Number of the Beast (Paladin Cycle, Book One)

by Lita Stone

  “Amy needs you,” Carmen said. “Let’s just go see her.”

  “She doesn’t need me. She needs someone to hold her hand and tell her everything is going to be alright. And that’s not me. I just can’t do that right now.”

  Carmen got in his face. “None of us want to go in there and see her broken body, and we all want to find the deranged creep who’s responsible. But Amy is what’s most important right now and she needs us. And she needs us to keep it fucking together.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “So man the fuck up, grow a set and get your ass in that hospital room, where you belong.”

  Visions flipped through Shane’s mind, like an old fashioned slide show, but at high speed. Amy beneath him, writhing with pleasure as he made sweet love to her. Birch and him on bikes, speeding down the trails surrounding Sacred Oaks. His vision blurred, mind fogged with incoherent thoughts. Amy had asked him to pick up a gallon of milk and he had forgotten all about it. Did he feed Alamo? He needed to get to the junkyard and find a carburetor for the Jalopy.

  Birch placed a hand on Shane’s shoulder.

  Shane spun and rushed Birch against the rutted cement wall.

  “You need to fight?” Birch asked. “Get it out of your system.”

  Shane sneered.

  Birch’s lips twitched with a smirk. “Carmen’s right. Get it together, Baker.”

  Carmen stepped behind him. “You can’t keep taking this out on us or yourself.”

  Shane released his grip on Birch’s collar.

  “I can do whatever the fuck I want to fucking do.”

  A shuffling noise caused them all to glance back.

  The automatic doors slid open, revealing a dark parking lot. Abe, the crazy fuck, dressed in a charcoal gray trench coat and a floppy hat, stepped into the hospital and toward the vending machine. He inserted several coins and made a selection. A package of crackers dropped.

  With a dull expression, Abe opened the bag. “That there Beast finally caught up to her, eh?”

  Shane opened his mouth, but Carmen silenced him with a raised hand. “I got it,” she said and turned to Abe. “You heard what happened to Amy?”

  Shane grumbled. “I guess you heard about all this through some talking bush or puddle of mud shit?”

  Abe said, “Done heard it over the scanner while skinnin’ a fat possum for supper.”

  “What did you say about a Beast finally catching Amy?” Carmen asked.

  “Just more bullshit.” Shane snorted. “Old man’s been flinging bullshit his whole life.”

  Abe stuffed two crackers in his mouth and munched. “She’d done said was a Beast gettin’ after her. I don’t doubt it either. Not after that there strange one brought me the knife in my vision.” Abe pocketed the empty cracker wrapper. “I’d figure it was meant for her. I figured right, too, didn’t I?” His lips formed a cocky sneer. He turned to mosey out the way he’d come.

  “Who’s Atticus?” Shane hollered.

  Abe paused at the automatic doors that led to the parking lot. He glanced over his left shoulder, his dark eyes peering at Shane from between the brim of his floppy, old hat and the gray of his beard. “Fuck if I know.”

  “Somebody better start making some sense here,” Shane said. “I’m sick of all this devil-worshiping satanic cult, cursed woods mumbo-bullshit.”

  “I hate to say this,” Carmen began, “but I might have to side with Abe on this one. Amy might not be crazy and there may actually be something after her.”

  With his back toward them, Abe lifted a hand over his head and waved. “I’ll be by later to check on her. Sure hope she’s alright.”

  As Abe disappeared outside, Shane thundered, “Fuck!” With both fists, he pounded the Coca-Cola machine. When the face of the machine shattered, when his knuckles bled and even when his vision went red, he kept hitting...again...and again...

  Carmen and Birch shouted but their voices sounded distant. Shane grabbed for the vending machine and tipped it over. Birch and Carmen darted out of the way. Chips and candy bars spilled onto the floor along with shards of glass.

  Several orderlies ran into the room.

  Shane clipped one in the jaw and sent him to his ass.

  Three men in scrubs struggled to restrain him. One yelled, “Tranq!”

  Shane felt a prick in his left shoulder.

  “I’m gonna beat all you muther—” Shane’s legs became jelly. The room spun. Voices dimmed, now even more distant and incoherent.

  And then...

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Isaac lay sprawled on the floor of his master chamber, wide jungle leaves beneath him. Dozens of exotic jungle trees and bushes surrounded the edges of the room, creating an artificial environment. Had it not been for his hellion offspring he would surely have died and rotted in the woods.

  And his mate would’ve died shortly after.

  It was unclear how long he had been lying unconscious before opening his eyes and realizing he was back in the mansion, his temporary lair while in the realm of Texas.

  Texas, he scowled. Forsaken refuge of wretched mortals!

  Galmoria had promised to make him King of the Beasts, giving him domination over all realms and all the Zodiac tribes. He would reign with pride and serve his mother well, but this land called Texas was a prick in his thumb, an insignificant realm littered with imbecilic and primitive human peoples.

  Once he found and recovered his twin, he would leave this place. But not before devouring the Paladin that scorched him.

  He needed little more than to feed and bed his Lynn. But where was she? With Amy’s people?

  Galmoria had informed him of Amy’s habits, where she worked, how old she was, where she lived and who she fucked. Was Lynn with Amy’s mate?

  Isaac’s head lolled. A low rumble vibrated from deep within. If the man tainted Lynn, he would skin the male alive and chew on his bones.

  A pungent scent of burnt flesh mixed with sweet acai permeated the room, with a foulness that induced vomiting. Air squeezed from his lungs in shallow gasps. He coughed and choked. Chunks of half-digested deer spilled onto the foliage.

  Whatever had attacked him had wielded cosmic flames like nothing he’d ever encountered. The fires of his assailant made the holy flames of angels cool in comparison. Geminus were of the strongest among the tribes, but Isaac had been reduced to a crisp shell by a single strike.

  He could stand and he could walk, but his essence felt sapped. The energy strained to mend his ruined body. He was as weak as a mortal man, he thought with a snort. Now, in his current state, even a gunshot to the gut would put him down just as it would a doe.

  “Master Isaac,” Ira whispered from near a fig tree. “You have awoken!” She glided closer, but he shot a hand out.

  “At bay,” he snapped. “I need no assistance.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  Isaac struggled, writhing and squirming, and managed to rise to a standing position. Craning his neck, he exhaled loudly. “You did well.” If it hadn’t been for Ira’s cunning illusion then his mate would certainly be dead or the very least critically wounded, but it had all been part of Galmoria’s test. “You served me well.”

  “My honor and my pleasure, Master.” She bowed.

  “I must find my mate.”

  Isaac slipped a new suit from a hanger in his closet. Each piece of clothing clung to his blistered, pus-ridden limbs. Grimacing, he ground his teeth. “I have given her a new vessel to occupy. But it is crucial that I find her, for she will come into heat soon and require my seed.” He shuddered. “If she cannot acquire my seed she will become frenzied.”

  “You cannot leave yet, Master,” Ira begged, shaking her head. “You are far too weak.” Ira reached out to steady him.

  “I have no choice.” He flicked his skeletal hand at her. “Lynn’s essence will send the local humans into chaos. It will be Sodom and Gomorrah in Texas.”

  “What do you care of this Texas?”

  Isaac took a cautio
us step. “Chaos will attract the attention of the ill-begotten slayers. I must find her before they do.”

  Ira floated in front of him. “I beg you Master! You should not leave your haven.”

  Isaac snarled, his arms twisted and bent, his gait wobbly. “Move out of my way.” He fell onto his face. Wetness bloomed across his forehead and cheeks and he tasted blood. Muscles and tendons screamed with renewed pain. He hissed and howled.

  Isaac pushed himself, strained and summoned all his might but only managed to roll to his side. “She won’t make it without me, Ira. She needs me.”

  Ira knelt beside him. “You will only bring about your own death if you try to leave. Let me fetch Mistress Lynn for you.”

  Isaac closed his eyes and breathed deep. “She will be rabid with lust and possessiveness. The moment you turn corporal to grab her, she will destroy you like paper mache. A vixen in heat cannot be reasoned with.” He coughed and vomited pieces of reddish-brown goo. “I cannot send you. I would be sentencing you to your final death.”

  Ira nodded, for all wraiths knew the Geminus possessed the power to banish them back to Purgatory in an excruciating fashion, even recently born vixens like his twin possessed the innate ability.

  Isaac motioned Ira forward.

  Ira offered herself as a crutch and wobbled Isaac to the greenery where he had lay earlier. “What of Lynn? What do we do?”

  “We wait until I am well enough to pursue and meet her need. Until then, may whatever god the humans pray to bless this wretched land of Texas.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Scooter turned off the television and shuffled into his bedroom. Knights and soldiers readied for battle, strategically placed on the white card table, waiting for Scooter’s next command. Centered on the battlefield was a clock tower, along with two die cast car models. Scooter recalled Amy’s expression of confusion as she listened to him explain the rules and her teasing that it was a kid’s game.

  He paced around the table, eyeing the soldiers, the structures and the ‘69 model Corvette parked in the shadow of the clock tower. The scales didn’t match so the car was actually five times wider than the clock tower.

  Scooter held the car at eye-level. The blue flame sticker on the sides of the car were wrinkled and crooked. What must Amy’s car look like? Was it as crumpled as the sticker on this model car?

  How bad was she hurt?

  Who hurt her?

  Would she die?

  What would Amy’s death do to his brother?

  With a dramatic roll of his eyes, he let out a deep groan.

  Amy wasn’t going to die. She couldn’t die. If she did Shane would become more of a jerk and be unbearable. Scooter would have to stay in L.A. permanently. The thought made Scooter want to hit something. But that was Shane’s style, not his. And Shane was the last person in this world Scooter wanted to emulate.

  Shane was arrogant.

  Crude.

  Impulsive.

  Selfish.

  Reckless.

  And if something happened to Amy...Shane would be devastated. He had been beating himself up for years since the accidental death of their sister. Shane never spoke to Scooter about it, but Amy had told him the story in private a couple years ago, after Shane had gotten real drunk and started throwing tools and screaming for no reason. Scooter had only been five when the accident occurred, and his parents had shielded his young ears from the true reason behind Victoria’s death. He could barely remember anything about his sister, but the accident had obviously affected Amy a great deal.

  For a flicker of a moment, Scooter thought about falling to his knees and praying to God. But he knew that was a useless gesture. Only the doctors could save her now.

  Scooter closed his eyes. Gripping the model car in his fist, he pictured their small-town church filled to capacity. Neighbors, diners from Roxy’s, Mike Bullock from the Rising Bull, and Carmen and Shane all readying to say goodbye to the most beautiful, intelligent, sensitive and fun person he’d ever known.

  Ivory satin coddled Amy’s lifeless body. The capering flames of candle light shimmered off the black casket. Stillness would forever afflict her sexy body.

  Still circling the table with the pride of a wealthy collector eyeing his trove, Scooter scoped the mock battleground and the knights and army soldiers, all prepared for war.

  He gave the Corvette a hard shove. It rolled over a squad of soldiers but stopped in front of a tall metal figurine. Scooter focused on the single black knight that stood alone on the corner of the battlefield. Red eyes and a sharp scythe defiantly challenged Scooter’s bad mood. Those red eyes glared at him as if looking for an answer. But what was the question?

  His cell rang. Zack’s ring tone. “Sympathy for the Devil” by the Rolling Stones.

  Zack said, “Ready to battle for the fate of the universe?”

  “I can’t tonight. Amy was in an accident.”

  “Dang dude. That sucks. Why don’t you come stay over?”

  “Sorry but not tonight.”

  “You know I’m always here for you, dude. We’ll get through this together.”

  “Thanks,” Scooter said. “I just wish I knew if she was okay. If I could just talk to her.”

  “You can talk to me,” Zack snapped.

  Taken aback, Scooter said, “I know. And I don’t take that for granted.”

  “Don’t you trust me?”

  “Of course,” Scooter said, feeling strangely defensive.

  If it wasn’t for Zack, Scooter would’ve been eating lunch in the corner alone for the last two years of high school and been the biggest dweeb at Buckeye High. Somehow, Zack pulled off cool, even though he was really a nerd to the bone, just like Scooter. In fact, Zack was smarter than Amy and Scooter put together. Zack was a god of mathematics and an encyclopedia of world history. And made advanced physics, seem like child’s play. Although, he’d never admit that to Zack. Being friends with Zack made being smart look cool.

  And the greatest things about Zack and Amy were that they both accepted him for who and what he was and weren’t constantly trying to change him.

  “Maybe I can get your mind off things,” Zack said. “How’d you do on the English lit exam?”

  Scooter paced next to the game table. “Solid B+. I think.”

  “You know you got an A.”

  “You know, that new girl Hillary is in our lit class. She’s real smart and reminds me a little of Amy.”

  “The blonde girl who sits two seats ahead of you, right? But she’s got bigger tits than Amy.” Zack chuckled.

  “I guess so.”

  “Stay away from those types of chicks.” Zack’s voice took on a deep guttural sound.

  Scooter remained silent for a few moments. “Why? She seems nice enough. I think she might even like me.”

  “She’s a skanky whore,” Zack said in a harsh tone.

  “Really? How do you know that?”

  “Cause I fucked her last month.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Come over to my place tonight and I’ll give you all the dirty, wet details you can handle,” Zack moaned, as if reliving the moment.

  A strange discomfort wiggled through Scooter’s head and body when he heard his friend moaning. A visual of Hillary’s and Zack’s bodies entwined flashed in his mind. He stifled a groan. His jeans tightened around his groin.

  “So I guess you guys broke up?” Scooter asked.

  “Don’t even think about. She’s used goods. Sloppy seconds. Ever seen a half-eaten rotten cantaloupe?”

  “Gross,” Scooter said, but the straining in his pants only got worse.

  “Swear you’ll stay away from her.”

  “Sure.”

  “Swear on your soul!”

  #

  Amy blinked her eyes open. The blurred silhouette of Carmen cleared into focus. Her body felt heavy as it lay on a firm mattress. A thin white sheet and multiple ivory blankets warmed her body. The sound of a rhythmic beep re
sounded from beside her. Glancing down, she noticed a tube protruding from the back of her hand. An IV.

  She was in a hospital bed.

  Opening her mouth, she called for Carmen but her dry throat muffled her voice. She took in a deep breath to try again. Carmen slid from the end of the bed and took her hand. With furrowed brows and a deep scowl of concern, she said, “Amy?”

  Amy tried to smile but her skin felt heavy on her face just as her body felt on the bed. She looked around the room for familiarity.

  Carmen asked, “Do you remember what happened?”

  Amy shook her head.

  Carmen smiled, but the gesture seemed forced. She was never good at masking her emotions, one of the things Amy loved most about her.

  Amy opened her mouth again. Through a dry throat, she muttered, “Carmen.”

  Carmen held a plastic cup of water to Amy’s lips.

  Amy savored the ice cold fluid on her tongue and throat. “Thank you.”

  Carmen patted the blankets over Amy’s legs. “I’ll get the doctor.”

  Before Carmen could take a step, Amy grabbed her wrist. “Shane?”

  With a small shrug, she said, “He’s detained at the moment.”

  Amy shook her head. Her gaze drifted to the corner of the room at a plant. Purple flowers spilled over the sides of the ceramic pot.

  Carmen sighed. “I promise he’ll be by later.”

  She must have seen disappointment in Amy’s face, disappointment Amy hadn’t realized she even felt. Shane had a good reason for not being here. She read the trepidation in Carmen’s face and stifled a groan. Hopefully Shane’s absence had nothing to do with being drunk, indecent exposure or a jail cell.

  As Carmen left the room to find a doctor, Amy tried to recall how she’d ended up in the hospital. Last she’d remembered, she was at Roxy’s, about to wait on the strange, young fellow in green leather pants. And then commotion. Something had happened but she could only see glimpses of the highway, trees, and birds.

  Lots of birds.

  And snakes!

  Then she woke up here in the hospital.

  She heard a light knock and glanced to the doorway. A short middle-aged man stood in the threshold. He was dressed in beige slacks, a striped shirt and loose tie. He held a clipboard to his chest as he approached.