The Mephisto Kiss (The Redemption Of Kyros)

by Trinity Faegen

  Why had she kissed him again? She’d done what she intended, what his brothers and Sasha had asked of her, and he’d woken up. There was absolutely no reason for her to have kissed him again, so why had she? She could never again be with Matthew, but how could she kiss another guy this soon? Even if she was now an immortal, she was still Jordan Ellis, who didn’t kiss somebody else while her boyfriend of two years recovered from a gunshot. No matter how much she tried to justify the impulsive kiss, she couldn’t.

  The unsettled feeling grew, along with the tingling and the heat. Was Mephisto like a virus? Was she changing already? She had so much to grieve for, it seemed incredibly cruel that she must now also mourn the person she’d been all of her life.

  She reached the back of the mansion and drew up short, surprised to find what looked like an English garden buried in snow, but it was evident in the alignment of the hedges and smooth walkways, a frozen pond at the center. Farther out was a greenhouse, built in the round, the glass connected by elaborate swirls of beautiful metal joints.

  The angel had said Key had a greenhouse, and here it was. Extremely curious, Jordan crossed the garden and had to shovel snow with her hands to get the door open. Inside was a tiny vestibule, designed to keep the frigid air from the interior. She closed the outside door, then removed Sasha’s coat and hung it on one of a row of pegs that held gardening tools before she opened the inside door.

  She expected the usual greenhouse, with staggered benches and rows of potted plants, but this was like no greenhouse she’d ever seen. There was design and order, true, but every plant, every flower, every leaf lived in perfect harmony, meticulously placed, the flowers thick, a riot of color and beauty even in the gathering gloom. Miniature fruit trees were heavy with lemons, limes, and oranges, and one section was home to an herb garden. She heard the soft buzz of a bee and watched as a peacock blue butterfly rested on a daylily. On the east side was a tiny waterfall that tumbled gently into a tiny koi pond. Outside, the snow was several feet high, but the drifts stopped inches away from the warmth of the glass walls.

  She wandered all the way around, following a narrow, winding gravel path. How was this possible from a guy like Key? He was huge, hard, edgy. The investment of time within the walls of steel and glass was infinite, and she couldn’t imagine him here, carefully and patiently tending the plants, the bees, and the butterflies.

  A potting bench was close to the door. Except for a set of gardening shears in the middle, it was neat, with stacks of small clay pots lining the back edge and bags of soil and plant food on the shelf below. A silver watering can sat to one side, and she picked it up to read the engraving: For the woods are full of bluebells and the hedges full of bloom. Had to be from a poem. Not only did Key tend this greenhouse like a doting mother, he owned a silver watering can with engraved poetry. Unbelievable.

  She set the can down and turned toward the door, then noticed a retro-looking glider on the other side of the entrance. After she took a seat there to stare a little longer, she heard a low hum and realized a hive was just a few feet away, in an apiary box. If she wasn’t so tired, she’d be nervous about being stung, but as it was, the constant drone was oddly comforting. Bees making honey was so wonderfully normal, she gazed into the encroaching darkness and could almost imagine this had all been a horrible nightmare, and she’d soon wake up in her own bed, in her room at the White House, and Dad would be in the residence kitchen eating Betsy’s scrambled eggs while he read the paper.

  Closing her eyes, she tried to blank her mind, but uninvited thoughts and memories came anyway. Her heart was an aching thud in her chest while her brain forced her to confront the finality of her decision not to die and, instead, to stay with the Mephisto. People of Hell. Not only would she stay with them forever, kissing Key meant she would be one of them. The weight of it crushed her, and she fell sideways on the glider, curling into herself while she said an anguished good-bye to her old life and faced the reality of this one.

  Mary Michael’s voice was in her head. “Living forever in the realm of physical reality leaves you impervious to death, but as vulnerable to pain as humanity.” Had she ever felt this kind of pain? She didn’t think so. Discovering there was a greater evil in the world than Lucifer; knowing millions of people were susceptible; understanding she was to give herself for the greater good, to protect and save humankind; giving up all her hopes and dreams—devastating. She wanted to run away and pretend she didn’t know any of it.

  The agony of knowledge was unbearable.

  She’d give anything to be ordinary, even to be First Daughter again. At least that would be over once Dad’s term was up. Then she could have lived her life how she’d always imagined, in relative anonymity. Instead, she would live thousands of years in the world, but not a part of it, every day a reminder of what she had given up for humanity.

  Powerless to stop, she descended into righteous anger and asked God, over and over, “Why me?”

  She ran from him. One kiss and she booked it for the door. Key stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom and ignored his family’s celebration. Not that he wasn’t glad to be alive, with another chance to avoid eternity in Hell, but he saw what lay ahead and it frustrated him.

  In their usual way, none of his brothers noticed his mood, not even when Mathilda came in with a tray laden with food and he ate without a word. They talked about the D.C. takedown, throwing out all kinds of suggestions, until Phoenix said, “As soon as Key’s feeling better, we’ll make a decision. Until then, let’s let him get some sleep.”

  He didn’t want to sleep. He wanted to go after Jordan, but as soon as they all filed out of his room, he was sucked under again. When he woke, it was past nine o’clock. He wondered where Jordan was, if she’d eaten, if Mathilda had put her in one of the third-floor bedrooms. Sliding out of bed, he went to the intercom and buzzed Mathilda, who appeared immediately. “Master Kyros, ye’re out of bed!”

  “Where is Jordan?”

  “I don’t reckon I know who ye’re talking about. Who is Jordan?”

  Dammit! He grabbed a pair of jeans from the bathroom bench and, while he put them on, dialed the intercom code that would send his voice throughout the entire house. “I want everyone in my bedroom, now!”

  Less than a minute later, the room was crowded with Mephisto and Purgatories. “Where is Jordan?”

  He was met with blank looks from the Purgatories, who obviously had no clue about Jordan, and the downcast eyes of his brothers. Even Sasha looked away.

  “How is it that an Anabo arrives in our house, and no one knows where she is?”

  “Earlier, she was at the front door,” Deacon said. “I gave her a coat, and she left.”

  “And when she didn’t came back, it didn’t occur to you to wonder why?”

  “I assumed she had returned and was with you.”

  He turned his wrath toward the Mephisto. “What is wrong with all of you?”

  Phoenix said, “I didn’t realize she was gone. When we left, I thought she was still in this room.”

  The rest of them nodded in agreement. Denys said, “It’s not like we blew her off, Key. It’s just a screwup.”

  Taking a deep breath, Key said as calmly as he could manage, “We have to go out there and find her, immediately. If she’s not found within the next fifteen minutes, sound an alarm for the Luminas to help search.”

  Turning back to his bathroom, he went through to his closet, pulled on his boots and a coat, then headed downstairs. Outside, Phoenix, always the organizer, had just sent everyone in different directions. He looked like he was going to say something to Key but must have thought better of it. Instead, he disappeared.

  Despite feeling back to normal, Key didn’t want to expend too much energy by transporting, so he took off around the house through the heavy snow, calling Jordan’s name as he walked. All he heard in return were the distant sounds of others calling her name and the whistle of the wind through the pines and firs. She’d been go
ne long enough that her footprints had been erased in the snowfall, which was coming down fast and showed no signs of stopping. Maybe she couldn’t die, but she could be miserable, and if she was lost in the dark, there were all kinds of painful dangers waiting for her besides the cold.

  He felt awful, knowing she must be so scared, and confused, and now she was out there, alone on the frozen mountain, maybe lost, probably starving.

  At the back of the house, he saw no sign of her and was about to head across the meadow to the gym and stables when he noticed the door to the greenhouse wasn’t shut all the way. Hurrying across the garden, he reached the door and saw a leather jacket hanging on one of the pegs inside the vestibule.

  Quickly shoving snow away with his foot, he opened the door, stepped inside the vestibule, then into the greenhouse, where he sucked in a deep breath of relief. Jordan was curled up on the glider, fast asleep.

  Scooping her into his arms, he carried her through the snow back to the house, and went in the door to the mudroom, and hit the intercom button with his elbow to call off the search. Mathilda appeared and instantly began to fuss. “Puir lamb! Where did ye find her, Master Kyros?”

  “In the greenhouse. Tell me which room to take her to.”

  “The blue bedroom at the top of the stairs. ’Tis clean and fresh.”

  She followed him all the way up two flights of stairs, then watched while he laid Jordan on the bed. He started to draw her sweater over her head, but Mathilda elbowed him aside and frowned at him. “She’ll be embarrassed when she wakes up, if she knows ’twas you who undressed her. Step over there and light the fire while I get her comfortable.”

  He supposed she was right, so he did as she said and set about lighting a fire. The room was cold, so after he had the fire going, he went out into the hall and turned up the thermostat that regulated the heat on the third floor. Back in the bedroom, he saw Mathilda was just tucking Jordan in. “She’s mighty tired, I reckon, because she didn’t wake up at all.” She bent to the floor and picked up Jordan’s clothes. “Should I launder her things?”

  “Burn them. I don’t want her reminded of what happened today.” He set the screen in front of the fire, then said, “Send Mercy out to buy her some new clothes. She’ll need everything, obviously, and Mercy may as well go ahead and buy her some takedown clothes. Jax will want her dressed for the field when she starts training.”

  “Seems to me she needs to settle in and get used to things here before she starts to work.”

  “We’ll let her decide, but make sure she has everything she needs.”

  Mathilda looked once more at Jordan, her kind eyes reflecting sympathy. “I’ll check on her every half hour, Master Kyros. You go on back to bed, and don’t worry none about her.”

  Even though he had no intention of not worrying, or going back to bed, he nodded, and the housekeeper disappeared.

  He moved closer to the bed and stared down at Jordan’s beautiful face, thankful all over again that she had come back, had saved him, that he still had a chance. But what of her? What price had she paid for his life?

  Bending slightly, he gently stroked her silky hair and silently promised her she wouldn’t regret it. He had absolutely no idea how he’d go about it, but he’d figure it out. He’d talk to Jax and ask him for advice. That wouldn’t be easy, but he’d do it to learn what he needed to do to make her happy. It would take some time, but that was okay. Time was one commodity they had in spades.

  She came awake with a start and sat up quickly, blinking in confusion. She was in a bed in a small, beautiful room with pale blue walls, yellow silk draperies, and a petite wingback chair next to a fireplace with a cheery fire. Several sconces around the room held lit candles, and a simple candelabra sat on a small secretary before the draped windows. Where was this room, and how had she come to be here, in bed, naked?

  The door opened, and a heavyset woman in clothes straight out of a Dickens novel stepped inside. She saw Jordan sitting up and immediately smiled. “Ye’re awake!” She came toward the bed, long skirt rustling, and smoothed the covers. “I’d be Mathilda, the housekeeper. Would ye care for a bath, Miss Jordan? I can run one for you quick as a rabbit. Or mayhap you’d prefer a shower. I sent Mercy to buy you some clothes, and they’re all washed and pressed, ready for you. Master Key instructed us to burn what you were wearing. Said he didn’t want you to be reminded.”

  Mathilda must be another Purgatory. Why else would she be wearing an outfit like that? “How did I get here?”

  Mathilda stopped fussing with the bed and stood straight, folding her hands together beneath her large breasts. “After Master Key woke, he asked after you and was mighty angry when no one knew where you’d got to.” She sniffed, as if she disapproved. “I wish I’d known you were here, Miss Jordan. You had a bad time of it.”

  “Thank you, Mathilda, but you still haven’t told me how I came to be in this bed, naked.”

  “The brothers went out to look, and Kyros found you in the greenhouse. He carried you here and put you to bed.”

  Jordan felt herself blush. “He took my clothes off?”

  “Goodness no! I did that, and ye never once woke up.”

  “How long have I been asleep?”

  “About ten hours, I reckon.”

  It must be somewhere close to three in the morning. “I’m sorry you’ve had to stay up this late to look after me.”

  “No need for sorry, Miss Jordan. I’m a Purgatory, a spirit with no need of sleep or food. Speaking of food, I’m sure you must be terribly hungry. Hans, the cook, has a nice stew simmering, if ye like, or he can make breakfast.”

  “Stew is fine.” She was so hungry, she’d eat lima beans, and she hated lima beans.

  Mathilda turned away and went to a door on the other side of the bed, evidently a closet, and when she turned back again, she held a white terrycloth robe in her hand. “The bath is through there.” She nodded toward the door on the left side of the bed as she handed the robe to Jordan. “Your clothes are here in this closet. I’ll fetch yer supper now.”

  “Thank you.” Jordan watched her head for the door. “Where am I?”

  The woman stopped with her hand on the knob and glanced over her shoulder. “Third floor. Ye’ve the whole of it to yerself. The brothers stay on the second.”

  “Is there somewhere I can watch TV?”

  “The brothers all have TVs in their rooms, but no one ever stays up here, so there is no television. There’s a great big one on the first floor, in the TV room. After you eat, I’ll take ye there.” She nodded toward the bathroom. “Take your bath, Miss Jordan, and ye’ll feel better.”

  As soon as the door closed, Jordan climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Flipping the light switch, she blinked against the brightness. When her eyes adjusted, she thought of the bathroom Alissa had taken her to in Eryx’s castle. This was like a palace in comparison, with white marble, a separate shower and tub, and plush rugs. Best of all, no bugs.

  She looked in the mirror, half expecting to look different, but she was herself, with messy hair and eyes swollen from sleep. Drawers in the bathroom vanity offered up everything she needed, including a toothbrush. At no time in her life had brushing her teeth felt this good.

  Thirty minutes later, she was squeaky clean, wrapped in the terry robe, sitting in front of the fire while she ate maybe the best stew in history. There was also French bread, a mug of hot tea, and apple pie for dessert.

  Mathilda, she discovered, was a kindhearted woman with an agenda. She busied herself smoothing the covers on the bed, tucking them in so tightly, Jordan was sure she could flip a quarter off of it, military style, and all the while, she talked about Key, pointing out his multitude of sterling qualities. The matchmaker song from Fiddler on the Roof kept playing in Jordan’s head.

  When she was done eating, she dressed in a pair of long boxers and a long-sleeved T-shirt, then dried her hair and pulled it into a ponytail. Mathilda led her into the hallway. “I put
you in this room closest to the front stairs. It’s easy to get lost in this house, but ye’ll find your way quick enough.” They descended the stairs, all the way to the grand hall. Deacon was there, straightening one of the gigantic old portraits. “Who are all these people?” she asked Mathilda.

  “Mostly Luminas, but that one closest to the door is Jane.”

  Jordan stopped to look. Dressed in Victorian clothes, seated next to a small secretary with a spaniel at her feet, Jane was very pretty. Blonde and blue-eyed, she looked delicate, like a porcelain doll.

  “She was Phoenix’s intended, but the night she was to leave her life behind and become immortal, Eryx kidnapped her. The brothers went after her, but they were too late. Eryx waited, and as soon as they arrived, he cut her throat. Phoenix has never been the same.”

  “Why didn’t he bring her back, like Key brought me back?”

  “He tried, but Eryx had marked her, so he was the only one who could.”

  She felt queasy. “Eryx wanted to keep me so I could give him children. If he had Jane, and had already … why did he kill her?”

  The light in Mathilda’s eyes dimmed. “She carried Phoenix’s mark, and, just to be cruel, Eryx replaced it with his own. He could have killed her as soon as he marked her, then brought her back to immortality to have his sons, but Jane was the first Anabo the brothers had ever found, and I think all Eryx could think about was making sure she didn’t become Mephisto. And there’s no doubt he got evil enjoyment out of waiting for Phoenix to show up, then murdering her right in front of him. Eryx is smart, and cunning, but he’s as much a son of Hell as the brothers, and sometimes reason isn’t what drives them.”

  The front hall wasn’t especially cold, but Jordan shivered. “I thought the mark was permanent. How could Eryx replace it?”

  “She wasn’t immortal.” Mathilda gave her a look. “You are, so it’s all important you don’t fall back into Eryx’s hands.”