Vision Quest (The Demon's Apprentice Book 3)
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Authors: Ben Reeder
VISION QUEST
Ben Reeder
Vision Quest
Copyright © 2015 Ben Reeder
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons or entities is strictly coincidental.
Cover art by Angela Gulick Design.
Published through Irrational Worlds
Other books by Ben Reeder:
The Demon’s Apprentice series:
The Zompoc Survivor series:
Also from Irrational Worlds:
JM Guillen
On the Matter of the Red Hand
(Judicar’s Oath)
The Herald of Autumn
(Tommy Maple)
EM Ervin
Wake Up Call
(The Nasaru Chronicles)
Coming Soon from Irrational Worlds:
JM Guillen
Aberrant Vectors (Dossiers of Asset 108)
EM Ervin
Mother Knows Best (The Nasaru Chronicles)
For RL Hampton
You were a good man, and you made my mother’s world a beautiful place.
Acknowledgements:
As usual, this book was a team effort. Without you, Randi, none of my books would EVER get done. And where would I be without my new writing assistant Dora, eleven pounds of gray fur and purrs? In addition to the usual suspects, Monique Happy has stepped up to the plate for editing. Special thanks go to the folks at Games, Comics, Etc. for letting me set up in the back and finish the last few chapters.
This is the first actual new entry in the Demon’s Apprentice series in quite some time, and there are some folks I need to offer some belated shout outs to.
One, to Becca Reynolds, for the concept of the
paramiir
and for the word itself. Second, to Summer Arnall, for Shade. Thank you for letting me take your super-hero and turn her into a teenage werewolf!
Also, I can’t say thank you enough to the folks at VisionCon for making the Page of Swords second release such a success. I’m looking forward to releasing Charm School at VisionCon 2016!
Chapter 1
~ It isn’t the hardship of the road, but the leave-taking that pains us most. ~ Nick Cadmus.
I didn’t get a summer vacation. I got the wizard version of summer school, with long recess periods. As I stumbled into the kitchen on the last day of our trip to San Angelo, I really didn’t want to see this part of it end. My dog Junkyard trotted in beside me, much more alert and happy about being awake than I was. The smell of bacon had us in its grasp, and we didn’t want to miss out on our fair share. Dr. Corwyn stood at the old white stove with a pair of tongs in one hand and a plate covered in paper towels in the other.
“Good morning, Chance,” he said without turning his head. There was definitely too much cheer in his voice to be human, but he was a wizard, go figure. Not only was he up and chipper, he was clean-shaven and dressed in jeans and a freshly pressed button-down blue shirt. The first rays of sunlight were coming in through the window over the sink to his right, and I swore I could hear a rooster crowing somewhere in the distance.
“Yeah, morning,” I grunted as I made my way to the old-fashioned percolator and grabbed one of the thick white mugs hanging under the cabinet. While we had been here, Dr. C had been making his coffee the old-fashioned way, and I’d become a reluctant fan of the stuff. It was stronger than a pissed-off Nazirite, and it tasted pretty decent even black, but one cup was all I could ever handle. With my cup mostly full, I sat down at the table and helped myself to cream and sugar. Junkyard plopped down beside my chair, patiently waiting for anything I might ‘accidentally’ drop, his big dark eyes almost lost against his brindle fur. He still wore the red bandana Synreah had given him, much loved and a little faded since March.
Lucas shuffled in after I was a few sips into my morning dose of caffeine and followed the same path I had, sitting down across from me. He hadn’t changed out of the sweat pants and white t-shirt he slept in, and his shoulder-length black hair was mashed up on one side of his head. I probably looked almost as bad, since my hair was longer than his and tended to tangle.
“Dr. C, could we at least
try
some French vanilla or something?” he asked as he poured his own cream into his cup.
“Not here,” Dr. C said. “There are some things you just don’t mess with.” Lucas looked across the table at me and shrugged, as if to say ‘I tried.’ I raised my hands to look like I was commiserating, but I knew why plain cream and sugar were all Dr. Corwyn would ever let anyone put in their coffee here. Because of the Horus Gaze we had shared last October, I could relive a thousand happy memories he’d had in this place. Fifteen Christmas mornings, Thanksgivings, and Easter Sundays, thousands of meals, hundreds of nights spent playing cards or dominoes, doing homework or writing letters to friends. I turned to look into the large family room that was just off the kitchen and remember afternoons and evenings watching television in black and white, and then in color. I could remember through his eyes watching the first moon landing when he was eight. I could also remember two funerals, and how empty the house still felt after his parents died.
This house was a big part of who he was, and with the memories of his that I had in my mind, I could feel some of the fierce love for it that he did.
Mom and Dee came in from the short hallway toward the front of the house, neither looking like they were nearly as cheerful as Dr. Corwyn. Both of them were dressed, which was why Lucas and I were still in what we’d slept in. There was only one bathroom, and they had been in it when we woke up. Mom was in one of her more colorful skirts and a loose white blouse, while Dee was in knee-length jean shorts and a University of Texas t-shirt.
“Good morning, ladies,” Dr. C said as Mom went for the coffee and Dee opened the refrigerator. Dee grunted something, while Mom just gave a low warning growl. Wanda came in on their heels, looking almost as bright-eyed as Dr. C sounded. For a girl with Goth style, she was disturbingly chipper in the mornings. Of course, she was equally upbeat in the afternoon. In fact, aside from being kidnapped by vampires, I’d never seen Wanda in anything less than a decent mood. She’d gone with black and red striped leggings under a black skirt, with a black button-down shirt that left an inch or so of skin showing below the hem. A pair of black knee-high boots with red panels added another three inches or so to her height.
“Morning,” she said as she waited for Mom to finish getting her coffee. Dee just gave her a baleful look through the curly mop of her bangs, while Mom just gave her a raised eyebrow as she passed.
“At least she didn’t say it was a
good
morning,” Lucas said.
“Not yet,” Wanda said as she sat down with her coffee.
“It’s about to be,” Dr. C said as he set the plate he’d piled with bacon next to the stack of empty plates on the table. Hands reached for plates and bacon, most at the same time. There was enough that we actually left some on the plate, and the plate of scrambled eggs came next, with hash browns, biscuits and gravy, and a stack of toast right behind it. I dutifully snuck a slice of bacon to Junkyard and grabbed another one to make up for it.
It wasn’t until we were almost done that I realized how much I was going to miss this. This was what happy, almost normal people did. It was what a
family
did. Even if today and every day included the constant training, lessons, and exercises that the last two weeks had, I would prefer it to what waited for me at the end of summer. When September came, I was going to be leaving all of this behind to go to the Franklin Institute. I swallowed around the bitter lump in my throat and tried to put the thought of that out of my head. I still had a couple of months left before that happened. Today was still good.
“Chance, is the Mustang ready to make the trip back home?” Dr. C asked as we finished the last of the bacon.
“Yeah, she’s got a full tank of gas, radiator’s full, and all the tires are good,” I said. “All we need to do is finish putting the new speakers in, but Lucas says we’re almost done with that.” Across the table, Lucas nodded and mumbled something around a mouthful of bacon.
“Are you sure—” Mom started to say.
“More than sure,” Dr. C cut her off with a warm smile. “He saved the world, or at least New Essex. He deserves something better than an eight-track player and an AM/FM radio to listen to for the trip back home. Lucas, what about you?”
“The
Falcon
’s ready to go,” Lucas said. “And the last parts we need for the Mustang should be in already.”
“Good,” Dr. C said. “Your proctor should be here in an hour, and our flight leaves at eleven, so we should see you boys back in New Essex tonight.”
“Mom, I want to ride back with Chance,” Dee asked, her voice bordering on a whine.
“Deirdre,” Mom said with a little bit of iron in her voice. “Dr. Corwyn already bought your plane ticket, and Chance is going to have another person riding with him on the way back.”
“I can sit in the back seat, it’s really big,” Dee said. Mom’s face clouded and she took a deep breath. I’d seen Dee try to butt heads with Mom enough over the past few months to know that Dee was pushing her luck. Whenever Mom paused and took a deep breath, it usually meant that The Law was about to be Laid Down on Dee, and she wasn’t going to like it.
Everyone jumped when the phone rang. Dr. C got up and went to the heavy beige phone on the wall by the cabinet to answer it. That phone had only rung one other time while we’d been here, and that was when the Franklin Academy had called to let us know when the proctor for my evaluation would be here. The conversation was subdued, and when he hung the receiver up, his smile had faded.
“Well, that was the Franklin Academy,” he said. “Your proctor has been delayed by a tropical storm in the Gulf, so he’ll be a few hours late in arriving.” His voice slipped into a very formal, slightly clipped tone for the last part, as if imitating someone.
“Where the hell is he coming from, Bermuda?” Lucas asked.
“Not quite; he cut short his vacation in the Cayman Islands to bless us with his company, so I guess we’re supposed to be eternally grateful for his great and noble sacrifice,” Dr. C said as he sat back down.
“So, we pick him up this afternoon and follow you back a little later than we thought,” I said.
“Like tomorrow morning,” Dr. C said. “Early. Tomorrow morning.” Lucas and I traded a look that promised Mr. Proctor a difficult night and an early wake up call.
“Even if you’re going to be late getting home, we still have to leave today,” Mom said. Wanda looked up and smiled, while Dee moaned about having to pack
again
. Lucas and I bolted for the bathroom. He got there first, but fortunately, he didn’t take long. When we came back, Dr. C was waiting in the living room just off the dining area, a black vest on over his blue button-down shirt. He gestured to me when I came in the room.
“Chance, come with me for a moment,” he said as he headed toward the back door. I followed him out to the back yard with Junkyard at my side, and he wandered over to the carefully tended section that had been his father’s garden. Even though he hadn’t planted anything in it, hollyhock grew against the back fence, spider plant was just beginning to bloom near a patch of St John’s Wort, and wild thyme sprouted in a clump near the corner closest to the house. More than one day of my summer “vacation” had been spent pulling weeds from it and making sure that the wild growing plants were watered. He didn’t say anything as he looked over it, then bent down and plucked a weed that had just poked up near the cinder blocks that ran around the edge of it. The silence stretched out for a full minute, and I stayed still and quiet. We’d spent a lot of time like this over the past two weeks, and I knew he was waiting for me to either notice something or get into the right frame of mind. A mourning dove cooed somewhere nearby, and the first cicada of the day buzzed as I stood there and waited. Junkyard, not being a part of the conversation, decided there were a few places along the fence that needed to be peed on and went to work.
“I’m leaving the LeMat with you,” he finally said. “I left a couple of extra cylinders for it, and a reload for the under-barrel as well.”
“That’ll help,” I said. “Same load as last time?”
“Incendiary spell rounds in the cylinder, yes,” he said with a nod. “But the lower barrel round is different this time. A little hotter mix for a little bigger bang. Here’s hoping you don’t have to use it.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Something’s bothering you,” he said.
I nodded and said, “I had the same dream last night.”
“Exactly the same?” he asked as he turned to look at me.
“Not exactly. I was standing in a circle of lights, like last time, but this time … there was someone else there. I couldn’t see them clearly; they were standing just outside the circle.”
“And it was silent, like the first one?” he asked. He continued off my nod. “I was wondering if this might happen.”
“If what might happen?”
“Some magi get a vision early in their training, an epiphany that guides them toward something bigger. Not all magi do, though. It’s very spiritual. Ever since you saw the face of the Divine in March, I figured it might happen.”
“You sound worried,” I said.
“Sometimes, visions … don’t come easy,” he finally said. “The indigenous tribes here in America figured out how to induce them through fasting and communion. In some of the European and Asian traditions, they occasionally came after hardships and trials, or at the end of a quest. You’ve already dealt with your fair share of trouble. I don’t want to see more come your way.”
“Trouble I can handle,” I said, then looked back over my shoulder at the house for a moment. “Just make sure Mom and Dee make it back home safe.”
“I will,” he said. “Watch your back. We got lucky with that warlock in Christoval last week. I don’t want you to get blindsided like that again.”
“I’ve kicked a demon’s ass,” I told him. “I’m pretty sure I can handle whatever I run into.”
“I hope you’re right. I’m not sanguine about letting you travel alone like this.”
“Not a lot of other options,” I said with a shrug. “Unless you think they’ll let us check the Mustang in with our bags. And we can always try to put Junkyard in a dress. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine, sir.”
“You’d better be. I don’t want to have to deal with your mother being mad at me again.” He reached down and took a couple of rounded, dark stones from the cinder block at his feet. “A little bit of lore for you. There is an earth spirit who calls this garden home. I’ve been trying to find out from one of the Lipan
diyin
if it’s one of theirs, and what to call it, but they don’t trust me yet, and I’m not willing to push it. When I visit, I leave it some dried corn and drop some seeds for it to plant, and sometimes it leaves me a little something before I leave.” He handed me one of the stones, and I felt it tingle against my palm. “Gifts given at parting have a special importance, Chance. I get the feeling you and your family are welcome in my father’s garden.”
“Does it always give you stones?” I asked.
“Not always,” he said. “Once, it left me a couple of flowers, but it seems to prefer bundles of leaves or seeds. So far, it doesn’t seem to have any hang-ups about being acknowledged, so I always say thank you.” He turned toward the garden and held up the stone, then inclined his head a little. “
Wado,”
he said. I copied him, using the same word, Cherokee for thank you. It was a word his mother had taught him, a small part of her heritage that he kept alive. I shook my head to clear the memories that weren’t mine.