Bad Apple (The Warner Grimoire) (11 page)

They made their way around to the front of the boat, their feet stomping down hard on the deck as Nathan suddenly broke into a run. Simon scrambled to keep up.

“Don’t stop!” Nathan shouted over his shoulder. “Get out the silver!”

“The what?” Simon’s side was already starting to hurt. He never had been a runner, and the boat really was a lot longer than he would have figured.

“The fork, Simon! The fork! Get it out!” Nathan glanced back over his shoulder. “Simon hit the deck!”

Simon’s back rippled with ice as a heavy weight took him down from behind. Lifting his head he saw him, standing on the deck not ten feet from him, a large beast with pitch black eyes and mangy, wild fur.

Streaker.

Nathan mumbled a curse and spun around, but Streaker ignored him, his full attention on Simon. The dog did not hesitate, lunging forward, snapping its jaws viciously. Simon fell back and covered his head.

The deck of the boat shimmered for an instant, a brilliant flash of gold and red, there and gone in a moment’s breath. Simon didn’t have time to ponder it, for the hound suddenly bellowed, a harsh, guttural cry that made Simon’s bones ache. After a moment he lifted his head to see the dog dizzily shaking its head, small puffs of smoke and steam rolling off his fur. The smell of burning fur and sulphur filled the air.

Nathan stood behind the dog, his bag of salts clenched in his outstretched hand. “Hey. Hellhound.” He rattled the bag of salts. “
Get
.”

Streaker’s fur was sizzling, exposing cracked skin in places. It snarled at Nathan, wild, angry teeth flashing in the dawn as Nathan hurled a large wave of salt through the air. The salt exploded against the hound, tiny silver sparks erupting like firecrackers all over its body. The air was rotten now with the smell of singed fur, and Streaker fell back as larger puffs of oily black smoke rolled off his back.

“
Raise your hand,”
spoke the Other Voice in Simon’s head, and he obeyed. If he could focus, maybe he could repeat the flash of light from his hand yesterday. All he needed to do was point his hand and concentrate. He could get it right this time.
“Use your gift.”

“Ex luce...” he started.

“Don’t Simon!” Nathan yelled. “Don’t! Off the boat! Now!”

“I can help!” Simon focused on Streaker.
Ex luce vita.
He had the motto right now. Now he could really help, do it right.
The hairs on his neck began to tingle, and goosebumps swept over his arm. He could almost do it. It had worked yesterday, even when he had it wrong. It would work now. “
Vita
,” the Other Voice in his head spoke. “
Ex vita...”

“Simon!” Nathan screamed. “STOP!”

Streaker slowly turned towards Simon, his oily black eyes burning with anger. Growling, the dog braced its shoulders to attack. Simon steadied his hand, pointed it at the dog.

Nathan bolted towards Simon, completely ignoring the hound. “You don’t know what you’re doing!”

Simon’s head swam, his feet uneasy under him. “I got this,” he said. “I stopped him yesterday, I know I can do this!” he shouted. The tingling in his hand gave way to burning. Streaker held his spot, shoulders braced, his eyes locked on Simon. Why wasn’t he attacking? Why did he just stand there, its fur singed and skin burned, and didn’t go for him now? What was it waiting for?

The boat rocked violently under them. Nathan braced himself and shouted, “We don’t have time! Get off while you can!” He flicked his hand at Simon--it was like a slap of cold water across his face, then Nathan was scooping him right off the deck of the boat and running towards the front of the ship. The crew was hurriedly dropping the ramps onto the shore as they approached. Lungwort was sitting on the guardrail too, his tiny eyes focused on them as they hurried ashore.

“Thank you,” Nathan said to the crew, breathing heavily as he set Simon down on the shore. The burning sensation in Simon’s hand had all but faded.

Lungwort gave Nathan a piercing glare. “The leaves be with you,” he finally said. “Best you were off the boat by dawn, ramps and all, before the sun touch us.” He tossed a small wrapped package to Simon. “From Cookie,” he said.

Simon fingered the folds of the cloth wrapped around the package. Given the smell of the meal last night, there was no way of knowing what was under there. “What is it?” Simon asked tentatively.

“No time.” Nathan was already putting the boat behind them. The morning dew clung to the grass under their feet, leaving a sweet smell lingering in the air. Dawn touched the ground around them.

Simon tucked the package in his backpack and turned to shout goodbye to Lungwort and the crew, but when he looked behind him the boat had vanished--only a few leaves and twigs floated on the surface where the great ship had been.

Nathan was checking his grimoire again. “We still have to hurry,” he said. “There’s not much time.”

“Where now?” Simon zipped his backpack. “We’re in St. Louis? Are we catching a plane?”

“Hardly.” Nathan pointed high in the air behind Simon. “Look up.”

The St. Louis Arch stretched high into the sky behind them, its metal skin gleaming a brilliant, blinding cascade of oranges and yellows as the sun swept fully over the horizon.

“The Gate,” Nathan said, somewhat proudly.

“The St. Louis Arch?” Simon shielded his eyes against the glare of the metal.

“Well, yes and no,” Nathan said. “The Gate was here first, for a few hundred years at least. Zebulon Muske put it together right after the Witch Folk reached the river. He dared to put it right by the river.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“This water’s dangerous,” Nathan said. “It was risky, but Zeb did it all the same--good energy under here, once you get past the bad stuff. Arch came later. Odd how people always have a way of knowing where important things ought to go. Anyway, handy for us.” He checked his grimoire again, nodded. “Cleaning crew will be here soon. You have the fork?”

“Yeah,” Simon said, fishing the fork out of his backpack. “What is the fork even for, anyway? I don’t get it.”

“Payment,” Nathan said. “Nothing’s ever free. Wouldn’t normally need this for you, but under the circumstances, we have to.” He took the fork from Simon. “Here, follow me.” Nathan led Simon directly under the Arch. Looking over his shoulder, Simon saw Streaker coming out of the water.

Nathan looked back too and said, “Don’t worry about him now. He can’t follow where we’re going. Can’t even get close to us while we’re near on top of the sigil that powers the Gate. Freemancer power is strong here.”

Streaker rose out of the water but did not advance. He only stood watching from the shore, his black gaze never wavering from them.

Nathan turned his back on Streaker and began murmuring, walking in a tight circle right on the grass under the center of the Arch. The air vibrated around them, and the buildings in the distance blurred into fuzzy shapes of orange and blue and gray.

The ground beneath their feet hummed, then silvery-blue lines appeared and began to spread across the grass. The lines interconnected in a series of geometric shapes, mostly triangles and squares, all surrounded by one silvery-blue circle which glowed bright in the morning light. The sigil.

Silvery fog crept in from the river. It swam around the circle, slowly building speed as it surrounded the two of them. The air was electric, the buzzing of ten thousand bees, the rush of a roller coaster. The mist suddenly shimmered with blue lighting, sprouting long, misty tendrils that rose and wove delicately around the sigil on the ground, twisting themselves into a shimmering lacework, knots and braids entwining around each other as it circled around them.

Nathan finished chanting. His eyes glowed the same faint silvery blue as the sigil. The mist lacework drew in tightly, compacting itself into a circle on the ground, then it became blindingly bright, and the circle sprang high into the air, sending goosebumps tearing over Simon. A small, silver archway stood in front of them, just tall enough for someone to walk through. The surface of the Gate rippled like glossy water, and Simon shuddered to look at it.
Water
.

“It’s okay to close your eyes,” Nathan said. “It doesn’t hurt, but it can be a little disorienting.” He tucked his grimoire back inside his coat. “I’ll be right behind you. Make sure to hold the fork tightly, until you’re through to the other side.”

Simon stepped in front of the silver portal. Would it feel like being underwater? If so, forget it. Where did it even go--straight to Sam? To help, or to Boeman?

Nathan placed his hands on Simon’s shoulders. “I’ll see about getting the fork refunded.”

Unease crept into Simon’s stomach. He closed his eyes and took a breath, the smell of the dew flowing deep into his chest. He would hold his breath when he stepped through--hopefully the journey wouldn’t last long.

Nathan stepped away.

Simon gripped his backpack hard and took a deep breath.

For Sam
, he thought to himself.

Another deep breath, then he stepped through the Gate.

Act Two

The Thief and The Bookworm

Magic concerns itself with the fundamental forces of the Universe.

This is where the trouble starts.

––
Nicodemus Limnic, An Honest History of the Wizard’s Craft, Introduction

CHAPTER SEVEN

SILVERWOOD HALL

Trees.

Everywhere around him, tall trees, old trees, young trees, broken trees. Early morning fog slipped lazily around the tall oaks that surrounded him and the hill behind him. The air was sweet with the smell of a recent rain. Sunlight broke through the branches overhead, coating the forest floor in bright yellows and oranges. Dawn had already been here for some time, where back at the riverfront it was only just arriving. Realization hit Simon. He was very far from where he had been just a moment ago.

The Gate had been a rush of sensation. The ground under his feet had fallen away for an instant, and he had jerked when it happened, expecting to plummet. A blur of colors rushed past his eyes, and then his feet had crunched down on the forest floor a moment later, the morning air stinging his face. It had all come and gone in a heartbeat, yet it left him shaken. The rush of the movement faded, and his bearings slowly limped back to him. He recognized that he was in a forest. Beyond that, nothing else.

The noises of the forest crept in around him, a few insects buzzed quietly and the birds overhead occasionally chirped. Without knowing why, the hairs on the back of his neck tingled, and all the air around him seemed to hum with some unspoken quality.

“I would move if I were you,” said a rough voice behind him. Simon froze. He did not recognize the voice, but it was deeper and rougher than Nathan’s. He closed his eyes, and the buzzing in the air died off. He tried to count to ten. Maybe it had been his imagination. Maybe it was Nathan, or nobody at all, just his mind playing tricks on him. “No use pretending you’re not there,” said the rough voice, this time off to Simon’s left. “The oaks know you’re here, so save your jabberings. It’ll do you no good where you’re standing.”

A large man dressed in animal skins and gripping a very large wooden staff stepped into Simon’s view. His head was draped in a large-brimmed hat, big enough for the brim to droop down until it almost covered his gray eyes, which thundered like tiny storm clouds. A long, green feather hung lazily from the brim. “In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a bonding-sigil under your feet,” he said. Simon glanced down. He stood on a rough stone platform with strange lines and letters carved into it. The man smiled broadly. “In case you’re wondering just how that seal happened be right under where you’re standing, that’s because we don’t do well to suffer trespassers near our home.”

The man swept in close to Simon. Simon wished he could step back through the gateway, but it had long vanished. Still, he stepped backwards, off the stone platform and into the leaves, his feet crunching as he backed away.

The man continued towards him, his hand outstretched as if to beckon Simon closer. Simon continued to back away until he bumped up against something. Something large. He reached around blindly to feel for an opening, but his fingers grabbed thick, soft fur.

“Keep him right there, Grisly. Sterling will want to know about this one.” Simon looked over his shoulder. A very large and very gray bear laid on the ground behind him, its big, questioning eyes focused on Simon.

Simon struggled against the urge to run. Every bone in his body screamed to break into a sprint, to try to put as much distance between him and the bear and the strange man he took for its master, but fear held him in place. There was no outrunning a beast this large, even though at the moment it looked content to remain lying on its sunny spot among the trees.