The Conch Shell of Doom (2 page)

Franklin frowned. That was a shame. Probably could’ve gotten good money for the artifact.

He ran his fingers over Chapman’s armor, leaving clean lines amidst the centuries of dust. Why on Earth would Chapman climb up there in that? The ascent was a pain in the ass 
without
 armor weighing you down. Franklin nudged the body with his foot, tipping it over. The skull broke free and rolled to a stop against the cave’s wall. The dark eye sockets stared back at Franklin, as if they were witness to a heinous crime.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Franklin took a deep breath. Instead of savoring the discovery, he was making a mess of everything. Turning Chapman’s remains into a mockery wasn’t part of the plan.

Franklin turned the skull around, so it couldn’t see him. Moving back to the body, he noticed a hole in the back of the armor, surrounded by a dark stain. Blood. Had Sir Chapman climbed up there with the injury, or did it happen after? Franklin shone the flashlight around. No sign of a struggle, even one that took place hundreds of years ago.

My man made the climb with a hole in his back.

Franklin saluted the skeleton. “You, sir, are a badass
.
”

He pushed the skeleton aside and found a dusty wooden box. It broke open with one swift stomp. He brushed aside a few pieces of wood, revealing a blade sheathed in cracked and peeling leather. Franklin picked it up. He slid the weapon from its cradle, his excitement forcing him to grin. “Hello, beautiful.”

The Blade of Hugues de Payens.

A thin layer of rust needed to be removed from the weapon, but the wooden hilt was plated in gold, and the tip split into a Y at the end. Anyone unlucky enough to be stabbed would have a devil of a time pulling it back out.

Made by the first Grand Master of the Knights Templar in 1130, the blade was blessed with all kinds of otherworldly attributes. It could pierce anything, from a piece of paper to an impenetrable monster. Franklin gave up fighting back excitement. He flicked the knife against the air, happy beyond belief to hold a weapon that could kill his brother and end both of their curses.

Franklin held each end of the blade, testing its weight. Surprisingly light. Most weapons from that period were clumsy and heavy, but not the Blade of Hugues de Payens. It was a masterpiece. Franklin swung the weapon around to get a feel for it. Very, very smooth. Heavier blades that were the same size didn’t move with half as much grace. The hilt couldn’t have fit more comfortably in his hand.

A loud crack echoed through the cave. Franklin froze in place, eyes darting side to side. Only one thing made a sound like that.

He’s here.

“Damn.”

Franklin put the flashlight in his mouth and then took a small mirror from his pocket. Since sound bounced off the walls like a pinball machine, there was no telling where the crack came from. He ran toward the exit and rounded the corner. The moment he saw the sliver of the cave’s entrance, an arm flew out from the darkness, crushing his throat. The flashlight fell out of Franklin’s mouth as he collapsed to the floor, coughing and out of breath.

Mr. Lovell wore an overcoat with the collar flipped up, a black fedora pulled low over his face, and large sunglasses. What little skin that was exposed looked gnarled and discolored, like an outward expression of pain. He kicked the flashlight deep into the cave.

“You’re slipping. Did you really think I’d lost your trail?”

“Even in the dark, you look like burnt bacon.” Franklin got to his feet, blade at the ready.

Mr. Lovell
tsked.
“Two thousand years, and you still can’t move beyond sticks and stones.”

“Call me old fashioned.”

“The blade.” Mr. Lovell motioned with one hand. He kept the other behind his back.

“Let me guess. I hand the blade over, and then you use whatever you’re hiding behind your back to kill me.”

“That’s disappointing. All the times we’ve played this game, and you still consider me predictable.” Mr. Lovell threw the object he’d been hiding at Franklin’s feet.

He jumped back involuntarily, keeping the thing from touching him. Wade’s head rolled to a stop. His dead, glassy eyes and mouth stuck mid-scream revealed the terror of his final moments.
 

It didn’t take long for Franklin to get over the initial shock. His lips curled at the sight of blood oozing out from the bottom of Wade’s head. Sure, the man was a mess, but nobody deserved to get their noggin chopped off in the middle of Mexico. Franklin felt bad for his friend, but he’d seen too much death for the pain to cut deep. At that point, Wade was simply another fallen comrade Franklin would raise a glass to in honor.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” He lowered the blade, as if agreeing to Mr. Lovell’s demand, and moved toward the man, sunlight from the entrance hitting his chest.

Mr. Lovell laughed. “I’ve taken everything you’ve ever held dear, yet you’re still so sensitive. It’s not healthy.”

“You might want to think about what you’re doing.” Franklin laid the blade on the ground and waited a moment before revealing the mirror. “I mean really take a look at yourself. See what you’ve become.”

The mirror caught Mr. Lovell by surprise. The sight of his mangled body sent him into a shrieking fit. He fell to the ground, an arm shielding his eyes. “No more. Please.”
 

Franklin didn’t have long. The mirror wasn’t big enough to have any real lasting effect. He moved to deliver a swift kick. Mr. Lovell rolled out of the way and then disappeared with a
snap
. Another
snap
and the mirror was gone from Franklin’s hand. He dove toward the blade, snatching it up.

“Do you really think you can get close enough to stick me with that thing?” Mr. Lovell’s voice sounded phlegmy and painful.

“I can try.”

“And you’ll fail. Accept it. You lost. The Awakening is going to happen. Your brother’s return is imminent. His army will rise again. I wonder. What will you do then? Where will you go?”

“Disney World, maybe?” Franklin needed to get out of there. He doubted running deeper into the cave would lead to an escape. Most caves came with a dead end, not an exit. Even if there were another way out, it’d take days to find it, provided the flashlight didn’t run out of batteries first. He didn’t have that kind of time.
 

No, the only way out was past Mr. Lovell. He said he’d transport away before letting himself get stabbed. Time to call his bluff.

“I’m getting bored,” Mr. Lovell said. “Just give it to me. Who knows? Maybe you’ll get out alive. I know your brother wouldn’t mind you witnessing the breadth of your failure.”

Franklin knelt down and then sprung forward like he’d been launched off a catapult. He held the blade tight and slashed at Mr. Lovell. He spun out of the way, but the weapon caught his coat and easily tore through the fabric. The spinning became faster. Franklin moved fast and sloppy, trying too hard to land a critical blow. Anger and adrenaline exaggerated his strikes. Mr. Lovell disappeared and then reappeared behind Franklin. The blade sparked as a wide swing nicked the side of the cave.

Mr. Lovell teleported from spot to spot so fast that Franklin struggled to adjust. Every attack landed a second too late, leaving him vulnerable. Mr. Lovell took advantage, punching Franklin in the face with each
crack
. After several misses, he noticed a left, right, back, and front pattern to his adversary’s movements. With the last miss being to the right, Franklin whipped around as fast as he could, thrusting the blade forward. It landed in Mr. Lovell’s shoulder the moment he appeared.

“Gotcha.” Franklin pulled the blade out, blood dripping off the tip.

Mr. Lovell clutched his shoulder and staggered back. Franklin looked at the Blade of Hugues de Payens. Blood coated almost half the weapon. He’d landed a major blow.

“Enjoy this little victory,” Mr. Lovell spat. “It will be the last one you ever have.”

“Says you.”

Franklin moved in for the kill. Mr. Lovell spun again, faster and faster. He looked like a mini-tornado. The gust of wind pushed Franklin back toward the cave’s exit. The whirling blur of Mr. Lovell inched closer. The
crack
had the force of a powerful explosion. Franklin was thrown out of the cave and over the side of the mountain. Holding the blade to his body, he closed his eyes and prayed for a soft-ish landing.

This might hurt a little. Even for an immortal.

Bailey Southwick hated driving in the middle of a panic attack. Steering a vehicle while his body shook, his head felt dizzy, and his vision swirled was not Bailey’s idea of a fun Friday night. He took exaggerated breaths in the hopes of slowing down his frantic breathing. Having anxiety sucked. It was always there, like an exposed wire waiting to be set off. In his sixteen years, all sorts of things had sent him into a panic. Tests he didn’t study enough for. Clutch situations in basketball. Approaching a girl he liked. Too many people talking to him at once. The latest panic was justified. Bailey panicked because of a genuine fear for his life. So what if it happened because he went to pick up the new
Call of Duty
game from home? He refused to let that underscore the severity of his panic attack.

His right hand shaking, Bailey could only steer with his left. That wasn’t the easiest thing to do, but at least he had put on sneakers earlier that day. Sandals always forced him to drive barefoot. If things got worse, he’d have to pull the car over until the attack calmed down. Bailey narrowed his eyes, trying to put his entire focus on the drive ahead. Any thoughts beyond that fed the fire of his panic.

After grabbing the game, he’d gone into the kitchen for a granola bar to snack on during the drive back to Marshall’s. Bailey overheard the party next to the kitchen in the living room, but it was odd. He didn’t hear the typical bubbly chatter, scattered bits of laughter, or even his parents’ horrific collection of Van Morrison and Billy Joel albums playing on top of everything. The party sounded a lot more like a business meeting. Curious, Bailey leaned his head against the door. A static charge in the wood made parts of his brunette hair stand up.

“Do we have assurances we’ll be protected after the Awakening?” a woman asked. It sounded like his friend Marshall’s mom.

“Absolutely.” The man’s scratchy voice sounded like it had been dragged through a tunnel of broken glass. “Trenton Maroney has always honored those loyal to him. We’ve been working toward the Awakening for decades. Giving up so close to the end would be unwise.”

“Nobody’s talking about quitting,” Earl, Bailey’s father, said. “I think we just want to make sure we’ll be taken care of after the fact.”

“Consider yourselves fortunate. Had the Conch Shell of Doom not been discovered in your town, all of you would be dead after the Awakening. Now, you have the once-in-a-millennium opportunity to be part of his cabinet,” the mysterious man said. “You and your loved ones will be well provided for, as promised. You’ll enjoy all the spoils and riches the world has to offer. Power beyond your wildest dreams. But, most importantly, you’ll
live
.”

Bailey stifled a laugh. What kind of weird assed party was it?

Conch Shell of Doom? Power? Riches?
 

It sounded like some sort of Ponzi scheme. Maybe his parents were high. Wouldn’t be the first time Bailey caught his parents smoking up. A handful of occasions he’d found the two sitting outside, eyes bloodshot, giggling over something stupid, like almond milk, an empty bag of chips on the ground. It didn’t take a genius to do the math.

Bailey eased the door open and peeked through the crack, trying to get a look at the owner of the mysterious voice. No luck. The man was turned in the opposite direction. He wore a large overcoat and hat, which seemed odd, considering they were inside. His parents taught Bailey wearing a hat inside was bad manners.
You’ll never eat dinner at the White House acting like that
, they’d say.

“Earl,” the man said.

“Yes, Mr. Lovell?” Earl sat in one of the two reclining chairs in the living room.

Mr. Lovell took off his sunglasses as he turned toward Bailey, whose mouth fell open at the sight. Either someone gave that guy a hell of a makeup job, or all the crazy stuff they talked about was real. It couldn’t be. That
creature
? Things like that existed? How? Bailey tried to tell himself it was just his overactive imagination mixing with anxiety to make a big deal out of nothing. He closed his eyes and cleared his mind, hoping it would level off his emotions. A loud crack behind him ruined those chances.

Holyshitholyshitholyshit.

Fear wrapped its icy fingers around Bailey’s heart and squeezed. He opened his eyes. Mr. Lovell, with his twisted skin, pitch black eyes, and rotted meat smell loomed over the kid like a power-mad hall monitor.
 

“It seems we have a Peeping Tom in our midst.”

Bailey’s eyes watered from the terror. Not even one of his patented Stephen King-induced nightmares pulled off that trick.

Fear took over all sense of coordination as Bailey ran out of the house. He bumped his shoulder against the kitchen’s archway, sending a throbbing sensation down his arm. The pain doubled after he couldn’t get the front door open in time and slammed into it full speed. Outside, he tripped on a bush and face-planted in the grass. Bailey couldn’t believe he made it to his late model Honda Accord without losing any body parts. The key slipped out of his hand, jingling as it fell on the floorboard.
 

“Of course!”

With that kind of luck, Bailey figured the car would explode when the engine started. He closed his eyes and turned the key in the ignition. The car rumbled to life without issue.
 

He patted the dashboard. “Lucille, baby, I love you.”

Bailey’s parents and the other partygoers came outside. None of them, including Marshall’s mom
and
dad, made a move toward Bailey. They stood on the front yard, looking confused about what was going on. Mr. Lovell appeared in front of the car with that same
crack
. Bailey screamed and put the car into reverse, driving down the street backwards until he reached the intersection. Driving away, he was too scared to look in the rearview mirror. After a few minutes his heart calmed down, and the rest of him soon followed. Bananarama’s
Cruel Summer
played on the radio. He laughed at the irony of it. Bailey focused on the song, hoping to ignore the fact that he saw someone appear out of thin air. Twice.