Winter's Fury - Volume Two of The Saga of the Twelves

by Richard M. Heredia

  He flirted with the chubby side of large with dark brown eyes, surrounded by a loose-jowled face. His chin seemed to disappear into the skin of his neck. He had dyed-black hair down to the middle of his shoulder blades, which was currently pulled back over his head, held in place by a hair net. On top of the net, he had on a baseball cap with the logo of his father’s pizza business emblazoned across the front. Novello’s Italian Paradise.

  The name had always made him snigger. Though the family name was Novello, they were not Italian. And, the ramshackle pizza joint on Colorado Boulevard was about the farthest thing from paradise that he could imagine.

  “We’re Mexican, Dad. We should take the “Italian” out of the name.”

  How many times had he told that to his father over the course of the past few years? Too many to count, right?

  And how many times had his father said right back, “Your great grandfather opened this establishment over seventy years ago, Miles. He was Italian, so the name stays!”

  “But, Dad, we’re Mexican!”

  His father would squint at him, through hard eyes. “We’re Italian enough to make the best freakin’ pizza on this side of the city!”

  And that would be that. The conversation was over.

  He smiled as he turned from Highland View Avenue, making a lazy right onto Hill Drive. This was the so-called swanky street running perpendicular to the 134 freeway. It was the reputed area where all the wealthy people in the neighborhood lived.

  After all, his father was not lying. They did make the best pizza this side of downtown. Everyone knew it. That was why he was out so late, on a Sunday and on a school night. He delivered pies all over the small communities nestled against the hills about Glenoaks Canyon. Northeastern Los Angeles was their turf. The restaurant was filled to capacity when he had left and it appeared as though he would be out on the streets until well after they closed.

  “It makes sense, though,” he said over Kurt Cobain’s forlorn tones. The long-dead performer sang his way through Heart-Shaped Box. “People don’t want to go out, especially now.”

  Ever since the happenings surrounding what the government (and the media) had labeled, The Event, their business had tripled. His parents had to call in his younger sister and cousin to help wait tables. Something he did on occasion when the delivery schedule was light. Not so now. He’d been racking up miles for more than five days now. He had even delivered three extra-large pies all the way out to Montecito Heights. This was so far out of their area, his father had to charge a premium fee upfront. The customer had not even twitched over the cost. Yeah, people are staying the fuck put.

  Don’t think about them, Miles! he ordered without speaking. He was all too aware any stray thought about the occurrences of the day before Thanksgiving would steer him down that path. He did not want to think about all the friends he had lost over the course of the past four days. Anthony’s disappearance had left him near-comatose for thirty-six hours. If it had not been for the near violent uptick in his father’s business, he might have sunk into full-blown depression. Working as hard as he had been this past weekend had its’ perks after all it seemed.

  You’re too sensitive, you fat ass!

  He made a left onto Vincent Avenue where the multi-million dollar homes stood. His mind pushed his thoughts aside as he marveled at the veritable mansions he was driving past.

  He frowned, making his face bunch-up. He felt awkward motoring his age-old Nissan alongside all the BMW’s, the Porsches and the Mercedes-Benz’s. They seemed to grow on trees in this part of Eagle Rock.

  It did not take him long to locate the proper address.

  He slowed, doubled-checked the receipt and then found a suitable place to park the hoopty he was driving. He got out, gazing over the eight-foot-tall, rod iron fencing and the manicured lawn beyond. The house itself was set back a ways, a meandering stone walkway lead from the main gate to the front door, a football field in length.

  God damn! he thought.

  He folded the front seat forward, reaching into the back of the vehicle. He pulled forth a large pouch containing three medium pies. Within were your standard cheese, a pepperoni and sausage, and one Meat-lover’s with extra meat. That one had to be for the man of the house, or maybe an eldest son. No woman in her right mind, figured Miles, would attempt his family’s beef, chicken and ham laden pizza. No way! She’d have to be bigger than me.

  He chuckled, slamming the door, not bothering to lock it. Only a rich lunatic would attempt to steal his Nissan. He figured, up here there were few wealthy whack-jobs on the loose. The rich would have them all locked up tight in some attic or some shit like that. They'd be a family secret guarded jealously from the outside world.

  “Yup, that’s what they did to Dumbledore’s sister, right?” he muttered to himself as he pushed the buzzer to the left side of the main gate.

  “Yes?” came a high-pitched, female voice almost at once.

  “Um, Novello’s Pizza,” he announced, trying to put an ounce of enthusiasm in his voice.

  “Oh. Ok. Come right through.”

  He did not reply. He waited for the return buzz and the unlocking of the bolts holding the gate shut. A second later, he was through the threshold and onto the grounds proper.

  It was a huge house by his standards – three stories with a built-out attic from what he could see. It appeared made of brick, but even one as young as Miles knew such materials could look as such and be only a façade. As he rounded the first curve in the walkway, he came to face the edifice more straight-on. He saw twin, wood-carved pillars – painted white - guarding either side of the double doors. This was the main entry into the home from the front of the property. The pillars reached beyond the second floor. They served as the supports for a balcony stretching two-thirds across the floor above.

  “Fucking-A,” gasped Miles, impressed.

  She was at the door already, standing a foot before the one on the right, money in hand. She was wearing cerise-colored capris, a darker hued knit sweater and a matching pair of Merrell Barefoot tennis shoes. She was pretty, a redhead with long, looping curls down to her shoulders and eyes the color of the midday sky. But, it was the freckles Miles noticed the most. There were hundreds, and that was just on her delicate face alone.

  He recognized her a second later. It was Deborah Murdoch.

  The freckles!

  “Debbie?”

  She shifted her weight to one foot. “Yes?” she replied curious, brow furling.

  It was obvious she did not realize it was him in his Novello’s Italian Paradise get-up. “It’s me, Miles… we go to school together…”

  She came to stare at him, seeing him this time. “Oh my god, I didn’t see it was you in your… um, uniform…?” She cloaked the final word in the guise of a query.

  “Yeah, they make me dress a little different,” he said. He glanced down at his black chinos and matching black polo shirt with the Novello’s logo stitched over his left breast.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear anything but jeans,” she commented, eyeing him with her lips pulled to one side.

  He shuffled, awkward, berating himself for being so lazy. Maybe he should start taking more pride in his appearance. “Yeah,” was all he could think to say.

  “Did they put the extra meat on the Meat Lover’s?” she asked of a sudden, eyebrows bouncing.

  Miles frowned at the abrupt change in the topic. “Of course,” he said, adamant. Novello’s never skimped on their customer’s orders - if someone wanted extra meat, then by God they got a shit-ton of meat!

  “Good, ‘cuz I love it that way,” she gushed.

  “It’s for you?” he asked, his voice much too shrill for his liking.

  “Oh, you know it!”

  So much for the whole man-of-the-house theory, he thought, but with only half his consciousness. The other was busy imagining Deborah’s fit body through her clothes. He had seen her in much tighter outfits over the years. He kn
ew she had flaring hips, rounding into a firm pair of “Badonks” and a nice set of “Chesticles”.

  “Where do you put it all?” he asked, yanking his mind out of the gutter.

  She giggled, taking his innocuous question for a compliment. She shrugged a few moments later, turning at the waist.

  Miles cleared his throat. “Well, I should give these to you before they get cold. You have to eat a Novello’s warm, especially the one you like.” He grinned. He knew it was an inept attempt, but he put on his best face just the same while pulling the pies from their insulating pouch.

  “Oh yeah!” she exclaimed, walking them inside.

  She came out with the money she owed extended toward him. “Keep it, ok?”

  He smiled, feeling foolish, knowing she was giving him a large tip. “Hey, thanks!”

  “No big deal.” She waved off the kind gesture.

  He turned to go, waving back. “See you at school.”

  He had taken only one step when she said: “We should hang out sometime.”

  He peered back, surprised. They were, after all, from different crowds. He was an aspiring guitar player/singer, kicking it with a bunch of d-grade kids.

  She was super-popular, attended the Magnet program and was up to her neck in student government and shit like that. Plus, she always dressed so nice, classy…

  He glanced at the massive front of her parent’s house again. And she’s hella rich.

  “Sure,” he mumbled.

  “Ok, cool.” She waved again. “See you around.”

  “Bye.”

  She walked into the house, closing the door.

  He heard the clock engage as he continued down the walkway. Man, what would it be like to hang out with a chick like Deborah Murdoch? She’s so fine, always smells so good… He stepped through the gate, it was unlocked from the inside, and made his way to his car. He glanced down at the money she had given him still in his palm. He had to be holding a $20 tip, at least! Hell yeah! Maybe he would get a girlfriend out of it too – if everything went unexpectedly perfect that is.

  He drove away from the curb, busting a quick bitch to head back the way he had come, his mind clouded with errant thoughts of Deborah.

  They had both come into Eagle Rock Junior and Senior High in the seventh grade from different elementary schools. He had come from Rockdale. He had no idea where she had come from. They had shared a fair number of classes in those first few semesters. Over time though, it became evermore plain that she was a much better student than he. Her classes became harder, more challenging. His tended toward mediocrity. His teachers were not as dedicated, did not push their students like those Deborah had.

  In the ninth grade, she had grades good enough to make it into the Highly Gifted Magnet Program at their school. He had not seen much of her since, except at Nutrition or Lunch, but that was from afar. By then, they had dissimilar friends and divided interests. They had grown apart.

  Who knows, right? Maybe she could take a liking to a guy like me. His brow wrinkled. He thought about the changes he would have to make in order for him to get the attention of a girl as sophisticated and well-mannered as her. He would need a whole new wardrobe for Christ’s sake! And… he would have to shower and shave daily. Could he could that? Could he give a shit for once?

  For a crack at a girl like her? Yeah, I could -.

  He saw it. In the middle of the street, just as he finished his turn from Vincent Avenue to Hill Drive. It was so large, it was difficult to discern what it was exactly.

  Is it Humanoid?

  But, it was in the middle of the road. If he did not do something fast, he was going to -.

  Miles yanked the steering wheel over hard to the right, angling toward the sidewalk. Somehow, he was able to tell there were no cars parked there. How he did this, he would never know. It had been a decision he had made in a fraction of a second.

  Yet, he had over-corrected. His battered Nissan did not have the suspension or the downward force – the Camber – to swerve to such a degree. It could not stay under the driver’s control. He had the time to hear the tires squeal in protest before the impact almost knocked him unconscious. He had hit something hard, unmoving. He felt the seat belt bite deep into his left shoulder.

  Debbie, fired his brain before the darkness finally took him.

  By the time the residents in the nearby homes emerged, cell and cordless phones in hand. They found Miles Nissan smashed into a towering Eucalyptus tree. The engine was horribly wrapped around the trunk, showered with leaves and a few twigs and branches.

  “The collision must have been incredible.”

  “The car had been coming down hill, after all.”

  “Maybe the driver had pushed the gas instead of the brake.”

  Of Miles Novello, there was no sign. Only a curious, if not noxious, lime-green haze remained.

  “Had he crawled away?”

  They searched about, called the police and they searched as well.

  It would be many months before he would step foot in the World of Man again, by then he would not be the same young man. By then, deep scarring would have changed him forever.

  He and Deborah Murdoch would never get the chance to “hang out”.

  They would never get the time.

  ~~~~~~~<<< ᴥ >>>~~~~~~~

  ~ 40 ~

  The Truth About Fate

  Day Four, Sunday, 11:47 pm…

  Not sure what had awakened him, Anthony opened his eyes to the darkness of the store. He blinked away the grit growing about his eyelashes, making his orbs water, annoying and painful. He wiped at them irritated. His sudden movement made Sophie stir at his side. He rolled over onto his back, glancing over at her, hoping he had not awakened her as well.

  After a few moments of staring, he realized he had not and was glad. She was sleeping like an angel. One of her legs she had wrapped around his lower extremities. Her left hand rested limp upon his stomach, palms down, underneath his sweatshirt. Her hand felt small against his skin. They snuggled within a pair of matching sleeping bags they had zippered together earlier that night. They had created a kind of cocoon large enough to accommodate the both of them and still feel comfortable.

  Unbidden, but welcome images of earlier in the night invaded his mind. They chased away his confusion, as his awareness of the slumbering girl halfway atop him became ever more acute. He felt a sudden lurch in the pit of his belly.

  The night had been winding down after a hardy meal of ground beef and vegetables, seasoned with garlic and sprinkled with sweet basil. Hyun and Kimberly had served it in the large plastic bowls some of the boys had scavenged from the lower section of the store. There had been cokes and juices all around.

  Hyun and Kimberly had delighted the group with a retelling of the night they and Derek got drunk so they get to sleep. This had been after the insane rigors of their first day in the Melded World.

  This had brought on an enlivened discussion between the older boys and girls. Some of them had wanted to partake of a few cold ones. Others had argued though it would be cool to guzzle down some spirits, it was still not a good idea. Those conscientious minded teens felt it would be best if they all had their wits about them at all times. After all, there were enemies everywhere, being tipsy might slow them down.

  The discussion had gone on nonetheless, until Kodiak had voiced her opinion. She was pacing amongst them, saying she was not about to mother a group of drunken brats. And she would certainly not clean up after them as they threw up everywhere and made a mess of everything in the store.

  That had made everyone laugh, as uproarious as thunder. In time, as a group, they had settled down to drink fluids that did not involve fermentation of any sort.

  After dinner, they had cleaned up.

  Kimberly and Hyun side by side throughout, talking and laughing more animated than Anthony had seen them to date. Both of them, every few minutes or so, would turn their heads to look about to find the jolly, rotund Louis. Their
eyes would warm as they watched him play or scamper about, on one task or another.

  Anthony could see the gratitude in their stares whenever their eyes settled upon the rambunctious boy. He was thankful the two girls were once again the close friends they had been for so many years before. Whatever Louis had done to them, it had somehow made the ugliness between them disappear.

  You’re amazing, Louis. You are amazing.

  Once they had finished putting everything away, they had all sat around in a large circle and talked. For the first time, they did not speak of what had happened that day or the day before. They did not broche the subject of Fenris or the Host, Vallüm or Inghëldir. Not even did they discuss the Lord of the Storm and the dreadful world he had placed them upon.

  They talked about themselves, their lives, their wishes and hopes. They explained who they were and what they wanted most to become. They had giggled or bounced with glee at times. They had turned introspective and quiet at others. Until someone brought up another topic and off they would go. The twelve of them were bonding, making the best out of a desperate situation. Their ties were beginning to strengthen, which was something they all needed. Without their family, their homes and their friends, they would need each other more than anything.

  Since being on the Melded World, the Twelve were finally at ease - with one another and with their situation.

  In a magical Target Superstore, in the middle of a cataclysmic blizzard, they felt safe.

  The Fist, ever watchful and protective, had lounged farther out from their circle. With their great sparkling eyes, they guarded the children, witnessing the transformation before them.

  Well, at least, it had been nice enough to forget about things for a few hours. We had the time to enjoy ourselves for once, thought Anthony, looking back in his mind.