Bad Apple (The Warner Grimoire)

by Clay Held

  Simon’s head was swimming. “I need to pack,” he said. “Books, clothes...I’m...something else, I’m sure. I need--“

  “Do what I do,” Nathan said. “Just the essentials. Everything else you’ll find along the way. Usually works out. Speaking of that, cousin, could we get some breakfast to go?”

  “Sure, cash or charge?”

  “Open me a tab?”

  Sam chuckled and ducked under the plastic sheet. Simon followed, running up the stairs two at a time. He burst into the apartment, which had been largely undamaged by the fire, and was now big enough for all of them after the remodel. He grabbed his backpack from behind the couch and dumped his schoolwork out on the cushions. He stuffed his grimoire inside, then after making sure he was alone, he slipped behind the orange couch and pushed it aside. He pulled up the loose floorboard, then reached under and pulled out his composition notebook, and then Speaking with the Dead. He knew in the back of his mind if he saw Penny again she would ask him about the book, but he wouldn’t mind. He slipped it quietly into his bag alongside some spare clothing. He ran to the bathroom to grab his toothbrush, and when he glanced in the mirror, he saw it, unmistakable in the dim light--a green flash rippled across his eyes, tiny emerald ribbons which ebbed and glowed in the dark light. Boeman’s color. His parents’ color. And now, his color.

  “Warlock,” whispered the Other Voice.

  He backed away from the mirror and rushed down the stairs. Molly and Zoey were in the kitchen. He tucked what he had seen in the mirror to the back of his mind and gave each a quick hug, then went out to the dining room just in time to find Sam handing a large paper bag over to Nathan. The two men shook hands.

  “We’re always here,” Sam said, offering Simon his hand. He had never done that before. “You made sure of that,” he said, shaking Simon’s hand firmly. He knelt down and looked Simon deep in the eyes. “When the day comes, we will find them, together. No more hiding, I promise you that. We will find your parents. Together.” Simon swallowed hard, unsure how to feel about this promise, then hugged his uncle again.

  Nathan was at the door, the paper bag tucked firmly under his arm. He checked his grimoire, flipping quickly through several pages. After a moment he found the page he was looking for, jabbing it with his finger. “Hmm. Frontier Order, out West. This should be interesting.” He snapped the book shut. “You ready Simon? Captain Broussard has offered to give us a lift again. Silverwood first to check in and get you a few necessities, then we’re taking the train.”

  “Silverwood?” Sam said. “Please give Kate our regards when you see her again, and thank her for us.” Nathan blushed in response, rubbing his thumb against his eyebrow to hide his embarrassment.

  Simon hugged each of them one more time and approached the door. Beyond it stood a whole new world, one monumentally bigger then anything he had ever expected or even imagined. One with his parents, one with answers--Speaking with the Dead would help with that somehow, he was certain. He was ready, and he clenched his backpack tight. His ears buzzed as he passed through the threshold, walking beneath the rabbit foot. His family was safe now, and his own journey was just beginning.

  “We’re watching,” whispered the Other Voice.

  I know, Simon thought. I’m counting on it. And with that, he took one last deep breath, adjusted his backpack, and followed Nathan out into the new day.

  SNEAK PREVIEW

  The following section is a sneak preview of

  Revenant Moon: Book Two of the Warner Grimoire.

  This sample represents a work in progress. Parts are subject to change.

  Coming Winter 2013.

  Act One

  The Train and The Town

  Many folks fear lightning, that they do,

  But if I may speak plainly,

  Ain’t never been a touch of anything

  Weren’t cured by a trip up the burning stair.

  ––”Doc” Salvo Mallard, Honest Doc’s Guide to Genuine Southwestern Alchemy

  PREVIEW CHAPTER

  THE VISITOR

  There’s just something awkward about being on fire.

  The flames danced over Simon’s skin, a ribbon dance of yellows and orange. At his belt buckle, the flames turned abruptly blue, and the metal glowed an otherworldly silver-blue color. It was icy-cold against Simon’s skin, which Nathan had warned him would happen. Of course, that hadn’t really been anything more than a deterrent in Simon’s mind. I mean, Nathan wouldn’t really set him on fire for trying to sneak out of his room after curfew, would he?

  Like so many other times, Simon was wrong. Again.

  The fire wrapped coldly around his body, twisting and settling in the folds of his clothing. Then, it began to draw tight, tightest around his waist, and then he was being pulled rapidly backwards, hard enough to send bookshelf tumbling to the ground. He struggled a moment longer, then gave up. It was no use fighting the enchantment. He was stuck.

  Nathan appeared a moment later at the doorway. Simon was reminded of that night last October, when Nathan had blown into his life like a leaf that found its way past the back door. It had been the beginning of a new life for him, one of magic, one of apprenticeship, and Nathan, through a series of events he insisted on calling “personal choices,” had become his mentor.

  That didn’t stop him from being a complete ass when he had to be, though.

  “Does it tickle?” Nathan asked, leaning in the doorway. He gestured at the door frame. “May I?”

  “Come in,” Simon said, barely able to move his jaw due to the oppressive tightness of the flame. He suspected it was a false fire, but even then, it was unnerving.

  Nathan stepped into the room confidently. In seconds he covered the short distance to the big, mangy, orange couch that occupied the room whenever Simon stayed at Silverwood, a magically-created reminder of home, of the tiny apartment where he had lived with Sam, his adopted father. No, his uncle. That information was still hard settling into his mind when Nathan had sequestered him away to begin his training at Silverwood, the forest estate of his people, and the locus of a great many magical energies that permeated the world. At least, that’s what he’d been told was under them. From what he could see, there was plenty of weirdness on the surface, let alone enough strangeness underneath to keep a person occupied their whole life.

  Nathan started rummaging through Simon’s backpack. He had brought it with him from his old life, and Nathan had even showed him a few wards to place on it to stop intruders from going through it. Those wards, obviously, were either not strong enough to stop Nathan, who had recently achieved the rank of a full wizard, or it had been misinformation, which he was apt to use in Simon’s unconventional education.

  “Nothing in there,” Simon said, pulling against the bonds. “Not that it won’t stop you from looking.”

  “Nosey is the best policy,” Nathan said. “We don’t need any more surprises, y’know.”

  Simon’s eyes involuntarily flicked to the floor behind the couch. Just like at his apartment, there was a loose floorboard back there, where he kept just the sort of secrets that he knew Nathan would frown on him having. Nevertheless, the secret compartment was his, and he relished having it. No matter what he saw here, or how much he was subjected to the rigors and hardships of his training, this one tiny spot was his, all his, and it was the one place where he was fully, undeniably in control.

  “He knows,” the Other Voice whispered in his head. The Other Voice has appeared in his mind the day he was attacked by Streaker, the Hound of Par Jabbah. It appeared as a warning first, helping him defeat the dog, but then it had stayed, growing louder every day, more confident, more secure. Once he had returned to Silverwood, the Other Voice has become almost like a companion to him, a tiny demon sitting on his shoulder, ready to teach and give advice. In many ways, the Other Voice had become his other teacher as well.

  Simon ignored the Other Voice for now. Instead, he held still, feigning an inability to speak from the
flames. He put up a show of struggling, then quieted, letting Nathan dig through his empty backpack. Nathan was shoulder-deep in the backpack, rooting around an impossibly-larger inside. That had been Simon’s first piece of spell work since he’s become an apprentice, and he was pretty proud of it, to be honest. Still, that didn’t change the fact the bag was empty, after all, a fact that Nathan determined independently a few moments later.

  “He knows,” the Other Voice repeated.

  “Toasty?” Nathan said, standing. Simon nodded, and it was true. The fire was slow to burn, but it was increasing in temperature. That much was becoming very obvious. Nathan let him sweat. “Where were you planning on getting off to this time of night?”

  The flames receded from Simon’s face. “The Archives.”

  Nathan quirked an eyebrow. “Oh. Is that so?” A cheshire grin accompanied his remark, and Simon’s cheeks flushed with heat. He had been going to see Penny, but not for the reasons Nathan was assuming. She had been teaching him membromancy, the art of sharing your soul between multiple places, of controlling inanimate objects with your will. Penny was unnaturally gifted in this magic, and Simon held a great interest in it, and Latin, which was the tongue he had chosen to wield his magic. They’d had to reinforce this lesson to him when he first arrived. A wizard’s speak is always tinted with their magic, and laced with emotions. When the intent to work magic was behind their words, it had a way of drawing on their own innate source of energy within them--that is to say, their soul. Too much self-magic, as Nathan had called it, could leave somebody soulless, or worse--hollow. “A foreign tongue for a foreign source,” as Nathan had put it.

  Simon squirmed. “Please let me down.”

  “Repeat your lesson first,” Nathan said. “Do you see magic with your eyes?”

  The heat in Simon’s face grew, but he obeyed. “I do not see magic with my eyes. My eyes are human and weak, and magic hides in the Dark.” The flames began to loosen. “When gloom is the path set before me--”

  “Algul I curse your name,” The Other Voice whispered seductively

  “Well?” Nathan said, standing up. His aura bristled. This was something Simon had first seen last year, when Nathan had confronted Luke, the thief boy from the Delta Order. It was a form of compulsion the mentors had over apprentices, and Simon was no different. “Finish it,” he commanded.

  “--Algul let me see with my mind,” Simon said, ignoring the laughs of the Other Voice in his head. The flames grew slack and he dropped to the floor. He came down on his ankle hard, and his weight carried him all the way to the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he swore he saw the loose floorboard rattle.

  Simon winced at the pain that was lancing up his leg, and he shot Nathan a harsh look, which bounced off him. The aura around Nathan settled a little, and he helped Simon to his feet. “Can you walk?”

  Simon tested his leg. “I think so,” he said. Anger flushed through him. Nathan had been pushing him the last few months, and what had started as a deep resentment was only just beginning to harden into respect. There was deep steel in Simon, Nathan had said, and it was going to take time to unearth. Until then, he had been warned, their relationship would have to be one of mentor and student, or master and apprentice. Begrudgingly, Simon had accepted these terms, even though it had meant stepping back from the near-friendship that had begun to grow between them from the day they met. No, that wasn’t right, it hadn’t grown between them, more like it had already been there, hidden, and uncovered the moment they met. Simon still remembered that moment, when Nathan had swept into his home, just minutes after the skeletal being calling himself Fellis Boeman had darkened their door.

  Boeman. The boogeyman.

  “Praise his name,” the Other Voice whispered at the memory. “Praise be to Boeman, who serves our master in the shadows.”

  And what is your name, Simon thought, and the Other Voice fell silent. Nathan had told him there was power in names, and to know someone’s name gave you a sense of power over it. In most cases, this made you and the other person equals, but in this case, Simon was still at a loss. The Other Voice was clearly a separate consciousness from his own, and it was cagey, secretive, the demon sitting on his shoulder.

  But...it was not without its own benefits. The Other Voice had warned him of the danger when Streaker, the hound that accompanied Boeman last year, had attacked him on the way home from school. And the Other Voice had made itself useful many times sense then, so it wasn’t all bad, Simon figured. It was just a pest, a little fly in his ear, and he did his best to ignore it. The fact that it wanted Simon to praise Boeman though was unsettling. Simon had watched Boeman die, or he thought he had, and the occasional call to worship was more a reminder that the boogeyman was still out there, waiting to claim him once again. “I still have your soul,” Boeman had said, before disintegrating at Whateley’s Rest. “You can never be free of me.”

  “Earth to Simon,” Nathan said. With a start Simon realized he had fallen into his own thoughts again, and his cheeks reignited with embarrassment. This was happening more now, more since he had returned to the place of his family, Silverwood, and his father, the fallen wizard, the acolyte of Boeman’s master who they called the Walking Shadow.

  “Sorry,” Simon said. “Yeah, I can walk.” He limped his way over to the couch and flopped down. Just like the couch back home, this doppelgänger had a loud, squeaky spring right in the middle, and it squeaked and screamed in protest from the sudden weight. Simon began to remove his shoes, as it was obvious he wasn’t going anywhere that night.

  Nathan hovered in the room. “Something on your mind?” The question was sincere, and his aura wasn’t flickering with the mentor’s compulsion. He was, for the moment, in friend-mode.

  “I just...” Simon had to pick his words carefully. The Other Voice chittered incessantly in the back of his head, and he didn’t want to reveal its presence. Not yet, maybe not ever. “I just wanted to see Penny.”

  “Young love,” Nathan said, smiling. Simon’s cheeks couldn’t get any hotter, so he simply stared. Nathan sat on the couch next to him. “Take my advice, Simon. Don’t sign away your heart so easily. You’re still very young, and you don’t need the extra heart ache.” He smiled, but Simon could see the insincerity behind it. Deep down he could sense Nathan didn’t believe his own words, but he said them for mentoring’s sake. “Love isn’t as wonderful as you might think. It can outright distracting if you’re not careful, and besides, wouldn’t you rather be spending your time on adventures?”

  All this talk made Simon extremely uncomfortable.

  “Besides, you have plenty of time for love when you’re older,” Nathan continued. “Now, I know you’re not going to fully take my advice on the matter, but if you take any part, take this one small piece.” He smiled again, and this time it was sincere. “Take baby steps. You don’t need to...” Nathan hesitated. “You know, be...thinking about...”

  Simon stood abruptly. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. Okay?”

  It was Nathan’s turn to flush. “I just meant--”

  “You’re not my Dad, okay?” The words were sharp in Simon’s mouth.

  The effect was immediate. His words were like a punch in the face. Nathan looked at the floor, and the silence grew thick between them. He clucked his tongue once, then slowly stood. “Okay,” he said softly, making his way towards the door.

  “Nice,” whispered the Other Voice.

  Instantly Simon was filled with a heavy shame. “Wait,” he said, grabbing Nathan’s arm. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  Nathan managed a small, insincere smile. “It’s okay,” he said, hiding his hurt. “Just, get some rest.” He took a deep breath and reasserted his mentoring aura. “And don’t try to sneak out again either. I’ll know if you try to leave.” And just like that, Nathan the Mentor was back on track.

  Simon glanced at the belt buckle.It had glowed white-hot the instant he had tried to climb out the window. “You don’t have to do
this,” Simon said.

  “Buckled in for your own safety,” Nathan said, already moving towards the door. “When you’ve earned it, the charm can come off. “

  A sour taste rose in Simon’s mouth again. “Earned what, exactly?’

  The door was already mostly shut. Nathan poke his head back in the door. “Trust,” he said, and then he was gone.

  Simon watched the door click shut, then walked over and thumbed the lock hard. After he was done enjoying the satisfying click of the lock he turned and leaned against the door, sliding down hard to the floor .The mentor-student relationship was definitely not easy for either of them, but it was hitting Simon especially hard. One moment, Nathan was a friend, and the next moment, he was just another adult, and no matter how many times Simon reminded himself that adults have more experience in, well, everything, he kept finding small ways to doubt Nathan’s perspective. For one thing, as the Other Voice kept reminding him, Nathan was not the son of the Walking Shadow. No one was, no one except Simon, and even though he had now found a place where he was told he belonged, this one small fact still left him feeling crushingly alone.

  Some minutes later, Simon couldn’t be sure, there was a bright twinkle of light at the window. For a moment he expected it to be the deep magenta hue of Maggey, a fairy that belonged to Luke, but this twinkle was tinged more green in color.

  Simon’s heart seem to freeze for a moment, his blood the temperature of ice water. In the magic community, green was the warlock’s color, the soul tint bore by every wicked magic user. Nathan’s own tint was blue, and Luke’s was red, but Simon’s, he had discovered just before leaving for Silverwood, was green. News of this information had spread quickly once he had returned for training, and soon rumors had begun to spread of another Shadow on the grounds.