The Brimstone Network (Brimstone Network Trilogy) (14 page)

But it wasn’t an ordinary spider; the arachnid harbored the essence of Crowley, and had come especially to speak with him. At first he believed that it was a crazy dream, but as the spider spoke, explaining what it was offering, Tobias realized the opportunity being presented to him.

The legendary Crowley, one of the planet’s most powerful magick users, would cure his sister, and all he had to do was betray the man, and the organization that he despised more and more each day with every fiber of his being.

His response required little thought, and a bargain was struck.

One of the small, hooded creatures approached Tobias, and he left the disturbing memories of the past behind as he turned his attention to it.

“Yes?” he asked.

The hunched-back creature reached up to pull its hood away to reveal a deformed version of Crowley himself, its head unusually large, its eyes wide and bulging; a product of some twisted, supernatural version of cloning.

The duplicate opened it mouth wider than Tobias would
have imagined possible, and the voice of Crowley echoed from somewhere inside.

“I need you, Tobias,” the ancient sorcerer hissed, using the deformed clone as a kind of speaker. “There is still much to be done before the reshaping of the world.”

The creature closed its gaping mouth, pulling the hood back over its malformed head as it resumed its duties within his sister’s chamber.

How many more errands will there be?
Tobias thought, looking at his sister floating inside the scarlet crystal.

How much evil do I have to unleash before you can come back to me?

And he left the chamber, the question gnawing at what little still remained of his soul.

B
ram crouched low, preparing for an attack as the diminutive creatures closed the circle around him and Stitch.

“What’s that old saying?” Bram asked, sizing up the creatures. They were short, muscular, their heads large and ovular, wearing body armor that looked to have been made from the shells of some sort of insect.

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire.”

Stitch’s hand dropped down hard upon his shoulder. “Relax. Things may not be as bad as they appear.”

There was a commotion amongst the creatures, a group of them moving aside to allow another of their kind to approach. His bug armor was more elaborate, the headdress that he wore looking as though a huge beetle were sitting on top of his head.

Bram assumed that this was their leader.

The creature studied them with cautious eyes, rubbing a stubby hand along the bottom of his square chin as he paced before them.

“Why have you crossed to our world?” the leader suddenly asked, pointing an accusatory finger causing Bram to stumble back.

Stitch stepped around him, hands at his side. He bowed at the waist before the tribe’s leader.

“Great Chieftain Herlethingus, we mean you no offense, and have only come to your beautiful world to escape an evil that pervades our own and would do us harm.”

Bram looked quickly to his friend. “Do you know him?”

Stitch did not answer, waiting for the chieftain’s response.

“How is it that you know of me?” Herlethingus spoke. “I have no memory of your like.”

The warriors grew more agitated, their circle closing tighter around them.

“I am made up from the parts of many warriors who have long since left the living,” Stitch started to explain, pointing out the thick lines of scar that covered his body. “And one such part retains the pleasant memories of Chieftain Herlethingus and his most gracious hospitality.”

Stitch held out the hand that had opened the tree passage, fingers splayed. “And as this hand remembers, so do I.”

The chieftain came closer to examine the scars upon Stitch’s body. The warriors murmured excitedly amongst themselves at this newest development.

Herlethingus took hold of Stitch’s large hand, examining it very closely.

“I remember this hand,” the chieftain stated. “A powerful hand filled with powerful magicks.” Herlethingus nodded. “It is good to see that it did not go to waste after death.”

The chieftain released Stitch’s hand and turned to his warriors.

“Herlethingus has determined that the large one is made from the parts of many … and one such part belonged to one who was a friend of the Mauthe Dhoog of Guttswallow.”

The chief paused for dramatic effect, puffing out his chest as he made his decree. “And one part that is friend to the Mauthe Dhoog is better than no parts. I say we bid them welcome.”

And with the chieftain’s words, the warriors grunted their approval in unison, immediately lowering their weapons in a show of acceptance.

“Now you will come with us,” Chieftain Herlethingus proclaimed. “And you and your companion will know the hospitality of my clan.”

The warriors came to stand upon either side, guiding them down a winding path that seemed to travel deeper into the strange environment.

“The Mauthe Dhoog?” Bram asked, following the chieftain and his soldiers, careful not to lose his footing on the spongy surface upon which they walked.

“That is what they call their kind,” Stitch explained. “We know them simply as boggarts … and Guttswallow is their home.”

“Lovely,” Bram muttered, careful not to let the sticky moisture dripping down from somewhere up above get on his clothes.

“Yes, lovely,” Chieftain Herlethingus agreed, turning
around to dazzle Bram with a proud, toothy grin. “The great beast is very lovely indeed.”

Bram had no choice but to smile politely and agree.

The chief looked away, and Bram leaned in closer to Stitch. “The great beast?” he asked.

Stitch nodded. “Yes, the Mauthe Dhoog believe that their home is inside the belly of a great beast that swims through the vast oceans of magick in this dimension.”

Bram stopped short, looking around at his bizarre environment: the dripping, fleshy walls, the spongy pockmarked ground beneath his feet, the odd vegetation that grew from various cracks and crevices that looked more animal than vegetable, as well as the occasional rumble of thunder that could very well have been the grumble of a hungry stomach.

“Is it?”

Stitch just smiled and said nothing, continuing to follow the Mauthe Dhoog as they led them to their destination.

The village of the Mauthe Dhoog was suddenly sprawled before them, a cluster of tents of various sizes. The women, children, and elders left whatever it was they were doing to welcome home the warriors of their tribe.

At first the villagers appeared wary upon seeing that there were strangers in their midst, but after speaking with
some of the warriors, and seeing that the chieftain seemed perfectly at ease, they became accepting as well.

The chieftain turned to Bram and Stitch, a trail of tiny and curious Mauthe Dhoog children behind him. “You will rest and then share a great meal with us,” he proclaimed. “A celebration of your return.”

He reached out for Stitch’s hand, holding it up for the villagers to see. They all began to clap and cheer, as if recognizing the appendage.

“That would be most wonderful,” Stitch said, accepting the chief’s invitation with a nod of his head.

Bram nudged his friend’s side. “Do we really have time for this?” he asked in a whisper. He took the folded files from his back pocket, waving them at his friend. “I have to find these people fast if I’m going to try to start the Network up again.”

“And you will,” Stitch reassured him. “But we’re exhausted and hungry right now, and we’re not going to be functioning on anything close to peak efficiency. I can’t imagine that evil will grow any stronger if we stop for a nap and a quick bite with our gracious hosts.”

Bram slowly turned around to see that others of the clan had joined the chieftain.

“I guess you’re right,” Bram begrudgingly accepted, as they were escorted to one of the larger tents.

“You rest in here,” the chief said, pulling back the tent flap to allow them access.

The Mauthe Dhoog left them alone. Stitch immediately went to a corner where a woven blanket had been placed upon the fleshy floor, and laid his weary body down upon it.

“Losing limbs and casting spells is exhausting work,” the patchwork man said, getting comfortable. “A nap will help to recharge the batteries, and I suggest you do the same.” He pointed to another blanket laid out on the floor on the other side of the hut.

“I’m not really tired,” Bram said, shaking his head. “I think I’m going to look at these.” He patted the files. “I’d like to know something about the people my father picked before I meet them.”

There was a crude three-legged table in the room’s corner and he lowered himself to the floor to sit in front of it. He set the files down on the table-top and opened the first.

“Wake me up when the feast starts,” Stitch said from across the hut, only seconds before going completely silent.

But Bram didn’t mind, already deep into the first of the files.

Reading about whom his father had chosen to be one of the special members of a new Brimstone Network.

11.
EMILY LARCH’S STOMACH GROWLED SO LOUDLY
that it sounded as though she had some kind of wild animal locked up inside her.

The thought made her smirk, but it still didn’t change her gnawing hunger. She should have forced herself to eat something before going out, but she was so nervous that she was sure it would have made her sick.

Standing in the shadows of the parking lot of her school, Emily was glad that she was alone. There was nothing worse than having your stomach make gross noises in front of the wrong people.

And they were all here tonight, no doubt about that.

She watched as Annie Ritchfield and Brianna Knox were dropped off in front of the gym by Annie’s father in his new
Mercedes. Emily had walked the five miles from home, even though she was sure that her dad wouldn’t have had any problems at all dropping her off in their ten-year-old minivan, if he had known she was going to the dance.

Her parents thought she was staying at her friend Cindy’s house, which was where she would eventually end up … after she got this stupid dance thing out of her system.

The scent of Brianna’s perfume lingering in the air hit her like a slap in the face and she wrinkled her nose in disgust. It may have cost a lot of money, but it still smelled like rotten orange peels to her.

Standing in the shadows, Emily again asked herself why she was there. She hadn’t gone to any other school functions this year, and hadn’t felt like she’d been missing out on anything.

But that was before Ben Turner started to be nice to her.

Just thinking of him she felt her stomach do a double backflip, and she couldn’t even imagine what would happen if she actually had a conversation with him.

I’d probably pass out, or worse … throw up.

More kids from her junior high class were showing up at the school, parents driving up to the gym entrance one after another. She couldn’t see who some of them were
from where she was standing, but within seconds their smell identified them.

Emily wasn’t sure if she’d ever get used to that, knowing her classmates through smell.

It is all so … freakish.

She hadn’t seen Ben arrive yet, but thought that maybe he was already inside. She was tempted to leave, a part of her trying to convince herself how much better she’d feel if she went home, had something to eat, maybe watched some TV. There were a whole bunch of shows she’d TiVo’d that she hadn’t had time to watch yet.

But she had sworn earlier tonight that she wasn’t going to give in to the urge to hide.

Since her thirteenth birthday, when things had really started to change for her, she’d found it easier to hide herself away than deal with the problem, and everything had pretty much been just fine. But since noticing Ben Turner—
or was it Ben noticing me
—Emily realized that she didn’t want to be like that anymore.

Her problem was her own, and it wouldn’t be going away anytime soon. She couldn’t talk to her family about it—just imagining how they would react was enough to make her skin break out—and she doubted that any
school guidance counselor or psychologist would have anything really helpful to say either.

She’d talked about it a bit online—in some chat rooms—never giving out her real name, or where she lived. The people who connected with her all pretty much said the same thing: that she had to just accept who she was and stop hiding from it.

Easy for them to say.

She knew that they were right, but hadn’t done anything about it … that is, until Ben Turner.

Her skin tingled just thinking about him, and she remembered how he had come up to her locker just before first period at the beginning of last week.

“Gonna be at the spring dance?”
he’d asked her, flicking his head, tossing his dark bangs to one side so that she could see one of his really cute brown eyes.

She couldn’t remember if she’d even answered him, but did know that she’d smiled like a big fat idiot. Yet another one of her finer moments.

Emily wanted to prove to Ben Turner—
and to herself
—that she wasn’t a big fat idiot. And hiding away in her room eating Ben & Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk while watching TV wasn’t going to help.

The flow of traffic to the school had slowed down quite a bit, and she wondered if what was going on in the world, with those Brimstone Network people getting killed and all, might have changed some people’s minds about coming tonight.

She recalled some disturbing images from a news broadcast that she’d seen earlier that night of some kind of sea monster attacking a cruise ship as the navy tried to kill it.

They said that the world was much less safe now that there were creepy things running around with nobody to stop them.

Maybe someplace else in the world, Emily thought, but she doubted that evil creatures would be so desperate as to come around here. Covington, West Virginia, was the most boring place on earth, and it would serve the evil things right if they came here and died a slow death from boredom.