Underhill squinched his eyes a bit, an expression that tugged at his scar, and said. "It's still too early to tell. But I think you're right. It's past time we got involved."
"And the uncle?" Arch asked, his tone chilly. He'd never gotten along with Gerrick Merryweather.
"We'll cross that bridge when we reach it, old friend."
The older man nodded and sat down at the tall front counter, opening an old ledger and marking out a few notations against a long column he'd been working at all morning. He wouldn't watch the two young people so blatantly tempt fate for something as fickle and unpredictable as love.
Underhill stood at the window, continuing to watch Brandon and Claire, trying to read what he could from their long embrace and their tentative kisses. It hadn't happened yet, of that he could be somewhat certain. Otherwise, the dark and terrible things happening in Matheson would have already escalated to more horrifying levels. He shared Arch's disdain for what he was seeing from the two young people, but for different reasons. He wasn't opposed to the two young people falling in love, not at all. He just wished they would be more careful. He knew that he wasn't the only one watching them and for much the same reason.
CHAPTER 3
Faux stopped walking and breathed deep, the clean forest air almost overwhelming his lungs. Looking to the left and the right, he could make out the other men moving through the trees at the same slow pace that he was going. Teague on the right. Baker on the left. Past them, the other deputies were spread out at thirty yard intervals, widening the search pattern to over two hundred yards across. Always keeping each other in sight and within shouting distance, they knocked down brambles and limbs to hammer an ugly path through the trees, occasionally calling out their position if they were ever out of sight for more than a few seconds.
The sun was low in the sky, dipping toward the horizon, when Teague called out to Baker and Faux. "Let's bring it in, guys."
Faux waited for Baker to reach him before they walked together to where Teague waited. They all stood in a circle of open ground in the middle of the woods as they waited for the other searchers to arrive. Baker stared out into the woods, watching the shadows grow longer, when the last of the deputies reached them and Teague said. "We're done for now. We'll come back at daybreak. We won't gain anything staying after dark and I don't want us ending up like the others."
A couple of the other deputies were nodding in tense agreement. But Baker was shaking his head, peering up at the sky. He said. "Derek, we still have a couple of hours of light. A little more searching might get us something? Especially if these things are night feeders. We might see something after dark?" He looked at Faux, perhaps expecting him to back his play, but Faux was already shaking his head.
Faux said. "We're not ready for whatever is out here. I'm sure of that. We need more men. And we need light."
Baker gave over with only a little grumbling and soon they were back at the Mill. While Baker gathered in his team and they began backing up their equipment, Faux and Teague stood next to the big silo and watched the growing shadows. Teague pulled out a wrinkled pack of cigarettes, offering Faux one before lighting up. Huffing out smoke, he looked at Faux and said. "So why exactly is a Bureau man following around the Oklahoma State Police? And don't feed me that line about inter-agency co-operation." He had the good grace to smile while he said it, to take the sting out of his words.
Faux paused a moment to light his own cigarette, then said. "What's to tell? I stepped on some toes."
"Must have been sensitive toes?"
"Nah," Faux looked at Teague and grinned. "Expensive shoes." The two men walked over to the front of the silo. The door hung open, the fading sunlight not quite reaching the back wall of the silo. Inky darkness hung above, broken only by pinpricks of light, shining through rusted out places in the metal roof. Neither man moved to step inside the silo. Faux said. "This is some kind of strange town you have here, chief. I completely expected to find reporters crawling all over the scene? Missing children, as well as a missing police force, tends to draw them in like jackals?"
Teague didn't answer right away. He smoked his cigarette for a long ten count, then spoke softly. His tone was introspective. "Matheson is a quiet place. A tourist town, with its share of secrets. Secrets that the town's leaders keep a very tight lid on, just in case they hurt the town's best interests."
Faux nodded. He's seen it in lots of towns, cut off from a state's central government. "And that includes telling the press what they can and can't report on?" He shook his head. "You're gonna have to teach me how they accomplish that? I could use that trick back in D.C."
Teague shrugged. "That's not something I know much about. Or approve of." His face and voice went hard. "Chief Wyntrop liaised with the Town Manager and the Council. I'm only acting chief until they get around to replacing me."
"Who are they going to find that's more qualified than you?" Faux asked in all seriousness.
"Keeping the town's secrets and not asking questions seem to be the only qualifications that they're interested in, at least in a chief." Teague dropped his cigarette half smoked, crushing it under his boot heel before going on. "I'm not the most popular officer with the council. The only reason I'm acting chief now is because Wyntrop had his favorites with him when he went missing."
Faux can tell this is a touchy subject for Teague, so he moved on to something else that was nagging at him. "Baker hasn't brought it up yet, but is there a decent motel in town that we can hole up in? If we're going to start at daybreak, I'd rather not have to drive two hours to get back here first."
"Don't blame you there, at all." Teague said. "I'll point you to a good place. Is the State going to want to foot the bill for an overnight, with it only being a two hour drive?"
Faux smiled. "We'll let Uncle Sam pay the tab. These guys have been good enough to let me tag along without giving me too hard a time. It's the least I can do. Besides, if I can rack up a few thousand dollars in motel charges, I might actually get my A.D. to return my calls."
Laughing softly, Teague walked off to talk to his deputies. He talked to all four of them, pairing them off. "Two of you stay here tonight. Keep your eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary, but don't go into the woods. Try not to get out of the car, if you can help it. That's an order." The two men looked suitably impressed by Teague's words, though it could just as easily have been the sight of the taped off vehicles belonging to their missing brothers. They each gave a tight nod before getting into their car.
Teague waited for Faux and Baker to get into their vehicle before climbing into his car and pulling up alongside them. He leaned out of his open window and waited for theirs to go down before calling out. "Follow me into town and I'll get you and your team settled in at the Hilton."
As they fell in behind Teague's car, Faux looked over at Baker and said. "The Hilton?"
Baker just shrugged. "It must be a nice place."
The Hilton was actually a squat L-shaped motel called The Crane, right off of the main highway. It was cheap and clean, the furniture worn but comfortable looking. After getting rooms for himself, Baker, and his team, Faux found himself alone in his room. More tired than the day's activities could account for, Faux took off his coat and tie and kicked off his shoes before sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling out his cell phone. It took three tries for his call to go through. The cell signal in Matheson was sketchy at best, but after getting up and standing in the open doorway to his room, he finally got through to his office. He checked his messages and gave his location to his Assistant Director's secretary. She seemed cool and distant, though he'd known her for over a year. His orders were still the same. Liaise with the state crime lab and help them in whatever capacity they required.
Disconnecting, Faux stood in the open doorway and looked out over what he could see of the town. A cold wind lashed his face and he suddenly felt like he was being watched. There was something out there in the shadows of Matheson. Somethin
g cold and wild, challenging him to come out and face it, to join it in the shadows.
Still feeling that dark gaze upon him, Faux turned and closed the door.
CHAPTER 4
Brandon stood in Highgarden's weapons room, staring hard at the curved blade in its fine glass case. The Phoenix glittered dangerously in the display light, catching and holding Brandon's gaze. It called forth vivid memories of how it had felt in his hand, the scorching power that seemed to coarse through the sword's grip and into his body.
The stone in his right hand seemed to pulse with warmth and Rok's voice spoke up inside his head."An ancient blade. Strange to find it in the keeping of the last of the Stormlords.”
"What do you know of it?" Brandon whispered aloud.
Rok said nothing for a long moment, a pregnant silence that felt thoughtful, before replying. "Once, when the gods were young and not the weak broken things that they've become, the Phoenix walked among them."
"The Phoenix was a god?"
"No. Not a god. The Phoenix was a force beyond the gods of men. It held itself apart, a wild and uncontrollable thing.” Was that anger in Rok's tone? Or grief? "Too powerful to be allowed to roam free, tinkering with the destinies of man. So all of the gods of man and beasts came together and bound the Phoenix."
"Bound it?" Brandon narrowed his eyes. "How do you bind a god?"
"With fire and steel." The god said in a hard voice. "And blood. Oceans of blood."
Brandon stared at the sword, at the intricate designs worked into the hilt and pommel, at the light rippling along the blade like liquid flame, and he felt cold. "But why bind it at all? Was it evil?"
"Good and evil are human concepts, Storm Son. There are things in this universe, in all universes, that are beyond judgement. Beyond all laws." Rok spoke the words, but didn't sound like he completely believed them.
"Then why are you bothering to help me?" Brandon asked. "That seems more good than evil to me?"
Rok chuckled. "Gods can become bored just as easily as humans, little man."
Brandon was quiet a moment. Then said. "You still haven't told me why the Phoenix had to be bound?"
"The Phoenix was unpredictable." Rok answered. "And more powerful than any single god or goddess had any right to be. So it was bound and hidden away."
"Bound inside the sword?"
"The Phoenix is the sword." Rok said.
Brandon sighed. He stepped closer to the glass and rested his fingertips against the glass. He was learning quickly that these gods of his father's were grand-masters of double-talk. There were countless shades and nuances to everything they told him, rendering what they said almost pointless. He asked. "What happens if the Phoenix gets free?"
"Depends on who frees it. The prophecy is pretty vague about the fate of all of the worlds if anyone other than the Reclaimer releases the Phoenix. It might very well destroy reality."
"The Reclaimer?" Brandon felt the name was familiar, it tickled at his memory, like a name on the tip of his tongue. "Where have I heard that before?"
"The prophecy of the Reclaimer is an old one, boy. The oldest on this world and many others."
"And the Phoenix is part of this prophecy?"
Rok chuckled inside of Brandon's skull. "If there is one thing that human beings and the Pantheon share, it is an unhealthy pre-occupation with prophecy. It is said that the Reclaimer will release the Phoenix, binding its soul to his own."
Brandon was quiet for a moment. He thought of his mother and father, dead and buried, and his anger flared white hot. The light on the blade seemed to flash, mirroring the inferno within Brandon's heart. His voice was cold when he asked. "So, when is all this reclaiming and binding supposed to happen anyway?"
"Who knows?" Rok said from a vast empty place in Brandon's mind. "There lies the Phoenix. All it needs is for the Reclaimer to show up and lay claim to it."
Brandon asked a question that was weighing heavily upon him. "Am I supposed to be the Reclaimer?" He wasn't sure how he felt about the possibility that he might be some sort of prophesied savior. It was an alternating feeling of debilitating terror and excitement, hollowing out his stomach and giving him a twisted sense of internal vertigo.
Rok was silent for so long that Brandon started to think that the god wasn't going to answer, but his voice came, soft and as close to regretful as the boy had ever heard it. "It definitely seems like it may be your destiny, Bran. I'm truly sorry."
"What happens to this Reclaimer at the end of this all knowing prophecy? Does he get a happy ending?" He is unable to look away from the Phoenix, its gleaming length seeming to call to him and repel him at the same time.
"The Reclaimer performs many feats and overcomes terrible obstacles. He saves countless lives and protects the worlds from darkness beyond time and space."
"That doesn't really answer my question, Rok?"
"Prophecy only has what power you give it, Bran. If you decide to walk its path, you will find that it is a harsh mistress. It requires sacrifice, much as the gods do."
Brandon spoke in a low calm voice as he asked. "How does the Reclaimer die?"
"Badly. And painfully." Rok's voice is as hard and implacable as the mountains. "But his death will save the world of the living." He added. "Every good thing comes with a price."
Faux was sitting on the bed, shirt unbuttoned and watching TV, when there was a knock at the door. Getting up, he walked barefoot to the door and opened it wide. He was only half surprised to find Teague. The acting chief was in street clothes, a ball cap pulled down low over his eyes. He took in Faux's bare feet and said. "I'm taking Baker and his crew to the Lumberjack to get a bite to eat. If you're interested you can ride down in my rig?"
"The Lumberjack?"
"It's a little diner on Main Street, mostly burgers and fries. They have one of the best rib-eyes in the state." Behind Teague, Faux can see Baker wrangling his team into their vehicles.
"I could eat." Faux said, leaving the door open as he put his shoes on and grabbed his jacket. Locking the room up, he followed Teague to his idling squad car. It was a short hop down the road to Main Street, with a little idle chit chat, before they were climbing out of the car and following the others into the warmly lit diner.
It was a comfortable looking place. Not crowded. A long wood and chrome counter, with red vinyl bar stools and booths flanking the entrance on both sides. Baker's team took one of the booths, while Baker and Faux took a booth with Teague. Once everybody had hot food in front of them and were nice and comfortable, the men started talking.
Teague was watching the other people in the diner when he said. "I'm not sure what we can do tomorrow that we didn't do earlier today." His tone was a mix of tired and something else, something that sounded unnatural coming from the chief, even knowing him a short time. It took Faux a moment to realize the other man sounded unsure of himself.
"Maybe if we can call in more men?" Faux said, taking a drink of his iced tea. The food was really quite good, as was the atmosphere in the diner. There were Norman Rockwell prints on the finished oak walls, as well as framed newspapers from the town's past. There was a sound system, playing a mix of Blues and Classic Country songs. A Muddy Waters song was playing, giving the place a distinctively southern feel.
Baker and Teague shared a look, before Baker shook his head. His tone is thoughtful. "It's going to be hard to get more men, not without bringing in the media and outside law enforcement."
"Why wouldn't we want to get the media involved?" Faux asked, honestly puzzled. "I know the press can be a pain in the ass, but if you use them right, they can be an asset."
Teague and Baker look at each other again, something silent passing between them. Before Faux can call them on their evasiveness, a tough looking old man with a scar on his face stopped at their booth and addressed Teague. "Derek Teague, I thought that was you."
Teague was caught off guard by the old man's sudden appearance and didn't object when the man sat down in the booth
beside him. He stretched his hand over the table and said, in his gruff voice. "Alric Underhill."
"Darius Faux. It's good to meet you, Mr. Underhill." Faux shook the man's hand, surprised by the strength in that callused iron grip. Underhill gave him a nod, his piercing eyes seeming to read more in one glance than most people retained from hours of study.
Underhill gave every man at the table a long look and shook his head. "I've never seen a sorrier looking lot of law enforcement professionals in my life. I take it things in Matheson are worse than I thought?" When Baker and Teague cut their eyes towards Faux, their faces tight with the same evasive look as before, Underhill gave them a sharp look before addressing himself to Faux. "Special Agent Faux, these men seem to be worried that I will reveal secrets to you, secrets best left buried. Myself, I think that you are a man with secrets of your own, else you wouldn't be in our neck of the woods."
Faux met the old man's gaze and said, his voice soft. "I never identified myself as a Special Agent, Mr. Underhill? And I've never met anybody who didn't have a few secrets?"
Underhill grunted and narrowed his eyes at the other man, pulling the scar tight under his left eye and giving him a fearsome look. "Matheson's secrets have killed many a poor soul, Agent Faux." His voice low and soft. "And, in some cases, they have done much worse."
Faux said nothing for a long moment, his mind drawn to his own secrets, to dark and frightening places, filled with bones and blood and bullets.
Fire And Steel (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 2) Page 3