Bad Apple (The Warner Grimoire) (39 page)

“Are you insane?” Simon finally said. He turned so his injured side was hidden. “You think I will agree to anything you ask now?”

“Tell you what,” Boeman said. “I’m feeling generous. Maybe I’ll make it a two-for-one deal, Sam and the little lovebirds over there. Final offer, and since you’re down to just one good hand,” he said, a wicked glint in his eye, “I suggest you take it.”

Simon’s eyes dropped to the ground. He had been caught in his bluff. He stared at the base of the obelisk, then at the opening again. He could just barely make out the muffled noises of Nathan and Kate behind them. He glanced over his shoulder at them, unsure of what to do. Both of them stared at him with wide eyes, unable to move, their skin turning a sickly gray color as they joined the macabre collection of statues. They would be locked away, held prisoner there, forever.

All because of him.

“Stick your little hand in that little hole and I’ll free all of them,” Boeman said. “Nothing hard doing about that. C’mon, then.” He placed his hand on Simon’s shoulder. “Be the hand that opens the door, apple of a
good man
.”

Then there was Sam, standing there slack-jawed, his eyes staring dully into the distance, untouched by the same bluish gray glow of the other ghouls. Was there still time to save him? Could he be released from his agreement the same as Simon?

“Tick tock Warner,” Boeman said. “The wall doesn’t take long to claim its victims, and I’m running severely low on patience.”

“Fine,” Simon said slowly. “I’ll try, but let them go first.”

“No.”

There was anger building inside Simon again, but it was a useless anger, frustration he wouldn’t be able to work out in any meaningful way with a broken hand. Defeated, Simon returned to the obelisk and stuck his broken hand into the receptacle without another word. He jammed it in harder than he needed to, scrapping his knuckles on the stone and sending dull waves of pain up his arm.

There was a cool trickling sensation of running water over his hand, and the ember which now lived in his hand was quiet. He wondered if it had broken too when he punched Boeman. There was this other feeling too, of freedom, like he could remove his hand at any time if he wanted, but he did not. He simply stood there and waited.

Boeman was at his side now, chanting. “Apple of a good man, broken hearth, and bone--” he said, his voice so quiet it seemed unnatural. His eyes rolled back in his head. “Ab’zudog, N’ryleth mod k’ruzall. Brohk’h nngh un’galath...” The stone closed in around Simon, and Boeman’s chanting cut his skin like glass. “Ung J’bbah. Nok t’chah, the blade that cuts the darkness--” His words were wormwood in Simon’s ears--” Gru’n Pazog--the edge that’s never honed...” Streaker remained outside the circle of stones on the ground, pawing anxiously, his growl reduced to an unexpected whimper.

Boeman continued, bowing his head. “Father of a dead man...” The air was frozen around him. “A dog without his bark...” He raised his hand slowly towards Streaker, who whined and laid down. The green light in Streaker’s eyes died away, and then Boeman’s eyes were blazing with emerald fire as he lifted his head to the gathering clouds over head. Lightning began to crackle within the churning sky, and thunder churned high overhead. The humming filled Simon’s ears again. “A broken crow in hiding, a doorway in the--”

It was over now.

Something very bright and very
red
shot through the air above Simon, striking Boeman in the face. The spark blurred and zoomed around his head, buzzing his ears and throwing harsh violet sparks in his eyes. Boeman stumbled back, swatting at the spark as it blazed and fluttered furiously. Off in the shadows Streaker whined, a low whimper slowly building up to a threatening rumble.

This very small and very red spark rounded Boeman’s head a dozen of so more times before shooting out straight up through the air, curving high overhead until it could almost be lost among the stars, and then Simon recognized it was Maggey. She paused for a moment, then with dizzying speed she shot straight down into Boeman’s open mouth.

Boeman’s mouth slammed shut reflexively, but it was too late. His cheeks flared with a sudden magenta glow, deep and warm, a fleshy gray jack o’lantern flailing in the air. For a moment the color died out, swallowed by the hideous man, but then all at once it exploded out of him, harsh violet and red light erupting from his eyes and mouth, a pained warble barely escaping him, mixed with a vibrant noise like a hummingbird. Boeman’s hands clutched at his face as he tried to scream, all the while the violet storm raged within him.

Something shot out of the darkness at him, a dark figure tackling the man, sending both of them tumbling to the ground. The two figures sprawled on the ground for a moment, and then the one on top was falling away, off of Boeman, scampering back as vines and roots erupted from the ground, entangling themselves around him, holding him down. Slowly the violet light bled from the vines, draining back towards Boeman’s face, his eyes still wide with shock. Finally all the color drew around a single point that floated out of the man’s gaping mouth just a moment before a vine stretched across his face, preventing him from speaking. The red blip sputtered green a few times, then bobbed high in the air for a moment before whizzing towards the shadowy figure who approached Simon slowly.

“You going to help or just stand there?” Luke stepped into the light. “You think I’ll just handle this all by myself?”

Simon was dumbstruck. “How?” he blurted out. “I--”

“What? You thought I’d skip out on my end, did you?” Luke held out his hand to Simon. “Deal’s a deal,” he mumbled.

Simon withdrew his broken hand immediately, backing away quickly from the obelisk, which seemed to bend and grope for his hand. Simon realized he was bleeding from his knuckles, and his hand was swelling. Definitely broken. “You didn’t have to.”

“You helped me, and I want to be paying up so I can get a move on,” Luke said. “Nothing more.”

“Yeah, but--”

Luke raised a finger, pointed at Simon. “Nothing. More.” Maggey blinked happily behind Luke’s head and landed somewhere in his hair.

Simon rubbed his broken knuckles and winced “Thanks,” he said.

“Just forget it,” Luke said. “I think this squares things between us just fine, don’t you think--” His eyes found the silver leaf on the obelisk. He stepped towards it impulsively. “What’s this?” He traced his fingers lightly along the precious metal. “Doubt the old guy under here would miss--”

Streaker bounded out of the shadows, tackling Luke to the ground. The hound growled like Simon had never heard before and then sank his great teeth into Luke’s arm. He screamed in pain. “Maggey!” In an instant the fairy was upon the hound, her light buzzing violently, but Streaker was utterly unfazed. His jaws remained locked, and his eyes blazed brighter than before. His growl strengthened as Luke screamed and cried out in pain.

“Luke!” Simon rushed towards him.

It was too late.

A new sound erupted through the air, a loud, high-pitched squeal that seemed to come from the obelisk itself. All around them the stones that formed the circle flashed with a sudden silvery blaze, and the very ground itself glowed with bright geometric lines crossing one another, connecting the stones to one another, the obelisk at the very dead center. A sigil. A bright point of brilliant silver light shot down from the sky, and the entire obelisk lit with a dark blue flame.

Streaker released Luke almost immediately and fell back, shaking his head violently, whimpering all the while its eyes burned bright green. He turned and tried to flee but was knocked back at the circle of blue stones. Beyond the circle the other hounds broke loose from guarding Nathan and Kate, whose eyes were unfocused and vacant. The hounds found their way quickly to the circle, their eyes staring dutifully at their master as he thrashed in a futile attempt to escape, silvery smoke starting to boil off of him. The moatlings, their own master now incapacitated, began to flee through the open gaps in the wall. A few were not so lucky as they bounded through--more than one stumbled into the statues, finding themselves instantly incased in stone arms, the wall suddenly claiming them.

Then there was the silver leaf itself, glowing white-hot in the center of the flame. Streaker turned to face it, his teeth bared furiously. There was a bright bluish white flash, and then nothing. The lines on the ground began to fade, and Simon realized that Streaker and the other hounds were gone. Not just banished, but
destroyed
by the sigil.

Luke groaned behind him, clutching his arm. Maggey floated over it slowly, lightly bobbing over the wounded flesh. The wound was already beginning to knit and fade, and Luke groaned quietly while she worked her magic.

Next to the obelisk stood Sam, his eyes still cloudy. Simon approached Boeman, who laid prone on the ground, unable to move under the force of the roots and vines holding him.

“I did my part,” Simon said. “Now do yours.”

Boeman’s eyes flashed with an undeniable fury. Slowly the vine covering his mouth rescinded. “No doing,” he coughed. “You didn’t--”

“I only said I would
try
,” Simon said. “No more, no less. Maybe you should be more careful when you make a deal.”

The one green eye flickered madly in the moonlight. “Bravo, boy. You played that well,” he said softly. Simon swore he could see a smile under all the vines. “
Fine,
then.” Boeman took a deep, labored breath as the vines tightened. “Samuel Marshall Thatch, you are
released from our agreement
.” The words seemed to float on the wind to Simon, past his ears and straight to Sam, who immediately collapsed. Luke moved to help him.

Simon looked to the wall where Nathan and Kate were trapped. Malkin was standing watch over them, the statues seeming to withdraw from where the kitten was sitting. “Free all of them.”

“Afraid that one is a bit beyond my control, Warner.” Boeman smiled one final time. I’m afraid I will have to neglect that little part of our arrangement.” He winced at the words.

Simon raged inside. Fire and lightning sparked across his fingertips, and he gritted his teeth, staring right into Boeman.

“Now, now,” Boeman choked. “Without me, you may never find your parents, boy. I know why they disappeared. I know right where they are. Without me, you will never find
your real family
.”

Simon’s bones ached with fire. “I have my family. They’re
right here, right now, and we will
find my parents.” Dizziness swept over him. “I don’t need
you
.”

Boeman drew a sudden, sharp breath. The color draining from his mismatched eyes until both had gone milky gray. “Yes you do, but have it your way. We
are all
connected, young
warlock
. The winds of the Dark Death still gather, and when it comes, it comes for
you
. I may not have your heart anymore, boy, but I will always have your
soul
.” His final words spoken, Boeman crumbled in front of Simon, his body collapsing into ash and dust underneath the tangle of roots and vines. What remained of him quickly whistled away, the same four, sour notes, playing softly on the night wind.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

THE WARNING

“Simon!” Molly hurried through the kitchen doors, bumping into a box of napkins
someone
had left on the counter. She caught them before they tumbled onto the newly tiled floor, where sawdust and other small scraps of wood and plastic still gathered in some of the corners. Zoey sat contentedly on a stool wrapping silverware. The oven timer
dinged
happily and Molly rushed to get the biscuits onto the stainless steel counter before they burned. Sam came in from the dining room, ducking under the sheet of plastic still hanging in doorway.

“Simon!” Molly shouted again, almost burning her fingers on the biscuit pan. She turned to Sam. “Where is your nephew?”

Sam set his clipboard down next to a box of nails. “Helping the new bread man.”

“Another one?”

“Afraid so.” Sam circled his arms around Molly’s waist and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

“Honestly,” she said, patting Sam on the chest. “I don’t think they’ll ever replace Frank.”

“He’s enjoying his retirement, something we’ll probably never get to do.”

“We have to get started first.”

Sam’s hand found hers, then the engagement ring on her finger. “I think we’re off to a good start.”