Key of Solomon: Relic Defender, Book 1 Page 10

  “It’s simple, really. You possess something of mine. Give it to me, and I will give you what you’ve always wanted.”

  Unnerved, she stared at him, her mind spinning. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  Was he, whatever the hell he was, McKay’s mysterious employer? “I don’t have anything of yours.”

  She didn’t know what he wanted. Come to think of it, she couldn’t recall if McKay even told her what the mysterious object was.

  “Indeed.” His eyes narrowed. “You lie.”

  She glared at him. “Go to hell.”

  The man threw back his head and laughed, a bark of sound that raised goose bumps along her arms and legs. “Very well. I have found that humans like to negotiate. We’ll negotiate.”

  He walked over and sat down in one of the Queen Anne chairs near the table with the pictures. The fragile chair creaked under the strain, as if it might collapse at any second.

  “As I said, you possess a certain object that belongs to me,” he continued. “The object is of little worth or consequence, still it has some intrinsic value. Of a personal nature.”

  Uh, huh. Anxiety muted by the stilted tone of his voice told her the object meant quite a bit to him. “What is this object I’m supposed to have, and why is it so important to you?”

  “My brethren are being kept locked away. I want them released. You have the Key.”

  He picked up one of the pictures—the one of the Lexi-like mother and the two children. His gaze focused on the photograph, a smirk twisting his lips. Shivers danced across her arms again.

  “A key?” Forcing back the surge of uneasiness ripping through her, Lexi shook her head. “The only keys I have are for my apartment.”

  The man gave an impatient shrug. “Yes, a Key, but not like your human keys. The Key is a book.”

  “A book? That makes no freaking sense.” Lexi rolled her eyes. “The only books I have are on the shelf.” She started to gesture to her few shelves of books. “Oh right, I’m not in my apartment. Guess you’re out of luck.”

  She knew she was being sarcastic and also knew it might not be such a good idea but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

  An eyebrow lifted. Yellow churned wildly in the intent gaze. “Do you think to play games with me? I know you possess the Key.”

  Games? What did he think this was? A version of Deal or No Deal? Except, instead of a chance to win money, her prize for picking the right case, in this case meaning a book, was a family of her own.

  “Very well,” he said. “Here is the bargain. I will give you forty-eight hours to decide whether you want this…” He held the frame up. “Or this,” he finished.

  In that instant, Lexi was back in her sparsely furnished, uncluttered apartment. A stab of loneliness briefly took her breath away. Bare windows looking out at more buildings just like her own. No pictures of a happy family. She wobbled on her legs.

  “Forty-eight hours to decide. No more.” A shimmer, and his form wavered.

  “Wait,” Lexi called out before she could stop herself. What the hell was she doing? “If I don’t need the forty-eight hours, how do I call you?”

  “Speak my name. I will hear.”

  He didn’t continue. When his silence stretched, she planted her hands on her hips. “Well?” she asked, hearing the impatience ringing in her voice.

  “Beliel, King of Demons.” He bowed, then disappeared.

  Open-mouthed, Lexi stared at the empty space the man calling himself a demon, a freaking demon, had vacated. The scent of sulfur lay heavy in the air. Was this for real? She didn’t believe in demons.

  Or ghosts, faeries, mermaids, vampires, werewolves, angels or unicorns.

  Or stones that morphed into tiny humans.

  Lexi, get a grip. What else could a man with coal-black skin and ruby eyes be except a demon?

  She staggered into her bedroom and collapsed across her bed. The soft down of the comforter enveloped her, wrapping her in the sensation of warm arms. She lay there, trying to calm her galloping heart and untangle the knot in her stomach.

  Did she want the perfect life he offered? A family of her own? Children? A husband? Little house, white picket fence?

  Why shouldn’t she? She barely remembered her parents. When she said all she had left from them was a cumbersome name, she wasn’t fibbing. Except, of her father, she had one clear memory. His hug the day he died.

  The woodsy scent she now knew to be sandalwood, clung about his body as he pulled her to him, his large hands brushing through her hair. He’d whispered something to her, yet no matter how hard she tried to recall his words, they slipped away leaving her frustrated. It seemed she should know what he said.

  Of her mother, she remembered nothing. No images. No feelings. No sensations.

  Lexi blew out a puff of air. Too many things were happening. She felt as if she could barely take a breath much less attempt any understanding of the events stacking up like dominos. One strong push and the whole mess would topple, one after the other increasing in speed until reaching the end.

  And her sanity was at the end.

  After a few minutes, Lexi pushed herself to her feet. Bemoaning her situation and her past didn’t do anything for her future. She needed that shower. And food. Maybe those routine tasks would help her put things into perspective.

  She pulled off her top and pants, tossing them to the floor. By the other assorted piles spread about the room, it was past time to do laundry. Groaning inwardly at the thought, she headed to the shower.

  Clad only in her bra and panties, her hair bouncing wetly against her neck, Lexi padded back into her bedroom. She picked up her discarded clothes then automatically put her hands into the right pocket of her jeans. At the stinging pain, she hissed and jerked her hand from her pocket bringing out a small white card, which fluttered to the floor.

  A freaking paper cut. With her aching finger tucked into her mouth, she bent and picked up the card. She frowned.

  Oh yeah, the business card Gary gave her. And the one from her professor’s office. She touched a finger to the surface. Thin black lines formed on the surface, shaping into a familiar, if unknown, sigil. She pulled her hand back. The lines held for a few seconds then faded. Damn it, both cards were the same.

  “Hiya, doll!”

  Caught off guard, Lexi jumped, the card fluttering from her fingers. Again. Her lips thinned.

  The grating voice was unfortunately familiar and totally unwelcome. With both hands on her hips, she turned around. Rocky stood on her coffee table, humor glinting in his silver eyes. Good grief. Was he wearing a zoot suit?

  “Fantastic. Just what I need. I thought you were a twisted figment of my imagination.”

  “Nope. Sorry to disappoint you.”

  Yeah, right. The trace of laughter in his sandpaper voice said otherwise.

  “Although, I’ll give you twisted.” His lips twitched. “But a figment of your imagination? Nah.”

  Rocky tilted his head and slanted her an admiring look. “Did I catch you at a bad time?” He gestured at her. “Not that I’m not enjoying the show, but don’t you think you should put some clothes on?”

  She jerked her head down. The semi-transparent silken bra and bikini-cut panties provided protection in only the most dubious sense. Shooting him a withering glare, she stomped to the dresser and yanked out a pair of black jeans and white thermal hoodie.

  How did one go about incinerating rock, anyway?

  After slipping into the clothes, she slammed the drawer shut. At the sound of porcelain rattling on wood, she paused and stared at the top of the dresser.

  Once bright red roses sagged in their vase, silky heads bowing toward the wood. She needed to pick some more up next time she was at the store.

  Her gaze moved to the item the flowers shaded. Trailing her finger along the picture frame’s edge, she stared at the two people who meant the world to her. Two people she barely remembered.

  Her parents.
>
  A somber dark-haired man, his arm around the slender form of a laughing, blonde-haired woman. Even through the graininess of the picture, she could see the equal amounts of tenderness and pain in her father’s pale brown eyes.

  Sadness twisted in her chest, the sharp ache always present, but muted with each passing year. A tiny, one-dimensional picture. All she had of her parents.

  Forcing the pain deep, she finished closing the drawer, this time much more gently. She still felt grief’s razor edge, a reminder of the hurt that came with having feelings. With caring.

  Casting a glance back at Rocky, she said, “What the hell do you want?”

  Ignoring her question, he winked and walked over to the edge of her table and peered at the cover of a National Geographic.

  “Hey, can I borrow this? I haven’t seen this issue.” He looked up at Lexi, his silver eyes brimming with anticipation.

  “What. The hell. Do you. Want?” she repeated, a silken thread of warning in her voice.

  Rocky placed a small hand over his forehead and staggered back. “Is that any way to welcome your guide?”

  Pretending to swoon, he lurched against her two-foot high black granite statue of Sekhmet, an ancient Egyptian goddess with the head of a lioness and the body of a woman.

  Lexi gasped and darted for the statue as it wobbled, then tilted. She righted the figurine and glared at Rocky.

  “Sorry, toots.” Suddenly his hand shot out and grabbed the amulet, which had swung free when she bent over. “Hmm, what’s this?”

  She’d forgotten about the necklace. At the same moment she lifted her hand to take it from his grasp, Rocky jerked, let go of the amulet and skittered back. One foot went off the edge of the coffee table, but he managed to stay upright.

  “Damnosa.” Eyes wide, he stared up at Lexi, silver eyes huge in a washed out gray face. “Mikos didn’t tell me you have the Nativitas.” He spoke in a hushed tone charged with awe and respect.

  Surprised by his reaction, Lexi eyed him in confusion. “What?” She held the amulet in her hand. “This?”

  He hadn’t noticed it before? When he was drooling over her body?

  “Yeah, that.”

  “What’s the big deal?”

  “The big deal? You don’t know what this is?” He cocked his head. “I guess you don’t,” he murmured. “It’s a rebirth stone.”

  “Oh. That’s what it’s called.” Lexi looked down at the amulet. Her brow wrinkled. “A rebirth stone?”

  Well, that made sense. Little else did. Could she really be having a conversation with a tiny man in her living room?

  After she’d received a visit from a demon?

  She tapped her fingers on the table. “So, guide, answer this. Why me?”

  “Sorry, can’t help you there. That’s for Mikos to explain.”

  “You can’t help me?” She frowned. “What kind of guide are you?”

  He shifted his stance then pulled at his ear, keeping his eyes averted. “Sorry, not my story to tell. Ask Mikos.”

  “Since I don’t plan to see Mikos ever again, I won’t be able to ask him anything, so why don’t you just tell me?”

  Lexi stomped into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge. She twisted off the cap and took a deep drink. The cold, slightly bitter taste filled her mouth. She rarely drank—this six-pack had been in her fridge for six months. But this last day deserved beer. Maybe three beers.

  When Lexi turned to face Rocky again, she wasn’t surprised to see he had done one of his blinking things and now stood on her kitchen counter.

  “Can’t tell you.” He tilted his head. “What do you mean you won’t be seeing Mikos again?” The tire-on-stone tone of his voice revealed disapproval.

  “Just what I said.”

  “You have to. He’s the one who can help you. Train you.”

  “Not interested.” God, she was getting tired of explaining herself. How many times did she have to say no?

  Rocky stared at her, speechless. She hoped. Probably few things kept the shapeshifter quiet. She’d only seen him twice but could tell he liked the sound of his own voice. Odd, but she found the little man appealing. Like an exotic pet—strange and unusual, but highly entertaining.

  Finally, he shook his head. “Bad idea, Alexandria.”

  She winced. Did he just call her by her full name? “Like I told Mikos, my name isn’t Alexandria. It’s Lexi.”

  “Lexi,” he tried it out, and then nodded. “I like it.”

  “I’m so glad you approve.”

  She barely kept the twitch of her lips from becoming a smile. Taking her beer, she headed back to the living room. She started to step over a small square of white on the carpet but then stopped. Oh, yeah. The business card.

  “Whatcha’ got there?” Back on the coffee table, Rocky stretched his neck to try and see what she had picked up.

  Nosy bugger. “It’s a business card.” She flopped onto the couch and held out the card. “I found it in my professor’s office today.”

  Rocky took the card. His lips pursed then he nodded. “Sure, that’s Mikos’s card. I’ve seen tons of them.” He met her gaze. Curiosity glowing in the gray depths. “Are you talking about Professor Xaviera?”

  If Lexi hadn’t been sitting by that time, she’d have fallen to the floor. Sonofabitch. She hadn’t missed the import of what Rocky unknowingly admitted. “You knew Professor Xaviera?”

  “Yeah, Mikos does too. The Prof is a really decent guy.”

  “Don’t you mean was a decent guy?”

  Rocky cocked his head, his expression confused. “Was?”

  “He’s dead. Murdered. Two days ago.” Lexi snatched the card out of Rocky’s unresisting hands. “And I found this in his office.”

  “Dead?”

  “Yes, dead. As in not breathing. Dead. Someone came close to cutting his head off with a freaking sword.”

  Rocky’s dark-gray skin paled, turning ashen. “A sword?”

  Lexi rolled her eyes and stood. “I thought you were a rock, not a parrot. Stop repeating everything I say. Yes, a sword.”

  Leaving him speechless, she stalked over to the closet and grabbed a lightweight jacket. In her bedroom, she slipped on a pair of ankle boots with a low heel. Slamming her sanjiegun, a three-section staff into its holder at her hip, she headed for the front door. So much for food.

  She looked back at Rocky. The shapeshifter hadn’t moved. While his skin was no longer ashen gray, his silver gaze was shadowed with an expression of worry.

  “You coming?” she asked. “I need directions.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Mikos.”

  This time, the shapeshifter’s eyes widened in alarm.

  Chapter Nine

  “So often times it happens that we live our lives in chains,

  and we never even know we have the key.”

  Already Gone, by the Eagles

  The metallic sheen of the sword flashed under the lights, the blade singing with each intricate movement. Mikos spun on the balls of his bare feet and lunged at an imaginary shape. The steel blade of the colichemarde sliced through the air with a clear crystal tone.

  With another twist, he pivoted into the ballistra, sliding toward his fencing dummy, extending the blade in a lightning-fast and deadly thrust. The Toledo steel slid deep into the stuffed figure.

  He let go and stepped back. His chest heaved slightly with exertion. Smug satisfaction curled the edges of his lips. For the first time, he’d executed the difficult move to perfection, the strike landing exactly where he planned. Fencing was a recent hobby of his. One he found tremendous enjoyment in conquering.

  “You are much improved.”

  In the second Mikos recognized the voice, he’d already yanked the colichemarde from the dummy, spun around and pointed the rapier at the figure haloed in a bright light. He met the serene deep blue eyes behind the glow and groaned.

  “Michael. What the hell are you doing here?”


  Archangel Michael winced. “Mikos, please.”

  “Sorry. Old habits. I’ll use heck instead.”

  With the end of his finger, Michael pointed the tip of the colichemarde downward. “I would prefer if you did not point that weapon at me.”

  “Then you shouldn’t surprise me when I’m training.”

  Mikos strode over to the table and grabbed a towel. He paused to wipe the sweat from his face then tossed the towel into a basket under the table.

  He faced Michael. By this time, the Archangel had muted his heavenly glow to a more manageable level. To the level Mikos didn’t feel his eyes needed protection from the angel’s brilliance.

  “Why are you here?” he asked Heaven’s warlord.

  He really should try to be more respectful. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the Archangel. He did. Probably more than any other angelic being. Except, well, except the one who’d been like a brother to him.

  As for Michael, he didn’t seem to mind Mikos’s occasional disrespectful manner. In fact, now that he thought about it, the Archangel more often appeared amused by his surliness. Always glad he could amuse the Prince of Angels.

  Michael smiled and shrugged. “Just curious. How is the training of the new defender coming?”

  “Michael, you know da...darn well how it’s going.”

  “She is difficult.”

  “That is the understatement of all understatements,” Mikos said and rested his hip on the table’s edge. “She does not believe. How can I train someone who does not believe?”

  “You, most of all, know it is possible to learn.”

  “I always believed,” he murmured. “I thought I wanted something more.” Mikos fell silent, his mind drifting back.

  Yes, he had always believed. He had never doubted his faith, and he still didn’t.

  An overwhelming need for something combined with the whisperings of those who had fallen before, did much to shake, no, not shake, crumble, the foundations of everything he’d ever known. Or thought he knew.

  “You must return her faith to her. It is the only way.”