The Demon's Apprentice (8 page)

Leda's face went slack as the wheels seemed to click in her brain.

“Sure, Mister Chomsky!” the first girl who had spoken up said. “I'll bet an A on it, if the loser gets an F!” Chomsky turned a knowing eye on her before he answered. “Ah, interesting stakes. So, the age-old question comes back to the fore: how does the universe work? Even more importantly, it would seem, whose version of the truth does the cosmos favor?” He turned slowly as he spoke, clearly enjoying his topic.

“Well, class, the universe favors only its own truth. All we have are hypotheses that we test. If we can neither prove nor disprove them, they evolve into theories. But, if we can prove them, they grow up to be Laws. Thus, today's experiment. Mister Fortunato's table will be testing to prove his hypothesis that water does not get hotter than its boiling point. Miss Carson's table will be testing to prove that it does. Everyone else will be the control groups, repeating the experiment to see if they can get the same data. Hence, we are the scientific community in microcosm. So, Bunsen burners, everyone, and safety glasses. Remember the safety rules for using gas; we don’t want to duplicate Friday night’s destruction of Truman High School’s science wing.” He slipped his own pair of safety glasses on, then opened the ice chest and had half of us add three ice cubes to our water, to test the theory that cold water boiled faster.

“So, Kelly says you transferred in from Truman, and you've got a file like a foot thick. Did you have anything to do with, you know…” Wanda asked as we set up our experiment.

“It's a good theory,” I said as people around us complained about the safety goggles messing up their hair. “Can't be proven or disproven. The cops haven't charged me with anything yet.”

Wanda smiled and nodded, but the two guys on the far side of the table traded wide-eyed looks.

We stared at the thermometers in our beakers of water as they stayed at thirty two degrees until the ice was all gone. I got another thermometer and double checked that ours wasn't broken or something, but it showed the same temperature. The mercury slowly climbed until it hit two-twelve…and didn't boil. And kept right on not-boiling for another three minutes.

“Proving that a watched pot never boils, Mister Fortunato?” Chomsky said from over my right shoulder.

“Maybe,” I growled. “The temperature's right. Why doesn't it just boil?”

“Excellent question, my boy. The energy required to actually make water boil is five times that required to simply heat it to two hundred twelve degrees.”

“So, what is all that extra energy doing?”

“As you know, water is composed of an oxygen atom and two hydrogen atoms. A very sentimental element, hydrogen. It forms relatively strong bonds when it attaches to another atom. The extra energy is required to break those bonds. Ah, your water is boiling. Please make a note of your temperature, Miss Romanov.”

“Still two hundred twelve Fahrenheit,” Wanda whispered to me.

Chomsky's face broke into a grin. “Really? Imagine that. Ladies, I see your water is boiling, as well. Mark your temperatures down, class, and check again in five minutes, then place your cards face down on the corner of your tables so I can collect them.”

“We are so getting an A,” Wanda said as he left. I shrugged.

“So, what's her name?” I asked as I looked over my shoulder at the spot of red in the sea of blonde, two tables back.

“Brad's girlfriend? Hang on a second. I have to take a second to enjoy this. A guy who didn't know Alexis Cooper's name.”

“Until now.”

“Good things never last.”

“I knew your name first.”

“Yeah, you did.” She smiled and glanced at the thermometer for a moment, then wrote down the temperature. I added my card to the pile at the corner of the table, and waited for Mr. Chomsky to come by. I didn't hear him come up behind me, but somehow, I felt him there. I looked over my shoulder at him to catch him blinking and shaking his head.

“Chance,” he said thoughtfully, “I'd like you to stop by after school today. I think we need to discuss better placement for you.”

“Better placement?” I asked warily. This was already the most basic science class I could be in without dropping back a grade.

“Yes. The questions you ask demonstrate a certain type of critical thinking. Which leads me to wonder if your true aptitude can't be measured by a standardized test. I believe that you might do better with a more challenging curriculum. One better suited to your…talents.”

“Really?” The right side of my mouth quirked up on its own.

“Stop by after school, and we will discuss it further.”

“Well, that was the kiss of death to your social life,” Wanda said under her breath as he walked away.

“What do you mean?”

“He's talking advanced placement classes, dude. Might as well buy yourself a pocket protector and glasses now and avoid the Yuletide rush.”

“I don't have much of a social life now. It can't be any worse than sharing class space with half the cheerleading squad.” I nodded back at the blonde table.

“Uh-oh,” Wanda muttered.

I followed her gaze, and saw one of the blondes, Leda, grab Mr. Chomsky's arm.

“So, do we get the A?” she asked, loud enough for the whole room to hear.

“Interesting supposition,” Chomsky said. “You assume that there was a competition for the grade. You should know better by now, Miss Carson. When I asked if you cared to bet an A on the outcome, I was testing how certain you were of your hypothesis, seeing as it flew in the face of facts that are in your text book. Your grade, as always, will be based on the academic quality of your work, and the effort you put into it. It helped that you and Mister Fortunato had the courage to speak out in defense of your separate hypotheses.”

He turned a little to address the whole class. “In science, courage can be as important as knowledge. True innovation, original thinking, and most of all, change, are not always well received. However, in the end, the truth will always be known. Very well, lecture over. Let's clean up.” There was a rush of noise as everyone started working at once. Our table was done first, mostly because the other two guys went out of their way to outdo each other, but I also knew my way around a lab. The other tables weren't so fast, though, and it looked like the blondes were going to be cutting it close.

“You should come hang out with us tonight at Dante's,” Wanda said as we waited for the bell to ring. “I think you'd like my friends. I'm sure they'd love you.”

“I'll see if I can make it.” I tried not to sound too eager.

“Let me know if you need a ride.” She handed me a scrap of paper with a number scribbled on it.

That got me glares from Left and Right, but the bell cut those short before they could do any permanent damage to my ego. Wanda was out of her chair and halfway to the door before the bell stopped ringing, and our two tablemates weren't far behind her. I grabbed my backpack and fought the urge to clean up the rest of the lab. Some part of me was still afraid I was going to get a beating for leaving it this way.

“That's over now,” I told myself as I tried to slip in behind the kids from the table behind us. A moment later, I was on the floor, buried beneath three blondes. For a moment, my hairy monkey brain had a field day. Then even that primitive part of me went shrieking back to its mental cave when I realized who I was buried under.

“Watch where you're going, reject!” Leda hissed at me as we untangled ourselves. “This is a two hundred dollar jacket. You're gonna pay for the cleaning!”

“Actually, Miss Carson, he's not. He's going to go to his next class, while you three come back to your table and finish cleaning up.” Chomsky said. He put an emphasis on the last three words, pausing for a heartbeat between them. He stood over us, and for a moment, he looked like some ancient, angry god in a sweater.

Leda and her cronies got up and sulked back toward the lab table. Alexis was still there, struggling to disassemble the ring stand. She gave them a lethal look as they came back, but they didn't fall over and die right away. She snapped orders at them, and they started moving a little faster. Me, I was just happy I wasn't on the receiving end of that look.

“Away with you, Mister Fortunato,” Chomsky said with a warm smile. “You've a great deal more to learn today, I'm sure. And we have an appointment this afternoon, don't forget.” I was good at something other than sorcery and corruption. There was no way in all the Nine Hells was I going to forget.

Chapter 7

~ Make no pact with the Infernal Powers ~ Third Rule of Magick.

French and Wood Shop took way too long. If it wasn't such a beautiful sounding language, French would have been a snoozer of a class. Mrs. Solier was a nervous little woman with a soft voice, kind of like a mouse with self-esteem problems. Until she spoke French. Then she sounded like a completely different woman. I did my best, but I mangled the words at first. As I went along, it got easier, and I liked having something with a little beauty to it running around in my head.

Wood shop was my last class. Mr. Gonzalez was a round little man with brown skin and coal black hair that had gray at the temples. He barely came up to my shoulder, but he might as well have been a giant for the respect he got in the shop. The man was all business, but he went about it in the way a father with two dozen sons might. My first day was spent on safety and learning how to use
every
tool he could get my hands on. When the last bell rang, he told me that I would be able to start on a project next Monday, after I finished the safety lessons and showed him I knew how to use the tools.

My first day of school was done. All in all, it hadn’t been too bad. I headed back to my locker and picked up my French, Algebra and American History books, then headed to Mr. Chomsky’s classroom with a little extra spring in my step. I was hoping Wanda was right about advanced classes. All afternoon, I'd been imagining what Mom would say if I told her I was going to be in an advanced class. It took the edge off the memory of seeing her face when she laid my file in front of me.

My daydream crumbled when I heard Alexis Cooper's subdued voice. I froze in place as she came around the corner with her head down. I had just a moment to catch that she was putting her phone away before she bumped into me. Her head came up and her expression turned to ice.

“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.