by Clay Held
The hound closed in, jumping high in the air, coming fast. Simon flashed on Sam’s motto. Ex luce vita, those very words Sam had spoken so many times, always in times of trouble. Sam had never shared what it meant, and Simon had never bothered to learn. It was always just Sam’s weird little thing, nothing more. Really what harm was left in it, especially now? Ex luce vita. The notion blossomed in an instant, and Simon was lifting his hand to protect himself. He gazed along the top of his finger directly at the dog, and he shouted the words which now seemed to boil on his tongue. Ex luce vita. Ex luce vita. Ex luce vita.
He took a deep breath. “Ex vita luce!”
A sizzling, burning, crackling sensation tore across his hands. Everything went white.
Then, all was dark.
* * *
Simon spasmed and sat up on the big orange couch. His last memory overtook him and he looked at his hands, expecting to see burns, but remarkably he was unscathed. He stared in disbelief.
“Sam!” Molly was approaching. “Sam, he’s up.” She placed her hand on Simon’s chest, pushing him back down onto the couch. “Oh, Simon,” she said. She pushed a few stray hairs out of his face, kissed him lightly on the forehead. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for protecting my baby.”
Simon tried to talk but his voice wouldn’t cooperate. He tried to sit up but Molly put her hand on his chest, stilling him. His eyes found the window over the couch. It was night already. How long had he been out?
“Rest for now, sweetheart.” She turned towards the door. “Sam?” She called downstairs. “Did you hear me? I said Simon’s awake.”
Sam’s voice floated up from the tavern below. “I’ll be up in a minute,” he said. He sounded funny.
Molly furrowed her brow “That man,” she said to herself. She looked back to Simon. “Are you feeling okay, Simon? Do you need anything?”
His throat was sore. “Water,” he croaked. “Please.”
Molly smiled. “You got it.” She crossed the floor to the kitchenette and pulled a glass from the cabinet. She filled it with a pitcher from the fridge and was back to his side without taking her eyes off the door. “Here you go.”
The water soothed Simon’s throat, and he found it easier to talk after finishing the whole glass. “Zoey?” Unease gripped him. “Is she--”
“She’s fine,” Molly said. “She told us what happened. You were very brave to fight off that dog. It’s a miracle you didn’t get bitten.” She took the glass from Simon and set it on the old trunk that doubled as a coffee table. “We think it’s the dog they’ve been talking about on the news.” She felt his forehead. “Are you feeling any better? Do you need something to eat?”
“I’m fine,” Simon said, sitting up. His head swam and he laid back against the cushions. “Did they catch it?”
“No,” Molly said. “Animal control couldn’t find him when we called. Zoey said that you knocked him down?” Her brow furrowed again. “What exactly did you do, Simon?”
Simon struggled for an answer. “I just blocked him, that’s all.” He stopped for a moment before continuing. “It doesn’t make any sense. I held my arm up, then I yelled and swung with my other arm. I don’t know if I hit him or not. I didn’t want to, I mean, he’s just a dog, but I was--”
“Simon, it’s okay.” Molly patted his shoulder. “You were defending yourself and Zoey. Believe me, I’m grateful you did what you did. We all are.” She gave him a small smile. “Even if it doesn’t make any sense.” She glanced at the door again. “I’m going to go see what’s taking Sam so long. He wanted to know the moment you were awake. I don’t know why he isn’t up here.” She stood in the doorway. “Zoey’s sleeping on your bed, I hope that’s all right. Holler if you need anything.”
Simon watched Molly disappear through the door, then let his head collapse back onto the pillow. Everything was still a blur. What had happened, anyway? The dog had been leaping at him, and then he had shouted...
“Ex vita luce,” Simon whispered to himself, and it hit him: he had gotten their motto backwards. Sam had made him say it so many times, and he had still gotten it wrong. Ex luce vita. He mouthed the words to himself. His head spun. He stayed on the couch only until he felt strong enough to walk. When he could, he got to his feet and walked to the kitchenette. He grabbed his glass on the way and drew himself some water from the tap, but as he drank, the water didn’t soothe like it had earlier. He put the glass in the sink, then started to make his way downstairs, his head still pounding slightly.
He descended the stairs into the back hallway. The kitchen was completely empty, no dirty dishes stacked by the sink, no tickets on the wheel, nothing cooking on the grill top or the stove. The kitchen was utterly dead. This was strange for a weeknight. He could hear angry voices coming from the dining room. He peeked through the order window.
Sam and Molly were behind the counter. They were speaking to an odd-looking man Simon didn’t recognize. He wore what looked like an old, mousy gray suit, which had obviously seen much better days. The sleeves were ripped and worn to tatters at the end, and his hair hung in long gray strands over his forehead, poking out from under the brim of what must have once been a very splendid hat. Then there were his eyes, one deep ocean blue, the other a putrid, rotten green. They were sunk deep into his face with large purple bags under his sockets, and he looked like someone who never slept much,if at all. His skin was the palish, sickly white of curdling milk, and his nose dove sharply down from his huge brown eyebrows until it almost collided into his rotten, grinning mouth. He made Simon think of a skeleton who was wearing only the costume of man.
Simon moved slowly from the order window to the swinging door, learning carefully against it, straining to hear what they were saying. One of the stranger’s marble white hands leaned on a couple of very large pumpkins on the counter, and he spoke with a hissing, mocking rasp. His words rattled like pennies falling down a wishing well.
“This all took quite a bit the effort, Thatch.” He jabbed a ragged finger at Sam. “I applaud your ingenuity, but nothing lasts forever. All this...” the man gestured his arm around the dining room, “this...tiny effort you’ve put forward, it’s still impressive, but really, now, we’ve done this long enough, don’t you think?” The man let out a long, wheezing cough. “We both knew this day would come.”
“Who do you think you are?” Molly leaned over the counter at the man, her eyes narrowing. “You can’t just come in here like this, insulting us. How do you even know Sam?” She folded her arms and glared. “He beat you up in high school?”
The man turned to Molly. “Hardly.” He removed his hat, and his hair was a greasy mess stuck to his head. “You are correct, ma’am. I am forgetting myself. While I cannot count on Sam here to remember his manners, I should not forget mine. Allow me to introduce myself.” He sat his hat on the counter and extended his withered hand. Molly remained still. “Well, then.” He smiled. “My name is Fellis Boeman, ma’am. Sam and I, and Simon’s parents, all go way back.” His eyes flicked to Sam. “Don’t we, Sammy boy?”
Sam leaned forward, and when he spoke, the words came out through gritted teeth. “Get. Out. Now. This is my home. You are not welcome here.”
“Oh, but you see, I am.” He snatched his hat from the counter and returned it to his head. “This, this place is a public establishment, is it not? And I am one of the public. I am a guest, as all your patrons must be, and so, I am welcome.”
“We’re closed tonight,” Sam said. “Private party.”
Boeman smiled. “Well, I should say so! You really didn’t have to do all this for me.” Simon peered around the dining room and was shocked. Rubber bats hung from the ceiling. Paper skeletons surrounded the windows. Decoration were everywhere. Sam’s surprise.
“My home, our home, is upstairs.” Sam leaned back. “The threshold applies.”
“Well, then.” Boeman opened a packet of sugar and poured it on the counter. “Apparently not,” he said. He dipped hi
s finger in the small pile of sugar, then touched it to his lips. He smiled, then reached into his pocket and produced a scratched and beaten silver coin, which he flipped on the counter. Neither Sam nor Molly made a move to touch it. “You couldn’t hide forever. It was noble of you to take Tom and Emma’s son, but again, really, we both knew you couldn’t hide forever, let alone keep him in the dark like you have. Boys will be boys, after all.”
Simon twitched at the mention of his parents’ names. He and Sam did not talk about their situation much, not since Simon’s fifth birthday, when Sam sat him down and explained that Simon’s parents had to go away for a very long time, and that Sam would keep watching over him until the day they came back. That had been almost ten years ago, and they had still never come. “Someday,” Sam had told him. “Someday they’ll be back, and you’ll be with them again.” This had been before Molly and Zoey entered the picture, before they even had the Paw. Before everything, really. This talk was one of Simon’s earliest memories, and though he would never tell Sam, it was also one of his saddest. Besides a few suspicious birthday cards and Christmas gifts, Simon didn’t have much to go on with his parents. He suspected the cards and presents were from Sam all along, really. Every time he thought long and hard about them, tried to remember how they looked, or what they sounded like, he always ended up feeling with the same feeling of being broken, incomplete, so he capped those feelings as tightly as he could, kept the pain and the anger tucked in the weird hole their absence made. Still, it was a nagging sadness, spoken by neither Simon nor Sam, but always there, under a tight cap. They were a giant, sad mystery to him, one he had failed to solve.
Hearing the tall man call his parents by name violently uncapped those feelings in Simon and threatened to flood over him. It blinded him to the fact that he was leaning too hard on the door between the kitchen and the dining room--he fell into the room with a loud thump. All talking stopped, then a pair of boots, scuffed and covered in mud appeared in his field of vision.
“Look who it is,” Boeman said, watching Simon pick himself up off the floor. “Simon Warner, I am so pleased to see you again. Fifteen long years.” His green eye was fixed on him. “Tell me boy, did you feel this night coming?” Slowly he extended his hand to Simon. “Oh come on now, boy,” Boeman said when Simon didn’t move. “Don’t forget your manners too. Shake my hand. You injured my dog, after all. The least you can do is show me some respect.”
Sam stepped in front of Simon. “Don’t do it,” he said. “Don’t even look at him.”
Boeman waved a finger at them. “That’s hardly nice, Sam. The boy and I do have a certain history, after all.”
Sam leaned into Boeman’s face. “Look. You are not welcome here. Leave now.” Sam’s voice was tinged with something Simon couldn’t quite identify. It wasn’t anger, but more like intense wanting, very strong desire, compelling, palpable and heavy. Whatever it was made Simon’s skin break out in goosebumps.
Simon peeked around Sam at the skeleton man. “That was your dog?” His and Boeman’s eyes met. The man’s eyes were both bright green now, the color of the sky before a tornado. A frigid feeling squirmed its way around Simon’s chest.
“Oh don’t worry,” Boeman said. “Streaker is not so lightly discouraged. Though he can be a little too rough if I leave him off the leash for too long, but you took care of him, didn’t you boy?”
Sam looked grimly at Simon. “Our motto. Tell me you didn’t...”
“Ex vita luce,” Simon whispered.
Sam let go slowly. “Still backwards,” he said. “It’s why you passed out.” He stared past Boeman. “This was your doing.”
Boeman sneered. “That’s what you get for not telling him what he is. You keep someone in the dark, and then they make mistakes. You would know all about that, wouldn’t you?”
Sam took a step back, braced as if to grab Boeman.
“Sam,” Molly said. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“I’m not,” Sam said. “This man loves fools. Believe me, I know.” He stepped closer to Boeman. “The only foolish one here tonight is him.”
Boeman smiled. “Oh, am I now?” He leaned forward. “Only the fool doesn’t see the foolishness within himself, Thatch. To be wise is to know your foolishness. Are you a fool, or are you too wise for my tricks now?”
“Final warning,” Sam said. He reached under the counter. Simon saw the candles Sam had been looking for that morning were sitting next to the pumpkins. It made sense now. “Leave now, or I’ll--”
Boeman swiped his hand through the air. Sam’s voice instantly froze in his throat. A moment passed, then another, and yet Sam did not move. He was stuck leaning forward, over the counter, completely unmoving, not even breathing. Molly tried to move him and failed.
Boeman’s eyes locked on Sam, who remained motionless. “Dear Sammy boy, have you forgotten? You cannot defy me now that I have found you, after all these years. I am in your house. I am in your soul.” He faced Simon. “Now you on the other hand are something of a free agent, Simon. I suppose you could strike at me, if only you knew how. Not that it would do any good.” He stepped back, spread his arms wide. He reminded Simon of a scarecrow in this pose. “I’m glad to know you’re still in the picture, though. I have just the plan for you. Sam knew his day would come, but you, you are a treat. Oh my, look how red his face is getting! The poor fellow can’t seem to breathe. Now, he’s known all these years, but he’s never, ever told you, has he?” Simon looked at Sam. “He’s been hiding things from you. I would never do that to you.” Boeman held out his hand. “Just shake my hand, Simon, and we have a deal. I will show you a life of endless power, just like your parents.”
Simon’s eyes widened.
“Tell me something, Simon.” Boeman flicked a bony finger at the candles on the counter. One by one they erupted with tiny green flames. “Does you heart go bump in the night?” He bent over until his eyes leveled with Simon’s. “This is your destiny. You have a hint of it, don’t you? The power that sleeps in you. That’s how you beat my dog.” He placed his hand on Simon’s shoulder. “So many plans, my boy. My head can barely keep up. But one in particular comes first. Simon Warner, I will finish what you started at the lake. I am going to save you from the life they would have you live. I will grant you true oblivion. I will bring you the Dark Death.”
“Don’t you touch him!” Molly stepped fiercely in front of Simon, a lioness protecting her young. “Get out now before I call the police!”
“Oh, whatever will I do,” Boeman said mockingly. “The police, oh no, oh we can’t have that. They might put their little shackles on me or stuff me in their wagon.” He raised both hands in the air. “Oh no, constable! I didn’t do it!” His laugh was knuckle bones in a soup can. “Please, oh please don’t!”
Simon stepped forward. “Stop!” He held out his hand. “I’m warning you!”
Boeman smiled, turned his head back to Simon. Sam’s body suddenly relaxed, and he fell hard onto the counter, drawing in several deep breaths. “Simon...” he finally gasped. “Don’t...”
“Who is this guy?” Molly put her arm under Sam’s shoulder. “How did he do that to you?”
Boeman kept his eyes on Simon and chuckled again. “I already told you who I am, my dear. What I am is another story entirely.” He pushed the tip of his hat back. “What you need to know is, I cannot be stopped, and come hell or a hundred men, I will have these two.” He stabbed a finger towards Sam. “He is already under my dominion, and this one,” he pointed at Simon, “is not far behind.” Boeman’s face twisted suddenly, a snarl of unchecked rage tearing across his face, and for just the briefest instant all his composure seemed lost, then just as quickly as it had come, it was gone, tucked behind his mask again. He casually withdrew a small white card from his coat pocket and placed it on the pumpkins. “Something for you, Simon, to get you started. Oh I have such big plans for you!”
Sam started to talk, but Boeman cut him off. “Hold that thought
. How about we end on a high note.” Sam focused his eyes on Boeman, but didn’t speak. Another wave of goosebumps raised on Simon’s arm, but they felt sour and wrong. Boeman turned and headed towards the front door. “That’s a good boy,” he said over his shoulder. He stopped at the front door and pointed at the rabbit paw mounted over the entrance. “That was still clever,” he said, his voice frosty, “but not clever enough.” His sunken eyes fell on Simon. “Come hell or hundred, boy, you can’t stay here forever. Eventually, you will have to leave, and when that comes, it will mean the Dark Death for you.” He glanced at Molly. “The coin is for the sugar,” he added, then he stepped through the door and vanished into the night, smoke rising from an invisible fire.
Simon stood behind the counter, his eyes fixed on the candles burning next to the pumpkins, transfixed. Molly helped Sam to a stool, where he sat, shaking. Finally Simon broke away from the candles and joined them. “Are you okay?”
Sam was rubbing his temples. “I need to find someone,” he said, starting towards the kitchen. “Molly, get Zoey, watch Simon. Lock the door.”
Molly looked at Sam, her eyes full of quiet anger. Her voice was firm when she spoke. “Sam, what’s going on?”
“Later,” he said as he reached the kitchen door. “I’ll explain everything, but right now I need to reach someone.” Sam was gone down the back hallway, out the back door into the alley. Molly let out a small, frustrated huff, then went to lock the front door.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “This was not what we planned at all.” She clicked the lock on the front door. “Sam went and got pumpkins from the store today. We spent all day decorating for Halloween, and we were going to carve them tonight. We even closed for a few hours this afternoon to go get more decorations from the store. Then when we got back, we found you collapsed in the alley, and then...” he voice trailed off. “...and then this. I don’t even know what to make of this.” She headed for the kitchen door. “Stay here,” she said. “Don’t open the door for anybody.”