Bad Apple (The Warner Grimoire) (15 page)

“Our business is done,” Nathan said, turning to leave. “We will excuse ourselves, thank you.” Nathan strode towards the doorway, leaving Simon fuming in the middle of the floor.

The eyes in the room settled on Simon, and he fidgeted furiously under all the attention. He hurried out of the room after Nathan, past the Verde sisters, who were busily whispering to several of the people around them. The gray cat from earlier sat by the doorway, flicking its tail, its blue eyes following Simon as he stormed past.

Nathan stormed up the ancient hallway, clutching his grimoire and flipping wildly through the pages as he walked.

Simon caught up to Nathan, his vocal cords thawing as he spat his words at Nathan. “Why did you say I was kidnapped?”

“Because you were,” Nathan said, never stopping. “Officially, anyway.”

This made no sense. “What are you talking about?”

Nathan slammed his book shut. “You weren’t just on a vacation out there in the corn fields, kid,” he snapped. “Your parents were gone, it was just you. The Dominion wanted you. We had to make you
disappear
. That meant no note, no forwarding address.
Gone
. We had zero choice.”

“So you helped him kidnap me?”

“I helped him
save
you,” Nathan snapped. “You would be
dead
if it wasn’t for us.”

“Dead
,” mocked the Other Voice. “
Dead dead dead. Dead as a rat. Dead as a dog. See the man who saved you? Is he your friend, or your foe?”

The words were ice in Simon’s mind. He stared at the cobweb-covered chair opposite him, momentarily dumbstruck, his thoughts completely jammed. He was beginning to worry about the Other Voice, what it meant, who it might be. “Dead?” he repeated.

Nathan was at the foyer door. “Or worse,” he said slowly, staring at the floor. His shoulders were slumped, as if he was carrying a terrible weight. “Sterling wasn’t about to help us back there. He’s not nearly as popular or as powerful as most would have you think. Plenty believe he’s a weak successor to the old Archmancer, and we just dropped a huge problem on him in front of everyone. A problem that he doesn’t want to handle. So he’s going to stall with his inquiry. As far as he and the council are concerned, the matter is delayed for now.” Before opening the door, Nathan added, “Sam has friends in there, as well as enemies. They all needed to see you, see that you were alive. The embers will begin to burn on both sides now. Things will start to happen.”

“So that was your plan all along? Just rile everyone up and hope someone will help us? That’s it?”

Nathan held up his grimoire. “No, that’s not it at all,” his voice edged with frustration. “From here we go to the Archives. Someone there needs to meet with us.”

Simon swallowed the last of his anger--sour, hot feelings that he wasn’t ready to digest. He knew these feelings would boil back up later. He only hoped he would be alone when that happened. He didn’t nearly trust Nathan as much now, but at this point he had no other option. He resigned himself to this and stepped through the door, his ears popping painfully as he reentered the foyer. He let out a small gasp from the pain and looked around, looking for Luke, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“I thought you said we came back to when we left,” Simon said, rubbing his ears. He wasn’t ready to let Nathan off the hook for the slightest thing yet.

“They don’t like when you leave early.” Nathan rubbed his ears and grimaced. “We’re probably just a few extra minutes off. The meeting was almost done anyway.” Nathan led Simon up the stairs to the second floor. “We’re going to be staying here a few days.” Seeing the look on Simon’s face he quickly added, “No, not for the inquiry to return. All they’ll report is Boeman’s denial along with his disgust and dismay at such an
abominable
accusation.” Nathan turned down the second floor hallway. “We have a few others to find--”

A magenta spark shot down the hallway, followed closely by a woman with dark, curly hair, wielding a small hatchet in her hand. She was dressed for the hunt, from her leather boots to the dirt-stained pants and jacket. She wore several silver bracelets that jingled as she ran--the only fancy thing about her. She moved almost as quickly as her prey, dodging the manor servants moving boxes in the hall, never missing a beat as she pursued her prey. The spark zipped between Simon and Nathan, bobbed under a small table, then dropped off the edge through the banister guardrails to the ground level. The woman stopped at the banister, muttering something under breath. She turned around, her dark hair falling in huge clumps around her shoulders when she locked eyes with Nathan. “Dogs and devils...” she whispered. “Nathan!” She embraced him suddenly, and her face quickly flushed red. She let him go, and the smile on her face quickly drained away, her shoulders dropping. “The fairy’s not yours, is it?”

“Hello to you too, Kate.” Nathan glanced over the banister, where the spark had ripped a portrait off the wall in its mad dash. “Keeping busy?”

“Someone’s let their pet loose.” Kate checked the hatchet in a small leather pouch that hung from her belt. “The little pest has been trouble all morning.” She smiled. “You haven’t answered me. Is the fairy yours?”

“I thought fairies weren’t allowed inside,” Simon said, his ears still hurting from crossing the threshold.

The woman eyed Simon suspiciously. “Of course they are, you just have to keep an eye on them. Why? Is it yours?”. Simon’s cheek flushed with red. “Oh, Nathan, please,” she said, after studying Simon a moment. “Another apprentice?”

“No,” Nathan replied. “Simon Warner, meet Katherine Merrimoth.”

Despite his frustration Simon managed a small, somewhat-polite, “Hello.”

Kate’s back stiffened slightly. “Warner,” she said. Then she stuck our her hand. “Katherine Anne Merrimoth. Born in a summer rain, raised in a drought.” She looked at Nathan. “Is he...”

“Tom’s son, yes.”

Kate started to say something else but the spark shot back up the hall, knocking a vase off a table and tearing between two men walking down the hall, their heated conversation momentarily disrupted. “Katherine!” one of the men bellowed. It was Sterling.

“Yes, Uncle,” she said. “I’m on it.” The fairy darted over both men’s heads before flying out a nearby window. Katherine laid her hand on the hatchet. “Pleasant seeing you again, Nathan.” A tiny smile wound across her face. “Joyous to meet you, too, Simon. Keep Nathan out of trouble.” She was off, down the staircase to find the fairy, hatchet in hand.

“Who was that?” Simon asked.

“Old friend,” Nathan said, watching Kate disappear out the front door after the fairy. He had a far-off look on his face for a moment. “Come on, we need to get going.” They started to approach Sterling and his companion when Simon noticed something: the man Sterling was speaking to looked familiar. Another minute of looking and Simon realized it was Frank the bread man, only instead of his Broomstick Bread delivery uniform, long emerald robes flowed from his shoulders. He looked away from Simon quickly, turning to excuse himself from Sterling and starting down the hall, away from them.

“Wait!” Simon broke into a run, but Sterling stepped in front of him, blocking his pursuit and giving Frank ample time to slip into a door further down the hall and out of sight.

“Young man,” Sterling loomed over Simon. “I will not have a
guest
tearing through our halls. You are only welcome here as a courtesy to Mr. Tamerlane, and I would thank you to stay with your host.”

“He’s right where he should be,” Nathan said, walking up. “Just a little anxious, that’s all. Can’t blame him, his guardian has been kidnapped, after all.”

Sterling’s face darkened. “I am not made of rock, Journeyman Tamerlane. I was just speaking with the head of the inquiry and he is expediting his inquiry. He expects to have a formal response by Hallow’s Eve.”

“Two days,” Nathan said. “Sam may not have that long.”

“I cannot create solutions,” Sterling said. “Only reveal those that are there to be found.”

“I know that man you were talking to,” Simon said. “Frank is--”

Sterling held out a stern hand at Simon. “Mancer Wisely is a well-respected member of the Freemancers, Mr. Warner, and I will expect you to honor him as such. He has done more, seen more than you can ever expect to come across hiding away in some tavern like a rabbit down a hole.”

“Forgive him, Archmancer,” Nathan said, throwing a side glance at Simon. “We’re only here to help.”

“An unnecessary task, one you’ll find no one from the Council has assigned to you,” Sterling said. “But since you have found it convenient now to return to us, Mr. Tamerlane, I would advise you take this splendid opportunity to speak with Marilyn about your back dues. Now, I have more grave matters on my mind. Good day to you both.” Sterling turned away from them, and before Simon could object, he had vanished, a small
whish
ringing through the air as it happened.

“Unnecessary, sure,” Nathan said to no one in particular. “Wouldn’t want to accidentally get anything done!” he shouted at the empty air. “Come on, we need to arrange for our rooms, then we need to get to the Archives.”

* * *

An ancient woman sat behind the counter in the Records Room. Nathan spoke with her in hushed tones, but she was unaffected by any of his charms. Finally, Nathan seemed to give in, producing a small leather pouch from inside his coat, taking out a small handful of silver coins and handing them over. “Thanks Marilyn,” he said. “I’ll have the rest in by the end of the month.” The woman accepted the coins, depositing them into a drawer behind the counter. She drew out a slender pen, writing quickly and gracefully in both her records book and Nathan’s grimoire. Simon asked Nathan about the money after they left the Records Room.

“Nothing’s free,” Nathan said. “We help the Freemancers, the Freemancers helps us. Right now, we get settled in our rooms, then we’re off to the Archives.”

Simon’s room was on the seventh floor, a floor he didn’t think possible, judging from his initial view of the house. Silverwood was much more than a house, Nathan had explained. “It’s like a person. Bigger on the inside then you realize,” he said while they climbed the stairs between the manor reading room and the kitchen. “Think of the main house as a focus,” he added, passing in front of a large window looking out over the forest. “Like the Gate. That location was special, our people built there. This place is special, we built here. Lot of magical energy courses through here, we just tap into it, and we work with it. It, in turn, works with us.”

Simon looked out the window. Off in the distance loomed another house, so similar to Silverwood it could be its brother. The same patchwork architecture, the same rooflines, every detail mirrored, but with boarded windows and creeping vine indicating it had been long since abandoned. The ground around it was spoiled with dead trees and grass, and overall it gave the impression of a deep, lasting sickness. “What’s that house?”

“The Grim House,” Nathan said slowly. “The first Silverwood, built on the wrong spot, you could say. Funny magic all throughout it. It’s been empty for about two hundred years or so.”

“Two hundred years?” Simon stared at the house. “It looks older.”

“Could be,” Nathan said, stopping in front of the door to his room. He handed Simon a key. “Get yourself settled, but be ready to go soon. Your room’s the second to last door on the right.” He stepped inside his room. “Lock your door when you leave. Turn the key very tightly. Even if someone manages to get into your room, they won’t be able to take anything.”

Simon examined the key, heavy and silver, turning it over and over in his hands. “How will it stop them?”

“Magic,” Nathan said, smiling. “It works on both sides. Lock in or lock out, you need the key.” Nathan stepped into his room, leaving Simon in the hall to find his room by himself.

A tiny silver
13
was emblazoned on the second to last door on the right. The key tingled in Simon’s hand as he stood in front of the door. The key clicked into the lock, and a small spark greeting Simon’s hand as he turned the doorknob. A low noise came from the other side of the door, like furniture was being thrown around the room. For a moment Simon was afraid to enter, but finally he opened the door, only to stare from the hallway. The room itself reminded Simon of his home above the Paw, the same worn wood floors, the same exact faded wallpaper, the same rusted locks on the tall windows, and over against the far wall, the same couch with the same large, fuzzy, orange pillows. Even a felt cat was resting on the cushions. Simon was overcome as he entered the room, and he stood there stupidly for a minute or so, taking in all the details that at once seemed both foreign and familiar.

“Not bad,” said a familiar voice. “Cozy, even.” Luke leaned against the door frame. “Guess you wouldn’t know, being a guest, but everyone’s room is different, you get what makes you feel at home. The dues have to pay for something, after all.”

“What’s your room look like?” Simon dropped his backpack behind the orange couch. “Pink and full of fairies?”

“Well, now, there’s no reason to be nasty,” Luke said, a wounded look flashing across his face for an instant. “Just trying to be neighborly, that’s all. I’m just trying to help out. You still seem lost.”