The Brimstone Network (Brimstone Network Trilogy) (22 page)

“Unless they got their grubby claws on another little girl, she’s in there, all right,” Bogey said, hands cupped around his face as he peeked inside.

Dez started to bring Bogey down when he heard his father’s gasp.

His concentration momentarily broken, Bogey dropped to the platform.

Some of the beasts that had been thrown from the platform were making their way back up, crawling over the sides.

Bogey came around the case rubbing his butt. “Any landing you can walk away from, I guess.”

“Think we might have a problem here,” Dez said as his father backed them up to where Bogey was standing.

“More than one,” Bogey said, staring at him with bulbous eyes. “Dude, your nose.”

Dez reached up to feel the steady stream of warmth running down his face. His hand came away covered in blood.

C
rowley’s magick sought him out.

As he and the others charged the sorcerer and his monstrous servants, Bram knew that he would be the first target of Crowley’s spells.

Take out the leader, and watch what remained of the opposition crumble. It was one of the oldest tricks of combat, and one he was hoping to use himself.

Bram charged low, running across the platform toward his target.

He should have been terrified, but strangely enough, he wasn’t. There was just too much at stake right now.

I’ll be scared later
, he told himself.
If I manage to come out of this alive.

Tendrils of crackling blue energy cut through the air at him, magickal power that he was sure would have destroyed him in the most painful of ways if allowed to touch him.

But Bram would not allow it.

He tapped into his spectral nature—if there was ever a time he needed it, it was now. He felt his body grow lighter, and the bolts of death magick passed through him
without any effect. The same couldn’t be said for the rock ogres charging to intercept him from the left flank. There was a flash of blue, and it was as if they had never been there at all.

Bram kept his eyes on his opponent, using the skills he’d learned in P’Yon Kep to fight his way toward the sorcerer. His hands and feet were his primary weapons, with a little help from his spectral birthright, and one after another, the monsters fell, but he did not take his eyes from his true objective.

Crowley.

The sorcerer watched him through the battling throng, continuing to hurl blasts of arcane energy that were doing far worse to his own minions, than they were to the boy.

And Bram kept on fighting, inch by inch, moving inexorably closer to his foe.

S
titch swung the giant hammer at the attacking forces of darkness, the force of the blow as it struck shattering bone, armor, and weaponry with ease.

“Now that’s more like it,” he growled, pleased that he’d picked up the heavy weapon from the ogre warrior he’d taken down only moments ago.

It seemed like some of the monstrous attackers had applied protective wards to their battle armor, wards that deflected some of the magickal spells that he used as weapons against Crowley’s soldiers. The battle hammer was just the thing to help deal with that.

With each swing he became more comfortable with the weapon of war, and with a mighty heart pounding in his chest, each new beat causing flashes of memory to explode in his mind. Memories of other times, of other battles, flooded his thoughts as he fought.

The flesh, bone, and muscle remembered.

And Stitch fought on, the living embodiment of the Brimstone Network, both past and present.

And with all his might, the future.

E
mily wanted to vomit, the taste of goblin blood still lingering in her mouth.

She had assumed her wolf form as soon as the monsters had reached them. Waiting until the last possible moment, she finally decided that maybe it would be a good idea when the tag team of goblins figured she’d be the easiest kill.

Not.

Her bestial form didn’t waste any time tearing into the goblins, pouncing on them, tearing them apart with her claws and fangs. Emily only wished for a bottle of water so she could wash the taste of goblin from her mouth.

But there wasn’t a chance for that, if they were going to survive—if the world was going to survive—she had to keep on fighting.

Which the wolf didn’t seem to mind at all.

T
he son of Stone was filled with surprises.

Crowley pulled back on his defenses, realizing that he was doing more damage to his own than to his advancing enemy.

The sorcerer was impressed. He had never seen an offspring of a Specter-human coupling with the ability to use the powerful talents of the ghostly species.

It would be a shame to kill him, but then again, what choice did he have?

Time was of the essence here. The longer this skirmish was allowed to go on, the greater the threat to his larger plan. This motley crew that fancied themselves as Brimstone operatives had to be put down at once.

“A minor inconvenience,” Crowley stated, looking over
his shoulder at the four corpses animated by the leaders of the Circle.

“This is what we feared,” the trow body stated.

“It’s nothing,” Crowley attempted to explain as he kept an eye on the situation. “I’ve planned for all contingencies. If you give me a moment, I’ll show you that …”

One by one the bodies went limp, falling to the platform, like puppets whose strings had been suddenly cut.

The Circle had abandoned him.

Crowley seethed.

Spinning toward the chaos of his minions in the midst of battle with the young upstarts, Crowley prepared to unleash the full fury of his power.

The magick exploded from his fingertips, filling the air with his destructive potential.

Friend or foe, it didn’t matter to him, for he did not have the patience, or time, to be selective. If all of them had to die for his dreams to become a reality …

So be it.

B
ram ghosted just before Crowley’s magick was unleashed.

He was in the midst of fighting a creature
equal parts rat and man, when it suddenly went tense, tossing back its head in a high-pitched screech.

He realized that they were all screaming, his people as well as the black sorcerer’s.

They had all been attacked by Crowley; the bloodthirsty villain not bothering to distinguish between those who had sworn allegiance to him, and his enemies.

Is it possible?
Bram wondered. Was Crowley insane enough that he’d kill his own people to see his plans fulfilled? He wondered about Stitch and Emily, Bogey, Desmond, and Douglas. Bram wanted to go to them, to make sure they were all right, but he knew, as much as it pained him, there were more important matters.

Matters that concerned the fate of every human being on the planet, and not just his friends.

Bram dropped to the platform along with the others, pretending that he, too, had been taken out by Crowley’s magick. He wanted to see what the black mage was planning next.

The sorcerer strode past him, muttering beneath his breath. Through cracked eyes Bram watched him approach the metal casing that likely contained the traitor’s sister, and if what Tobias had told him was true, the
weapon Crowley was going to use to achieve his goals.

Stealthily Bram rose to his feet. If he moved fast enough, he might be able to take the villain out. He held his breath and charged, running at full force toward the black sorcerer’s back.

It was then that Desmond chose to moan.

Crowley went rigid, turning his hawkish attention to the young man slumped in the wheelchair.

“How odd,” the sorcerer observed. “I thought for sure that was a death spell.”

Bram was momentarily relieved. If Dez was still alive, then hopefully …

Master Po had tried to teach him the importance of not being distracted, and Bram thought that he had pretty much mastered the art of full focus, but there were still times when things sort of slipped.

This was one of those times.

He was looking at Dez when he should have been focusing on Crowley.

One of the sorcerer’s spider limbs darted out from within his flowing black robes, the clawed tip of the insect-appendage striking his face and knocking him to the floor.

Bram struggled to stand, tripping over the bodies of
Crowley’s minions strewn about the floor of the platform.

“Must be losing my touch,” Crowley snarled, stalking toward him. “Or maybe I’m just famished.” The mage licked his thin, pale lips.

A fine, spidery webbing flowed from the tips of the sorcerer’s fingers and the ends of his four insect-like appendages, forming a kind of net that flowed down over Bram.

Common sense told him not to let the webbing touch him, and Bram ghosted, floating through the silky substance as it draped across some of the bodies on the floor. Though unconscious, they thrashed wildly.

“Tricky,” the black mage said. “But food is food.”

In his spectral form, Bram watched with horror as the bodies beneath the webbing wasted away, first to withered skeletons, and finally to dust, the battle armor that they had worn lying empty upon the floor.

Bram willed himself solid again, dropping to the platform, snatching up a bloodstained short sword that had once belonged to one of Crowley’s fallen servants, and launched himself at the sorcerer.

“Monster,” Bram hissed.

Crowley recoiled, the strands of his web drawn back like a whip. “Flattery won’t help you, boy,” the sorcerer
snarled. He snapped his hands forward, sending the energy-sapping strands toward him.

Bram reacted as he had been trained, slashing at the tendrils and cutting them away.

Crowley cried out, the severed webbing slithering through the air back into his hands.

“This is done,” Bram stated, hefting the weight of the sword in his hand. “Surrender now and we can …”

The evil sorcerer laughed, a horrible sound lacking any humor.

“Yes, boy, it is done,” Crowley stated, pulling his shadowy robes tighter about himself. “Done for you, for all your friends … and for the human race.”

He turned toward the metal case, one of his spider limbs reaching out. A crackle of blue lightning shot from the clawed tip striking the metal surface, and it began to glow menacingly.

“It’s only a matter of time now,” he stated with a grin.

The casing containing Tobias’s sister began to tremble and shake.

“The crystal shell that contained the child’s body has started to decay,” Crowley explained. “The energy contained within building up inside until …” The sorcerer
made the sound of an explosion using his hands to illustrate an expanding mushroom cloud.

“Stop it,” Bram demanded.

Crowley laughed again. “Or what?”

“You’re not going to kill yourself,” Bram stated, watching as the surface of the case grew brighter, the metal starting to bubble … to melt.

“You’re right,” Crowley said.

The sorcerer began to spell-cast, his hands moving through the air as he manipulated the magick he had conjured. A jagged hole formed in the air before him.

“I’m not staying to die,” Crowley proclaimed. “But here’s the predicament … your predicament,” he stated, black eyes glinting as he took hold of the sides of the tear in the fabric of reality, preparing to rip it open wider to make room for his escape.

“Do you stop me, the one responsible for the murder of your father and all that he stood for, or do you try to stop the detonation, no matter how pointless that action will be?”

Bram was frozen in indecision, looking from the glowing metal container to Crowley, and then back again.

He had to try.

“This isn’t over,” Bram yelled at the mage, pointing a
trembling finger at him as he moved toward the metal container.

The black mage started to laugh as he ducked into the darkness, but the laughter was swallowed by another sound.

The sound of magick unleashed.

Bram flinched as the body of Crowley hurtled back through the portal he had opened. The sorcerer’s body struck the glowing metal container, causing it to tumble over, crashing to its side upon the platform.

Bram looked toward the jagged opening hanging in the air, surprised to see someone emerging from the other side.

The figure stepped from the shadow passage and immediately doubled over to the floor, his hands smoldering with residual magickal energies. Slowly he raised his face, and Bram saw who it was.

“Tobias,” Bram whispered, stunned to see the young man still alive.

The traitor climbed to his feet just in time to be struck by a magickal blast that singed the air and hurled him violently to the floor.

Crowley’s body still crackled from the effects of Tobias’s attack.

Bram lunged toward the black mage, but he was swatted aside by one of the sorcerer’s spindly, insect limbs.

Landing in a heap beside the metal container, he was burned, pulling away from the pools of molten metal forming beneath the case. It wouldn’t be long until the power contained within was released.

Bram stared across the platform as the two magick users clashed. Energy so bright that it made him cover his eyes flashed as they ran at each other; bolts of mystical energy flowing from their hands. The two struck each other in an explosion of burning white light, and Bram watched through the nearly blinding haze as the two hurtled over the side of the platform to the cruelty of the desert below.

He kneeled before the container, the energy radiating from the case’s surface causing his flesh to prickle. His team was gradually recovering from Crowley’s magick as he called them into action.

“I could use some help over here,” he cried.

The radiation coming off of the case had increased, snaking arcs of dangerous paranormal energy leaking from tiny holes melting in the surface of the metal housing.

Bram forced himself to ghost.

“Stay back,” he warned, turning from the case to see
Stitch and Emily standing at a distance shielding their eyes from the glow. “What’s happening?” Emily growled, still wearing her wolf form. There was panic in her bestial tone, and rightfully so.