Fire And Steel (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 2)

by Lesley Woodral

  "Anything." She brushed her hair back over her ear and leaned closer. Her lips were slightly parted, ready for a kiss, and her smile was playfully bawdy. "Anything within reason, anyway."

  "Try to stay inside for the next few days. Don't go out, if you can help it." He saw the question forming on her lips and answered before she could voice it. "It would make me feel better, knowing that you weren't anywhere the Curse could get at you."

  She was silent for a moment, her expression somber as she looked at him. She spoke softly. "Okay. I'll stay inside.” She grabbed the back of his neck, pulling his face closer to hers. “And I’m going to forgive you for being a tad bit chauvinistic, just now. But only if you promise that you’ll do the same. No hunting. No going out and risking your life. We can hide out together. But what about when school starts? I mean, I suppose we could pretend to have mono or something? I'm not sure what my mom and dad will say about that, though."

  Brandon smiled. "They probably won’t be very amused." Leaning forward, he kissed her lightly on the mouth, breathing in the scent of her. "I love you, you know?"

  She smiled against his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him tight. The kiss deepened for a long moment before she pulled back and sighed. "Walk me in. Mom and dad will want to visit." She climbed out and Brandon followed.

  It was full dark when Brandon finally left the Moody's house, saying his goodbyes to Claire on the front porch. The sleet had graduated to full fledged snow, tumbling down from the cloudy night sky. There was no moon or stars. The street was dark except for the cones of light from the street lamps, orange and muted by the thick snow flurries.

  Brandon stopped in the act of climbing into his uncle's car, staring out at the surrounding shadows as he felt a subtle tingle of alarm coming from the glowing presence in his mind. Unseen eyes watched him from the darkness. He couldn’t tell if they were hostile or not, but odds didn’t favor it being anybody good. He watched the shadows for a long moment, holding his breath as he waited for something to happen. Anything.

  But nothing happened.

  Shaking his head, Brandon let his misgivings fade and climbed into the car. Putting it in gear and backing out of the Moody's driveway, he didn't see the lone figure watching from across the street.

  The glint of light reflecting off of steel stretched across the street was the only warning that Brandon had. He slammed the brakes, sending the Navigator into a wobbly fishtail and blowing snow and ice at the few cars parked along the dark street. There were lights on in some of the houses flanking the long stretch of road, but most were dark.

  Twisting the wheel, Brandon steered into the slide, as his dad had taught him. Stephen Merryweather only gave Brandon a few driving lessons before he died, but he was a stickler for safety and focused mostly on that part of it. The front tires hit the spike strip and blew out with a bang, jerking the car sideways. The steering wheel tore loose from his grip and began to spin. The world was a blur of snow and his stomach lurched. The front bumper connected with a parked Honda, slamming the car to a halt with a muffled crunch and the sound of breaking glass. The engine stalled and the world was suddenly silent except for the ticking of the cooling motor and Brandon’s harsh breathing.

  Brandon unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out of the car. It had spun around twice and now faced back the way he'd come. The front end was smashed up some but the car was still drive-able. Up the street, back where the slid had started, he was only mildly surprised to see 3 familiar silhouettes move out into the street.

  Perry coiled up the spike strip as the 3 of them walked out onto the road. He draped it over his arm as he pulled it out of the street, coiling it like a rope. Luke and Albert watched Brandon as they formed up in the middle of the snow covered street. The 3 boys were all bundled up in heavy coats and winter caps.

  Brandon walked forward, moving closer, before shouting. “Are you out of your fucking minds?” He could see his breath when he yelled. "You could have killed somebody." The temperature had dropped 20 degrees since he climbed into his car at Claire's. The bitter cold wind would have leached his body heat and made his teeth chatter uncontrollably, if not for the divine protection of Nina and Rok. Brandon thanked them silently and cloaked himself within the emptiness, letting it take the cold and the anger and his fear. The sleet had stopped completely, leaving snowflakes that fell fat and heavy, obscuring Brandon's vision and clinging to his face and hair. He was struck with an insane urge to stick out his tongue and taste the flakes. But he stopped himself. The first snowfall was poisonous, not fit to eat.

  That was something his dad had told him as a boy, though he had smiled when he said it. Brandon suddenly missed his father terribly.

  "We weren't trying to kill you, Bran." Albert said, softly. His voice carried, despite his low tone and the wind cutting between them. He sounded calm and sure. Completely unlike his normal self. He smiled. "We just wanted to get your attention."

  "Yeah." Luke snickered. He hefted something, thumping it into the palm of his gloved hand. It was a railroad spike, almost a foot long and an inch thick. Luke said. "Did it work? Do we got your attention?"

  "No way." Perry said, laughing. Tossing the coil to the side of the road, he bent and picked up a crowbar that Brandon hadn't noticed lying near the gutter. Moving to stand with Albert and his brother, Perry sneered. "He's still thinking of the cyclops."

  "That right, pretty boy?" Luke chuckled and said. "You thinking of your deformed little slut? You thinking of her tight little ass or her tight little eye socket?" The husky bully sneered and spat a phlegmy gob of snot into the snow at his feet.

  The lanky Krueger was on Albert's right. The other was on the left. The 3 boys faced Brandon, standing in the street like a trio of gunfighters, ready to draw at sundown. Brandon could almost hear the Morricone score playing in the background. But he didn't feel much like Clint Eastwood.

  Clenching his fists and wrapping the emptiness tighter around himself, Brandon stepped into the street and faced Albert and the Kruegers for the last time.

  Chapter 25

  Snowflakes drifted down past Brandon's face, moving in slow motion as they landed on his head and shoulders. The night became quiet as the freezing wind died down and the loudest sound was that of the Krueger's heavy breathing. Both brothers were puffing hard, white mist forming in front of their faces. Albert barely seemed to breath at all, only the faintest hint of white leaving his lips. All 3 were red-faced, their cheeks and noses rosy.

  Albert spoke softly, his voice a whisper. "You know the funny thing about rain, Bran?" He smiled, his lips peeling back from his teeth. The smile was impossibly wide, nearly splitting his face in half. His voice changed, dropping a few octaves and becoming a broken growl, before saying. "It freezes."

  Throwing back his head, Albert lifted his broken face skyward and bellowed a monstrous roar that rattled the windows of all the surrounding houses and made both Kruegers jump. They stared down at the smaller boy in horror as his body began to convulse.

  Luke's railroad spike rang like a bell as it fell from his nerveless fingers and he took a slow step back. Perry froze in place, his pimples bright against the paleness of his bloodless face.

  Albert's body swelled before splitting in a dozen places and spilling darkness into the street. Inky blackness writhed and uncoiled from the shattered boy, lashing at the air as Sha'ha'Zel slowly stood and faced Brandon. The bloody remains of its tattered costume slid from its blackened flesh as the Curse’s cracked lips turned up in a devilish smile. Its unblinking eyes were the bright red of freshly spilled blood, flashing with malevolence as it stared at Brandon. The markings on his face seeming to writhe and change whenever Brandon’s gaze left them for more than a mico-second.

  The Kruegers unfroze, shouting as they fell back from the monster in their midst. Eyes bulging from their skulls, both boys tried to flee, their terror overwhelming them, but it was already too late.

  The tattered cloak hanging from its
shoulders snapped to life. Luke tried to run, stumbling and falling over his terrified feet. A tentacle of darkness caught his ankle, winding and twisting its way up the boy’s leg and jerked him off his feet. Spearing outward, another long tendril of darkness snared Perry by the head and yanked him into the air. The Kruegers wailed and fought as the living cloak wound tight around them. The Krueger's screams were muffled beneath the black fabric as they were lifted further into the air. Staring into Brandon's eyes, the Curse’s smile slipped away and he gestured with both hands.

  Before Brandon could move to save them, the Curse’s cloak tightened its grip on the twins. Their agonized screams were gut wrenching, even through the cloak. Blood exploded from the bottom of the wound cloth, the twin’s shoes spasming as the it poured onto the street. Their muffled screams died away, replaced by the wet brittle sound of snapping bones and bursting organs.

  Brandon wanted to look away, but Sha'ha'Zel's red eyed gaze kept his eyes riveted to the scene. The cloak convulsed and returned to its normal shape, unwinding from the Krueger's and leaving only a pulpy pile of blood and gore on the street. It didn't look human.

  It looked like road kill.

  "Why?" The word came, unbidden, out of Brandon's mouth. It was all that he could think to say, now that he finally faced his enemy. Now that the time had finally come. He looked at the mangled remains of the Kruegers and asked. "Why?"

  "They served their purpose." The Curse's voice was deep and melodious, yet at the same time, somehow gentle. The compassion in his voice was at odds with the thing's hideous appearance. His black skin gleamed beneath the streetlights. "They brought you to me."

  "No." Brandon said. His voice regained some of its strength, becoming hard. The emptiness surrounded him. There was no anger. No fear. Only cold determination. "Why now?” He squared his shoulders and faced down the demon. “Why come for me now? You gave my father twenty years of peace before you came for him. Twenty years to live and to love, to have a child." He was shouting now, but he didn't care. Anger ran its sharp fingers across the emptiness, threatening to shatter the calm of his mind. He heard doors opening as people began to get brave, poking their heads out to see what the screaming was about. Taking a step toward Sha'ha'Zel, Brandon felt anger wash over him, tearing at the emptiness like a crashing wave of flame. Flickering along the edge of the emptiness, he sensed flames, the glow of a roaring fire threatening to overwhelm the peace in his mind. But they extinguished as he forced the anger from his mind. "Why couldn't you give me the same?"

  Sha'ha'Zel backed off a step at the force of the young man’s words, his blood red eyes wide as he stared at the young man facing him. His expression could only be called shocked or surprised. Then he threw back his head and laughed into the sky, the fat snowflakes falling down around his head. The laughter had a cold clean edge to it, like a bolt of lightning from a cloudless sky. When he looked back down, his eyes twinkled with hilarity. Brandon didn't know which was worse; the laughter itself or the fact that the amusement behind it was real. Brandon took an involuntary step back from the black skinned demon, wishing suddenly that he was armed with more than just his anger.

  The laughter cut off as suddenly as it began and Sha'ha'Zel shook his head. The smile slid away, but the amusement still twinkled in his blood red gaze as he said. "I gave Stephen Merryweather nothing. The dog's life that he carved out of his time here was of his own making. The curse that gives me life, protected his. I was forced to protect the fool, even as my blades ached to taste his blood."

  Brandon's mind reeled and he stammered. “You’re l-lying.” His voice didn’t want to work properly. "You waited for him to build a life before you came for him. Just to torture him, you made him look over his shoulder all those years because you’re a twisted piece of garbage." He tried to grasp what the Curse was saying but his brain refused to wrap itself around the words. Sha'ha'Zel claimed to have protected his father, but that was impossible. How? From what? "You're lying." He said. It couldn't be true. “You’re just trying to screw with my head, to make killing me that much easier. But you’re mistaken if you think your lies will keep me from tearing your head off with my bare hands.”

  The demon snorted and his expression hardened. His tone became fierce. "I’m not the one lying to you, Stormson. The same curse that doomed him and his entire family before him protected him during the years that he raised you. I gave him nothing.” Sha’ha’Zel said. “I could not move against him until he fulfilled the conditions of the curse. Until he became a man. When that happened, when the curse finally allowed it, I carved him up. But not until after I slaughtered your mother before his eyes. A petty punishment, I know, but I was a frustrated monster. He died screaming her name."

  "No more lies." Brandon said, letting the emptiness take his anger and fear until all that was left was steely determination. "I'm through listening." With a silent roar, he threw himself at the Curse. He didn't care that he had no weapon. He had no idea that his charge was much like his father's before him.

  Sha'ha'Zel threw his cloak open and freed his blades before meeting the young man's charge head-on. Finally, the time had come at last. His crimson eyes glittered as he prepared to slay the last of the Merryweathers and end both of their suffering once and for all.

  Gerrick stood on the porch, watching the driveway for the glint of approaching headlights. He didn't need the watch on his wrist to tell him that Brandon should have been home long since. A slug of ice formed in the pit of his belly made up of unease and quickly suppressed fear.

  Inside the house, the phone rang.

  Too soon. He thought, fiercely. Neither of us is ready. Not yet. Stepping inside, he picked up the hall phone, cutting it off in mid-ring. "Yes?" His voice was calm. It always was. Though it took more of an act of concentration this time.

  "Hello, Mr. Merryweather." It was the girl, Claire. "Can I talk to Brandon?"

  "What time did he leave your house, girl?" Gerrick asked, his cool tone maintained through a supreme act of will. Inside, his mind worked furiously. His legs burned with the need to run.

  "Almost ten minutes ago." She said, her fear carrying over the telephone line. Despite her obvious fear, she stayed calm as she said. "The weather may have slowed him, but he still should have been home by now."

  10 minutes. Not as bad as he feared. He still might have time. Claire was still talking, but Gerrick spoke right over her, cutting her off mid sentence. "Claire, I want you to hang up the phone and call the police. Tell them that there's been an accident somewhere on the road to your house. Tell them you heard it."

  "Be careful. I have a bad feeling about tonight." She said, her voice tight. “Don’t let anything happen to him.”

  "Call the police, girl." Hanging up the phone, he went into the sword room and took the Phoenix down from its display stand. He buckled the tooled leather scabbard around his waist and slid another two swords under the belt. Throwing a cloak around his shoulders, he left the house. Running across the yard, he followed the driveway, cutting through the snow like a knife. Reaching the road at a full run, he wrapped the emptiness around himself but the cold still tried to leech away his strength.

  He didn't have much time. He just hoped that Brandon kept his head and didn't do anything foolish.

  Brandon twisted sideways, stumbling as one of Sha'ha'Zel's curved blades came within inches of slicing him open. Lashing out, he drove his heel into the Curse's chest and kicked with all his strength. The Curse was thrown back by the unexpected fierceness of the attack, barely keeping his feet as he caught himself with one of his four hands.

  Cloak snapping and writhing around him, Sha'ha'Zel snarled and snapped his blades out to his sides. All 4 of his arms were gnarled and twisted with thick ropes of rock hard muscle. His skin the deep black of char, all covered in whorls and dark red markings that twisted the eye. They made Brandon's head hurt and still seemed to change shape as the eye left them.

  Stepping back to give himself some breathing room,
Brandon wrapped himself in the emptiness and waited for the Curse to attack him. He was foolish for charging the demon before, with nothing but his bare hands to protect him. He remembered that Rok couldn't protect him from taking wounds from the Curse's swords. He had two burning cuts across his back and chest to prove it.

  Sha'ha'Zel smiled, black lips cracked and uneven. Moving forward, he slid around another hard kick, driving his blades at Brandon's head. Brandon yanked his head back, barely in time, and drove a lightning fast punch into the Curse's middle. Fear and hate warred against the emptiness in equal measures, trying to claw their way into Brandon's mind and shatter the calm that was only barely keeping him alive. Somewhere in the far distance, sirens approached.

  Sha'ha'Zel cocked his head and leapt back, his cloak writhing around him like the arms of a Kraken. He heard them, as well. He twirled the blades in his hands and met Brandon’s gaze, saying. "Time grows short, Stormson. It’s time to finish this." Baring his cracked yellow teeth in a snarling grimace, the Curse threw itself at Brandon, blades slicing the air with a whirring sound.

  It was all Brandon could do to keep from being torn apart by those flashing black blades. Dancing backwards, his feet trying to slip on the icy pavement, he moved as fast as he could. Too slow, he twisted his head and a burning cut nicked his cheek just under his right eye. Shock rolled through his mind, swallowed quickly by the emptiness. The glow of the gods presence in his mind intensified and the wound started healing, though not as quickly as it should have. If he’d moved any slower he would have lost the eye. Hot blood fanned down his cheek, running into the corner of his mouth.

  Whirling, Sha'ha'Zel planted a kick in the center of Brandon's chest, knocking him into a parked car. He smashed into the side of the car and bounced onto the pavement. The blow and the impact would have broken a normal person’s ribs, even their back, but Brandon wasn't even stunned. Crouched on the ground, he thought. At least my protection is holding against everything else. I just need to avoid those swords.