Bad Apple (The Warner Grimoire) (25 page)

“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.

“That’s what we’re going to show you,” Nathan said. “After breakfast, anyway.” He slowly made his way to the door. “Try not to worry too much about it, okay? Can I trust you to be down in the dining room in five minutes?”

Simon’s eyes wandered back to the space under his bed. “Yeah,” he answered.

“Okay,” Nathan said. “Good. I’ll see you there.” He shut the door behind him.

Simon sat on the couch, his chest aching as he struggled to control himself. He hadn’t known, hadn’t realized what he was doing. At first, the discovery of what he was had been overwhelming, but underneath the revelation, there had been excitement at the prospect of what this meant. Now, sitting on the couch that wasn’t the one he usually slept on, but looked like just it, sitting in the room that tried to be like home, but wasn’t, what Nathan had told him finally started to sink in. Nothing’s ever free.

Simon must have sat on the couch longer than he realized, for the sun coming in the window was stretched across the floor to the bed now. He made his way to the hall, half expecting to see Nathan storming towards him, but the hallway was empty, save for a few servants cleaning the windows and an old man with giant bushy hair sleeping at the far end of the hall.

Simon found his way to the dining room without incident, and to his surprise Nathan was seated at the table under the stuffed buffalo head. Kate was seated across from him, and they were talking pleasantly over breakfast. Simon slid into a seat between them and reached for an empty plate. He was not hungry, but he knew he needed to eat if he was going to make it through the day. He reached for a piece of toast without looking either of them in the eye.

“Good morning, Simon,” Kate said. Her plate was piled high with fruit. “Have you picked a tongue yet?”

The bizarreness of her question shook Simon. “Excuse me?”

“I hadn’t gone over that with him yet,” Nathan said. “Simon, you need to pick a language.
A tongue
. It’s going to be like a...like a toolkit, I guess you could say. Your means of control. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy, just something you’ll be comfortable using.” He sipped his coffee. “Not what you use for regular talking, though.”

“Why not?”

“Spoken spells entwine magic directly into speech,” Kate said. “It’s not like using a grimoire or a staff. So your tongue needs to be separate, otherwise you would start casting spells just while talking. Every word you speak could be laced with magic. Casting that much constant magic can be dangerous, plus without a determined source to channel, you would tap your own power. You need to act as a conduit, rather than be the source.”

“Oh,” Simon said.
Hollow
. “So what language do you use?”

“Out loud?” Kate said between bites of fruit. “Gaulish. Older languages are better since they’re more removed.”

“Always better if it’s not too close to home,” Nathan said. “What do you think, Simon? Do you need a few minutes to decide?”

Simon thought about his experience with other languages in school. He had taken some Spanish and some French, but neither had been particularly easy. There had been a few books on Latin in the school library, and he had glanced through them a few times out of curiosity. They had been utterly and completely alien. Perfect.

“Latin,” he said, finishing his toast. “Can I use that?”

“Quite a few do,” Nathan said. “I did, even, at first. Perfect.” He sipped his coffee. “We won’t even have to go to the Archives for a primer. That’s probably for the best anyway, until Peter has everything sorted back out.”

After breakfast the three of them walked across the grounds behind the manor, behind the gardens and into a clearing between Silverwood and the Grim House. They passed several people on the way there, most of them younger than Simon, many of them shouting and talking in strange languages that Simon couldn’t begin to understand. One tall boy with dark brown hair clutched his hand and yelled something harsh that sounded like German, and a small rock in front of him cracked into two pieces. Clearly pleased with himself, the boy nodded and pointed at the rock while motioning to several younger students, who stopped what they were doing to come and see.

Nathan led Simon away from the other kids, around a grove of trees to a secluded spot near a small pond. “Here we go, this spot will work nicely.” Nathan picked up a small pebble and placed it on an old and worn tree stump. “Okay, Simon. First lesson.”

Simon stared at the pebble. “What do I do?”

Nathan folded his arms. “Attack it.”

“What? How?”

Kate tossed her hatchet idly. “Right into the deep end, Nathan?”

“How I learned.”

“Look how you turned out.” Kate squatted next to Simon. “Focus, Simon. It’s easier than you think. Concentrate on what you want.”

He felt dumb, but Simon squinted his eyes at the rock, at a loss for what to do next. “I don’t know what to do. Normally it feels like I’m getting dizzy.”

“That’s your own energy swimming inside you. You get dizzy because you’re tapping your own strength.” Kate drew her hatchet, pointed it at the pebble. “Think it through. What do you want to do?”

Simon thought for a moment. “Do I need to crack it, or just knock it back?”

Kate smiled. “That’s a very good question. Nathan?”

“Me? I’d probably just flick it into the next Order.”

Kate raised an eyebrow at Nathan. “Let’s try a little push,” she said to Simon. “How do you make a rock move?”

Simon wracked his brain. It was too big a box for him to think out of. Finally he had an idea. “What about wind, or shaking the ground underneath?”

“Both good options,” Kate said. “Wind is a good choice. It’s quick and hard to completely block. Nathan?”

Nathan was busy picking through his thoughts again. “Hmmm?”

“Latin for air?”

Mental page flip. “
Aeres
.”

“Okay. Simon you got that? Look at the rock, focus on what you want it to do, and speak the word
aeres
. Put your will into it. Let the word carry your will. Tap the wind.”

Simon did as he was told, lifting his hand out in front of him to help him focus. He looked down his fingers, until the tips were pointed directly at the pebble. He thought of hard winter winds, tornadoes, and gentle breezes. He focused on the breeze in his mind, wanting to see it push against the little stone. He focused as hard as he could, and he whispered. “
Aeres
.”

Nothing happened. The pebble remained on the stump, unmoved.

“Aeres,” he said again, anger slipping into his voice. “Aeres!”

“Its okay, not everyone can do it the first time,” Nathan said.

“I can do it!” Simon insisted, staring daggers at the pebble. “
Aeres
!”

“Simon, it’s okay.” Kate put her hand on his shoulder. “It’s only your first try.”

Something angry seized Simon, grabbing him by his heart and throttling him. He found a new thought bubbling up inside his mind, a new idea, and a new command blew into his mind, whispered by the Other Voice. It told him a command to yell, a command to let thrash and rage in the air around him. “
Destruo
!” he screamed, his voice twisted with anger and hatred and rage. Images of destruction ran rampant though his mind. On the tree stump, the pebble cracked and shattered, tiny shards ripping through the air, one piece zipping past his face, stinging slightly as it cut his cheek.

These feelings were different, they rocked Simon’s body, strength pouring through him. Through his heavy breathing he felt stronger, more powerful. He didn’t need these lessons. He was ready. He could find Boeman himself. He would force Mr. Nettle to tell him how to find Boeman, and then Simon would force
Boeman
to take him right to Sam. Nothing could stop him from saving Sam, showing him how powerful he had become, and how wrong he had been to keep this world hidden from him. It all felt so good.

Something small and hard bounced off the back of Simon’s head. He spun around to see another tiny pebble land on the ground between his feet. His concentration broke, and his anger suddenly waned. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking Nathan in the eye. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s okay.” Nathan eyed Simon with caution “But what made you say that? Where have you heard that before?”

“I don’t know,” Simon said. “It was just there in my mind all of a sudden.”

Kate holstered her hatchet. “Maybe we should go to the Archives after all,” she said. “It couldn’t hurt to get a primer.”

“There’s no time,” Nathan said, staring at the rock fragments. “Tomorrow is Halloween. That’s not a coincidence. Darrow has something planned.”

Kate’s eyes widened. “Silas Darrow? But he dreams...”

“He dreams no longer,” Nathan said. “Nicodemus has felt it. Darrow walks again.”

Her hand found its way to her hatchet. “Nathan, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I had hoped not to burden you with it.” He stared at the stump, which had also been destroyed. “But now I’m seeing that bigger forces are at work.”

Kate glanced at Simon, then quickly averted her eyes. “How long has he been awake?”

“We’re not sure. At least a few weeks, maybe even longer.”

“That’s why Peter thought you were looking for Nicodemus, isn’t it? You want his help.”

“I want many things right now. Sam most of all.” Nathan looked at the ground. “At any rate, Nicodemus owes me.”

“He owes you?” Simon rolled the unbroken pebble back and forth between his fingers, barely feeling it at all.

“Don’t worry about that,” Nathan said. “One devil at a time. Right now, Simon, you need to learn this, and you need to learn this quickly.”

“I’m not so sure the Council would agree with you,” a voice said behind them. A tall man stepped around the tree. Simon recognized him from the meeting in the Timeless Room the day before.

“Junior Officer Churl,” Nathan said flatly. “Pleasure as always.”

“You were reported walking out here with the Warner boy.” Churl straightened his pristine white gloves. “Apparently some people are disturbed by another Warner wondering around, let alone one without any self control.” He locked eyes on Kate. “Greetings, Ms. Merrimoth! Good morning to you.”

“Doug,” she said.

“I hope I will be seeing you tomorrow night at the Masquerade Ball. Representatives from all seven orders will be present. You will be attending unescorted, yes?”

Kate crossed her arms. “That has yet to be determined.”

“I see.” Doug bowed slightly. “Perhaps I will have the good fortune tomorrow night to have your hand for a dance, but for now I bring ill news for Mr. Tamerlane and young Mr. Warner.”

“And what would that be, Doug?” Nathan stepped between him and Simon. “Was there a request to investigate another wendigo up in the far frozen norths?”

“You would do well to answer one of the council’s requests every now and then, Nathan, if your family standing is ever to survive you. Alas, that is not the case today. I am here with a simple message from the Council.” He flicked a bug off his sleeve. “
Stop
.”

“Stop?” Nathan shook his head. “Stop what?”

“You know what I mean, Nathan. Stop causing trouble, stop your little campaign against one of our senior members, and most of all,” he pointed at Simon, “stop trying to train this one. He’s lost. Driftwood. Best to leave him as he is before you get into more trouble again and he ends up like his father did.”