Number of the Beast (Paladin Cycle, Book One) (14 page)

Scooter’s board games were
elaborate and complicated but she knew he didn’t have many friends,
except Zack Grouse. Sometimes it had gotten hard for her being
solely responsible for Shane’s brother while he was away, but she
wouldn’t trade the kid for a million of Roxy’s pecan pies. After
looking out for him for the past five years during Shane’s stint in
the Army and now in the oil field, she couldn’t imagine a day
without him or his mind boggling board games. And if it wasn’t for
her watching Scooter, she and Shane would’ve gone their separate
ways just as they’d done after Victoria’s accidental
death.

After a
short drive, Amy flicked her blinker and steered into the drive of
Abe’s Bait & Tackle. Shorthand for
Abe’s Beer, Bait, Ammo, Tackle and More
which was printed on the receipts. The little brick building
was nestled between a dilapidated warehouse and a dinky gas station
with only two pumps. Stacks of dog, horse, and cow feed bordered
the doorway.

Amy and Scooter walked between two
drink coolers filled with beer. They stopped at the glass counter
where the grizzly old man sat with his back to them. His
waist-length silver hair was tied into a ponytail. He focused on a
bigmouth bass swimming in an aquarium built into the
wall.

“
I’ll be
with you in a moment,
cher.
I’m having me a talk with
Apollo.”

“
What’s he
saying?”

“
I said I was talking to
Apollo. If the damned fish starts talking back to ol’
Abe—”

Amy laughed. “I need some
night crawlers.”

“
Don’t
understand why you people don’t just go find ’em yourselves. All
you got to do is move some pine needles and them
bebettes
be crawling on
that sweet, moist soil.”

“
Wouldn’t that hurt your
business?” Amy folded her arms on the glass countertop.

Abe
swiveled his stool to face her and Scooter, a can of beer in one
hand, a briar pipe in the other. Wisps of spicy sweet Latakia rose
to the ceiling in halos. A dark purple gris-gris bag dangled around
his neck. “You think I make my living off worms? That makes me want
to laugh,
cher
.
You going fishing tonight?”

“
That’s the plan. When
Shane gets home.”

“
It’s a full moon. Fish be
biting real hard when the moon’s full.” He puffed on his pipe.
Speaking around the stem, he said, “But you best be staying outta
them woods. You hear me?”

“
I hear you,” Amy said,
shaking her head. “I don’t need any more adventure in my life than
I already got inside my head.”

Abe’s
pipe bobbed up and down. “What adventure you gettin’ up to,
cher?
”

“
Oh, nothing out of the
ordinary. Just the voice in my head and finding out that there’s a
‘beast’ out to get me.” Amy enunciated the word ‘beast’ and swiped
the air with a claw-shaped hand.

“
Excuse me,” Scooter said.
“What do you know about how the fish bite on a full
moon?”

“
I know a lot about such
stuff. I tried to teach your stubborn brother, but his head is
harder than a crawdad’s claw.”

“
Scooter’s doing a science
paper on the effects the moon has on animals.”

Abe sipped his beer. “I
was born under a full moon. Whenever it’s full now my big toe
twitches and strange women come knocking on my door. Hell, last
month a saucy Latina showed up and gave me a hell of a blowjob.
That woman could suck a—”

“
Gosh all mighty! I don’t
think Scooter or me want to hear about that.”

“
Speak for yourself,”
Scooter said, while giving Amy a teasing grin.

Abe chuckled. “I bet you
would, pony.” He tampered the leaves and relit the tobacco. “In
nature, after the autumnal equinox, a female gets frisky three days
before the second full moon. Some folk say that’s when the Earth
Mother reunites with her lover-consort-son.”

“
After both lying dead for
the whole winter,” Amy finished. “What else you got,
Abe?”

Scooter removed a notebook and pen
from his backpack.

Amy nipped at her lower
lip. “Is there anything you know about the moon and animals that
doesn’t involve sex?”

“
Ever hear of the moon
rabbit?” Abe asked. “Folks say it’s a behemoth of a jackrabbit that
dwells up on the moon and pounds on moonstones to make elixirs of
life. But that there rabbit ain’t nothin’ compared to Vostrict, the
scorpion sentinel to the gateway of countless Hells, up on the
Martian moon, Deimos. Course, some been saying he guards gates on
our world, too. If Abe sees a big-ass bug like that, he be movin’
somewhere else for sure.”

Abe tilted his head to a
corner of the shop where a funnel-shaped web clung to the crumbling
ceiling and wall. A spindly Hobo spider waited amongst the sticky
strands. “The Moon sent that there spider down to Earth to give us
simpleton folk a message.” He crushed the empty beer can and tossed
it into a wastebasket.

Scooter asked, “So what’s
the message?”

“
Fuck if I know, boy.” Abe
studied the arachnid with a slanted stare. “The Moon can even drive
a spider insane.” He cracked a fresh beer and walked to a shelf
where dozens of Styrofoam cartons containing night crawlers were
stored.

“
Thanks.” Amy dropped a
couple dollars on the counter.

Scooter knelt in front of
the glass casing and examined a box of bullets labeled: OMEN
AMMUNITION. Written in smaller print: Genuine Pure Silver
Ammo.

“
Are those really silver
bullets?” Scooter asked.

“
What do people want
silver bullets for?” Amy asked. “Ain’t that what they use to kill
vampires?”

“
Werewolves,” Scooter
said. “Silver bullets kill werewolves.”

Abe grumbled something
beneath his breath. “Worse things out there than what you see on
them Universal pictures.” He sipped his fresh beer. “Silver is a
lunar element, linked with the moon. But I reckon it’d do as good a
job as a lead bullet.”

“
Interesting.” Amy knelt
and examined the other items in the glass case. A small wooden box
with bronze latches. A beige price tag hung from it with Abe’s
handwriting: AUTHENTIC TROLL SLAYING KIT - $599.82.

“
You know how curious them
outsiders are,” Abe said. “Come to Buckeye on hunting trips and
they hear about them strange tales coming out of the old Rawlings
House and them woods. I figure I might as well make a buck off
their monster hunts by offering silver bullets, wooden stakes and
holy water. That reminds me.” Abe braced himself on the countertop
with both elbows, looking at Amy. “Do you by chance know somebody
that goes by the name Tobias?”

Amy jolted upright from
her kneeling position. “What do you know of him?” Her fingers
gripped the edge of the counter.

Abe
plopped on the stool and rolled to the left. He rummaged under the
counter. When he rolled back he set down something covered in a
brown cloth. “Take this here,
cher.
I suspect it was meant for
you.”

With trembling fingers, Amy unwrapped
the cloth.

Scooter gawked at the
dagger hidden in the folds of the dirty rag. “Awesome.”

Etched in gold lettering into the
ivory handle was one word. TOBIAS.

“
Where did you get this?”
Amy asked.

Abe
swiveled toward the fish tank. With his back toward Amy and
Scooter, he mumbled, “Fuck if I know,
cher
.”

Atticus stood on the russet red
sandstone battlement atop the rugged Tower of Tribulation. He
glared across the white and burnt sandscape flecked with cacti.
Sparse sun-dried shrubbery spilled over a distant ravine. Bound
with a black band, his red ponytail draped down the length of his
back. Hands clasped behind him, he planted his boots on the
tarnished parapet, the last place Rourn, had stood before he threw
himself over the ledge.

Rourn had plunged a hundred-and-forty
feet where he smashed face-first into the sand.

Healer Merrick had said the Twin
warrior broke his neck on impact and passed from this world without
torment.

Rourn abandoned him: no
warrior partner, no confidant, no blood brother...no friend of
worth.

Atticus gazed over the
ledge and spat. “Coward!”

Sticky hot droplets
splattered on the back of his neck. His head snapped up. Hovering
yards above, a charcoal leather-skinned gargoyle flapped bat-like
wings. Mustard-yellow saliva oozed from its open maw. It circled
the tower, screeching like a banshee—a scavenger searching for its
next meal.

“
Come to me, fiend!”
Atticus grasped the pistol in his leg holster, but hesitated. Not
that way, he thought.

With rawhide gloved
fingers, he snatched the pearl encrusted hilt of his sheathed short
sword, freeing the blade from its scabbard.

The beast swooped. Talons reached for
his scalp, but Atticus ducked and rolled. He bent his knees and
thrust forward.

The gargoyle dodged to his right
flank, evading Atticus’ strike.

Atticus cursed. Then
repented for the swearing, and muttered a quick prayer for aid
against the foe.

The creature took to the sky. It
hissed and screeched. The gargoyle’s ruby eyes glowed as it
descended.

Atticus scrambled, but the creature
proved cunning and slammed into his chest like a sack of iron
ingots. A crushing pain burst from under his breast.

Damnation!

A claw grazed his torso,
slashing his shirt open. The padding beneath shielded his belly
from serious injury.

Enraged, Atticus hurled
his sword upward. The blade’s tip struck the gargoyle’s underbelly,
but ricocheted off the scaly hide before clattering to the floor.
Hissing, it swooped down, landing on the battlement a few yards
away.

Through gritted teeth, Atticus inhaled
a painful breath.

Lotus-eaters alive! A
cracked rib.

He spat bile and snatched the pistol
from his leg holster. The gargoyle crept closer. Rancid smoke blew
from its black nostrils. Lines creased Atticus’ forehead. Nose
scrunched, he stifled a gag. All Paladins were trained to use
firearms as a last resort.

He leveled the gun, steadied his
hand.

Then he tossed the gun
aside.

He flexed his fingers and stepped
toward the creature. Ruby eyes flashed bright, while leathery lips
stretched to reveal rows of sharp gleaming fangs.

Atticus loosened his
muscles. Facing the creature but turned slightly sideways, he
assumed a staggered stance. His hands glided into position near his
chest and abdomen, fingerer tips slanted and partially spaced.
“Let’s end this, you bone-sucking fiend!”

The gargoyle lumbered forward, tilting
its head back, mouth gaping, screeching vehemently.

Atticus swept past the
gargoyle’s right flank, and immediately whirled his right boot,
planting the heel harshly into the creature’s backside. A loud
reverberating crack, and the gargoyle staggered forward. While the
creature still remained dazed, Atticus dashed to its opposite flank
where he delivered another high kick to the creature’s broad, bony
shoulder blade.

When the pathetic creature
slashed out in blind rage, Atticus sidestepped the strikes. He
continued keeping his distance as the frenzied creature assailed
the air in front of itself with wild abandonment. The glowing red
eyes had lost much of their previous fervor.

Taking advantage of the
creature’s loss of focus, Atticus raced to his sword lying a few
feet away. Just as he gripped the hilt, the creature lunged forward
with outstretched arms and hooked claws. With his side facing the
lunging beast, and no time to reposition his stance, Atticus
speared his sword forward and slid toward the creature’s deadly
embrace.

The tip of the blade
pierced into the creature’s throat, tender and soft; its arms went
limp, and its whole body writhed, convulsing, before vanishing into
a column of orange flames, leaving Atticus standing with sword held
in mid-air.

From the far side of the tower, echoed
the sounds of clapping hands, measured and slow.

With one hand, Atticus
braced himself on the wall, and with his other, he palmed his
aching chest. “Did I pass the test?”

Elder Cai crossed the
battlement, his steps graceful and swift. A black robe flowed
around him. Green leather pants hugged his nimble legs; a black
leather vest with pearl-laden straps crisscrossed his chest. From
each ear dangled a pearl earring—the symbolic gem of the Paladins.
Elder Cai held a glass ball. Within it, lightning flickered and the
tiny shadow of the gargoyle faded from view.

The dry desert wind carried the foul
remnants of the gargoyle’s stench far into the endless
desert.