Page of Swords (The Demon's Apprentice Book 2)

by Ben Reeder

  Five green balls of light floated out over the floor. Draeden nodded gravely.

  “And who opposes this course?”

  Four red balls shot out quickly, Polter's brightest of all. A sigh of relief died on my lips as a fifth red globe sailed out slowly.

  “There can be no abstentions in this,” Polter said. He gave a glance to the two Council members who had not voted, and I saw them exchange a glance, then one more red globe floated out over the floor, and Draeden sent a green globe of his own. Still a tie, and the last vote I could count on had been cast.

  “Caleb, you know how you must vote in this,” Polter said, and I saw the remaining mage's hand come up.

  “Which one a' you's gonna kill the boy then?” T-Bone's voice cut through the tense silence.

  “You know the answer to that, Hand,” Polter answered as he gave a dismissive wave of his hand.

  “I don't think you do, though,” Cross replied.

  “Silence, Cross. We are weighing an important decision here.”

  “A decision you think someone else is going to carry out. Before you cast your final votes, Council, know that you would be best served not do so.” Cross’s voice was as hard as steel.

  “Silence!” Polter shouted. “Master Draeden, will you tolerate such insolence?”

  “Indeed not.” Draeden said. “Shut up, Polter.”

  The entire chamber gasped, and a couple of people laughed. Not me, I swear. I had to cough, really.

  “What?” Polter gasped. Draeden nodded to Cross.

  “You thought nothing of making the decision to kill this boy, Andrew Polter,” Cross said. “But it is not you who would bear his blood on your hands. As the Left and Right Hands of Death, we are the final word where such decisions are made. We, and we alone, have the right to carry out a death sentence . . . or to refuse it.”

  “And if you all vote to kill him tonight, with a wyrd on his ass, without givin' him a chance to prove himself, we're gonna tell you exactly where you can stick it.”

  “May this Council ask why you would refuse, T-Bone?” Draeden asked politely.

  “ 'Cuz if what this kid says is true, the Conclave couldn't protect him when he needed us to. He may have done a lot of bad stuff, but Hell, he was just a kid! None of you were there helpin' him. When it came down to it, he did what none of you could. He got himself outta some bad shit, and now you're comin' along and tryin' to punish him for stuff he shoulda never had to do.”

  “The purpose of the Conclave is to protect the cowan and the mystic population from harm by the misuse of magick, and from the asura. Where were you, Master Polter,” Cross pointed at my chest, “when these wounds were inflicted on this boy? What did you do to stop this?”

  Dead silence met his question.

  “Then you will understand if we follow your example in this, and do just as little where you are concerned. The boy deserves the opportunity to prove himself. He's had enough taken from him by our negligence. It's time to let our inaction benefit him.”

  “So, yeah, until the Equinox, no one’s dyin’ and the kid gets a shot to prove himself. Any questions?” T-Bone asked.

  Silence continued its reign of terror until Cross spoke again.

  “I believe the floor is yours, Master Draeden.”

  The mages behind us muttered as Draeden pulled his hood back and leaned forward.

  “All that remains is to set the task. Chance Fortunato, this Council commands that you return the sword known as the Maxilla and fulfill the fate set by your wyrd. Do so before the Equinox, and you will have completed your Ordeal to this Council's satisfaction.”

  “But . . . Master Draeden!” Hardesty said. “The Maxilla is Wizard Corwyn's responsibility! We summoned him to answer for its loss!”

  “There is also the matter of harboring a warlock,” Polter said with a malicious glee in his voice.

  “We'll just have to wait until the Equinox, then, won't we? By then, I think both matters will be resolved sufficiently to make a final judgment.”

  “Chance, don't do this,” Dr. C said from right behind me.

  As usual, I hadn't heard him approach. I gave him a glare.

  “Already agreed to,” I told him, then turned to face Draeden. “Like I said earlier, Master Draeden, I'll do it.”

  “Excellent, Chance. Cross, T-Bone, would you see that his things are returned to him?”

  Draeden turned and disappeared into the halls of the upper floor. The rest of the Council followed him, but Polter stayed long enough to give me a lingering glare. His expression faltered when Mom caught sight of him, and he scuttled back from the railing.

  “We're going home, Chance,” Mom's voice was tight. I followed her with a heavy heart. It was one thing to face the Council. This was worse. I was pretty sure that death was a lot easier than facing the wrath of Mom. Cross met us at the elevators and handed over my stuff without a word. I slipped my jacket on as I stepped into the elevator with Mom and Dr. Corwyn.

  “Mara, I'm sorry you had to find out like this,” Dr. C said.

  Mom's hand landed against his face with a crack that made me jump. She barely came up to his shoulder, but he stepped back when she took a step toward him.

  “You took my son as your apprentice without my knowledge, Mister Corwyn. You lied to me, and you encouraged Chance to continue to lie to me. Enraged doesn't even begin to describe my feelings right now. For now, it's best if you didn't talk to me. In fact, moving out of the country for a few years might not be a bad idea.”

  “I understand if you're angry with me,” he said. “But don't be angry at Chance. He's the victim here. Any error here is mine entirely.”

  “Dr. C, please, don't. Mom, I'm sorry.”

  “We'll talk about this when we get home. Not before. As for you, Corwyn . . . just don't talk to me right now.” The doors dinged open, and Mom dragged me out of the elevator and into the parking lot.

  I rode back home with my faced pressed up against the window of Mom’s van. Right then, my world sucked about as bad as it could. Dying on the Equinox seemed like the least of my problems. Mom knew about my past, and I was having a hard time deciding which part was worse, her knowing, or how she'd found out.

  All the bad things I had done were out there for her to see. At least, the ones the Council knew about. She knew I’d been a demon’s slave, though. She’d guess the other things I’d done, the things the Conclave didn’t care about . . . the things that had been done to me. If she knew about the Conclave, it was a safe bet she knew how twisted demons could be.

  I couldn’t look at her, but I heard her knuckles pop on the steering wheel. She took every corner like a personal insult and every time she stopped, she stomped the brakes hard. We pulled up into the driveway and stopped with a short yelp of rubber on pavement, then Mom was out of the van and heading for the door at a quick walk.

  I jumped when the door slammed, but I didn’t move for a moment. Facing Dulka had been easier than getting out of the van to face my Mom. Finally, I opened the door and made my way through the cool March air, shivering as I tried to wrap my jacket around my shoulders like so much shredded dignity. The door loomed closer with every faltering step, and my gut churned. I would rather have done just about anything else as I watched my hand reach for the doorknob. The door pulled away from my hand before I could reach it, and Mom’s brittle voice emerged from the still-dark room.

  “Get inside, son.” She still called me ‘son’? I stepped into the darkness and pulled the door shut behind me.

  “Mom, I’m sor—”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered. I swallowed around the lump in my throat. I struggled for a long moment.

  “I didn’t want to stop being your son,” I finally said. The answer surprised me, and it made me feel naked now that it was out there. I heard Mom sit down in her favorite chair in a rustle of fabric on fabric. The silence in the room got heavier and heavier, and finally, I found something worse than being yelled at by M
om.

  “Mom, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t,” she said. “Just . . . don’t.”

  The lamp by her chair clicked on, and she got to her feet again. My eyes went to the floor as she came up to me. Her hands touched the scars on my chest, and I followed her fingertips as she went from one ugly line to another, light touches that I had never expected to feel on those wounds. I had never wanted her to see them, never wanted her to know about them, but now she knew, and I could never hide that shame from her again. I fought back tears as she sobbed once.

  “When your father took you from me, I was always afraid I’d never see you again, at first. Then, I started to think that you wouldn’t want to see me again, that he would teach you to hate your weird, controlling mother.” Her voice wavered as she spoke, verging on tears.

  “Mom, no, I never . . .” my throat closed around the words before I could finish them.

  “When you came back to me, I was so happy, because I finally had my baby boy back. I had my sweet Chance back, and I thought I’d get to see you grow up to be a man.”

  Her words hit me like hammers, each one a punch in the gut.

  “Please, Mom . . . I didn’t mean to! Please, don’t be mad?” I pleaded.

  I hadn’t felt so desperate since I’d broken Mom’s best china. I had begged and pleaded with her not to send me away, not to be mad. Back then, it had just been a stupid plate, and everything had been okay. But now . . . no amount of begging was going to change things. Somehow, I was certain, things were NOT going to be okay. How could they?

  “But . . . these aren’t the marks of a boy. You grew up while I wasn’t looking, while I wasn’t there. You didn’t have the childhood I wanted to give you, son, and I’m sorry that never happened,” she said unsteadily. “My little boy is gone . . .” her voice broke completely then, and she let out another strangled sob.

  “I didn’t mean to come back broken, Mom. It just happened.” My own voice broke, and I lost the fight against my tears. They streamed down my face as I finally looked up at my mom.

  Her hands came up to my damp cheeks, and I saw how sad her eyes were. I had done this to her, and I hated myself for it. Then her expression changed, and I saw something flash across her face that I would have hated in anyone else: pity.

  “Oh, Chance! This isn’t your fault, sweetie. I’m not mad at you. Chance, I love you, and I’m never going to stop.”

  “Promise?” was all I could manage.

  “With all my heart.” Something inside me crumbled.

  I wasn’t sure how long I bawled my freaking eyes out, and I wasn’t up to trying to guess. There was just a point where I was aware of being on my knees in the living room, with my mom’s arms tight around me, and the sound of her own fading sobs in my ears. I was holding on to her like a drowning man would a life preserver, and I loosened my arms when I realized how much smaller she seemed than I remembered.

  One of her hands came up to stroke my hair, and her voice sounded in my ear.

  “Chance, honey, I’m sorry I let this happen to you,” she whispered hoarsely.

  “No, Mom. It’s not your fault either.”

  “So, are we going to blame this all on your father?”

  “Yeah. Pretty much.” We pulled back a little and I gave her a weak smile. “I’m sorry I lied to you, Mom. Please, I need you to forgive me for that.”

  “Son, there’s nothing to . . . but you don’t see it that way, do you?”

  I shook my head.

  “Of course I forgive you. I never told you what I knew, either. Can you forgive me for that?”

  “Yeah, no problem, Mom. But why didn’t you tell me? I mean, I was a warlock. It wouldn’t have been a big deal to me.”

  “I didn’t know that sweetie. The world I had to step into and . . . learn to accept when I went to the Conclave was so different from what I knew, I was pretty sure I’d lost my mind. I tried once to tell a friend about it, someone I thought would understand it. She was a Wiccan high priestess, and she knew more about mysticism than anyone I knew. But when I told her about the Underground, and the Conclave, she thought that I was telling her about a past life. I tried to tell her this was all here and now, that it was very real, and do you know what she told me, honey? That past life visions can seem very real when they happen, but that we need to remember that nothing in them can hurt us, and to wrap ourselves in white light, and so on. Can you imagine what I thought my apparently normal teenage son was going to say?”

  “If you ever have one, I'll ask him. But, how did you know, Mom? About tonight?”

  “Your girlfriend came over to tell me. You never told me you were dating a cheerleader, sweetie.”

  “I'm not, Mom. Did she tell you that?”

  “She didn't have to. I could see it in her eyes.”

  “We're not dating.”

  “She obviously doesn't think that. She was practically in hysterics when she knocked on the door.”

  “It's . . . complicated, Mom.” I stood up and offered Mom a hand.

  “It always is when you're fifteen. Are you going to be all right for a little while? I need to go pick up your sister from Wanda's.” My nod seemed to reassure her a little. “There are leftovers in the refrigerator.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Mom was pulling out of the driveway, and I had a plain black t-shirt on. The clock over the sink showed the fat little chef’s big hand on the eleven, and his short hand on the six. Outside the window, the neighbor’s white garage was turning grey in the predawn glow, and the birds were warming up for their morning performance. I was supposed to be getting up now, not rummaging around for a replacement for dinner.

  Mom’s fridge yielded a decent substitute for dinner and breakfast in the form of cold moussaka, a blend of potatoes, onions, and beef mixed into a casserole. It was better hot from the oven, but it reheated well enough in the microwave that I called it good.

  I was halfway through my first bowl when I heard Shade’s bike pull up in the back. I looked out the window in time to see her stop on the narrow grass strip between the edge of Mom’s chain link fence and the asphalt alleyway. She flipped her visor up with one hand, but she didn’t straighten from the handlebars. Even from across the yard, I could see the doubt on her face, even though all I could see was her eyes and her slightly upturned nose. It didn’t hurt that she looked incredible in black leather. But seeing the uncertainty in her eyes kicked a switch on in my head, and I was out the back door before I knew it.

  “Am I welcome in the home of my Pack's advisor, gothi?” she asked, her tone formal. The brittle edge to her voice felt like a knife in my stomach. I answered by opening the gate for her and stepping back.

  She got off the bike and pulled her helmet off and unzipped her jacket. I never got tired of watching all of that red hair come tumbling free. For a moment, I stumbled for some way to say just how welcome the sight of her was, but there wasn’t enough poetry in the world to do it right.

  “More than welcome,” was the best I could come up with. She stepped into the yard and gave me a long look.

  “I thought I was going to lose you tonight,” she told me as her hand came up to touch my face. “And the only thing I could think of was that I’d been dancing with someone else tonight and hoping you'd be jealous and stop ignoring me. I didn’t want that to be the last thing between us.”

  “I know I’ve been a prick lately, too . . . I’m sorry.” We stood there for a moment. Neither of us knew what to say, or what to do. Things weren’t quite right between us, but we didn’t know how to fix that, either. All I knew was that I wanted to.

  “I can't stay long, Chance. I have to get home before my parents wake up. I just needed to see you again. Make sure you were okay. There's something I need to tell you, too. It's complicated. The Branson pack sent a beta to court me. He wants to claim me as his mate, Chance, and I don't want to let him.”

  “Then tell him no!” I said a little too loudly.

  She smiled and to
uched my cheek. “It's not that easy. He needs a rival, or he has undisputed claim on me. Even if . . . I've already chosen my mate.”

  “Shade, you're not some piece of meat; he can’t just pee on your leg and say you belong to him,” I argued. “Can't one of the Pack say they're dating you or something?”

  “I don’t like any of the rest of the Pack enough to date them. And none of them are willing to back talk me. I need a guy who doesn’t always agree with me. Someone I can lean on sometimes. So, you can see why I need my gothi.” Her eyes closed as she finished. She tilted her head a little and opened her eyes slowly to give me one of her enigmatic looks.

  If I had a thought running through my head before that, my hormones chased it down and killed it. When she leaned in and kissed me, I was completely useless for anything but kissing her back.

  “Uh, yeah,” I managed as she pulled back and left the memory of her warm lips against mine.

  She'd asked me to do something, I was sure, but I couldn't remember anything before she kissed me. All I could think about was how the lines of her breasts pressed against her grey t-shirt while she put her helmet on, and the way her pants stretched across her bottom when she got on her bike. Then I was staring into her big gray eyes as she pulled her riding gloves on.

  She gave me a slow wink before she flipped her visor down and started the bike.

  At some point, I must have wandered into the house, because the next thing I was aware of was Mom's voice.

  “Honey, your feet are damp,” Mom said to me, and I left memories of kissing Shade to come back to the real world.

  Now that she mentioned it, my feet were a little chilly. Darker cloth showed where my jeans were wet, and my socks were criss-crossed with tan and green blades of grass from where I'd walked across the back yard. My eyes went to the window, and I could see the silvery sheen of dew marred by my path to the gate and back. I didn't really remember walking back in or sitting down at the table, but there I was.

  “Yeah,” I said again, my entire vocabulary suddenly reduced to one word. “Shade came by to make sure everything was okay.”