Brew (Salem's Revenge Book 1)

by David Estes

  Bil Nez.

  ~~~

  We find a house to crawl into. We’re all shivering, but it’s too risky to make a fire. The last thing we want to do is draw The End’s attention to us.

  My teeth chattering, I manage to stutter, “I don’t like The End, but hopefully they at least kill off all the Necros. One less witch gang to worry about.” I slam a fist to the hardwood floor.

  Hex whines and plops his wet chin on my lap.

  Trish stares at me with a dark expression.

  Laney remains silent, too, although I can tell she wants to say something.

  “If you’ve got something to say, just say it,” I prod. “Nothing ever stopped you before.”

  “Rhett, I know you’ve lost a lot and you’re upset, but we’re alive. We’re still alive. Being angry isn’t going to help anything.”

  But I am angry. And she doesn’t know a damn thing about what I’ve lost. I slam my fist down again, startling Hex back to his feet. Immediately he starts glowing, warmth spreading from him.

  But I’m not interested in warmth or magic or anything, except the fact that—

  A choke escapes my lips.

  Hold it together. Hold it together.

  I can’t see, can’t see anything except blurred shapes and—

  Laney’s arms are suddenly around my neck, wet and cold and clutching me to her, holding me tight.

  And I squeeze back and cry and cry and cry into her shoulder.

  “She’s gone,” I sob.

  “Shhh,” Laney says, rubbing my back.

  “I loved her.”

  “Shh.”

  “They’re both gone.”

  ~~~

  Hours later, when the last tears have dripped from my chin, and we’ve all managed to use Hex’s fire-that’s-not-a-fire warmth to dry ourselves, I hear a noise.

  The others are asleep, Trish’s little head resting on Hex’s softly glowing stomach, and Laney spooning her from behind.

  I pretended to sleep, too, until the others drifted away, but have since proceeded to wear a track in the rug, pacing the room.

  But now, a noise stops me.

  Just a creak. A door opening, or a floorboard depressed by a footstep. Or nothing at all, just a normal house noise.

  creeeeak!

  There it is again.

  I tiptoe quietly toward the front of the house, gripping my sword. I’m readier than I’ve ever been before, to kill, to defend the ones I care about, to die if necess—

  The beggar, Martin, stands before me, just inside the front door. He’s completely dry, but his face and coat are powdered with gray dust, like you’d expect a mine cave-in victim to look when they’re rescued.

  “You,” I say. “How…”

  His expression is worn and haggard and carrying so much pain, but I can still see the fight in his eyes.

  “Who are you?” I ask.

  He reaches in his coat pocket and retrieves what appears to be a simple recording device. He holds it for a second in his hand, just looking at it, as if trying to come to a decision. And then he presses the play button.

  “My name is Martin Carter,” a voice says through the speaker. “And I’m your father.”

  He presses stop and waits, raising a hand to his forehead, ducking his head into his palm.

  “I—I don’t understand,” I say. “Mr. Jackson said my father’s dead.”

  He shakes his head. Points to himself. Presses play on the recorder. The voice resumes. “My punishment wasn’t death. My punishment was to be cursed for life. Every second that I am close to you, my son, causes me excruciating pain, and brings me slightly closer to death. My curse is never being able to be with you again.”

  No. This can’t be right. He’s—he’s working for someone else, another witch gang. He’s trying to get to me with his lies. I open my mouth to speak, but Martin’s already backing away toward the door.

  I try to follow him, but he waves his hand and all goes black.

  ~~~

  I’m warm when I awake. One of my arms is draped over Laney, who’s flush with Trish, who’s nestled up against Hex.

  When I move, Laney stirs, opens her eyes, yawning. Her eyes flicker shock for a split-second when she realizes how close I’m sleeping to her. She recovers quickly. “You could’ve at least bought me popcorn and a movie ticket first,” she says.

  Instead of smiling, I tell her about the beggar and his message.

  “A dream?” she asks.

  “Everything feels like a dream,” I say.

  “There are a lot of people claiming to be long-lost dads these days,” Laney says. “Maybe you and Xave could go on one of those shows where they do a paternity test to find out who the real father is.” I know she intends it as a joke, but the humor falls flat under the circumstances. “Sorry,” she says.

  I wave her off. A sudden jolt of anger hits me, this time directed toward the beggar. “He saved my life two times and then shows up out of nowhere, claims to be my cursed father, and then disappears? What the hell is that? What am I supposed to do with that?”

  “Maybe he had no choice,” Laney says.

  I know what she’s trying to do. Calm me down. Make excuses. But I’ve had enough of being calm and hearing excuses and rationalizing. Beth was innocent. She deserved better than what she got.

  “If there are any Necros left, I’ll kill them,” I say.

  “Rhett,” Laney says.

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “Better yet, if there are any witches at all left, I’ll kill them. And if Bil Nez was somehow involved, he’s as good as dead.”

  “Although I wouldn’t necessarily object to that last one, this isn’t you,” she says.

  “Why not?” I ask. “You’re like that, all threats and passion. Why can’t I be?”

  “I’m not,” she says, taking my hand. Her palm is warm. “Not really. Yeah, I’ll defend my sister and friends to the death but I’m not out to pick a fight.”

  “Well I am,” I say, pulling my hand away. “Maybe you should, too. Maybe we all should.” A new surge of fury spirals through me. Not anger at the witches, but anger at being angry. Is this what I’ve become? What the witches have made me become? All hard edges and razor blades?

  I take a deep breath and try to explain what I’m feeling. “I used to think the book characters that were only around for a chapter or two were a waste of time. Why create a character just for a few pages, or a chapter? My friends—Xave and Beth—would be a part of my book to my very last breath. And now—now a chapter’s over and I’m afraid to turn the page, because they won’t be a part of my story anymore.”

  “But there’s a next chapter,” Laney says. “And I’m a part of it, and Trish and Hex, too.”

  In my mind, I imagine a parchment page, brittle and yellowed and torn around the edges. My dark hand reaches for it, lifts it…

  But I can’t do it—can’t move on. Not yet. “You once asked me about Beth,” I say.

  “Yeah, and you told me all about her. She sounded like an amazing person who I would have liked.” Laney’s words are sincere, but she’s missing the point.

  “I told you about her, but I didn’t tell you what she meant to me,” I say, willing myself to continue. The weight on my chest is like an anchor, forcing me to the bottom of the sea.

  “It doesn’t matter, Carter, it’s the same thing,” Laney says.

  “It’s not,” I say. “And it does matter. The truth is, I was too scared, even if I didn’t realize it. Mr. Jackson taught me that letting fear in would break me, would cause me to fail before I’d even started. So I put it in a safe, buried it, and then threw away the key. But what I didn’t know—what Mr. Jackson didn’t tell me—is that the fear doesn’t go away just because you hide it. It’s still there, just below the surface or around the edges, lying in wait. You can never escape fear and you’re not supposed to, because fear’s a part of you, and fear’s what warns you when something’s not right.”

  “Rhet
t, I get all that, but what does fear have to do with Beth?” Laney’s hand is on mine again, and this time I squeeze back, because I need the comfort of a friend now more than ever.

  “I was scared that if I said what was in here”—I motion to my chest—“aloud, that it would jinx things, that Beth would…”

  Laney’s shaking her head. “It doesn’t work that way. And it’s not too late to say what you feel.”

  Now I’m shaking my head, too, because it is. Far too late. “I can’t bring her back,” I say, tears flooding my vision.

  “But you can keep her alive by telling me about how you felt about her,” Laney says.

  A sprig of hope sprouts up inside me, but I pull it up by the roots. To hope is to be disappointed. “I can’t,” I lie.

  “You can. Tell me. Tell me, Carter. Freaking tell me!” She’s in my face, her fists balled, looking as fierce as I’ve ever seen her.

  But I don’t back down; I lean in. “Fine. I’ll tell you. Beth was every breath I took, every beat of my heart. She was the sun rising and setting, the moon and the stars and the planets and the galaxies. My one and done. My strength and my weakness. The beginning of my life; and now, the end of it.”

  Laney’s crying, but I don’t care because my chest is like thunder and my blood’s on fire. And—and—

  My hands are wet, sprinkled with the clear liquid that’s dripping from my chin.

  Because I’m crying, too. Filled with rage and hopelessness and unbearable sadness, my eyes are spilling everything they have left.

  Laney’s arms surround me and I fall into her, because I have no strength left to hold myself up. “Carter, please, you can’t think that way. You can’t. I. Won’t. Let. You.”

  “It’s over,” I say, hating the certainty in my voice. “My life is over.”

  “What if it’s not?” Laney says. “What if there’s someone else out there? What if she’s just waiting to find you? Beth would want that, wouldn’t she?”

  I hug Laney tighter, feeling lucky to have a friend as good as her in my shattered life. But it doesn’t change anything. “There’s no one else,” I say.

  “You can’t mean that,” Laney says. “If so, there’d be nothing left to live for. No purpose.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” I say, and she pulls back to look at me, arching her eyebrows, her cheeks split by glistening tear tracks.

  “Then what?” she asks. My thoughts slash and burn and tear and maim, as face after face spirals past: the Reaper and the Siren and The End and every other person that’s harmed me in my life. And for once, I know the exact right answer to one of her questions.

  “Revenge,” I say.

  ~~~ * ~~~

  Look out for the thrilling sequel in the Salem’s Revenge series, Boil, out NOW! Keep reading for a sample of Boil, as well as The Moon Dwellers, the first book in the YA dystopian series that launched David Estes’ writing career, available NOW!

  A personal note from David…

  If you enjoyed this book, please, please, please (don’t make me get down on my knees and beg!) consider leaving a positive review on Amazon.com. Without reviews on Amazon, I wouldn’t be able to write for a living, which is what I love to do! Thanks for all your incredible support and I look forward to reading your reviews.

  Acknowledgments

  So this is life after the Dwellers/Country Saga. I was a little nervous, but I can honestly say that I love it! Although it was incredibly daunting to start a new project after completing the 7-book Dwellers/Country Saga, it was also incredibly exciting. The characters and the plotlines were all new, but one thing has been consistent as I’ve embarked on this new adventure: The support and help I’ve received along the way. For that, I’m eternally grateful.

  As always, my biggest supporter, fan, and partner in all that I do is my lovely wife, Adele. Thank you for all you do for me. I’m a better writer because of you. And more importantly, because of your influence, I’m a better human being.

  A special thank you to my agent, Andrea Hurst, for believing in me when no one else in “the biz” did. That belief catapulted me to greater heights than I thought possible! And to Katie Reed, my co-agent and partner in crime, thank you and your team of geniuses for agonizing over every single detail in Brew and helping to make it the best book it could possibly be. Has anyone ever told you that you’re a superhero? If not, then let me be the first.

  A massive thank you to Tony Wilson at Winki Pop Design for yet another amazing cover. The cover for Brew is as unique as it is darkly beautiful, creepy and perfect for the book! You’ve now designed nine covers for me and I expect MANY more to come.

  Thank you to my beta readers, you all continue to challenge me to take my creativity to new heights that even I didn’t know was possible. Each and every one of you brings something new and special to the table. So thank you Laurie Love, Alexandria Theodosopoulos, Kerri Hughes, Terri Thomas, Brooke DelVecchio, Rachel Shade, Kat Mellon, Sheree Whitelock, Karen Benson, and Anthony Briggs Jr.

  To my Street Team, the Estes Angels, thank you for your generosity, energy, creativity, and undying kindness. I consider each and every one of you my lifelong friends and I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me. In particular, I want to thank Karen, Jenny, Kelly, Dre, Marni, Lola, and Jeann for going way above and beyond to get the word out about my books!

  Lastly, to each and every person who has ever read one or more of my books, THANK YOU. Three years ago I hadn’t sold a single book, and now I’ve sold more than twenty-five-thousand books and given away thousands more. It’s all of YOU who created my career. I especially want to thank all of the thousands of members of my official Goodreads fan group, David Estes Fans and YA Book Lovers Unite!

  Young Adult Novels by David Estes

  The Dwellers Saga:

  Book One—The Moon Dwellers

  Book Two—The Star Dwellers

  Book Three—The Sun Dwellers

  Book Four—The Earth Dwellers

  The Country Saga (A Dwellers Saga sister series):

  Book One—Fire Country

  Book Two—Ice Country

  Book Three—Water & Storm Country

  Book Four—The Earth Dwellers

  Salem’s Revenge:

  Book One—Brew

  Book Two—Boil

  Book Three—Burn (coming in 2015!)

  The Slip Trilogy:

  Book One—Slip (coming in December 2014!)

  Book Two—Grip (coming in December 2014!)

  Book Three—Flip (coming in 2015!)

  The Evolution Trilogy:

  Book One—Angel Evolution

  Book Two—Demon Evolution

  Book Three—Archangel Evolution

  Children’s Books by David Estes

  The Adventures of Nikki Powergloves:

  Nikki Powergloves—A Hero Is Born

  Nikki Powergloves and the Power Council

  Nikki Powergloves and the Power Trappers

  Nikki Powergloves and the Great Adventure

  Nikki Powergloves vs. the Power Outlaws (Coming soon!)

  Connect with David Estes Online

  David Estes Fans and YA Book Lovers Unite

  Facebook

  Blog/website

  About the Author

  David Estes was born in El Paso, Texas but moved to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania when he was very young. He grew up in Pittsburgh and then went to Penn State for college. Eventually he moved to Sydney, Australia where he met his wife and soul mate, Adele, who he’s now been happily married to for more than three years.

  A reader all his life, David began writing novels for the children's and YA markets in 2010, and has completed 19 novels, 16 of which have been published. In June of 2012, David became a fulltime writer and was able to travel the world for two years with Adele, while writing his books. They’ve now settled down in Hawaii, where David hopes to create many more books for his readers.

  David gleans inspiration from all sorts of crazy places, l
ike watching random people do entertaining things, dreams (which he jots copious notes about immediately after waking up), and even from thin air sometimes!

  David’s a writer with OCD, a love of dancing and singing (but only when no one is looking or listening), a mad-skilled ping-pong player, an obsessive Goodreads group member, and prefers writing at the swimming pool to writing at a table. He loves responding to e-mails, Facebook messages, Tweets, blog comments, and Goodreads comments from his readers, all of whom he considers to be his friends.

  A sample of BOIL, the thrilling sequel to BREW by David Estes, available NOW!

  Prologue

  Fourteen years earlier

  The Reaper, a man known to humans as Mr. Jackson, wants to look away, but, for his old friend’s sake, he won’t.

  Between the glowing, magical bars, Martin Carter tries to speak. It’s painful to watch, the stump of his severed tongue wagging grotesquely in the torchlight. Wet, gagging sounds are all he can make out.

  “Shh,” he says. “There’s nothing more to say, except I’m sorry.”

  Martin moves closer, dragging himself across the dusty floor. Is something wrong with his legs, too? the Reaper wonders.

  When he reaches the bars, he sticks a hand through and grasps the Reaper’s hand. He’s still trying to speak.

  “Shh,” the Reaper says again, trying to comfort his friend, even as tears betray him, flooding his eyes.

  Martin shakes his head vehemently. I won’t be quiet, he seems to convey. He points to the ground, to the dirt. Points two fingers at the warlock’s eyes, then back at his own. Watch me.

  Using only the tip of his finger, he draws in the dust. Letters. Words. A message.

  Protect him.