Fire And Steel (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 2) (11 page)

      "Yes." She said. "Let's get back inside. I don't want to be outside anymore. I feel like they're out there watching us now."

      Holding her hand, Brandon led her back into the cafeteria, ignoring the odd looks their wet clothes received. Losing themselves among the crush of dancing people, they found an unoccupied corner and tried their best to dry out. They sat close, arms around each other for warmth. The music was loud and they had to lean close and speak directly into each other's ears to be heard.

      Claire's lips brushed his ear as she said. "They had to have forced him somehow? Threatened him?"

      Brandon shook his head. He couldn't believe how stupid he had been. "That was Albert. The real Albert. I can't believe I misjudged him so badly. He never gave any indication of how he really felt." His eyes suddenly stung with unshed tears and he was glad it was dark where they were sitting. Swallowing was hard. He kept hearing the smaller boy's words, crashing back at him. He said. "He was the first friend I made when I came to Matheson."

      "He tricked both of us, Bran." Claire said. "And you're wrong. He was never really your friend. But I am." She leaned in close and kissed him lightly on the lips. When she pulled back, she was smiling. "You're my best friend, Bran. The best friend I've ever had."

      Brandon said nothing at first, putting an arm around her and pulling her close. She watched him, her single green eye filled with concern. And love. Brandon felt some of the hurt leaching from his heart under that beautiful gaze. He said. "I love you, Claire. I love you so much and I don't know if I'm strong enough to protect you." It absolutely killed him to admit it, especially out loud. "If I can't even handle three teenage bullies, how in the hell am I supposed to stop a demon? I don't think I'm strong enough."

      She leaned into his embrace, laying her head on his shoulder. Her voice is low and soft, but he can somehow hear her. "You will be."

      Watching the others dancing around them, Brandon tried to let himself believe Claire's words, to let her optimism lift him up, but all he could see in his mind's eye was the flash of Perry's switchblade dancing in front of Claire's face.

      It was after midnight when Brandon and Claire left the dance, meeting her dad just outside the cafeteria entrance. Kevin Moody tried to make small talk, asking if they had a good time, but he seemed distracted. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, but Brandon would've had to have been blind to miss the dark spots of dried blood spattered on the fabric. He resisted the urge to ask about it, but Claire felt no such compunction. "What's with the blood, dad? Did something happen tonight?" Claire asked, her voice worried.

      Her dad responded with a tired sigh and a shake of his head. "Nothing that should concern the two of you, not on the way home from a dance, punkin." His eyes were shadowed in the rear view mirror when he looked back at them. He said. "I don't want to ruin your evening."

      Claire said. "What happened, dad? It wasn't another attack like what happened at the mill, was it? Those things?"

      Kevin Moody was quiet for a long moment, before saying. "When you told me what you saw out there, I couldn't make myself believe you, honey. You were scared and it was dark, so I just chalked it up to shock and youthful imagination. It had to have been an animal attack, that's what I kept telling myself."

      "What happened?"

      "I was just at the police station." He said. He paused a moment to let that sink in, before going on. "I think you and everybody else at the dance knew that the police were planning a hunt tonight, to try and track down whatever attacked you kids out at the Kirkman Mill. It was no big secret. Well, they found those things alright. Or, more accurately, those things found them."

      "Was anybody killed?" Brandon said, breaking his silence. He was thinking of his uncle when he asked this. He was sure it would take more than grohlm to kill Gerrick, but he also knew that there was more than just grohlm out in those woods.

      "No. Thank god." Kevin said. "But it was a miracle no one wasn't. Some of the officers were pretty badly wounded, but nobody died."

      Brandon said nothing. It was a miracle, all right. But it was a miracle helped along by his uncle and his skills as a warrior. He glanced over at Claire and saw the same thought dancing in her beautiful green eye. She took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

      They were quiet the rest of the drive to Highgarden, each lost in their own thoughts. Brandon tried to get Claire's dad to drop him at the mouth of the driveway, but Kevin insisted on taking him all the way to the front door. Gerrick's vehicle was gone but Brandon didn't worry. He didn't waste energy worrying over the older man. Even if the hunt was finished, Gerrick would scout the woods for as long as possible to try to whittle away at the grohlm's numbers.

      Claire followed him out of the car, walking with him to the front door. Sliding his key into the locked front door, Brandon turned to Claire and said. "I'm glad that we went to the dance tonight."

      Claire laughed and said. "Were we at the same dance?"

      Brandon smiled. "The inside dancing is what I'm talking bout. That part was great. It was fantastic. The outside dancing not so much. I'm sorry that I couldn't stop them from hurting you."

      "They didn't hurt me, Bran." Claire said. She wrapped her arms around Brandon's shoulders and hugged him tight against her, oblivious to her father, watching from the idling car. Pulling back, she met his gaze. "I'm glad we went too. And nothing that happened tonight was your fault. You couldn't have known what was going to happen, so don't blame yourself. Blame Albert." Leaning forward, she kissed him. Her father was watching, so she kept it short and chaste. She pulled back and her green eye stared into his. She smiled and said. "I have to go, but I'll see you soon." She turned and dashed down to her father's Explorer and climbed in.

      Brandon watched them drive away, taillights disappearing into the darkness, before going into the house. It was dark except for the soft glow of the kitchen light, splashing through the kitchen archway, and the upstairs hall light. He went upstairs and undressed, changing into a pair of shorts. Tucking Rok into his pocket, he went to the kitchen and fixed himself a sandwich. He stood next to the table, eating his meal, and tried to decide what to do about Albert.

      The phone rang.

      Brandon caught it on the third ring, saying. "Highgarden?"

      "Bran?" Lawyer Dagget said. He sounded surprised that Brandon had answered the phone. "Is your uncle home?"

      "He's out."

      "Where?" Dagget sounded worried.

      "He's out hunting monsters." Brandon said. "Some of the children in town have gone missing. As well as the chief of police and a handful of his deputies."

      "Jesus." Dagget said. He was quiet for a long moment, digesting Brandon's words. "And he left you at Highgarden alone? Was that wise, with all that's going on?"

      "I'm fine." Brandon said, unable to keep the bite from his tone. This was the first time he'd talked to the lawyer since leaving him back in Seattle and he found himself suddenly angry at the man. "Gerrick's been doing a bang up job of teaching me how to be a man. I haven't learned much about doing my taxes or balancing my checkbook, but I can kill a man in just three steps. Isn't that what you wanted? For me to be able to take care of myself?"

      The other man was silent for a long time. Then he said. "We just want to make sure that you're ready, Bran." The lawyer sounded uneasy. He didn't sound comfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. He said. "We were left very specific instructions by your father. He knew that none of this was going to be easy for you."

      "What does that even mean, anyway?" Brandon said, his voice rising. "If he knew so much about how hard my life was going to be, don't you think he might've given me some kind of warning? Like, hey, Bran, I'm not gonna be around much longer, but guess what? You're going to have to learn how to fight and survive, just so you can clean up my mess. Oh, wait, that's not all. Did I happen to mention, you can never fall in love, because, if you do, you will fucking die?"

      Dagget cleared his throat. "Have you made any friends?"

      "Not many." Brandon said into the phone, mimicking a cheery tone. "Just two, really. And one of them happens to be a very nice girl that I can never be with, otherwise she gets to be slaughtered just because I love her. Nice evasion, though. Look, I've got a ton of homework that desperately needs doing. If there isn't anything in particular that you need me to tell Gerrick, I think I'll hang up now?"

      "Will you, please, just tell him that I called, Bran?" Dagget said, sounding defeated. "And take care of yourself."

      "Sure." Brandon said. "I'll tell Gerrick that you called." Brandon hung up the phone and turned to find Gerrick standing beside the kitchen table.

      Gerrick watched him, his cloak draped over his shoulder. He was dressed in the same outfit that he wore the night at the mill. The night the two of them saved Claire and Emily and god knows how many others. Gerrick had a deft hand with needle and thread and the repairs were almost invisible. There was a deep scratch down the side of the older man's cheek, scabbed over with dried blood. He pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down, asking. "Dagget?"

      Brandon nodded. "He says hi."

      Gerrick quirked his lips into his almost smile. "How was the dance?"

      Brandon thought about telling Gerrick about how Albert and the Kruegers had ambushed him, but decided against it. Instead, he said. "People danced. A good time was had by all. How was the hunt?"

      Gerrick gestured at the scratch on his cheek. He said. "Went about as well as expected. I minimized the damage, somewhat. After the initial rush, the grohlm kept a low profile, staying in the shadows. I did what I could. Killed more than I could count. Nobody died, at least."

      "How many do you think are out there?" Brandon retrieved a couple of cokes from the fridge and sat down at the table with Gerrick. He passed one to his uncle and cracked his open. He said. "With what we killed the other night, and what you did tonight, there can't be that many left, can there?"

      Gerrick didn't say anything right away. He sipped his coke and shook his head. He touched the scratch on his cheek and said. "I don't know. There seems to be no end to them."

      "Where are they coming from?" Brandon asked. He leaned back and met the other man's gaze. His anger from before receding as they talked business.

      "That's the million dollar question, isn't it?" Gerrick looked at him. "We need to find the answer if we want to stand a chance of stopping them."

      Brandon glanced at Gerrick. The big man sat across from him and watched his face, trying to gauge how ready he was. Brandon looked down at his hands, at the creases cutting diagonally across his palm. His hands were rougher than before he came to Highgarden. Callused and hard from the sword work. They looked like grown up hands. A man's hands. Brandon said. "It has to be some kind of gateway? A place where they can get from the old world to here? Or are they just appearing out of thin air?"

      "It will be a doorway of some kind." Gerrick answered. "A passageway leading from the Usurper's world to ours. Places like Matheson have thin spots, where worlds brush against one another." Gerrick shook his head. "Somewhere, deep in the Briar woods, there is an opening. That's where they're coming from."

      "Then we have to find it." Brandon said, stifling any questions about thin spots and worlds brushing against one another. There was a time for questions and a time for action. "We have to find their doorway to our world and close it."

CHAPTER 11

      "I'm not so sure about it." Claire said, looking up from the display case and smiling to take the sting from her words. "Your uncle just doesn't strike me as the golfing type?" The two of them were in the sporting goods department of the local Wal-Mart, browsing through the golf section. Claire wore a gold hat perched on top of her head, her hair tied back with a red ribbon, and looked quite fetching. Her eye patch matched her yellow tee shirt and had a tiny daisy painted on the corner of it.

      Brandon shook his head and looked at her. He said. "You're totally right, I know. But I can't think of a good gift that isn't related to chopping off heads and fighting monsters. I figured golf clubs were a safe bet?"

      She smiled at him and said. "You're probably right. And, besides, golf is fun."

      Brandon smiled. "Exactly. My dad used to take me back home. We would go on Saturday afternoons, when it wasn't raining. He called it our father son time." He turned away from the clubs and said. "Sometimes, mom came with us. She was actually a better golfer than my dad and would tease him about it." He went quiet, the sad smile slipping from his lips.

      Claire was silent for a long moment, watching him from the corner of her eye as they walked down the store's cluttered aisles. They were close to the front entrance when she said. "It still hurts, doesn't it? Thinking about them?"

      Brandon nodded. He met her gaze and said. "But it's starting to get easier. It hurts less, now. I can think about the good times without crying, at least."

      Claire turned and said. "I'm sorry, Bran. I shouldn't have brought it all up, not while we were having such a good day."

      Brandon stopped walking. He took Claire's hand and leaned forward, kissing her lightly on the mouth. He said. "We're still having a great day, I hope. Never be afraid to ask me anything, Claire. You're the most important thing in the world to me."

      Claire leaned into him and kissed him again, this time deeper. She let her tongue dance against his. Brandon wrapped her tight in his arms and kissed her as if it was for the last time, not caring who saw them. When they pulled apart, Brandon stared into Claire's green eye and felt himself shiver all over. He said. "We should get out of here, I think. I'm not going to find a gift for Gerrick at Wal-Mart."

      "Probably not." Claire said, smiling. She sounded almost out of breath as she steadied herself with a hand on his chest. She giggled a little and ran her fingers through her hair. She looked fantastic when she was flustered but Bran knew better than to tell her so. She said. "We can go to the mall next? I'm sure we'll find something there?"

      "Tell me again, why are we buying gifts?" Brandon asked.

      Claire said, grabbing Brandon's hand and dragging him behind her. "Because we can. And buying presents is fun. Besides, Christmas is just a couple of months away and it never hurts to start early."

      They left Wal-Mart at a nice leisurely pace, walking hand in hand to the shopping mall that shared the big parking lot with the giant retailer. They hit all of the different shops, looking for the perfect gift for Gerrick.

      As they walked, they talked abut everything that crossed their minds, trying to stay away from the scary subjects. Not about Albert or missing children or monsters hiding in the dark. They talked mostly of their plans for the future. All of the things they hoped to accomplish before they got old and boring. They were in a collectable store, looking at statues of suer heroes and scantily clad fantasy heroes and heroines, when Claire said. "Where do you think you will go to college? Someplace close? Or back in Seattle?"

      "Not sure." Brandon said, picking up a statue of a mounted warrior. It reminded him of his grandfather, with its long white beard and fierce expression. Of the vision of his grandfather's death. "I'm mostly just aiming to survive high school. College seems a little too long term, as far as plans go."

      Claire winced and said. "I wish you wouldn't do that."

      "Do what?" Brandon said. He turned, his smile fading. She was looking at him with an expression of such distraught anguish that he put the statue down and took her hands in his. "I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't joke about it, but sometimes I think that if I can't smile about it, I should just kill myself and finish the Curse's work for it. And if I do live through the next few years, I think I will go to college. Here, where I can stay close to you. I don't know how it can be, but Matheson feels more like my home now than anyplace else. But that’s the future. Thinking that far ahead makes my brain hurt."

      Claire shook her head. "I can't understand how you can be so calm about all of this?"

      "All of what?"

      "All this horror. The constant fighting and killing and dying." Claire said. She sounded frustrated. "If I were you, I'd be curled up in a ball somewhere, crying. Or locked up in a hospital. But you act like you're not even scared. There's something hunting you, trying to kill you like it did all of your family before you, and you can make jokes about it."

      "You're wrong, though. I am scared." Brandon said. "So scared that sometimes I feel like just giving up all hope. But then I remember what's important to me."

      "Like what?" Claire said, blinking at him.

      Brandon met her gaze and said. "Like not dying." He smiled. "And you. You're the most important thing in my life now and I don't want to ever risk losing you or putting you in danger." He touched her cheek, turning her head so he could place a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth. "And you're wrong about yourself too. You're strong, Claire. You wouldn't lay down and accept your fate if you were in my shoes. You would fight just as hard as me. Harder."

      Claire blushed and pushed her hair out of her face. "You ever think about being a writer like your dad? You have a real way with words, you know." She stepped close to him, lifting her face to kiss him back. When she came up for air, she said. "I love you, Bran."

      Brandon pulled her into his arms, holding her tight, and looked down into her beautiful green eye and said. "I know."

      Laughing, Claire pulled away. "You know? Why you scruffy looking.."

      Brandon smiled and silenced her with another kiss. He said. "I love you too. Now, let's finish shopping and go see that movie."

      "That sounds like a grand idea." Claire said, tugging him along behind her. "Besides, my dad will want his car back before it gets too late. There is a curfew, you know?"

      "We wouldn't want to go breaking the curfew, now would we?" He said, following her as she led him by the hand. Before they left the shop, he went ahead and bought the statue that he had been looking at. He left it there to be wrapped, and they went to the theater. There wasn't much to see besides the newest super hero movie and a smattering of comedies and horror films. They decided to watch a new horror film by a director they were both fans of. Something with killer dolls and flesh eating ghouls, haunting a school campus. There were only a few other people watching the afternoon show, giving them semi privacy in the empty theater. They kept talking during the slow parts of the film, speaking in hushed whispers.

      Snatching a handful of popcorn from the tub on Brandon's lap, Claire leaned close and whispered. "What's going to happen when we go back to school? With Albert, I mean? Do you think he and the Kruegers will try something?"

      Brandon shrugged and slurped some soda. He said. "I'm sure something will happen. But until it does, I'm not going to worry about it. And I'm not going to let them trick me again, that's for sure."

      Claire leaned into his arm and lay her head on his shoulder. She sighed and whispered. "If I don't stop talking about it, I'm going to drive myself crazy."

      He smiled and whispered into her ear. "We can be crazy together."

      A small bell jingled over the shop door when Faux went into the shop. The two old men leaning on the high center counter looked up from their conversation and shot him matching looks of consternation. He was obviously interrupting an important meeting of the minds. Letting the door close behind him, he watched the two men closely. Underhill cut his eyes to the other man and said. "How can we help you, Agent Faux?" The grizzled old teacher looked like a spry youngster compared to his older friend and Faux had a sudden sense of danger from him, noticing for the first time that Underhill could be intimidating in the right circumstances, even to a man like himself.

      Faux took his eyes off of the old men long enough to give the shop's dim interior a cursory glance, taking note of some of the strange and unique items on display among the books that took up most of the space. Goldman's Antique and Curiosity Shop definitely deserved its name, Faux decided. He didn't know what half of the stuff was, or was supposed to be. He talked as he looked, saying. "I was looking for the Chief? I called his home, but he wasn't in. His wife said he was off today and was planning on paying your shop a visit?"

      Underhill's friend, Goldman, leaned back on his stool and cleared his throat. He said. "Afraid we haven't seen young Mr. Teague today. He may be along shortly, though, if you want to wait?" The older man peered intently at Faux, his sharp eyed gaze weighing him on unseen scales. Whatever he saw, he must have approved, because he said. "So, what do you think of our fair town, Agent Faux? You haven't grown bored yet, I hope?"

      Faux smiled and leaned his hands on the tall counter. He said. "Not yet. And not likely to, if we can't figure out how to take care of Matheson's little infestation." He looked at Underhill and said. "That's actually part of why I'm here to meet the chief. I wanted to pick your brains about those things in the woods?"

      Underhill narrowed his eyes, his scar pulling tight into a gruesome parody of a smile. He glanced at Goldman and the other man just smiled back at him. Goldman's parchment thin skin was nearly translucent with age, but his voice was surprisingly strong when he said. "What makes you think we know any more than you do, Agent Faux?"

      Faux's smile grew wider and he said. "Just call me Faux, Mr. Goldman. Agent Faux was my father." He stood back and glanced around the shop for a moment and said. "And my reason for asking is simple." He pointed at Underhill and said. "He told me to."

      "Balls!" Underhill said, his tone a harsh bark as he glared at Faux. "Of all the ham-fisted, fat-headed ways to go about it, you had to decide on honesty? I thought they taught you F.B.I. types to be tactful?" He looked like he was ready to go on, but Goldman stopped him by raising his hand.

      "Enough." Goldman said. "Neither of you are half as clever as you think you are. Damned fools, actually. Going off into the woods, hunting for monsters, when you haven't the slightest idea of how to go about it." He glared at them both, then sighed and shook his head. "But, in this, I am nearly as lost as you. I know what you are dealing with, or at least what you are hunting."

      "Meaning we are dealing with more than just those things in the woods?" Faux said, his smile gone now that the talk had turned serious. Underhill and Teague had been unsure whether Goldman would talk to him, though both agreed that it had to be tried. Goldman knew more about the strange and obscure than any scholar or scientist and they needed to be able to tap into that knowledge. But he was a stubborn and contrary soul and would only help if he approved of Faux's involvement.

      "They are called Grohlm." Goldman said, glancing at Underhill. That glance spoke volumes to Faux's trained eye. "They are a vicious and terrible pestilence, a scourge on mankind, and not of our world."

      "Whoa! I'm not sure if I'm following you here?" Faux interrupted. He shook his head. His expression said he was holding in laughter. "Are you trying to say these things, these grohlm, are aliens? From space?"

      "Not space." Goldman said. He gestured with his hands, indicating the room around them. "Look around you, Faux. At the strange and terrible things that I have sought to surround myself with. There are artifacts in my collection that defy all rational and scientific explanation, yet they exist just the same. Just as the grohlm exist."

      "I'm not following, Mr. Goldman." Faux said. "How can they be from another world, without coming from space?"

      It was Underhill that answered. "Have you ever heard of the theory of parallel worlds?" He looked at Goldman and at the older man's nod, he cleared his throat and said. "Other worlds, existing at the same time as ours, but in a different dimension? There are many theories postulating their existence, but nothing proven, of course."

      "I know about parallel worlds." Faux said, rubbing his hand across his face. He wanted to leave the old shop very badly, maybe find a bar or a liquor store and curl up with a bottle and pretend like this conversation had never happened. But when he closed his eyes, he could see the howling faces of those things in the woods. The grohlm. Instead of burying his head in a bottle, Faux took a deep breath and said. "I've seen enough Star Trek and read enough comic books to know what you're talking about, but it doesn't make believing any easier."

      "Of course not." Goldman said with a harsh laugh. "You'd have to be a crazy person to believe in such rubbish. Completely off your gourd, so to speak. But it doesn't stop such things from existing. It just makes it easier for them to be hidden. And exploited."