What did the hell spawn want with this child and mother anyway? Neither was sick—at least not sick in the way to indicate they were dealing with a Plague Demon. A Cardinal Demon could be involved if the child went homicidal, but to his knowledge, Cardinals weren’t known to possess children.
Nix ran his hand across his mouth and watched his uncle come around the front of the Charger. “You sure Aunt Georgie got the address right?” Nix asked, looking up at the swanky, two-story home.
“Yeah.” James sighed. “The owner contacted her. Georgie said Ms. Wescott sounded desperate.”
“I don’t know, Uncle James. This doesn’t look like the local hotspot for demonic activity.”
James shrugged.
They’d seen stranger. “High class demon. That’s unusual.” Most of their clients weren’t living the high life, they were down on their luck or one step from the grave, which was where a demon always put them.
“Yeah.”
They rapped on the door and waited. Nix peered at his uncle, rolling on the balls of his feet, hands tucked into his pockets. James’s wrist flexed to knock again, when the scream ripped from inside. They tossed a silent glance at each other, before the older man kicked the door in. A crash from upstairs and Nix climbed the flight two steps at a time, his uncle racing behind him.
Throwing the door open, Nix caught sight of a towheaded boy, not more than five or six, straddling a woman, a blade in his hand. The woman clutched the child’s thin wrist and struggled to keep him from carving her up. Her grunts and groans were barely audible over the boy’s high-pitched cackles. From the looks of the gash on her throat, a slim line of blood winding back into her blonde hair, the boy was serious about killing her. The woman was no match against the child. Logically, she should’ve possessed more strength than he did, yet she resided on the losing end of the battle. When Nix reached the scuffling duo, he grabbed the boy by the collar, and yanked him off the woman.
The child shrieked. The inhuman sound abruptly stopped, and the boy whipped around. The blade glinted in the sunlight coming through the bedroom window. He sliced down.
The blade caught Nix on the forearm. Blood bloomed. “Son-of-a—”
He jumped back as the boy slashed again, a rabid gleam in his eyes that made Stephen King’s Cujo look tame. The weirdness failed to stop there. The child flew at him, his bright blue eyes rimmed in a wide orange ring. Fast and strong neglected to adequately depict the boy’s technique. Impressed by the youngster’s ability, Nix could appreciate being an extra in a Chucky horror flick if he knew it wasn’t real. But this….
The blonde woman jumped to her feet and screamed, “Amos, stop it!”
The boy ignored her, grinning at him as he tossed the blade back and forth between his hands. The child’s strange behavior promised retribution in the worst, bloodiest way. Nix absorbed the notion the child might possibly be able to back up the taunt. James sputtered a Gregorian exorcism and the kid abruptly stopped.
Almost simultaneously, the woman repeated James’s chant, impressing Nix with her ability to pronounce the Latin words. Impressing him further by thinking on her feet and hopefully understanding they were there to provide assistance.
The youngster’s head whipped around at an unnatural angle to glare at his mother. He wagged his finger at her and seconds later, she slammed against the wall, crashed into the bedside table, and knocked over the lamp. Shattered glass pinged against the hardwood and filled the eerie moment. The boy cocked his head to the side and eyed James. Less daunting smiles had curved the lips of sadistic demons engaged in perverse torture.
“Sulfur,” Nix said. The room reeked with the mineral’s tang.
James nodded, yet said nothing as he focused on chanting the Latin words. The woman managed to crawl to her feet, repeating his uncle’s phrases in a breathless whisper. She stepped up behind the boy. Astonished, Nix watched her reach for the child.
Gutsy. Bold. Foolish. Death wish. All those words came to mind.
When she placed her hands on his shoulders, the boy collapsed in her arms, to all appearances peacefully asleep.
“What the hell was that about?” Nix panted, breathless from fighting off the nearly rabid boy.
When the woman lifted her blonde head, her blue eyes—the exact shade of the child’s—rendered him motionless. What a babe.
Tall, leggy, and full breasted. Just his type of woman. Not that his tastes were discriminating. Sometimes this job held perks, and right now he stared at a sexy perk.
The woman stared at them, mistrust evident in her blue eyes. “Who the heck are you?”
“James Birmingham, ma’am,” his uncle said. She glared at his extended hand, hers full with the limp child. James approached her cautiously, nodding toward the boy. “Let me.” He moved to take the youngster from her. She pulled away, mistrust stark in her gaze.
With a grunt, she lifted her son and placed him on the bed, straightening his limbs and tucking the covers under his legs. When she turned to face them, she glanced at Nix. “And you are?”
“Phoenix Birmingham. Nix to my friends.”
She sized them both up, but Nix couldn’t tell from her blank expression what she decided. Trust apparently not established, she remained near her son.
“You’re Madison Wescott?” James asked. Nix continued to watch her and witnessed the flinch of surprise when his uncle said her name. “Georgie sent us.”
She nodded at the boy. “This is my son, Amos.”
“The problem Georgie spoke of,” James confirmed.
“Yes.”
“May I?” he asked. She nodded and James pulled a small cylinder out of his pocket. Engineered by brainy Sherlocks to look like breath freshener, the container held holy water. Uncle James depressed the tip, spraying his fingers with the liquid, and marked a cross on the boy’s forehead.
Nothing happened. James glanced at Nix. “He’s not possessed,” he said, shrugging.
The Gregorian exorcism had also pulled zero out of the child, which indicated nothing demonic resided within him.
Madison spoke up. “Something is possessing him.”
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?”
Pandora's Box Page 2
