The Demon's Apprentice

by Ben Reeder

  “You,” she hissed.

  “Yeah, me,” I said.

  We stared at each other for a moment, and I could feel the pressure of her glare against my own gape-mouthed stare. She had pretty eyes, gray like storm clouds about to unleash a storm on me, and I felt myself start to be drawn into them. There was a weight to her stare that I could literally feel against my Third Eye. I focused hastily on the tip of her upturned nose, and felt the pressure fade from my senses. Locking eyes usually didn't create that kind of connection. Dulka had forced his way into my mind that way the first morning after he'd acquired me, so he could pry my Third Eye open and make me more useful to him. It was one of my least favorite memories ever. There was still pain in her eyes, though, pain I was pretty sure I'd caused.

  “Hey, um, Alexis,” I blurted, “about this morning. I, um…I'm sorry about that.”

  “For what? Perving on me and Brad? Being an asshole to me? Or pissing Brad off so I get to put up with his crappy mood all day?” Me-freaking-ow!

  “The middle one. It was mean, and you didn't deserve it. The other two, well, you guys were pretty much putting on a free show in the middle of the hall, and as far as his mood goes…he's your boyfriend, so you kind of chose that on your own."

  “Oh, so now I'm stupid?”

  "If you were stupid, being called a trophy wouldn't have hurt you. But with Brad…like I said, he's your boyfriend, your choice. If he takes being in a shitty mood out on you…make a different choice.”

  “It's not that easy.” Her eyes dropped away from mine, and she wrapped her arms around her middle. “Make both of our lives a lot easier and watch your ass with Brad, okay? You can't win with him.” She shoved her way past me, and hurried down the hall.

  I watched her go, then shook myself when I realized what part I was watching leave. Yeah, watch my ass. How was I supposed to do that when I couldn't keep my eyes off of hers? I resolved to take that secret to my grave and turned my feet back toward the science lab.

  Mr. Chomsky's door was open, so I stepped in, and barely noticed a slight tingle as I crossed the threshold. The room was empty, but the storage room door was open at the back of the room.

  “Mr. Chomsky?” I called out.

  “Back here, my boy,” his voice emerged from the store room door. “Do me a favor and close the door.”

  I set my backpack down and pushed the door closed. There was another, stronger tingle against my hand as it clicked closed, and I felt a pressure in the back of my head as something else closed. I looked down at my hand, then over my shoulder toward the store room. What the Hell was going on here? The light threshold presence wasn't too weird in a public room that someone had worked in for years. But the other two felt like…magick. I reached for my backpack with one hand, and the doorknob with the other as I heard movement from behind me.

  “Excipio!” Chomsky bellowed from the back of the room.

  A brief image of him with a green stole across his shoulders and a thick black rod in his outstretched right hand was burned onto my mind's eye before I was turned around in midair and slammed against the blackboard behind his desk. My wrists burned as some kind of ward clamped around them, and a lead weight seemed to fall on my chest. It forced my head to my left, until my neck was held at a painful angle. Two concentric circles were drawn beneath my left wrist on the chalkboard, with mystic sigils glowing between the inner and outer circle. I'd have bet that it had a twin beneath my right hand. Mr. Chomsky walked toward me slowly, the rod still held out in front of him. Mystic symbols of gold blazed on the green satin of the stole, and the tip of his wand blazed with a blue light.

  “Mr. Chomsky, please! Wait!” I wheezed out. The lead weight feeling on my chest turned into an anvil.

  “Silence, warlock!” his voice boomed. “I am Wizard Chomsky, of the Conclave of Magi. You face the judgment of the High Council for your crimes. Surrender peacefully and renounce your dark Master, and the council will be lenient.” The last part came out in a bored-sounding monotone, and I didn't think he believed it.

  “I already…did!” I managed to gasp out.

  He frowned and his hand faltered. “Pardon me?”

  The pressure on my chest let up, and I could turn my head enough to look almost right at him. “I already renounced him. Friday night. I serve no power of Hell, no demon, no Infernal lord. I am free,” I said formally. I felt the pressure ease off of me almost entirely.

  “If you still served as his apprentice, you would not be able to utter those words so readily,” Mr. Chomsky said thoughtfully. “Your oath and contract would prevent it.”

  “Apprentice? Slave is more like it. I never signed any damn contract or swore any oaths.”

  “Your former Master tells a different story, of releasing an apprentice for incompetence.”

  “Yeah, let's believe the demon, because they're all so fucking honest!” I snarled.

  “Their apprentices are not known for their sincerity either. And the only way to come to a demon's care is by choice.”

  “Choice! Choice? You think I had a fucking choice? My father sold me to that piece of Hell spawn when I was seven! I was his down payment for Dulka's services. Don't you dare tell me I went to him by choice!” I was practically screaming now, leaning away from the chalkboard as my wrists pulled against the mystic bonds that pinned me to the wall. For all that I was angry, I felt tears streaming down my face, too. Just as suddenly as I had been pinned to the wall, I found myself on the floor. Instinct kicked in, and I scrambled for the nearest corner and put my back to it.

  Chomsky came slowly around the side of his desk and laid his rod on it. With exaggerated care, he took the stole off and laid it aside, too. He took a couple of slow steps forward, then went to one knee, so he was almost eye level with me. “Your father offered you, his first-born son, as his price for power. I'm so sorry, my boy. We let you down when you needed us the most.” The thought hit some hidden nerve in my heart, and I found my lip trembling as I realized, for the first time, that the people Dulka had trained me to fear were supposed to be there to help me.

  “Where were you?” I asked. I felt like the same scared kid who'd screamed his lungs out on the floor eight years ago. “Why did you let that happen to me?” Pain and anger were almost the same feeling just then. Some bone-deep part of me hurt so bad I could barely even think straight. I couldn't even be embarrassed about crying in front of a stranger.

  “Because I didn’t know, Chance,” he said with a sincerity that I'd never heard from anyone but my mom. “I have no excuse for failing you then. I can only try to make amends for it now. Will you let me help you?” My throat seemed to close up, and I could only nod. I'd been beaten and whipped, had bones broken and skin torn by Dulka, and I'd screamed bloody murder, but I hadn't cried. But just a few kind words had ripped away every defense I had, and I choked out a short sob before I could get myself under control.

  “What are you going to tell the Council?” I asked, once I could trust my voice again.

  “For the moment, nothing. They’re searching for an incompetent but somehow dangerous warlock. I believe you are neither. What you are, my boy, is unique. No apprentice, willing or otherwise, has ever been able to renounce his or her master voluntarily before. How you managed it is beyond me.”

  “It wasn't easy.”

  “Of that, I have no doubt. If it was, others before you would have done so, and the Council would be more likely to believe you. But you are the first in living memory, and the memories of the Magi are long indeed. Change doesn't come easily to the Conclave. I will, of course, vouch for you, which will help, but the High Council will need more convincing.”

  “Why did you believe me?”

  “Rage is common enough in warlocks, and they can cry for you at the drop of a hat, if it serves their ends, but I have never seen both anger and tears at the same time. And, your story held no hidden praise for your Master couched as a warning.” He held out his hand, and after a couple of seconds, I
took it. If contact with Lucas gave me a little tingle, touching Mr. Chomsky was like shaking hands with a light socket. I let him pull me to my feet and we stood facing each other for a few seconds.

  “So, what now?” I asked finally.

  Mr. Chomsky sighed and shrugged. “For tonight, you return to your life as a normal teenager. Lay low, as it were. Tomorrow, your training begins.”

  “Training?” Boy, did I sound brilliant, or what?

  “Yes, my boy, training. It's what apprentices do. They train. Vouching for you before the High Council won't be enough, Chance. The Council won't allow you to go about unsupervised, not with your past. However, as my apprentice, your disposition will have been decided a priori.”

  “Before the fact,” I translated. “Kinda.”

  “Admittedly, something of an abuse of the Latin. But true, nevertheless.”

  “I'd get to learn the Ways? I'd really like that. Sorcery's…rough.”

  “Oh, yes, I quite understand. All that blood and pain, stealing of life force. Very unpleasant business. Not to worry, we'll fill your head with a much better sort of magick. I imagine you're well versed in spell theory and alchemy? Excellent. And circle lore, wards and ritual?”

  “He made me learn about hexes and focus craft, too. Plus, I know the names of a few demons.”

  Chomsky smiled like a cat with a bowl full of cream. “You were an apt pupil, indeed. You should be able to handle the advanced science courses adequately.”

  “That was for real then?”

  “It most certainly is now, my boy. If you've grasped the basics of spell theory, you can certainly comprehend the cowan sciences. We'll undoubtedly have to fill in some blanks here and there, but I'm sure you'll do well. You're a bright boy, with a gem of a mind under that rough exterior. Now, go. You have a mother to share some good news with, and I have a Council to shock.” His eyes took on a mischievous twinkle as he finished, and he gestured toward his door. I practically danced past him to grab my backpack.

  “Chance, one more thing,” he said as I reached for the doorknob. I looked back over my left shoulder at him.

  “Start writing down what you were taught. It will help.”

  I blinked through the curtain of hair that slid in front of my eyes, then nodded and hustled into the hallway. The hall clock showed twenty-five after four. My feet took me toward the stairs, but my mind was already a million miles ahead of me, telling my mom about advanced classes. My brain took a quick side trip to where I'd have been if I followed my own plan, and conjured up a miserable squat in the Hive, the ghetto of the Veiled world in New Essex. My brain left the image of me huddling in a ramshackle lean-to, and headed back to the warmer climes of the present, real world as I hit the front doors. From the top of the steps, every side street and alley was visible. The front parking lot, nothing more than a big blur in my memory from that morning, formed a triangle bordered by the road angling past the front of the school. It stretched off to my right, with a cutout near the point for cars to turn in.

  I gave the parking lot a quick glance again, and found Brad's big, cherry red pick-up truck. Brad was leaning with his back against it, with Alexis leaning on him. She looked up at him for a second, but he looked away, and her head bowed again, and I watched her put her hands on his chest, then turn her head and lay it against his letter jacket. Even from where I was, it looked like she was upset. Brad put one meaty paw around her waist without looking, and lifted his cell phone to his ear with the other. Alexis' shoulders rose then fell, and she seemed to deflate in his arms.

  I scowled. Why I gave a crap about a stuck-up cheerleader was beyond me, but I could see she wasn't happy. Even from across the parking lot, I could see that. Brad had her in his arms, and he was Mister Oblivious. Some of the spells I'd done for people started to make a lot more sense to me now, and I wondered idly if Brad had used any charms on his girlfriend.

  “…and then he says 'Cut him loose, asshole, or you're an Internet sensation,' and Brad's all like ‘Awright, me let go now. You erase video.’”

  My own words caught my attention, mostly because the person repeating them had mimicked my voice almost perfectly. He'd also made Brad sound like a brain-damaged ape, and there was only one other person who had been there for that part of my day.

  “He did not!” Wanda's voice came to my ears before I could turn to find Lucas.

  “Well, not exactly, but it's my story, I get to make Brad sound like a moron if I want to. So, this guy Chance is like, 'I figure this is good till I graduate. Call it…negative reinforcement.' And then, he slips the phone into his pocket and turns his back on them.” They passed by without seeing me, so I sidestepped behind them and followed them down the steps.

  “On the whole varsity squad?” Wanda asked.

  “Eight of them, at least,” I said over her shoulder.

  They both jumped and swiveled their heads toward me.

  “Dude, you’re worse than Mr. Chomsky!” Lucas said with a grin. “You gonna come hang with us tonight at Dante's?”

  “I'll have to check with my mom real quick, but I think she'll be cool with it. I'd need a ride, too.”

  “I have that covered. Where do you live?”

  The question was simple enough, but I still had to think about it for a second before I could give him my address.

  “Great. Why don't we come pick you up around seven?”

  “Sure. There's my mom,” I said as I saw her van turn into the lot. My feet barely touched the ground between the steps and the curb.

  Dee looked at me from the passenger seat as I leaned into the window. “I already called shotgun!” she said quickly.

  “Yeah, fine, whatever. Mom, a couple of kids invited me to hang out with them tonight at Dante's. Can I go?” The words couldn't seem to come out of my mouth fast enough.

  “Which kids?” Mom asked as her eyes narrowed. I pointed to Lucas and Wanda, and her face relaxed into a smile.

  “Oh, sure, honey! That's Missy Romanoff's daughter. I don't think she'll be a bad influence on you.” She waved at Wanda, and I gave them a thumbs-up before I opened the sliding door and hopped into the rear seat in the van. Mom didn't even have to ask how my first day went. My mouth went into overdrive all by itself on the trip home.

  “Mr. Chomsky said he didn't think my true aptitude showed up on a test. He wants to see about getting me into the advanced placement classes for science,” I said as we pulled into the driveway.

  “Honey, that's wonderful!” Mom said as she got out of the van. I slid out the side door and got caught up in a hug.

  “I knew you'd do well, son. I'm so proud of you.” The world was pretty damn close to perfect, just then.

  “Brown-noser,” Dee said sotto voice as she walked past me.

  “Slacker,” I tossed back at her.

  “All right, you two, homework first, and Chance, I want your chores done before you go out with your friends,” Mom said as she unlocked the door.

  Dee and I moaned our disappointment, but mine was mostly imitating Dee's. After cleaning up animal sacrifices, or, for that matter, making them, taking out the trash was easy. But, try telling that to your Mom. I was done by six thirty, and out on the front steps at ten till with The Scarlet Letter to keep me company. I had until ten o'clock to be out with my new friends.

  A couple of minutes after seven, a pale green Honda Accord pulled up to the curb, and I saw Wanda's bright red hair in the passenger window. The car looked ancient, with dents and red patches over rough areas, like primer over rust. All I could hear as I crossed the yard toward it was a faint hum of its engine. I'd half expected to hear it sputter and cough or backfire every now and then. Wanda opened her door and got out to let me in the cramped back seat.

  “Welcome aboard the Falcon. No smart-ass comments, or you're gonna find yourself floating home,” Lucas recited. Wanda rolled her eyes as she got back in, like it was a joke she'd heard before. We were moving before her seatbelt clicked, and the Falcon proved
it could get up and go, though it wasn't going to break any speed records.

  “Seriously, though,” Wanda said, like she was picking up a conversation, “do you think he might consider doing special orders? Just at first, to try it out?” She turned in her seat and laid her cheek against the headrest.

  “He might. I think he's worried about getting a lot of customers like Julian and his crowd, coming in and asking after the Dark Evil Grimoire of Sho-Hogloth or something stupid like that.” Lucas looked back at me in the rearview mirror as I gave out a snort.

  “Sorry,” I said. “It sounds like this guy's read too much Lovecraft. So, what are you guys talking about?”

  “Lucas works in the coolest bookstore in town, and he's trying to get his grandfather to start ordering some books on Wicca for me.”

  “The religion, right?”

  “Yeah!” Wanda's face lit up. “My mom's Wiccan, and when I turn sixteen, I'm going to do my year and a day with one of her coven sisters. She won't let me do it until I've checked out all of the other paths, though. But I've always just felt like that was who I was, you know?” Like all true believers I'd ever run into, Wanda seemed to like having an understanding audience.

  “Yeah, every Wiccan I've talked to, well, the ones who weren't in it just for the magic, said it felt like they'd come home when they learned about Wicca,” I told her.

  “So, what about you, dude?” Lucas asked. “What's your path?”

  “Undecided,” I said after a few seconds. Religion hadn't really been on my mind for a while. What most people took on faith, I knew was real. At least on the dark side of things, but I'd always figured that if demons were real, then their counterparts were, too. Either way, I figured there was no way I was going to see anything in my afterlife but demons, with my soul as screwed up as it was.

  “I'm thinking about majoring in undecided when I go to college,” Lucas said. I gave him a courtesy smile and tried to get my mind off the hereafter. It was depressing enough without dwelling on it.