Fire And Steel (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 2) (34 page)

Chapter 33

      The Moody house was brightly lit, the decorations more elaborate then all the other houses on their street. The Christmas lights twinkled and music played from the base of the big inflatable Santa and his reindeer perched on the peek of the big house. The night sky was heavy with clouds, rolling in from the South. Flurries of snow fell most of the day, fighting with an icy mist that threatened to become rain, but the air was clear by dinnertime.

      Brandon parked on the street in front of Claire’s house and got out, checking himself real quick in the rear view mirror. The Lincoln was like new after spending more than two weeks in the shop, but Brandon was still nervous driving it. He didn’t think about the evil surrounding them all or what would happen when the New Year came. Instead, he focused on making this the best Christmas that Claire would ever remember.

      Especially since it would probably be the only one they would have together.

      Claire must have been watching for him because the front door opened as he approached the house and she came outside to meet him. At the bottom of the front steps, she came into his arms and hugged him as hard as she could. He hugged her back, taking in the feel and the smell of her for as long as he could before pulling back and smiling into her upturned face. Her eyepatch tonight was a soft pink, decorated with a small kitten face. Her hair was done up in a different style than she usually wore and she was wearing a beautiful dress that brought out the green in her eye.

      “You look so beautiful.” He said, taking her completely in. Leaning forward, he planted a soft kiss on her parted lips, stealing her breath. She leaned against him, deepening the kiss, and touched his back lightly with her fingers. He wished the kiss could last forever, but they had to breath eventually, so he pulled back and smiled against her lips as he said. “Merry Christmas.”

      Claire’s smile matched his own. She traced his lips with a series of tiny little kisses before she finally stepped back and said. “Merry Christmas.”

      Sitting at their dining room table, watching the Moodys as they laughed and behaved the way that he and his parents had used to, Brandon felt a sudden stab of nostalgia. He ached for his mom and dad, for the familiar sights and smells of his old life. The betrayal and anger from before seemed like a pale memory next to the longing he felt for them. Forgiving them for keeping him in the dark about so many things was easy. He met Claire's green eye more than once during dinner and felt his love for her swell inside of him until it seemed like it would burst from his fingertips. Every time she caught him watching her, she would blush and smile.

     Claire’s mom saw some of those surreptitious by-plays and the glances she sent Brandon's way made him feel uncomfortable. Not because of any anger or disapproval in her eyes, though there was a little of both. It was the considering look that made his skin crawl the most. As if she were weighing him on an invisible set of scales and hadn’t decided which way she felt about him. He ignored those looks as best as he could.

      After dinner, Claire walked Brandon outside. Her dad made it clear that Brandon was more than welcome at their house Christmas morning. Her mom was just as insistent that he come over. Making him promise, before letting him leave. He promised, more to make them happy than any other reason. It would be awesome to spend the day with Claire.

      Out on the front porch, with the front door closed behind them, Claire fell into Brandon's arms, kissing him. The kiss was longer than the earlier one and made his heart race. The girl in his arms was a soft and delicious weight that he could carry all day. The thought of not spending the rest of his life with her was torturous. What would she do when he was gone? Would the Curse leave her alone, once Brandon was dead? Would not having the name of Merryweather protect her? There had to be some way to guarantee her safety in the likely event of his death.

      Pulling back, Brandon felt tears threading their way down his cheeks. When had he started crying? Claire reached up, touching the moisture on his cheeks, and said. "It has to be hard. The first Christmas without your mom and dad? I can’t imagine what you’re going through." She hugged him, pulling him tight against her. He felt her heart beating hard against his chest. She said. "I love you so much, Bran. I'm so sorry."

      Brandon rested his face against her neck and breathed in the scent of her. He hated hiding things from her. He wanted to tell her everything, to warn her about what was coming. To give her all of his secrets and to hold her and love her until the last breath was torn from his body. More tears threatened to come, but he closed his eyes and willed them away. He said. "I love you so much, Claire Moody. Merry Christmas." From his pocket, he pulled out a narrow velvet box and pressed it into her hand. He blinked away tears and said. "I couldn't think of what to get you. I hope you like it."

      Claire opened the box and gasped. She looked up at Brandon, her single green eye shrink wrapped in tears. Light from one of the nearby windows glittered on the diamond pendant nestled inside the velvet box. "Bran, I don't know what to say. It's amazing."

      "Just say that you like it."  Brandon said.

      "Like it?” She wiped at her eye with the back of her hand and her smile split her face. She kissed him again. “I love it." Taking the teardrop shaped pendant from the box, she let its chain dangle through her fingers and tried unsuccessfully to keep her hand from shaking. There were tears in her eye. Taking the necklace from her trembling hand, Brandon made her turn around and hold her hair out of the way while he closed the necklace's clasp. Bending forward, he softly kissed the nape of her neck. Claire shivered and turned to peer up at him. She looked beautiful. The diamond was teardrop shaped and set in a finely worked silver backdrop.

      It reminded Brandon of a rain drop.

      Stepping into his arms, she rested her head on his chest and sighed. She said. "I love you, Brandon Merryweather. Forever and always."

      "I love you, Claire." Brandon swallowed the lump in his throat and forced back the tears still trying to form. "Forever and always."

      Their goodbye lasted longer than either anticipated, the better part of an hour, but when Brandon finally pulled himself away from her arms and her hungry mouth, he stopped and met her green eyed gaze and smiled. He said. "Everything's going to be all right, you know."

      Claire smiled. "I know." She moved to the front door, allowing him to step back, and stopped. She touched the pendant, lying in the soft hollow of her throat. "I love you. Will I see you tomorrow? We can watch the Christmas parade together, if you want?"

      Brandon smiled again, feeling soft inside for the first time in a long while. He said. "I'd like that. Good night, Claire."

      "Goodnight, Bran." She went inside, waving before she closed the door.

      Brandon stared at the door for a long moment before leaving.

      Sha'ha'Zel watched Brandon leave the girl's house and repressed the urge to cross the street and lay waste to the Moody home. His fingers, all twenty of them, itched to kill the girl, to taste her blood. But the magic binding him was too powerful to ignore. Not for very long, at least, and not without painful repercussions. The girl was safe. For as long as the conditions of the duel held. But once Merryweather was dead, he would end the girl. The satisfaction would be blunted because Brandon wouldn't be alive to witness it, but it would still be worthwhile. He would just have to make sure the young man knew what was in store for his lady love.

      Slipping into the shadows, he moved toward Highgarden. Despite his murderous thoughts, the Curse still thought of itself as a creature of honor and, whatever Merryweather thought, he would make sure that Brandon and the girl lived to see the new year. Then, after they were both dead and gone, Sha’ha’Zel would finally be allowed to meet his ancestors.

Chapter 34

      Claire was in the upstairs bathroom, brushing her teeth, when her cell phone started ringing. She spat and rinsed her mouth before going into her room and picking up the phone and checking the screen. It wasn’t a number she recognized, but she answered anyway. "Hello?"

      "Claire?" It was Gerrick.

      "Is everything okay?" Claire said, trying to keep her voice completely even. To at least sound calm, even though her heart felt like it was about to punch out of her chest. The inside of her mouth went dry. "Brandon left over an hour ago. He should be home already?" Panic threatened to overwhelm her and her voice sounded far too loud inside her ears.

      "He's home, Claire." Gerrick said, his voice strange. He spoke softly, barely more than a whisper, and there was a current of worry in his tone that made her skin break out in gooseflesh. "Can you come to Highgarden tonight? Brandon is in trouble. He needs your help." He paused. "He needs you to be here for him."

      Her hand went to the diamond resting between her breasts. She said. "It'll take me a little while. I have to get dressed and explain to my parents."

      "Tell your parents nothing.” He said, cutting her off. “Brandon's life depends on you leaving immediately. You must hurry. Brandon’s almost out of time." He hung up.

      Claire stared at the phone in her hand for a long time before hanging it up. Tossing aside her bathrobe, she got dressed in a hurry, not wasting any time. She thought briefly of trying to use her father’s car, but discarded the idea. There was no getting it out of the garage without waking them. So she was walking.

      She didn’t care. If Brandon needed her, she would be there. No matter what.

      Highgarden was burning! Flames licked along the floor and climbed the walls of Brandon's bedroom, creating dancing shadows all around him. The sheets on his bed boiled with flames, dripping to the floor and igniting everything they touched. Brandon screamed and raised his hands, but they were nothing but charred and blackened claws.

      With a muffled shout, Brandon came awake, throwing himself out of his bed and to his feet. He was so convinced that the fire from his dream was real that he began beating at the bed and his arms to try and smother the flames, before coming to his senses. Standing beside his bed, breathing heavily, he closed his eyes and got his bearings. When he breathed deep, he tasted smoke. Residual dream smoke, maybe.

      Wrapping himself within the emptiness, Brandon pulled on a pair of pants and padded from the room, stopping in the hallway. Highgarden was quiet, but the air hummed with an unseen energy. Anticipation wasn't quite the word for it. Brandon's skin itched with the sensation. Something very important was happening and he didn't know what.

      The door to Gerrick's bedroom was open and Brandon was unsurprised to see that the bed was made. Not slept in. Moving silently, he went downstairs and paused at the arch leading into the sword room.

      The Phoenix was gone.

      Checking the front door, making sure that it was still locked, he moved quickly through the house. Nothing was out of place other than the Phoenix. The house was dark, but he moved through it with confidence. In the kitchen, he stopped. Faint light flickered in through the windows, reminding him of his first night at Highgarden.

      Opening the back door, he stepped outside and stopped. Gerrick stood in the center of the training circle. He was dressed in full armor. Black, with overlapping scales, it was different than the suit from Brandon's dreams. More modern, yet still made of steel. The Phoenix lay on the ground before him.

      Gerrick looked up as Brandon stepped outside. His face was uncovered, slick with sweat, and his eyes were wide and staring. That made Brandon pause. He'd never seen Gerrick sweat. When he saw Brandon, his mouth twitched, almost smiling, and he said. "It's time, Bran."

      "Time?" Brandon stepped out onto the deck, leaving the back door open behind him. Always leave yourself an avenue of retreat. Gerrick had taught him that. Snow crunched under his bare feet, but he barely felt the cold. He stared hard at the man before him, sensing a wrongness that he didn’t have the words to describe. Something was wrong.

      Gerrick nodded. "Time for your last lesson." Reaching down, he picked up the Phoenix. The sword hissed in his hand, burning his fingers through the gauntlets he wore, and he grimaced as he tossed it out of the circle. It hit the ground at the foot of the steps, snow bursting into steam under the hot blade. Gerrick stared hard at Brandon's face and spoke in an ice cold voice. "Pick up your sword, Stormson."

      Brandon didn't move. "What's going on? Why are you acting this way?” He took a step toward the circle and said. “Uncle Gerrick?"

      "I am not your uncle." Gerrick snarled. Moving forward, he kicked one of the stones that formed the circle. The stone tore loose from the earth and rolled off into the darkness. When the circle broke, Brandon felt something snap, deep within himself, and he felt something leave Highgarden. The magic giving the house its vitality washed away into the night, leaving Highgarden a husk, empty and dead.

      Gerrick unsheathed one of the two swords strapped to his back and glared at Brandon. “I don’t do this lightly, Brandon.” He said, looking down at weapon in his fist. "It's not completely the Curse's fault, you know? All of the pain and death that has come to Matheson.” He shook his head and looked up, meeting Brandon’s confused gaze. “Death follows men like us, Brandon. If it wasn’t Sha’ha’Zel or the grohlm, it would be something else just as bad. Or worse." He took a slow step toward Brandon.

      Brandon moved down the porch steps, bending quickly to pick up the Phoenix. When the sword was in his hands, the cold he'd been ignoring vanished as heat poured into him. Scorching flames coursed through his veins, causing the air to shimmer before him with the heat. He watched Gerrick come toward him, his own sword at the ready.

      It was a reenactment of most of Brandon’s nights since coming to Highgarden. But this wasn't practice. The swords were real, as was the deadly gleam in the older man's black eyes.

      Sidestepping around the circle, Brandon said. "I don’t know what’s going on, Gerrick. Or what the hell you’re talking about. But we’re not doing this." He heard shouts coming from the forest. The magic keeping the grohlm at bay was gone, destroyed when the circle was broken. Keeping an eye out for the missing stone, he pulled the emptiness tighter around himself and held the Phoenix in a low guard position. He said. "Is Sha'ha'Zel making you do this?"

      Gerrick sneered and lunged forward, driving his blade at Brandon's chest. It was a killing blow. The Phoenix flickered, batting the sword aside, and Brandon moved back a step. Gerrick watched him with hard eyes and gave a brief nod of his head. His face was twisted in an expression caught somewhere between hate and regret. He spoke in a cold voice. "You don’t understand, not yet. But you will." Gliding forward, the older man attacked. Throwing everything he had at Brandon, he worked his sword like the master that he was. His skills had been honed by the months of hard work, same as Brandon's.

      Brandon danced backward, defending for all that he was worth. He had no time to speak. He focused everything that he had on keeping Gerrick's blade from touching his flesh. He was unsure if the destruction of Highgarden’s magical barrier would weaken the god’s protection, so he wasn’t taking any chances.

      The time for talking was done.

      Claire was almost to the end of Bachman road when a darker shadow broke away from the trees flanking the entrance to Highgarden's driveway and moved to block her path. She froze, fear leaping up into her chest and the adrenaline jacking into her system, then the shadow spoke.

      "It's not safe out here." Albert said, stepping out into the moonlight. His face was white and his big eyes gleamed in the pale light reflecting off the snow surrounding them. "You shouldn't be out past curfew, Claire."

      "What do you care?" She said, stepping around the small boy. "You're as bad as the Kruegers."

      Albert followed, stepping quickly to keep pace with her. He said. "I care, Claire-bear. If you go to Highgarden alone, you'll die. I guarantee it. And that, I can't allow."

      Stopping, she turned and faced him. Her hoodie was pulled up and she stared out at him from the shadows obscuring her face. She said. "So, you're going to be my protector, Albert? What brought this on? You don't honestly think Brandon will forgive you for betraying him, do you?"

      Albert smiled, his teeth very white and very even. They looked sharp. The light reflecting off of his glasses made it look like he had no eyes. "I owe Bran a lot, Claire. I think it's time that I start paying him back."

      Brandon swung sideways, parrying Gerrick's flashing blade, and kicked the older man in the chest. The armor absorbed most of the impact, but Gerrick stumbled back a step, his lips peeling away from his teeth in a feral grimace. He said, his voice tight with strain. "You can't win, Brandon. You have to know that." His sword was a deadly blur as he launched himself into another all out attack.

      Brandon didn't waste his energy trying to keep up his end of the conversation. He stepped back before Gerrick could reach him and dropped to one knee, driving his right hand into the ground. Tearing the earth upward, dimly thinking of blinding the older man, Brandon heaved with all of his strength. As before, on the night the Kruegers died, the ground exploded upwards, rolling as if a giant Bugs Bunny burrowed underneath, and slammed into Gerrick like an earthen fist.

      Gerrick flew past the circle, broken earth falling all around him as he crashed into the deck railing. Wood and rock shattered as the armored man hit the deck and rolled to his feet. Blood poured from a gash on his forehead, painting his face into a gruesome mask. Dusting dirt and debris from his chest, Gerrick might have been teaching his evening lesson, but for the blood fanning down his face. "You've learned a few things on your own, it seems." His tone was cold but also amused. Mocking.

      "Why?" Standing in the center of the ruined circle, holding the Phoenix out to his side, Brandon faced the man that he had called uncle. That he had thought of as his protector. His friend. "Just tell me why are you’re doing this?"

      Gerrick snapped his wrist, clearing dust from the blade, and twisted his neck to pop it. "There are lots of curses, Bran. Not all of them have names." Kicking aside part of the broken deck railing, he dropped down to the ground. Reaching over his shoulder, he freed a second sword and advanced.

      Brandon left the circle, backing out into the yard. Snow crunched underfoot and big flakes began falling from the night sky. There were wispy clouds above, meandering across the moon. But no rain.

      It was too cold for rain.

      Gerrick followed, deliberately stepping around the circle, swords held out at his sides. He said, falling into the old villain’s trap. But his monologue was a short one. "Sha'ha'Zel was only one of the curses the Usurper used against the Storm Lords. Others were harder to spot, though no less insidious." He attacked, bringing both swords into play.

      Brandon twisted, batting aside both blades with ease, and ignored the opening that Gerrick gave him as the older man's side was exposed for a half a heartbeat. Except for the kick and the bit with the exploding earth, Brandon had only defended. Never attacked.

      He wouldn't attack. No matter how badly Gerrick tried to provoke him. Trusting in Rok to protect him from Gerrick's duel blades, Brandon knocked aside attack after attack. He was no fool. He knew that if Gerrick pressed the attack, the older man would win the fight. Without the rain, he was still fast and incredibly strong, but his reflexes were off. He was still faster than Gerrick, but only just. With the strength Rok gave him, he could batter aside any defense that Gerrick tried to put up, but he wouldn't attack. Not when he knew that was exactly what the man wanted.

      Sliding around a skewering attack that would have impaled him if Gerrick's heart had been in it, Brandon ignored another blatant opening and said. "Whatever's been done to you, we can find a way to reverse it. It can be undone. I'll help you."

      Snarling, Gerrick twisted and lashed out with an armored boot, catching Brandon in the chest. Brandon stumbled back, but only a couple of steps. He needed to end this fast. Before he wound up hurting his uncle. Ignoring the twin blades in his uncle's fists, Brandon tossed aside the Phoenix. The blade hit the ground a few feet away, steam shooting out from under the scalding blade.

      Sneering, Gerrick stalked forward. "You are unwise to lower your defenses, boy, with no rain to protect you." He attacked, throwing all of his strength behind the swing of his sword. Brandon watched the blade come and made no move to defend himself. He didn't dive for the Phoenix or even raise his hands to fend off the flashing blade.

      The sword stopped with only a bare inch between the razor sharp blade and the skin between Brandon's eyes. Brandon stared at the quivering tip of the sword and sighed inside. Outwardly, he was calm as he met his uncle's gaze.

      Gerrick's face was blank, the sweat beading his forehead freezing as an arctic wind cut across the yard and hammered them both. When he spoke, his voice was iron. "You would let me kill you, wouldn't you?" He didn't sound surprised. With the barest shake of his head, he stepped back and lowered both of his swords.