Vision Quest (The Demon's Apprentice Book 3)

by Ben Reeder

  “Not exactly,” I said as she came back around in front of me, her eyes glued to the marks on my chest. “See, no spells. Happy now?”

  “Oh, I’m just getting started, baby,” she said. “You know what comes next?” She put her arms around my neck, then jumped up so her legs were wrapped around my hips, her crotch pressing against my groin. “You if you’re good.”

  “You know I don’t do casual sex,” I said as I picked her up and pushed her away. She squealed in delight as her feet hit the ground.

  “Oh, manhandle me, baby,” she said. “I like it rough.”

  “Go do your toy and come back so we can get this over with.” She led McCain out of the room by the hand and paused just long enough to leer at me over her shoulder before the door closed behind them. But, if I thought I had gotten away free and clear, a few minutes later I was proven wrong as I heard them start to go at it hot and heavy in the next room. I grabbed the earphones for the stereo. It certainly explained a lot. Sex magick was popular among the demonic set, partly because it raised so much energy, and partly because it could so easily be twisted to Infernal purposes, since humans attached so many negative emotions to sex. Jealousy, shame, and greed were all close to the surface when you brought sex into the picture. All Dulka had to do was give her a focus to use as a lens for the spell, and she would provide the energy.

  Half an hour later, a sweaty Lucinda walked back into the room. Even without opening my mystic senses, I could feel the power radiating from her skin.

  “You sure you don’t want to do this the fun way?” she asked, her voice slightly distorted by the magick coursing through her body. “Because I’ve got some serious mojo going on right now.”

  “I figured you’d had enough by now,” I said as she walked up to me.

  “Honey, I never get enough.” She leaned in close and whispered, “Vocem meam voluntatem,” in the heartbeat before she kissed me. There was a jolt that ran through me as the spell took hold, and I could feel it settle around my shoulders and run up the side of my face. I went stiff as I fought the urge to resist it, and felt enough of my will stay under my own control that I could retain the ability to break it when I needed to. Maybe.

  “Now, as much as I want to ride you like a pony,” Lucinda said, “Daddy has some other things in mind for you. You’re going to be a good boy. No sneaking out, and no talking to your friends. You prefer it here. And you’ll do what your dad says. Acknowledge.”

  “I will do as I’m told,” I said.

  “Good boy. When your father calls you son, you will obey him. Got it?”

  “I get it.”

  “Let’s go show Daddy what a good girl I am, then.”

  I followed, for the moment, my will, like my choices, not my own. She led me downstairs to my father’s study. Nico opened the door to let us in, and I took a moment to check the lay of the land. Not much had changed in the nine months or so since I’d last seen the place. The same portrait of my father hung over the fireplace on the left side of the room, one that made him look less like a bloated fish and more like the man I remembered as a child. The same painting hung on the right of the fireplace, too. It was a still life, fruit and dishes on a table by some important artist. It was also camouflage. If he hadn’t changed the painting, then the safe that used to be hidden behind it was probably still there. The carpet was new, some maroon paisley pattern that was probably supposed to make a statement about how much money he had. My eyes went to the right side of his desk. The same trash can was still there, a round wire thing in black that also happened to be big enough to cover the floor safe below it.

  “It’s done, Mr. Fortunato,” Lucinda said with a smile. “He’ll be a good boy now.”

  “Let’s see,” he said.

  “Say hi to your dad, Chance,” she said, and I felt the compulsions stir.

  “Hi, Dad,” I said.

  He nodded and smiled, and I promised myself I’d make him suffer for that.

  “Good work,” he said. “I’ll take control now.”

  “Chance, when your father calls you son, you will do whatever he says. You’ll obey him now, too.”

  “Okay,” I agreed.

  “Now, first things first, son,” he said. “You’re going to get in touch with that school you were going to and tell them you’re not going.”

  “Going to the Franklin Academy is mandatory, sir,” I said.

  “That’s not my problem,” he said. “Deal with it. Second, no more of that little redhead. Break up with her. Same goes for your other friend, Wendy or whatever her name is. I don’t even want you going to your other friend’s funeral. As far as you’re concerned, that bullshit never happened, and you’re back where you belong. You don’t want to go back to that other life.” I felt the compulsions working, but there was a conflict, since one of the things he had told me to do wasn’t going to happen. I could see Lucinda frown as she sensed the turmoil it was causing.

  “Something’s wrong,” she said. “You’ve given him an order that doesn’t make sense.” He got up from behind the desk and strode toward Lucinda. Eight years of being in her shoes told me what was about to happen, but I wasn’t supposed to be able to warn her. His left hand was closed into a fist, but he hit her with the back of his hand and sent her sprawling.

  “Stupid little bitch!” he yelled. “Can’t you even cast a simple mind control spell right? Even this stupid little shit got that right, and he was a fuck up from day one!”

  “It isn’t the spell,” Lucinda sobbed. “He can’t make sense of one of the orders you gave him for some reason. Just ask him what’s wrong.” The old man took a step forward and kicked her in the stomach before he turned to me.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped.

  “Lucas is still alive, sir,” I said. “There is no funeral to go to.”

  “He wasn’t in the house when it blew up?” the old man asked.

  “No, sir. He got home late.” I waited for a second, then added, “I can refuse to go to his parents’ service, if you prefer.”

  True to his nature, he gave me a sidelong look and stepped up close to me. “Why are you offering to skip their funeral?” he asked softly.

  “Because it would make you look bad and hurt your custody case to have you isolate me and not show up in public. Dr. Corwyn would probably make the case for physical abuse, which would prompt an investigation.”

  “Goddamn it!” he spat. “You had this planned from the beginning, didn’t you?”

  “Dr. Corwyn and his lawyer have several contingency plans based on things I told them you would do,” I said.

  His face turned red, and his lips became a tight line. “Damn it,” he hissed. “You two, get the hell out of my face. I need to talk to Mike.” I turned and walked to the door and Lucinda came after me. She walked hunched over, with one hand around her stomach and the other cupping her cheek.

  “It helps if you don’t make it sound like he was the one who did something wrong,” I said after we got a few steps away. “He doesn’t hit as hard when you take the blame for a mistake.” We walked along for a few more steps.

  “But he still hits,” she said.

  I nodded. “Yeah,” I said. “He still hits.”

  Chapter 8

  ~ Never accept an opponent’s surrender at face value. ~ Often overlooked Infernal advice.

  It was Friday night. Poker night for the old man, though he spent a good chunk of the evening ‘out’ pretty much every night, and girls’ night out for Kara. The memorial service for Lucas’s parents was the next day, and I was determined to go. But I still needed the compulsions in place, even while I defied them. So, as the sun began to set, I sat down with my back against the wall and closed my eyes. Slowly, I allowed myself to see the spell that Lucinda had wrapped around my aura. Instead of breaking it, I needed to turn it down for a while. What I was attempting to do was more like hitting the mute button instead of the off button. With slow, precise movements, I brought m
y fingertips to the glyphs that were stretched along my aura, and slowly pulled them away bit by bit.

  “Compulsis resido,” I whispered, and they went from bright red to transparent. Nine months ago, I hadn’t been capable of such fine control, but now … Dulka was in for a big surprise.

  Now that I was ostensibly under control, there wasn’t a guard on my room, and I had run of the mansion. I headed downstairs and, like clockwork, Jeremy appeared as I hit the main staircase.

  “Master Chance, how may I assist you?” he said.

  “Do you still have what I gave you last October?” I asked. He looked around for a moment, then nodded.

  “It is my most cherished gift, sir. I have not squandered it.” My eyes went a little misty as I remembered him saying the same thing when I’d lifted the compulsions on him. I went down the steps to him and put my hand on his shoulder.

  “Can I ask you to use it for me?” I asked.

  “You may ask anything of me, sir, and it is yours.”

  “It means betraying my father,” I said.

  “Then you needn’t ask. I volunteer.”

  “I need access to his study. And the combinations to his safes … and his bank accounts.” I looked at him and held my breath, waiting for him to balk, but he nodded and turned on his heel.

  “This way, sir.”

  Moments later, I was at the old man’s desk, with my hand on the heart of his empire. The notebook I was looking at detailed who he paid for what illegal things, and how they were listed in his books under otherwise legitimate expenses. Names, contact numbers, emails, even addresses for a few folks, and people he could get to them through. He also had a series of fake email addresses he did business through, including the one he’d used to frame Mom. I hit a couple of websites I had researched earlier that day, and once I had what I needed downloaded, I pulled up the email accounts he had referenced in the notebook and made sure the emails I needed were still in the sent box. Once I was sure of that, I made a visit to all of his bank accounts, secret and known.

  By that point, I had visited and verified everything the cops would need to put him away. Then it was time to get personal. I went to the Pay-Pro account and entered the temporary password to make a permanent change, then accessed the account and transferred all $4,683.00 to one of the smaller, local accounts my father used for petty cash. Finally, I forwarded a few emails and asked Jeremy to scan the notebook for me and print it out later that night. As much as I had gotten done, though, I still had no idea why I was there.

  “Will there be anything else, sir?” he asked as I handed him the notebook.

  “The keys to the Jag, if you have ‘em,” I said facetiously.

  “Mr. Fortunato no longer owns the Jaguar,” he said in his precise accent. “Miss Kara had an unfortunate accident in it. I can, however, call you a taxi if you wish.”

  “I do wish,” I told him. “But first, I need to get to my stuff.”

  Mitternacht’s Books was closed by the time the taxi dropped me off. I walked past the entrance to the store and pushed open the door that led to the stairwell on the corner of the building. There might as well have been a million steps going to the third floor, but I didn’t count. I just plodded my way up, my heart feeling like it weighed a ton in my chest and getting heavier with every step. I didn’t want to face Lucas, didn’t want to take the responsibility for his parents’ deaths. But I knew I had to. If he was like me, he was probably blaming himself for surviving. I reached the third floor and stared at the door for a couple of minutes, working up the nerve to knock.

  “Come in already,” a heavily accented voice said from the other side of the door. I laid my hand on the knob and opened the door. Inside, I finally understood why people said some places needed a woman’s touch. The front room was done in dark paneling, where the wall wasn’t covered by a bookshelf. What little blank space on the walls that was covered barely counted, because it was a world map. Thickly cushioned leather chairs bracketed a small fireplace on the front wall, and a heavy couch occupied the center of the room. The rich smell of pipe smoke permeated the whole room, and the glass in the light fixtures was yellowed with age. Two doorways led deeper into the rest of the apartment, one showing tiled floor and the other giving few clues.

  “I could hear you stomping up the stairs from all the way down at the bottom,” Mr. Mitternacht said from one of the chairs by the fireplace. Looking like Santa on SlimQuik, Hans Mitternacht was one of those men who made people who were born in the U.S. long for the “old country.”

  “The three girls, they are already here.” He pointed to the doorway across the room. “In the second bedroom, third door down. Go, help him mourn.” I nodded and went through the doorway to find myself in a hall. I heard voices on the other side of the door Hans had indicated, and knocked gently.

  “Lucas, it’s Chance,” I said through the door. “Can I come in?”

  Wanda opened the door and pulled me in, then went back to sit by Giselle on the floor. Lucas sat with his back to the wall, while Giselle and Wanda were propped up against his bed. Shade sat in an antique-looking chair in front of a wooden desk.

  “Hey, Chance,” Lucas greeted me. His hand moved in something like a wave, but otherwise, he just sat there.

  “I’m sorry, man,” I said as I went to sit in front of him.

  “Not your fault,” he said. “The cops said it was a gas explosion. If Junkyard and Shade hadn’t smelled the gas … I would’ve been dead too.” He sighed. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I wonder if that wouldn’t have been better.”

  “No, Lucas,” I said. “It wouldn’t have been better. And yes, it was my fault.”

  “What do you mean?” he said, his face suddenly taking on some semblance of life.

  “I mean my father was the one who arranged for the ‘gas explosion’ to happen. He did it to force me to come live with him. I knew he was going to try to do something, but I thought it was going to be something simple, like messing up my car or something. I never expected him to do … that.”

  Lucas shot to his feet, and I came up to face him. “I understand if you’re mad at me, or if … you hate me. But I couldn’t lie to you, or—” The rest was cut off as his fist connected with my cheek.

  My head rocked to the left for a second, then I was facing him again. For all that I loved Lucas as the best friend a guy could want, and as brave as he was, he couldn’t throw a punch worth a damn. I looked back at him, and his face was contorted with emotions I didn’t dare name.

  “That’s for letting your dad kill my family,” he yelled. I nodded. He threw a second punch, and even though I saw this one coming, I didn’t try to block it. His fist connected, this time a little harder. I saw white for a second and staggered back.

  “That’s for giving him what he wanted!”

  Wanda was on her feet and moving to get between us, but I held a hand out to try to stop her.

  “No, he’s right,” I said.

  “No, he isn’t!” she said with something in her voice that made both of us stop and look at her. “Both of you are acting like idiots. Your father made his own choice. You didn’t force him to do what he did. He made that decision on his own, and if anyone is going to pay for it, it doesn’t need to be you, Chance. Stavros Fortunato did this, no one else. Stavros Fortunato pays for this. No. One. Else.”

  I had seen the face of the Goddess in her compassion and in her wrath, and Wanda was definitely channeling the latter. Not in a figurative sense, either.

  “She is right, enkel,” Hans’s voice came from behind me. I turned to see him standing in the open door. He walked past me and put his hands on Lucas’s shoulders. “Stop hitting your friend. Nein, friend, it is not enough word. Lucas, enkel, he is your … you are waffenbruder.”

  “Weapon brothers?” Lucas said, his expression showing as much concern as confusion.

  Hans turned and gestured to include Wanda and Shade. “Ja, you’ve shed blood together; you are all brot
hers and sisters in arms. What, you think I am not hearing because I’m so old? I hear the stories you whisper to each other. The Goddess in you, Wanda. You, standing at your friend’s side against der Blutsauger a few months ago. And der Werwolf in the fall before that. And you,” he said turning to me. “You are always there for them. You even try to own the bad that is not yours, because you feel responsible for them. Lucas, I know we have lost so much, the family we were given by birth. But you must hold on to the family you still have, these, your brother and sisters. Give your anger to the one it belongs to, this Stavros.”

  Lucas stood there for a few moments, his fists still balled up and his arms quivering. Finally his head came up and he nodded.

  “I’m sorry I hit you,” he said in a tight voice. “But I’m still pissed you gave him what he wanted.” I couldn’t look him in the eye. Hans gave a curt nod, and headed for the door, muttering something about kids on the way out.

  “I couldn’t risk him going after Wanda or …” I let it trail off, not even able to imagine anything happening to Shade without my brain locking up. “Besides, he’s not getting what he wants. Not by the time I’m through with him.”

  “So, how do we fuck up his world?” Lucas asked, his voice cold.

  “I’m working on that,” I said. “And you’re going to be a big part of it. But there’s something else I need your help with. Dulka’s got a familiar, and he’s got her on a recruiting drive. She’s targeted a guy named Gilbert Vasquez.” I pulled out the copy of the email I’d printed before I’d left my father’s place and let everyone look it over.

  “So, when you say ‘recruiting drive,’ you mean he’s trying to get this guy to sell him his soul,” Wanda said in a cold voice.

  “And he’s using the website I set up for him to do it,” I said bitterly. “I’m not going to let him get away with that.”