Bad Apple (The Warner Grimoire) (6 page)

“This is Nathan Tamerlane,” Sam said, gesturing to the other man. “He’s here to help us while we’re away.”

Molly stepped forward, arms firmly crossed. “Now hang on a minute. Who is this guy?”

Nathan spoke for the first time, his voice quiet and confident. “Nathan Alan Tamerlane,” he said, crossing the room and extending his hand. His eyes darted to the windows, then back to the door, then finally back to them. “Born in a summer storm, raised in the rain.”

His words bounced off of her. “I’m not shaking anybody’s hand tonight,” Molly said. She sat back down on the couch. “I don’t like this.”

“Believe me, none of us do.” Nathan crossed the room to Simon. “Hello, Simon.” He smiled a warm, genuine smile. “Nathan Alan Tamerlane. Born in a summer storm, raised in the rain.” He held out his hand. “It’s good to see you, though I wish it had been under better circumstances.”

Simon had reached out and taken Nathan’s hand before he realized it. “Nice to meet you,” he said quietly. Something about this strange man stood out--his manner reminded Simon of a large tree, standing tall in a forest. “How do you know Sam?”

“We go way back,” Nathan said, letting out something like a sigh. “Way, way back.” He glanced towards the bedroom door. “You know,” he said, trying to lighten his tone, “I remember when Sam once burned down an entire--”

Sam charged past them into the bathroom. “There’ll be time for stories later,” he said, grabbing aspirin and bandages from behind the medicine cabinet mirror. “Right now we need to get going. Before--”

Molly was off the couch. “Before what?” She stepped past Nathan. When she spoke, her voice was firm. “Sam, what is going on?”

Sam faced Molly for a moment, his face low. “Me and Simon, and Nathan, we’re a little...different,” he said, turning away, slowing down for the first time since Boeman had left.

“Different?” Molly hands found her hips. “How?”

Sam finally stopped packing his bag. “Well,” he said, “it’s...well, we’re--”

“Witch Folk,” Nathan said, somehow both abruptly and casually. Molly and Simon turned to stare at him. Over on the couch Zoey rolled over without even waking up. “Witchbreed,” he added.

Silence fell over the room. Molly stared at Nathan, who turned to Sam, who glanced at Molly, then the floor, and then turned and went back to packing.

“Oh man,” Nathan said, suddenly shouting. “You mean they
don’t know
?” He held his open palm out towards Simon. “Him, too?” His eyes met Simon’s for a moment. They flashed electric blue. “Oh man!” Nathan rolled his eyes at Sam then turned back to Simon. “Okay, kid, look. Boeman’s after you because you’re like us. He wants to recruit you, help you fight their war--”

“Later,” Sam almost shouting. “Right now we need to get to the homestead.” He dropped his bag by the door. “Save the rest for later.”

“Now hold the phone!” Molly threw a skeptical look at Nathan. “Witchbreed? Like--
wizards
?
Witches
? That isn’t
real
. That man, earlier, I don’t know what he did, but it wasn’t, I mean, it couldn’t be...
magic
.”

Nathan’s lip curled back slightly. “Well isn’t that just peachy. Real typical.”

“Typical what?” Molly spat, her anger spilling over. She stormed across the floor towards Nathan. “How is any of this typical?”

“Typical small-mindedness.” Nathan held Molly with his gaze. “It’s a big, strange world right out there.” He pointed at the door. “It starts right there, right in front of you. All that strangeness, and it’s staring you right in the eye. It’s begging you to see it, but you, you ignore it willfully. You
will
yourself to ignore it.
Witch
Folk
do not. We remember the First Secrets, the First Days when we were little more than animals. There are
monsters
out there lady, and you may have forgotten them, but they have
not
forgotten you.”

“Enough,” Sam said. “Nathan, Molly, get along. “Right now we--”

An alarm erupted downstairs. Nathan spun around, his hand slipping under his coat. Did he have a gun? There was no time to tell--Sam had disappeared through the door and Molly had scooped Zoey into her arms.

Simon was startled by the alarm. “What’s happening?” He started towards the door but Nathan had his hand out, blocking him.

“Stay up here. You need--” Something flickered across Nathan’s face and he paused. He tapped his fingers rapidly against his thumb, like flipping through a mental book, picking though his thoughts. He must have found the page he was looking for, because he suddenly locked eyes on Simon. “Did Boeman do anything...odd when he was here?”

“Odd?” It was a stupid response, but the best Simon could think of with all the noise..

More mental flipping. “Yes, odd. Strange. Fantastic. Anything--” he waved his hands excitedly in front of him--“poofy?”

“Poofy?”

“Yes,” Nathan said. “Abraca-pocus. Hocus hokum.” More hand waving, this time angrier. “You know,
poofy
.
Big
stuff
.
MAGIC!
”

“No,” Simon said tentatively. The image of pumpkins suddenly flashed through his mind. “Wait, yes.” He struggled to keep his thoughts in order. “He lit some candles. He flicked his fingers and they just lit. That was...poofy?”

“Pyromancy.” Nathan heaved a sigh and ran his hand through his hair. “Spellfire. We all need to get out of here.” He grabbed Simon and made for the door.

Sam reappeared in the doorway. “Hurry! I got the back door open! Don’t wait just go!” Molly ran through the door first, Zoey still cradled in her arms. Simon followed, taking the steps down two at a time, Nathan closely behind him.

Intense heat roared up the back hallway, stealing Simon’s breath away. Emerald fire licking furiously at the doorway from the kitchen. Sam stood by the kitchen door, his hands out wide in front of him. His eyes were jammed shut, and his lips were moving, but Simon could not hear what he was saying over the roar of the flames. Suddenly Sam looked back at them, and his eyes glowed a vibrant, brilliant, electric blue.

Shock, then fear paralyzed Simon. He stood there in shock at what he was seeing. He barely felt Nathan grab him by the collar and pull him towards the back door. “Let me go!” he suddenly screamed, afraid to let Sam out of his sight.

“No time! Simon, c’mon!” Nathan dragged him out the back door into the alley. Their feet crunched through the leaves as they ran free of the burning building.

“Mommy?” Zoey had finally woken up. She lifted her head slowly, the sleep still thick in her eyes. “What’s happening?”

“There was an accident, honey. Kitchen fire.” Molly held Zoey’s head close to her chest. She turned to Nathan and spoke as near to calm as she could. “Do you have a phone?”

Nathan shook his head. “Me and them don’t mix. Last one burned out when Sam called.”

Simon shoved past Nathan. “The firehouse is right across the street. I’ll get them!”

Nathan grabbed Simon’s shoulder. “Spellfire is stubborn,” he said. “It won’t go out easily.

“I’m not letting either of you out of my sight.” Molly shifted Zoey to her other arm. “C’mon. We’re going there together.” She turned and started walking briskly up the alleyway. Behind them the flames burst suddenly out the door, a sharp blast of heating hitting all of them.

Simon stared at the back door. He broke out in a cold sweat. “What about Sam? Why isn’t he coming out?”

“He will.” A moment passed, then Nathan suddenly reached inside his coat pocket. His hand came out with something Simon could not identify. “Wait here,” he said, heading towards the door.

“I”m coming with you,” Simon said. The words had no sooner left his mouth when he felt his shoes suddenly stick to the ground. He looked at Nathan, who only shrugged and bolted back in the rear door.
Poofy
, Simon thought.

“Simon!” Molly yelled from the corner, her composure starting to crack. “Stay with me!”

Simon found he could walk to Molly. He stopped after a few paces, then started, then stopped again. Where
was
Sam? Why hadn’t he come running out right behind them?

“Simon!” Molly had one foot in the street. “Simon COME ON!”

Simon stared at Molly, then back at the door into the tavern. Neither Sam nor Nathan was coming out, and the back hallway had grown thick with green flame.

His shoes would not walk back towards the diner, but his feet were free to act. He tugged his feet free and bolted towards the back door. Molly screamed at him as he burst into the back hallway, but he did not stop. The heat in the back hallway was overwhelming. Green flames crawled up the walls. The wallpaper was starting to peel, curling up as a tiny orange glow creeped around the edges.

Smoke burned Simon’s lungs. He tried to see Sam or Nathan but saw no sign of either man. His chest ached suddenly and he dropped to his knees to breathe, the air sizzling above him as the ceiling plaster began to crack and peel from the heat.

A large, wet blanket landed on Simon, then somebody grabbed him and was pulling him towards the exit.

“Are you insane?” Nathan was screaming even as he was dropped him into the alley. Simon hit the ground hard. “There’s nothing you can do,” Nathan shouted. “Stay out here!”

“Where’s Sam?” Simon threw the blanket on the ground and spun around, all the while anger and confusion burning in his mind, every bit as hot as the fire consuming the Paw. “Where is he?”

Nathan blocked the doorway. “I don’t know. I couldn’t find him. He was in there, but when I went back in I couldn’t find him.” Nathan grabbed Simon by the shoulders. “You need to stay out here, boy. Stay where it’s safe.” He pulled a small bag out of a coat pocket and shoved it into Simon’s hand. “This is salt. Get a safe distance, then throw some over your shoulder. The
left
shoulder,” he said. “That’s very, very important. Flick the salt and stay with the mom and the girl.” Nathan closed Simon’s fingers around the bag, then disappeared back into the building.

Fury burned inside Simon, but Nathan was right. Clutching the bag, he found his shoes, then hurried to meet Molly and Zoey. They had run to the firehouse and were frantically banging on the door, and even as they pounded, windows on the upper level were blazing to life.

Simon started across the street, but as he rounded the corner a horrible, shattering sound filled the air around him. The windows had blown out, spraying the street with heat and glass. Shards ripped through the air like knives as the fire broke into the street. He threw himself to the ground and covered his head, feeling the glass land all over him, cutting him.

A voice called out behind him. “Well, look who I found.” Mr. Boeman stepped out of the doorway to the video store, the dog Streaker lumbering along next to him. “Simon, Simon, Simon. How
wonderful
to see you again.” He sauntered towards Simon, who clutched the bag of salt against him. “I had hoped to catch you. I really,
really
wish you had taken my hand.” He reached again for Simon. “Come on, lad. I conjured the spellfire, after all. I can make it go away.” His face was as light as air. “Just take my hand.”

Simon stood and faced Boeman, the fire hot against his cheek.

“He has been lying to you.” Boeman spread his arms wide again. “You are stronger than this, all of this. Just let me introduce you.” He brandished his hand towards Simon. “Take it, boy! You’re ready. I already have him. Now I just need
you
.”

Simon loosened the drawstring on the bag of salt. His heart pounded inside his chest. “Where is he?” The heat was quickly becoming unbearable. Across the street the bay doors of the firehouse began to rise.“What did you do with him?”

“He’s safe,” Boeman said, his smile a pile of crooked, broken tombstones. Streaker growled. “I have him, and I could take you to him, right now. Just let me show you.”

Simon hesitated. “You sent your dog after me.” His voice was thin with anger. “He was in my dream, wasn’t he? You were, too.”

“Yes,” Boeman said. “He was. That was very special. Couldn’t you feel it? Only the rare and the special ever get such a dream.” He bowed to the dog. “Streaker is my scout. When he comes to you in your dreams, then you
should
feel honored.” The dog lifted its head and growled at Boeman.

Simon shook his head in confusion. “Honored?”. His voice was shaking. “It was a nightmare!”

“Only because you didn’t know
why
he had come, Simon.” Boeman squatted to look at him. “We have come to help. Your stand-in father has kept things from you. You’re not just one of the fair folk, lad. You’re a
warlock
.” His eyes glistened green and blue. “I won’t keep those secrets. I will tell you
everything
.” Boeman stood. “Don’t you want to know the truth? About where you come from? About your
parents?
”