The Demon's Apprentice (3 page)

“Nine blows unanswered…for my freedom,” I panted as I tucked the piece of his horn in my back pocket. “I have bested thee. Thou art my master no longer,” I finished the ritual phrase while I dragged him back into the lab by his other horn. I was starting to feel sweat run down my back as I pulled him through the hole I'd made in the wall. My father moaned as he started to come to, but I ignored him. The Rite was almost done, but the last part was the most important and the hardest.

Once I had dragged my Master's limp form into the circle I had started out in, I took my place at the northern point and closed it again. Words that were never intended to be heard by human ears, much less uttered by a human tongue, fell from my lips like verbal bricks. Most of them hurt to pronounce, and it felt like I was going to choke on a few of them as I walked around the circle three times deosil, or clockwise in magickal speak. It felt good to finally be doing something the right way, though. When I completed the third circuit, I stopped at the northern point again.

“As once you bound me, I bind thee, self to self,” I hissed at him. I coughed on smoke and went on. “Thou art beaten by thine own student, undone by thine own teachings, bound by thine own hand through me. Choke on it, you ugly son of a bitch!” The circle closed with a vile sound. I left Dulka's limp form in the circle and turned to face the old man. The rite was done, and I was almost free. But I still had business with my father.

“Son, wait!” he cried as I started toward him.

“You never get to call me that again!” I screamed at him, rage making my words raw, ripping them from my throat. The wall behind him cracked with the force of raw emotion given impact by the magick coursing through me. “You gave me to a demon, and beat the crap out of me whenever I didn’t make things easy for you! Well, I am
done
being your price!” I reached for him as he stumbled against the wall, and I loved seeing the fear in his face. Someday, a tiny voice reminded me, I might regret enjoying his terror, but today sure as hell wasn’t that day.

“Don’t you see?” he asked, gesturing at Dulka with his outstretched hands. “Don’t you see what an opportunity this presents for us?”

“Us?” I growled.

“Yes! If you kill him now, he’ll be sent back into the Abyss! My contract will be null and void! I’ll be in the clear!”

“Not everything is about you, you selfish son of a bitch,” I growled, parroting the words he had said to me eight years ago on my birthday. I balled my fist up and punched him in the mouth to make my point. It had been all me: no borrowed strength or magick, just a pissed off teenager beating the crap out of his asshole of a father. Damn, it felt good. “You’re not getting out of your contract, you son of a bitch. Dulka still gets your soul when you die, and you still go to Hell.”

“Son, please!” he cried. I hit him again.

“Never again!” I yelled at him. My left hand was swollen and bruised, and I could barely make a fist, but with a little draw from the strength charm, it delivered one last punch across his jaw. He folded like a wet noodle and went down. I coughed again and went back to my pallet in the store room to grab my gym bag.

“Well, done, slave,” Dulka's voice caught me up short as I walked past the circle.

“Fuck off,” I said as I started walking again.

“You're still not free, boy. You haven't crossed the threshold yet, and I promise you, I won't let you make it to the door.”

That made my gut clench. As much as I hated to admit it, he was right.

“Circle's too strong,” I said as I walked to the hole in the wall.

“The fire will weaken it. I'll get out before you make it halfway down the hall.”

Fire? I turned toward him, and saw what he was talking about. Scattered papers and desks were still flickering from the blasts I'd thrown around so casually a few minutes before. But they weren't that bad: just tiny fires, already guttering and dying. Then the smell of natural gas hit my nose. Somewhere, a line had busted. It was just a matter of time before it went up.

I hissed an Infernal curse and scrambled to my father. He was still out. Damn it! Limp as he was, “dead weight” didn't even begin to cover how hard it was to move him, but I finally managed to get him through the smoldering hole in the wall and out into the hallway.

Dulka's irritating laugh followed me into the hall. Then, the gas caught.

Chapter 3

~ A man is best repaid in his own coin. ~ Johann Faust 15
th
century Mage

I shook my head and tried to get to my feet. My legs turned traitor on me and I flopped back down on my side. The second time, they worked a little better and I staggered through the smoke to my unconscious father. My left hand was pretty much useless now, and my ears were ringing from the explosion that had knocked us both down the hallway. There was no way I was going to get us both out of there like that. And I wasn't going to leave him to die. With all the crap that was already on my soul, I wasn't going to add any more.

Without being able to use my left hand, it took a little extra fumbling to dig the curative out of my pocket, and I nearly dropped it on the floor before I got a good grip on it. The cork crumbled under my teeth as I pulled it out, and I spat flecks of it out before I upended the bottle. The pain in my left hand faded before I could so much as gag on the taste, and I heard the grating of bone on bone as it knit itself back together. Even the rib that Dulka had cracked that morning stopped hurting. It should have hurt like hell, but all it did was feel weird as my body did things it wasn’t meant to do. Curatives were expensive for a reason. Now, I all I had to do was drag my father out of a burning building.

Mage duels tended to be hard on real estate. I should have thought of that, and made sure no one else was around when I challenged Dulka. If I had, maybe I wouldn't have been dragging my unconscious father by his shirt collar through a burning school building. In my defense, it hadn't been on fire when I knocked him out.

I could still hear Dulka screaming Infernal obscenities and pounding against the circle I'd trapped him in, even over the roar of flames. Another gas line went off in the science lab to my right. I stumbled under the shockwave as the lab door flew across the hall in front of me and stuck at an angle in the green painted lockers. Glass from the louvered windows near the ceiling pelted us, and crunched under my combat boots as I dragged my old man through it. Lincoln Heights High School was nearly a century old, and a lot of it was still made of wood. The science wing was going to be a total loss for sure.

Behind me, Dulka stopped screaming, and I felt the subtle shift of energy as he went to work on the summoning circle with magick instead of fists and curses. Damn, he'd calmed down fast. I'd never seen one of his tantrums go for less than twenty minutes. This time, he'd only ranted for about five minutes, and I'd counted on having at least twice that long to get to the school's main doors. Once I got to the exit, I'd be free. I leaned forward and tried to go faster, but with my father's weight dragging at my left hand, “faster” was still too damned slow. More magick pulsed behind me, and I felt the circle's barrier crack open. The door was still a minute away, but Dulka was only seconds from obliterating my hastily cast circle. At this rate, he'd catch me before I was halfway there.

“
Chance,
” Dulka's voice grated through my thoughts, “
you can't escape, my slave. Making it to the door won't stop me. I will break free from this flimsy cage, and I will drag you back. Stop now, and I'll be merciful in my punishments.
”

Old compulsions kicked in as he sent his thoughts through mine, and I felt my muscles start to tighten up. In a few seconds, I'd be completely paralyzed and my muscles would seize up in a body-wide cramp. But I had at least one more surprise for the boss.

“
Compulsis negatis
,” I hissed through my teeth. In my mind, I saw the glowing red compulsion glyphs on my aura covered with spheres of runes. The compulsions disintegrated under the counter spell as the focus, a set of runes tattooed under my left arm, burned away. They hurt more as they burned themselves out than they had when I'd inked them in.

He reacted just like I'd hoped he would. Another roar echoed through the hallways, and I heard his massive fists pounding against the circle again. He made more cracks in the barrier, but brute force couldn't break it as fast as a skilled magickal assault could. I leaned into my father's limp mass again and tried to weigh how long I needed to make it to the exit against how soon Dulka would break free. I still came up short; he'd still catch me a few feet from the door.

“Crap,” I muttered. “
Crebresco minuta.
” The smaller amulet around my neck warmed, and a tingle went through my arms and legs as I became a little stronger, a little faster. I didn't really want to use the strength amulet any more than I needed to. Buff charms had nasty side effects if you used them too much, and I'd already used it a lot tonight. It was also designed to crap out faster the more it was used. But it was either risk the charm, or get caught by a pissed-off demon. Yeah, no contest there. The thought of the daily beatings and broken bones goaded me to put my back into pulling my father to the doors. Smoke swirled around me, and I coughed hard as I dragged him forward.

Another gas line went somewhere down the hall, and the school's fire alarm finally went off. Klaxons warred with older bells, and I could see the bright strobes of the newer alarms on either side of the hallway. Dank water sprayed from overhead for a few seconds, but by the time I dragged my old man's fat ass to the doors, it had stopped. The water had evaporated in the heat, but it left its rancid stench behind on my ripped jeans and black leather jacket.

The pale rectangles of the windows in the doors loomed in front of me, and I dropped my father to push on the bars. They opened about an inch, but then I felt them jar against my hands. I looked down to see the security chains wrapped around the push bars, the padlock shining up at me like it was proud of how well it was locked. I shouted a few choice words at it in Infernal then went quiet as I felt my circle shatter. Dulka was free, and I was still inside.

“Boy!” he yelled. “I'm coming for you!”

Great, at least I had a warning. There was a crash from down the hall, and I heard heavy steps coming my way. I needed time: only a few more seconds. That meant using one of the few spells I could cast without a focus, one I hated to cast because of the taint it left on my soul. My eyes closed, and I pulled stolen soul essence from the Lemurian blood tattoo on the inside of my right biceps. I poured it into the mental construct I had created for the spell, and once the glowing image was complete in my head, I uttered the release phrase, “
Ignus Infernum
!” The whole process took less than a heartbeat.

A glowing sphere of Hellfire flew from my hands and sped down the hall toward the sound of demon hoof beats. There was a bright flash of impact, and I heard Dulka's outraged roar from way down the hall a few seconds later. Time to get out of here.

I turned and kicked the door. The shock of the impact sent jolts of pain up my leg, but I stepped back up and kicked again. The metal bar between the two doors popped free, but the chain looped through the push bars still held the doors closed. I ramped the strength charm up a little more.

“On your knees slave!” Dulka said as he charged back toward me. “Getting out that door won't save you! You're my property! Mine!”

“Not,” I said as I kicked, “Any,” I kicked again and the bar bent, “MORE!” The door gave on the next kick and flew open. I grabbed my father's ankle and stepped across the threshold. Inside my head, I felt something give, like a rope breaking, and I sensed the power of spells lashing back toward their caster. Another explosion ripped through the school, and I was treated to yet another bellow of pain from my old master. Music to my freaking ears.

Sirens added their mournful wail to the sounds of the night: fire trucks on their way to save the day. I dragged the old man down the steps, careful not to let his head bounce more than once on each step on the way down. Heavy steps just behind me made me turn back toward the door I'd just stepped through. Dulka emerged from the smoke, and I started to wonder if maybe he was right about crossing the threshold not being enough to free myself.

“
Return to me, my slave,
” he said in my head, “
and I will be merciful. My hold on you is still intact.
”

The doubt was hard to fight, but there was only one way to be sure he was lying.

“Then come out and get me, asshole!”

He smiled and took a step forward, then bounced back as a sheet of blue energy flashed in front of him. The threshold had stopped him! I put my arms up and let out a whoop of joy.

“
Your freedom is temporary. I will come and reclaim you, slave.
”

“We both know you can't,” I said through clenched teeth. My voice was raspy from all the smoke I'd breathed. “Now, get the Hell out of my head!” I exerted my will and closed my mind to him completely.

He responded with more Infernal swearing.

Higher-pitched sirens sounded behind me, the oscillating wail of police cars, and I heard the screech of tires. Bright red and blue lights flashed against the front of the school, then a brilliant beam hit me. Dulka scowled and stepped back into the smoke, and I heard the cops behind me yell at me to put my hands up and turn around. My hands went up as I turned to face the two New Essex police cruisers that had their spotlights on me. Two uniformed cops came out from behind the cars, Tasers out. I was looking down the laser sight of one, and the other one was dancing across my father's back. The one on me never wavered. Figured that I'd get the one cop with nerves of freaking steel aiming at me.

“Take the bag off, kid,” he told me. He didn't sound like he'd grown up in Missouri. Maybe L. A.

I used my right hand to reach up to my right shoulder and pulled the strap of the blue and yellow duffel bag over my head. It hit the ground at my side, and the cop took a step up.

“Awright, face down on the ground, kid. Arms out to your side, feet spread.”

The other cop had already holstered his Taser and had rolled my father over. His hands were sliding over his clothes in a quick and dirty pat down as I slowly got down on my stomach and tried not to cough much.

“Holy crap, Collins,” the other cop said as I heard the sound of a Taser being holstered, “you know who we got here?”

Hands ran up my right leg, then up my left, and moved to my back pockets. My fake school ID came out, and the folded stack of bills I'd collected that day for the boss. I must have forgotten to give him his money in all of the confusion. An accident, I swear.

“I dunno, but this kid's ID says he's Chance Fortunato, so I'm gonna take a big leap and say that's his dad,” Collins said as he kept frisking me.

“None other than Stavros 'the Spartan' Fortunato. At a fire in a school. Whaddya think, meth lab explosion or a drug deal that went bad?” his buddy asked. Funny how he didn't go for the popular “fight with a demon that got out of hand” angle. Cops: no imagination.

“Can it, Franklin,” Collins said as he finished patting me down. “You okay, kid?” I answered him with a wracking cough and a nod. He pulled me to my feet and led me over to the lead patrol car.

“Get a damn paramedic over here. Kid needs some oxygen,” Collins said.

Moments later, I was sitting on the back bumper of an ambulance with a clear plastic mask over my nose and mouth. Collins had my bag on the hood of his cruiser, and I watched as he methodically pulled out everything I owned in the world and laid it next to the bag. A few t-shirts, two extra pairs of jeans, four balled-up pairs of socks, and a few pairs of underwear were laid out before he got to the one thing that made me tense up. He held a business card for Spirit Garden, the little herb and sundry shop where my mom worked, with Mom's name listed on it as their master herbalist. It wasn't much, but it was more important than anything else I had. My stomach sank as he slipped the card into his breast pocket and started to put the rest of my stuff back in the bag. Finally, he headed over to me.

“Awright, kid. You wanna tell me what's goin' on?”

“Sure. We were here on some kind of business for my father. He left me outside the room, and next thing I know, he's out cold and the place is burning down around me. So I dragged him out.” It was a good lie, and it came out as smooth as silk. Simple, vague, and hard to disprove, since most of it was true. Now, all it needed was the personal touch. “Wish I could tell you more, sir, but truth is, my um, dad doesn't like to let me see much of his, you know, business.”

I'd only stumbled over the word “dad” because I usually refused to call the old bastard that. I didn't even like calling him my father, but biology was biology, and father was easier to say than “the lousy son of a bitch who got my mother pregnant.” It also didn't give me disturbing images of my mother sleeping with him. I had enough nightmares without adding that to them.

Collins just nodded and scribbled on his notepad. “Your dad's telling a different story, kid,” he finally said, “and he ain't painting you as the model citizen, either. You got a rap sheet of your own, so this ain't looking good for either one of you.”

I shrugged and spread my hands. “Hey, I dragged his sorry ass out of there,” I said. “I coulda just left him.”

“Maybe so, but we're gonna bring you both in, until we can sort this all out.” Collins turned to talk to the paramedic, and I let out a tired sigh.

Over by the steps of the school, I could see another team of paramedics working on my father. He was sitting up now, and hopefully, in a lot of pain. The worst he was likely to have, though, was a black eye where I'd punched him, and a ton of little cuts from the broken glass I'd dragged him though. I'd only used the strength charm a little when I'd hit him, honest. If I was lucky, the cops would place me in the foster system by the end of the night, and I'd never have to see my father again.