The Mephisto Mark: The Redemption of Phoenix (16 page)

The dented toaster was on the floor next to the bed and when I picked it up, the plug came loose and fell out. I bent to
retrieve it and noticed a box beneath her bed. Curious, I shoved aside hesitation of invading her privacy and pulled it out to lift the lid.

There were hundreds of
photocopies of articles and pages from books, all of them about survivors of abuse and sexual assault. I sat on the bed and went through that box and saw notes she’d made in the margins, words and phrases she’d circled. I noticed a lot of the pages were wrinkled, as if they’d been wet. She’d cried over these words.

I read for hours, until it was dark outside in Bucharest
and I willed on the light, which was an exposed bulb in the ceiling. When I was done reading, I laid on her narrow bed and stared up at the peeling paint and wondered what she thought about while she laid here before she went to sleep. This apartment was so horrible, it would have to get an update to be considered sketchy. I could hear the scurry of tiny rodent feet in the walls. But I had a feeling Mariah loved it here. This was her very own, a place that was just hers, where she didn’t have to answer to anybody.

If she stayed with us and became a Lumina, she’d have her own cottage. She could decorate it however she liked. She would live there and come to the mansion every day to work, and hang out with the other Luminas.
They went skiing and hiking. Sometimes they took pack trips deeper into the mountains even than where we lived. They were forever having get-togethers, dinners, barbecues, game nights, and in the warmer months, sports. Lots of sports. Jax had an entire basketball league. They played baseball, rode horses, rode the bikes I built for them, and had picnics in the meadow. Life on our mountain was a certain kind of Hell for my brothers and I, but for the Luminas, it was never-ending bucolic tranquility. They were dead and resurrected to immortality. Living angels. No matter what, they were always at peace, and they played as hard as they worked.

Mariah would like it. And as time passed, she’d heal. I’d help her. I’d coax her into opening up, and she’d eventually get it all out and muck it around and look at it and talk about it and be mad about it and finally, eventually,
make peace with it.

I roused off the bed and gathered up the sheets and blanket and the old toaster, turned off the light, then popped back to Colorado. I went first to Mathilda’s
housekeeping room, where she had a desk and shelves filled with all sorts of cleaning supplies, and several sewing tables where some of the Purgatories made and repaired our work clothes. Bolts of black leather stood in one corner. Through a wide doorway was the laundry with several washing machines and dryers, ironing boards and deep sinks.

Mathilda
looked up from the list she was making and smiled at me. “Master Phoenix. What can I do for ye?”

I
dropped the toaster in the trash, then set the soiled sheets on the laundry table and explained what they were. “I think you should throw them away and get Mercy to buy new. Even if Mariah stays with us, I want her apartment neat and clean.” M would provide a doppelganger and someone, probably Gustav, would find it and think it was Mariah. She’d want to know he didn’t find her on a bed without sheets. I have no idea how I knew this – I just did.

“I also want Mercy to buy her some clothes. Tell her to buy some of everything. Whatever girls wear. And
other girly stuff. Whatever Mariah doesn’t like, Mercy can return.”

Mathilda nodded as I spoke, then said, “The first thing she needs is a warm coat. She’ll catch her death in that rag she’s wearing today.”

“What are you talking about? Is she outside for some reason?”

“Oh, aye.
She took a painting lesson this morning from Miss Sasha, then they had an early lunch and went out with Jax, Ty and Denys to ski.”

Surely Sasha and my brothers weren’t at the Telluride lifts.
Surely they’d taken Mariah cross-country skiing, right here on our mountain. Or maybe they were snowshoeing and Mathilda was confused. They wouldn’t take Mariah away from here, where she was safe from Eryx. Trying not to panic, I closed my eyes and concentrated carefully until I found Jax.

Then I panicked. And my fury nearly choked me. Opening my eyes, I said, “I gotta go.”

“I heard them talking about it before lunch,” Mathilda said. “Eryx is at Miss Jordan’s school, too wrapped up in her to be following any of you. They made a plan to stay with Mariah at all times, so they could pop her back here if need be.”

Mathilda hated it when we fought, and we did it a lot. She was trying to pacify me so I wouldn’t
kick Jax’s ass. To be kind, I nodded and said, “I’m sure it’s fine.” Then I popped myself to the base of the lifts at Revelation Bowl and found my brother, fully intending to tell him he had exactly as long as it would take me to return Mariah to the mountain to prepare for war.

He’d shoved his Oakleys to the top of his head, so I could see his eyes when he turned to face me. Before I could say anything, he pointed his
ski pole toward the run right in front of us. “I’ve never seen anyone learn this fast, and she’s been laughing since we got here. Sasha is holding Eryx’s location in her head, because she’s awesome at that, and he’s in D.C. panting after Jordan. Calm the fuck down and let her have some fun.”

I heard her laughter from halfway up the mountain, saw her racing toward us, Sasha right behind her
, Denys and Ty on either side of her. She was dressed in navy, a snug cap over her head and goggles covering her eyes. Her nose was sunburned.

“We went first to the shop at Mountain Village and rigged her out. She made a couple of runs on the bunny slopes, then insisted we take her
on some blue runs, and this is her first run on a black diamond. Look at her. She’s fearless. A natural. And she loves it.”

My anger dialed back to a
low boil, probably because the sound of her laughter made my insides flip around. I wished I was skiing with her. I’d only skied a few times. But then, I rarely did anything outside. I wore my horsehair shirt of guilt and wouldn’t allow myself to do things I’d once considered fun. I hadn’t been on a horse since the invention of automobiles. I built bikes for everyone on the mountain, but didn’t have one of my own. Denying myself anything that could be considered fun and enjoyable, including sex –
especially
sex – had seemed a small price to pay for what I did to Jane.

Watching Mariah shout her
triumphant joy as she came closer to me at breakneck speed, my want, my
need
to join her was a physical thing that coiled around me and squeezed so hard, I was breathless.

Her stop was flawless. She was breathing hard, laughing up at me as she moved her goggles to her cap. Her eyes were bluer, I could see her glow
, and her scent was beautiful. My brothers and Sasha skied up just behind her and looked at me with obvious anxiety. They knew I was pissed.

Mariah didn’t. I bit back what I wanted to say to
them and instead said to Mariah, “I wish you weren’t a liar. That whole
I’m poor
thing really had me going. Clearly you’ve lived in Switzerland your entire life and trained with the Olympic team.”

“This is the most fun I’ve ever had. It’s such a rush! And the mountains are beautiful, and all the snow.”
Still breathing hard with exertion, making her breasts rise and fall, she looked down at my boots. “Where are your skis?”

Peeling my gaze away from her chest, I focused on her eyes.
“I don’t have skis.”

“What? Why? Go get some and ski with me.”

“I’d love to, but I have to work on—”

“Are you scared? I mean, it’s dangerous, I guess, but it’s not like you’re ever permanently hurt.
If I get hurt, Sasha says she can fix me.”

The only thing in the world I was scared of was what I could do to her if I wasn’t constantly on guard. She was so wounded. I had to keep that front and center in my mind at all times. Had to be careful and not step over a line.
Not only my words, but actions and even thoughts.

I fought to keep from looking at her breasts again. Jesus,
that dream had me undone. I wished I could see her as I saw Sasha – like a sister. I’d never, even once, had a sexual thought about Sasha. Strange, because honestly, I had sexual thoughts about most women. Except for the Luminas. I was a son of Hell, but even I couldn’t have impure thoughts about angels.

Would this low hum of sexual awareness disappear once Mariah became a Lumina? Could I then see her as a beautiful girl and not a hot woman I’d sell my soul to see naked, to touch, just once? I cleared my throat and said,
“I assure you I’m not scared of skiing.”

“Then work later and ski with us now.”

I leaned down and whispered, “You’re away from the mountain, at risk.”

With her face scarcely two inches from mine, she
whispered back, “They think I don’t know, but Sasha is keeping Eryx front and center in her mind. He’s in Washington and I’m nowhere on his radar. Come on, Phoenix, don’t worry so much. Go get some skis and do this with me, just for a little while.”

“I’d rather take you home.”

“Three more hours until dark, then I’ll go back and stay there until it’s safe for me to leave again.”

I knew I should say no. It was a needless risk. But the look on her face, the sound of her laughter – I wanted to hear it again and again. I sighed. “All right, fine, but the second you ski too far away from any one of us, we’re going back.
Capice?
”

She grinned at me and my heart thudded hard
against my ribs. “Let’s race.”

I groaned, then we all popped down to Mountain Village so I could get some skis. And food. I hadn’t eaten and was starving.

We went in the Blue Dog Grill and ordered crab claws, chicken kabobs, and burgers. Mariah ate almost as much as Sasha, who ate far more than an ordinary human girl because of Mephisto. I wondered if Mariah was too poor to buy food? She obviously relished what she ate, seeming to enjoy every single bite.

When we were
back up on the slopes, she beat me twice, I beat her twice, and Jax said we had to have a tie-breaker, which is how we wound up at the top of the most difficult run at Revelation Bowl. I looked down at the almost vertical drop, at the tiny figures that were Jax and the others waiting for us at the bottom, and asked her, “Are you sure about this?”

“You’re chicken, aren’t you?”

“They say chicken in Romania?”

“It’s a worldwide euphemism for cowards.”

“I doubt that.”

“Look it up.” She
schussed left ski, then right ski, gripping her poles, focused on the slope. “Are you in, or not?”

This was going to be epic.
“I’m in.”

“Prepare to lose, my friend.”

“I’m out of practice.” I was never actually
in
practice. Until today, I’d skied four times my whole life, and those were related to a takedown back in the fifties. I learned, practiced, then we did the takedown, and my skiing career was over.

“Excuses already? You must think you’re going to lose.”

My competitive nature roared to life. “Not hardly.”

“Okay, on three.”

We counted together and as soon as we both said three, I pushed off. Just as I’d thought, it was incredible. Exhilarating. I risked a glance at her and saw she was laughing. We were neck and neck, moving faster and faster. I could see Jax and the others clapping and yelling. I’m pretty sure they were all rooting for Mariah, which only made me want to win that much more.

Unfortunately for my manhood, she smoked me, probably because I tried to be tricky and jumped a mogul instead of skiing around it. My landing almost sent me crashing
, and by the time I’d regained my balance, she was ten yards ahead, and I never caught up.

When we were with the others, she pulled off her goggles
and hat and high-fived Sasha. And she laughed. For the first time in a thousand years, I didn’t mind losing. I’d do it over and over, just to hear her laugh.

~~ Mariah ~~

I’d never had a real holiday
until that first week on Mephisto Mountain. As much as I wished Viorica would tell me the truth, a part of me was glad to keep up the ruse that I would be leaving on Sunday. I had no commitments, no pressure, no job to do. It was glorious.

On Wednesday
morning, I had my first piano lesson from Zee. It went infinitely better than my painting lesson. I would never be an artist, but I loved music, loved the chance to learn an instrument. Especially the piano. I stayed in Zee’s music room for several hours, his enthusiasm infectious. He played for me, all sorts of instruments, and when he picked up a mandolin, he talked me into singing with him. I’m certain he knew every song ever sung, and when he started playing some of the old folksongs my mother used to sing, that she’d taught to me and Viorica, I joined in. He stopped singing while I gained momentum and when I was done, he said solemnly, “You sound like Nora Jones.”

I’d never heard of Nora Jones, so he played some of her music on an iPod he had hooked up to a complicated system of speakers that enveloped me in sound. I couldn’t unders
tand what she sang, but her voice was low and smoky. Sexy. I guffawed. “No way do I sound like that.”