sounded off, kind of hoarse. She tried to clear her throat delicately, but he must have noticed her unease, because his perceptive eyes met hers. Again, she thought she caught the edge of concern reflected in their green depths.

“This isn’t the first time he’s attacked you?”

“No. It’s the first time he’s tried to seriously kill me, though.” She sighed as she closed her eyes, ready to give up fighting, the sudden tears threatening to fall. Okay, woozy and acting strange because of strain…not because of him. Seriously, as far as first impressions went, she wasn’t impressed.

Madison opened her eyes and stared at him, unsure of Phoenix Birmingham’s efficiency or professionalism. She decided not to jump to judgment just yet. “Finished?” she asked, her throat tight, burning from the effort to hold back her emotions.

“Yeah.” He tossed the gauze on the pile in the center of the table and leaned back into his chair.

Her motions jerky, she tossed everything back into the first aid kit, trashed the bloody gauze, and washed her hands.

“You sound and look exhausted.”

A lifetime ago, his honesty might have offended her. Now, she wasn’t worried about her appearance. With her son’s life in jeopardy, her looks weren’t important. She stared out the kitchen window, gravesites, like dirty little secrets, pock marked the lawn. The pet cemetery in her backyard placed the important things in life into perspective. “I am exhausted and a breath away from giving up,” she admitted for the first time. She turned to look at him, leaning against the sink.

Phoenix sipped his coffee. “Where’s Amos’s father?”

She hugged herself in an unconscious protective gesture. Imminent defeat hung heavy on her shoulders. “I don’t know. He walked out shortly after Amos turned two. Haven’t heard from him since. Personally, I hope the bastard is rotting in a terrorist prison, being raped and tortured on an hourly basis.”

“Bloodthirsty much?” he quipped, elevating his eyebrows, a half-grin on his mouth. Her gaze narrowed, and he said quickly, “It was a joke.”

She sent him a spiritless smile, telling herself to get a handle on her sensitivity. “Yeah,” she agreed with a sigh. “I guess I am a little bloodthirsty where he’s concerned.”

“I didn’t mean what I said upstairs.” He crossed an ankle over a knee. His green-eyed inspection crawled all over her, starting at her feet and ending with her hair.

She couldn’t get a read on his quick appraisal of her. Did she even want to know?

“My mouth gets away from me sometimes.” He rubbed his fingers over his bottom lip, a sexy move that betrayed his awkwardness. The mother inside her wanted to reassure him.

“Thank you.”

“So, tell me your story.”

Chapter Four

Nix sat straight up in his chair when Amos walked sleepy eyed into the kitchen and climbed into Madison’s lap. Not the crazed maniacal child from an hour ago. Flummoxed by the dramatic change, he stared at the boy, uncertain how to proceed. Amos snuggled against her like no violence had ever occurred between them. She rubbed his back, squeezed him tight, reassuring him without words all was forgiven. His heart twisted at the tenderness Madison bestowed on her child. These were the little things he’d missed growing up without his mother.

From the doorway, James asked, “Does he always snap out of it like that?”

She kissed the top of Amos’s head and mumbled against his hair, “Yeah.” When she rubbed her cheek against the boy’s blond hair, Nix thought her affection quite the sexy thing.

His uncle inclined his head toward the door. “We need to talk, Nix.”

He nodded and slid his chair back. Before he could rise from his seat, Madison spoke. “Please. I need to hear it. I can’t stand being in the dark any longer.”

A glance at his uncle and he shrugged at the question he saw in James’s eyes. Should they discuss the situation now? At this point, Nix thought honesty might be refreshing for her.

James nodded. “Okay.”

Nix plopped back into his seat. James sat beside him and rested his arms on the table, spreading his fingers wide. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I know he’s not possessed, which is what Georgie and I originally thought. The signs are there, but the exorcism didn’t expel anything, and the holy water on his forehead forced no reaction.”

“Should there have been? A reaction, I mean.”

“If there was a demon inside him, yes.”

She digested the information with a slight pursing of her lips. “So, it’s not a demon?”

“We can’t discount demonic activity because there’s sulfur in his room like dust throughout a house. Can you—”

“What does sulfur indicate?”

Nix shifted and stretched his legs beneath the table. “Demons manifest it.” The horror written on her face forced Nix to ask, “You really want us to continue?”

She squeezed her son a little tighter. “Definitely.” Conviction strengthened her tone.

Nix respected her tenacity. Fear clouded her eyes, still she soldiered onward, determined to face the problem head-on. Who said soldiers couldn’t come in pretty packages? Certainly not him.

“Can you think of anyone unfamiliar hanging around right before this started?” James asked.

“Or someone you know acting strange?” Nix added.

She thought the question over before shaking her head. Demons could possess a person and impersonate them with such accuracy one might never know another individual hosted a spawn of Hell. Typically the person knew the baneful creature stalking them. Why did a spawn of Satan want a child?

“Can you think of anything happening out of the ordinary right before he went wonky?” He’d said something wrong because she frowned at him. He couldn’t win with her.

“No,” she said quickly. “He was fine one day and then twisting the cat’s neck the next day.”

“He’s five,” Nix said with some disbelief.

“Yeah, the cat fought back and scratched him bad enough to warrant my one and only trip to the ER. If it escaped your notice earlier, he’s stronger than me when he’s raging. When he’s like this….” She rubbed his back again, “He’s my baby, except he’s become mute, been diagnosed with selective mutism.”

Unsure of the exact meaning of the term, Nix could tell by her frown she held no appreciation for the diagnosis.

She licked her lips and continued. “Next, he gutted the dog. Carving her up would’ve been too simple; instead he played in her blood and intestines.”

The horrific picture she painted sounded just like something a demon child would start doing before gravitating to bigger prey, like humans. He had a hard time merging the child she described with the one curled up asleep in her arms.

“And Dixie was a Great Dane, so no small feat to constrain her.” Madison expelled a long breath. “Before he sliced her up, he would ride her around the backyard like a horse. They were friends, playmates. He’s ripped legs and wings off flies, burned ants with the sun and a magnifying glass, and threw darts with deadly accuracy at squirrels and birds, but Amos loved Dixie.”

Nix chewed on his bottom lip over the ant massacre—sounded kind of brilliant for a five-year-old in his opinion. All of her story sounded fantastical. Killing a Great Dane should be difficult for a grown man, and impossible for someone of Amos’s size. Something paranormal must be involved. It was the only logical conclusion. But what?

“Then the sleepwalking started and the brutalization of the neighborhood pets. Anything he could—can—catch, he tortures before he kills it. My backyard is a pet cemetery. I don’t need anyone telling me he’s too young to break the neck of one wee cat.” She arched an eyebrow. “Need I mention the rages like you saw upstairs? Or remind you he came at you fearless? He gashed me in the leg a month ago with no remorse whatsoever. No ER that time, I stitched myself.”

“Fewer questions,” James said with a nod, and Nix agreed, thinking she’d made the right choice not visiting the hospital. He and his family avoided them too, unless no other choice presented itself. Medical professionals asked too many questions. And their job wasn’t exactly IRS legit since they never saved lives for monetary purposes. James worked construction and other side jobs six months out of the year to keep him, his cousin, Gage, and Gage’s girlfriend, Zoe, afloat. Aunt Georgie peddled her psychic abilities to anyone willing to pay her exorbitant fees. The rest of the year, James utilized the cash he saved to join Nix, Gage, and Zoe hunting supernatural monsters. His employer believed he used his time away to travel the world. It wasn’t an inaccurate view of James’s time off. There were just other more dangerous factors that went along with the travel.

The Sherlock Foundation helped them when funds grew too low and offered bonuses to any agent who killed a demon. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the founder of the community, not only believed in the occult, he’d dedicated many hours to saving those wrongly convicted of crimes. Sherlock legend claimed he was the first of the group to actually hunt supernatural creatures.

“Do I need to go on?” She glanced from the older to the younger Birmingham.

Nix shook his head. “Nah. You painted a pretty graphic picture.”

“It is graphic, Mr. Birmingham.”

“Nix,” he corrected.

She ignored the correction. “I’m afraid to let him near other children for fear of what he’ll do. Heck, he scares me.”

Heck?
Nix didn’t know anyone used the word anymore, but it sounded cute coming from her despite the gravity of the situation.

“I don’t let him out of my sight. I barely sleep, just sit and watch him most nights. I don’t think Hell could be worse at this point.”

“How bad is the cut on your thigh?” Nix asked, seriously needing to lighten the mood. He bit the inside of his mouth trying to keep his expression as sober as possible. “I have some skill with wounds, so I’d be happy to check it out for you.”

“Not bad. I’d have to remove my pants to show it to you.”

“Not a problem for me.” He grinned wickedly.

“Ha, ha.” She rolled her eyes. “All the comedians out of work and you want to be one.”

Nix winked at her. “I will grow on you.”

“Don’t count on it.”

He saw the smile she couldn’t quite stop from tilting the corners of her mouth.

He peeked at his uncle, silent and rubbing his forehead, a habit when his thoughts grew complicated and dire.

“We’ll do all we can to help you both,” Nix said, lame as it went in reassuring her.

“No promises, though, right?” Obviously, he’d failed to reassure her at all and she had seen straight through his vague promise.

Nix adored straight-forward women. “Where demons are involved, anything can happen.”

“I’ll die before I let them have him.” Her tone convinced him.