Pandora's Box (8 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Madison pulled back the curtain in her bedroom and scowled at Phoenix’s car, still parked across the street. Nothing incognito about his stakeout, she thought with a mental snort. She’d demanded they leave, and mentally prepared herself to face the demon and whatever he threw at them. Better they go down alone than take four innocent lives with them. Her conscience couldn’t take that outcome.

Stubborn. The trait would get Nix killed. Amos had warned them of his future stint in Hell, and Nix still refused to save himself.

Not a hair of James, Gage, and Zoe yet. She guessed they’d actually followed through with their plan to split up into teams and scope out the demonic activity in New York City and Washington State. Leaving Nix alone to fend for himself in Alabama with her and her demonized son. What a screwed up situation.

What a dysfunctional family for leaving him behind to protect himself. Not to mention a messed up way of life. She wouldn’t want to hunt down demons and other supernatural scary jokers. Uh uh. Not her cup of tea. Not that she’d experienced any less of a dysfunctional family.

Nix shifted in his seat. She wasn’t getting rid of him anytime soon, it appeared. Madison wasn’t normally this unreasonable, but the likelihood of their blood on her hands was more than she could tolerate. Offering protection regardless of her wishes saddened her, although it gave her the warm fuzzies, too.

Dang, stupid feminine emotions.

After Micah snuck out on her, it felt nice knowing Nix—even if he were practically a stranger—remained determined to stand by her through thick and thin. At least one man in this world believed in the promises he made.

Why couldn’t she have married a man with Nix’s convictions and dedication?

Guilt crept inside. Repaying his good intentions by letting him sleep in his car was a poor representation of southern hospitality. Maybe she’d been a wee bit out of line when she kicked him out of her house, but admitting any wrongdoing chafed her pride.

She released the curtain with a sigh and went to check on Amos. He lay curled up asleep in her bed, she hoped with peaceful dreams. She tucked the covers around him and wrapped a robe around her before going out the door barefoot. She could just make out the outline of Phoenix in the front seat with his head thrown back against the headrest, his hands rapping out a drumbeat against the steering wheel to the subtle sound of a rock song playing on his car radio.

A cool breeze prickled her skin, scattering goose bumps across her exposed flesh, an odd sensation on such a balmy evening. She tossed a glance around the neighborhood, expecting to find another pair of eyes on her. Nothing presented itself, not even a light from any of her neighbors’ homes. Yet, the way the fine hair on the back of her neck stood up someone or something unseen lurked nearby.

She knocked on the Charger’s window. Phoenix jerked and dumped coffee all over the front of his jeans. She laughed as he clambered out of the car, cursing a blue streak.

“Oh, yeah, in stitches.” He wiped at the wet stain on his jeans.

“Yeah.” She elbowed him in the ribs. “The big, bad demon hunter is scared of a lone woman. Sorry, but that is funny.”

He gave her a sarcastic grin and nodded in an overly dramatic way. Phoenix Birmingham…. He’d grown on her as he’d predicted. Three days and she could count herself a fan. Staked out in front of her home after she’d tossed him out of her house made her an even bigger fan. She’d probably be a smartass and jokester, too, if she lived his lifestyle. Being a Sherlock couldn’t be easy. Especially not with danger and intrigue as his constant companions, and death always on the fringe of life.

“Come on.” She tugged on his arm. “I have two perfectly good beds. There’s no reason for you to sleep in your car.”

“I have a room.”

“Phoenix, please, your car doesn’t classify as a room and—”

“It’s Nix. And thanks, but I’m fine out here.”

Whew, now the cool breeze came from him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and his surprised expression struck her. “I was way out of line the other day. You’ve slept in this car the past three nights. Soon my neighbors are going to think you’re stalking us.” She was a tad perplexed they hadn’t already called the police. “You’re trying to save my son. The least I can do is feed and board you. Can’t imagine the crick you get in your neck from sleeping in there.”

“Feed?”

Of course, he would focus on the one word. She laughed again, grabbed his hand—a warm, calloused palm slid over hers, feeling way too nice, and she shouldn’t have noticed—and tugged him behind her into the house.

“Don’t get too excited,” she said as they went into the kitchen. “I’m not cooking. If we have another….” she almost said ‘peaceful night’, but thought it best not to press their luck after three uneventful evenings. She cleared her throat and said, “If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll cook breakfast.”

“Bacon? Eggs? Sausage? Grits? Hash browns with cheese and onions? Blueberry pancakes?” Nix asked, a high-pitched hopeful tone inflecting his voice. She glanced at him and wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d caught him salivating. He wasn’t.

“What? Do I look like IHOP?”

He tilted his head, squinted his eyes and gave her a sassy grin, “Well….”

She threw the kitchen towel at him; he dodged easily.

“Throw on a skimpy skirt, wrap an apron around your waist, and if I squint just like this….” He demonstrated and it took all she could not to laugh at his antics. “Yep, you’d look just like an IHOP waitress.”

She’d never seen a waitress in a family restaurant dressed that trampy. In his fantasies maybe. Certainly not in any part of the South. Southerners haughtily tolerated the skimpy attire worn by a Hooter’s waitress. She pointed the butter knife in his direction. “You better watch it, Birmingham, or I’ll feed you—Amos!” The name whipped Nix around in his seat.

As she passed him, she handed him the butter knife. She wasn’t getting anywhere near her son with a weapon in her hand, not even a dull one. She embraced Amos, looking at his eyes to prepare herself. They were blue, thankfully, displaying none of the freaky, fiery, orange stuff.

“You okay, baby?”

He nodded his head and rubbed an eye with the back of his hand.

“Hey, kiddo,” Nix chimed in from behind her.

Amos smiled and waggled his fingers at Nix in a kid-style wave. The other hand remained behind his back, and she worried what he concealed.

“What’cha hiding?”

Amos handed her a stack of copier paper and stared up at her with a huge, proud grin on his five-year-old face. A violent twist hit her in the stomach at the first drawing, and she gagged on the bile jerking a hot path up through her esophagus.

She swallowed, licked her lips, and swallowed again. “Did you draw these?”

Her son nodded, and her knees trembled harder than her hands.

“I’m sleepy.” He wrapped his arms around her in a goodnight hug before scampering off to bed.

“What’s wrong?” Nix leaned forward to see Amos’s artwork.

Madison shuffled through the vivid, detailed drawings, of silver pencil sketches with a splash of color added to make the detail pop. The first depiction was of a man—she guessed Nix—huddled in a corner with his hands clamped over his ears. His eyes, rounded in mental agony, detailed the horror of his predicament while blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.

Numb fingers shifted to the second picture. Mismatched arms, legs, fingers, and toes protruded from the floor. Blood dripped from the ceiling and ran in rivulets down the wall, pooling among the limbs. A man stood in the center of the room, his face a mask of rage and homicidal intent. Green eyes stark against the bloody backdrop. Amos had drawn an arrow pointing toward the man, and written the name ‘Nix’ in his childish penmanship.

Nix’s future vacation in Hell, drawn in graphic detail by a child. Before tonight, he’d never drawn more than stick figures. The pictures horrified her. Horrified more by the fact her son was the artist. She shuffled through the rest of them quickly, each doodle of Nix worse than the one before, the dreadfulness too extreme for her to comprehend. From devices used to peel the flesh from a victim, to handheld gadgets designed to break bones for maximum pain. Nix wielding all the instruments.

Stomach rolling, she shoved the photos in Nix’s hand and scrambled to the garbage can. She made it just in time to retch up the remains of her last meal.

“Amos is one helluva artist.”

That’s all he could think to say? She couldn’t comprehend such a surreal statement. Shouldn’t he be turning green at seeing the monster he would evolve into? Or at the very least sprinting out her door, hoping to outrun his future? Didn’t he have any sense whatsoever? Her worst nightmares couldn’t conjure such brutal images. And yet her son suffered horrid visions in his waking hours. Documented those visions in prolific detail! He gave macabre prophecies in a monotone voice which sent shivers lancing up her spine.

Dread pulsed inside her head. Those scenes were Nix’s future. What outcome could she and Amos expect? Similar apocalyptic scenarios? Not if she could help it. Maybe now was as good a time as any to remind Nix he’d offered to teach her how to protect her son and herself.

“I’m ready for your crash course in demon defense,” she said, frowning when Nix dawdled in tearing his concentration from the drawings. “I’m ready now if you are.”

A sexy half smile hit his mouth. “Now? What about my food?”

“As terrifying as my cooking can be, I get the feeling it’s not going to scare this demon.”

Withdrawing his pistol from the waist of his pants, Nix chuckled and held it out to her, butt first. “Do you have a gun?”

Without hesitation, she grasped the weapon and shook her head. “No.” A fact she would rectify soon.

“Let’s start with how to properly hold and aim it.” Nix adjusted her hold. “Better.” Their eyes locked and he winked. “Nothing is sexier than a woman who knows how to handle a pistol.”

Madison twisted her lips. She wouldn’t laugh at his blatant innuendo. God, the man was a full-on, hardcore flirt.

“Tomorrow, we’ll find a shooting range. Teach you how to aim for maximum damage.”

Weighing the weapon in her hand, she gauged the spiky texture of the handle. She felt powerful holding it, a little more in charge of her future. Even if it gave her a false sense of control, she still preferred that emotion over feeling like a victim.

“Have you ever been exposed to any martial arts training?”

She fondled the barrel. “Yeah. As a kid, I went all the way to a third degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do, before I got boy crazy and dropped the practice.”

“Good. Your house is humongous. You think we can move the furniture around in one room and use it as a dojo of sorts?”

“Absolutely.”

“There’s one good thing about all this.”

Madison glared at him. If he said something sarcastic, she’d chop him up into itty bitty pieces.

“Amos’s selective mutism is gone,” he said.

With a sharp gasp, she realized Nix was right. In her horror over his pictures, she’d failed to appreciate Amos’s progression. Since suffering his demonic outbreaks, the only time he’d spoken was when the orange ring circled his eyes. One malady solved, another reared its ugly head…horrifying pictures of death, mutilation, and misery.

Chapter Seventeen

Madison ached in areas muscles couldn’t possibly exist.
Seriously!
Who knew fingertips could hurt from too much exercise. Just the simple act of blinking ached, more likely associated with sleeplessness than all the exercise she’d been doing.

It felt good to stretch her achy body, even if just going for a jaunt through the grocery store.

Nix wore her out working on the proper kick and release techniques. She should be dead with exhaustion when she hit the bed. Instead, sleep teased and eluded her most nights. When Nix promised to train her, she hadn’t expected he would be such a relentless taskmaster, or so much fun as her instructor. Showing her different kicks, punches, and hits, and demanding she repeat them over and over again until she met his satisfaction or until she melted into a chair, unable to execute another move. Only then would he allow her rest. Bringing him down became her sole focus, and she failed miserably every day. Maybe soon. She hoped soon. Nix teased her and kept the atmosphere upbeat, even though she was always aware of why she worked so hard.

Three weeks later and ten pounds lighter, she felt more in control of her life, strange how liberating it felt. Much better than acting like a sheep being led to the slaughter. The demon from the thunderstorm hadn’t returned. Thank God! She could do without another such visit for the rest of her life. But she knew her days were numbered on the demon hiatus. Just a matter of time before he returned or sent something else for a visit. Stomach somersaulting at the thought, she swallowed hard and berated herself for letting a little anxiety jangle her nerves. She wouldn’t let this or any demon win.

Her sleepless nights could be blamed on the thunderstorm demon. His resemblance to her wastrel husband worried and festered inside her until she became an emotional mess. There were differences, her memory niggled. Yeah, big differences.

The violence. Micah never elevated his voice in anger, much less hit her. The thunderstorm creature seemed to enjoy striking her.

Another difference…his eyes. Not just the orange color, like Amos’s when he went homicidal, but the cold, calculated evilness radiating from them.

A shudder trickled down her spine. Madison clung to what Nix said, that demons could possess the ones she loved. Was that what had happened to Micah? The feasibility of him being controlled by a dominion of Hell gave credence to why he would walk out on her, but she found no comfort in the possibility he suffered such a scary outcome. The thought of marrying and sleeping with a real supernatural monster made her hand shake as she grabbed a box of cereal off the grocery store shelf.

“You okay?” Nix asked.

Madison couldn’t meet his eyes as she placed the cereal in the cart. “Yeah. I’m fine. I forgot sugar for the apple pie. Do you mind getting it for me?”

“Yeah, no problem,” he said, remaining by her side and not going after the sugar.

She chanced a quick glance up and caught his worried frown. Hurriedly, she turned back to her shopping list and scratched cereal off. “Pick out the Pop Tarts you want, Amos.”

“Can I go with Nix?” Amos asked.

Considering his request, she tossed two boxes of Pop Tarts into the cart. Since the thunderstorm demon’s visit, he’d changed, becoming more like himself, the demon child having disappeared completely. More than once she wondered if being thankful for his turnaround wasn’t akin to counting her chickens before they hatched. She’d said a half dozen prayers to a God she couldn’t bring herself to believe in. Yet, a nagging suspicion told her things were far from over. Even further from being improved on the larger scale of things.

“Yeah, baby, you can tag along with him.” She met Nix’s curious stare. “If he doesn’t care?”

“Heck, naw!”

Madison chuckled at the lingo he’d picked up and the drawl he attempted to inject into his tone. The southern accent came out over-exaggerated, and Amos burst out laughing. Together, they scampered off.

Before Micah walked out the door, he’d been a good father, participating in mundane activities with Amos, like watching television or reading books. Nix spent quality time with Amos, doing things Micah should’ve participated in, like teaching him how to ride a bike, going fishing and showing him how to hook a worm. Sadly, a stranger, a supernatural Sherlock, proved to be a better father figure than Micah. Not that Nix had applied for the job.

He gave her lusty looks from time-to-time. She’d have to be dead not to notice them. Working on defensive skills required lots of touching, aggravating their attraction. She pegged Nix as the “love ‘em and leave ‘em” type of guy, and Madison wouldn’t settle for such a soulless relationship. Southern and old-fashioned, before she took another man to her bed she wanted to be pretty sure he would be eager to stay.

Nix probably gave pleasure measured in shades of screams, but—

“Very domestic, Madison,” a male voice rasped into her ear as his fingers buried in her hair and slammed her against his chest. A solid, immoveable line of muscle and strength.

She tried to turn her head to look at the man, but he jerked hard on her hair. She gasped at the sudden, stinging pain to her scalp. Reaching back, she clutched his wrist.

“Don’t.” He nudged her with his body and said in a deep voice against her ear, “Walk. Don’t look at me. Don’t draw attention. And I won’t snap your neck.”

A dozen different defensive techniques scampered through her head. Would Nix be proud if she got one off successfully? Or would he be a witness to her early demise? And, oh, God—big swallow—what would happen to Amos if the man behind her made good on his promise and broke her neck?

“Walk.” His lips moved against her ear.

What should she do? Scream and take the chance he’d snap her neck as promised or walk as he instructed? Surely a sea of witnesses would stop him from killing her outright. Nix was only a couple of aisles over.

His hand pinched the back of her neck. “Walk, or I’ll deposit you into an early grave and damn the witnesses.”

Madison walked.