Key of Solomon: Relic Defender, Book 1

by Cassiel Knight

  “The Slayer needs to talk to you,” Rocky continued.

  Mikos growled, a low rumble that started in his chest and expanded into his throat. “The Slayer can kiss my ass.”

  “That’s what I told him.” Rocky’s sharp teeth flashed white in the deep gray. “He said that while he anticipated and appreciated the generous offer, he was not so inclined, however, he still wants to talk. Face to face. Said it was important. Life or death stuff.”

  Mikos growled again and shot him a threatening look. The shapeshifter took too much enjoyment in relaying the Slayer’s words.

  Rocky held up his hands and zipped back, still hovering effortlessly. “Okay, okay. Gotcha.” He waited barely a breath before the words tumbled from his mouth, “so, what do I tell him?” His tone suggested he’d rather bathe in the River Styx’s forgetful waters than go back and tell the Slayer Mikos wasn’t coming.

  Mikos hesitated. He did not like the idea of leaving the woman alone. Especially not with Beliel near. He cast out his senses. For now, the taint of hell-spawn was gone. Despite his feelings or concern, one did not ignore the Slayer. He would not have contacted Mikos unless it was truly a matter of life or death.

  “Stay with the woman,” he said. “If anything happens, come for me immediately.”

  After Rocky nodded, Mikos turned to take a last look at the building. The woman holding the key to his freedom stood within the red bricks. Soon, she’d have to make a choice. When she did, either choice impacted him. One would ensure his redemption.

  The other would doom him forever.

  Chapter Four

  “The beginning is the most important part of the work.”

  Plato

  Lexi yanked open the dressing room door and went inside. Empty. Thank God for small miracles. She flipped the business card Gary gave her to the make-up table. With a heavy exhale, she collapsed into one of the rickety lawn-type chairs and kicked her legs over the seat of equally rickety stool.

  She rested her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes. Damn, she was tired. Tired of holding on when all she wanted to do was finish school, graduate with her PhD in anthropology and start her new job with Anderson Wyatt. The recently discovered cisternas in Peru sang to her with a siren’s call of solitude and the chance to find something special. To accomplish something special.

  No more strutting across a stage for money. No more pretending she cared what her fellow humans did. Once upon a time she had cared. And lost through betrayal and selfishness. It’s why she didn’t let others close. Why she didn’t get close to anyone. She’d never give herself into someone else’s hands again. No one would ever have control over her life.

  Lexi opened her eyes and shook her head to get rid of the memories. A pulse of pain throbbed through her jaw. She winced and touched the sore spot on her chin. Bastard. She really should have kicked his ass.

  She reached over to drag her backpack to her. Aspirin looked better and better. Her eyes trained on a glaring white square. An odd business card. Picking it up, she held it at eye level fully expecting to see the same blank surface.

  “What the hell?” she muttered.

  Instead of an empty card staring back at her, two ebony concentric circles filled the space. Sharp-edged sigils cut into the paper separated the inner and outer circles. Smack dab in the center of the inner circle, a hexagram spread its six points wide. She’d seen a fair number of hexagrams and its close cousin, the pentagram, in the class on Western magic she took last semester. Not because she believed in the woo-woo stuff.

  Extra credits. Those she believed in.

  However, those extra credits had given her more when she realized the class had some interesting history and stories. Since then she’d been hooked. Hooked enough to spend money she shouldn’t, on books about Aleister Crowley of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn and Gerald Gardner, founder of Wicca. So, she recognized most of the symbols used in the occult.

  Her finger traced the outside edges of the large circle. But this one. This sigil didn’t look familiar at all. Only the six-pointed star at its center held meaning. Whoever had given it to her meant to say something with that symbol. Witchcraft?

  A shudder rippled through her before she shook it off. She’d research the sigil later. After aspirin and a long session of some heavy sleep. After tucking the card into the backpack’s side pocket, she slipped out of her bedleh. She stuffed the bag with her veils, pantaloons, bra and beaded belt. Another visit to Wong’s Dry Cleaning should perk them right up. Her lips twisted. She really should take better care of her costume. As she pulled her tank top over her head, the doorknob clicked and the door slowly opened.

  “Lexi?”

  The hesitant voice put her on alert. Sam. Of all the people in Lexi’s small circle of acquaintances, this petite waitress was the most dangerous to her peace of mind. A single mother of two, Sam never missed the opportunity to show pictures of her children. Annoying. Really, how many pictures of cute kids could anyone be expected to look at? But that wasn’t why she as dangerous.

  What made Sam a threat was the waitress’s damned innocence. Despite seeing some of the worst behavior her fellow humans could inflict on each other, she had an unfailing optimistic and hopeful attitude. It was that innocence and the-world-is-wonderful belief that called to Lexi. Made her remember things she didn’t want to recall.

  Sam was someone Lexi could have befriended. In another time and place, maybe. When she had her own innocence. Before the world had kicked her ass. Certainly not now.

  “Yeah,” she answered and pulled the tank down over her waist.

  Sam pushed open the door, her fingers wrapped around the edge. A shy smile stretched her lips, her gentle blue eyes friendly but cautious. “I didn’t get a chance to thank you for helping me.”

  She paused and took a deep breath before continuing, “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come when you did.” Her curled fingers clenched over the wood, the short nails digging into the battered surface.

  Lexi watched shadows form in Sam’s eyes. Her gut knotted briefly. Man, that was wrong on so many levels. Disconcerted, Lexi lowered her gaze and shrugged. “No worries. I’m sure Gary would have come soon enough,” she offered hoping Sam would leave. Lexi didn’t need thanks—she needed space.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But not before I could have gotten hurt. So, thank you.”

  “Yeah, okay, you’re welcome.” Lexi gave another impatient shrug, willing the apology and sentiment to roll off her back like water on a duck’s back.

  Freaking sappy feelings didn’t though. They stuck to her like super glue. This is why she had to get away. She didn’t want to feel, damn it. Feeling brought pain. Brought helplessness. And, deep in a place she tried to ignore, loneliness.

  She raised her eyes to find Sam watching her. Confusion tinged with compassion clouded the cool blue expression. How the hell did she manage to maintain that pure look of innocence?

  “I’ll see you later,” Sam said.

  Lexi absently nodded. The dressing room door opened and closed, the latch clicking softly as it signaled Sam’s departure. For a moment, Lexi stood frozen, her body refusing to move. Her head spun, a leaf blowing in the wind. Too many weird things happening in one day. What had happened to her somewhat quiet, very ordinary, life?

  Nudging her body into motion, she pivoted and snatched up her pack. The side struck the table and something within thumped. She frowned, unzipped the large side pocket and reached in. Her fingers brushed against cool metal. Right. Professor Xaviera’s gift.

  She slid it from the pocket. Bright gold caught the dressing table lights and flashed them at her. When she turned over the box, she heard another dull thump. With her fingernail, she flipped open the tiny hasp and lifted the lid. Her brows went up, and she sucked in a deep breath.

  Nestled in a bed of some kind of avian down, a large red stone winked up at her, catching the lights and throwing them into her eyes with a dazzling
display of jeweled fire. A ruby? She brushed a finger along the embossed edges, tracing the intaglios carved into the soft metal surrounding the bright center. More unfamiliar sigils. Why on Earth would Professor Xaviera give her such an expensive gift? Didn’t matter the reason, she would return it to him tomorrow.

  With a fingertip, she started to flip the lid closed. A violent shudder quivered through her. Her finger froze on the metal and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t force it to snap the lid shut. An insane urge to pick up the necklace took control of her muscles. As if her body recognized her acquiescence, she could move again. Carefully taking hold of the cool links, she lifted the chain from the box and held the ruby at eye level. The stone rotated sleepily at the end of the links.

  A burst of light struck her between the eyes, knocking her head to one side. The necklace slipped from nerveless fingers. “Sonofabitch,” she bit off as her teeth ground together with a loud click.

  The headache that had been merely tapping inside her skull crashed into a full-blown migraine. She blinked rapidly as bits of snapping pinpoints of light danced before her eyes. No pain, except for the headache. Mostly disorientation mixed with shock at the assault from—.

  Where the hell had that light come from?

  She shook her head, trying to clear the fluttering dots. Bad idea. Dizziness filled her head with cotton, and she closed her eyes. Motionless, she waited for the world to stop spinning, and then slowly opened her eyes.

  After a few seconds, blurry outlines sharpened into the familiar shapes of the dancers’ dressing room. The tattered couch, piles of colorful clothing and scarred furniture stood out in stark relief. The cottony impression faded.

  Good thing she’d been sitting otherwise that flash would have knocked her on her ass. Lexi glared at the now innocent piece of jewelry resting on the threadbare, puke green carpet. At this moment, the amulet was just an ordinary, and harmless, piece of expensive jewelry. She bent and carefully touched the metal. Nothing happened. She pushed harder. Still nothing.

  “Should just leave the damn thing right here,” she muttered.

  She couldn’t return it if she didn’t touch it. Curling her fingers around the ruby stone, she picked it up. She held the bauble at eye level again, keeping her eyes narrowed in case the freaking thing flashed at her. Nothing happened. Had she imagined that jolt?

  Only momentarily questioning the unusual compulsion, Lexi frowned and slipped the chain over her head. She couldn’t seem to convince her mind, or fingers, to let go. She’d take it off when she returned the box and necklace to Xaviera.

  After tucking the amulet down the front of her tank, she wrapped the gold box and tucked it back into the side compartment of her pack. At the same instant she finished tying the laces on her boots, the doorknob clicked and the door flew open, crashing into the opposite wall with a crunch. Pieces of drywall drifted down to join the other crap littering the floor.

  Christ. The dancers’ dressing room had become Grand Central freaking Station. With both hands on her hips, she glared at the intruder, only to feel the glare fade when Howard entered. Her mental alarms screamed “danger, Will Robinson, danger.” Her boss should look pissed over the incident with the customers.

  He didn’t.

  That should make her feel at ease.

  It didn’t.

  “Lexi, you were fantastic tonight. Hot and sexy. Really outdid yourself.”

  Howard sauntered over and stood behind her, staring over the top of her head into the mirror. She kept her expression cool and remote as she stared back. The sour smell of body odor teased her nostrils. Thin lips stretched into a smile. When that particular snarky smile made its appearance, she geared herself, complete with a shield and sword, for a fight.

  Hey, when she imagined protection, she went all the way.

  Her boss never came to the back except to yell, and he never smiled or offered compliments. Unless he wanted something. She didn’t need to sacrifice brain cells to figure out what that something was. Especially if he was ignoring the earlier scuffle. Which, apparently, it seemed he intended to do. She didn’t know whether she should be grateful or be running the other way.

  “There’s a request,” he continued when it was obvious she wasn’t going to comment. Smart guy. “A very important man wants a private word with you.”

  Bingo. Almost every night he cajoled, coerced or threatened her into doing a private dance for one of his cronies. She never gave in. He never stopped trying.

  Lexi considered making a sign to hold up whenever he came near her. Wonder if brandishing a sign saying Kiss My Ass would get her fired? And would that, necessarily, be a bad thing? Her lips twitched with the effort to keep the grin absent.

  “No, Howard, for the hundredth time. I’m not into that shit. Get one of the other girls. How about Heavenly Holly? Most men seem to like her.”

  Because she watched his face in the mirror, it didn’t surprise her when his lips tightened. “He asked for you.” He paused as if considering his next move. “He’s important,” he repeated as if she hadn’t heard him the first time.

  She sighed. Wanting to make sure he observed the resolve in her face, she turned to face him directly. “I don’t care how important he is,” she said. “He can play with the other girls all he wants. For the last time, I’m not for sale.”

  “Damn it, Lexi. This is the last time. I’ve had it with your refusals.”

  Howard surged across the room, grabbed her wrist and yanked her out of her seat. Her boot heel caught the edge of the flimsy chair, upending it into the table. Cheap wood cracked and splintered. Perfume bottles tinkled and shattered as they knocked into each other. A mixture of musk, spice and floral scents filled the stuffy room.

  Oh, crap!

  Lexi tensed, stumbled and tried to wrench free from his grasp. Her first reaction just about cost her a dislocated elbow. Then her hap ki do training flashed into her mind. Instead of continuing the futile effort of wresting her arm from his punishing grip, she let her arm relax. The pinching hold eased. Pushing the advantage, she rotated her wrist as if she were taking a drink then flicked her arm out. Howard’s hand fell away. Astonishment, followed by irritation, flooded his ruddy face.

  Way to go, Lexi. Sign or no sign, the loss of her job appeared to be a foregone conclusion after all.

  Chapter Five

  “Death—the last sleep? No, it is the final awakening.”

  Sir Walter Scott

  Howard parted his lips, probably to fire her ass. He pulled them shut when the door opened again. The way her evening was going, she expected to see the mysterious dark stranger. Wouldn’t that cap her night?

  Instead, a man with coppery light-brown hair, hazel eyes touched with gold and a crooked smile, strolled up to Howard and placed a hand on his shoulder. Her boss whirled around. Because he no longer faced her, she couldn’t see his expression. However, she did witness the lines of his body turning rigid.

  “Tsk, tsk, Howard, I told you to ask her, not bully her.” An easy smile played at the corner of her new visitor’s mouth, but that didn’t lessen the steely message shining in his amber-kissed eyes.

  Slender, rather than tall, he radiated confidence and charm. She suspected his classically handsome features helped build his arrogance. Hard to say no to someone who could have been the model for Michelangelo’s statue of David.

  She saw his fingers clench, digging into Howard’s shoulder. If anything, her boss stiffened more. A few seconds later he nodded. Wow. Despite under weighing her boss by at least fifty pounds, he’d gotten Howard to back down.

  Brown-hair released Howard’s shoulder and turned to Lexi. He met her gaze, his own light and open. Her glance wandered over the silver ash double pocket shirt hanging out over dark, marbled utility pants. Only her imagination knew what the expensively casual fabric covered, and it wasn’t sharing.

  Damn it.

  “My apologies, ma’am,” he said. The recognizable Texas accent thrummed thro
ugh her body. “In my enthusiasm to speak with you, it seems I conveyed a stronger summons than I intended. I’m Jackson McKay.”

  He offered his hand. She hesitated for a moment then took it but didn’t offer her name. After the bare brush of skin to skin, she tried to pull back her arm. Her fingers jerked reflexively when he locked his around her hand. Calluses scraped against her skin.

  Terrific. That’s what she got for taking his hand. Instead of stomping on his toes as the urge demanded, she lifted her chin and met his smoky look dead on. She hated the Neanderthal crap some men inflicted on women. Big tough guy squeezes little woman’s hand as if that’s supposed to impress her with his prowess. In and out of bed.

  Puh-lease.

  Fine. He wanted to play hardball. No problem, she could play caveman too. A slight twist of her wrist and instead of her fingers lying like a wet dishrag in his grasp, her nails dug into his palm. Not that her short nails would do a lot of damage. Just exert enough pressure so he’d realize she was not about to let the tough cowboy beat down the little woman.

  First, nail gouging. Next step, a punch to the solar plexus.

  McKay released her hand. An expression of respect mixed with something she couldn’t identify flashed into his eyes. Without looking away, he jerked his head. “Git. No one comes in.”

  Howard, who had by this time stepped back and to the side, bent his own head and scuttled to the door. She could almost feel her mouth drop open. Good grief. Her boss, a big mouth, abusive bully kow-towing to someone else? Could the night get any freaking stranger?

  Upon her boss’s departure, McKay gestured to one of the dancers’ chairs. She shook her head. She leaned her backside against the vanity, her palm a mere finger’s length from her kubotan. The marker-size defensive weapon she’d discovered during one of her martial arts sessions with her sensei, offered a small measure of self-defense. If he posed a threat. With his clean, urban cowboy-scruffy style, he didn’t give off the hair-lifting, crawling vibes of danger. At least, not physical danger.