Fire And Steel (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 2) (33 page)

      And, in a way, they had.

      Always before, he kept a perfect picture of his family in his mind and in his heart. His mother and father, smiling and arm in arm. But now the picture was flawed. A long jagged crack marred its surface now. Their smiles looked forced and their arms no longer fit together just right. Their eyes looked different now, like those of a stranger. His mother had cheated on his father and his father killed her lover. And they both paid for it with their lives.

      Brandon said. "It doesn't matter." He looked at the Phoenix. It lay on the table like an idol, deadly and alive. He was unable to meet Gerrick's eyes as he said it again. "It doesn’t matter. Is that all you have to tell me?"

      Gerrick said nothing for a long time before nodding. "For now. The rest can come later."

      Brandon nodded. Picking up the Phoenix, he turned to open the back door and stopped, an icy wind gusting inside. Gerrick got to his feet and said. "What are you going to do?" He looked like he might try to stop Brandon, if he didn't like the answer he heard.

      Brandon looked at Gerrick, meeting his eyes. The older man blinked at the sudden heat in the younger's gaze. Brandon said. "I'm going out to kill something." He went outside, slamming the door behind him.

      Gerrick stared at the closed door and thought of following and shadowing the boy through the night, but he didn't. There was nothing out there that could stand up to Brandon. Not now. Not with the Phoenix in his hands. And not with his demonic guardian looking out for him. He was almost ready for the end game.

      Getting up, Gerrick picked up the two mugs and went to the sink. While he rinsed them out, he thought about Stephen. It was a long time since he thought of Brandon's father, but tonight had dredged up more than old memories.

      "It had to be told." He said aloud. Speaking to the house. To the ghosts of Highgarden. And speaking to Stephen's shade, if he had one. "He can't die, not knowing."

      Brandon didn't bother putting his shirt back on. Cutting across the bright white of Highgarden's snow covered back lawn, he felt the icy wind only dimly from within the emptiness. The Phoenix burned brightly in his fist, warming him from the inside as he crossed the bridge. It seemed a hundred years since the night he found Rok. The water, which ran deep and cold during the summer, was frozen now, heavy snow piled thick on the ice.

      Leaving the bridge behind him, Brandon threw himself into the forest. He could sense the grohlm following, moving through the snowy treetops. He ignored them. It wasn't time to kill. Not yet. The forest was dark under the overlapping limbs overhead, but Brandon knew where he was going.

      It didn't take long for him to reach the hidden graveyard. Snow covered the handful of rock tombs, making them into soft white mounds. He stopped in the center of the bone yard, raising his head to the sky and breathing deep. The wind rose and died, bringing the smell of cold steel and the pungent odor of matted fur.

      The grohlm moved slowly out of the shadows. Fearful as they stepped out into the moonlight, they sniffed at the air and brandished their rusted and frost bitten blades. Moonlight glistened on bits of frozen armor.

      When did it get dark?
The thought made Brandon pause, sliding across the emptiness from somewhere in the ether. It had a lost quality that nearly shattered his concentration. Pushing away his uncertainty and confusion, he stood in the snow and watched the approaching grohlm. The whole day seemed like a fever dream.

      An even dozen grohlm came out of the darkness, surrounding him. They were mostly wolves, but there was also a stag and a snorting bull. The largest of the wolves stepped forward, rattling a rusty sword against a plain wooden shield. Its black lips peeled back, wrinkling its muzzle, and it growled deep in its chest. Its breath misted white in front of its face as its tongue lolled from its hungry grin.

      Brandon waited, maintaining the emptiness. There was no fear. No anger. The emptiness was nearly perfect, except for the soft glow of Rok's presence. And something else. Something he couldn't quite see, like a flickering light seen from the corner of his eye. Then there was only the moment. There was only the sword in his hand and the enemies surrounding him.

      The wolf charged, his pack mates hard on his heels, and Brandon exploded into motion. He was a killing wind, tearing into them and unleashing all of his pent up rage. The grohlm knew they couldn't stand up to the power before them, but they came on anyway. Dancing between the flashing blades and spiked maces of the snarling grohlm, Brandon swept the first wolf's head from its shoulders. Then, twisting, he snapped his right heel into the throat of the charging bull, sending it crashing to the snowy ground, thrashing as it choked to death.

      Brandon slid sideways, letting the stag's short spear slice the air in front of his face, and drove an elbow into its face, before cleaving it in half at the waist. Black blood misted the arctic air, peppering Brandon's chest and arms. The remaining grohlm threw themselves hard at him, snapping their jaws and snarling as they fell. No blade touched him, or even came close.

      The fight was over almost as quickly as it began. The dead grohlm were scattered around him, most in pieces. The once pristine snow was now a churned lake of black blood and mud and guts. Brandon stood in the center of the bone yard, staring up at the moon, standing high and full overhead. His breath misted in front of his face and he felt an insane urge to howl at the moon. But he felt the glazed eyes of the dead wolves staring at him, accusingly, so he didn’t. Instead, he contented himself with kneeling and cleaning the Phoenix on the ratty tunic of the dead bull. It was one of the only bits of grohlm clothing that wasn't covered in blood.

      Around him, he heard more grohlm moving in the forest. But they stayed out of the light, watching from the shadows as Brandon headed home. He left the dead where they lay, knowing that the bodies would be gone before morning. He once asked Gerrick what the grohlm did with their dead and regretted asking when the older man told him. Grohlm were lazy and anything that could fill their bellies without work or fighting was fought over.

      He walked slowly, listening to the grohlm following through the trees. They didn't attack or make themselves known, just stalked him almost all the way back to Highgarden. They stopped ghosting him at the same place they did on the day Eric Golph died.

      Brandon stopped walking and turned, looking for them. There were glimmers in the trees that might have been watching eyes. Sometimes they blinked. Nothing else.

      What was stopping them, he wondered? Nothing about the place where he stood felt any different than before. Not to Brandon. But something definitely kept the grohlm out. More magic, most likely.

      He was getting sick of magic, even if it was the only thing keeping him alive, if only for a short time longer. Less than a week until the new year. Less than a week and it would end, one way or another. For better or worse, it would all be over.

      Giving the lurking grohlm one last hard look, Brandon turned his back to them and went home.

      The wolf watched the Storm Lord leave, putting his back to the grohlm in a brazen show of disrespect, and growled deep in his throat. Nashoba was surrounded by dozens of lower grohlm, as well as his murder of high wolves, but those numbers seemed hopelessly inadequate after seeing what the young warrior was capable of in the forest, back in that old place of death.

      He was formidable. But not yet so formidable that he wouldn’t fall to the wolf’s spears. If not for the magic surrounding his den, he would already have faced the judgement of the grohlm. But the barrier stood firm, preventing the horde from entering.

      But how long would it hold?

      Not forever. Nashoba wasn’t the wisest of grohlm, though he was considered a cunning warrior, but even his warrior’s mind knew that in war anything could happen. He would face the young one in battle one day. He would test his spears against the cub’s magic steel and he would triumph. He did not fear the boy’s gods, old or new.

      He would taste his blood.

      Silently promising to return, Nashoba led the horde away from Highgarden and the prize waiting within.

      Underhill arrived at the police station in a rush, pushing his way through the door, and stopped to marvel at what could only be described as organized chaos. Bloodied deputies and their families were scattered throughout the police station, kids crying and spouses trying hard to keep everybody calm.

      Teague saw him enter and called to him from his open office door. “Al, over here.”

      Underhill took in his friend’s bloodstained uniform and shook his head. “How many dead?”

      “We haven’t heard from a couple of the new deputies, so I sent out two teams to check in on them. They’re in route now.” Teague ran a hand through his hair and said. “This was a coordinated attack. These things are getting smarter.”

      “Or they have a new leader?” Underhill said, glancing into the younger man’s office. Teague’s wife, Rachel, looked up from where she was sitting with their daughter. They were on a small couch that sat against the office’s far wall. The little one was lying down, her head resting in her mother’s lap as she slept.

      Rachel smiled when she saw Underhill and said. “Hello, Mr. Underhill.”

      He gave her as reassuring a smile as he knew how to give and said. “Hello, Rachel. Are you two lovely ladies okay?”

      “We’re fine.” She said. She rested a hand on her resting daughter’s head, running her fingers through her silky hair. She shook her head and wiped sudden tears from her eyes. Then she laughed softly. “Or not. I don’t really know. It’s hard enough being the wife of a police officer, before you throw monsters into the mix.”

      “Derek is doing very well.” Underhill said. “You should get some sleep, if you can. You’re safe here.” He gave her another smile before turning and addressing himself to the police chief. “Let’s get everybody in from the cold, then we can start planning for the next hunt.”

      Teague didn’t say anything right away. The grohlm were getting desperate. That was what the attacks were all about. This wasn’t some grand plan of theirs to take out a threat, but a last ditch effort to prevent their own annihilation by a stronger enemy. Teague looked at his friend and said. “We’re going to win, aren’t we?”

      Underhill touched his nose with his finger and said. “Only time will tell, Derek. There are still battles to be fought, not all of them by those present here.” He turned his gaze to the frenzy of activity in the police station and a craggy smile tugged at the scar on his face. “But it’s definitely a good start.”  

Chapter 32

      The days leading up to Christmas Eve found a Matheson changed greatly from the terrified town weeks before. The town was beginning to return to a semblance of normalcy, nearly the same town that it used to be before the dark times. The curfew stayed in effect, but people were out on the streets again. Living their lives and sleeping a little better knowing that the police were spending more time on the streets and in the woods, serving and protecting. Chief Teague and his men survived the ambushes at their homes and, because of it, intensified their hunts. Their patrols moved deeper into the woods and they found fewer grohlm to kill. Many of the men believed that the monster's numbers had to be dwindling. That or they were being forced into hiding. Ambushes became fewer and less frequent. It felt like they were winning.

      And to some degree, they were. The grohlm had learned much from their contact with the human hunters, but the main thing they learned was to be wary of firearms. They no longer threw themselves into gunfire with the same abandon as before, as if feeding themselves to a meat grinder.

      A few of the people in town knew that the war was far from over. The old men at the Antique store watched the town slowly waking up and knew that any celebration would be premature. They could feel the swell of magic building in the air around Matheson, like atmospheric buildup before a powerful thunderstorm. Something powerful was coming and they both knew that Matheson’s future hung in the balance.

      Gerrick also knew better. He watched the stillness of the woods and forests surrounding Highgarden and felt a sense of unease that had little to do with the approaching deadline. He'd been in enough battles to recognize the calm before the storm. Sha’ha’Zel was coming and he doubted he would have what it took to stop him from facing Brandon. He thought of Stephen and the talks they’d had as young men, back when they thought destroying the Curse might be possible.

      It should be possible, but neither of them had the power to do so on their own or even together. But Brandon might be strong enough. So he spent the quiet time sharpening his swords and teaching Brandon the things that he needed to know to survive. Brandon absorbed the lessons as he had every thing else Gerrick showed him, but things had changed between the two warriors. He didn’t see Gerrick as his superior, not any longer. Nor did he see him as an equal.

      There was contempt in the younger man’s gaze now when he looked at Gerrick. He tried to hide it, but it was definitely there. He didn’t respect Gerrick any longer. He saw himself as the stronger of them. Gerrick should have been angry about that, but it actually made him that much more proud of Brandon. He was truly becoming a man. He entertained thoughts of the man Brandon would become if he somehow survived past New Years, though he knew, deep down, that neither of them would live through the Curse's coming.

      Whatever strange magic was in the air, Brandon felt it as well. The morning of Christmas Eve, he stood out on Highgarden's back deck and stared out at the forest and felt a chill settling itself deep in his bones. Something was coming. Something big and bad. And he didn't think it was just Sha'ha'Zel.

      But the peace of Highgarden held, despite the heavy feel to the air, leaving Brandon strong and feeling refreshed as he stepped out into the yard. He was dressed warmly, in a hoodie and a light jacket, though the cold couldn’t touch him any more. The yard was covered in clean white snow and the sky was clear and cloudless. A few scattered snowflakes fell, promising more for later, and the woods were a winter wonderland. He could almost forget that he had a date with death in less than a week.

      His parents were on his mind more than usual. This was his first Christmas without them. And more than likely his last. It left him feeling hollow and lonely. He missed them terribly and the holidays only made it worse. Walking out to the little rock bridge, he leaned against the side and let his mind wander from his parents to Claire. He was having dinner with her tonight, along with her parents, and that made the day seem a little bit more bearable.

      Pushing away thoughts of death and curses, Brandon took another long look at the snow covered forest before going back inside to get ready for the day.

      Claire sipped her hot chocolate and watched the other patrons of the Lumberjack as they went about their Christmas Eve morning routines. It was crowded, with people showing up in dribs and drabs, but not uncomfortably so. She liked the bustling activity. It made the earlier horrors seem like they were long finished, instead of ongoing. She glanced at her phone where it lay on the table and sighed. She wanted to call Brandon, just to hear his voice, but was afraid it would seem needy or even kind of stalker-ish.

      It still freaked her out a little, how much she cared for the strange boy from Highgarden, but she was getting used to thinking of him as her boyfriend and not just her best friend. The thought still gave her a goosey feeling of butterflies in her stomach.

      Sighing, she was about to leave when Tuesday Jones slid into the booth across from her and said. “As I live and breath, is it the young Claire Moody that I see before me?” She smiled brightly at her and said. “Happy Christmas Eve! I’m loving that eyepatch!”

      Claire smiled and said. “Why, thank you, Miss Jones. And a happy Christmas Eve to you!” Her eyepatch was green with a grinchy yellow eye painted on it. She was dressed Christmasy as well, in a holiday hoodie and knee high snow boots. She took in the tattooed woman’s own outfit and said. “Aren’t you cold?”

      Tuesday looked down at her tee shirt and shrugged. “Nah. I’m a hot blooded wench. What are you doing here on Christmas Eve, girl? You should be home, putting up your tree and watching Rudolph on TV.”

      “Our tree’s been up since right after Halloween.” Claire said, wrinkling her nose. She had decided that she liked Tuesday Jones quite a lot in the days since they first met. The older woman didn’t act like other people her age. She never treated Claire like a child or like she thought of her as a dumb kid.

      Tuesday laughed and said. “Your parents do that too? I thought mine were the only ones.” She leaned forward and her grin turned playful. “Though, if I’m being completely honest here, I totally love putting the tree up early.” Both young women laughed. Tuesday flagged down a passing waitress by name and ordered a hot chocolate of her own. When the waitress was gone, she leaned her elbows on the table and raised her eyebrows, saying. “So spill it. Why are you here, instead of at home with your folks?”

      “Well, actually, I was going to pick up a couple of last minute presents for my boyfriend, but the only music store in town is closed for the holiday.”

      Tuesday shook her head and her smile was crooked. “Shit, why didn’t you say something sooner? Let’s go”

      “You don’t have to do that.” Claire said, waving the offer away. “It’s not that big a deal.”

      “Poppy cock, I say! There are certain perks that come with being the owner. Let’s go.” She hopped up, snagging the steaming mug from the returning waitress and gave the startled woman a bright smile. “We’ll be right back, Flo. Don’t let anybody have our booth.”

      Claire followed her out of the diner, her expression at the same time amused and worried. She said. “You realize that you just walked out with your drink, right?”

      “Yup.” Tuesday led the way across the street, skirting a fire hydrant and chuckling. “It’s okay. The owner knows where I live.” She already had her key out as they reached Vinyl Gods and had the door open in one smooth motion. She took a moment to deactivate the alarm before turning the lights on and waving for Claire to come in. She said. “Go crazy.”

      Claire followed her around the shop, smiling at the other woman’s Puckishness as she perused the store’s selection of music, movies, and swag. She paused on a selection of statues, all of different comic book and science fiction characters. They were highly detailed and expensive. She really liked one of the Batman villain, the Joker, and his girlfriend Harley Quinn. Tuesday saw her eyeing it and said. “Tell you what. I’m giving you a, one time only, new friend discount. You can have it for half price.”

      “I can’t let you do that.” Claire said. She hooked her hair behind her ear and shook her head at the look of consternation on the other woman’s face. “You barely know me, I would feel weird about it.”

      Tuesday arched her eyebrow at her and pursed her lips in thought. Then she grinned. “How about you work off the cost? Come in and work part time for me on the weekends? We need an extra pair of hands around here and I think you would fit in quite nicely. Then we can just call it part of your employee discount?”

      Claire didn’t answer right away. She was about half convinced the woman in front of her was out of her mind. There was no other explanation for why she was so intent on being Claire’s friend. It was that or she had a crush on her. Claire picked up the statue and hefted it, pretending to think long and hard about the offer, then asked. “Why are you doing this? Being so nice to me, I mean? You don’t even now me?”

      Tuesday’s smile slipped a little and she sighed. She gestured for Claire to follow her to the register, where she rung up the statue for half the displayed price and carefully wrapped it up and bagged it. Setting it on the counter in front of Claire, she said. “That’s a hard question to answer, Claire.”

      “Why do you say that?”

      “Because I’m not sure myself.” Tuesday scratched her head and shrugged. “I just get these feelings sometimes. I call them my magical intuitions because they almost always turn out to be important. And the magic is telling me that you’re a unique person. Plus, Madge likes you and she doesn’t like just anybody. So, what do you say?”

      Claire might have laughed except for her own strange experiences lately. It was becoming apparent that there was far more going on in Matheson than just evil curses and armies of monsters in the woods. Pulling her money from her front pocket, she paid for the statue and said. “Well, I don’t know much about magical intuitions or being unique, but you’ve got yourself a new employee.”

      Tuesday hooted and put her hand up for a high five that Claire returned with a grin. They laughed and goofed for a few more minutes before locking up the shop and heading back to the diner. As they crossed the street, snow began to fall, slow and lazy from the cloudless sky. Claire wanted to be happy at the sight of the snow, that it was going to be a true white Christmas, but it made her nervous instead.

      Better if it had been rain.

      The rest of the day passed slowly for the town of Matheson. People ventured out to enjoy the winter weather. Kids broke out their sleds, careful to avoid secluded or hidden places, and the sound of laughter could be heard for the first time in a long while.

      The police continued to patrol, intent on getting through the holidays with zero loss of life, but there were no hunts planned for the next few days. Chief Teague felt the hunters deserved a brief respite to enjoy some down time with their families. It wouldn’t do the town any good if the men protecting it burnt themselves out or got themselves killed due to exhaustion.

      At Highgarden, Gerrick and Brandon kept to themselves, each keeping the holiday in their own way. Brandon spent the day acting his age, something he hadn’t been allowed to do in what seemed like centuries. He played video games online with Mike and his other friends from Washington, while drinking egg nog and eating junk food. Though their voices were coming through his Xbox’s headphones, it still almost felt like old times. For a little while, he was able to forget about his new and terrible life and pretend like he was a normal boy. It was the best present he could think of to give himself.

      Gerrick stayed in his office most of the day, composing a letter. He started and stopped the letter a dozen times, discarding multiple drafts before ending with one that was as close to what he intended as he could make it. Once the letter was finished, he used the rest of the day to take care of chores that he hadn’t been able to get around to doing. Tidying up the house and the grounds while checking and re-checking Highgarden’s defenses.

      It was late afternoon when Gerrick knocked on Brandon’s open bedroom door and stepped into his room. Brandon was stretched out on the bed, watching National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation on TV. He glanced up when Gerrick entered and asked. “What’s up?”

      Gerrick glanced at the TV and shook his head. Foolish invention, good for very little. Except, perhaps, for the weather and what passed for news these days. He said. “Claire’s mother just called to invite us to dinner.”

      “Really?” Brandon sat up, suddenly interested. He used the remote to mute the TV and looked at Gerrick. He said. “What did you say?”

      “I told her that I couldn’t make it.” Brandon started to protest, but Gerrick cut him off. “But that you would be pleased to attend.”

      Brandon smiled and shook his head, meeting the older man’s gaze. “You could go too, you know? It wouldn’t hurt you to interact with normal people, for once in your life.”

      Gerrick’s lips quirked and he said. “Dinner is at 5. Dress nice and don’t stay out all night, if you can help it.” He started to leave, then stopped. He met Brandon’s gaze and said. “Have fun. And be careful.”

      After he was gone, Brandon closed the door and hopped in the shower. Letting the water refresh and invigorate him, he thought about the present for Claire nestled safely in his closet and smiled. He could almost forget the deadline, less than a week away, and the very real possibility this was the last Christmas Eve he would ever have.