by Ren Hamilton
Chapter Twenty-Six
Shep bolted upright in bed, heart in his throat, then he was on his feet in seconds, tugging open his bedroom door. Something’s wrong. So wrong. Joey’s essence, always there like a second heartbeat in his chest, flared chaotic, then went silent.
He slammed into Wesley as he ran down the hall in the dark. “Where’s Joey?”
“I don’t know,” Wesley said. “But something’s making a weird noise outside, in the back.”
They ran through the kitchen and Shep went cold with fear when he saw that the slider was open. He flicked the back light on and Wesley followed him out onto the deck, eyes searching the yard. Then he heard it, a low rasping bark, like a wounded animal. Shep could smell Joey’s blood.
Nearly tripping down the stairs, he rounded the bottom and his bare feet slapped across the moist grass. “Joey?” he called out. “Joey!”
Goosebumps raised on his flesh as that strange barking sound answered him, and he ran toward it. At the edge of the woods, he nearly tripped over Joey, on his belly, using his elbows to drag himself toward the yard. That awful coughing bark escaped his lips. Shep’s world tumbled, falling to pieces when he saw the state of him.
“Oh Jesus,” Shep squeaked, dropping to his knees. “Oh shit, no, no, no.”
His precious Sword. His Joey. Mutilated. Savaged. Dying.
****
Wesley came trampling up and skidded to a halt on the grass, gaze dropping to Shep where he crouched before the bloody man on the ground. Joey’s eyes were swollen shut, one side of his face littered with bleeding lacerations, curved and dented—bite marks. His normally olive skin was ghostly white, making his many wounds stand out starkly. He looked like death. Wesley was surprised he was still breathing—and he seemed to be struggling with that, awful wet wheezing sounds whistling from his lips. Both arms were wet sleeves of red, one hand with a bloody bite mark visible between his thumb and index finger. Bruises ringed his neck between more bite marks. Joey’s head lifted and he pawed at the air like a blind man, found Shep’s leg, then collapsed again, clinging to Shep’s ankle and wheezing, horrible, pain-filled sounds. Shep laid a hand on Joey’s head, then let out a high-pitched sob.
Wesley, in his panic, had the mindset to remember that what did this, that who did this could still be out there. “Shepherd, come on, get him inside.” Wesley kneeled down and gently grasped Joey under his arm. “Shep come on, help me.”
Shep stood and glared out into the woods, eyes blazing yellow. His mouth stretched open and he let out a monstrous cry; a medley of beastly roars and shrieking bird calls pealed from his open mouth and echoed into the night.
Wesley struggled not to run from Shep in that moment, and the unnatural scream made him wince. He forced himself to reach out and tug Shep’s arm. “Shepherd! We have to go inside, now!”
When an identical screech responded to the call from somewhere deep in the woods, Wesley’s bladder threatened to let go. He lifted Joey by the arm, and Joey let out a gurgling moan. “Come on, Shep, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go! We have to get Joey inside!”
Shep finally moved, grabbing Joey from the other side, the two of them dragging him across the lawn, a trail of blood staining the grass behind them.
Margol ran down the deck stairs to meet them, green eyes wide and red curls mussed from sleeping. He paused for a second, his mouth agape, then he helped them carry Joey up the stairs and into the house. Joey’s bleeding body hung limp from Margol and Wesley’s arms as Shep slammed the door and threw the lock, then ran over to the dining table and swept everything off it. “Set him down,” he ordered, and they hauled Joey over and placed him gently on his back atop the table.
Klee and Juris ambled into the room as Shep flicked on the chandelier over the table, and Wesley gasped at Joey’s injuries, glistening under the bright haze. He’d never seen someone so badly beaten; it looked like he’d been mauled by a pack of wild dogs then kicked repeatedly.
Shep shouted orders as he examined Joey with trembling hands, his voice teetering on hysteria. “Margol, the homemade balm, downstairs, lots of it. Juris, icepacks and bandages. Klee, bring me water.”
Shep climbed onto the table. On his knees, straddling Joey’s body, he ran his hands back and forth above Joey’s face. “Joey?” he said. “You’re gonna be all right, okay? Gonna be all right.” He gasped out a sob. “You hear me, buddy? Let me know you hear me.”
Joey lifted a trembling, wounded hand and brushed it over Shep’s face, then dropped it again.
Shep nodded. “Uh huh. You listen to my voice. Gonna be all right. I promise. I promise.”
The brothers ran simultaneously into the room with the items Shep requested. “Guns, Juris!” Shep shouted. “Margol, check all the doors and windows.”
They set their supplies down and sprinted off again. Shep climbed off the table. He wrapped up two ice packs and placed them gently over Joey’s eyes, then turned to Wesley. With a shaking hand, he grabbed Wesley’s wrist and pulled him off to the side, his curls brushing Wesley’s cheek as he leaned in and whispered, “Will you spare some blood for him? He’s been drained. Please, Wes. Please. I can’t…I can’t lose him. I can’t.”
“Of course.” Wesley nodded, his heart thudding. “Yes.”
Shep turned to Klee. “I need you to work with me. Start cleaning and wrapping any wound that’s still bleeding, start with his arms; I can’t see how bad it is with all the blood. I’m going to prep Wesley.”
Klee nodded and went to tend to Joey’s wounds. Joey let out a barking cough, then a low groan as Shep led Wesley around the breakfast nook and tugged open a drawer, pulling out a sharp silver knife. He reached into a cabinet above his head and brought down a bowl. All the while he muttered under his breath in a language Wesley hadn’t heard him speak in a very long time. He wiped his eyes with his wrists with a quick jerk, then reached for Wesley’s arm.
Juris trounced into the dining room with an armful of weapons, and Shep looked up. “Help Klee!” he said, and Juris set the guns down and began to work on Joey’s other arm.
“Okay hold still,” Shep said, and Wesley noted the irony of the statement as the knife trembled in Shep’s hand.
“I’ll do it,” Wesley said.
“It has to be deep enough,” Shep said.
Wesley stopped Shep’s hand, and gently took the knife. “I’ll do it.” He pressed the knife to the skin of his lower forearm.
“No,” Shep said, guiding his hand. “Over on the side, like this.”
Wesley held his arm over the bowl and winced as he cut. Shep nodded as the blood began to seep into the bowl in droplets, sounding like rain. “That’s good, keep that going,” he said, taking the knife and setting it aside.
Margol rounded the corner and approached them, gaze moving to Wesley’s bleeding arm. “Everything’s locked,” he said. “How did this happen? Did Joey leave the house?”
Shep ignored his question and ran to Joey. “Wes, tell me when the bowl is filled, I’ll tend to your wound,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Margol, call Litner. T-t-tell him we need...we need extra protection.” He whirled back. “But let him know Allisto’s still nearby, he shouldn’t come alone. He was out in the fucking woods.”
Margol pulled his phone out and stepped into the hallway. Wesley watched the bowl fill with thick, red blood, then turned away as a rush of dizziness threatened. Don’t pass out. Don’t pass out. He stared at a cookie jar in the corner and took long, deep breaths, then focused on the shape and pattern of the glass pasta canisters, then the drapes, anything to keep his mind off the blood.
He glanced over at the dining table. Juris held one of Joey’s arms straight out as he patted it with a wet cloth, revealing three large bite marks and several dark bruises.
As Shep lifted the ice packs and checked Joey’s eyes, Joey rasped out, “Tried.”
“It’s okay,” Shep said. “You can sleep soon, just hang on a bit longer.”
He coughed. “I trie
d...Shep. To stop him.”
As Shep hushed and soothed Joey, Wesley looked back down at the bowl, just about filled to the rim. He closed his eyes and turned away. “Shep?”
He heard Shep’s footsteps, then his arm was led away, and he opened his eyes. Shep held his arm over the sink. “Margol?”
Margol came into the room, phone still to his ear. “Litner wants to know if he should bring anything special, besides weapons.”
“I don’t know. No. I can’t think.”
“No,” Margol said into the phone. “Yes.” He hung up and looked at Shep. “He’s coming.”
“Can you help Wesley?” Shep said, and Margol took over, washing and tending the small slice in his arm.
Shep carefully lifted the bowl and carried it to the table. Klee was dabbing the wounds on Joey’s face, but stepped back when he saw Shep. “What do you need, brother?”
“Hold him up.”
Klee moved behind Joey and carefully lifted his shoulders, cradling his head, and Joey let out a rasping scream, the ice packs falling onto his chest, revealing his swollen, purple lids.
“I know it hurts,” Shep said softly, climbing onto the table and straddling Joey again. “Gonna make it better, Joey.” His eyes flicked to Juris. “After he drinks this, I want to get his clothes off to see if we missed anything.”
With Klee supporting him from behind, Shep cupped Joey’s chin and slowly brought the bowl to his lips. “Open up and drink this,” he said. Joey grimaced. “I know, you can go slow, but you need it.”
Wesley caught a glimpse of his own blood trickle down Joey’s chin, and he looked away.
“Come on, have some more,” Shep urged. “You know you need it.”
Wesley’s eyes slid to look at Margol, who pressed a thick, square bandage onto his wound. The brother’s plump lips were pressed tightly together, but other than that, he seemed calmer than the rest. It was still difficult to get used to looking at them, the brothers. For the first time, he wondered which of them Shep had a hold of, which he’d started to pull through the Cripulet that day, decades ago, when Wesley stopped him.
‘How could you?’
He winced at the memory, and Margol’s green eyes shifted to him. “Thanks for helping,” the redhead muttered, then moved off toward Shep.
Wesley’s eyes followed him, then were drawn to Shep as he climbed off the table, and Klee lowered Joey down again. “Did he drink it?” Wesley asked, feeling a bit useless despite his donation.
Shep brought the empty bowl into the kitchen and tossed it in the sink. “He drank it. There’s juice in the fridge, you should have a glass. How do you feel your training went today? Honestly? How far did you guys get?”
“Very well, actually,” Wesley said. “By the end Juris was throwing me double targets, and I was able to destroy one and deflect the other.” He shrugged. “I mean, eventually. After I fucked up your wall a few times.”
Shep nodded. “That’s good. Good. I knew you’d learn fast.”
“Why are you asking me this now?” he said, though he feared he already knew.
“Because you may have to turn Allisto to fucking paste.”
A heartbreaking, mewling sound was coming from Joey, like he wanted to weep but his throat wasn’t working right. Remembering the dark bruises around his neck, Wesley closed his eyes, biting back tears. A memory of himself in a similar condition made this even harder.
Shep jogged back over to Joey and began whispering to him, dabbing his head with a wet cloth. Watching Shep heal his chosen one was conflicting for Wesley. He treated Joey with such tenderness. He’d tended Wesley’s wounds once, too. But it was Shep who’d inflicted them in the first place.
“Klee, apply the balm to his face, but first, get the pain meds from the cabinet, give him a double dose. Juris, help me get his clothes off.”
A cell phone rang and Margol pulled it out of his pocket. “Litner’s out front,” he called to Shep. “He’s got one of the soldiers with him.”
Oh, thank God, Wesley thought. Not that he thought Allisto was still out there, it was clear to him that this had been a message. Whether he’d needed Joey’s blood or not, the savagery of the attack was meant for Shep’s eyes. For Shep’s pain. It turned Wesley cold. He longed to see the face of someone he trusted; he wanted Litner here. The man had a way about him, like he could instill a sense of calm into Armageddon.
“I’ll let him in,” Wesley said.
“The fucking hell you will,” Shep said, as he set Joey’s jeans aside on a chair. “Stay the hell inside, I’m not risking you too.” He trotted down the short set of stairs to the front door.
Wesley glanced toward the table and caught Margol smiling at him as he took Joey’s bloodied shirt from Juris and set it down. The ginger brother walked over. “You look frightened, chosen one.”
“Please don’t call me that,” Wesley said. “And of course I’m frightened.”
“Don’t worry,” Margol said. “Everything will be fine.”
“But...” Wesley lowered his voice. “Shep just said he might want me to turn Allisto to paste.”
Margol raised his eyebrows, then nodded. He gave Wesley’s shoulder a quick pat. “If that happens, I promise, you won’t be alone.” He looked into Wesley’s eyes for a long moment. “You’re going to be great.”
Wesley frowned at his back as he walked away. Everyone he’d spoken to, Patrick, Robin, Litner, had all said Margol was the coldest of the brothers. Yet it seemed he was trying to become Wesley’s friend. It was disturbing and confusing.
Especially since Margol seemed the only one of the group not in an emotional panic over Joey’s attack. But it was more than that, and Wesley chilled further at the thought.
The red-haired brother seemed downright cheerful about it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Shep led Litner and Tyler Palumbo up the stairs, each dressed down in casual clothes albeit bulging with weapons. When they rounded the corner they both stopped, and Palumbo gasped. “Fuck me,” he whispered.
Litner was not immune to the surreal shock of the image: Joey sprawled back on a wooden table, arms stretched out on either side as the brothers administered to him, broken, bloodied, and battered in nothing but a pair of white briefs. Simultaneously, Klee, Juris, and Margol looked up, and the picture was complete: the fallen messiah surrounded by angels.
“Quit staring like a douche and get your ass over here, Litner,” Shep barked from where he stood at the sliding glass door. And just like that, the spell was broken, reminding them there was nothing heavenly in their midst.
Litner and Palumbo moved toward Shep, and Wesley rounded the breakfast nook and sidled up to them, his face chalky white. “You all right, Wesley?” Litner asked.
“Whyyy does everyone ask him that?” Joey slurred.
“I gave Joey painkillers,” Shep said to Litner. “He’s a mess, but he’ll live.”
“Show me where it happened,” Litner said.
Shep leaned into the glass. “Over there.” He pointed. “I found him at the edge of the woods. I think Allisto brought him out a little farther for the attack. Joey had to...” A sob hiccupped from him. “He had to crawl back.”
Litner glanced at Shep. He’d seen him this upset only once. The night of the raid, after Allisto exploded in a burst of sparks. How things had changed, and yet not. Destruction followed Shep like an eager puppy.
He knew Shep would not want sympathy or kind words, so he kept his tone level. “Was Joey outside for some reason?”
“If he was, he was barely outside. He had splinters in his hands, wood from the deck. I think Allisto dragged him out of the house somehow.” He turned to Litner and glanced at the soldier beside him. “Hey.”
“This is Tyler Palumbo.”
Shep gave a slight nod. “Before I doped him, Joey said something about trying to stop him. He put up a fight and still ended up like that. Allisto’s still new to this world, Litner. I know Allisto has experience in the flesh,
but he shouldn’t be this powerful already. He came back different. Strong and vicious. He’s not the same brother as before.”
“Great,” Litner said. “He came back different. You said the same about your old pal, Preet. The fun never stops.”
“I’m very serious. Joey’s strong now. And he’s fast, and he has extraordinary abilities. But Allisto...tore him apart.” He brought his knuckle to his mouth, staring over at Joey. “I know you’re worried about the others, Patrick and the followers. But I’m pretty sure my brother’s focus is only on me. At least for now.”
Litner nodded, glancing at Joey. “It would seem so. Are you telling me you can’t handle Allisto on your own? I can give you firepower but I’d like to avoid another public showdown like what happened with Preet. Do you think Allisto’s…abilities are equivalent to that?”
Shep blinked slowly. “We’re going to have to make a plan. Draw him out someplace away from the public eye. As for his abilities…I suspect we’ll need all hands on deck for this.”
Litner looked at Wesley, then Shep did too.
Wesley shivered. “I’ll do whatever I can to help,” he said. “But I think everyone here knows I’m not a brave man.”
“No one’s sending you as a lamb to the slaughter, kid,” Shep said. “What I’m thinking is a focused, group attack. But the biggest advantage we have is that Allisto doesn’t know you have any abilities at all. I’m not putting this on you, Wes, but I’d like you to participate in case we need the help.”
“Agreed,” Litner said. “You have a strategy in mind? Your brother clearly knows who’s in this house, he won’t risk a direct attack with everyone here. He hid in the shadows until he saw an opportunity.”
Shep looked out the back door. “We have to find a way to lure him to a decided location, where we can close in on him. Overpower him.”
“Just so I’m clear,” Litner said, “are you planning to…kill your brother?”
“Yes.”