Fire And Steel (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 2) (32 page)

      She banished those unthinkable thoughts and said. “So, what do you guys think of all the craziness going on?”

      The long silence that followed her question was the strangest and most awkward that she’d ever suffered through in her short life. She was mortified. What in the hell was she doing?!!

      Then Madge said. “I take it you mean the army of vicious little monsters responsible for most of the recent deaths in Matheson?” There was a smile in her voice, though her tone was slightly condescending. She went on. “Or is it the demon shadowing you that has you so terrified?” 

      Tuesday just stared at the other woman, eyes popping in their sockets. In a tight whisper, she said. “Tact, Madge. We’ve discussed this.”

      Madge didn’t answer her friend. Her reflection stared at Claire in the rear view mirror, her eyes unreadable.

      The sigh that escaped Claire’s clenched teeth was equal parts surprise and relief and she said. “What the hell is happening to our town? Can any of you just answer me that one simple question?”

      “The question isn’t so simple.” Madge said. Behind her, Gorge watched the empty streets they passed with tightly coiled intensity. Before getting into the SUV, Madge had properly introduced herself and her son to Claire. Gorge was the extremely large silent type. He and his mother ran a tattoo parlor next door to Tuesday’s record store,
Vinyl Gods
. They were also her neighbors away from work, living in the same trailer park.

      The park was more decorated than the rest of the town, strings of lights stretched across the road and along the clusters of well maintained trailer homes. Inflatable snowmen and Santas towered in some of the yards, surrounded by reindeer and candy canes made of lights. There were Christmas trees visible in a couple of windows.

      Tuesday directed Claire to one of the small driveways, where she pulled up next to a beat up little Honda. “Home sweet home.” Tuesday said, climbing out and stretching. She looked in at Claire and asked. “Wanna come in for a drink? Strictly non alcoholic, though.”

      Before Claire could answer, Madge answered for her, saying. “Of course, she’ll have a drink, Day. She still has questions. And Goldman isn’t the only old timer in town who has answers.” Madge gave Claire a wicked grin and said. “Come on in, Miss Moody. We have cookies.”

      Claire smiled and turned off the Explorer’s engine. “Can’t argue with cookies.” Climbing out, she locked up and followed the others to the trailer. Gorge broke off from them as they reached the front steps and slipped off into the dark. Claire watched him go with a frown and said. “Will he be okay?”

      “Gorge will be fine.” Madge said, with a smile. “He knows how to take care of himself.” She followed Tuesday into the trailer, beckoning Claire to follow as she talked over her shoulder. “He likes to patrol the neighborhood at night.”

      Tuesday looked up from tossing her bag on the counter that divided the trailer’s kitchen from its tiny living room. The house was decorated in an eclectic mishmash of heavy metal, super heroes, and fan-girl paraphernalia. Geek sheik immediately sprang to Claire’s mind as she took in the small but comfortable living space. Tuesday recognized the appreciative glint in Claire’s eye and said. “Thank you. I know it isn’t much to look at, but it’s mine. Make yourself at home while I change, real quick. Madge knows where everything is.” She ducked out and Claire heard water start up in the back part of the house.

      Madge sat down at the kitchen counter, taking one of two stools, and said. “The cookies are in that cabinet over there.” She pointed to a spot over the sink, then to the stainless steel fridge. There were Garbage Pail Kid magnets scattered across the polished surface, as well as pictures of Tuesday with different people. Pretty girls and handsome men. Claire recognized Tuesday’s younger brother in one of them. Lyle was a grade above her and one of the coolest boys in his class, always cheerful and flirty with Claire and her friends. Madge lit a cigarette and said. “There are drinks in the fridge, sweetie. Be a gem and grab me something with alcohol in it and grab something for yourself.”

      Claire moved gingerly through the kitchen and retrieved a beer and a soda from the fridge and stopped on the other side of the counter from Madge. She slid the beer to the older woman and opened her soda. Taking her first sip, she met the other woman’s gaze and said. “So, what do you know about the thing that’s hunting me?”

      “Right to it, then?” Madge laughed and took a long swallow of her beer. Belching softly, she shook her head and said. “I know some things, Claire Moody, same as you. I was thinking an exchange of information would only be fair, don’t you think?”

      Claire said. “I know the things in the woods are called grohlm. They’re from another world. They came here through a doorway out in the Briar woods, but the doorway is closed now.”

      Madge didn’t respond right away, just stared hard at Claire’s face for the longest ten seconds of Claire’s life. Then she blinked her eyes and took another long drink of her beer. She set the can down and let her breath out in a long beer smelling cloud. Then she said. “How do you know the doorway is closed?”

      “Because I know who closed it.” Claire said before she could stop herself. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her new friends, but they were still practically strangers. She would die before she said anything that put Brandon at risk. She said. “That’s why I was looking for Mr. Goldman.” She tried to insinuate that Goldman was somehow responsible for closing the doorway.

      Madge nodded though, seemingly buying it as an explanation. She said. “The grohlm aren’t the only things haunting Matheson, these days. But they are currently the most troublesome. Though, the new police chief and his band of hunters seem to have found their mojo when it comes to hunting them. They’re still a threat and extremely dangerous, but not unstoppable.”

      “What are the other threats in Matheson?” Claire asked.

      “Too many to get into tonight.” Tuesday interrupted, walking into the living room. The tattooed young woman was in a tank top and shorts, her face freshly washed, and her dyed hair pulled up in spiky top knot. She took the comfiest looking chair in the living room and put her feet up. This was the first time Claire had seen her with so much skin visible and she was blown away by her ink. Tuesday said. “Tonight, I’m more interested in the strange boy who is stalking you? What’s up with that?”

      “Your tattoos are amazing.” Claire said, ignoring the question as her eye was drawn by the intricate lacework of images decorating the other woman’s exposed skin. It was so highly detailed that she couldn’t take it all in with a single glance. It wasn’t the top series of images that drew her eye though, it was the network of interlaced line work just beneath the surface. There was a pattern visible, something that tickled her memory. Like something half forgotten, but just on the tip of her tongue. She said. “But they’re not finished, are they?”

      Madge laughed and Tuesday arched an eyebrow at Claire. Tuesday said. “I thought they were.” She gave Madge a questioning look. The other woman smiled and said.

      “It’s a work in progress.”

      Claire nodded, tearing her gaze from the living tapestry and taking in both of the women watching her. She said. “I can take care of Albert. Trust me, he’s harmless.”

      She’d meant her words to be reassuring to the other women, but Madge just sighed and shook her head. “There’s something not right about that boy. There’s dark magic surrounding him, clouding his aura and hiding his true nature. I could feel it on the street.” She pointed at Claire and said. “And you can feel it too, so don’t bother lying. There’s something about him that is alien.”

      Claire was silent for a long moment, remembering her previous interactions with the strange boy. The times he’d approached her without Brandon around. He’d always seemed so harmless to her, until the attack at the dance. If he made her a little uncomfortable, she just chalked it up to the pity she felt toward him.

      And guilt. She didn’t like to think of herself as somebody who was prejudiced, but she couldn’t help but see Albert as somewhat pathetic, how he never stood up for himself. She didn’t like seeing herself in that light, even if the guilt was unintentional.

      Could those feelings have been something else? Some inner voice or instinct that tried to ping her to the fact that something was wrong with Albert and it wasn’t just his inability to defend himself or the way he seemed to invite bullying. Of course, now that she knew that the bullying was part of some twisted plan to win Brandon’s trust, it painted everything in a different light.   

      Tuesday interrupted Claire’s reverie, saying. “He definitely has the creep vibe going for him, that’s for sure.”

      All three agreed on that point. Madge got up long enough to get herself another beer and snagging one for Tuesday, as well, before relocating to the living room. There was a matching love seat parked at an angle from Tuesday’s comfy chair. Madge sprawled onto it and talked to the ceiling after opening her new beer and taking a long drink. “He’s dangerous. That’s what matters. Be weary of him and don’t let him catch you by yourself.”

      “He won’t get the chance to find me alone, not if I can help it.” Claire said, moving into the living room and sitting on the floor. There was a small coffee table sitting in the middle of the room. It felt like they were at a war table, planning an assault. Claire’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She glanced at it and sighed. “It’s my mom.” She stood, looking down at her new friends. “I have to go. It was nice meeting you both. Thank you for the soda and for the talking.”

      Tuesday got to her feet and pulled Claire into a fierce little hug. She pulled back, smiling hugely into Claire’s startled face, and said. “It was awesome meeting you too, Claire. Don’t be a stranger. Come visit at the shop and we can continue the conversation. There’s more to tell, I think.”

      Claire smiled and nodded, shaking Madge’s offered hand. The older woman’s hand was calloused and her grip was strong. She said. “Tell Gorge it was nice to meet him, too. And I’ll be careful about Albert.”

      “Take care, Claire Moody.” Madge said. “Things are coming to a head in Matheson, I think. Recent events point toward an event. A battle, I believe, one that might touch us all. Be watchful and trust your instincts. You see more than most, more than even you know. That vision is something we will need in the dark days that are coming. Don’t get yourself killed.”

      Claire nodded and left. Outside the trailer, she sent her mom a quick text reply, amazed to see 3 bars of signal, before getting in the Explorer and driving straight home.

      Madge watched the closed door for a long moment after the sound of the Explorer’s engine faded into the distance. Her face was lost in thought. Tuesday watched her friend, face twisted with worry, and spoke into the quiet. “She seems really cool. Quite competent, I think. Especially as young as she is.”

      Madge said. “Yup. The trick will be keeping her alive long enough to see if that cool, competent girl is the one we’ve been waiting for.” 

Chapter 31

      The first night of Christmas break found Brandon sitting in the center of the training circle, watching the snow drift down from a cloudless sky. Not rain. No rain since the night the Kruegers died. Only snow. The news was calling it a regional polar vortex and the talking heads online and on The Weather Channel tossed around dire warnings about climate change and a new dustbowl on the way. But, in the larger scheme of things, the weather in a small region of Oklahoma and Arkansas was barely a blip on the national consciousness.

      It trended on Twitter for part of an afternoon, but was quickly replaced by a Reality TV star’s latest nude photo leak. Brandon was long past feeling any surprise at how narrow sighted humanity was when it came to what it didn’t want to acknowledge. Unwinnable wars and global warming was proof of that. But the strange weather in Matheson was more than that.

      It was Sha'ha'Zel's doing, Brandon knew. Some kind of magic, something to do with the Curse. If not snow, it would have been drought. Anything to stop the rain and take away what Sha’ha’Zel saw as his only advantage in the battle to come. Brandon hoped that Rok’s added protection would be enough to counteract the Curse’s tricks, but wasn’t counting on it.

      The back yard was blanketed in snow, a picture of tranquility and peace that was misleading. The white was only an illusion of tranquility. Brandon wished he believed that the peace would last. The only place not covered in snow was the circle. Almost 5 paces in diameter and the snow would not touch it. Another kind of magic, perhaps?

      He was always surrounded by magic now, it seemed. It lived within him, as much as it did in the blade resting across his knees. The Phoenix glowed, the steel flickering with inner flames that danced along its length, alive and hot. The magic was his life now, just as it was the Phoenix's life. What life he had left, that was.

      Brandon was stripped to the waist, sweat slicking the muscles of his chest and arms despite the icy wind whipping across the back yard. Muscles harder and more well defined than ever before, after nearly a month of the most intense training that he could have ever imagined. The sweat plastered his hair to his head.

      Since Thanksgiving night, Gerrick insisted that he use the Phoenix when he worked the forms after training each night. Brandon didn't understand why, but he didn't argue. He knew something of the blade now and it felt right in his hand. It felt alive.

      Of course, now he knew that it was truly alive. A god lived inside that length of gleaming steel. Investing the steel with its essence, the god seemed to call to Brandon. As he worked the forms, dancing from one position to the next, he could hear the Phoenix speaking to him, its whispering voice slithering inside his skull like a creeping vine. A vine made of smoldering fire. Had his grandfather heard the blade’s voice in the same way?

      Brandon wasn't sure, but he didn't think so.

      Sitting there, shirtless, Brandon knew that he should be cold. Even wrapped within the emptiness, he should have still felt the cold, nipping at his exposed flesh, but he didn't. Not with the Phoenix in his hands. He wasn't cold.

      He was hot. It was a boiling heat, like there was a furnace inside of his chest, and if it didn’t find a release soon, he was going to explode and fall to pieces. He knew only one way to dampen the flames without extinguishing them completely.

      He rose, the Phoenix a blur in his hands as he moved from one sword form to the next. Faster and faster he moved, until nothing existed but the blade in his hands and the fire boiling within him. Twisting and twirling, faster than the eye could follow, he cut the air. Faint tracers of flame chased the magical steel as the living weapon seared the cold night air.

      The burning wicks of the candles jumped and danced every time the Phoenix swung close, the light brightening with every stroke and thrust. The flickering light painted the circle in moving shadows.

      How long did the dance last? Brandon didn't know. It could have been minutes or even hours, his sense of time had become so distorted, but it ended at a shout from his uncle. Gerrick's voice cut through the nighttime silence and the emptiness cloaking Brandon's mind. "BRANDON!" Gerrick’s voice was loud. He stood on the deck, dressed in jeans and a tee shirt. He held two steaming mugs, his expression as close to mild as Brandon had ever seen it. Almost warm.

      Brandon stopped moving. One second, he was a blur of deadly motion, heated steel a glittering blur in the candlelight. The next, he was still. He watched his uncle, saying nothing. He gleamed with sweat, but you would have to touch him to tell if he was breathing. He was that still.

      Gerrick watched him a moment, his eyes strange. Almost gentle. If coiled steel could ever be called gentle. He said. "It's time, Bran."

      "Time?" Brandon said, voice soft. He sheathed the sword and bent to start extinguishing the candles. When the last candle was out, he walked over to the porch and looked up at the older man and said. "Time for what?"

      "For the truth." Gerrick said. He gestured with the mugs and turned, speaking over his shoulder as he walked into the house. "Part of it, at least."

      The mugs held hot chocolate. Sitting in the kitchen, their mugs between them, Brandon faced Gerrick. Not as a boy with his uncle, or even as teacher and pupil, but man to man. Neither had any illusions as to the current status of their relationship. Not anymore. Not after Thanksgiving night.

      Gerrick sipped at his cocoa and sighed with pleasure. A strange sound from such a hard face. His dark eyes were softened by the kitchen light as he said. "Chocolate was unknown to your father and I, before we came to this place. We knew candies and sweets, but if cocoa beans grew in the Old World, they were in lands beyond your grandfather’s. Now, I don't know if I can go without it."

      Brandon didn't say anything. His mug sat in front of him, untouched. He watched the older man and waited. The Phoenix lay on the table between them, a dangerous and beautiful centerpiece for any kitchen. The sword’s presence lent the meeting a certain gravitas that it wouldn’t have had otherwise.

      It was a living symbol of the gods that were watching.

      Gerrick cleared his throat and stared back at Brandon. His voice casual as he spoke. "You never really know anybody, Bran. People keep secrets, even from those closest to them.”

      “Why?” Brandon leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest. He shook his head as he said. “Adults always say that kind of crap to kids. You say we’ll understand when we get older, when we’re ready, but you just mean you’ll tell us when you’re ready to.” His eyes narrowed and he pointed at Gerrick. “You owe me answers, Gerrick.”

      Gerrick said nothing for a moment, taking a sip of his cooling cocoa. He reached out and touched the scabbard on the table between them. He met Brandon’s gaze and said. “There are all kinds of secrets that people keep. Lots of reasons people use to justify keeping the truth from each other. But it usually boils down to just a couple of reasons. Do you know them?"

      Brandon said nothing. He didn't need to answer the other man’s question.

      Gerrick frowned at Brandon's silence, then went on, as if the younger man had answered anyway. "The first kinds of secrets are the good kind. Like wrapped Christmas presents or an unopened love letter. Things hidden because the moment has to be perfect for the revealing.” He paused to gather his thoughts, tapping the pommel of the sword in front of him. “Your father thought of his past as such a secret. Something fearful, but also magical. He planned to tell you everything when he thought you were ready." Gerrick sipped his chocolate and said. "You're parents both had secrets they kept from you."

      "What's the second type of secret?" Brandon said, breaking his silence. He had his suspicions, but he wanted to hear it from his uncle. "You said there were two types?"

      Gerrick nodded. "The second type is the bad kind. Like a cancer you keep inside, eating away at you until it finally tears its way out and the only thing left to do is to tell. Sometimes you keep things secret to protect the ones you love." He paused to let his words sink in. Then he said. "Did you know that your parents were talking about divorcing before they died?"

      "What?" Brandon said, trying not to let his shock show but failing miserably. He’d thought he was prepared to hear anything, but his uncle had just knocked his legs from beneath him. He felt like his whole world had shifted beneath his feet and was suddenly showing cracks in its surface. It was a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him. "What are you talking about?"

      Gerrick nodded, his eyes never leaving Brandon's. "They were discussing it the week before they died. They had even gone as far as having the papers drawn up."

      "I don't believe you." Brandon said, coming to his feet and turning his back to his uncle. He tried to achieve the emptiness again but it wouldn't come. His mind reeled. "My mom and dad loved one another. They were crazy about each other.” He struggled to talk, his throat felt constricted and tears stung his eyes. He closed his eyes and said. “They would have told me."

      "Ask Lawyer Dagget." Gerrick said from behind him. "He drew up the papers."

      "But why?" Brandon shook his head and looked at Gerrick. "They never fought. They were always so good together, always hugging and kissing each other. They couldn't have kept it from me. They wouldn’t have lied to me like that."

      "Secrets." Gerrick said the word slowly. "Do you remember a man named Tom Ewing?"

      Brandon started to shake his head, but then stopped. "He worked with my mom, I think. He came by the house once, to drop something off." Brandon stopped, his face suddenly going blank. Then his eyes hardened.

      Gerrick nodded. "They had an affair. It was brief, but your father found out about it. She couldn't keep it secret. Not from Stephen."

      "Tom died." Brandon said, his voice flat. He felt cold all over. "It was in the newspaper. I remember because mom was really shook up about it. He was mugged or something. Beat up." His voice firmed. "He was beaten to death."

      Gerrick's eyes were chips of obsidian. "Stephen called me the night it happened. He just went to talk to the man. To talk. Nothing more. But Ewing liked pushing people's buttons and he pushed your father's. So they fought."

      "He killed him." Brandon's voice was stronger than he felt. "He killed a man and you helped him cover it up and that’s why the Curse killed him."

      "Secrets." Gerrick leaned back in his chair. His voice was soft, his tone mild. "Stephen claimed that it was an accident and I didn't question him. Your father was no liar. The man charged when he should have ducked. His windpipe was crushed. He choked to death while your father tried to help him. Luckily, he called me before he did something foolish.”

      “Like call an ambulance?” Brandon interrupted. He shook his head. “You helped him cover it up, didn’t you?”

      “He knew what the consequences were. He knew what his mistake had cost him. Had cost all of you. He was crying as I told him what to do."

      "Mom knew, didn't she? She figured it out." Brandon said. He moved back to the table and reached for his chocolate but stopped when he saw his hand shaking. Making a fist, he clenched his teeth and shook his head. "I had no idea. They told me nothing."

      "Of course." Gerrick said, his voice hard. "You were just a boy. Why should you be burdened with the knowledge that your father killed the pig who seduced your mother? The man was a pig, for certain. His attitude when your father confronted him proved that. He got what he deserved. But it was your bad luck that it was Stephen who gave it to him."

      "And Sha'ha'Zel killed him for it." Brandon said, another realization dawning. "If my mom hadn't cheated on dad, they'd both still be alive, right? All of this is her fault."

      Gerrick spoke firmly, his voice cold. "Unfocused magic is dangerous. Once let loose in the world, it takes on a life of its own. Your family’s curse was very specific. It had to be. Sha'ha'Zel doomed every adult with the Merryweather name. For the women, that meant coming into their moon blood.” When he noticed the blank look in Brandon’s eyes, he cleared his throat and said. “Their menstrual cycle."

      Brandon blushed and gestured for the older man to go on.

      Gerrick leaned forward and set his mug down. The chocolate had long gone cold. He said. "For men, it was two things. Lying with a woman. And spilling blood in combat. Before your father left the Old World, he took care of the first requirement, much to your grandfather's dismay. He did it in ignorance."

      "And my mother helped him with the second part." Brandon said. He wanted to shout, but it came out a whisper. He met his uncle's black eyed gaze and raised his voice. "Is that why the Curse killed her?"

      "Sha'ha'Zel killed your mother to hurt your father." Gerrick said. His eyes were tight. The words sounded like they were being drug from him. "She was pregnant. The Curse slaughtered her in front of your father just to show him that the child was not his."

      Brandon didn't realize he was crying until he tasted the tears running down his cheeks into the corners of his mouth. They were salty and sweet at the same time. Though his eyes were wet, his face was hard as polished bone. He felt as if his parents had died all over again.