Bad Apple (The Warner Grimoire)

by Clay Held

  “It’s unlikely,” Penny said sharply.

  Simon tugged on his socks. “Well, I don’t have anything else.”

  They stared at each other, a long moment dying between them under the moon. Her eyes were watery emeralds.

  “I’m too young to have an escort,” she said abruptly.

  “Huh?”

  “You have to be eighteen to have an escort.” She stood. “A date,” she added, crossing her arms firmly.

  Simon squirmed, his feet squishing in his socks as he stood. “What? I--No, I didn’t--”

  “Don’t worry,” she added quickly. Her blush was volcanic even at night. “I think I know how we can still get you in.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THE MASQUERADE

  Simon stood in the bushes, tugging at the starched servant’s shirt. “Are you sure about this?”

  “It’s the best I got.” Penny said. She was wearing a blue dress and a small mask with pointed ears. It was painted to resemble a cat, and delicate silver whiskers shined as she helped him through the window. “It’s either do this or sneak around without being seen. At least this way people will actively ignore you.” She fidgeted with her dress again. Her mask kept trying to fall off. “Just don’t look anyone in the eye for too long.” She straightened her dress one final time. “The Majesties will be too busy watching out for each other, so odds are you won’t turn any heads.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. Now, I have to go find my father and Jo. The kitchen is through the last door on the left.” He nodded, and she disappeared down the hall and into the crowd of people.

  Simon made his way to the kitchen. Other uniformed people hurried in and out of the swinging doors, most of them carrying large trays piled high with all kinds of food. Simon could identify most of what he saw, but some servants carried oddities--a young man not much older than Simon hurried by with a large tray of raw steaks. “For the wolves,” he said as he disappeared through another door. “Take the Bottled Sandstorm out to the Majesties from the Frontier Order?” he asked before going completely out of sight.

  Simon grabbed an empty tray and made his way out into the dining room, his eyes constantly darting through the crowd, not even sure what or who to look for. The room was almost unrecognizable--it had been completely transformed from a rustic decor to that of a stately ballroom. Only the buffalo head gave any clue of how the room had looked the day before. Under the buffalo head, the Verde sisters were moving excitedly through the crowd, completely identifiable despite their masks. All around him people moved, almost all in masks. The man from the flying wheel was making his way systematically through the crowd, his silver automaton following him, clumsily mimicking his master as much as he could. On the other side of the room, the cowboy leaned against a pillar and stared menacingly at anyone who came his way. Near the fireplace was a luxurious woman dressed in resplendent golds and greens which almost glowed against her caramel skin. She spoke to Junior Councilman Churl, who seemed both captivated and unnerved by her attention. He nodded rapidly, trying to back away from her, but the woman kept moving in, closer and closer, never letting him escape as her eyes glowed a honey golden color. He was clearly uncomfortable, and Simon almost felt bad for him.

  “Simon!” a loud and bombastic voice boomed behind him. “I say my boy, by the blue stars themselves! Is that you, lad?”

  Simon spun around to see an older man emerging from the crowd--Simon recognized him by the fluttering white mustache as he approached. “I say, it is you!” Hannibal was not even bothering with a mask, and his wild hair swayed as he talked. “I can’t believe we’re running into each other again so soon. I say, have you heard the Archmancer is missing? Either that or he simply opted to forgo his obligation to the Freemancers and the Seven Orders at large!” Hannibal spoke louder than necessary, obviously wanting to be overheard.

  “Good evening Mr. Hewn,” Simon said, lowering his head, trying to direct the old man to a whisper.

  “Now now, my boy, it’s Hannibal to you!” the man shouted, slapping Simon hard on the back. His voice boomed off everyone around them. “Tell me, what has become of your traveling companion, the young Tamerlane fellow?”

  “I--he...he’s around, somewhere.” Simon kept his voice down, not wanting to draw any more attention to them. “We’re--I mean I’m--I’m here to, to...” Simon realized he did not have any kind of real explanation for himself, let alone why he was wearing servant’s clothing. He could only say one thing with any certainty. “I’m working.”

  “That I can see!” Hannibal said, laughing. “The question here is, why? Certainly, I expected if you’re here under the auspices of the great Tamerlane family they would do better than to put you to work!” His voice was sour with indignation. “It was that Alan Tamerlane put you up to this, wasn’t it? Why is it I am never surprised by the depths that man will plunge his...amorality towards the basic tenets of decorum!” He eyed the crowd, who had all utterly failed to notice his outburst.

  “Mr. Hewn, please, I’m here by myself. I want to be.” Simon held the tray close to his head to hide his face. “Nathan doesn’t know I’m here.”

  “That so?” Hannibal puffed out his chest. “I’m proud of you, my boy! Wanting to earn your way! Nathan must be proud of you, too, to have such an industrious young apprentice.”

  “I’m not his apprentice.” Simon was starting to grow frantic. A few guests had paused their conversation to look their way, whispering to themselves without breaking eye contact on Simon and the old man. “That’s not why I’m here.”

  “Hannibal, is that you?” Kate broke through the crowd. She was wearing a dark blue dress with a matching mask with detail work in gold. It made Simon think of an owl. “I knew I heard you thundering over all this commotion.” She glanced at Simon and smiled. “We’re good, young man. Thank you. It looks like you need to head back to the kitchen anyway to fill your tray,” she added, winking at Simon.

  Simon leapt at the opportunity. “Yes, ma’am,” he offered quietly, backing away. In his haste to escape he bumped into a sticky man, who was very tall, and very green. He appeared to be made out of slime and muck, and smelled like a swamp. The creature stared at Simon with its large, yellow eyes until Simon backed away, this time slower, and looking over his shoulder to see where he was going.

  Kate led Hannibal into the crowd. Before she disappeared, she looked over her shoulder at Simon. “Nathan?” he mouthed at her. Her smiled faded and she shook her head. Simon’s heart fell.

  He made his way further into the crowd. He slid past the woman in golds and greens, and she stared at him as he brushed past her. He did his best to make his way to the fireplace, hoping to overhear any mention of the Archmancer and where he was. If Boeman had any accomplice at the Masquerade, Simon figured it would be him.

  Then he saw Sam.

  For a moment Simon swore his eyes were simply playing a cruel trick--but it was Sam. He stood in the doorway to the kitchen, looking right at Simon. He stayed only a moment, then he slipped through the door and was gone.

  “Sam!” Simon handed the plate to the cowboy and began to shove his way through the crowd, barreling past a startled Junior Officer Churl into the kitchen. Sam was nowhere to be found, but the back door was open. Simon hurriedly stripped off his servant’s apron and made his way through the commotion of the kitchen, hoping against everything to catch Sam before he was gone for good.

  He burst through the door. Up ahead a figure was moving quickly, heading straight towards the gardens. Simon bolted down the stairs, rushing down the path until he reached the garden, where Sam stood, silhouetted by the moonlight.

  “Sam?” Simon stood next to the butterfly bushes, as still as one of the statues. He could not believe his eyes. “How?”

  Sam turned around. “Hey, Simon.”

  “How did you get away?” Simon asked. “Boeman--”

  “It wasn’t easy,” he said. “Fellis was keeping me locked up, somewhere da
rk and deep. I only made it out tonight.”

  “Where has he been keeping you?”

  Sam’s face darkened. “Under the manor. There are caves. He and Archmancer Sterling have been keeping me under there.”

  “The Archmancer?” Simon said. “So he is the one working with Boeman.”

  “Yes,” Sam spoke slowly. “The two of them are trying to take over. The Archmancer is power hungry. Silverwood isn’t enough for him.” Sam’s hands shook while he talked. “You can help, Simon.” His shoulders slumped. “I need you to come with me.”

  “Where?” Simon asked.

  “Not far,” Sam said. “We need to go, now. If we hurry we can disrupt what they’re doing. Simon, please. Come with me.”

  Simon felt sick to his stomach. “We’re going to stop them?”

  “Yes,” Sam said, his voice growing impatient. “That is what I am trying to tell you. Now come with me,” he said, and then Simon saw it--a flash of green in his eyes.

  Green.

  “I can get help,” Simon said, trying to stall. “I’ve made friends, I can get them, we can go together--”

  “No!” Sam shouted. His hands were shaking worse than before. “No. Simon...we don’t have time, and Fellis is dangerous. He and the Archmancer are dangerous. You don’t want to get your friends hurt, do you?”

  Simon was struck silent. “No,” he said, his stomach beginning to churn. “We can go alone.”

  “Good,” Sam said. “We need to hurry.”

  “What are they doing?” Simon said, trying to keep them in the garden. “What are they trying to do?”

  “Sacrifice,” Sam said coldly. “Nothing’s ever free, Simon. I’m sure you’ve learned that by now. Great power demands even greater sacrifice, and Fellis seeks to unleash that power, channel it for his master.”

  “Darrow?” Simon said quietly.

  “Yes,” Sam whispered. “There are forces beyond the Moat that want to return. They have anointed their acolyte--Darrow--to open the way. In return for this they offer power, as they have offered before, countless times. Power beyond what you could ever expect. This is what Darrow seeks, what drives his every action, every thought. Tonight is the night he will sacrifice everything he can for that power. All of Silverwood, gone in an instant, and he will bring a horror into this world that hasn’t been seen since the days of the First Secrets. Then, his war will begin.”

  “How can we even stop them?”

  “Are you doubting me?” Sam snapped.

  “I didn’t mean that,” Simon said quickly. “Just, you’ve been locked up, they’ve been hurting you--”

  “Quiet!” Sam snapped again. “Don’t you dare ever doubt me, Simon Theodore Warner. Don’t you dare.”

  “I--” Simon swallowed, his stomach, twisting in knots. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to--”

  “We need to get going.” Sam moved across the garden. “Follow me, Simon. Now.”

  Simon tentatively followed Sam across the garden. “Wait,” he said. “We’re moving away from the manor. Isn’t that where we need to be heading?”

  Sam ignored him, moving quickly off the path into the nearby trees, barely slowing down as he smacked through the branches. Simon reluctantly followed. As they approached the tree line, a whisper broke through the silence. “Simon!” the whisper said. “Simon! What are you doing?”

  Simon glanced over his shoulder. Penny leaned out from behind a butterfly bush. “Hey!” she hissed. “Where are you going?”

  “It’s him,” Simon whispered. “It’s Sam.”

  Penny’s eyes widened. “What?”

  “He’s been here the whole time.” He snuck back towards the garden. “He’s been trapped. Boeman and Sterling have been keeping him under the house.”

  “In the caves?” Penny shook her head. “That doesn’t make sense. Those have been sealed off for a hundred years or more. No one ever goes down there.”

  Simon scanned the tree line. Sam’s figure was moving slowly into the dark. “I’m worried something has happened to him.”

  “Do you think he’s a thrall?”

  “I don’t want to believe that,” Simon said. “I want to believe he escaped.”

  “Or they let him go! Simon, please. I’ll go and get help. I can get Kate and they’ll have to let Nathan go if Sam really is out here. He can prove Nathan didn’t take him.”

  “There’s no time. He knows Boeman’s plan. They’re going to kill everyone up in the house. For their sacrifice.”

  Penny’s eyes went extra wide. “Sacrifice? What are you talking about?”

  “SIMON!” Sam shouted. “Simon! Where are you!”

  Simon’s stomach lurched at Sam’s voice. “I have to go.”

  Penny grabbed Simon’s arm. “Simon...” she started.

  “No!” He was almost shouting. “You don’t understand at all. I can’t lose him!”

  “Don’t understand?” Penny shoved his arm away. “Fine,” she hissed, her nostrils flaring. “Then go. Get out of here.” Her eyes brimmed with tears

  Shame washed over Simon. “Penny, I didn’t mean it like that. I--”

  “Just go,” Penny repeated, turning away. “Go.”

  “Simon!” Sam shouted. His voice was harsh and angry. “SIMON!”

  “Better get going kid,” whispered the Other Voice.

  Simon backed away from Penny quickly. “I’m sorry,” he said, before turning and running after Sam.

  The area ahead had grown mangled and wild, and there was no path where they walked. He followed Sam as closely as he could, climbing over fallen trees and large rocks, kicking up dead leaves as he went. This place was gnarled and unfamiliar to him, not at all like the clean paths around Silverwood. Sam moved ahead of him, always moving deliberately in one direction, always towards a destination he did not share. Eventually they passed through a large hole in the perimeter wall, where several men in green cloaks lay on the ground, unconscious.

  “Where are we going?” Simon asked.

  “We have until midnight to stop him,” Sam said. “Silverwood sits on a large pool of magical energy, a nexus, where a Timeworn being fell in the First Days. Its blood is our power. Boeman plans to use that to fuel his ritual.”

  Simon tripped over an upturned root. He cursed loudly as he hit the ground hard, almost turning his ankle. Remembering the ember in his pocket, he pulled it out and clasped it in his hand, making a tight fist. A warm, orange light filled his hand, illuminating his bones of his arm and spreading out onto the forest floor.

  Sam watched with interest. “I see you’ve been busy.” His voice was ice. “Nathan give you that?”

  “No.” The light cast weird shadows on Sam’s face, and Simon felt a wave of fear. He would have to answer carefully. “Someone else gave it to me,” he said, cupping the ember tightly.

  “Who then?” Sam gathered over Simon. “You shouldn’t trust strangers. Who gave you this?” He shook Simon’s wrist fiercely, the light from the ember flickering coldly in his eyes.

  “Peter Nettle,” Simon said quickly without thinking.

  Sam cast Simon a weary look. “Peter,” he said.

  “Yes,” Simon said. “Yesterday, at the Archives.”

  “I see,” Sam said, walking closer. “Odd thing about those embers, Simon. You don’t just conjure them out of thin air. Did Peter explain that to you?”

  A cold chill began to creep up Simon’s back. “No,” he said. “He just gave it to me, that was all.”

  “Oh, he just gave it to you? Just like that?” The chill seized Simon by the throat. “See, I have a problem with that, Simon.”

  The ache in Simon’s stomach grew worse.

  “I know Peter,” Sam said. “He’s a family man and a worry wart, sure.” He closed behind Simon. “Yet for all his fear of what goes bump in the night, I do know at least one thing about him, and that is, he wouldn’t dare deal in the devil’s embers.”

  The ember began to tingle in Simon’s froze fist. “I--”
>
  “Throw it away.”

  Simon held out his fist but his fingers refused to open.

  “I mean it, Simon. Now.”

  “I’m trying,” Simon said, but his hand refused to open. His hand clenched even tighter even as the ember grew hotter and began to sear his skin. The pain began to build, until Simon’s entire hand began to throb. “Sam!” He pleaded. “Help me!”

  Sam backed away. “This changes things,” he whispered, his voice was not his, but Boeman’s.

  Agony crawled up Simon’s arm, burning white-hot pain that clouded his thoughts as the ember smoldered in his hand, and for a moment Simon thought he would pass out. “Sam...” he whispered, weakly.

  “No.” Sam leaned against a tree. “This is your own doing. You have to wait it out,” he said sourly.

  “What?” Simon whispered, falling to his knees. “What is--”

  Sam’s eyes flickered and filled with green light. Suddenly, overwhelming pain exploded across Simon’s mind, and he collapsed, unconscious before he hit the ground.

  * * *

  Simon was cold.

  He sat up and tried to look around. He was in a faded white mess of a room. Everything was dingy, from the rotted floorboards to the water-stained ceiling. Wind and moonlight stumbled in through a broken window behind him, and something scuttled across the floor, darting in and out of the shadows. His arm throbbed but was still there.

  He looked down. He recognized the couch he was sitting on. It was exactly like the one from home, and exactly like the one in his room at the manor--only this one was tattered and frayed at the edges. It smelled bad and one of the cushions was ripped open. Something had made a home out of the inside.

  He looked out the window. In the distance, he saw Silverwood manor, its windows flickering as the glow of the Masquerade stretched out over the grounds. Realization blossomed in his mind. Slowly, he backed away from the window.

  He was in the Grim House.

  This room was also modeled exactly like his room in the manor, complete with a bed and set of bookshelves full of rotted books, and an empty crystal bag. Simon checked the rest of the bookshelf but it was empty. He tried the door, but it would not open. He returned to the window and looked down, crossing through a cold spot in the middle of the room that made his skin feel like ice. Just like at the manor, this room was several stories from the ground. He contemplated jumping when he heard whistling coming up behind him--the same flat, four-note tune he had come to associate with Boeman.