Fire And Steel (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 2) (27 page)

      Getting slowly to his feet, Sha'ha'Zel shook debris from his cloak and peered at Brandon with narrowed eyes. They blazed bright red in the night. His cloak twitched and moved, torn and shredded by the attack. Baring his teeth in a snarl, the Curse took a slow step toward Brandon.

      With a wordless shout, Gerrick materialized out of the shadows and collided with Sha'ha'Zel, sending both of them into the side of a parked car. The knight held two swords in his fists while the Phoenix hung at his waist, still in its scabbard. Gerrick slammed one of his blades into the Curse’s chest, trying to plunge it into the things black heart. Twisting, he attempted to take the demon’s head off with the other sword, but was blocked by two of his arms.

      Brandon moved forward, closing the distance between the battling warriors while staying out of reach of the Curse’s cloak. Gerrick saw him coming and pulled back long enough to unsheathe the Phoenix and toss it in Brandon's direction.

      In one fluid motion, Brandon snagged the Phoenix from the air and flung himself at the Curse. The Phoenix exploded with power as soon as its wire wrapped hilt was in his hand, blazing with a fierce inner light that Brandon could feel inside his chest.

      Sha'ha'Zel swung around, tossing Gerrick headfirst through the car's windshield, and barely turned aside Brandon's first attack. When the Phoenix met the Curse's curved black blades there was an explosion of red and blue flame, lighting the darkened street around them.

      Brandon threw himself into his attack, never letting up an inch. It was the only tactic he could rely on while facing Sha’ha’Zel. If he gave the Curse a chance to attack, the demon wouldn't let him regain any lost ground. The snow came down in big wet clumps now, obscuring his vision, but also soaking through his clothes.
Thank you, Nina.
He let the icy moisture wash over him. It wasn’t the same as rain, but close enough. He felt new strength wash into his limbs and he pressed harder.

      Sha'ha'Zel countered the Phoenix, only just, knocking the flashing blade aside with two of his own. His face was twisted in a grimace of effort as he twirled sideways, and turned aside another slashing attack.

      Brandon knew that he couldn't keep up the all out attack long, not without making a mistake. As good as he’d gotten with under his uncle’s tutelage, the Curse had still been using his swords longer. Sha'ha'Zel was better than him. As if to prove just that, the demon twisted, catching the Phoenix in the curves of two blades, and drove the other two hooked swords at Brandon's throat and stomach.

      For a half second, Brandon's brain tried to convince him that the blades had struck true, that he could almost feel the cold steel burying itself into his stomach, but rough hands seized him, dragging him out of the weapon's path. Flung backwards, Brandon watched in horror as his uncle caught the steel that was meant for him. Sha'ha'Zel's blades ripped through cloak and flesh with equal ease, biting deep into Gerrick's back.

      Brandon scrambled up, watching numbly as the Curse tossed Gerrick aside. His uncle hit the ground in a heap, black blood spilling onto the pocked and broken snow. The big man was alive, though, and trying to get to his feet, despite his wounds. Gerrick's face was a bloody mask. Glass twinkled in some of the deeper gashes. His eyes and teeth were bright in the darkness. He smiled through a mouthful of blood. He said, his voice a rough growl. "Is that all you can do, Jarek? I got to say, I expected more from you. After all the talk and warnings, you’re a little bit underwhelming."

      Sha'ha'Zel's smile matched Gerrick's in ferocity, if not in madness. Lightning fast, before Gerrick or Brandon could react or even blink, Sha'ha'Zel lashed out with his cloak, snatching Gerrick up by the throat. The knight gave a startled grunt as he was yanked forward, slamming into another parked car. Almost as quick, he was jerked up and thrown through the car's windshield.

      Down the street, a police car rounded the corner. Lights flashing, siren warbling, the car fish tailed for a second before leaping forward, rushing toward them and the broken street. Somehow, Brandon kept his grip on the Phoenix when Gerrick pulled him free of Sha'ha'Zel's grasp. There was more water than snow falling from the sky now, plastering his hair to his face and jolting his muscles with strength. The freezing cold didn't touch him within the confines of the emptiness.

      He watched the coming squad car with a tight feeling in his chest.

      Gerrick pulled himself out of the shattered windshield, his face a mass of blood and bruises. One of his eyes was swollen almost shut. The other was covered by a skim of blood. He spat out big glob that was equal parts blood, teeth, and glass and climbed slowly to his feet. He took a wavering step toward the Curse. Then another. He smiled, revealing black gaps where some of his teeth were broken, and said. "I'm not dead yet, Jarek. Let's finish this."

      Sha'ha'Zel gave the bleeding man an irritated look. His cloak lashed out and hammered Gerrick in the chest, sending him hurtling out into the darkness. Ignoring Brandon, the Curse turned to the approaching police car. It came to a sliding stop, turning sideways to block the street, and two uniformed policemen leapt out, already drawing their weapons. They must have seen what the long cloak had done to Gerrick because both officers looked shaken as they leveled their guns at the Curse.

      "GET DOWN ON THE GROUND! NOW!" Shouted the first cop. The rotating lights on top of the car painted the street red, then blue. The cop shouted again. "NOW, I SAID!" Both officers meant business and wore identical looks of concentration. Matheson wasn't a safe place to be a policeman. Not lately. They weren't taking any chances.

      Sha'ha'Zel moved like a snake, whirling and flinging two of his curved blades at the police. The black steel flew true, arching like boomerangs as they cut through the night sky, and were already returning to the Curse's out flung hands as the cops dropped. Two severed heads fell, bouncing on the wet pavement, before rolling to a stop. Blood jetted from the two men's severed necks, pumping out onto the black pavement and freezing in the wind.

      The night was suddenly quiet. People watched from their houses, Brandon knew, but what did they see? What could they see? The carnage surrounding them was immediate and real. The shattered street. The smashed cars. The blood covered the pavement like a black lake. The bodies, cooling in the wind and rain. Steam rose from the severed necks. The blood had stopped pouring from the wounds.

      Brandon felt like he should be waking up. That this all had to be a nightmare. He stepped sideways, facing the Curse. Less than 20 feet separated them. Only a little further than what separated the demon from the headless policemen. More sirens sounded in the distance. Far away, but coming all the same. More men for the Curse to kill. Lights that had been off 5 minutes before were blazing now. Curtains twitched as people tried to catch a glimpse of the madness that gripped their neighborhood.

      "No more." Brandon said, his voice almost too soft to hear. He challenged the Curse's bloody gaze, his eyes like thunder heads, and took a step toward the monster. The Phoenix blazed hot in his fist. It felt like it would set anything it touched ablaze, whether it was flesh or steel. He took another step, his heart hammering inside of his chest.

      Uneasiness touched those blood red eyes for a split second, then Sha'ha'Zel nodded. "Very well." His voice, deep and dark, was the sound of a thousand screams. He took a step toward Brandon, his blades hanging at his sides. "Meet death like a man."

      Fear oozed along Brandon's bones like liquid steel, vanishing into the emptiness as smoothly as it appeared. He knew what he had to do, though the thought of it made his mouth taste like ash. When only a handful of feet separated him from the Curse, Brandon raised the Phoenix slowly, until the tip of the blade wavered just in front of the Curse's eyes. It wavered for only a moment, then was still. Rock steady.

      When Brandon spoke, his voice was like iron. "I challenge you, Jarek Fel. Do you have the honor to accept?"

      Sha'ha'Zel blinked. His ruby gaze drifted from the sword tip to the stormy gray eyed gaze of the young man facing him. The demon gave the barest nod of his head. "Terms?"

      "One month." Brandon said, voice tight. "One month of peace. You harm nobody close to me. Claire and my uncle are to be safe from your grohlm. At the end of the month, I'll meet you someplace quiet and secure. A place of your choosing. And we'll cross swords. We wont stop until one of us is dead."

      "Done." The Curse said. His voice was like crystal chimes, tolling from the grave. "The grohlm are not mine to command. But you will have your month. On the eve of the New Year, I'll come for you. Wherever you are, Stormson, matters not to me. I will come. And we'll fight. And you will die." The Curse turned, giving his back to Brandon, unafraid of the Phoenix held at the ready. Trusting Brandon's honor to keep him from striking. All it would take was one leap and a fast thrust, but Brandon lowered the sword, instead.

      The sirens were closer. Maybe 5 minutes away. Maybe closer. He had to hurry.

      But he didn't move. The Curse still had its back to him as it walked to the center of the street, the hem of its tattered cloak dragging through the blood underfoot. Sha'ha'Zel spoke. "Why protect the tower knight, Brandon?" As the demon spoke, his body began to change. The cloak writhed and twisted, seeming to pull in on the Curse. Going down onto his knees, his arms held tight against his body, Sha'ha'Zel threw back his head. With a wrenching sound, his body seemed to turn inside out. The cloak whirled, lashing wildly like the tentacles of a mad octopus being flushed down the toilet. From one moment, to the next, the hulking black shape of the Curse was replaced by the diminutive form of Albert, the round faced boy that Brandon had once called friend.

      Albert turned and looked at Brandon. His face was the boy's but the eyes were still the same blood red as before. The voice that issued from the boy's mouth sounded like ancient evil. "Why protect a man that would sell your life for such a paltry sum? All for his own death?"

      Before Brandon could respond, Gerrick appeared, launching himself out of the shadows with an animal roar, sword flashing for Albert's head. Albert danced under the flashing blade, laughing, his voice now a boy's, not a demon's. He moved faster than he ever had in school. If he'd moved that fast before, the Kruegers would never have bothered him.

      Before Gerrick could bring the sword back around for another try, Albert drove a small fist into the bigger man's stomach. The blow doubled the knight over, driving the breath from his lungs, and sent his remaining sword clattering to the pavement. Even unarmed, the knight wouldn't stop. Driving a fist at Albert's face, Gerrick snarled. His face was a bloody ruin, all busted teeth and broken bones.

      Albert caught Gerrick's wrist with one hand, his throat with the other. Driving the bigger man down to his knees, choking him with a child's hand, Albert looked up and met Brandon's gaze. "I will not break my word, no matter the wishes of this fool. Ask him yourself, why he wishes so for death? Even if his failure means your death, as well? You might find that he's been keeping a great many things from you. About himself. And about your father's death." So saying, he tossed the man aside. With one last look at Brandon, Albert turned away and ran off into the darkness. He ran like the boy he pretended to be, disappearing around the edge of a far house, and left Brandon alone with his uncle.

      Coughing blood, Gerrick climbed slowly to his feet. He held his throat. Staring hard in the direction that the Curse ran, he looked ready to follow, but Brandon stopped him. "Forget him. Get your swords and get in the car, uncle. We're leaving. Now."

      Gerrick looked like he wanted to argue but he saw something in Brandon's eyes that stopped him. Retrieving both of his swords took a moment and when he climbed into the car, Brandon was waiting beside the driver's door. The older man closed the door behind him and waited, silently. Brandon gave the broken and blood drenched street one last look before climbing in and starting the car. It was a sad and lonely end for the Kruegers, whatever they had done.  Brandon almost pitied them.

Chapter 26

      Working carefully and methodically, Brandon backed the Lincoln free of the smashed Honda and got it pointed in the right direction. It wasn't easy driving on 4 flat tires but, once they began to move, it became easier. The street was a mess, the snow melted in some places and black ice in others, and the going was slow. Brandon put the Navigator into 4 wheel drive, hoping that would help. They limped along slowly, despite the urgency that Brandon felt. He drove with the headlights off, ready to pull to the curb and stop at the slightest hint of traffic in either direction. He worried about civilians almost as much as police. He had no urge to explain the bloody man in the passenger seat.

      Gerrick was silent during the drive to Highgarden. More than once, Brandon glared hard at the man, making sure that he was still breathing as they wound their way down darkened streets. The steering wheel was tight and they almost lost it on ice a couple of times, but after what seemed a long time, they were crunching their way down Highgarden's winding driveway.

      When they were parked around the side of the house, out of sight of the driveway, Brandon killed the engine and turned to look at the bloody man beside him. Gerrick stared straight ahead, face hard, and refused to look over at Brandon. The blood on his face had dried, black and tacky. When Brandon spoke, his voice didn’t sound like his own. It was hard as forged steel and reminded him of his grandfather’s. "See to your wounds and I'll see to mine. In the morning, we'll talk about what happened tonight." He climbed out, leaving Gerrick where he sat.

      Inside, Brandon went upstairs to his room and closed the door behind him. Once the door was closed and locked and nobody could see, he collapsed to the floor. Everything the Curse said about his parents came crashing home, driving the breath from his lungs. Shaking, his teeth chattering, he climbed up from the floor and started undressing. He knew he should call Claire, but he didn’t think his voice would even work. He climbed into the shower instead, standing beneath the scalding spray long enough to boil a lobster. But when he stepped out, he was only slightly pinkened. The heat touched him just as lightly as the cold. He toweled off before tossing himself onto his bed and falling into a fitful sleep. It was filled with dreams of Sha'ha'Zel pursuing him, dragging the corpses of his mother and father behind him. When he turned to face the direction he was running, he found Gerrick blocking his path. The Phoenix bright and flaming in his fist.

      Gerrick sat in the car for a long time watching the house after Brandon went inside. He had never felt so angry, yet so proud at the same time. Somehow, beyond all his expectations, he had succeeded. He had done it.

      The boy was now a man.

      He sat in the darkness and let himself feel the magic surrounding Highgarden, noting a new charge in the air that wasn’t there before tonight. He hadn’t felt the magic like this since before Stephen died, but even then it hadn’t been nowhere this strong. The air thrummed with power. Even the house, staring out at him, seemed different. For 20 years, he had been Highgarden's custodian and guardian and he had never felt this way, looking up at its solid and forbidding shape.

      He felt like an intruder. A trespasser.

      Climbing from the car, wincing at his countless hurts, the tower knight breathed deep of the night air. It was cold and scorched his lungs, but he took another deep lungful. Letting it out in a rush, he worked his shoulders and arms. The pain might have been less, but he couldn't tell.

      He retrieved the swords from the backseat. The Phoenix, which had always felt like every other blade to Gerrick(meaning, an extension of his own body), also felt different. The Phoenix had finally found its true master, it seemed. And it wasn't Gerrick. Brandon had grown in more ways than Gerrick had anticipated. Suppressing a chill, Gerrick carried the swords into the house and closed the door.

      Scraps were all that was left of Perry and Luke Krueger. There was still snow on the ground, kicked up in drifts around the smashed up cars and turning the pavement black with slush where the blood was freezing. There was blood everywhere. Bits and pieces of bone and flesh, scattered all over the street. Barely anything remained that looked remotely human. The two boys would fit in a couple of gallon sized ziplock bags.

      Except for the shoes.

      Derek Teague watched the other deputies scour the concrete, tagging and collecting pieces of the boys. 3 mangled shoes were already bagged and sitting to the side. They hadn’t found the fourth shoe yet. Luke Krueger’s name and address were carefully handwritten on the blood smeared tongue of one of the shoes. Part of his foot was still inside the mangled shoe.

      Faux looked away from the carnage and met Teague’s gaze. He said. “If this is what those things do to those that they take, I want you to promise me something.”

      “Yeah?” Derek knew what the other man was going to say.

      “Put a bullet in my head if it looks like they’re going to take me.” He shook his head. “I mean it. Don’t you hesitate.”

      Before Teague could answer, a noise cut him off.

      “WHERE ARE MY BOYS, YOU WORTHLESS DICKHEADS?” Buster Krueger bellowed as he tried to crash through the crime scene tape. His face was purple with rage, snot layering his upper lip, and the veins in his neck pounded in time with the flashing police strobes. Teague got in front of the big man before he could stomp through the crime scene.

      “Buster, please.” He kept his tone mild, conciliatory, even when Buster tried to shove his way past. It took Faux’s help to finally rein in the big man, getting him back past the tape and away from what was left of his kids. No man should see that, not even somebody as bad as Buster. Teague put his face close to Buster’s, gritting his teeth against the powerful urge to knock the man onto his bulbous ass, and said. “Buster, you have to let my people do their jobs.”

      “Fuck you! And fuck your people!” Buster shouted, his spittle peppering Teague’s face. The vein in the man’s temple was ready to pop, swelled almost the size of a man’s finger. He stared hate into the younger man’s eyes and his red face twisted as he said. “If your people had been doing their job in the first place, none of this would’ve fucking happened.”

      Faux put himself between the two men, his expression hard as he said. “Your boys are dead because you and your town council decided to play politics instead of doing their fucking jobs, Krueger. Maybe if you’d been more interested in serving the people’s interests, instead of the town’s, your boys would still be alive?” He shoved two fingers hard into the big man’s chest and shook his head in disgust. “That’s on you, Krueger. Maybe you can live with that, maybe not, but I don’t really give a shit about you or your fucked up little town.” He turned and pointed at the bloody smear that was all that remained of the man’s boys and said. “We’re going to stop what’s doing this to your town’s kids, because that’s what matters here. Lives. Not whatever bullshit you and your asshole friends got going on the side. And if you get in our way again, I’ll burn you and your little town council to the ground.”

      Krueger’s face went from deep purple to ash gray as his mouth opened and closed, unable to form a response. Something died in his eyes and the fight went out of him. He put his big trembling hands over his face and turned away. Teague stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Go home to your wife, Buster. She doesn’t need to hear about this from the police.”

      Buster said nothing. He took a last look at the bits and pieces of his boys, scattered and smeared like so much roadkill, and his face crumbled. Turning, he stumbled away, pushing and shoving his way back to his car.

      Teague watched him go with a leaden feeling in his gut. He said. “I almost feel sorry for the sad son of a bitch.”

      “Not me.” Faux watched the remaining deputies moving around the street with hard eyes. The two dead officers were covered by white plastic sheeting, waiting to be processed, along with their heads. He looked at Teague and shook his head. “I didn’t know his boys or your men, but I feel a lot more sorry for them. Fat cat bureaucrats play around with law enforcement and there’s always going to be casualties. It’s poetic justice when their meddling gets them punched in the face.”

      “This doesn’t feel like justice to me.” Teague thought of his own family, waiting alone at home. Wondering if he was coming home tonight. He thought of the families waiting for the two dead deputies. He said. “Nobody should have to bury their own children.”

      “No.” Faux said. “They shouldn’t have to. But this is a long way from being over. You know it and I know it. And it’s going to get bloodier before the end.”