Winterwood (11 page)

So like a verdammt
cat, toying with its food.

“Finish it, you
fotze
. I'm not afraid of you, and I'm not afraid to die.” Anders wanted to say more, to antagonize the monster into delivering a merciful death blow, but he couldn't capture enough air for the rest of his words. Instead, he lay there, sucking in wheezing breaths befouled with the bestial odors of the cat. The paw lifted higher, and Anders closed his eyes.

Please, Gott, let this be the end.

“It's not often I hear those words spoken.” A jingling of bells accompanied the unexpected voice. Anders opened his eyes and found the Yule Elf staring down at him from atop his goat.

“You.” Anders fought for more air. “So, you've come to have the last laugh. Go ahead, say it. You warned me.”

“Yes, old man, I did, and you didn't heed it. 'Tis suicide to try and rescue folk from Winterwood. Yet here you are, back from that place, your family safe and warm again. Twice you have saved them on this night.”

“And now I pay the price.” Anders coughed. “So please, let me die in peace.”

“I think not,” the Yule Elf said, and Anders groaned.
So he's going to hold a grudge after all. How fitting.

The elf pointed a tiny finger at the cat. “Leave this one alone. My protection he has.”

The cat snarled and aimed its paw towards the elf, whose eyes lit up bright red. “Go, or face my wrath.”

To Anders's surprise, the cat acquiesced, still growling but slinking back several paces before turning and running down the street, where it disappeared into the dark.

Anders looked at the elf. “Why?”

The Julenissen lifted its shirt and vest, exposing a mass of scars that crossed each other on his ribs and back.

“No love is lost between the King and me. You defeated the Wild Hunt tonight, and so earned your life. Next time, you might not be so lucky.”

“There won't be a next time,” Anders said. “We won't be venturing outside at night to give them—or any from Winterwood—an opportunity.”

The Yule Elf nodded. “Then I hope our paths never need cross again.” The elf slapped the goat's neck and it sprang into the air, galloping up into the sky.

Anders watched his savior shrink to a dot, and then vanish among the twinkling stars, before pushing himself to his knees. His wounds ached something fierce, but after prodding at them, he felt confident the cat's claws hadn't even reached bone. He'd have new scars to match those on his other side, but he'd live.

Moaning with each step, Anders began a slow walk home.

Dec. 23, Present Day

“And that's how we defeated the Wild Hunt and saved both your fathers.” The old man rolled down his sleeve, covering the jagged, white scar that twisted up the loose skin of his upper arm. A matching one still marred his thigh. The three girls sitting on the floor by his feet “oohed” and “ahhed” and covered their mouths, blue eyes wide above their hands.

Across the room, Kristina Willis shook her head and frowned. “I hate those stories your father tells. He turns every holiday into something dark and gloomy.”

Tammy Willis nodded her agreement with her sister-in-law's words. “He scares them. They have nightmares. Can't you tell him to stop?”

Nick Willis exchanged a glance with his brother, Jake.

“No, I can't. Sometimes being scared is a good thing.”

About the Author

A life-long resident of New York's Hudson Valley, JG Faherty is a Bram Stoker Award® and ITW Thriller Award finalist and the author of five novels, seven novellas, and more than 50 short stories. He writes adult and YA horror/sci-fi/fantasy, and his works range from quiet, dark suspense to over-the-top comic gruesomeness. He enjoys urban exploring, photography, classic B-movies, good wine, and pumpkin beer. As a child, his favorite playground was a 17th-century cemetery, which many people feel explains a lot.

You can follow him at
www.twitter.com/jgfaherty
,
www.facebook.com/jgfaherty
, and
www.jgfaherty.com
.

Look for these titles by JG Faherty

Now Available:

Castle by the Sea

Thief of Souls

Fatal Consequences

Legacy

Cult of the Black Jaguar

The Cure

She was born with the power to cure. Now she's developed the power to kill.

The Cure

© 2015 JG Faherty

Leah DeGarmo has the power to cure with just a touch. But with her gift comes a dark side: Whatever she takes in she has to pass on, or suffer it herself. Now a sadistic criminal has discovered what she can do and he'll stop at nothing to control her. He makes a mistake, though, when he kills the man she loves, triggering a rage inside her that releases a new power she didn't know she had: the ability to kill. Transformed into a demon of retribution, Leah resurrects her lover and embarks on a mission to destroy her enemies. The only question is, does she control her power or does it control her?

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Cure:

Fifteen minutes before she saved a man's life, committed murder, and started a chain reaction of events she could never have imagined even in her worst nightmares, the only thing on Leah DeGarmo's mind was a hamburger and French fries.

It had been years since she last ventured into a McDonald's—or any other fast food restaurant—and after a particularly bad morning at work, her cravings had reached the point where she couldn't ignore them any longer.

“I'm taking lunch,” she said to Chastity Summers, as she hung up her white lab coat and headed for the front door of her veterinary clinic. “I'll be back in an hour.”

“Okay, Doctor D.” Chastity Summers waved, never looking up from her computer screen. She was busy entering the data on the last patient of the morning, a twenty-year old beagle in remarkably perfect health. At one time Smokey Two had suffered from cataracts and liver disease, but he'd managed to beat them both. His owner, Tanya Weston, always told people Smokey Two was a walking advertisement for Leah's skills as a veterinarian.

Opening the door to her three-year-old Toyota, Leah felt a pang of sadness in her heart. Smokey Two couldn't keep it up much longer. Dogs rarely lived past twenty. She wiped tears from suddenly damp eyes. It would break Tanya's heart when her dog finally passed away.

She glanced in the rearview mirror to make sure she hadn't smudged her makeup. People always said her eyes were like windows to her emotions, changing from hazel to brighter green when she was happy or excited, and to a murky brownish-green when she felt sad or depressed.

Today there was almost no green at all, and the dark color looked odd against the glowing backdrop of blonde hair flowing down to her shoulders in waves that were always on the verge of turning unmanageable. Even her face looked pale beneath the deep summer tan.

“Get a grip on yourself,” she told her reflection. “It's too nice a day to wallow in regrets.”

The warm September day helped push her melancholy away, and Leah decided to treat herself to a greasy cheeseburger and fries. A determined smile on her face, she pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward McDonald's.

Leah opened the heavy glass door and entered a different world, one where the air dripped with oil, steam, and fat-laden odors that simultaneously repulsed and excited her.

There's something about a McDonald's that reminds you of being a kid.
Not to mention the dopamine spikes triggered by the smell and taste of hot grease and fried meats.

Why is it the foods that are the worst for you are always the ones that taste the best?

The lunch hour crowd filled the space in front of the counter. As she waited her turn in line, Leah struggled to read all the choices on the menu board.

I've never even seen half those meals before
.
Guess that's what happens when you make an effort to eat healthy. I didn't think McDonald's could change so much in three years!

Luckily, the basics still held their place on the menu, and when her turn came Leah ordered a quarter pounder with cheese, large fries, and large diet coke. While she waited for her food, she went to the condiments bar and grabbed napkins, ketchup, and a straw. Her one task completed, she let her vision roam around the crowded room. She couldn't help noticing the police officer standing a few people behind her in line.

He doesn't look like he eats here any more often than I do
. Leah admired his tall, wiry frame and the way his brown hair fell across his forehead. With his dark, intelligent eyes and bright-white smile, he looked more like a politician or maybe a banker than a cop.

Smile? Oh, he's smiling at
me!
He saw me staring at him.
Leah turned away, feeling her face grow hot as the blood rushed to it. The counter girl returned with her order and Leah grabbed the tray, nearly spilling the contents onto the floor as she hurried off to a table before the man could say anything to her.

“Christ, I can't believe I did that,” she whispered to herself as she sat down. “Get a hold on yourself. You're not fifteen anymore.”

She took a long sip of her soda, hoping the cold liquid would drive the heat from her cheeks. Still, she couldn't help thinking about the cute, half-quizzical, half-admiring smile the cop had shown her, and she peeked to the side to watch him pump ketchup into a little white corrugated cup.

Straw still in her mouth, she tried to push away the particularly graphic thoughts all the pumping and squirting created in her head.

I guess it really has been too long.
She followed her rueful thought with a quick duck of her head as the object of her fantasy glanced in her direction.

“Shut up or I start shooting!”

The shouted words made Leah looked up again, just as people started screaming.

A man at the counter had a gun aimed at one of the cashiers, who was crying and holding her trembling hands in the air.

“Hurry up!” The gunman's order acted like a signal for everyone to move. People fell to the ground or ran for the doors, and one of the other cashiers, a man in his thirties, darted back into the kitchen.

The would-be thief grabbed a nearby woman and pulled her tight against his cracked and aging black motorcycle jacket, his crazed eyes darting back and forth. His hostage tried to struggle, but he clamped a hand over her mouth and put the large, evil-looking handgun to her head.

“Gimme the goddamn money now, or you're gonna have brains all over your counter!” he told the two remaining cashiers in a voice as frenzied as his movements. The two teenage girls clung to each other, eyes shut, crying uncontrollably.

Leah dropped her cheeseburger, the sudden, spastic opening of her fingers the only movement she seemed capable of making.
He's going to shoot that woman.
She knew it as surely as she knew he was high on drugs, or that the two girls would never get past their fear and give him the money.
Ohmigod, he's gonna…

A quick movement interrupted her thought as the police officer threw his tray of food in the direction of the gunman. The tray clattered on the floor and soda sprayed everywhere, distracting the man from his prisoner.

“Police! Drop the gun!” the cop shouted, his face no longer smiling, his dark eyes cold and dangerous as he squinted down the barrel of his service pistol at the heavily-bearded robber.

“I'll kill her, man.”

“If you do, you'll die right after her,” the young officer said. Sweat stains bloomed in the armpits of his previously immaculate uniform, but neither his gun nor his voice wavered.

“Not if I kill you first.” Pushing the woman to the side, the man turned the gun and fired two shots. The twin reports broke the spell that held the remaining patrons captive, and once more the air filled with screams as the remaining customers rushed for the exits.

The officer let out a cry of pain and fell backwards into the condiment counter. A wet, red smear followed him as he slowly slid down the white plastic to the floor.

“No!” Leah jumped up and ran to the officer, insanely hoping it was just ketchup dripping onto the floor, too familiar with violent wounds to be fooled into thinking it was anything but blood.

“Get away from him!” the shooter said to her, but she ignored him, already placing her hands on either side of the crimson flower blooming in the center of the man's shirt. Amazingly, the officer -
Officer Carrera,
she read on his tag as she ripped open his shirt - opened his eyes and looked at her.

“Get out of here,” he tried to say, but the words disappeared in a wet hiss, informing Leah that one of his lungs had collapsed. From the amount of blood pooling around the body, it seemed likely at least one major blood vessel, probably the vena cava, was ruptured as well.

“You're gonna be okay,” she told him, pressing her hands against the wound. “Lie still.” The familiar warmth surged through her, followed by a sharp pain as if she'd touched a live wire. Even though she was prepared for the shock, it still made her twitch. Under her hands, the officer's body bucked as if jolted by a defibrillator. Leah started to tell him again that he'd be all right, but just then a rough hand grabbed her by the back of her shirt and pulled her away, nearly choking her in the process.

“Are you deaf, bitch? I told you to stay away.” She looked up and saw the gunman aiming his pistol at her. “Now you can die alongside your boyfriend.”

Without thinking, Leah grabbed the man's leg, sliding her hand up under his pants to touch his skin. Another spark, but this one brought relief, a coolness, as if a poison had been sucked out of her body.

His eyes wide and surprised, the man opened his mouth to yell but it turned into a choking gasp that cut off as his mouth filled with blood. He stumbled away and his finger twitched on the trigger as he collapsed, sending a bullet whining past Leah's head to chip the tile floor before ricocheting away.

He landed hard, his eyes already blank and lifeless, a red stain spreading on the front of his shirt.

Oh, Leah, you've really done it this time.
The thought forced her into action.

“Hurry, move him over to the counter,” she ordered Officer Carrera, as she grabbed one of the gunman's arms and pulled him towards the small island holding the ketchup and napkins.

Carrera rose unsteadily to his feet, then put out a hand to stop her. “What the hell happened?”

“We have to make it look like he got shot over here. Now help me!”

Carrera stood there for a moment, fingering the hole in his uniform. Then he grabbed the man's other arm and helped her slide the body over until it was roughly in the center of the blood and ketchup already staining the floor.

“Lady, will you tell me what's going on? I was shot, and now I'm fine and we've got a dead gunman.”

Sirens sounded outside, reminding Leah they didn't have time to talk.

“I'll explain everything later,” she promised him. “Please, just trust me.” She sat down on the floor a few feet away, preparing herself to play the part of the terrified witness.

I won't have to pretend too hard, but what am I more scared of? Almost being shot or having my secret exposed?