Bad Apple (The Warner Grimoire)

by Clay Held

She lead them into the stacks. After a minute of sneaking, Penny paused to put her hand on a shelf. Somewhere out in the silence a small thud happened. A moment later she shuddered. “Four of them. I dropped books on the far end of the floor, away from us, try to draw them that way. When we make it to the stairs, we go straight to my dad’s office.”

  “That so?” Luke peered into the dark. “Beeline it straight there. Why?”

  “Threshold,” Penny whispered. “Dad has a second one on the doorway there, stronger than normal. Almost impossible for them to get through.”

  Luke stepped back. “Music to my ears. How far till the stairs?”

  Simon’s heart thundered in his chest, causing him to stumble. He steadied himself against the wall as Boeman’s discordant, tinny laugh suddenly jangled inside his head.

  “Simon!” Penny said. “What’s wrong?”

  “Boeman,” Simon said, trying to shake the laugh from his head “He’s here.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I feel him,” Simon said, the pounding in his chest fading. “I hear him. He’s really close. Penny, how far till the stairs?”

  “Close,” she said. “Can you move?”

  “I think so,” Simon said, finding his footing. “Go.”

  They ran as quietly as they could to the front of the floor, never pausing, not even when Luke knocked over a cart containing more books than Simon thought possible. Penny had merely slapped a shelf as she ran past, causing a wave of books to go careening to the floor, the noise of the barrage almost covering the sound of beasts yelping and the gnashing of teeth. They reached the door to the main stairwell and Penny slowly slid the door open, peering down into the floors below. “All clear,” she said at last. “Hurry.”

  They slipped into the stairwell and began rapidly descending the flights of stairs, while above them they heard the howling and thrashing of the hellhounds as they continued to tear the sixth floor to shreds. As they reached the landing for the ground floor, Penny paused to peek through the doors.

  “There’s one in front of Dad’s office,” she whispered. “They must have figured we would head there.

  Simon peered through the glass of the doors. In front of the side door to Mr. Nettle’s office was a large, familiar black shadow moving back and forth, its silhouette cutting through a patch of moonlight as it paced back and forth. Streaker.

  Simon’s heart pounded. “We can’t go this way.”

  Luke peered through the glass. “Yeah? Why in the world not?”

  “That’s not just a hellhound,” Simon said. “That one works with Boeman. They took my guardian, Sam.”

  “Wait.” Luke said. “Hang on. Did you say Boeman?”

  Simon stared at Luke in disbelief. “Haven’t you been listening?”

  Luke shook his head. “Not really.” He looked at his shoulder. “Dogs and devils, Maggey. We’ve really done it this time.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Look,” Luke said after a moment. “This here’s our best shot. I’ll create a distraction, you run for the office, got it?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “What I do best,” Luke said. “You ready?”

  Simon exchanged a long look with Penny. “Okay,” he finally said. “Ready.”

  Luke took a deep breath, followed by another. “Now,” he whispered. “Hey ugly!” he shouted, kicking the door open. Unlike Penny’s eyes, though, his eyes flashed a deep, scarlet red. The dog was instantly locked onto him. “You’re IT!” His eyes flashed again, and he snapped his fingers, hard and loud. A high-pitched tone burst throughout the air, and Streaker howled in terrible pain. Luke followed by hurling a large book at the beast, then broke into a run, away from them, followed closely by Streaker, who had quickly recovered and was chasing him like Death itself had been let loose.

  Simon waited until the coast was clear, then slowly slid the door back open and peered around. “Okay,” he said. “Looks clear.” Penny shoved her head through the crack in the door, too, performing her own rapid-fire inspection.

  “Straight ahead,” she said. “Once we’re through the door, we’re safe. It’s done.”

  Another quick check. “Okay,” Simon whispered. “Now!”

  The side door to Mr. Nettle’s office was at the far end of the room. Simon moved quickly, keeping his head down and listening for any sudden sounds, all the while an icy cold sensation spread across his chest, seizing up towards his throat. Penny slipped along beside him, and he suddenly realized that she was barefoot. She barely made any noise, padding along quietly as the two of them slipped along the floor to her father’s office.

  They were halfway to the door when another vicious howl shot through the air, joined a moment later by moaning. Penny grabbed Simon’s hand. “Hurry!” she shouted, pulling him into a run.

  Shadows moved behind the shelves around them, human-shaped creatures stumbling rapidly forward, falling towards them in an unfettered pursuit, and behind them claws could be heard scraping across the floor.

  They were a few yards from the door. From safety. In a few seconds, they would be inside, past the threshold, safe behind Mr. Nettle’s magic. Simon pumped his legs harder, Penny already running at full sprint.

  Something darted in the corner of Simon’s vision. It moved quickly, leaping in front of the door to Mr. Nettle’s office, its teeth flashing blood-red in the moonlight.

  Penny screamed and stopped short.

  A hellhound blocked their escape. The moaning shadows began to close in around them.

  The Other Voice whispered in his mind. “You’re pinched, Simon. Do something.”

  “Get behind me,” Simon said. He raised both his palms towards the snarling hound. “Ex luce vita,” he said, albeit weakly.

  Nothing. He shook his hands as the beast arched its back and growled.

  “What are you doing?” Penny put her back up to Simon, her eyes fixed on the shadows around them.

  “Just something I do,” Simon said. “I did it yesterday. First my hands sort of, well, buzzed, then this light--”

  “Are you insane?” Behind them a shelf of books collapsed onto a group of the advancing ghouls. “You can’t just tap your life force around like that.”

  “You’re weak, kid,” said the Other Voice.

  Another hellhound appeared at the stairwell door. They were boxed in. “Do you have any other ideas?” Simon flexed his hands and held them back in front of them. In his mind, he tried to reach out to the same force he had felt before, to connect to what he thought was his hidden strength.

  Cosmic forces.

  Strong stuff.

  Poofy.

  Slowly, the buzzing began to creep into his hands, and the hellhound in front of Mr. Nettle’s door began to growl louder. He tried to focus his thoughts more clearly, to line them up all in a row, put them in order like books on a shelf.

  “I sure hope you know what you’re doing,” Penny said.

  “I think so,” Simon said. He closed his eyes and tried to think of the brightest image he could. Maggey had been bright, in the corridor. Brightness was the key, he was sure, but he was without any idea what to say. He thought of the sun, and spoke the first word that sparked in his mind. “Burn.”

  Dizziness.

  Fire poured out of his fingertips like orange and red water, and he was aghast. Flame erupted from his hands and washed over the hellhound, chasing it off into the darkness. Despite the inferno that now suddenly raged around them, the path to the door was now completely clear. He shook the fire from his hands. “Go!” Simon shouted, and Penny flew to the door, throwing it open and charging inside. Behind Simon the flames leapt across the piles of fallen books, spreading rapidly across the floor as it closed in on every moving thing, moatling and hound alike. The moatlings fell back from the flames, shuffling a hasty retreat into the depths of the library, but the hounds remained, ignoring the inferno for the most part.

  Simon’s hands tingled even though
the flames had faded away, and his head swam clumsily as he backed towards the open door. His eyes kept failing to take in all the sights around him. His chest had gone numb. He crossed into the office with a shiver then collapsed in a heap on the floor. Penny helped him sit up, and when he looked out the door again, Luke was there, on the far side of the room, near the main exit.

  “Luke!” Simon’s voice was a muddled croak. “Luke, hurry!”

  The moatlings had completely disappeared, and the hellhounds only retreated when the shelves began to heave and fall all around them. They rapidly retreated through several large broken windows, yet Luke remained frozen in place, his face a flicker of flames and shadow.

  “Luke!” Simon shouted again, trying to get his voice to carry. “LUKE!”

  “I said I’d help you get in there,” Luke shouted. He pointed at Mr. Nettle’s office. “Which I did. There you are.”

  The air thickened with smoke. Simon could barely make out Luke’s outline across the floor. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “ARE YOU FOR REAL?”

  Luke looked back at them. “Yeah.”

  Penny fumed. “Some friend!” she screamed.

  “Sorry Strawberry!” Luke started to back towards the main exit. “Ain’t nothing personal!”

  “I won’t forget this!” Simon shouted.

  Luke stared at both of them. It was a long, hard stare.“I know,” he said slowly. Then his face slowly hardened, the flame baking it to brick. Without another word, he backed slowly through the door behind him, and was gone.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  HOLLOW

  Penny stood in the doorway of the office “Where’s he going?”

  “Gone,” Simon said bitterly. Rage burned inside his throat, bitter and sharp. “Just like he said he would.”

  Penny backed away from the door. “My father’s threshold should protect us. This office is like his home, nothing should be able to get in.”

  Simon was quiet, another wave of weakness forcing him to sit on the floor. “Is it bad?” he finally said. “The fire?”

  Penny gazed at the roaring inferno. “Not yet,” she said. “I think we can still put it out. Here,” she said, sitting down across from Simon. “Give me your hands.”

  “What?”

  “Your hands,” she said, grabbing them. “Sympathetic spell-work. I talk to the Archive, you talk to the fire, okay?

  “It can hear me?”

  “You created it.” She squeezed his hands. “Together we can do this.”

  His heart pounded in his chest. He had never held a girl’s hand before. “What do I need to do?” he asked, forcing himself to focus.

  “Close your eyes,” she said. “Just follow me. You’ll probably see a few images, but try not to panic.” She squeezed his hands. “I’ll tell you what to do.

  He closed his eyes and tried to calm down. It took several deep breaths, but slowly his heart slowed, then his mind began to fill with a few random images, a flower, Malkin, the circulation desk. These images did not pound into his mind but bloomed like flowers. The images tumbled together, the individual pieces piling on top of each other, assembling themselves until an image of the Archives filled his mind completely. Every floor, then every shelf and book, whether they were on the shelf or sitting in a pile on the floor. Almost all of them were on fire.

  “Focus,” Penny said softly. “Repeat after me. You are the fire, the fire is you.”

  “I am the fire, the fire is me.”

  She squeezed his hands tighter. “Again. Talk to the fire, not to yourself.”

  Simon took a deep breath. “I am the fire.” A strange sensation flickered across his tongue, hot and wild, like the flames itself. “The fire is me.” He began to feel feverish. “Burning,” he said, the words hot and strange, cinnamon tasting. “We are burning.”

  “Yes, we are.” Penny squeezed his hands again. “Rest.” Her voice quavered. “Rest in peace.”

  Sweat broke out across Simon’s brow. “Burn...”

  “Rest in peace,” she said, clutching his hands. Another image flickered across Simon’s mind--the flower, again, then another. Hundreds of them, all sunflowers.

  Be at rest,” Penny said, her voice wavering. “Rest in peace.”

  Visions of a somber and quiet place flowed into Simon’s mind. A garden. Sunflowers. Rainclouds. People wearing black, and then, Penny and her sister. Their father. Rain. The butterfly garden. Crying.

  He was seeing a funeral.

  The hot feeling began to fade from Simon. “Rest,” he repeated slowly. “Rest in peace.” The flames in his mind died away, and with it the cinnamon taste in his mouth. The image of the library slowly began to leave him, collapsing in on itself as it washed away like a dream.

  “It’s out,” he whispered before opening his eyes. He found Penny staring at him intently. “Uhm...” he started to say. “Are you--”

  “Lost,” she whispered, her eyes locked on him. “So lost.”

  This confused Simon. “What are you talking about?”

  Her eyes were puffy. “I saw--” she began. “I didn’t mean to, honestly, but...I saw into your mind.” Her eyes broke away. “I’m sorry.”

  “I saw into yours too.” His heart began to pound again. “I saw sunflowers, and a funeral.”

  Penny flinched and pulled away from him.

  “I’m sorry,” Simon said. “I was like you, I didn’t mean to. It just sort of happened--”

  “The fires are out,” she said, standing quickly. She leaned out of the side door. “I think they’re gone.” She kept her back to him, unwilling to talk anymore.

  Simon slowly got to his feet and started towards Mr. Nettle’s desk. He needed to be looking for that crystal rather than sitting there dumbstruck, staring at Penny’s back.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Penny asked when she saw what he was doing.

  “Lie,” whispered the Other Voice.

  Simon ignored it. “I came here to find something in your father’s desk. He has a way of finding Boeman.”

  Penny stomped over and slammed the desk shut. “You have no right to go through his desk,” she spat.

  “It’s the only lead I have!” Simon shouted, his chest tight with frustration. “Ever since I came here it’s been nothing but meetings and talking. I can not let Sam be taken away from me forever. I will do whatever it takes to find him. That means finding Boeman, whatever it takes.” He stared deep into Penny’s eyes, which were still puffy, and immediately felt regret for taking his anger out on her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m desperate. He’s the only parent I’ve ever had. I have to find where Boeman took him.”

  “You could always just ask,” a cold voice said from beyond the doorway. Simon and Penny both jumped. Boeman leaned in the doorway, his hands and feet dirty with ash. “You never know. I may just be willing to work with you.” He wiped his hands on his clothes. “I have to give you credit, you’re more like Sam than you know,” he said, eyeing the doorway. “Second threshold. Clever.” His blue eye locked on Penny. “Tell me, was it the girl that thought this up?”

  “How did you find us?”

  “A friend told me,” Boeman said. “Besides, it wasn’t like it was really that hard. You did all the work for me, Warner. When you took your little fall out of the window and hit the ground like a limp bag of lifeless potatoes, you set off, well, let’s call it an alarm.” He chuckled. “So how about it, come along with me? Take you right to Sam. You can even bring your little girlfriend if you want.”

  Simon and Penny exchanged a look, then backed away from one another. She scooped Malkin off the desk and held her close. “What are you talking about?” Penny asked, blushing.

  “Off we go,” Boeman said to Simon. “You know, find Sam, save the day. Die the Dark Death,” he added mockingly. “We’ll go see him together. You already took off with Tamerlane without stopping to think. Why start now?” He pointed a crooked finger right at Simon. “How do you know I’m not the bet
ter choice? You really do need to stop and ask yourself just whether you’re exercising your most prudent options.”

  “We’re not going anywhere with you. You break people.”

  “Oh, come on now! Who told you that? Boy, I help people. I help them get what they want, and maybe teach them a thing or two about themselves in the process. I’m a mentor, when you think about it. More of one than that sad sack Tamerlane, anyway. He’s always moping about, isn’t he? Such a pretty face.” Boeman’s face suddenly darkened. “Pity I haven’t been able to rip it off.”

  “You’re a monster!” Penny blurted out.

  “Don’t be so sure, young lady.” Boeman tapped his finger on the threshold. “Besides, you might find things are easier when you are the monster.” The air sizzled around the doorway as the wood splintered. “Less things come after you when you’re what goes bump in the night.” Streaker appeared beside Boeman. “That’s a good boy,” he said to the dog, who growled in response. “Have fun,” Boeman said, backing away. “I’ve left a little present for you, but I think you’ve found it already. See if you can read between the lines. If you can figure it out, feel free to call on me. Do that and I’ll take you straight to your dear, beloved Sam, but don’t forget, after that, I’m going to watch you die.”

  “I’m going to save him,” Simon said.

  “Sure you will. But first, Streaker would like to spend some time with you. I’m not the only one who has business with you,” Boeman said, walking away. As he left he began to whistle, the same flat, sad song from Simon’s nightmare.

  “I hate him,” whispered the Other Voice.

  Streaker gnashed hard against the threshold, sending up a shower of green sparks. The wood buckled heavily from the impact, sending splinters wildly into the office.

  “He weakened the wards,” Penny said. “It won’t hold forever, not with that--that thing pushing against it.” She swept around the desk.

  Simon flexed his hands. “I’ll try again. I’ll control myself better.”

  Penny grabbed his hand. “Don’t. You’re burning your life force up every time you do that.”