Bram did what he was told, taking hold of the steering wheel tightly in his hands. He glanced over through the right side window and glimpsed more of the batlike creatures scurrying along the wing of the plane, moving toward the remaining engine.
“There’s more of them on the other wing,” Bram announced. “What’re we going to do?”
“You’re gonna keep us in the air,” Stitch said from behind him. He could hear the man rummaging through the toolbox from the back.
“But I can’t … ,” Bram began, turning around in his seat.
Stitch was standing by the door, a large wrench clutched in one pale hand.
“You were taught how to fly a plane, am I correct?” he asked the boy.
“Yes, but I’ve never …”
“Then put the education to use,” Stitch said. He undid the latch, exposing the inside of the craft to the elements.
“What are you going to do?” Bram screamed over the roar of the wind.
Stitch grabbed hold of the door frame. “I’m going outside to see what I can do about our pest problem,” the patchwork man said.
And with no further thought, he was gone.
Stitch leaped from the doorway, onto the wing of the plane.
He landed on his stomach, the wind and rain doing everything in its power to knock him from his perch. Digging his fingers into the metal of the wing, Stitch found his hold, crawling across the slick surface toward the pair of creatures now tearing at the metal housing around the propeller.
He had to make this quick, or they’d soon be completely engineless. Holding tight with one hand, he raised the wrench and brought it down hard upon the surface of the wing. He hoped to scare the beasties, or at least distract them long enough that he could get to them and prevent them from doing any further damage.
The two gremlins stopped, staring down the wing at him through red, squinted eyes. They hissed, baring nasty teeth that could chew metal like bubble gum.
“Same to you!” Stitch bellowed over the wind, waving the large, metal wrench like a lure.
Their eyes bulged as he moved the tool through the air, as though he were waving a steak. The gremlins looked at the engine again, and then back to the wrench in his grasp, trying to decide which appealed to them more.
Stitch inched closer, striking the wing again with the wrench.
Both beasties looked up from the damage they’d begun on the engine and growled menacingly. They’d already torn through the protective casing, exposing some of the engine’s inner workings.
“Wouldn’t you like a bite of this?” he yelled, extending his arm holding the wrench and moving it around enticingly.
One of the gremlins took the bait, tiny razor-sharp claws sinking into the metal surface of the wing as it skittered closer, toothy mouth opening wide for a sampling.
There would be no biting.
Just as its jaws were about to close on the offered prize, Stitch acted. He whacked the monster across the head as hard as he could with the wrench. The blow was fierce, and the creature dropped to the wing in a daze. Stitch pulled himself closer and hit the beast again. Its head now dented and misshapen, the gremlin fell from the wing disappearing in the storm.
The next one would be more difficult, Stitch thought as he held on to the wing all the tighter, drawing himself closer to the engine and the final monster.
The gremlin had just taken a strip of metal casing into its mouth and was chewing furiously, as if afraid Stitch was going to try to take it away.
“Hey there, little beastie,” he growled over the screaming winds. “Wouldn’t ye like a taste of something like your brother just had?” He was just about in striking distance when he felt it on the back of his legs.
The gremlin at the propeller started to chatter and screech wildly as Stitch looked over his shoulder, and wished he hadn’t. The three gremlins from the other wing had decided to join the party, crawling up his body, their needle-sharp claws sinking into his flesh as they scrambled to get closer.
And they looked as though they might be willing to give something other than metal a taste.
Bram wasn’t all that experienced in flying airplanes.
He’d been taught in a private military school before his time in P’Yon Kep, but he hadn’t really had the opportunity to practice much.
Plus the fact that there was somebody fighting gremlins on one of the wings brought a whole new wrinkle to the mix that he’d never quite imagined.
Bram tried to keep the wings steady as he continued their descent. He didn’t have a clue as to where Stitch was bringing the plane down, but now, since they were short an engine, and could well be short their second and last, somewhere flat was probably the best idea.
He glanced out to see how Mr. Stitch was doing. He’d already seen the patchwork man deal with one of the nasty creatures, and now watched with interest as he slid closer to the last gremlin perched upon the engine.
There was a flutter of movement from the left-hand side window, and he glanced over to find that those gremlins were gone. Thumping and bumping sounds from above his head gave him a taste of a clue as to where they were going.
He quickly looked over to Stitch raising the wrench above his head to deal with what he thought was going to be the last of the gremlins.
Not a chance.
Bram wanted to yell, but he knew it would be useless. He was tempted to dip the right wing to dislodge the attacking beasts, but figured that would dislodge Mr. Stitch as well.
Meanwhile, the gremlins attacked.
Bram’s heart raced as he watched Stitch try to fight them off. The patchwork man swung the wrench wildly, striking one of the creatures and then another. But while he fought the three, the gremlin still crouched at the engine decided to join the fray, sinking its teeth into Mr. Stitch’s shoulder.
“No!” Bram cried out as a look of pain exploded across Stitch’s pale face.
Stitch let go of the wing to grab at the gremlin now attached to his shoulder, and Bram watched in absolute horror as he slid from the plane, taking two of the gremlins with him, clutched in his arms like groceries.
Bram’s thoughts raced and he squeezed the yoke so tightly that he thought the controls might very well break off in his hands, as near panic set in. What was he going to do?
And then he remembered the teachings of Master Po. “No matter what you believe,” the old man had said in that soft, emotionless voice that he had, “it can always be worse.”
Bram wasn’t sure if that was really true, but he had to try something. Clearing his mind of all clutter, he focused on the problem at hand.
Landing the plane.
Once that was done, he would deal with the rest.
The ground was quickly coming closer. Bram pulled back on the throttle and slowed the plane, spotting an expanse grassy field just below him. He was only a hundred yards away.
Suddenly the instrument panel before him exploded in a shower of sparks, and an acrid black smoke filled the cockpit. Through the din he could hear the sounds of inhuman growling and metal being chewed. The surviving gremlins had eaten through the plane.
Master Po had been right again: Yes, the situation could always get worse.
Bram could barely see through the windshield. Leaning to one side, he jammed his elbow against the side window, shattering it. He pushed the glass away, allowing some of the smoke to be sucked outside.
It was time to either land the plane or crash. Gently, he pulled back on the yoke, allowing the back wheels to touch the ground, then the front. He jammed his feet on the brake pedals as the plane bumped across the open field. The plane eventually came to a shuddering stop. He had done it, and a feeling of relief and exultation spread over him.
Then the control panel beneath him broke away with a loud snap. Forgetting his excitement, Bram looked down to see a gremlin’s extra-wide grin looking up at him as it attempted to crawl its way out from within the guts of the plane.
Without even thinking
, Bram took a deep breath and, forming a fist, punched the hungry creature in the space between its eyes.
The gremlin cried out, falling back inside the inner workings of the plane.
Cutting the remaining engine, Bram leaned back against the headrest and sighed with relief. One problem down, and many, many more to go, he thought as he undid his safety belt and moved back to the open door.
He jumped down to the ground, stumbled, and fell to his knees. The grass was wet, and he could feel it seeping through his heavy pants to chill his flesh, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He liked the feel of solid ground beneath him at the moment.
The sudden sound shattered the silence of the open field, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Bram knew what it was, having heard it only moments before as a gremlin tried to eat its way out from the plane’s instrument panel.
He whirled around to see a gremlin spring at him from a hiding place somewhere on the plane. It spread its spindly arms; the thin membrane of skin beneath them stretched taunt, acting as a kind of sail as it glided on the air currents toward him, mouth gaping wide to bite.
But it was snatched from the air before it reached him, yanked by the legs, and smashed repeatedly against the side of the plane until it wasn’t moving anymore.
Bram smiled with relief at the sight of his rescuer—Mr. Stitch.
Stitch dropped the gremlin to the ground, leaning against the side of the airplane as if exhausted. He was a sight; bloodied and bruised, clothing torn and tattered, one leg obviously broken, and he was missing his left arm.
“Are you all right?” Bram asked.
Stitch gave himself a once-over, stopping at his left shoulder.
“I should be fine,” he said, looking out over the field, eyes squinting as if looking for something.
“Just as soon as I find my arm.”
7.
TOBIAS BLAYLOCK SHIVERED, BUT NOT BECAUSE HE was cold.
To be in the presence of creatures such as these went against everything he’d been taught by his parents, by Elijah Stone … by the Brimstone Network.
He had been taught to destroy evil in all its forms, and here he was, a part of that very evil.
What would his mother and father have said?
“Who are they?” Tobias asked the sorcerer, his eyes fixed upon the forms made from the remains of the dead.
Crowley still had his arm around him, holding him tight. Tobias’s skin crawled from the contact.
“Partners in crime, dear boy,” the sorcerer stated. “Representatives of races that loathed the Network and humanity as much as you and I do.”
Tobias wanted to correct the sorcerer, to tell him that he didn’t hate humanity; it was only the Network and all it had taken from him that he despised.
“Without their help we could never have achieved our goal,” Crowley gloated, pulling him closer. “We make such the team, don’t you think?”
The ashen figures had been silent, until now.
“The goals have not yet been achieved, Sorcerer,” one of the gray figures stated, his voice like the rustling of dead autumn leaves.
“This is why the traitor to his kind was brought forth from the belly of the Doom Toad … ,” said another.
“To determine whether or not our goals have been met,” continued the one beside him.
“And the Network is truly dead,” finished the last of the ash creatures.
Tobias was sickened to be referred to as a traitor by these disgusting dregs, but it wasn’t like the title was a lie.
He didn’t want to think of it, reminding himself of why he’d done what he did. It didn’t make him feel any better. “I gave you everything you would need to breach security and storm their headquarters … the locations of all their agents in the field. I did exactly what was asked of me,” Tobias stated. “What I promised you in exchange for—”
“And you did a most excellent job,” Crowley interrupted with a nod. “So far.”
“What do you mean, so far?” Tobias asked, suspicion in his voice.
“You agreed to help us eliminate the Brimstone Network, and so far you’ve made good on that promise.”
“But?” Tobias questioned, an icy hand of dread forming in his belly.
“But I believe that someone as vigilant as Elijah Stone would have planned for every contingency, even something as devastating as this, and would have had some sort of mechanism to keep the Network alive.”
Tobias wanted to disagree, but he couldn’t. Crowley was right. He’d spent enough time with Elijah—especially after the death of his parents—to know how cautious the Brimstone leader was.
Yes, Tobias thought. There was probably some kind of plan to keep at least a spark of the Network alive.
A spark that could be fanned into a flame.
“What do you need me to do?” Tobias asked.
“Sift through the ashes,” Crowley stated. “Be certain that not even an ember remains. For us to succeed, the Brimstone Network must be no more.”
“And once I’ve done that?”
“Your obligation to us will be fulfilled and I will do for you what Elijah Stone and all his specialists were unable to do.
“I will save your darling sister’s life.”
The first sign that his sister … that Claire was sick came at their parents’ funeral.
Tobias remembered it as yet another moment in his life when something that he loved was violently taken away.
It had been a cloudless spring day, the entire Brimstone Network showing up to pay their respects to two of their own.
He remembered standing in front of the memorial dedicated to them. There had been no remains, the rogue witches taking even that from him and his sister. An altar had been set up alongside the marble memorial, covered in a white sheet, with framed photographs of his parents during happier times. There was a photo of them on their wedding day, one of them holding him as a baby, and of the newborn Claire as well, his young face peeking into the photo from the corner, ecstatic about his new baby sister.
That picture had always made him laugh.
Anyone who wanted to talk about Jeannine and Gareth was invited to speak. They all had the most amazing things to say. The members of the Network really loved his parents, but it did nothing to squelch the anger that was growing inside him.
The anger he was feeling toward the group for making him and his sister orphans.
It wasn’t long after Elijah Stone’s words of condolence were spoken, and the guests were slowly leaving him and Claire to their final good-byes, when his life was again turned upside down.
Standing before the marble sculpture of two winged angels holding hands in flight, he heard Claire’s sad, tiny voice tell him that she wasn’t feeling too well.
He’d gone to put an arm around her, to assure her that everything was going to be just fine, when he’d noticed the heat radiating from her body. Tobias remembered how he felt it coming through her clothes, and the smell of the material as they started to burn.
Tobias cringed remembering the sight of his little sister, kneeling in a blackened patch of grass, crying hysterically as he was dragged away by Elijah Stone.
They say he would have been killed—incinerated—if Stone hadn’t figured out what was happening, and pulled him away from her. But he had wondered so many times since if he might have been better off.
It took an especially equipped Brimstone medical team, with a combination of magick and drugs, to halt the progress of Claire’s condition, which they determined was some sort of supernaturally mutated virus placed upon her as a curse by the rogue witches.
A final piece of revenge against the people who wronged them.
The scientists, doctors, and magick users of the Network were forced to put her into a state of suspended animation while they searched unsuccessfully for a cure.
And Tobias waited, denied the love of his only remaining family member, spending hours, day after day, year after year,
waiting for her to be returned to him.
Elijah Stone had promised that they were doing all they could for her, but Tobias’s hate for him and the Brimstone Network continued to grow deep within the secret darkness of his soul.
Crowley had been drawn to this malice. The sorcerer had promised that he could make Claire well again. All Tobias had to do was betray the organization that had taken away nearly everything that he had ever loved.
It wasn’t much of a decision.
I’d like to see my sister … before I go.”
While the Network was being attacked, Claire had been taken from the Brimstone medical unit and brought to Crowley.
“It is a crucial stage in her treatment,” Crowley explained. “And I would strongly advise against any interruptions.”
Tobias felt helpless. It reminded him of the time just after his parents had been slain.
“Begin your mission,” Crowley suggested. “Search through the empty remains of the Brimstone Network, be sure they really are no more. When you return, you will be reunited with your sibling.”
From the darkness around him Tobias heard the sound of movement. Instinctively he tensed, watching the shadows for signs of danger. The beasties stepped, crawled, slithered, and flew out of the inky blackness of the underground chamber.
A spell of defense leaped to Tobias’s lips, and his hands started to glow as if afire.
“Calm yourself,” Crowley stated, a pale skeletal hand dropping down upon his shoulder. “They mean you no harm.”
A troll, bloodstained battle-ax slung over his shoulder, came to stand beside them.
“In fact, they will do anything that you say,” the sorcerer went on.
Tobias’ skin crawled with the sight of them; every creature of darkness that he was familiar with, and some that he was not. “So I guess they’ll be going with me?” he asked.
“More loyal troops have never been gathered,” Crowley said, a smile on his skull-like features.
Tobias sucked in a deep breath. He knew what was expected of him, what he had to do in order to get his sister back. He had already done the worst of it; all he had to do was get through this final part.…