Number of the Beast (Paladin Cycle, Book One) (7 page)

“
Don’t trust her,
huh?”

“
I trust her. I don’t
trust them. Do it and I’ll owe you big time.”

She took a drag and blew
smoke from the corner of her mouth. “What do you have that I could
possibly want?”

“
Next time they call you
into the farm, I’ll fill take your spot.”

Carmen scanned for police,
saw none and whipped a U-turn. “Fine.”

“
One more thing, slut.”
Shane made obnoxious masturbatory grunts into the phone. “Eat my
nuts.”

“
Sure assburgular, but not
before chewing ‘em like jerky and swallowing hard.”

Amy sat on the front porch stoop, head
hung low. Squeezing her eyes shut and covering her ears, she
pictured herself on a beach in some tropical locale.

No headless rat spirits looking for
vengeance.

No rude voices in her head.

No strange lights and sounds in the
woods.

Just the sound of warm
waves splashing on a sunny shore. In her mind’s eye, she held a
Mojito in one hand and pair of sunglasses in the other. Those
sunglasses with the sparkly frames.

The sound of a distant
crunching broke her reverie. Carmen’s Corvette rolled up the gravel
driveway.

Amy dried her sweaty palms on her
shorts and faked a smile before approaching the driver’s
side.

The window lowered with a
hum. A gust of frigid air and punk music greeted Amy with Carmen’s
face hidden behind a cloud of smoke.

Carmen
draped an arm over the open window and tipped her cowboy hat up.
“
Mami
?”

Her dress barely concealed
her well-endowed chest and shapely legs. Loop earrings—large enough
to toss a baseball through—hung from her lobes. Her body was curved
in all the right spots where Amy’s was flat as Uncle’s Steve’s
fedora after three-hundred-pound Aunt Susan had accidently sat on
it.

“
Shane sent you,” Amy
said.

“
Shocker. I
know.”

Hands on her hips, Amy
frowned. “I can take care of myself.”

“
Sure you can, chickie.”
Sighing, Carmen gave her a sidelong look. “What’s it this
time?”

“
Another dead
rat.”

“
So, bury it. Thought you
said that’s all it’d take to keep the bad mojo away?”

Amy rolled her eyes. “Not
that easy. I got to bury it whole. Alamo ate the dang
head.”

“
Let’s blow the stink off
you and hit The Bull tonight.”

Amy pulled a leaf from her
hair. “I’m a mess.”

“
Well, roll on some
deodorant, wash your face, throw your hair in a ponytail and
sprinkle powder in your panties. Good to go. Ten minutes. I’ll
wait.”

Amy looked back at the dug up rat’s
grave.

Sighing, Carmen shifted
the car into gear. “So be it. You and the rat have fun. I’m going
to the Bull.”

“
I’ve got bad mojo. You
don’t want to be around me right now. It might be
catchy.”

“
I’ll take my chances.”
She waved her away. “Go get ready.”

Amy let out a breath and
vanished into the trailer.

She followed Carmen’s
instructions right down to the sprinkle of powder in her panties.
Clean tank. Clean shorts. Pausing by Carmen’s car, she looked at
her reflection in the passenger window. Was she dressed
appropriately? Maybe she should fetch one of Shane’s western shirts
to wear over the tank. She spun to reenter the trailer but Carmen
pounded the horn.

“
Okay,
fine.” Amy got in the car. Carmen was hanging her sidekick doll
from the rearview mirror. Bastian flashed a Joker-smile, as if to
say,
You’re in for a crazy
night.

“
I don’t know why he calls
me hunny bunny,” Amy thought aloud.

“
Better than what he calls
me…sour dumpling.”

As Carmen shifted to drive, Amy opened
the vial Abe had given her and sipped the dark liquid. The bitter
taste used to make her gag, but she coped by imagining it was a
drop full of vanilla-scented sunshine. Even if it smelled and
tasted like liquid road kill with pulp, she’d never give it
up.

Carmen turned onto FM
1085. “Do you even know what’s in that?”

“
I’ve been drinking it for
years with no side effects.”

“
Right,” Carmen said,
dragging the word out in a sarcastic whine. “Abe probably has you
chugging possum piss and fish shit.”

“
I bet it’s something he
learned from his Wichita kinfolk.”

“
It’s not the Indian side
that worries me; it’s the Cajun. Those backward swamp rats got a
thing for spice...and those nasty mud bugs and sausage stuffed with
pig guts. Probably’d season a deep fried boot full of turds and
cayenne pepper.” Carmen shuddered. “And serve it up for Sunday
dinner.”

“
Would you
stop?”

Smoke seeped from the
corner of Carmen’s mouth. “We all have our vices.”

Elder Cai righted Atticus,
gripping his shoulders and steadying him. “Son?”

Desert night wind warmed
Atticus’ face. A distant coyote bayed. Somewhere down below the
tower the buzzard’s cawing could still be heard. He forced himself
to look at his mentor. “Master.”

Elder Cai held his gaze.
“Do you understand the gravity of what has happened?”

“
Rourn would not abandon
us to the fate of the coming Beast.” He pulled away and gave Elder
Cai his back. His voice cracked into a broken whisper. “He would
not.”

“
Things are not as they
seem.”

“
Rourn is dead.” Atticus
whirled to face the Elder. “It seems very clear.”

Elder Cai reached inside his robe and
retrieved a black leather-bound book.

Atticus took it and opened the cover.
An inscription:

Where I go, you shall not
come.

Where I lead, you will
follow.

~Rourn

The leather felt cold in
Atticus’ hands. With a slam, he snapped the book closed. “Rourn’s
journal?”

Elder Cai nodded.

“
You carry this on your
person?” Atticus glanced at the last spot Rourn had stood and back
at his mentor. “What prompted you here at this hour?”

“
Isn’t the answer
obvious?”

Heart racing, Atticus
gripped the journal tightly in one hand and balled his other hand
into a trembling fist. “I don’t understand any of this!”

“
I knew of Rourn’s plan,”
Elder Cai said in a matter-of-fact tone. “That is why I am here
now. To council you.”

Rourn had betrayed the Order and so
had Elder Cai. Atticus tilted his head back. His gaze challenged
the stars above until he fell to his knees. As if he’d summoned
ancient powers, Atticus unleashed a thunderous roar that echoed
across the vast desert.

Even the buzzard shrieked and fled on
tilted wings.

The Elder gripped Atticus’
arm and helped him to his feet. He nodded at the journal in
Atticus’ hand. “Seek wisdom in its pages.” He sipped from a canteen
hung from his neck, the source from which his mentor often sought
wisdom.

“
What could the words of a
dead man offer?”

“
Rourn’s death was
unfortunate, but necessary. Soon, you too shall learn the fate of
us all hinges upon his sacrifice.”

With a
scoff, Atticus said, “And what of the much revered adage of the
High Templars,
Alone you shall ascend,
together we shall fall
? If Rourn is to
perish then should I as well?” He set a foot onto the ledge and
stared down at Rourn’s body. His twin…one of the great warriors had
jumped without a moment’s hesitation.

Could I
do the same? I swore to follow my brother to the end of the worlds
and into Hell
.

Elder Cai clicked his
hornbeam staff on the stone tile. “Cease this
foolishness!”

A gust of wind tossed
Atticus’ long red hair into a flurry. The wind heaved his boots
from beneath him. Atticus fell with his face planted on the stone
battlement. Gritty sediment bit at his lips.

Elder Cai stood over him,
his staff pressed in the middle of Atticus’ back. “Do not be
selfish. It is unbecoming of a Paladin knight, especially of a
Twin.”

Atticus pushed off the ground, into a
kneeling position. He leaned back on his haunches and
sighed.

Elder Cai said, “The
ancient adage you speak of is nothing more than a tale given to
naive cadets and jaded knights.”

Atticus looked up at him.
“Nothing but a farce?”

“
Being a warrior of the
Order of Abel is not as glorious as some would have future knights
to believe. You are due to graduate and become a Selector in the
ranks of great warriors. The time for meaningless slogans is long
past.”

Atticus stood. Absently,
he brushed grit from his robe. He bowed his head. “What must I
do?”

Elder Cai turned. His robe
fluttered as he strode toward the mechanical lift. “Preparations
are to be made. Midnight oil is to be burned.” He opened the brass
door and beckoned Atticus inside.

The lift smelled dry and
musky, like a tomb ripe with a most recent death.

From his flask, Elder Cai gulped more
brandy. He extended his hand, offering the spirit to
Atticus.

Atticus exhaled and took
the canteen. The pungent liquid burned a stringent trail from his
tongue to his abdomen. He spat on the floor of the lift and wiped
his lips with the back of his hand. “Blazing ghost! It does take
like sun-roasted bile.”

“
That is the freshest
muskeydyme brandy Old Lady Ebben has to offer.”

“
How can you be so
indifferent about Rourn’s death?” Atticus spat the words just as he
had the brandy. “Are you without heart?”

Had a curse diseased the entire
compound? Was it that vile gypsy Ebben who had soured the mind and
heart of all? When the lift reached the ground would he discover
that he was the only Paladin who maintained any semblance of
lucidity?

“
In due time, my young
pupil, the mysteries of this universe will reveal the answers you
seek.”

Atticus stared unblinking at the
copper walls, listening to the rhythmic clang of the steel chain.
He felt a thousand miles from all life, floating in a vast
emptiness, a quiet void.

As junior cadets, he and
Rourn had chased imaginary goblins. During the heat of one July,
with wooden swords, they had slayed the ice dragon, M’nastacarra of
the Chilltalon Brood. That same summer they had taken a swim in
Gypsy Creek where Atticus became smitten by a pretty laundry
maiden. Rourn had torn him from the brink of hormone-driven
madness. It was the season Rourn taught him a skill that all young
men must master.

The lift clamored to a
stop.

Around the curve of the stone tower,
Rourn’s lifeless corpse awaited them. A woman knelt by his head and
gently turned Rourn onto his back.

Atticus caught a glimpse of the bloody
mask upon his face. Body tangled. Eyes wide open. Lips split and
busted. Crimson blood oozed from his nose and parted mouth. Rourn
did not wear death well.

Atticus looked to the left where
Prefect Cauldrick strode toward them, his gait wide and
swift.

When the Prefect stopped
before them, Elder Cai and Atticus gave a half bow.

“
What insanity is this!”
Cauldrick bellowed. “A demonic creature has defeated a Twin?” He
narrowed eyes at Elder Cai. “What do you know of this?”

“
I am deeply saddened by
the loss of a mighty warrior and friend.”

“
Not a mighty warrior,”
Cauldrick screeched. “The mighty Satican Prince. A Twin warrior,
prophesied to save us all. And he’s not lost. He is dead! Rayden
Cai, you miserable drunk, he is dead!”

Elder Cai shook his head.
“One Twin remains.” He lifted his chin at Atticus.

Prefect Cauldrick threw up his hands
and looked at Atticus, as if to ask if he followed this
logic.

Atticus glanced over his
shoulder at Rourn’s body and back at Prefect Cauldrick. Unable to
find words, he deadpanned at Elder Cai.

“
What good is only one
Twin? The duality has been shattered. We have lost this great
battle before it has even begun!”

Elder Cai firmly planted
his staff on the ground, narrowing his eyes at the Prefect. “Rourn
was no Twin,”

“
You blaspheme?” Cauldrick
gritted his teeth. “I shall have your status of Elder revoked! And
cast you out into the Pit of Punishment for such an atrocious
declaration.”

Elder Cai kept his silence.

“
And what do you have to
say about Ortho’s prophecies?” Cauldrick asked. “Atticus cannot
defeat the Beast alone.”

“
He will not face the
Beast alone.” A bitter smile curled Elder Cai’s thin lips. “And
with regards to the ancient mage, it saddens me greatly that anyone
would take heed with regard to anything the mage professes. He is
ripe with senility and has been for a decade.” Cai tapped his staff
on the ground. Sparks skipped from the tip and along the desert
sand. “Fools of the Templar Court! Lift the ignorant veil that is
so proficient at blinding you to the blatant.” With his staff, he
gestured toward Atticus. “Alive and well is your precious Twin and
you all will come to know soon that he is not to carry this burden
alone.”