Bad Apple (The Warner Grimoire) (33 page)

“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.

Simon didn’t even have to turn around to know he was there. “I could jump,” he said.

“I already saved you from that first fall two nights ago,” Boeman said. “I’m not feeling quite so generous this time.”

“I thought you wanted me to die.”

Boeman’s grin was ghastly. “When the time is right,” he said grimily. “So I suggest you have a seat and we discuss your options.” Sam was with him, leaning against the wall. His face was sunken, with his eyes cast down to the floor. He lifted his head, and Simon saw his eyes had gone milky white. A moment later his head dropped hard against the doorframe.

“What have you done to him?”

“Nothing he didn’t do to himself,” Boeman said. “Nothing’s ever free, Warner. He made a deal. I’m just here to collect, keep the books balanced, simple as that. I did him a favor, really. Those who defy my debts always lose, Simon. Always. The old laws demand it. It was either this, or let him become a
moatling
. Well, technically he’s become one, but I kept him on the
fresher
side of things
.
Give him a few years, and he’ll be all good and scraggly, like the rest.” He patted Sam on the back. “He might make a good agent to have among all them regular folk out there in the world, don’t you think? He’s already used to all their inane little problems and quirks. You as well, come to think of it. Tell me boy, how
is
life in that little town of yours? Are people...
wanting
?”

Disgust swelled in Simon. “What are you anyway?”

Boeman smiled. “Come,” he said. “Let’s sit and have a talk.” He motioned to Sam. “Bring us something to eat,” he said, and Sam woozily walked away.

“See?” Boeman said. “See that power? I could make him do anything I want. Anything I say.” Boeman leaned over. “All I have to do is ask, and it is done. That’s my power. Your
parents’
power. Now sit down.”

Simon sat back down on the decrepit couch, the springs jabbing him in the leg. Boeman flopped on the edge of the bed opposite him. “What do you
really
want to get from this, Simon?”

Simon did not speak right away. “Sam,” he whispered.

“Oh come on now,” Boeman said, his one green eye flickering wildly. “You have all the world at your disposal, you could have anything you want, and all you think to ask for is for
him
back?” He waved a finger condescendingly. “I don’t think you’re considering all the possibilities before you, boy. You could have
anything
. Just say the word, take my hand and it’s all yours. Just like that...for a
price
.”

Simon looked at his hands. “Why do you do this?”

Boeman laughed a thin, wispy laugh. “Why?” he said. “Because I believe. Silas Darrow is not just a man. He is a visionary. He remembers the witch hunts, the inquisitions. The burnings. He remembers when our people were taken to the very brink of extinction. He is a great sorcerer, and he will save our people. But the hearts of our people are not easily moved. Give and take, Simon. Give and take. He wants to take our people out of the shadows, so he asks that I use my talent to give them what they desire, and so for now I do.” He snapped his fingers. “Is Sam all you really want, Simon? To go back to that little family diner, and that little family life, when all this is right before you? It’s all here, you know. All the answers, everything, everyone who
should
matter to you.” He leaned forward, both eyes flaring with magic. “Why do you want him, when you can meet your parents, learn exactly why they
sold me your soul
?”

Simon flinched.

“There we go,” Boeman said. “That’s it. You want to know more about them. Who they were, what they did, why they were so
terrible.
I can’t blame you. I didn’t know who my parents were either, but that’s just me being a product of my environment.” He leaned in. “Tell me, Simon. Would you want to
see them
?”

“Don’t do it,”
whispered the Other Voice.

Sam returned before Simon could answer, carrying a tray of bright green apples and a crystal water pitcher.

“Thank you,” Boeman said quietly. “Watch the door.” Sam set the tray on the bed and returned to his post in the hallway.

“Apple?” Boeman offered, tossing it to Simon. “Come on, lad. Tell the truth, you have to be dying with curiosity. It’s okay, Simon. No one will blame you. Not even him,” Boeman said, pointing at Sam. “He knew this day was coming. He’s known for a very long time, ever since he stole away with you. He’s known the day was coming when he couldn’t hide you from the truth. From your parents. From
me
.”

“Where are they?” Simon said.

“Can’t tell you,” Boeman said, tauntingly. “Not yet.”

Simon stared at the apple in his hand. “You already have my soul. What more could you possibly want?”

Boeman stood and walked to the window. “Join us. Join your parents and the warlocks of the Old Dominion. Give your heart to Darrow and his vision for our glorious future.”

A glacier ran down Simon’s spine. “My heart?”

“Yes,” Boeman said, looking out the window. “And it’s about time, I might add. This has always been your path, since before you were born, but I think you already know that much, what with your parents selling you to me and all. You can keep your mind, don’t worry about that.” He pointed at Sam. “You won’t end up like droopy face over there, I can promise you that much.”

Simon stared at Sam. “Is he even still alive?”

Boeman puffed out his chest. “People are funny things. Your bodies have a mind all their own. He’ll still be good for a nice, long time. After his heart stops it’ll only take a small investment to keep him upright. That’s the power of our trade, Simon. Your trade. Like so many before, like so many to come. Join us, and he can even be
your
personal attendant. That would be my gift to you. What could be better?”

Simon stared longingly at Sam, turning over everything in his mind. “What was it?”

“How’s that?” Boeman said, still staring out the window.

Simon’s arm began to ache. “What was so important to him that he would--”

“What?” Boeman giggled. “Make a deal with me?” He turned away from the window. “It seemed so banal, so
bland
, at the time. The ability to
hide
, he told me. Said he had gotten in bad with a couple of Edisonites and needed to disappear.” Boeman laughed, a harsh, angry laugh that stretched his face in odd directions. “I had
no idea
what he was planning. That is rare, you understand that? For someone to pull the wool over
these
eyes.” He stared out into the sky. “I gave him the ability to vanish. I didn’t think much about it. Sam Thatch, nothing special there. Figured he’d be dead soon enough and the Old Dominion would have just another moatling, another foot soldier in our fight to
save
this planet from those wretched ape cousins of ours.” Another tortured laugh rose out of him. “
You
, Simon. It really was for you.”