Bad Apple (The Warner Grimoire)

by Clay Held

  It was over now.

  Something very bright and very red shot through the air above Simon, striking Boeman in the face. The spark blurred and zoomed around his head, buzzing his ears and throwing harsh violet sparks in his eyes. Boeman stumbled back, swatting at the spark as it blazed and fluttered furiously. Off in the shadows Streaker whined, a low whimper slowly building up to a threatening rumble.

  This very small and very red spark rounded Boeman’s head a dozen of so more times before shooting out straight up through the air, curving high overhead until it could almost be lost among the stars, and then Simon recognized it was Maggey. She paused for a moment, then with dizzying speed she shot straight down into Boeman’s open mouth.

  Boeman’s mouth slammed shut reflexively, but it was too late. His cheeks flared with a sudden magenta glow, deep and warm, a fleshy gray jack o’lantern flailing in the air. For a moment the color died out, swallowed by the hideous man, but then all at once it exploded out of him, harsh violet and red light erupting from his eyes and mouth, a pained warble barely escaping him, mixed with a vibrant noise like a hummingbird. Boeman’s hands clutched at his face as he tried to scream, all the while the violet storm raged within him.

  Something shot out of the darkness at him, a dark figure tackling the man, sending both of them tumbling to the ground. The two figures sprawled on the ground for a moment, and then the one on top was falling away, off of Boeman, scampering back as vines and roots erupted from the ground, entangling themselves around him, holding him down. Slowly the violet light bled from the vines, draining back towards Boeman’s face, his eyes still wide with shock. Finally all the color drew around a single point that floated out of the man’s gaping mouth just a moment before a vine stretched across his face, preventing him from speaking. The red blip sputtered green a few times, then bobbed high in the air for a moment before whizzing towards the shadowy figure who approached Simon slowly.

  “You going to help or just stand there?” Luke stepped into the light. “You think I’ll just handle this all by myself?”

  Simon was dumbstruck. “How?” he blurted out. “I--”

  “What? You thought I’d skip out on my end, did you?” Luke held out his hand to Simon. “Deal’s a deal,” he mumbled.

  Simon withdrew his broken hand immediately, backing away quickly from the obelisk, which seemed to bend and grope for his hand. Simon realized he was bleeding from his knuckles, and his hand was swelling. Definitely broken. “You didn’t have to.”

  “You helped me, and I want to be paying up so I can get a move on,” Luke said. “Nothing more.”

  “Yeah, but--”

  Luke raised a finger, pointed at Simon. “Nothing. More.” Maggey blinked happily behind Luke’s head and landed somewhere in his hair.

  Simon rubbed his broken knuckles and winced “Thanks,” he said.

  “Just forget it,” Luke said. “I think this squares things between us just fine, don’t you think--” His eyes found the silver leaf on the obelisk. He stepped towards it impulsively. “What’s this?” He traced his fingers lightly along the precious metal. “Doubt the old guy under here would miss--”

  Streaker bounded out of the shadows, tackling Luke to the ground. The hound growled like Simon had never heard before and then sank his great teeth into Luke’s arm. He screamed in pain. “Maggey!” In an instant the fairy was upon the hound, her light buzzing violently, but Streaker was utterly unfazed. His jaws remained locked, and his eyes blazed brighter than before. His growl strengthened as Luke screamed and cried out in pain.

  “Luke!” Simon rushed towards him.

  It was too late.

  A new sound erupted through the air, a loud, high-pitched squeal that seemed to come from the obelisk itself. All around them the stones that formed the circle flashed with a sudden silvery blaze, and the very ground itself glowed with bright geometric lines crossing one another, connecting the stones to one another, the obelisk at the very dead center. A sigil. A bright point of brilliant silver light shot down from the sky, and the entire obelisk lit with a dark blue flame.

  Streaker released Luke almost immediately and fell back, shaking his head violently, whimpering all the while its eyes burned bright green. He turned and tried to flee but was knocked back at the circle of blue stones. Beyond the circle the other hounds broke loose from guarding Nathan and Kate, whose eyes were unfocused and vacant. The hounds found their way quickly to the circle, their eyes staring dutifully at their master as he thrashed in a futile attempt to escape, silvery smoke starting to boil off of him. The moatlings, their own master now incapacitated, began to flee through the open gaps in the wall. A few were not so lucky as they bounded through--more than one stumbled into the statues, finding themselves instantly incased in stone arms, the wall suddenly claiming them.

  Then there was the silver leaf itself, glowing white-hot in the center of the flame. Streaker turned to face it, his teeth bared furiously. There was a bright bluish white flash, and then nothing. The lines on the ground began to fade, and Simon realized that Streaker and the other hounds were gone. Not just banished, but destroyed by the sigil.

  Luke groaned behind him, clutching his arm. Maggey floated over it slowly, lightly bobbing over the wounded flesh. The wound was already beginning to knit and fade, and Luke groaned quietly while she worked her magic.

  Next to the obelisk stood Sam, his eyes still cloudy. Simon approached Boeman, who laid prone on the ground, unable to move under the force of the roots and vines holding him.

  “I did my part,” Simon said. “Now do yours.”

  Boeman’s eyes flashed with an undeniable fury. Slowly the vine covering his mouth rescinded. “No doing,” he coughed. “You didn’t--”

  “I only said I would try,” Simon said. “No more, no less. Maybe you should be more careful when you make a deal.”

  The one green eye flickered madly in the moonlight. “Bravo, boy. You played that well,” he said softly. Simon swore he could see a smile under all the vines. “Fine, then.” Boeman took a deep, labored breath as the vines tightened. “Samuel Marshall Thatch, you are released from our agreement.” The words seemed to float on the wind to Simon, past his ears and straight to Sam, who immediately collapsed. Luke moved to help him.

  Simon looked to the wall where Nathan and Kate were trapped. Malkin was standing watch over them, the statues seeming to withdraw from where the kitten was sitting. “Free all of them.”

  “Afraid that one is a bit beyond my control, Warner.” Boeman smiled one final time. I’m afraid I will have to neglect that little part of our arrangement.” He winced at the words.

  Simon raged inside. Fire and lightning sparked across his fingertips, and he gritted his teeth, staring right into Boeman.

  “Now, now,” Boeman choked. “Without me, you may never find your parents, boy. I know why they disappeared. I know right where they are. Without me, you will never find your real family.”

  Simon’s bones ached with fire. “I have my family. They’re right here, right now, and we will find my parents.” Dizziness swept over him. “I don’t need you.”

  Boeman drew a sudden, sharp breath. The color draining from his mismatched eyes until both had gone milky gray. “Yes you do, but have it your way. We are all connected, young warlock. The winds of the Dark Death still gather, and when it comes, it comes for you. I may not have your heart anymore, boy, but I will always have your soul.” His final words spoken, Boeman crumbled in front of Simon, his body collapsing into ash and dust underneath the tangle of roots and vines. What remained of him quickly whistled away, the same four, sour notes, playing softly on the night wind.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THE WARNING

  “Simon!” Molly hurried through the kitchen doors, bumping into a box of napkins someone had left on the counter. She caught them before they tumbled onto the newly tiled floor, where sawdust and other small scraps of wood and plastic still gathered in some of the corners. Zoey sat contentedl
y on a stool wrapping silverware. The oven timer dinged happily and Molly rushed to get the biscuits onto the stainless steel counter before they burned. Sam came in from the dining room, ducking under the sheet of plastic still hanging in doorway.

  “Simon!” Molly shouted again, almost burning her fingers on the biscuit pan. She turned to Sam. “Where is your nephew?”

  Sam set his clipboard down next to a box of nails. “Helping the new bread man.”

  “Another one?”

  “Afraid so.” Sam circled his arms around Molly’s waist and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

  “Honestly,” she said, patting Sam on the chest. “I don’t think they’ll ever replace Frank.”

  “He’s enjoying his retirement, something we’ll probably never get to do.”

  “We have to get started first.”

  Sam’s hand found hers, then the engagement ring on her finger. “I think we’re off to a good start.”

  Molly blushed. “Just better make sure I don’t change my mind before the big day.”

  Sam smiled. “I’ll behave.”

  “You better.”

  Simon ducked under the plastic sheet, leading the new bread deliveryman. He was a young, gangly boy with a thin neck hiding under a sparse beard and his eyes were covered by stringy brown hair. He struggled with his bread cart, which was twice his size. Simon lifted the plastic for him.

  Sam broke away from Molly to help them. “I’m glad to see you helping more, Simon.”

  “Sure,” Simon said, rubbing his wrist. He had just gotten the cast off the week before “I’m glad to.”

  “Great!” Molly grabbed a tub of wrapped silverware. “Can you set the tables for me? Chief McTaggart and his men are going to be over soon for their thank-you breakfast.”

  “We sure were lucky they were able to save what they did,” Sam said, walking down the back hallway. “I’m still not sure about the new tablecloths though.”

  Simon took the tub of silverware and ducked under the plastic again. Light filled the new dining room--Sam had large windows installed in place of the old tiny ones, and gone were the huge, bleak curtains, replaced with lightly colored cafe-blinds that let the sun in easily. New booths lined the walls, and brand new tables filled the center of the dining room. Above the entrance hung the familiar rabbit foot, having miraculously survived the fire. Happiness filled the room.

  So did one unexpected man. His chestnut hair dangled in front of his eyes, and he had at least a week’s worth of stubble. He was taller than Simon by a foot, and was wearing a beaten-up green coat with a inexpertly repaired tear on the right shoulder. His whole coat was splattered in mud, and he looked like he hadn’t slept inside in days. He had a large canvas bag slung over his shoulder.

  “Hello Simon,” Nathan said, his eyes low. “You have a minute?”

  Simon blinked. He stood in place for a moment. “I--yeah, yeah.” He set the tub of silverware on one of the ugly new tablecloths. “How are you?”

  “Good.” Nathan nodded a few times. “Good. How’s your--” he pointed at Simon’s hand.

  “Good,” Simon said. “Just got the cast off.”

  “Good.”

  “Okay.”

  They stood quiet for a moment. Nathan was first to break the silence. “Oh!” he said suddenly. He fished in his pocket. “Here,” he said, pulling out a silver fork. “Told you I’d get it back for you.” He smiled and meekly set it on the nearest table. He waited for Simon to speak, but he remained quiet. He fidgeted for a moment before speaking. “That’s not all,” he said, reaching into one of his many pockets. He withdrew something completely unexpected. He fumbled with it for a moment, unsure of how to continue. He took a quick step forward. “Here,” he said quietly, looking at Simon very cautiously, handing him the object from his coat.

  It was a book.

  Simon was confused. “What’s this?” The book was brown and a little beaten, and as he turned it over in his hands. Slowly it dawned on him where he had seen it. “This is from--”

  “The Freemancers,” Nathan said.

  Simon opened the book cautiously, unsure what he would find. The very first page was blank, and his heart absolutely sunk, but then, something strange began to happen--words began to flicker and burn into the page, and when the message became clear his heart leapt:

  SIMON THEODORE WARNER

  BORN IN A SNOWSTORM, RAISED IN A FOREST

  APPRENTICE (NEUTRAL STANDING)

  DIVISION NO. 713

  THE GREAT HALL OF THE FREE AND ACCEPTED MANCERS OF NOVA MUNDUS

  ESTABLISHED 1680

  UNDER THE ASSIGNMENT AND TUTELAGE OF:

  NATHAN ALAN TAMERLANE, JOURNEYMAN (QUESTIONABLE STANDING)

  APPROVED AND SIGNED, ELLICOTT STERLING, ARCHMANCER

  Below that, written in a different hand, flickered a second message, written in Nicodemus’s handwriting:

  DARROW WATCHES

  “How?” was all he could think to say. “I haven’t taken the trials for apprenticeship. I’m not sworn. I’m too old. I thought I couldn’t--“

  “It would appear that someone very persuasive seems to think your...involvement...last autumn fits the requirement. As far as the age consideration, I’m not worried.”

  Simon closed the book. A copper version of the Freemancer’s Leaf slowly formed on the front cover before his eyes, burning with an odorless, smokeless fire. Something inside him ebbed at the sight of the cover--his heart beat loudly in his ears for a moment before settling back to its normal rhythm.

  “The first thing you must know,” Nathan said. “Your grimoire is your closest companion. It will stay with you no matter where go, remember everything you do.”

  Simon remembered finding the then-blank book in his backpack at the Archives. It had been odd then, but now a question burned deep in his mind. Why had it been following him then?

  “The copper on the cover signifies apprentices,” Nathan added. “That will change as you advance. Any questions?”

  About a thousand leapt to mind, but right then Sam and Molly came walking into the dining room. “Simon,” Sam said. “I want your opinion. These tablecloths. Are they really all that...” He stopped short by the counter and smiled a huge, grateful smile. “Nathan?”

  “Hey there,” Nathan said quietly. “Glad to see you’re still enjoying the life of a free man.”

  “I have you and Peter to thank for that,” Sam said. “I understand the council took a lot of convincing.”

  “That they did,” Nathan said. “Lots and lots of meetings. They had to re-enchant the Timeless Room,” he added with a smirk. “But you’re free and clear. You’re even welcome back in Silverwood.”

  “Thanks,” Sam said, “but I plan to stay here.” He hugged Molly around the waist.

  Nathan glanced at her and snatched the fork from the table. “I brought this back,” he said. “I told you I would.”

  Molly gave them all a sidelong glance then broke away, quickly disappearing back behind the plastic.

  Sam crossed the dining room quickly, reaching out to shake Nathan’s hand. “How have you been?” He caught sight of the grimoire in Simon’s hand. “Oh.” A smile crept across his face. “Who’s call was that?”

  “I think you know,” Nathan said.

  Sam reached for the grimoire. “May I?” Simon handed it over slowly. “Heh,” Sam said. “Sterling. He must have just loved that.” He returned the book to Simon. “I know we’ve talked, Simon.” He paused. “Since we came back. I’ll support your choice, whatever you want it to be. Nathan’s a good mentor, believe it or not.” He glanced at Nathan, then back to Simon. “Is this what you want?”

  Simon swallowed the nervous feeling that was crawling up from his stomach. “It is.”

  Sam chuckled. “It’s a good match,” he said to Nathan. “Bet you didn’t expect to pick up another apprentice.”

  Nathan smiled at Sam. “You have been nothing but trouble, cousin.”

  “At least I’m
settling down.”

  “Not nearly soon enough.”

  “Wait,” Simon said. “Cousin?”

  Nathan and Sam both smiled. “That makes us related,” Nathan said. “Funny how those things work, right? Everyone is connected one way or another, ours is just closer than most.”

  All connected. A horrible thought slithered through Simon’s mind. “What about Boeman? Is he gone?” he asked. “For good, I mean? He blew away, in the graveyard, so he’s...he’s not coming back, is he?”

  “He had to blow somewhere,” Nathan said grimly. “Things like him are hard to destroy. We haven’t seen the last of him, I’m certain of that.”

  Simon’s stomach seized. “Can’t he come and go from the grounds since he’s in the Freemancers?”

  “Now here’s the thing,” Nathan said, a small grin spreading across his face. “Seems that his official standing has vanish. The records clerk Marilyn seems to have no record of him. On a completely unrelated note, Hannibal Hewn sends his regards as well, and he also wanted me to tell you that if any more records clerks need help with their record keeping, to please think of him.”

  Sam suppressed a small chuckle. “Stay for breakfast?”

  “I wish I--well, we--could stay.” Nathan blushed. “But...”

  Sam raised one eyebrow. “What?”

  “They’ve given me an assignment.”

  “What? You? They must be getting desperate.”

  “Part of my probation. I have to work off my punishment for striking a certain junior board member.” Nathan smiled. “It was worth it. Besides!” he said, “I always thought practical experience beat book learning any old day.” He clapped a hand on Simon’s shoulder. “I’m ready when you are.”