Snowdrops Wilt At Dawn: The Demonic Series bk2

By M W Russell

A white-faced boy tromped begrudgingly down a hillside stomping snowdrops into the frozen ground. In the nearby woods, black mist swirled mysteriously at the base of a large fir tree, as two figures vanished as quietly as they had come. Before the roses, before the dusk came a time of innocence and laughter.
Nestled quietly in Washington State, the town of Wenatchee is where Lucas Bevan moved when he was four. Living with his mother and a stepfather who inflicts misery, Lucas has the most depressing existence a teen could have - apart from his Becky.
Then along comes Marcus - streetwise and guarded. He gives Lucas just the hope he needs. But Marcus has a secret with unimaginable consequences.
Snowdrops Wilt at Dawn is another installment in the Demonic series. Bitter, twisted and gripping it shows how easily you can be drawn in!

• Language: English
• Publisher: M W Russell
• Release date: Oct 4, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301928927

M W Russell

Maree was born in New Plymouth, New Zealand . She currently resides in Auckland, in a home with a sea view across Auckland Harbor. When not writing and looking after family she dreams of Dragons and Demons in the dark. She has been a Registered Nurse for thirty plus and has an Advanced Diploma in Novel Writing from the New Zealand Business Institute and is currently completing a Bachelor of English Literature at Massey University.

Book preview

Prologue

The boy with the ivory face kicked out at the snowdrops at his feet. He crouched down against the concealed hillside amongst the snow, ignoring the coldness. He liked the winter. It was the one time of year he blended in. His translucent skin merged nicely with the surrounding blanket of white as if he had been born with a camouflage designed to hide him from prying eyes.

The sun was rising slowly in the east. The first rays peeked above the trees, throwing shining bands on the foliage. Within minutes of the heat reaching their leaves, the snowdrops appeared to wilt into the icy soil amidst the melting snow. He grasped the plants angrily and snapped them off at the roots, scattering their bedraggled remains down the hill.

They’re weak, he thought bitterly. I hate the weak. I’m not weak. A wisp of fog spiraled around his nose. I’ll show them. I’ll show them all!

In the shadows, two figures stood motionless. One, a male, was tall and brawny; and the other, a woman, slight. They melted in with the forest backdrop eyeing the boy with hungry intrigue.

He’s perfect, the smaller one whispered excitedly. Feel his anger. It’s so powerful it radiates.

The bulky one tilted his head with interest. He certainly holds an enormous amount of resentment for one so young. But do you think he can control it?

We will teach him. Every step, every moment in time shall be ours to savor as he learns and develops into one of us. He is just what our cause needs and is young enough to lure other youth along the way. And although he may not remember yet, he has experience. It will be worth it, she replied.

You should know, the large one grunted with amusement, glancing down at the petite figure at his side. Am I not the best you’ve ever chosen?

She peered up through the shadows wearing an exultant grin and nodded. Yes, and you have the ego to prove it. She poked at him. "You could say you’ve been fairly useful so far."

The male issued a deep throaty chuckle before making a move to step forward.

The woman grabbed him by the arm, her red painted talons piercing into his skin. Not yet, she cautioned. Let’s just see what the day brings. I need to be sure and don’t want to act in haste.

He shook his head, eyeing the boy. You’re the boss, he muttered.

The white-faced boy stood and tromped begrudgingly down the hillside, stomping the snowdrops into the frozen ground. The sun had climbed and now blazed a full circle of tangerine, causing the snow to begin to give way. Icicles were beginning to crack and fall from the trees, smashing on the ground below.

Black mist swirled mysteriously at the base of a large fir tree, as two figures vanished as quietly as they had come.

One

Lucas! Will you get your useless ass down here? I’ve already called you three times.

The sound of sulky footsteps echoed heavily on the wood floor as a tall teen made his way reluctantly down the stairs. Lucas wasn’t slight, but he was wiry, with muscles hidden under his shirt. He was thoroughly underestimated by most.

He eyed the greasy figure waiting for him. Why the rush? Afraid you won’t be first in line at the bookie’s, or have you already run out of beer? Lucas knew his stepfather well enough to keep a safe distance, lingering on the third stair from the bottom out of his flabby arms’ reach.

Why you little... He lunged to grab the boy as a woman carrying a laundry basket came through the back door.

Sid, leave him be, she barked, thrusting the basket on the hall chair.

Sid glared back. Oh come on, Eileen. He’s a fucking smart-mouth. I’m sick of putting up with his shit.

She thrust a set of car keys into Sid’s hand. Well, if you had a job maybe you wouldn’t have to be around him so much, would you? Now hurry up and get going. He’s going to be late. And you, she said, rounding on Lucas, who had made good use of the distraction by leaping over the banister and heading to the back door, stop being smart to your father, and get to school.

Lucas felt the heat race to his face. "He is not and never will be my father," he bellowed. He stormed out into the yard with a slam of the screen door.

The pavement was showered with screws from yet another thing Sid was too fat and lazy to fix. The shouts of those behind him already roaring in argument sent vibrations ringing in Lucas’s ears. It was another typical day in his warped world. He made haste to the truck and climbed inside.

The trip to school was a silent one. Neither dared break the thickness. It wouldn’t be the first time things had gotten out of hand. Pretty much from the first day Sid had moved in, he and Lucas hadn’t seen eye to eye. And Sid hitting him when Eileen wasn’t around had become a weekly occurrence.

At seventeen Lucas was pretty much used to fending for himself. A mortar had claimed his father in Iraq when he was barely five, and Eileen had trucked them from North Carolina to Wenatchee, Washington, in the middle of a bleak winter. She’d spent the last of the measly marine pension on the shack of a house they now lived in.

Lucas spent his winters shoveling snow while his mother worked full-time at the local diner and cleaned tourist cabins on the weekends. It was at the diner that she had met Sid, a trucker who spent more time planning his next haul than actually driving his broken-down rig. His latest excuse for not hauling was his back. He claimed he had strained it fetching wood from the shed and was now unable to sit behind the wheel for long. Lucas noted with increasing bitterness that it never stopped him from sitting in front of the TV.

They arrived at Wenatchee High School late as usual. The grounds were already deserted, with only the custodian wandering around. Lucas contemplated yet another detention being added to his mounting list. Not that he cared. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do after school, and with Sid hanging around he certainly didn’t want to go home.

The steps to the gym were slippery. It had rained overnight and the temperature had dropped just enough to throw a thin and potentially treacherous layer of ice over the cement. He had PE first, a thought that he mulled over less than eagerly. Not because he was useless at sports—quite the contrary—but due to having to strip down to shorts. The anomaly that was Lucas’s skin caused quite a stir in this small school. Albinos were far and few between, even in the wintery north. It didn’t help that his hair was just as pale. A handful of boys in particular liked to illustrate the point with venomous enthusiasm.

Lucas rounded the door to the locker room and sure enough, there they were.

Matthew Jonas’s head snapped up like a wolf just having caught a scent. Well look here, boys, if it isn’t young Alby.

There was a smattering of sneering chuckles as Matthew Jonas stood upright with his hands on his meaty hips, squaring himself for a fight.

Lucas kept his head down as he pushed past him, dumping his bag on a nearby bench. He could feel the anger welling already. The fight with his stepfather only had him simmering. The Jonas boys were just what he didn’t need.

The surname’s Bevan, you retard, he snarled, pulling his gym shorts out and dropping them to the floor. He almost wanted to start a fight, drain off some anger and give Matt Jonas his due—even though it was about five to one.

Matthew Jonas sauntered toward him wearing an arrogant sneer. Oh, I know that, Bevan, but ‘Alby the Albino’ suits you so much better.

Peals of laughter echoed through the locker room. The boys loved to see Lucas being taunted. They knew it was only a matter of time before he snapped. It was sport for them, for Lucas an excuse to release.

Yeah, coz I’ve never heard that one before, Lucas muttered, retrieving his athletic shoes. Is that about the best you can do?

"Think you’re so smart, don’t ya?" Matt had moved right in close and was now pressing himself menacingly into Lucas’s back.

Lucas tried to ignore the intimidation tactics and pushed back to gather some room. Anybody who can string two words together would be smarter than you, Jonas, so I guess that would mean yes.

He was handing the Jonas gang ammunition on a plate. It didn’t take much for the irritation to flare inside him, and this was going to be just that sort of day.

A bony sixteen-year-old called Vince hastened over and grabbed Lucas by the shoulder and spun him aggressively around to face the room.

Get off me, asshole, Lucas growled, slapping away the skinny hand.

My man Matt was talking to you. Stop getting so smart. Vince hovered behind the protective hulk of Matt Jonas, knowing full well Lucas was capable of a debilitating punch.

Lucas threw his arms wide, wearing an antagonistic smile. Hey, is it my fault that Brainless here has the same IQ as a kitchen sponge?

That did it. Like a match to gasoline, it was all the encouragement they needed. Jonas pushed Lucas squarely in the chest with both hands, slamming him against a locker door. Lucas flew back at him with blazing force, head-butting him hard in the face. He saw Jonas’s lip split and blood spurted like spilled burgundy across his cheeks and on the floor.

There was an immediate roar of anger from three of Jonas’s friends. Before Lucas could retreat, two of them grabbed him from behind and pinned his arms at his back. That left the way clear for a bloodied Matt Jonas to land several painful blows into Lucas’s gut. He doubled, choking, as the breath was knocked out of him, but his captors held him upright to gather further blows.

Lucas struggled furiously as the weedy figure of Vince landed his own pathetic blow. It wasn’t as powerful as Matt Jonas’s, but enough that Lucas knew he had gained another black eye. He felt one of the boys behind him slacken his grip. Sure that their group had the upper hand, he had let go one of Lucas’s arms—a move he would regret.

Lucas struggled free of the remaining captor and whirled around with such ferocity that it completely threw the other two off balance. He took his chance and pounded his fists relentlessly into the cheek of the scrawny boy at his feet. The others backed off and stood jeering, until an almighty bang silenced the party in one go.

What in the blazes is going on in here? Coach Ramstad had entered the locker room, no doubt drawn by the noise and the lack of a class to teach, looking red-faced and furious at the bloodied, disheveled sight before him.

Lucas looked up with one knee planted on the floor, bleeding, and his arm raised mid-punch.

The sight must have given the coach the clarification he was looking for. Lucas Bevan, he bellowed, his face switching to fiery crimson. I should have known it was you.

Lucas didn’t get to answer. As he stood, resigned to the inevitable blame game, Vince the wimp piped up, It was him, Coach. He started it. Look what he did to Matthew’s face.

Matthew Jonas, looking every bit the aggrieved victim, smeared in blood—and conveniently Coach Ramstad’s nephew—stood feigning tears and nodding his head.

Lucas knew from experience it was futile to argue. Nothing he could say would in the coach’s eyes incriminate the sanctimonious Matthew, who had wheedled his way out of worse than this before.

Coach Ramstad turned to his nephew and the whimpering boy at Lucas’s feet. You two go and see the school nurse. He marched over and pulled the boy up before rounding on Lucas’s prostrate frame. Lucas was still slightly winded from his pummeling and, with the swollen eye and bloodied nose, cast a far more dramatic figure of a victim, anyone with half a brain could see; but, as was tradition, the coach was conveniently deaf and blind to that. You... you little shit. Come with me.

Lucas sucked in his hatred and pain and, with no hint of medical attention coming his way, was marched unceremoniously out the door. Still filthy with blood and dirt, he sat for a dreary hour while the principal lectured him yet again on the evil of fighting and the importance of respecting authority and issued repeated threats of expulsion from the school. Lucas knew they were empty threats. The head of faculty hadn’t expelled anyone for ten years and had little enough balls to start. Even the mention of phoning his mother and stepfather brought only a ripple of concern. He knew if there was one thing he could count on, it was that Sid was too lazy and uninterested to get off the couch and come to school. And his mother was fiercely loyal to her son and would challenge anyone who gave him a hard time.

It seemed the principal still remembered the last time Eileen Bevan had given him an ear bashing. After he had exhausted all the steam from his lungs he muttered something like, I won’t call your mother this time, and, Just take up the offer of counseling services, will you? It just may help, you know.

Free counseling services were offered to children of servicemen who had lost parents in combat; but to date Lucas had declined all such opportunities, preferring to never let anyone get inside his head.

After what had been a record of depressing encounters for any one school day, it finally reached three thirty and Lucas made his way to the school bus. He took it after school most days so he could hop off at his mother’s diner, where he would score a burger and fries and hang out until she finished at seven. None of the Jonas gang ever took the bus, which was an added bonus. He sank wearily into the backseat and glanced out the dirty windows just in time to catch Jonas issuing him a one-finger salute. Lucas turned and looked the other way. His head was throbbing in time with the bus engine as others slowly made their way up the stairs. Becky Sergeant was last to get on.

If ever there was a girl from the opposite side of the tracks as Lucas, it was Becky. Slim, wealthy, well groomed, and a high achiever, she was everything he wasn’t. She had long, flowing bronze hair and a smile that could trap you like a deer in the headlights; and about the only thing they had in common was her smooth, pale skin. Of course it wasn’t as white as his. No one’s was. Hers was that pale peaches-and-cream color, with no imperfections, whereas Lucas’s skin was so transparently white that it was decorated from top to bottom with pink and blue lines where the thinness revealed his veins. But unlike the others at his school, Becky did not find him freakish. Despite having the pedigree of one who could be considered popular or fake, Becky, more than anyone he knew, was kind and always understanding. Her sympathy almost unnerved him.

Lucas slid deeper into his seat, hoping she wouldn’t see him skulking in the back. He knew she would only lecture him about letting the bullies under his skin and lavish him with sympathy he simply didn’t deserve.

It was a false hope. Rumors of the fight had predictably flown around the school at a rate of a hurricane, and Becky searched the seats looking for him. Wrinkling her nose with displeasure at his obvious attempts to hide, she spied him and marched the length of the bus to the back. You can stop ducking below the seat. I had already seen you from outside. She threw her bag onto the seat beside Lucas and slid in next to him.

He eyed her with an unrepentant scowl. Save your breath, he snapped. I know what you’re going to say.

Becky raised her eyebrows wrathfully. Is that so? She reached across and lifted his head up by his bangs, taking in the damage to his face. Look at you. What the hell were you thinking, taking on Jonas and his thugs, and in PE to boot? You know old Ramstad’s got it in for you, especially where his precious nephew is concerned.

Lucas rounded on Becky a little more angrily than he planned. Oh, no shit! What the hell was I supposed to do? They tackled me the moment I walked through the door.

Becky wasn’t ruffled by Lucas’s surly attitude and kept her ground. We’ve talked about this about a hundred times. Walk away. Just pick up your things and get out. Better to face a detention for skipping class than broken ribs and a bloody nose.

Lucas snorted. Easy for you to say. You try walking away with your arms pinned behind your back. The snort had only made his head throb harder.

I’m not saying it’s easy. She sighed exasperatedly but softened at the sight of the pain in his eyes. She reached over and squeezed his hands. I’m just suggesting you try.

He wished she wouldn’t touch him. It was nice, maybe too nice, which is why he pulled back, knowing he would only start thinking things he shouldn’t. He would never be good enough for her.

The bus started rattling up the road. The school disappeared in the distance, and the trees and clean roads were soon replaced by bustling streets as they came into town.

Becky eyed him slyly. You can stop doing that.

Doing what precisely? Lucas readied himself for a debate.

Putting up your walls, Becky answered. She raised her head high. I can see through them, you know.

She obstinately reached out and grabbed hold of Lucas’s hand again. He glared back at her but didn’t let go this time and then turned and stared out the window, trying desperately not to smile. They stayed that way, not talking, not looking, all the way to the diner, as the bus continued on into the descending sun.

Two

Do you really get into this stuff? Lucas was spread-eagled across Becky’s bed thumbing through a tattered volume called The Rise and Fall of the Occult. She had an interesting choice in reading material. Not a girly magazine was to be seen.

She wrinkled her nose like she always did when she was about to argue a point. Maybe, she answered slyly, snatching the old book out of Lucas’s hand and dumping it on top of a pile of suspicious volumes, none of which appeared to be fairy tales.

It was the weekend. After what could only be described as a dismal week, which ended with Lucas’s mother furious with him about the fighting and his stepfather running after him with a belt, he had made his way to Becky’s house pondering how to never return home. He had texted her while walking the trail along the river. She had offered for him to come over on numerous occasions, but usually his nerves got in the way. This time, however, he had had enough, so he conquered his self-consciousness just long enough to stomach awkward introductions to Becky’s parents and then hightailed it up to her room.

The house was unimaginably grand. Five bedrooms, two living rooms, a home theater, and an indoor pool—it made the thought of his own rustic shack a little embarrassing. But, surprisingly, Becky’s family, much like Becky, weren’t at all ostentatious and welcomed Lucas like a long-lost friend.

Lucas slid off the bed and began to