Fire And Steel (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 2)

by Lesley Woodral

  As he showered, Brandon’s mind drifted back to Christmas Eve. After he passed out, Claire drug him inside. She claimed it wasn't hard, but Brandon thought she was just trying to make him feel better. After getting him into the living room, she stretched him out on the living room floor and got him out of his wet clothes. She then bundled him up on the couch, wrapped in every blanket that she could find.

  She didn't know what he did, exactly, but Highgarden felt safer than ever, so she didn’t worry about another attack from the grohlm. Later, when she was less freaked out and had time to reflect on all that happened, she would question her own involvement in the battle and what happened after. But, until then, she wanted to stay with him until he woke.

  He awoke after almost 4 hours of death-like sleep to find Claire curled up in one of the living room chairs, snoring softly. He didn't wake her. Moving through the house, he made sure every door was locked, and every window, before going back into the living room. Gently, he carried Claire upstairs and put her into his bed. Then he put on pajamas, before getting in beside her.

  Romance had been the furthest thing from his mind, but at some point, they had both awakened and began kissing. They made love slowly, holding each other tight, and then went back to sleep. When Brandon woke up next, Claire was gone.

  He found her in the downstairs den, sitting in front of a fire. She was wrapped in a blanket and drinking a cup of hot chocolate. The chocolate made Brandon think of his uncle and he felt a pang of loss. When he sat down beside her, she leaned her head against his shoulder and said. "Merry Christmas."

  He put his arm around her and pulled her against his chest. "Can you believe I forgot? Merry Christmas. How bad do you think your parents are going to freak out when they find out we’re engaged?”

  She pulled away and stared at him, her green eye as wide and as shocked as he'd ever seen it. Then she laughed and fell against him. "I think one battle a night is more than enough, thank you.” She giggled and snuggled against his chest. “I also think it might be a little early for marriage, but I'm going to consider that a proposal. Let's wait until after we've graduated, okay?"

  Brandon smiled and kissed the top of her head. Watching the fire flicker in front of him, he felt an answering flame burning within himself. It was always there now. Instead of the emptiness, there was the smoldering presence of the Phoenix. He was never truly alone, not anymore. But it didn’t feel creepy or intrusive, like you’d think. It was actually comforting. And not just because of the nigh invulnerability and super powers that came from the God’s protection. It was the sense of security he felt knowing that somebody was watching his back, even if that somebody was a trio of ancient magical deities.

  Claire called her parents, assuring them that she was okay, and her father insisted on coming to pick her up. But cooler heads prevailed and her mother came instead. She stayed out in the car while Claire and Brandon hugged and said their goodbyes on the front porch. Both were fully dressed by this time.

  Pulling back from a kiss, Claire looked over at her mom's car and sighed. "I'll probably be grounded until after we go back to school. Do you think you can live without me for a few days?"

  "It'll be hard, but I'll manage." Brandon squeezed her hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing her palm. "I love you, Claire. I'll see you at school?"

  "Yes, you will." She said, smiling. "And maybe before then, if I can sweet talk my mom and dad. I love you, Bran." Turning she ran to the car and was gone.

  Chief Derek Teague was sitting in his squad car, waiting for the light to change, when his cell phone rang. It was a number he didn’t recognize, but he picked it up anyway. He used to ignore strange numbers, but, as Chief of police, he no longer had that luxury. He answered on the second ring. “Chief Derek Teague here?”

  “Don’t you mean acting chief?” A familiar voice said with a chuckle.

  “Not since before Christmas.” Teague said with a smile. He drove through the intersection, found a spot to turn off the road, and parked. Once settled down, he said to the man on the other end of the line. “How goes life in the F.B.I., Special Agent Faux? Fight any monsters, lately?”

  “More than you might think.” Faux said. His voice had the same hollow quality that Teague’s did. He was sitting in a car somewhere in much the same way that the Chief was. “About to kick a monster’s door in, actually. Just waiting for the warrant. How about you? How are things in your neck of the woods? Any better?”

  “Hard to believe, but yeah.” Teague said, watching the traffic moving down Main Street. The town was quiet in a way that he hadn’t felt in a long time. It felt peaceful. He knew that the feeling wasn’t completely justified. There were still far too many grohlm left, hiding and lurking in the woods and in hidden dens, but something had happened on Christmas Eve to knock them down a peg or three. Something that had to do with the Merryweathers. He wasn’t sure what happened out there, but Gerrick Merryweather hadn’t been seen since. He planned to go out and check on Brandon before school started back up, but he was still working out how to go about it.

  After an awkward pause, Faux said. “I still feel like shit for leaving the way I did. I shouldn’t have left you guys hanging like that.”

  “You didn’t have much choice.” Teague watched the people on the streets, moving about the town, running errands, and generally acting like normal happy citizens. So different than the terrified people from the week before. He said. “Besides, we’re starting to regain control of the town. It won’t be long before we’ve wiped the little bastards out.”

  Faux laughed. “I like your confidence. We could use some of that around here. If you ever get tired of being the boss, I could put a good word in? There’s no shortage of monsters where I’m sitting and I could definitely use some people I trust.”

  “That bad?”

  “Nah.” Faux said, sighing. “Just ranting. I actually called for a reason other than whining about my troubles. I called in some markers and may have found out a little more about your town’s mysterious asset.”

  “Do tell?” Teague said, suddenly more alert. “Any clue who it is?”

  “Does the name Velvet Jones mean anything to you?”

  Teague couldn’t stop himself. He laughed out loud and said. “I think you need to re-check your sources. Velvet Jones can barely walk down the street without tripping over his own feet. If you’d have said Tuesday Jones, I might’ve believed it. But Velvet is about as unremarkable as it gets in the Jones family.”

  “If you say so, my friend.” Faux sounded dubious. He said. “You may want to keep an eye on your friend Velvet, anyway. Just in case. My guy seemed pretty adamant.”

  Teague relented and said. “You’ve convinced me. I’ll keep an eye on him, just to be safe. What about you? You sound like you could really use some help? Is there anything I can do?”

  Faux said. “There’s some monsters you have to slay yourself, Derek. I gotta get off here, I see my guy coming. You stay safe out there. And remember what I said.”

  “You do the same.” Teague said. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” Faux hung up.

  Teague sat for a long time, thinking about what Faux said, before putting the car in gear and pulling a U-turn on Main Street. It might be a good time to reacquaint himself with Velvet Jones.

  After showering and getting dressed, Brandon went downstairs and fixed himself a pot of coffee. The house seemed warmer than before, more homey. As if the Curse dying had freed it somehow. Brandon felt different, as well. His heart felt lighter, knowing the truth about his parents. The truth was ugly and he hated that they had kept so much from him, but he was finally able to forgive and begin the process of moving on. He stood at the window, sipping his coffee and looking out at the backyard. He'd spent all of yesterday cleaning up the yard. It took most of the daylight hours to drag off all the dead grohlm. He stopped counting after 100. He took them out past the magical barrier surrounding Highgarden and left them. He wasn't sure, but
it seemed like the barrier extended further out by at least 50 yards. And the feeling of stepping through was more pronounced. Highgarden was more alive than ever and felt like hallowed ground, bringing a feeling of peace and contentment to any who came within the spell enshrouding it.

  Drinking his coffee, he thought of going out and checking to see if the bodies were where he left them, but decided against it. He suspected the surviving grohlm had already begun filling their cook pots with their fallen brethren. He tried to push away the gruesome image, but was only half successful. Whatever appetite he might have had was gone. The coffee would have to do for breakfast.

  Moving through the house, he stopped in his uncle's office (his office now) and sat at the desk. The letter lay where he left it, unfolded and flattened on the big planner sitting in the center of the desk. Picking it up, he read it once more, probably for the hundredth time since finding it.

  Bran,

  If you're reading this, I am dead and you have faced the Curse and won. I knew that you would do well. I apologize for the terrible things I said and did, but know that it was all part of the plan. A plan that your father and I made, years ago. When we knew that you were the one who would face the Curse and destroy it.

  I'm more proud of you then you'll ever know. I've prepared you as best I could, but now you are truly on your own. Highgarden is yours, as is the rest of your inheritance, and nothing inside the house is barred to you. Explore and you will find many things that can show you the world your father and I left, so long ago.

  Peace be on your sword and in your heart, nephew. And know that you and I will meet again. In this world, or the next.

  Gerrick Talemane

  Last Knight of the Towers

  Folding the letter, Brandon leaned back in his chair and sighed. Outside, a car horn beeped once. Brandon got up and looked out of the office window. A white Lexus was pulling up the driveway. He didn't recognize the car.

  Stepping outside, Brandon left the front door open as he walked out to the edge of the porch and watched the car stop. The driver's side door opened and Lawyer Dagget got out, looking around himself with the air of a man who was amazed at what he saw. Or was it what he felt? Highgarden had that effect on people. Dagget looked little different than the last time Brandon saw him. His hair was cut a little different. His tan was a little darker.

  Noticing Brandon on the porch, Dagget smiled and closed his door. "It's been a long time since I was out here. I don't remember feeling this at peace the last time I was here."

  "It's the magic." Brandon said, stepping down and walking out to the car. The trunk lid popped open at a touch of the remote on the key chain and Dagget walked around to the rear of the car. Pulling a couple of suitcases out of the trunk, he shut the lid and shook his head, smiling. Brandon met him halfway, taking one of the bags from him and saying. "I didn't expect you till noon, or so?"

  "I caught an earlier flight." Dagget said, clapping Brandon on the shoulder. "Probably shouldn't have. The in-flight movie was animated and the only people watching were a dozen or so twelve year olds on their way to a little league tournament. It was atrocious. How are you, Bran?"

  "I'm fine." Brandon said and meant it. What did Dagget see when he looked at him now? Certainly not the sad eyed boy he packed off from Washington so long ago. That boy was gone. Now, a young man faced him, with eyes like gray shards of polished stone and the wisdom of someone far beyond his years. Those eyes, like an overcast sky, seemed to see everything at once. Brandon led the lawyer into the house, setting his bags down in the entry hall, and took him into the living room. Taking a seat, he gestured for Dagget to sit and said. "You're here. Have you thought about the things we talked about?"

  Dagget sat down, adjusting the hem of his pants, and nodded. He met Brandon's gaze and nodded. "The terms of your uncle's living will are pretty clear. You receive your full inheritance, from your parents and from himself, in the event he is unable to continue his custodianship of you. Whether through death or any other unforeseen circumstances. I suppose disappearing fits that criteria." Dagget let that statement hang for a moment. When he saw that Brandon wasn't going to answer the implied question, he went on. "With the amount of your income, there shouldn't be any trouble getting you legally emancipated, so long as you’re right about your Aunt Katie being willing to step aside as your guardian? Of course, I’ll be looking in on you every now and then."

  Brandon leaned back in his chair and said. "That’s another thing I wanted to talk to you about. I want you to be my lawyer, same as you were for my father. Gerrick only just began preparing me for adulthood and I still have a lot to learn. It'll be nice to have someone on retainer that I can ask for advice when I run into something I can't handle."

  Dagget said. "What you just said is enough to convince me that you’re more than ready to take care of yourself, Bran. And I would be honored to be your lawyer. And, as for any questions or help you might need, all you have to do is call. I have to ask, though. Is there any chance at all that Gerrick might return?” He paused, trying to find the most tactful way to ask a tough question.

  Brandon said nothing for a long moment then said. “I really don’t know. I didn’t actually see him die. But it’s been 5 days. If Gerrick survived the battle on Christmas Eve, he wouldn’t stay gone like this. He would’ve returned.”

  Clearing his throat, Dagget said. "Gerrick and I never really got along, you know that. But I knew him well enough to know that counting him out without seeing a body is a mistake.”

  Brandon said nothing. He agreed with Dagget completely. Besides, his gut told him that the Tower Knight was still alive and he had gotten used to trusting his intuition on things like that.

  Dagget said. “This afternoon, if you want, we'll go to one of the auto dealers in town and you can pick out a vehicle. Of course, Gerrick’s car is yours to use as you want, but buying your first car is an important step in becoming a man. At least, it was where I grew up. Then we can get you a checking account at the National Bank and set up your utilities so they'll be paid automatically. That way, you wont have to worry about anything but buying groceries and doing well in school. If anything crazy pops up that you want to buy or do, all you have to do is call your trusted lawyer and I’ll help you take care of it."

  Brandon nodded. Less than half a year ago, the thought of having his own car would have been enough to set him hopping up and down, but priorities change. He said. "In two years, I'll graduate. Until then, I've no plans to leave Matheson. Or even Highgarden. This is my home now."

  Dagget nodded and stood. He said. "I think you'll do very well, Bran. You’re more than capable now. Far more so than most young men your age. Now, if you don't mind, I'm gonna get settled in. I'll put my bags in the guest room and maybe take a shower. I wanna get the smell of that plane ride out of my hair."

  Brandon nodded and watched the man leave. After a moment, he got up and went into the sword room. The Phoenix sat on its pedestal, its blade glimmering, though no light touched it. He went over to the sword and rested his hand on the hilt, letting the power flare up inside of himself. He did that occasionally. Just to feel it. A reminder of all that had happened to him since his parents died.

  It was over, he knew. Sha’ha’Zel was dead. The doorway leading to the old world was closed and the grohlm were broken, if not totally defeated. He had avenged his family and now he would finally be able to begin his life. His new life. In time, there would be more Merryweathers to carry on his families legacy and keep the gods alive.

  Taking his hand away from the sword hilt and letting the power wash out of him, Brandon left the room, closing the door behind him.

  Epilogue

  A wind rose, cutting across the barren plains of Larado like a knife, whipping up cyclones of sand and grit, and making the column of mounted men move even slower than their usual sedate pace. Nearly 1,000 men, most mounted, wound their way through the barrens like a long sinuous snake, plodding along under the fierce sun
, sitting high overhead. That many horses kicked up a hell of a cloud of dust and the wind seemed intent on throwing it right back in their faces.

  Lord Captain Erik Karde rode at the head of the column, just behind his commanding officer. Coughing lightly into the dust cloth wound around his face, he glanced around at the men following behind him. His two under officers sat their horse's glumly, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the heat, and watched the landscape around them with flat eyes. Behind Toomes and Smythe, the army stretched out. Near a thousand men, and only half of what they originally set out with.

  Pulling his cloak tighter around himself, Karde turned back around and eased his sword in its scabbard. He wasn't cold(the barrens were cold enough to kill at night, but during the day it was the heat you had to watch out for) but the cloak was the only thing that kept the dust and sand from filling his clothes. Something that was impossible, but he had to try, nevertheless. The barren's killed strong men, as well as weak, especially if they were not vigilant. And Karde was far from weak. A big man, with broad shoulders and long legs, the captain towered over most men. He was the very picture of what a Lord Captain should be. Except that his polished armor and fine crimson cloak were packed away, and the cloak he wore now was faded and travel worn after almost 2 years of endless wandering. The sun had baked away most of the color.

  The red hot ball of the sun, high overhead, glared down at him and Karde cursed his luck at having drawn this assignment, not for the first time. Not for the hundredth, either. He cursed his luck everyday. And he cursed the man riding just ahead of him even more often. Coughing, he worked some moisture into his mouth, and called out. "How much longer must we continue this farce, my lord? How many more men have to die before you see the truth that is as plain as the nose on your face?"