Malevolent (The Puzzle Box Series Book 1) (2 page)

Mal finished setting up the hives, but he didn't move at lightning speed anymore. My question had tipped him off. He murmured to each hive as he fed them, and a few bees crawled out of the entrances to taste the honey. Suki followed him around, head and tail down, as she did when her herding instinct kicked in. She watched Mal closely. He murmured to her, too, and her tail swished back and forth apologetically. He must really like animals.

I sighed and waved a mental goodbye to the vampire theory. Aside from some super-speed, Mal was ordinary enough. A bit of a loner, but far less annoying than Robert. Besides, the idea of making a new friend excited me. My heart beat a little faster, and warmth spread to my fingertips. When you've been bedridden for six months, and you've missed as much school as I have, you have to take what socialization you can get. While Suki's a great companion, she doesn't make Firefly jokes.

The wet and cold of the fog crept through my coat, and I couldn't stop my teeth from chattering. My lungs really hurt now, and it started to feel like the air was bouncing off the inside of them, instead of recharging my blood like it was supposed to.
Inhaler, here I come
.

I whistled for Suki. She trotted up and jumped into the cart. Mal followed her, dusting off his gloves. "Departing, I see."

I nodded, tried to answer, and coughed my painful dry cough.

His eyebrows lowered in a frown, almost a scowl. "You should not have remained in these temperatures for so long. I recommend hot cider." He slapped the cart's roof. "Get thee hence."

My laugh turned into more coughing. I turned the cart around and drove back to the house. Come to think of it, a mug of hot cider sounded heavenly. And he'd used King James English on me. This guy was hilarious. Despite my lungs closing up, my spirits were higher than they'd been in months.

That lasted the five minutes it took to reach the house. The fog had lifted a tiny bit--visibility was about thirty feet. It let me see Robert's tricked-out yellow Hummer in our driveway. My good humor fell straight down the toilet. Nothing like a cold, hard, brick of reality to the face.

I parked the cart in a wave of resentment, and walked toward the house, trying to breathe, and fingering the cold, heavy knife in my pocket. Suki ran ahead of me and back, as if asking why I was so slow. Then she made the little growling whine she only makes when Robert's around.

"I know, girl," I coughed. I opened the front door and let us inside.

***

Robert met me in the living room. He's the handsome, blond, muscular, football player type, but he's too lazy for football. I'd really been into him back in September.

"Hey Libby, how's it going?" He walked up and gave me one of his hugs that seemed to last forever. He was warm, like a smothering blanket.

Finally, I pushed away. "Get lost. I need my meds."

He followed me into the kitchen. "Libby, don't be like that. I just came to see you, honest."

I snatched my inhaler out of the fridge and breathed a burst of it. It hit my lungs with a burst of cold, like peppermint. I exhaled slowly, and the synthetic adrenaline raced into my bloodstream. Air trickled into my lungs again.

Mom was sitting at the bar with a cup of coffee and a cookbook. She watched my inhaler antics, and her eyebrows grew pointed. She jerked her head at Robert. I nodded and concentrated on breathing.

Mom covered for me. "You're here awfully early, Robert."

"Yes ma'am," said Robert, pulling off his coat and draping it over a chair. "I'm interviewing for a job in an hour, and I need some moral support."

I filled the kettle and put it on the stove, then I had to sit at the bar and catch my breath. "If you get this job, you can't quit after a month, like last time."

"I told you, they laid me off. It was only seasonal." Robert laughed, flashing even white teeth. He picked up one of Mom's cooking magazines and flipped through it. "Mrs. Stockton, when can you make more of these chocolate cookies?"

Mom shrugged.

I gritted my teeth and avoided looking at either of them. Back when school started, having a popular boyfriend was a matter of prestige. But then I got sick, and his charisma and energy sapped my tiny amount of strength. He was like an expensive pair of jeans that had shrunk in the wash--useless, but hard to give up.

Suki padded around the kitchen, growling.

"Why doesn't your dog like me?"

I glanced at her. "Sure she likes you. Why don't you pet her and see how she demonstrates her affection?"

He smirked at me. "No thanks."

Mom mixed a cup of cider and passed it to me, then removed Suki to the back yard.

I sipped the cider. Delicious apple-cinnamon warmth streamed down my throat, and my stomach didn't cramp, for once.

"I'm not going to be very good company. My new meds make me really sick."
Translation: get lost, bozo.

Robert didn't take the hint. He opened our fridge and dug around inside. I rolled my eyes at my mom as she returned, and she did the same. The instant I felt better, he and I were splitsville.

Robert emerged from the fridge with a soda. "Why were you outside, anyway? It's forty measly degrees."

"I drove out to see the bees." I didn't mention Malevolent. Robert got jealous when I talked to other guys.

Robert snorted and opened the soda. Apparently bees were beneath his notice.

Mom looked at the clock above the kitchen table. "You'd better go, Rob. You'll have to drive slow in this fog."

He shrugged. "It doesn't bother me, but you're probably right." He shot me a grin. "Bye, Libby. I'll swing by this afternoon to see how you're doing."

I grumbled inside and faked a smile. I couldn't bring myself to wish him good luck.

He let himself out the front door. Mom and I snarled at each other in exasperation.

"I want to get well so I can dump him. I just don't have the energy for the fight right now."

"I wish you'd hurry up," Mom said. "He was in here begging twenty bucks for gas."

I rolled my eyes and sipped my cider. Embarrassment curled through my insides--the kind of mortification that makes you want to barf. "Did you give it to him?"

She sighed and nodded.

"Mom, you're an enabler."

Male voices shouted outside. We looked up. Mom said, "What in the world?"

Living on a farm with hired laborers, fights happen sometimes. I shrugged and sipped my cider. "Maybe somebody keyed Robert's stupid Hummer."

"Oh, don't say that," Mom said. "It's not the car's fault that it has an idiot for a driver."

Glass shattered. Mom and I exchanged a horrified look. The fight was getting serious. She dashed for the front door, and I hobbled after her.

Befriend many. Serve some. Trust few. Love none.

That is my life's creed. It had served me well over the years, keeping always at the forefront of my mind my damned state, and how I was cut off from other human beings, happiness, and God, himself.

But life has its mundane annoyances. Such as running out of money. I was forced to take my precious bees on the road, to the almond orchards of California. Almonds can only be pollinated by bees, and the state produces the majority of the nation's crop. With honeybees dying of Colony Collapse, the desperate farmers solicited the services of private apiarists. I would have refused, but even I must eat sometimes.

It was a long journey from Pennsylvania to New Mexico, and then on to California. Upon our arrival in the foggy valley, my exhaustion led to a lapse in judgment. I called upon my supernatural speed to finish moving the hives more quickly.

And I was noticed.

"Hi. Dad said you have orchard bees, too."

Thus I met Libby Stockton--pretty, charming, and dying. When she shook my hand, the corruption inside her made me want to retch. I do not sicken easily, understand. I lost the capacity for empathy many years ago.

But Libby surprised me. Even with her blood full of death, her bright questions nearly brought a smile to my face. Here was a fighter who had endured much suffering.

"You are ill," I observed.

"Yeah, Valley Fever. It's not contagious."

Indeed not. I had to turn away for a moment and fumble with my gloves. The blackness swarmed about her skin like ants on a dead bird, and my draw tugged at it.

She read my horror correctly, for she added, "I don't know which is worse--having my lungs full of spores, or the gruesome meds." She paused, and gave me a sidelong look--half suspicious, half mischievous. "How did you know? Can you smell my blood?"

I smelled many odors, if smell it could be called. One of them was the devilishly familiar stench of my brother's breath. His foulness permeated her. She obviously knew the pop culture version of vampires and thus could not identify the real thing.

I explained that I had merely overheard her father, and that she looked obviously unhealthy. As I spoke, I watched the black motes creep up her neck and into one ear. She had no idea it was happening.

Robert had inflicted this on her.

Even as we made a few jokes, words entered my head--
For to him who has shown no mercy the judgment will be merciless, but mercy exults victoriously over judgment.

With it came hope--hope such as I had not had in decades. Could I be free of this curse if I but showed mercy to this girl? Serve many ... It did not violate my creed.

But even as I considered this, my draw pulled a little more life from her. She sensed it, retreated to her golf cart to rest.

Blast it all. I had not fed in two days, and my draw upon nearby life was getting out of hand.

She sat there far too long, watching me. Her breathing rasped in her chest, and the black motes swirled from her mouth with every breath. I approached her and bade her depart, then utilized my proximity to draw on the life of the nearby weeds. Sparkling golden life motes flowed through me and into her. The black motes thinned and their swarming slowed. In a day, the weeds would mysteriously die in a six-foot circle around the spot where I had stood. It would make her marginally better--but a few plants lack the amount of concentrated life required to cure such an entrenched infection.

After she was safely away from me, I opened my trunk. It had been deposited among the hives, and none had noticed it because of the virtue I poured into its paint. It resembled another hive, until one touched it. Then it subtly shifted into a lidded box.

Among the many useful things I had packed, there were three half-pint jars of honey from my bees. I opened one, scooped out a pale, waxy honeycomb, and chewed it slowly. Light and life streamed into my corrupted body. It reduced my draw to nothing, and instead of pulling, the tide within me began pushing outward. Not too strongly, mind you. Too much light and I would set myself afire. But it was enough to strengthen my weary muscles.

I ran the words through my mind again. F
or to him who has shown no mercy the judgment will be merciless
... I deserved no mercy for what I am and what I've done. But for many years I had stared into the maw of oblivion with never a word from God or his gracious Spirit. I had assumed that I had been abandoned--damned to a walking Hell upon this globe. Yet now His voice whispered to my heart, and it was like balm to a fevered wound. By aiding this girl, could I escape the horrors of the judgement that awaited my kind?

I was willing to try.

In my trunk, I had packed a pair of specially constructed gloves. The cloth was black industrial-strength canvas, reinforced with a steel skeleton. At the end of each finger was a three-inch steel spike.

I pulled them on and flexed my hands. I'd had them made after my last encounter with my brother. He had nearly succeeded in disemboweling me, and I was not eager to face him unarmed.

Then I followed Libby's scent. To show her mercy, I must first cut off the source of her infection.

Libby's trail led me out of the orchards to a nearby farmhouse. To the human eye, it was simply a house, nestled amidst mature trees and landscaping. It seemed to welcome everyone to approach and make themselves at home.

To me, life radiated from its walls like sunbeams. I paused to gaze at it, as one might admire Christmas lights. Little wonder it attracted Robert, leech that he is.

His latest vehicle stood in the driveway--a gas-guzzling luxury jeep in an obnoxious shade of yellow--and already it reeked of his rotten aura. It gave me a slight headache. He was inside the house? With Libby unable to breathe? Why was the moron feeding upon her so frequently?

I tracked his scent to the front porch, and hesitated, flexing my claws. Our confrontation must not take place inside this warm, living home. It would be like defiling a church. No, I would await his return to his revolting jeep.

I positioned myself behind the vehicle and waited.

Three minutes later, he emerged from the house, smiling and humming to himself. Strong. Sleek. Healthy. Although his draw was always weaker than mine, he emerged from the house with none at all.

I flexed my claws and ground my teeth. Yes, he had fed upon her in her weakness. And probably upon the entire family's life pool, as well.

I intercepted him as he reached his vehicle--by digging my claws into his arm and spinning him to face me. "Hello, Robert."

He gasped and fell against the car. Recognition spread a smile across his wretched face. "Mal! It's been a long time."

"Leave the girl alone." I slammed him against the car and grabbed his throat. "Understand?"

He continued smiling, even with his head tilted back. "You're mad about Libby? Why, do you want her for yourself?"

One of his knees struck my groin, which, despite my condition, is still sensitive. I gasped, and my hold weakened. He twisted away, and landed a punch to my jaw that knocked me down. I rolled sideways and avoided the kick intended for my stomach.

I whipped to my feet and struck him two blows with my claws. Red lines scored down his face and through his jacket. He crashed into his vehicle. One elbow smashed a side window.

It was a testament to the power within him that he did not become angry at damage to himself, but to his car.

He bellowed and charged at me. I sidestepped his flailing hands, grabbed an arm and dashed him to the ground. Before he could rise, I twisted his arms behind him and placed a foot on his back. "Swear you will leave her alone or I shall tear your arms off."

Unfortunately, the front door opened and a woman and a girl emerged. Libby and her mother.

Well, this was awkward.

Libby gaped at us and cried, "What are you doing?"

Her mother produced a cellphone.

I released Robert's arms and pulled him to his feet instead. "Sorry to alarm you. This is my brother. We were simply ... greeting one another."

Robert bared his teeth at me, but forced a smile. "Yes. Just a friendly greeting."

Libby's eyes traveled over the shattered car window and settled on the blood that stained Robert's chest. "Brothers. Okay..." She did not sound convinced. "Because it looks to me like you were assaulting my boyfriend."

Her boyfriend? I glanced at Robert, who smirked and nodded.

When people speak of their heart sinking, the actual physiological reaction is the blood draining from the stomach, leaving it as pale as their face. This is what happened to me at that moment.

I had handled this dreadfully. But I drew a steadying breath and sought to control the waves of hate that rose inside me--I lacked all other emotion.

"I was leaving, anyway." Robert turned his back on the women and snarled at me, where they couldn't see. "You'll regret this."

I merely arched an eyebrow.

Robert climbed into his vehicle and roared out of the driveway.

"Nice gloves." Libby was painfully observant.

I curled my fingers to conceal the claws. "Simply beekeeping equipment. I'm sorry we disturbed you."

Libby's mother lowered the cellphone. "You're a beekeeper? What's your name?"

"Malachi Seren."

Libby mouthed, "Malevolent."

Observant and sarcastic. I was beginning to like her.

Her mother continued, "I'm going to speak to my husband about you. Brawling isn't tolerated at Blossom Ranch."

I dipped my head. "I assure you, ma'am, it won't happen again."

Unless my brother refused to halt his disgusting behavior.

I excused myself and strode back into the orchard. The women stared after me.

I thought I was incapable of emotion, but my sluggish heart beat faster, and warmth touched my cheeks. Assaulting Robert was the way of things--but I had never been scolded for it. Scolded! Like a common farmhand!

Of course, they had no reason to perceive me otherwise.

But the worst thing was that I had embarrassed myself in front of the girl I wished to heal. If he had been feeding on Libby, he would return. I had acted rashly.

Perhaps there are more subtle ways to free a vampire's victim from his clutches. But was I attempting to aid Libby from altruistic motives--or had her spunk and laughter appealed to my broken spirit?

Serve some--but love none. I am better off alone.

I returned to my hives and sat among them. The bees sang their shiver song, which was how they warmed the hives in cold weather. It comforted me, and slowly the negative emotions drained away. This is important, for negativity consumes life motes and increases the power of black, hungry death motes.

I leaned against Queen Victoria's hive and whispered, "Robert is here. Be alert."

"We shall spread the word," the colony sang. "This is a good place. We feel the life in the air and ground."

I nearly smiled. "It is a good place. Which is why it attracts predators."