Michael Belmont and the Heir of Van Helsing (The Adventures of Michael Belmont) (7 page)

And then clapped his hands with a startling slap.

“This men's game of war is quite wasted on you,

For to plan and to strategize, you cannot do.

Perhaps your grandmother could teach you her knitting?

Your brain is too dumb for a martial committing!”

He cackled while climbing back in his machine.

A broken young man he left, fleeing the scene.

He pushed in his buttons and pulled on his levers,

And warped on through time to continued endeavors.

He practiced his schemes throughout time and season,

To some it might seem without purpose or reason,

But sword he drew not, neither fired he a missile,

The results of his evil works made him give whistle.

Many other ideas, hopes, and dreams did he wrangle,

With the power of words these small seeds would he strangle.

Earhart, King Jr., Einstein robbed of vision,

World history shattered through deadly precision.

In truth, Dr. Diablo is only a vapor,

A villain who simply exists upon paper,

But put your own actions and words to a mirror

And ensure that through you Diablo isn’t much nearer.

Abigail and Michael both received an A for their papers, and finally, after several months of hard work, they were free.

Eight inches of snow had fallen the night before, and some of the neighborhood children were still outside having a snowball fight.
 
Michael and Abigail bundled themselves up and headed out the door.
 
They wanted to hurry before it got dark, as the sun would be setting soon.

By the time they got outside, the snowball fight had finished, but a few houses away in Sarah Axtell’s yard, they saw a large snowman being constructed, and decided to go and help.

As they passed the Dominguez house, they noticed the Cisco Kid waving frantically out the front window.
 
It was obvious that he wanted them to come over for a visit, but Abby had been trying to avoid him, because he was always grilling her about her mother.
 
He’d become obsessed with the idea that she was a super-hero.

Abigail swept a few strands of hair from her eyes and adjusted her stocking cap, looking at her brother defensively.
 
“There’s no way I’m going over there to watch TV with
him
while everyone else is outside playing in the snow.”

Michael shrugged.
 
He couldn’t blame her.
 
They both waved to Cisco and kept on walking.
 
He gazed back at them with sad, puppy-dog eyes.

“Hi, Michael,” Sarah said cheerfully as they walked into her yard.
 
Her fiery red hair contrasted a bit with her matching winter clothing, which was pink.
 
She ran over and took his arm, leading him to the snowman.
 
“It’s so nice to see you.
 
Wanna help with the snowman?
 
Becky said we should name him George Bailey,” she chuckled.

Abigail sneered.
 
She had been Sarah's friend for years, but it seemed like every time they saw her lately she was more interested in talking to Michael.
 
She was always trying to impress him, and it got a little bit annoying.

Abigail took a look around.
 
Armando and Sarah’s brother Bill were building igloo bricks.
 
Both of these boys were fifteen years old, but unlike some of the bigger kids, they had always been nice to the younger children in the neighborhood.

Two more of Abby’s friends, Becky and Samantha, were there as well.
 
These girls were about the same age as her and Sarah.
 
They were pushing a row of rocks in for George Bailey’s teeth.

“Hey, Abby,” Bill called to her, reaching into his pocket.
 
He tossed her a corncob pipe.
 
“I got that from my dad’s office.”

Abby smiled thankfully and ran over to put it in the snowman’s mouth.

Michael stood with Sarah next to the snowman, watching the girls work on it when a strange movement down the road caught his eye- a large dog, perhaps?
 
No, it was a wolf, a white wolf, walking swiftly through the front yard of his own house.
 
It disappeared around the side, headed toward the back yard.
 
How very odd.

“Excuse me for a moment,” he said to Sarah, who was in the middle of telling him about a new singer she’d seen on TV the night before.
 
She was obviously perturbed as Michael trudged off down the sidewalk toward his house.

When he got back to his yard, he looked for the wolf’s tracks in the snow, but there were none to be found.
 
That’s impossible, Michael thought to himself.
 
That wolf was huge!

He crept around the side of the building, moving cautiously as he didn’t know where the creature was, and definitely didn’t want to startle it.
 
But as he went on, he still couldn’t find any tracks.
 
Reaching the back of the house, he carefully peered around the corner.

Finally, he spotted the wolf.
 
But this wasn’t the white wolf he’d seen a few moments before.
 
This one was black and brown.
 
It was standing erect in the snow on the back porch, its front paws resting against the windowsill.
 
Its red eyes were staring intently at something within the house.

Michael sunk down behind a nearby bush, and crawled on his hands and knees farther into the back yard to get a better look.
 
He couldn’t see the white wolf anywhere; perhaps his eyes had played a trick on him.

He got up to his feet behind a pine tree and carefully peaked out at the wolf.
 
It was still staring into the window, but now Michael saw that Elizabeth was staring back out at it.
 
She was standing there with a blank face, as if she were looking into a dream.

The whole situation seemed surreal, and Michael didn’t know what to make of it.
 
He stood watching silently for a few moments, until the wolf hopped down from the window and began to walk slowly to the door.
 
Elizabeth followed.
 
He could see her through the glass door as she reached up to pull the handle.
 
Was she really going to let that thing inside the house?

“HEY!” he shouted, stepping out from behind the tree.

The wolf shot its head around.
 
Its red, demonic eyes glared back at him.
 
The thing snarled and snapped into the air, enraged that Michael had interfered.

Foam dripped from its mouth as it started to walk slowly toward him, sizing him up like some little piece of prey.
 
Now it was coming faster.
 
Now it was running toward him!

“MICHAEL?”
 
Sarah Axtell was standing beside the corner of the house not far from the porch.
 
She had followed him.

The wolf stopped in its tracks and spun back around to face her.
 
It howled in rage and sprang toward her, but she stumbled and fell backward as the creature lunged.
 
As it passed over her face its fur tickled her cheek and she caught the scent of wet dog.
 
Then she screamed.

It only took Michael a few seconds to reach the girl.
 
She looked terrified, and tears were beginning to well up in her eyes.

Michael got down to his knees and put his hand under her head.
 
“Are you okay?”

“You saved me,” she whispered admiringly.

“Actually,” he said with a relieved sigh, “I think it was you who saved me.”
 
Michael looked all around.
 
There was no sign of the wolf.
 
It had vanished, and still he could see no tracks.

He helped Sarah to her feet, and she threw her arms around him, refusing to let go.

“Um, I think we’d better get you back home before it gets too dark,” Michael told her.

He walked her home, staggering along as she clung to him tightly.
 
Abigail smirked as they walked back into Sarah’s yard.

Bill noticed his sister had been crying, and eyed Michael suspiciously.
 
“Hey,” he said to Sarah, “Are you okay?”

She blurted out everything that happened, and how Michael had valiantly saved her from the wolf.

Armando shook his head.
 
“What’s with all these wild animals in the neighborhood lately?”

Michael shrugged.
 
“I dunno, it’s weird.”

“You bet it’s weird,” Bill said, the suspicious look remaining on his face.
 
“There aren’t any wolves living around here.
 
Are you sure it wasn’t a German shepherd or something?
 
It has to have been someone’s pet.”

“It sure didn’t seem like a pet to
me
,” Sarah snapped.

“No, it didn’t,” Michael agreed.

Sarah beamed at him.

“Well I think we should all keep a closer eye on things around here,” Bill told them.
 
“You know, look out for anything weird.”

Well that’s just great
, Michael thought to himself.
 
If there were anything in the neighborhood that could be classified as weird, it would be his family
.

As they walked back home, Michael told Abby the rest of the story, including how Elizabeth was about to let the wolf into the house.

“Are you absolutely sure it wasn’t Uncle Link?” she asked him.

“Not unless he’s colored his fur and found some red contact lenses.”

Michael opened up the back door, and they took off their boots so as not to track snow inside.
 
They found Elizabeth alone in the kitchen making dinner.
 
Their parents had gone out on a date, and she’d agreed to spend the evening with them.

“Hey Aunt Liz,” Abigail asked her abruptly, “did you see a wolf in the back yard a little while ago?”

She stopped what she was doing and stared off into space, like she was trying to remember something.

“Hmm,” she thought out loud.
 
“Actually, yes there was.
 
I think it was a husky or something.
 
I was about to open up the door and shoo it off, but it ended up running away on its own.”

Michael looked at his sister and shook his head discreetly.
 
He was going to need to get some answers, but he wasn’t sure how he was going to do it.

Christmas day had come.
 
Abigail helped her mother make their traditional Christmas breakfast of strawberry waffles, scrambled eggs, and bacon.
 
As usual, Michael and Abigail, who were eager to open their presents, hurried along the meal.

“Well,” Mark told his wife, “at least they don’t come in and jump on our bed at five o’clock in the morning anymore.”

The children both made out pretty good.
 
Abigail got a new kung fu uniform, and an upright punching bag that was shaped like a street thug.
 
She also got a lot of pretty new clothes, many of them blue (her favorite color), as well as a few that she intended to take back and exchange.

Michael received some video games, a new black, leather bomber jacket, and a Ruger 10/22 Rifle with a scope.
 
His father told him he had to keep it in the gun cabinet in the garage and could only take it out when they went shooting together.

Michael’s parents also exchanged gifts.
 
His father had gotten some really old books, which he enjoyed collecting, and his mother was given a dragonfly broach, which looked expensive, and which she said was gorgeous.
 
They gave each other some more stuff that Michael didn’t pay too much attention to, but he chuckled when his mother wasn’t quite sure if the antique birdcage his father had gotten her was intended as a joke or not.
 
He insisted it wasn’t, but gave Michael a discreet wink.

It was about two o’clock in the afternoon when Declan MacDonald called to wish everyone a merry Christmas.
 
He and his son Liam were going to be coming for a visit in a few weeks.

“Listen,” Declan told Mark, “when we come out next month, I’d like to bring a friend of mine along to meet you.
 
She’s a historian from Ireland, and lately, she’s been conducting some very interesting research.”

“Sounds great,” Mark told him.
 
“What kind of research?”

“I can’t talk a lot about it over the phone, but let’s just say she might have some interesting leads on a valuable relic; one that I believe you’ve had some experience with.”

“Well, I trust your judgment, so if you think it’s worthwhile, bring her on by.
 
I’d love to meet her.”

After a few minutes, Michael got on the phone to say hello to Liam, and the two boys talked for a while about what they’d gotten for Christmas and what they were going to do during the visit.
 
Michael was excited about getting to see his best friend again.
 
He could hardly wait.

After getting off the phone, Michael caught up with his father in the backyard, who was preparing to fry a turkey.
 
Michael stood with his back to the outdoor fireplace, drawing in warmth from the crackling flames.
 
Tiny snowflakes were coming to rest all around them, and Michael wondered why his father wasn’t just cooking the turkey inside.

“Why are doing that out here in the yard?” Michael asked.

“Well, if one of these turkey fryers gets tipped over inside, chances are the whole house will burn down.
 
These things are dangerous, but they
do
make delicious turkey.”

Michael turned to look at the house.
 
He didn’t even want to imagine their house burning down.
 
In fact, he cringed to think about it.