Page 1 of Beastly Armory

One

MAXIMILLIAN

Darkness creeps like a noxious cloud around the Barracuda as it rolls up to the rusted iron fence. There are no streetlights along the lane, the only light a full moon casting ominous shadows behind twisted branches highlighting a haze of fog clinging to the old gatehouse. It’s long since been abandoned.

I figured he would be watching, waiting for my return. Arriving in the dead of night under an onyx safety blanket robbed him of the satisfaction. Pitch black is the time people call it. And the sticky ink of the sky feels as if it has invaded my soul.

It’s good to be home.

Arianna stirs in the passenger seat as I slow the car for the bump leading into the driveway. She’s been asleep for the last three hours. The headlights are off, but I don’t dare cut the engine.

“We’re here,” I tell her.

Arms reaching up into a V, like she’s back in her cheerleading days, she stretches her torso against the passenger seat. Her voice is crisp when she asks, “What time is it?” Long brown locks trickle over her face as she leans forward to check her phone.

“It’s 3 a.m.”

“Ugh! Geez, Maxi. Youwouldget us here in the middle of the night.”

A frown forms on my lips at my little sister’s annoying pet name. “It’s safest this way…” Softer, I murmur, “And I didn’t have much of a choice.” Peering through the blackened windows, I park in front of the bloodstone raging bear monogrammed gates. They’ve been closed for years. With the air of command, I say, “You need to stay down until we get to the house.”

The entire reason for showing up now is to protect my sister from prying eyes. Fortunately, the old cameras on every eastern city street corner sit defunct and derelict, a sober reminder of the destruction our family left behind. Taking the deserted country roads into town, I’d sneaked under the radars without much of a plan of first attack. The threat of authorities back in the city we left caused me to burn all the gas we had without stopping for a rest. Not that East Side has much of anything left to stop for. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way, but here we are.

“Fine by me.” Tossing her pink fuzzy blanket over her head, she curls her skinny legs up underneath her, blissfully unaware of the changes about to take place in our lives. The scant apartment on the wrong side of the trackswe shared the last four years was sobering enough for Arianna, but once our parents’ money ran out, we were left with ramen noodles and overdraft fees. And blood on my hands. Venturing into this, our new world, may terrify her.

It’s been too long to remember how cold it can get in this valley, but the reminder slaps me across the face as I step out of the vehicle. Cobbles crunch beneath my careful steps toward the fence while I secure my gaze on the horizon, studying the shadows for any movement. Only the bare trees wave in the distance. No guard sits on duty anymore. Our staff has long since been taken care of, or fled to a new town, if they were lucky.

The tarnished padlock is almost entirely corroded, but the centuries-old key left in my parents’ safe deposit box still works. Once slotted in the hole, it nearly twists clear off, but with a few careful tugs, the heavy weight of it drops into my open hand. With a good deal of effort, the heavy gates give, then swing open with tortured groans, angry to be disturbed from their slumber.

Jumping back into my muscle car, I maneuver the tires carefully over the disrupted pavement. Each crevice has as many weeds growing through it as the lawn. I don’t stop to close the gates. It’s best to leave an escape route.

He knows; I’m sure he knows I’m back. He’ll be expecting us.

Images from my childhood invade my vision as we approach the manor over the long drive. Fishing on warm summer days in the pond. Making a secret fort in the large maple in the woods. Playing tag with Ace throughthe stale manor halls. Hide-and-seek in the gritty cellars with Cal…Livia. My Livia.

Over the dried watering hole, the worn wooden swing now hangs by a twine thread from my favorite oak. It sways in the gusts as if taunting me, leaving no doubt that any happy times have been left behind.

A colossal, foreboding shadow looms in front of us. The sinewy clouds part, allowing the moonlight to illuminate the brick-and-stone turrets hanging onto a collapsing roof. It’s in worse shape than I thought it would be, and at the sight of its dereliction, a heavy sigh deflates my chest. Hopefully, we won’t have to sleep with the raccoons tonight. I’ve had worse arrangements, though. Rodents are safer than what may lie in wait for us behind those walls.

“Oh, it looks scarier than I remember,” Arianna says. The upholstery creaks as she scans the area through the misty glass. She was too young to fully know the place, our parents having taken us far away from Gnarled Pine Hollow when I was just eight and she was four.

“We’ll get it fixed. Markus said?—”

“Markus says a lot of things.” Arianna’s eyes snap to my own, their narrowing visible by the glowing lights of the console.

She’s right. Markus talks a bigger game than a fisherman with a lost catch. But he is the only person in the world, other than my little sister, who I trust. He was my father’s right-hand man, and now my new hype man. Despite his reticence in our return, he wants the best for the clan. Always there for us, he’d ventured outsideGnarled Pine enough times to keep me abreast of important happenings within the city, and for the last several years, reluctantly aided my homecoming.

“Let’s head in.” Opening the trunk, our overnight bags fit easily over my broad shoulders as my sister gets out of the vehicle, her hair tangling in a gust of autumn air. She slams her door closed. “Not too loud, Ari.” Scanning the forest’s edge for a disruption in the light, I instinctively reach for the piece tucked into the small of my back. “He could be here.”

At my warning, her head darts around aimlessly. Arianna has no concept of self-preservation, nor has she needed it. She’s had me. I’ve been her protector and sole parent since she was sixteen. Wrapping her blanket around her little body, she scurries to the front door.

Deep within the pocket of my jeans is the shiny, unused key that had also been waiting for me in the bank box for the last eight years. Papa wouldn’t have wanted this. He’d hate that we were here. But he’s dead. And I need to do what’s best for our legacy. Returning to Freidenberg Manor to reclaim our family lands is the first step.

After preparing the people of East Side for a war, taking down Vladimir Strauss will be my last.

The heavy, dark wood front door opens with a menacing creak. There’s no power, but the house lived without it for over a century. Turning on my pocket flashlight, I find a wall torch and light the tallow taper with a flick of my Zippo. It crackles as it burns the dust from its wick. My sister’s prominent cheekbones appearhauntingly gaunt behind the dancing flame when I hand her the chamberstick.

“It stinks in here. Like mildew.” She sneezes.

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