The Child Thief

Peter gave Leroy a dirty look.

“What?” Leroy said, and shrugged. “I’m a Flesh-eater.”

“You’re an asshole,” Cricket said.

Peter pulled Danny to his feet and threw an arm around him. “What’d you say we let someone else have a turn?”

Danny tore off the helmet, threw it in the sand, then plopped down heavily next to Cricket.

“Nick,” Peter called. “Ready to give it a shot?”

No. Getting into the ring with that psycho is about the last thing I want to do. Nick let out a long breath, strapped on his helmet, and got to his feet.

Nick met Leroy’s eyes. Leroy cocked his head back and smirked, but below that smirk Nick saw something else, something dangerous. He’s out to get me, Nick thought.

“Okay, Nick,” Peter said. “Tag him. Leg, arm, or head. Got it?”

Nick nodded.

“Leroy,” Peter said sternly. “You keep the contact down. Got it?”

Leroy only grinned.

Nick slipped around the ring, keeping light on his toes. He made quick jabs and short jumps in and out, testing Leroy’s defenses just as Sekeu had shown him. Leroy followed his every move.

“GET HIM NICK!” Cricket called.

“Yeah,” Leroy laughed. “Get me, twinkle toes.”

Nick lunged, making a low slash for Leroy’s ankle. Leroy countered, blocking the blow with such force as to knock Nick off-balance. Leroy followed around and caught him on the arm, a solid smack that sent Nick into the sand. Even though the swords were padded, Nick had to grit his teeth not to cry out.

“Up, Nick!” Peter called. “Back on your feet. QUICK!”

Nick rolled to his feet. There was no doubt now, Leroy meant to hurt him—would hurt him. Nick felt old fears and self-doubts assail him. No, Nick thought, I won’t let him intimidate me. I’m the one that stood and faced the barghest. If I can kill a barghest, I can take this jerk. Just need to focus. Stay focused.

Nick met Leroy’s eyes and held them. Leroy must’ve seen something in that look, because his smirk fell away.

“Okay,” Peter said. “Keep it light and fun.”

“Go Nicky!” Cricket yelled. “Get him!”

Nick saw Leroy slide into a wider stance, planting his feet in the sand for leverage. He noted how tightly Leroy clutched the sword and knew Leroy planned to really clobber him this time.

Okay, Nick thought. He’s stronger than me. I’ll never win with force. Sekeu had shown him a simple maneuver: a feint and counterattack. She’d said it was very effective against an aggressive opponent. But it was one thing to execute the maneuver on a straw man, quite another on some shit trying his best to break your bones. If it doesn’t work, Nick thought, he’s going to nail me. He glanced at Sekeu. She seemed to read his thoughts. She smiled and nodded.

Nick used his eyes and body language to telecast a low attack. He made sure Leroy caught him eyeing his ankles. Then Nick went in quick and feinted a low swing. Leroy bought it completely. He swung down hard, anticipating Nick’s attack, his full momentum behind the block. The instant he committed, Nick switched, surprised by his own speed. He had a second to catch the stunned look on Leroy’s face, the utter disbelief, as the boy stumbled forward off-balance. Then Nick struck. A tremendous crack echoed across the hall as his sword hit the back of Leroy’s helmet, sending him face-first into the sand.

There followed a long space of silence as everybody just stared.

Peter blinked a couple of times and finally managed a breathless “Wow.”

“WOOHOO!” Danny cried. “You killed him!”

No, Nick thought. No such luck.

Leroy sat up, face red and covered in sand. He spat and looked stunned, but not as stunned as Nick. Nick was amazed, not so much by the fact that he’d managed to outplay Leroy—Leroy, after all, was just a big lunkhead—but that he’d once again pushed fear from his mind and focused on what had to be done.

Peter recovered his spirit. “Did you guys see that? That’s exactly what we’ve been talking about. You have to rely on your speed and trickery. You have to make them fight your fight.”

Redbone pulled Leroy to his feet. “You all right?”

Leroy jerked away. “Of course I’m all right,” he said harshly. “Little prick barely touched me. Lucky shot. No big deal.”

Nick thought that it was a big deal, and judging from Leroy’s face it was a very big deal.

Peter clapped his hands together. “That’s enough for now. Time for grub.”

The Devils all headed for the table, leaving Leroy and the New Blood behind. Leroy shucked off his arm pads, untied his helmet. He walked over to them and pointed at the sparring equipment. “Clean this shit up,” he growled. Then he pushed his face into Nick’s, glaring into his eyes. Nick held the bigger boy’s eyes, determined to stand his ground. A slight smirk nudged the corner of Leroy’s mouth. He shoved his helmet into Nick’s chest. “Put it away,” Leroy said, and stomped off.

In the movies or on TV, that would’ve been the end of it. The bully gaining a little respect for him, and, if not eventually becoming his friend, at least leaving him be. But Nick knew that’s not how things worked in the real world. In the real world, you might get a lucky lick in, but boys like Leroy, they never forgot, never forgave, and then somewhere, somehow, boys like Leroy always got you back.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING Nick sat as far away from Leroy as he could and watched the Devils prepare for the raid. He’d had the dreams again, as bad as before, maybe worse. Each morning the darkness in his heart was harder to shake off. He studied his arms, expecting to find some sign of the dark scales and claws. It was all too real in the dream: the screams, the blood, the carnage. Nick put his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes. I don’t want to turn into a monster.

Cricket came along with her breakfast and sat across from him.

“How you doing there, Nicky?” Cricket asked, worried.

“Never been chipper,” Nick mumbled.

Danny wandered over, a bowl in one hand, rubbing sleep out of his eyes with the other. “What’s the plan?”

“Don’t know,” Cricket said. “Nobody said.”

“Sure are up early,” Danny grumbled. “Still dark outside.”

A low, tense murmuring filled the chamber as the Devils went about strapping on weapons, applying war paint, and dressing for battle. Nick noted the rather eclectic assortment of arms and armaments. Alongside the more traditional medieval styles, there were a German kaiser helmet, a tank helmet, an old-style leather football helmet, aviator goggles, at least two samurai swords, a Civil War cavalry saber, ninja stars, a pitchfork, and several pairs of brass knuckles. Most of the kids wore the one-piece, rawhide leathers with the pointed boots sewn into them, but several also had on leather jackets from Nick’s world, customized with spikes and studs, looking to Nick like a gang of psychotic punk rockers.

Sekeu came over. With her war paint on, she truly looked the part of an Indian on the warpath. “Come,” she said.

Nervous, the New Blood followed her to where the Devils were getting dressed.

Peter had two short swords strapped on his back, the belts crisscrossing his chest bandito style. A black splash of war paint covered his face, and his golden eyes gleamed out from the paint. He pulled his swords free, clanged them together, and all the Devils lined up on either side of him. Including Peter, there were twenty-three warriors.

Peter took a step forward, crossed his swords upon his chest, and set his gleaming golden eyes on Nick, Danny, and Cricket. “Today the Devils go into battle. We go to stop the burning of Whisperwood. There’ll be bloodshed. Oh yes, plenty of death to go around this great day.” He smiled wickedly. “But a soul simply has not lived until they’ve heard the screams of their dying enemies.” Peter cocked his head and looked deep into their