Fire And Steel (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 2)

by Lesley Woodral

  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 ano
ther 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."

  As if reading his earlier thoughts, Goldman went under his counter and came up with a bottle and three tumblers. Brandy wasn't Faux's usual drink of choice, but he didn't refuse when Goldman offered him a generous splash. The three men were silent as they drank, each lost in their own thoughts as Faux digested what he'd just been faced with. He wasn't sure if he believed, not completely, but he didn't need to know where the grohlm came from to know they had to be stopped.

  "How do we stop them?" Faux asked. He swallowed down his brandy and poured himself another glass. The alcohol made a nice ball of warmth in his belly and he felt a little less out of his depth. "There must be some way to stop more coming to our world. If we can't stop that, there'll be no way of getting rid of them all. Hunting them will only be a temporary fix until we close whatever portal or gateway they have to be using to get here."

  "Well said, Faux." Goldman raised his glass in a mock salute. "You have hit on our true dilemma quite succinctly." After drinking down his brandy in one long swallow, he said. "There is a gateway, I'm sure of it. Somewhere out there, deep in the Briar Woods, and we have to get to it and close it somehow."

  "Easier said than done." Said a voice from the front of the store. The three men turned to find Derek Teague standing just inside the store. They hadn't heard the bell. The deputy was in street clothes. He stepped up and took a look at the bottle on the counter and smiled. "You guys are starting awful early?"

  Goldman gave the young deputy a fatherly nod and Underhill just smiled. Faux eased over to give him a spot at the counter and said. "We're all on the same page, then? We have to find this gateway, whatever it is, and close it. Then we start hunting for real."

  Teague said. "And how do we do that without getting torn to pieces by those things? I don't want to piddle on your plan, but we haven't had much luck fighting those things. If we go out into those woods without knowing what we're doing or where we're going, we'll die." He gave each man a sober look before focusing on Goldman. He said. "We have to ask him for help, you know that, right?"

  "Bah!" Goldman said, throwing up his hands. "I won't be a part of it. The man is a fool and dangerous. And not likely to help, even if you could get him to listen to you. He would refuse just to spite you." He said to Teague.

  Teague could only nod in silent agreement.

  Underhill said. "We don't necessarily have to involve the uncle at all, you know." He rubbed his stubbly chin with fingers and squinted down at the counter-top. "We could go directly to the boy?"

  "Is that wise?" Teague said. He shook his head. "He's just a kid. What help can he be to us?"

  "It is not wise. Not at all." Goldman said, his voice hard. Then it softened. "But the boy can help. I met him and he seems more than competent. Strong, intelligent, he is his father's son, no doubt."

  "I'm sorry." Faux interrupted. "But who the hell are you talking about? What boy?"

  The other men went silent and all looked at one another before Teague answered, saying. "His name is Brandon Merryweather."

  It was getting dark when Brandon and Claire left the movie theater. It was cool to the point of a jacket, but they made do with snuggling arm in arm as they crossed the parking lot. They went back to the collectable store and picked up the gift wrapped statue, walking slowly and enjoying each other's company for as long as they could. As the nights grew longer and the weather continued to get colder, it became harder for the town to maintain its facade of normalcy. The sideways glances and haunted looks that the town's people tried to hide were more apparent.

  But Brandon and Claire didn't let it ruin their day. It was pretty out. Fall had arrived in Matheson, bringing with it the changing colors of the woods and banishing the punishing humidity that had kept most air conditioners running throughout the summer. If not for the miasma of fear and the lurking evil in the shadows, the town would've been peaceful and the perfect place to watch the leaves change. But the evil was there and it was watching the two young people.

  As they strolled across the mall parking lot, Brandon felt hostile eyes following him, watching him and him alone. He ignored the feeling as well as he could. The unseen eyes were always there, had been since he had come to Matheson, but he was almost getting used to it. It was a simple thing now to ignore the feeling, while staying aware of it enough to keep his guard up.

  Putting the watcher out of his thoughts, Brandon pulled Claire into his arms as they reached her father's Ford Explorer and kissed her. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she smiled against his lips and kissed him back. Pulling back, she smiled up at him and said. "You're pretty great, Brandon Merryweather, you know that?"

  He laughed and ran his fingers through her hair, loving the silky feel of it against his skin. She leaned her cheek against his open hand and his heart swelled at the look in her eye. He said. "You're pretty great yourself, Claire Moody. And pretty beautiful too."

  She giggled and kissed him again, pressing herself against him and holding him as tight as she could. If she could've melted into him, becoming one whole entity, she would've done it in a heartbeat. She said. "We better head home, slick. We don't want to break curfew, do we?"

  It was after 5pm when they reached Highgarden. Claire drove her father's Explorer most days, now, on the days that he could do without it. She seemed at home behind the wheel, talking to Brandon as she drove. They would have walked, but Claire's parents were beginning to worry about all of the disappearances and the missing children. They didn't want to risk anything happening to either Claire or Brandon by having them walking around town. Claire turned sixteen a month before Brandon came to Highgarden, making her his elder by a couple of weeks, but had only just started making use of her driver's license.

  She might've started driving herself earlier, except that she liked riding to and from school with her dad. It gave them some alone time, to catch up on each other's lives, and she loved talking to her dad. He worked such long hours and was always on call, so they had to make time together whenever they could.

  She'd been a little hurt when her dad suggested she drive herself, but it was her mom that told her that it was both of their idea. They wanted her to know that they trusted her and that they approved of Brandon as a boyfriend. They could ride to school together in the mornings and she could run him home in the afternoons.

  Gerrick stood on the front porch, watching the Ford as it circled round the driveway and stopped next to his Jeep. He was smoking a stub of cigar and holding a drink in his free hand. It looked like Iced Tea, but tasted a lot like scotch. He wasn't a regular drinker, but something about this evening called for vice. Something in the air, like the smell of an oncoming storm.

  Or battle.

  Brandon leaned over and gave Claire a kiss before getting out. She gave Gerrick a bright smile and waved as she left for home. Brandon made her promise to call when she got to her house. There were too many dark t
hings roaming the streets of Matheson for Brandon to feel safe with her outside without protection. He knew he was being foolish, that Claire would punch him just for thinking it, but he wanted to be her protector all the time.

  She smiled at his request and promised, before he got out and watched her drive away. Brandon watched the Explorer disappear before turning to his uncle. The older man watched Brandon for a long time, puffing on his cigar and saying nothing. Brandon stood at the bottom of the front step and looked up at his uncle, saying. "I'm tired of this curfew. Of the way the town seems to be curling up in on itself, like a kicked dog. But, most of all, I'm tired of Claire being afraid." He met the old warrior's iron gaze and didn't flinch away from the other man's thousand yard stare. "When do we close the gateway?"

  Gerrick huffed out a cloud of gray and dropped the cigar, crushing it under his heel. He said. "When you're ready."

  "I'm ready now." Brandon said.

  "You only think you're ready." Gerrick said. He stared down at him, his expression grim. Brandon met the big man's gaze evenly, never once thinking of looking away, and Gerrick smiled. "Time to train."

  Gerrick intensified Brandon's training that night, shifting his focus back to sword work and the different forms used in weapon based combat. He also increased Brandon's physical training. Pushing the teenager to the very limits of his endurance. But Brandon didn't complain. If anything, he pushed himself even harder than his uncle did, driving himself to learn as much as he could, as fast as he could.

  It became easier for Brandon to find his focus and achieve the emptiness. He could maintain it even during the fiercest attacks Gerrick sent his way. Three times that night, he struck his uncle. Twice with the sword. And though Gerrick didn't say it, Brandon could tell that the man was proud.

  Rok spoke to Brandon during the training. During a lull in combat, when Brandon caught a glancing blow across his shoulder blades, Rok chimed in. To know true strength is to understand pain. To embrace it.