Bad Apple (The Warner Grimoire)

by Clay Held

  “My what?”

  “Your soul. You’re a living being. That makes you a part of the Cosmic Tide--the Anima, and when you just start throwing around your life force around you risk wearing yourself out. Too much magic at once, without training especially, is a good way to end up hurt, or worse.” Her voice dropped. “Hollow.”

  Suddenly why Nathan had stopped him yesterday at the Gate became terrifyingly clear. Boeman was bleeding him dry. “Hollow?”

  “If you do it too much you’ll be left too weak to fight,” Penny said. “You wouldn’t be able to hold them off anyway. They’re just wearing you down right now.”

  Streaker bashed harder against the threshold, causing sparks and splinters to tear through the room as the doorframe buckled from the force. “It’s almost through.” Penny backed towards the fireplace. “Here, we’ll move back towards the side door. Just...back away, slowly. Act like were just hiding. Then once we’re out of sight we’ll make a break for it.”

  “Then what?” Simon asked.

  “I haven’t thought that far,” Penny said, scooping up Malkin, who let out a tiny snort and went back to sleep.

  “I don’t like this.” Simon grabbed an iron poker from beside the fireplace. “We’re safer here. When he comes through, just stay behind me.

  “I don’t think that’s a good--”

  The doorframe burst into a thousand pieces. One final blast of green and red sparks scorched Streaker as he crossed into the office. Once past the broken threshold, the beast threw back his head and howled.

  Simon gripped the iron poker tight. “Don’t run. He’ll just chase you.” Streaker moved slowly around the office, his head low and teeth bared. His eyes were pitch black in the moonlight.

  The back of Simon’s neck ran cold as ice seemed to crawl up his back. He tightened his grip on the iron poker and swung wildly, hoping to connect with the beast, graze it, maybe knock it out. Penny gasped as the poker swung through the air, only to find nothing. When Simon opened his eyes the beast was nowhere to be seen.

  “Where is it?” Simon spun in a circle, looking frantically for any sign. Penny stood against the fireplace, her back pressed against the brick. “Where is it?” Simon shouted. “Where did it go!”

  “I--I don’t know. It was there one moment, then the next it was just...”

  “Where Penny!”

  “Gone.” She clutched Malkin. “Just...gone.”

  “It’s messing with us,” Simon said. “It wouldn’t just run--” Something large and heavy knocked him down, sending the poker sliding wildly across the floor. Streaker landed squarely on his back, pinning him to the floor.

  Penny screamed. She grabbed the poker from the floor and swung it frantically. “Get back!” she shouted. “Get off of him!”

  Simon heard a soft thunk above him, and he struggled to lift his head against the weight of the beast pressing down on him.

  A hatchet was embedded in the front of Mr. Nettle’s desk. It quivered for a moment, then went still as intricate lines and patterns in silver began to ebb and glow alone the handle, covering it in brilliant lacework, then finally reaching the blade. Suddenly, a burst of bluish-silver light erupted from the hatchet, filling the room with an ephemeral haze. Streaker fell off of Simon with a loud yowl of pain, whelping frantically as it kicked its way into a corner.

  Another familiar voice came through the haze. “Hey there, doggie. I thought I told you to get.” Nathan stepped through the silvery mist, his bag of salts in his hand. “Guess that makes you one of them old dogs has that trouble learning new tricks, ain’t you?”

  “Looks like,” said another voice. Kate stepped beside Nathan, her eyes flickering with silver. She was followed by Mr. Nettle.

  Who was followed by Luke.

  Nathan poured the salt into his open hand and pocketed the rest. With a whisper the salt erupted into a silvery-blue blaze. He approached Streaker, who had stopped kicking and was whining, quietly in the corner.

  “Don’t be like that,” Nathan said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “It’s time for you to rest again. Back on the other side.” He knelt down to run his hand over the beast’s fur. “It was never fair.” Streaker whined. “I know, I know. We’ll let you sleep.” With one last burst of strength, Streaker reared up and sank his teeth deep into Nathan’s arm.

  Nathan winced. “Bad dog,” he said, blowing the salt at Streaker. A bright, quiet flash bloomed, and after a wave of sizzling and smoke, the dog was gone, the smell of rotten eggs and mold hanging in the air. Nathan stared at the spot where the dog had vanished, a very concerned look appearing on his face.

  “Penny!” Mr. Nettle rushed across the room to his daughter. “Dogs and devils, daughter! What are you doing here?”

  “I--I heard a noise on the sixth floor. I went to check it out, when--” she hesitated.

  “When what?” Mr. Nettle demanded.

  “It was my fault,” Simon said, making his way to his feet. “I dragged her into this. I came here to look for a way to find Boeman. Penny--”

  “Again with this!” Mr. Nettle pounded his fist on the fireplace mantle. “This is your doing, isn’t it Nathan?”

  Nathan was still squatting where the hellhound had been laying, eyeing the floor. “Excuse me?”

  “Maybe we should all sleep on this,” Kate said, stepping between the two men. “Leave it till morning, give everyone a chance to clear their heads.” She pulled her hatchet out of the front of Mr. Nettle’s desk. “Sorry,” she said quietly when she saw the look on Mr. Nettle’s face.

  After a moment Mr. Nettle’s face slowly softened. “I suppose one more gouge isn’t going to be that big a deal, not after the rest of the havoc tonight. Penny,” he said, “tell me you didn’t let anything out.”

  “What about the--” Simon stopped when he saw the look she was giving him.

  “The what?” Nettle’s eyes were unnerving to behold. In an instant he understood Luke’s fear of the man.

  “The skeleton,” Simon said slowly. With the burning eyes.” Mr. Nettle raised his eyebrows and looked at his daughter.

  “I panicked,” was all Penny said.

  “Unfortunately, the Bloody Bones cannot wait till morning.” Mr. Nettle pulled a large, dark stone out of his desk drawer. “I’ll attend to this myself. Penny, to bed. You will need your rest for tomorrow, when you are to pick up every single book that was displaced.”

  “That’s not all,” Simon said guiltily. “Some of the books...”

  “Yes?”

  “Some of them...caught fire.”

  “Fire?” Nathan and Kate said at the same time. “How?”

  “I did it,” Simon said. “I was trying to clear the way to the door, and I--”There was no use delaying it--”Fire came out of my fingertips.”

  “Simon...” said Nathan. His voice was sad. “You really shouldn’t have done that. I was going to talk to you in the morning to explain--”

  “I know I shouldn’t have,” Simon said. “Now.”

  Nathan stopped short. Over in the corner, Luke snickered quietly to himself.

  “What are you laughing at?” Simon snapped. “You left us here. You took off to go save yourself!”

  Luke’s face darkened. “I went to go get help, or in case you forgot, I couldn’t leave until you crossed the threshold to the office. That was our deal.”

  “Simon, you’re making deals now too?” Nathan said, his eyes wide. “You have no idea what forces you’re dealing with here, or who you’re dealing with either. You,” he said, pointing at Luke. “Who is your mentor?”

  “I don’t have to take this,” Luke said, starting for the door. “I’m out of here.”

  Kate blocked the door. “Better answer him, kid.”

  Luke huffed. “He ain’t here,” he said through gritted teeth. “He stayed down in the Delta, sent me up alone to pay his dues.”

  “Well, ain’t that just lovely of him?” Nathan focused solely on Luke. The air began to buzz. “Not too commo
n to send an apprentice up alone.” He closed in on Luke. “Now why do you think he would do something like that, Mr. Briar? I ask as a mentor.” His voice was an icy poke in the chest. “Answer me.”

  Luke shivered. “He’s busy, okay?” He held his ground when he answered “Tracking a Roux-Ga-Roux for Madame Mamzelle. Last name of Foxworth.”

  “There you go,” Nathan said curtly. “See? Easy. Simon, don’t make deals.”

  Simon had been staring at the spot where Streaker had vanished. “What? Why?”

  “Because you’re too young to know what you’re doing, and dealmaking isn’t just agreeing to do something. You’re forming a pact, and those come with consequences if you don’t honor your side. There are those,” Nathan looked at Luke, “who might try to take advantage of that.

  “Hey now, our business is done,” Luke protested. Nathan threw him a suspicious look. “Well, it is.”

  “We need to go, Simon. Peter, we can be by in the morning to help pick up the mess.”

  “I’m sure there will still be plenty of it to go around,” Mr. Nettle said, looking at Penny, who looked away.

  Nathan headed towards the door. “Simon,” he said as he crossed the broken threshold, “isn’t this yours?” He held up a rather sorry-looking and beaten-up backpack.

  “I--” Simon started. “Yes.”

  “Don’t forget it,” he said, tossing it to Simon and leaving. He glanced at Luke, then Penny. Luke remained silent while Penny stared daggers at him. He started to talk, but then Luke put his arm around her and winked. She flushed when he did this, causing Simon to storm out of the room.

  Kate was outside the library, staring up at the stars. “I guess we’ll have to wait another night to finish our walk,” she said as Nathan and Simon came out of the library.

  “It would seem that way,” Nathan said. “Simon, could you give us a minute?” They stepped away, just out of earshot, but not completely out of sight. Simon had a bad feeling Nathan wouldn’t be letting him out of his sight very often anymore.

  Luke stepped up beside him. “All right, Stray, hand it over.”

  Simon watched Nathan and Kate talking. Their heads were close together, their voices soft. “What?”

  “My book,” Luke said. “I ain’t walking away from tonight empty handed.”

  Simon handed his bag over. Luke unzipped it and stuck his arm deep into the bag. After a moment of fishing around he yanked his arm out and glowered at Simon. “What did you do with it?”

  Simon continued to watch Nathan talking to Kate. Despite what had just happened inside the library, Kate seemed to be acting cheerful, smiling and even laughing. “What are you talking about?”

  “My book, that’s what. It’s gone.” He threw the backpack on the ground and closed in on Simon. “I see you still managed to get your little prizes though.”

  Simon snatched up his backpack. “What are you talking about?” Opening his backpack he saw two books but couldn’t explain how either one had ended up in his bag. The first book was the blank one that he had left in his room, on the bookshelf.

  The second was Speaking with the Dead.

  “I don’t know how either of these got in here,” he protested.

  “Sure you don’t.” Luke sneered. “You still owe me, Stray, you got that? We ain’t over yet.” He started towards the trees. “Not by a long shot.”

  Simon was left alone with his thoughts, utterly dumbfounded. He had left his room, after all, with an empty bag, only now to have two books unexpectedly appear. Boeman’s words echoed in his mind. I left you a present. Read between the lines.

  Simon flipped through the brown book again, but its pages were just as blank as ever, meanwhile the lettering on the cover of Speaking with the Dead glimmered blue and silver in the moonlight. Simon checked the front page but did not find any handwritten messages.

  Kate stepped away from Nathan, her hand lightly touching his face before heading up the trail. A moment passed, then Nathan was at Simon’s side. Neither of them spoke, only exchanging angry looks. They walked back to the house in complete silence, all the while the two books were nestled in Simon’s backpack, thumping against his back with every step.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE LESSON

  The following morning came quickly. As Simon woke up on the familiar-feeling couch, for an instant he imagined himself in their apartment over the Rabbit’s Paw. He could almost hear Sam cooking breakfast, or talking with Molly, and Zoey would be using his toothbrush again. Then, after Frank brought the bread delivery, he’d be off to the bus stop, and then on his way to school, where his biggest problems would be homework and school lunch and running the mile. But, he was not home, Sam was not cooking, and there was no gym class here. Only a nagging sense of despair.

  The couch he had slept on, while identical to the one from their apartment in almost every way, gave him no comfort. The rest of the room, for the most part, had taken on more qualities of his home, from copying the rugs on the floor to gaining the same cracked yellow wallpaper from the main dining room, and yet, for all this, he did not feel at home. His backpack sat on the bed, undisturbed since the night before, when he had dropped it onto the covers, spilling out the blank journal and the book he had reluctantly brought back from the Archives.

  Simon picked up the brown book. He had half expected it to be just a copy of the one he had discovered in his room the day before, but as Simon held the book in his hands, he saw the empty space on his bookshelf. Slowly he slid it back into its spot, then picked up Speaking with the Dead. A passage caught his attention:

  It is important to remember that not all forms of death are equal. The moatling, or ghoul, for instance, is neither living nor dead, and as such communication with one is frivolous. Experts believe this is due to the process one undergoes when becoming the ghoul, where the soul of the person has been forfeited to another, while the body remains imbued with their residual kinetic energy.

  There was a knock at the door. In a panic, Simon shoved the stolen book back into his backpack while the knocking grew louder. “Simon?” Nathan was pounding on the door. “Simon! Wake up! Are you in there?”

  “Yes!” Simon shouted. He threw the backpack under the bed and ripped the door open. “I was getting dressed,” he said curtly as Nathan swept into the room.

  “We need to get you fed,” Nathan said. “Today is going to be busy. You will need your stamina.”

  “Why? What’s happening?” Simon spied the strap of his backpack sticking out from under the bed, the muscles around his stomach tensing up.

  Nathan was at the windows, peering out the curtains. “I’ve made special arrangements. After last night, I’ve convinced the Archmancer that it’s too dangerous for you here.” Nathan paused, his eyes still focused on something outside. “Too dangerous unless we teach you some of the basics. We can’t have you burning yourself out all because no one took the time to teach you a little self-control.”

  Simon kicked the strap of his backpack under the bed and joined Nathan by the window. “So does this mean I’m going to be somebody’s apprentice?”

  “It won’t be ‘somebody,’ kid. It’ll be me. Besides, being an apprentice isn’t like signing up for the scouts. You’re only accepted after you’ve passed a set of tests--trials, really.”

  “Trials?” Simon thought for a moment. “Could I do them while I’m here?”

  “Oh,” Nathan said. “All ready to leave your old life behind?”

  “There’s not much back there,” Simon said grimly.

  “Don’t say that.” Nathan checked his grimoire. “You can’t take the trials now. Perhaps after we find Sam, if you really wanted, and if the council allowed it.”

  “What do you mean? If the council allowed what?”

  “There’s too many factors here, Simon. Not everyone joins the Freemancers. It’s entirely possible to just have your powers and use them in your day-to-day life. You’re free to live a normal, quiet life, like Sam was, i
f you wanted. Nothing says you have to use your talents to the defense and safety of others. The board evaluates potential apprentices closely.”

  “Well what if I wanted to?” Simon insisted. “Would joining the Freemancers help me save him?”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Nathan said. “It’s not just you that wants to see Sam safe. We are going to find him, I promise you that.”

  “If you’re going to be training me anyway...” Simon started.

  “Basics,” Nathan insisted. “Defense techniques, nothing more. Frankly, they’re worried even this might be too much for you to absorb. You are terribly unprepared for this.”

  “That’ not fair,” Simon said. “I haven’t even had a chance yet.”

  “Your track record is already against you,” Nathan said. “The spellfire incidents alone were enough to give the Archmancer pause.”

  “The first one wasn’t my fault.”

  “But last night was,” Nathan said. “You need to know something, Simon. The Folk tap into the fundamental forces of the universe. It’s the gift of Par Adhara--realm of the Old Ones. Last night, you tapped into the only force you know naturally--your soul. You set half the Archives on fire and you risked burning yourself out. You can’t just tap into your own reserve like that.”

  So he did have his soul in him. “Why?” Simon asked. “Would I end up--” the next word stuck in his throat--“hollow?”

  Nathan stared out the window again. “It’s not pretty,” he finally answered. “It’s not something you can just sleep off, or fix with a big meal. Your natural life is a vase that can’t be refilled. What you’ve been doing...it’s been tipping the water out.”

  Simon stared at the bed. “I didn’t know,” he said flatly, his chest feeling suddenly very empty.

  “You do now. That is what’s important,” Nathan said quietly. “You learn from your mistakes, and you’re still young.” He smiled weakly. “The vase isn’t nearly as empty as you think.” His words were not comforting.

  “Well what was I supposed to do?” Simon finally asked.