Fire And Steel (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 2) (25 page)

      But Brandon didn't argue. Wrapping his arms around her slim shoulders, he hugged her tight. He pushed his face into her neck and continued to shiver. Claire was shivering too. She was terrified and excited at the same time.

      After a while, the shivering stopped. Claire turned against him, letting her hand drift across his stomach and brushed her lips against his. He kissed her, his hands moving along the small of her smooth back. She moaned against his mouth and he said her name. She touched his lips with a finger and said. "Love me, Bran."

      And so he did. All thoughts of danger and curses were gone from his intoxicated brain as he lost himself in her embrace.

      Outside of Highgarden, Sha'ha'Zel stood in the ferocious downpour and watched the low stone fortress. He could feel the boy and what he and the girl were doing in the upstairs bedroom. Their act gave off an aura of magical power that was visible to the Curse, like a cloud of writhing pink mist twisting on the wind.

      Where the rain touched the Curse's exposed flesh, wisps of gray steam curled up into the air. It sizzled and popped like water on a hot skillet, but the pain was a small thing compared to the overwhelming sensations exploding from the boy’s bedroom. Sha'ha'Zel turned from the house and stepped around the corpse lying at his feet. The boy's dead eyes were dull, staring at nothing. Sha'ha'Zel knelt and ran a talon tipped finger through the boy's hair.

      Around him, hiding in the trees, he felt the grohlm lurking and waiting for him to leave the body. They would devour the boy, just as soon as the Curse was gone. Standing, he waved a hand through the drifting traces of magic in the air and brought his pointed fingertips to the jagged orifices that passed for a nose on his face and sniffed them. It was time. Merryweather knew the rules; the laws binding the Curse to his path and his duty, but the foolish boy let himself be misled by his heart, instead of his head.

      Walking away from the grohlm's waiting meal, Sha'ha'Zel slipped into the trees and vanished into the forest. Lightning flashed across the gray afternoon sky, painting everything white and black, and thunder rolled over the woods.

Chapter 23

      The sun slipping through the closed curtains of his bedroom window woke Brandon. Claire slept soundly beside him, snoring softly. Slipping out of the bed, Brandon pulled on a pair of clean pants and left her lying there. Her pale rump poked up out of the blankets, soft and inviting looking. Brandon felt himself stirring and felt a hot flash of guilt. He left the room, closing the door gently behind him, and went downstairs. The house was empty. His uncle was nowhere to be found.

      Outside, the sun had returned and the rain clouds were disappearing. An arctic wind blew in from the North, making him shiver, carrying a promise of colder weather to follow. Thrusting his fists into his front pockets, Brandon stepped off of the porch and headed across the yard. The wet grass was ice cold between his toes, but not painfully so. The weather didn’t affect him like it used to. If his hands shook, it was from nerves, not any reaction to the outside temperature.

      Water babbled under the stone bridge, high and swift from the rainfall, as Brandon crossed. He thought of the night he first found Rok, hidden beneath the bridge, as he left Highgarden once more and headed for where he left Eric's Body. Was the old god ashamed of his reaction to the boy’s death? Did it make him weak, being so distraught at his failure to protect an innocent?

      He didn’t know what the god thought of him, but he knew how he felt about himself. And, if anything, he felt worse after what had happened between him and Claire. He had signed his own death warrant by sleeping with her, but that was something he could live with, however much longer he had to live before Sha’ha’Zel came for him. It was the danger he had placed her in that made him feel worse, like a terrible human being.

      How could he do that to her? Even if she wasn’t pregnant, wasn’t in any mortal danger from the Curse, it would still destroy her when he died. He should have left her alone. Pushed her away completely, no matter how it hurt, so she wouldn’t be hurt when he was gone. But he hadn’t done that. He was too weak to let her go. And, now, she would be the one paying the long price for his weakness.

      He was nearing the place where Eric fell, but instead of finding the boy's body, he found Gerrick. The older man stood over a matted place in the grass, his hands clasped behind his back. He stared at the ground as if he could see the body that should have been lying there. He looked up as Brandon moved close enough to see that the body was indeed gone. He took in Brandon's face, reading everything he needed to know by the look in the boy's eyes before gesturing at the place in the grass and asking. "Who was it?"

      Stepping close, Brandon stared at the matted grass, at the big fading smear of drying blood, and said. "Eric Golph. He was in my class. His dad was one of the policemen taken by the grohlm at the Mill."

      Gerrick said nothing, but nodded as if that explained everything. His granite features softened as he turned his gaze to the surrounding trees. He said. “It wasn’t your fault.”

      “That’s easy for you to say.” Brandon said, his eyes following his uncle’s gaze. The forest was quiet now, the sunlight cutting through the hanging limbs of the trees and making halos around the wet leaves and the dripping tips of branches. His voice was low and quiet when he spoke again. “You weren’t there. You didn’t watch him die.”

      “You’re right. I wasn’t. But you did the best you could in a bad situation. Could you have stopped him going out there and getting killed, short of killing him yourself?” Gerrick asked. Not waiting for an answer, he continued. "Blaming yourself won’t bring the boy back, nor will sacrificing yourself to the grohlm.” He stopped talking and waved a hand in the air in front of his face, as if brushing away cobwebs or dispersing a foul odor. He narrowed his eyes and said. “There's something wrong. I can feel it, all around us." The wind cutting through the trees was colder than before. Bitterly so. Gerrick looked at Brandon, then turned and headed back toward the house.

      Brandon followed. Catching up to his uncle, he asked. "What do you mean by that?"

      "The chill in the wind." Gerrick said. "The feel of the air around us. There's magic in the air. It's leaving a palpable feeling on my skin, like a skim of residue. If you were concentrating, you would feel it too. Find oneness, do it now."

      Brandon did as his uncle ordered. Seeking the emptiness, he pushed away all of his anxiety, feeding it to the glowing presence in his mind, and concentrated on his surroundings. He closed his eyes and let his breath come in deep even pulls, letting the icy wind rake across his bare chest and arms. He should have been freezing, but within the emptiness there was no sensation of cold. Only the knowledge of it, separated from his body by the force of his will and that of the gods. But within the cold, hidden by the wind, there was something else. Something other, like hard cold fingers digging into his skin. Opening his eyes, he asked a question that he already knew the answer to. "Do you have any idea what is causing it?"

      Gerrick stopped walking. His voice was toneless and strange as he said. "I might have an idea."

      Brandon stopped when he saw what had caught his uncle’s attention.

      Claire stood on the back porch, dressed in one of Brandon's oversized tee shirts. She crossed her arms under her breasts and watched Brandon and his uncle as they approached the house, her face tense. Gerrick looked at her for a long moment, his keen eyes taking in everything, before turning to Brandon. His eyes weary, he shook his head and said. "I hope you know what you're doing, Bran. You've set things in motion that neither of us can control. There will be consequences that we won’t see coming."

      Brandon said nothing. His eyes were on Claire. She smiled briefly as she met his eyes, then turned and went back into the house. Brandon looked at his uncle and asked. "How long until he comes, do you think?"

      Gerrick shook his head. "I can’t say. He could’ve taken your father weeks before he did, but he chose to wait. Sha'ha'Zel sets his own time to strike, for his own reasons. He will wait for the perfect moment, when you are least expecting him. When you are the least prepared for battle. He may try to come at you through the girl, to use her to bait you or draw you out. You have to be prepared for that."

      Brandon thought of Eric and felt a knot of icy dread form inside his stomach. He looked at his uncle and asked the question that was haunting him. "How can I protect her from the Curse when I couldn't even protect Eric from the grohlm."

      Gerrick grunted and said. "You'll do what you must. You’ll trust your training. You'll fight. If you fight well, you might actually survive to fight the next battle."

      Brandon didn't have to be told the other half of that equation. If he fought well, he'd live. And If not? Then he would die. And die badly, most likely.

      And he wouldn’t die alone.

      Claire was getting dressed when Brandon walked into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. She looked up as she buttoned her jeans. She was shirtless, her breasts pert and pebbled with goosebumps. Brandon couldn't stop the blush from creeping into his cheeks as he took in the sight of her. He could remember kissing her nipples, the way the skin tightened when his tongue teased them.

      She must have read his thoughts, because she blushed, as well. Turning, she bent and retrieved her bra from the floor. She tried to appear nonchalant as she shrugged it on, snapping its clasps and meeting Brandon's gaze, her cheeks scarlet. She said, averting her pretty green eye. "So how much trouble are we in?"

      The question hit close to where Brandon's thoughts were and he almost choked on his intended reply. Clearing his throat, he closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her. Laying her cheek against his chest, Claire sighed and squeezed him tight. Brandon said. "It's going to be okay. It's not like he didn't expect something like this to happen."

      "And what about the Curse?" Claire asked, her voice soft. Soft, but unafraid. She knew what they faced, but her tone said that she wasn’t scared of what was coming their way. Brandon looked down at her, meeting her gaze, and touched her cheek with his fingertips. He wished he had her confidence in his abilities. He also wished he’d never told her about the Curse. That she could’ve stayed blissfully ignorant of what was coming after them.

      "We just have to be careful." Brandon said. "He waited 20 years before coming after my father. It might be another 20 before I ever see him again?"

      "And if not?" Claire asked, hooking a long hair over her ear. Her good eye looked hard into his and she asked. "What if he comes for you tomorrow? Or today? What will happen? Can you stop it?"

      Brandon didn't answer right away. He thought of the two gods now protecting him. That was one more god than his grandfather had. That had to make some kind of difference, didn’t it? Give him an advantage? He looked away from Claire and shook his head. He said. "I don’t know. All I can do is be prepared. Keep my guard up all the time and hope I’m ready when he shows up."

      Claire touched his arm, making him meet her eye, and said. “I know you’ll be ready, Bran. You’ll stop him.”

      Gerrick walked through the house, stopping at the foot of the stairs and looking up towards the boy's bedroom. He squashed the kernel of anger he felt towards Brandon for doing something so foolish. He was young, just a boy, who was Gerrick to deny him love when so much had already been taken from him. But his actions put them in a definite pickle.

      They were out of time. 

      He went on past the stairs and entered the sword room. The Phoenix gleamed in its glass case, the low light coming in through the half open curtains reflecting off the magical weapon. The warrior watched the light dance along the sharpened steel, like living fire, and thought about his own father. Dead, so many years ago, but not forgotten.

      There was a sound behind him and he turned. Brandon stood in the open doorway, watching him. He said, his voice soft. "I'm going to walk Claire home."

      Reaching into his pocket, Gerrick pulled out his keys and tossed them to the boy. Brandon snagged them out of the air and looked at them like they were made of radioactive milk chocolate or some other equally alien material. He threw a questioning look at his uncle and Gerrick said. "Drive her. I don't want the two of you on foot. Not with all that has happened. It's asking for trouble and we don’t want to make it too easy for the Curse, do we?"

      Brandon looked at the keys for a moment before meeting his uncle's gaze. He nodded and said. "If I'm going to be driving around town, I'll need get my driver's license."

      Gerrick nodded and said. "We'll take care of that when we can. For now, just be careful. Be watchful and don’t give Sha’ha’Zel an opening."

      Pocketing the keys, Brandon nodded and left his uncle. Gerrick stared at the place where the boy had stood, trying not to think of what would happen if Sha'ha'Zel made his play too soon. For years, he’d tried to keep himself strong, as fierce as he was at 20, but he knew that it was impossible. This world was too soft compared to the old, too civilized and politically correct. Maybe if he’d lived in a war zone? Someplace where conflict was a fact of daily life? But that would have only served the Curse’s ends, made its job easier.

      As prepared as he hoped to be, Gerrick knew that Sha'ha'Zel would be unstoppable unless Brandon discovered how to tap into his birthright and unlock the true power of the gods.

      Claire waited for Brandon on the front porch, arms crossed under her breasts and a worried look on her face. The wind was icy and clouds were rolling in, but that wasn’t what made her hug herself. Her skin crawled with at the thought of that thing, that curse, watching her from the shadows like some kind of demonic peeping Tom. The first fat raindrops began to fall and she began to worry that walking home wasn’t a very good idea. Not just because of what might be lurking in the dark, waiting for them. It wouldn’t do either of them any good catching cold. She had taken time to brush her hair and wash her face in Brandon’s bathroom and she didn't look at all like a girl who just had sex for the very first time. She wasn’t sure if she felt like it either except for being sore. As well as a strange goosiness deep in her belly that hadn’t been there before. It got worse when she thought of Brandon and what they had done.

      As if bidden by her thoughts, Brandon opened the front door and stepped out onto the porc with her. He smiled reassuringly when he saw her and blushed.

     
He’s thinking about what we did too
. She thought, her stomach doing a little dip and fluttering like mad. She felt her own cheeks warming as she said. "Are we ready to go?"

      Brandon held up a key ring and smiled. "We're traveling in style tonight. Do you trust me to get you home?"

      He meant it as a joke, she knew, but she met his gaze with a serious look before saying. "I trust you with my life, Bran." Then she leaned in and kissed him on the lips. He pulled her against him and returned the kiss with a thoroughness that left them both breathless as they left Highgarden.