

by

Clay Held
BAD APPLE: BOOK ONE OF THE WARNER GRIMOIRE

Copyright © 2013 by Clay Held.

Smashwords Edition

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents in this product are fictitious, and the result of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Likewise, any similarities to actual monsters, creatures, bad things, wizards, witches, warlocks, sorcerers, or other supernatural entities are entirely coincidental. Please refrain from cursing, eating, haunting, or otherwise inflicting paranormal harm on the author.

No part of this ebook may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without explicit written permission by Clay Held. Excerpts may be used for the purposes of review. All rights reserved.

Thank you for downloading this ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to your favorite ebook retailer to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support
This one is for my wife, Kat.

You always see the good in me, even when I can't.
So each night in sleep I strove to find the hidden latch of the gate in the ivied antique wall, though it was exceedingly well hidden. And I would tell myself that the realm beyond the wall was not more lasting merely, but more lovely and radiant as well.

\--H.P. Lovecraft, Ex Oblivione
A WORD OF WARNING...

Know this, mortal. A wizard's power has two halves.

The first half is his soul, the source of all magic inside of him, and his connection to the great elemental forces of the universe.

The second half is his grimoire, which is his guide, his constant companion, and his unbreakable secret keeper.

You hold in your hands the grimoire of a young wizard named Simon, a brilliant but bashful child who was unnaturally summoned into this world, as his parents would later claim, entirely by accident. How you came by his book, and why he no longer has it\--that is a mystery, yet one I can not solve. As such, while not in the hands of my wizard, I must make hidden the ways of magic on these pages.

But...if you insist on continuing, as I suspect you will, I do have a story to share. I will fill these pages with the story of my young wizard's life, and his journey shall be the way we pass the time during our prolonged and idle discussion. Our palaver, as an old friend once called it.

Listen well, mortal. I am the Warner Grimoire, and I was born the day Simon Warner died.
Act One

The Wizard and The Boogeyman

The Old Ones came here from Algul.

That was their first mistake.

––Nicodemus Limnic, An Honest History of the Wizard's Craft, Chapter 18
CHAPTER ONE

A NEAR-DEATH EXPERIENCE

Many years later, Simon would look back and remember how quiet it was the first time he died.

At the time the quiet surprised Simon, who had just a moment earlier been hanging over the dock guardrails, reaching past the very large and very clear NO CLIMBING sign, thinking he could grab the overhanging branch and steady himself without falling.

He was wrong. Again.

He had misjudged the reach of the branch, and before he could catch himself, he was falling into the water. The undertow seized and pulled him down before he could even realize it. There was no time to yell. No one saw him climbing over the guardrail, not even his ever-present father Sam, who usually kept such a close eye on him.

His lungs ached.

His eyes burned.

His heart pounded.

If the water didn't kill him, the fear just might. From below, the surface of the lake rippled like milky spiderwebs.

Simon was overtaken by panic. He flailed uncontrollably, uselessly, trying in vain to reach the surface. Instinctively, he tried to scream, but huge bubbles came up out of him, and the cold lake water rushed down his throat, stinging and freezing him all at once. The force of the undertow crushed him against the retaining wall of the spillway, and he struck his head hard against the steel bars of the submerged drain.

He gulped down great big gobs of water, and his vision began to blur. Panic gave way to raw terror, but even then he could not move. He just stared hopelessly at the milky surface of the water until he no longer really saw it.

Unexpectedly, memories began to leak out of him as the water claimed him. The memories rapidly flashed by, his life before his eyes, bubbling up out of him to the surface, lost. He forgot how warm the sun had felt that day, then coolness of the autumn breeze, and then even falling into the water suddenly seemed just so very far away. Everything played through his mind in reverse: Sam's warning to stay away from the guardrail, their hike to the shore, the picnic they had packed, and finally, everything else in his short life. Sam's girlfriend, Molly. Her six-year-old daughter, Zoey. His school, his room, his books and his classmates. Everything blurred together in a confusing, soggy mass, and then it simply floated away, leaving him empty and alone, forever.

Simon felt so little now, waterlogged and soaked and stuck at the bottom of the lake. His concentration slipped away with every failed breath, and the feeling of pins and needles began to spread across his limp, freezing body.

He was cold and alone.

A strange voice whispered in his mind. "You're dying, Simon."

A relentless humming grew louder in his mind. Must have been his ears shutting down. "This is it," the voice spoke in his head. "You are going to die. Right here, right now."

The water crushed him, pinning him down to the bottom of the spillway. For only being fourteen years old, his time was already here.

The humming faded. Silence and darkness surrounded him, and then Simon felt...nothing. Everything became so very, very still.

There was a brilliant flash of silver light, and then, Simon died.
CHAPTER TWO

THE NIGHTMARE

The Illinois sun had just broken over the town of Crowley, and the first rays of light had begun to creep into the alleyway behind the Rabbit's Paw Tavern. Sam Thatch, the owner and operator, leaned against the back door while the deliveryman parked. Sam scratched at his beard while the deliveryman, an older fellow with salt-and-pepper hair and a large bushy beard, walked around to the rear of his truck and lifted the rolling door.

"Morning," the deliveryman said. Sam answered with a small nod, rubbing his hands together for warmth. The deliveryman dropped the metal ramp out of his truck, letting it drop onto the dead leaves. He rolled out a fully loaded cart, his feet crunching softly as Sam held the door open for him.

"Getting cold quick," the delivery driver said, wheeling the cart down the hallway and into the kitchen. A brunette woman stood near the pass-through window, tending to a pile of unwrapped silverware, quickly snatching forks and knives and wrapping them with alarming speed, then piling them onto a serving tray set off to her side.

"All the better, Frank." She smiled and turned away from her pyramid of silverware. "It's been too hot already. Zoey almost wilted when we took her and Simon to the park last week. Besides, this cold front was just what we needed to get in the mood for Halloween."

Frank parked the rack near an island in the middle of the kitchen. "It's you brunettes, Molly. Little bit of heat and you just about shrivel up." His eyes twinkled when he laughed a good, honest laugh that started in the very bottom of his large belly, spending considerable effort working its way up and out. A few small strands of his white hair snuck out from under his delivery hat, and never once did he seem to mind as he unloaded the bread. The wild hairs stuck straight out to the side, blowing like unanchored strands of spider silk.

"You stop it." Molly set down her last silverware bundle, then picked up the tray and headed towards the door to the dining room.

"You two already bickering?" Sam said as he entered the kitchen, placing his clipboard on the old chipped counter.

Frank's laughter dropped off slowly, and he eyed the door to the dining room. "She's a keeper," he said, his voice low and conspiratorial. He handed his invoice over and leaned in. "You ought to marry her before she slips away. You and Simon can't live upstairs forever."

"Don't plan on it," Sam whispered, smiling slightly.

Frank finally fussed with the lose strands of hair. "Don't you let any of them get away, you hear me? Not after--"

"You stay warm out there today, okay?" Sam handed the clipboard over harder than was necessary. "Hey, you ever fix that busted old heater in your truck?" he asked, way too cheerfully.

Frank zipped his coat up. "Like many things, it's on the list, my boy. Like many, many things." He turned back towards the hallway.

Sam eyed Frank, almost suspiciously. "Don't let it go too long."

"I'm not completely helpless," Frank added with a false smile. The moment had soured between them, but before Sam could say another word a boy with dark brown hair came stumbling down the stairs.

"Well!" Frank said, stepping aside. His voice lightened as if by helium. "Good morning, Simon! In a hurry already?"

Simon blinked slowly at the delivery driver without speaking. He cleared his throat and blinked again, finally managing a halfhearted, "Morning," as he slipped past him into the kitchen.

Frank slapped a hand on Simon's shoulder. "Not an early riser, I see. Some things never change. Don't worry, you'll get used to it one day." He shook Simon's shoulder playfully, then started down the hall. At the back door he stopped and glanced back, this time at Sam. "I find that eventually we all get used to what we have to do," he said, vanishing out the back door before Sam could answer.

Sam stepped into the hall. "Simon, hey. I glad you're up. I'm about to get the griddle going. When you're a little more awake can I get you to help Molly set the tables?"

Simon yawned again, still tasting sleep in his mouth. "Yeah," he mumbled. He started towards the refrigerator. "There any--"

"Already on the counter." Sam zipped up his jacket and headed towards the back door. "Jelly's still in the fridge though. Remember to leave some for Zoey." He moved for the door. "Be right back, Molly!" he shouted as he stepped out the back door. "I'm getting that surprise we talked about!" Simon turned around to look at Molly, but she wouldn't meet his gaze. Instead she just smiled and returned to setting the tables.

A plate of fresh homemade waffles sat on the counter next to the pile of undressed silverware. He found the grape jelly in the fridge and gathered everything up in his arms and made his way to the dining room.

The dining room still had the same fading yellow wallpaper and wood paneling since they had opened. The ceiling fans with their large, bulbous globes lit the room with a gassy, topaz light. Heavy curtains hung over the large front windows, faded floral prints that did little to block out the light, yet the dining room always seemed dingy. This was all despite a booming business, and Sam had never made a single attempt to change anything since opening. A small wooden plaque was hung above the front door, with the message Caveat Attemptor carved into it, just below a gnarled rabbit's foot. Simon often wondered exactly what the message meant, but whenever he asked, Sam had said it was only a decoration from a flea market, just another something to help sell the name of the place, and that is was not worth the time to worry about. Still, Simon caught Sam glancing at that plaque every now and then. Just after his scare at the lake, Sam had become more defensive about the plaque. It had fallen suddenly during the lunch rush the day after the lake, and Sam had almost spilled soup all over the fire chief while running to fix it. He had rushed it back up over the door, then stayed on top of the ladder a moment to catch his breath. He climbed back down to a crowd of confused faces, center among them Simon, yet he had simply shrugged them off and gone upstairs. He had never explained his panic.

Simon flipped a stool off the counter and ate in silence. The smell of biscuits floated in from the kitchen and he finally turned on the radio. Just the news came in this early but he didn't mind. He wouldn't be there long--he would have to finish quick and push the curtains open before leaving for the bus stop. Both Molly and Zoey absolutely hated the curtains. Molly had also said on more than one occasion that when she could, she was going to rip them all down and have a big bonfire out behind her farmhouse with hot dogs and hamburgers and everybody from Crowley would be invited. Despite her threats, the curtains always remained, and Simon opened them every morning.

Simon ate quickly. He left the plate on the counter and started flipping the rest of the stools off the counter, then he went ahead and pushed the curtains open. Morning filtered in slowly. The sun seemed slower than normal today, just barely over the nearly naked trees, and the entire town was cast in pale green light. The streetlights blazed with one final phosphorus burst of orange-yellow before finally clicking off, and across the street the various storefronts resembled caves--the town firehouse sat on the corner of the block, a few of its windows already lit from within, and tall, distorted shadows slipped back and forth silently against the light.

"Simon?" Molly was back in the kitchen. "Honey, can you go wake up Zoey?" She smiled at him through the order window, her eyes radiant like emeralds in the dimness of the room. "Pretty please, for me?"

Simon nodded and grabbed his dish off the lunch counter. He hated waking Zoey. She acted like such a little sister to him, fussing and throwing a fit whenever Simon went to wake her. But, he still always did whatever Molly asked. First, he did it because it was expected of him, but also, Molly was the closest thing he had to a mother, and Zoey was the closest thing he had to a sister. Though he would never dare admit it, Simon liked the idea of having both a mother and a sister. It had been just him and Sam for so long, and he didn't even remember his own family, his birth family, at all. This lack of memories had always left a weird emptiness in Simon, a hole, and so he secretly longed for the day Sam would marry Molly, and then they all would be a family, a real family.

Simon clicked the radio off and left his dish in the pass-through window on his way to the back hallway, brushing past a large print of the thirteen colonies that Sam had insisted on hanging just right there a few years ago.

The back stairs led to his and Sam's apartment over the diner. The upstairs apartment was a large, open room with similarly large, open windows facing the street. Exposed brick spoke to the building's original life as a workshop, then as a hardware store, then finally an empty building for several years until Sam--with a toddler Simon in tow--had arrived and opened the Paw. Up in the attic there was still boxes of old, unsold tools, and under them even older boxes of workshop materials. Sam had rescued their burnt-orange couch from the curb before they had even signed the papers to the place, and none of the furniture matched, from the mismatched curtains to the mismatched chairs around the kitchen table to the large rugs that covered every inch of bare hardwood floor. It drove Molly completely chaotic crazy. But despite its many quirks, the apartment had a certain charm, like a junk drawer that had magically grown out into an entire home. It might not have looked like much to an outsider, but it was warm in the winter, cool in the summer, and most important of all, it was home.

Simon was adopted. Sam was the only family he had ever known--both of Simon's parents were simply gone, from the first moment he could remember. He always questioned it, always questioned the hole their absence had made in him, but he never doubted that this was just the way things would always be. Even still, sometimes it gnawed at him, kept him up some nights, especially around the holidays, and always on his birthday. It was a strange pain, a dizzy ache in his heart he couldn't really understand. Did he miss them or not? Even after the near-drowning at the lake his feelings were still as muddled as ever--no need had swollen up to know any more about his birth parents, despite what the school counselor had said. The numbness he felt towards his parents bothered him almost as much as nearly dying. What did it mean? Though he would never tell the school counselor, he often wondered, when it came to his parents, if something inside him was simply broken.

Even though Molly and her daughter Zoey didn't live there, that never stopped Zoey from curling up on the couch and falling back asleep when they came over every morning. Molly was over to help them for breakfast, when they could expect the fire chief and his men over right after they opened, and while it was Simon's job to open the curtains and flip the stools, it seemed Zoey's job was to keep the big orange couch warm.

Simon clicked on the television. Zoey mumbled and fidgeted, but she kept her back to him. "Wake up," he said, nudging her gently. "You need to get ready for school." She didn't respond, and he nudged her again, just the slightest bit harder. "C'mon," he repeated. "Get up!"

Zoey finally rolled over, her young eyes already able to copy her mother's rarely-seen glare. "No," she said, and rolled back over. When she did, a tiny pair of ears from her stuffed cat poked out from under her arm. Simon smirked and grabbed them, pulling the felt animal out from under her arm, then she bolted up, her tiny face twisted with anger. "Give him back!"

"Get up." Simon said, laughing and tossing the stuffed cat on the kitchen table. "You need to get ready for school." He stomped through the kitchenette to get his backpack. They didn't have a full kitchen upstairs, just an ancient brown fridge, a constantly dripping sink, and a two-burner stove nestled between the door to Simon's bedroom and a prehistoric water heater.

Zoey flopped back onto the couch and buried her head in the cushions. "Get up!" Simon shouted when he saw her, and finally she thumped off the couch with a loud huff. She shuffled across the hardwood floor towards the bathroom. "Use your own toothbrush this time!" he shouted as she pushed the door closed.

Simon took the moment to seize the couch for himself, dropping his backpack on the floor and plopping down. He leaned back against the big, fuzzy pillow and stared blankly at the television. His eyes hurt from being awake so early, which made focusing on the television difficult. The cartoons were long over, and the station had already transitioned into the early morning news. Simon half-listened to the TV as he laid on the couch, closing his eyes to dull the ache.

"Authorities are asking parents to be on the look out for a large black dog that has been seen roaming along the highways and back roads just north of town," the morning news anchor said. "One local man described the dog as having a black and brown coat, and was last seen roaming behind the high school early Monday morning near the edge of the woods. Animal Control officials have responded that they will be increasing evening patrols around the neighboring areas..."

Simon was barely listening to the news reporter when his consciousness suddenly dropped out from under him. His eyes felt extra heavy for just a moment, and then the push of sleep hit him full force. In that last moment, anxiety coiled around him. He knew what was coming--the same dream, the nightmare he had every night since the drowning. It would envelope him, drag him down into empty, restless sleep, full of twisted, writhing figures, dimness, and the cold.

Yet it still felt good, and that scared him. It always felt good, like warm honey, until the moment he slipped over. On the other side was terror, pain, and danger, but he could not hold back. Every time, his resistance lasted only a moment longer, then before he could catch himself, he was gone.

* * *

Cold water.

Drowning.

Dying.

He thrashes hard against the undertow to no avail. He flops uselessly against the pull of the water. He is pulled down, down, down.

He hits bottom. Milk-white spiderwebs dance over him.

Screaming.

Light floods through him.

He fights against the current. He struggles ashore. Cold air stings his lungs. His ears begin to work, and he hears whistling--four sad notes, over and over, each one heavy in its own way. The notes loop around each other, over and over, until they begin to feel like a noose around his neck.

"This is the World Next Door," a voice says, in his head and floating outside him at the same time--it is his voice and not all at once. It is the voice he heard when he was drowning.

He sits along the shore rubbing his arms for warmth, and all around him the dreamy nothingness settles down. Unending minutes pass, he stands. He begins to search along the edge of the beach, finding nothing--just more beach, and grayness beyond. He walks along the shore, still feeling the burn of the water in his lungs. It tastes of copper and metal.

He dreams a sweatshirt to wear, and then he is wearing it.

His ears fill again with humming, an endless Hum, until his entire body vibrates to it. "This is the song of your creation," the Other Voice in his head whispers.

Something is behind him.

He turns slowly to see a large dog with a black and brown coat. He backs away, terrified the dog will chase him, but the dog only stares at him. It is large and mangy, and it's eyes shimmer with an unearthly green sheen--rage boils off the dog like steam. Behind the dog is a woman, tall and thin, with short brunette hair. She reaches out to Simon, and her hands come alive with a soft, ethereal glow. Her mouth moves but he cannot hear her, only the humming and the hammering of his heart.

She flicks her wrist.

The humming stops.

The dog rushes forward, its eyes burning.

Simon can not move.

The woman raises her hands over her head. Light and fog and shadow and mist collide on the beach. There's a silent explosion of blinding-white light, over almost before it starts.

The dog is gone.

The woman is gone.

He is cold. He is alone.

The Other Voice whispers, softly, seductively. "Tell me Simon, does your heart go bump in the night?"

* * *

Back in the living room Simon ran his hand over his face. Something was wrong. He opened his eyes. Fuzz--black, fuzzy fabric with pointed ears was right in his face, and Zoey was hovering over him, perched on the arm of the couch. Her big blue eyes stared right into his. "You said get ready for school. No sleeping!" She pulled her stuffed cat off of his face. "Get up!"

Simon sat up, confused, still tasting the stuffed animal.

"You weren't getting up. You were shaking." She grabbed her backpack and headed for the door. "Don't be late!" She was down the stairs and gone before he could respond.

Simon stood and stretched. He went to give his teeth another brushing, but Sam was at the sink trimming his beard.

"Sorry buddy, you were snoozing." He grabbed a towel and wiped his face clean. "Another nightmare?"

"How did you know?" Simon asked, reaching around Sam for his toothbrush.

"You were talking." He ruffled Simon's hair and stepped out of his way. "You've been on edge since the lake."

"So have you," Simon said bluntly.

"Is there anything you want to talk about?" Sam asked, unable to look him in the eye.

Simon's cheeks flushed hot. He did not like talking about the lake. He didn't answer, instead he brushed his teeth quickly, staring into his reflection until it seemed like someone else was looking back at him. He shivered and spit into the sink. "What was I saying?"

"Well..." Sam had retreated to the kitchenette, where he was rummaging through the junk drawer. He seemed to be stalling. "I don't know exactly what you were saying, but it almost sounded like..." He paused for a moment, then the lines of his face tightened, his eyes serious. "Pancakes."

Simon stared at him. "Pancakes."

"Yep. Guess I didn't feed you enough this morning." Sam pulled a small package of white candles out of the drawer. "Ah-ha! Here we are."

Simon eyed the candles. "What are those for?"

Sam smiled his giant boyish smile. "I have something special planned for you kids and Molly, so after school you and Zoey come straight here, okay? No wandering around with that dog on the loose, got it?"

"All right," Simon said, slightly annoyed by Sam's response.

"I mean it," Sam said.

Simon uncapped the mouthwash. The taste of the felt cat was gone but he could not shake the taste of lake water from his mouth. "Why is this such a big deal?"

"Because I don't want anything happening to you, okay?" Sam put on his jacket. "Call me skittish but ever since the lake--"

"I've told you I don't want to talk about it." Simon's skin erupted in goosebumps. "Drop it, please?"

"Simon," Sam started, "you need to understand, I just want you to be safe, okay?" He took a deep breath and patted Simon on the shoulder. "Ex luce vita," he whispered softly, closing his eyes.

Simon rolled his eyes, shook Sam's hand off him. "Not that again."

"Hey," Sam said. "Simon, please. Not again. It's our family motto for a reason. It's good luck. It's what saved you at the lake."

"No it didn't," Simon said. "You did."

Sam sighed, and it was a heavy, weary sound. "Just... please, Simon. Today's an important day. For me. You're not the only one I'm surprising, and I don't need to fight, least of all with you. So can you work with me today?" he asked, looking at Simon expectantly.

Simon relented, fighting the urge to roll his eyes again. "Ex vita luce."

Sam frowned. "You said it backwards again."

"Close enough."

"Not really," Sam said, giving up. He made his way to the door. "Don't be late for school."

"I won't," Simon said. He waited until Sam was gone then he made his way to the couch, but this time he pushed the corner away from the wall, exposing a worn floorboard. He glanced over his shoulder, then lifted the floorboard out of place, exposing a small hidden place. He pulled out a composition notebook he had started a few weeks ago, just after the lake, when the nightmares began. It was his dream journal. He flipped through it quickly, past hundreds of notes, scribbles, and drawings--a few of the lake, and several of the large black dog and the woman. It was his mystery, his huge sprawl of questions, and he wanted nothing more to detangle what it all meant. He flipped to the last blank page where he made a note:

Saw the dog. Green eyes this time. Heard the humming again. Saw the woman. Where do I know her?

A weird thought came to mind, like a memory violently unleashed from a trap. "Smart kid," whispered a Other Voice in his mind. His heart skipped when he heard it, unsure if his mind was playing a trick on him again. He waited in silence, but it didn't speak again. On a new line he wrote with a shaking hand:

Mom?

His heart pounded at the idea, the tantalizing possibility, but before he could consider it anymore, Molly was hollering for him. He hurried and tucked the notebook back into its hiding spot, then reset the floorboard and couch. He snatched his backpack off the floor and took the stairs two at a time. Zoey waited at the door, and together they walked to school, his heart thundering in his chest with every step.
CHAPTER THREE

THE BOOGEYMAN

Simon waited for Zoey to join him in front of their school that afternoon. He had started the eighth grade a few months earlier, where Zoey had just started the first grade. He sat on a bench and looked at the Halloween decorations in the windows. Halloween was only a few days away, on a Saturday this year, but where most kids relished a whole weekend of candy and parties, that didn't mean anything special for Simon. Every year Sam refused to decorate the tavern with decorations of any kind, save for one small plastic gargoyle Molly had taped to the register one year. She had even nicknamed it Little Sam as a joke. Sam seemed to like it though, and for a time Simon had hoped it would lead to paper skeletons, big stuffed crows, and smiling cardboard ghosts taped to the walls. Yet every year they never came.

Zoey skipped down the front steps, wearing a pair of costume cat ears and waving a large paper pumpkin made out of construction paper. "Simon!" she was huffing, tiny puffs of air visible for only a moment as she talked. "We made arts and crafts today!" She held her pumpkin in Simon's face. "I did this!"

The pumpkin's eyes were cut from black construction paper. "Looks great," he said. He fished in his backpack, pulling out a small bag of candy as they started to walk home. "Candy corn?"

Zoey smiled wide and popped a piece of candy into her mouth. She continued telling Simon about her day\--how they had bobbed for apples, and made masks, and how the they had gone trick-or-treating to the other classrooms after lunch. Simon smiled and nodded while she talked. He remembered what Sam had told him that morning, and now he kept trying to figure out what surprise was waiting for them.

They approached the corner of the block when freezing pain exploded in Simon's left hand. For an instant, his entire arm throbbed with frigid, wintry misery, then just as quickly as it came, it went. Simon stared at his hand in fearful curiosity while Zoey continued to talk about her day.

The pain started again, slowly, in the palm of his hand, then slowly it throbbed up to his wrist, then his elbow. His hand went cold.

"Simon?" Zoey was watching him, her costume cat ears wobbling precariously, almost alive.

Simon' bones were ice. The throbbing in his hand was getting worse by the second. He took a deep breath and flexed his fingers tentatively, then shaking his hand hard, but the pain only grew, vibrating up his to his shoulder. He looked at Zoey, her tiny eyes wide.

"I'm okay," he said quickly, shoving his hand in his jacket pocket. The pain was fading, but some strange warning went of in the back of his mind, an alarm rattling loudly, but he couldn't for the life of him tell why.

"Danger," his internal alarm suddenly screamed, taking a voice in his mind. "Get going. Hurry now."

It was the voice from his dreams.

He swallowed his fear. "Here," he said, offering his other hand to Zoey. "We should go."

"Something's watching you," the Other Voice whispered. "You're not safe here anymore."

They were just in front of the firehouse when the pain in Simon's hand returned, dropping him to one knee. His vision started to blur. Zoey was shouting at him, but he couldn't understand her. His head felt like it was filling with water, sloshing up against the inside of his skull. He couldn't breathe again.

He couldn't lift his head, couldn't speak. He motioned towards the firehouse, and Zoey ran to the front door and tried to pull, but the door wouldn't open.

"It's locked!" Zoey pulled harder on the door, but it stayed closed. She pounded her fists against the door, but no help came.

Simon was starting to fade. He focused on Zoey, not ten feet away, telling himself the whole time to hold on. They were close to home, all he had to do was hold on until the pain went away again. It had to, it had to fade. Things had to be all right.

Darkness crept into the edges of his vision. He looked around and didn't understand how one of Crowley's main streets could be so empty at this time of day, how it could be only him and Zoey in front of all the shops and the firehouse. "Get going," the Other Voice screamed again.

Simon dug down, summoned the strength to lift his head. Zoey was still there, frozen mid-knock. He struggled to follow her gaze, and when he looked around the voice in his head stopped dead\--they weren't alone anymore.

A large muddy-brown dog stood by the corner of the firehouse, its face a snarl of twisted features. A tangle of scars and mange covered its stubbed snout. The ears, which would have dangled on any other dog, stood at flicked attention, horn-like, on top of the patches of black that surrounded the coal-black eyes which stared straight into Simon. Below its massive jaws was a collar, bone-white, and the sight of it made Simon's blood run cold. The dog stood motionless at the end of the block, never taking its eyes off Simon.

Terror seized Simon. The dog could snatch him or Zoey in its jaws in a heartbeat. All it needed was one tiny provocation, and it would be on them, and its eyes flicked between the two of them, eager to find an invitation to attack. Simon felt the creature enjoying this.

"Zoey," Simon gasped. "Don't run." He struggled to talk, his voice coming out a weird, twisted garble. He forced a painful gulp of air into his lungs and pointed towards the tavern. "Walk. Walk to the Paw. If you run\--" he gulped more air. "If you run he'll chase you." He prayed this would work, that the beast's instincts would hold until Zoey was safe.

"I can't!" Zoey's little voice was frantic. "I can't cross the street alone!" She ran to Simon's side. "Get up!" She cried. "Come on, Simon! Get up!"

Zoey had set the dog in motion. It snarled and bolted straight towards them, its teeth bared. Light glinted off the dog's collar.

"Light," the Other Voice in his head screamed. "Light!"

The tightness around Simon's throat suddenly vanished. Cold air flooded into his lungs, the pain already melting away. No bite came. Simon opened his eyes. The dog was laying several feet away, stunned and on its side.

Zoey clung limply to him. "Zoey!" He quickly scanned her for bite marks. "Zoey! Are you okay?" The dog was beginning to stir again. Simon worried it would be back on its feet soon. "Zoey! Answer me!"

Zoey lifted her head and looked right into Simon's eyes. Her eyes were puffy and red\--she had been crying into Simon's jacket.

"It's okay," he said, desperately watching the dog, who was starting to kick its legs and thrash its head. "It's okay." He scooped up Zoey and checked the street, completely empty of any cars, then bolted towards the tavern. He didn't care if the dog took off again, it was stunned, for now at least, so if he could make it to the door, they could get inside and lock it. The motions of his plan burned in his mind as he reached the front door of tavern, set Zoey down, and yanked hard on the handle.

The door held shut. Locked.

"Simon!" Zoey shouted. "He's up!"

Simon snapped his head around at the dog. It had just worked its way to its feet and was shaking its head violently.

"The back door!" Simon grabbed Zoey's hand. "There's a hidden key! Hurry!" They took off running. The dog was alert now, pursuing them again as they rounded the corner to the back alley. They dodged around the dumpster for the video store next door and bolted straight for the back door. Simon hoped maybe it would be unlocked, but no such luck. He pounded on the door in frustration and fumbled for the key hidden behind the loose brick. Where was everybody? Why was the Paw all locked up in the middle of the day?

The dog had reached the alley, running faster than before. Simon wasn't sure what had blown the creature back, but he had no time to wonder. There was no time to guess. He needed to get them inside.

The dog had cleared the dumpster and was coming straight at them. They had run out of time. The dog was going to get them.

Simon jumped to his feet, pushing Zoey behind him. He braced his legs and prepared for the dog's teeth to sink into his arm. Desperation crept over him as he searched in vain for an alternative. His knees and stomach still ached from the attack at the firehouse.

"Your family motto," the Other Voice whispered in his mind. "You know the words. Use them."

The hound closed in, jumping high in the air, coming fast. Simon flashed on Sam's motto. Ex luce vita, those very words Sam had spoken so many times, always in times of trouble. Sam had never shared what it meant, and Simon had never bothered to learn. It was always just Sam's weird little thing, nothing more. Really what harm was left in it, especially now? Ex luce vita. The notion blossomed in an instant, and Simon was lifting his hand to protect himself. He gazed along the top of his finger directly at the dog, and he shouted the words which now seemed to boil on his tongue. Ex luce vita. Ex luce vita. Ex luce vita.

He took a deep breath. "Ex vita luce!"

A sizzling, burning, crackling sensation tore across his hands. Everything went white.

Then, all was dark.

* * *

Simon spasmed and sat up on the big orange couch. His last memory overtook him and he looked at his hands, expecting to see burns, but remarkably he was unscathed. He stared in disbelief.

"Sam!" Molly was approaching. "Sam, he's up." She placed her hand on Simon's chest, pushing him back down onto the couch. "Oh, Simon," she said. She pushed a few stray hairs out of his face, kissed him lightly on the forehead. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for protecting my baby."

Simon tried to talk but his voice wouldn't cooperate. He tried to sit up but Molly put her hand on his chest, stilling him. His eyes found the window over the couch. It was night already. How long had he been out?

"Rest for now, sweetheart." She turned towards the door. "Sam?" She called downstairs. "Did you hear me? I said Simon's awake."

Sam's voice floated up from the tavern below. "I'll be up in a minute," he said. He sounded funny.

Molly furrowed her brow "That man," she said to herself. She looked back to Simon. "Are you feeling okay, Simon? Do you need anything?"

His throat was sore. "Water," he croaked. "Please."

Molly smiled. "You got it." She crossed the floor to the kitchenette and pulled a glass from the cabinet. She filled it with a pitcher from the fridge and was back to his side without taking her eyes off the door. "Here you go."

The water soothed Simon's throat, and he found it easier to talk after finishing the whole glass. "Zoey?" Unease gripped him. "Is she\--"

"She's fine," Molly said. "She told us what happened. You were very brave to fight off that dog. It's a miracle you didn't get bitten." She took the glass from Simon and set it on the old trunk that doubled as a coffee table. "We think it's the dog they've been talking about on the news." She felt his forehead. "Are you feeling any better? Do you need something to eat?"

"I'm fine," Simon said, sitting up. His head swam and he laid back against the cushions. "Did they catch it?"

"No," Molly said. "Animal control couldn't find him when we called. Zoey said that you knocked him down?" Her brow furrowed again. "What exactly did you do, Simon?"

Simon struggled for an answer. "I just blocked him, that's all." He stopped for a moment before continuing. "It doesn't make any sense. I held my arm up, then I yelled and swung with my other arm. I don't know if I hit him or not. I didn't want to, I mean, he's just a dog, but I was\--"

"Simon, it's okay." Molly patted his shoulder. "You were defending yourself and Zoey. Believe me, I'm grateful you did what you did. We all are." She gave him a small smile. "Even if it doesn't make any sense." She glanced at the door again. "I'm going to go see what's taking Sam so long. He wanted to know the moment you were awake. I don't know why he isn't up here." She stood in the doorway. "Zoey's sleeping on your bed, I hope that's all right. Holler if you need anything."

Simon watched Molly disappear through the door, then let his head collapse back onto the pillow. Everything was still a blur. What had happened, anyway? The dog had been leaping at him, and then he had shouted...

"Ex vita luce," Simon whispered to himself, and it hit him: he had gotten their motto backwards. Sam had made him say it so many times, and he had still gotten it wrong. Ex luce vita. He mouthed the words to himself. His head spun. He stayed on the couch only until he felt strong enough to walk. When he could, he got to his feet and walked to the kitchenette. He grabbed his glass on the way and drew himself some water from the tap, but as he drank, the water didn't soothe like it had earlier. He put the glass in the sink, then started to make his way downstairs, his head still pounding slightly.

He descended the stairs into the back hallway. The kitchen was completely empty, no dirty dishes stacked by the sink, no tickets on the wheel, nothing cooking on the grill top or the stove. The kitchen was utterly dead. This was strange for a weeknight. He could hear angry voices coming from the dining room. He peeked through the order window.

Sam and Molly were behind the counter. They were speaking to an odd-looking man Simon didn't recognize. He wore what looked like an old, mousy gray suit, which had obviously seen much better days. The sleeves were ripped and worn to tatters at the end, and his hair hung in long gray strands over his forehead, poking out from under the brim of what must have once been a very splendid hat. Then there were his eyes, one deep ocean blue, the other a putrid, rotten green. They were sunk deep into his face with large purple bags under his sockets, and he looked like someone who never slept much,if at all. His skin was the palish, sickly white of curdling milk, and his nose dove sharply down from his huge brown eyebrows until it almost collided into his rotten, grinning mouth. He made Simon think of a skeleton who was wearing only the costume of man.

Simon moved slowly from the order window to the swinging door, learning carefully against it, straining to hear what they were saying. One of the stranger's marble white hands leaned on a couple of very large pumpkins on the counter, and he spoke with a hissing, mocking rasp. His words rattled like pennies falling down a wishing well.

"This all took quite a bit the effort, Thatch." He jabbed a ragged finger at Sam. "I applaud your ingenuity, but nothing lasts forever. All this..." the man gestured his arm around the dining room, "this...tiny effort you've put forward, it's still impressive, but really, now, we've done this long enough, don't you think?" The man let out a long, wheezing cough. "We both knew this day would come."

"Who do you think you are?" Molly leaned over the counter at the man, her eyes narrowing. "You can't just come in here like this, insulting us. How do you even know Sam?" She folded her arms and glared. "He beat you up in high school?"

The man turned to Molly. "Hardly." He removed his hat, and his hair was a greasy mess stuck to his head. "You are correct, ma'am. I am forgetting myself. While I cannot count on Sam here to remember his manners, I should not forget mine. Allow me to introduce myself." He sat his hat on the counter and extended his withered hand. Molly remained still. "Well, then." He smiled. "My name is Fellis Boeman, ma'am. Sam and I, and Simon's parents, all go way back." His eyes flicked to Sam. "Don't we, Sammy boy?"

Sam leaned forward, and when he spoke, the words came out through gritted teeth. "Get. Out. Now. This is my home. You are not welcome here."

"Oh, but you see, I am." He snatched his hat from the counter and returned it to his head. "This, this place is a public establishment, is it not? And I am one of the public. I am a guest, as all your patrons must be, and so, I am welcome."

"We're closed tonight," Sam said. "Private party."

Boeman smiled. "Well, I should say so! You really didn't have to do all this for me." Simon peered around the dining room and was shocked. Rubber bats hung from the ceiling. Paper skeletons surrounded the windows. Decoration were everywhere. Sam's surprise.

"My home, our home, is upstairs." Sam leaned back. "The threshold applies."

"Well, then." Boeman opened a packet of sugar and poured it on the counter. "Apparently not," he said. He dipped his finger in the small pile of sugar, then touched it to his lips. He smiled, then reached into his pocket and produced a scratched and beaten silver coin, which he flipped on the counter. Neither Sam nor Molly made a move to touch it. "You couldn't hide forever. It was noble of you to take Tom and Emma's son, but again, really, we both knew you couldn't hide forever, let alone keep him in the dark like you have. Boys will be boys, after all."

Simon twitched at the mention of his parents' names. He and Sam did not talk about their situation much, not since Simon's fifth birthday, when Sam sat him down and explained that Simon's parents had to go away for a very long time, and that Sam would keep watching over him until the day they came back. That had been almost ten years ago, and they had still never come. "Someday," Sam had told him. "Someday they'll be back, and you'll be with them again." This had been before Molly and Zoey entered the picture, before they even had the Paw. Before everything, really. This talk was one of Simon's earliest memories, and though he would never tell Sam, it was also one of his saddest. Besides a few suspicious birthday cards and Christmas gifts, Simon didn't have much to go on with his parents. He suspected the cards and presents were from Sam all along, really. Every time he thought long and hard about them, tried to remember how they looked, or what they sounded like, he always ended up feeling with the same feeling of being broken, incomplete, so he capped those feelings as tightly as he could, kept the pain and the anger tucked in the weird hole their absence made. Still, it was a nagging sadness, spoken by neither Simon nor Sam, but always there, under a tight cap. They were a giant, sad mystery to him, one he had failed to solve.

Hearing the tall man call his parents by name violently uncapped those feelings in Simon and threatened to flood over him. It blinded him to the fact that he was leaning too hard on the door between the kitchen and the dining room\--he fell into the room with a loud thump. All talking stopped, then a pair of boots, scuffed and covered in mud appeared in his field of vision.

"Look who it is," Boeman said, watching Simon pick himself up off the floor. "Simon Warner, I am so pleased to see you again. Fifteen long years." His green eye was fixed on him. "Tell me boy, did you feel this night coming?" Slowly he extended his hand to Simon. "Oh come on now, boy," Boeman said when Simon didn't move. "Don't forget your manners too. Shake my hand. You injured my dog, after all. The least you can do is show me some respect."

Sam stepped in front of Simon. "Don't do it," he said. "Don't even look at him."

Boeman waved a finger at them. "That's hardly nice, Sam. The boy and I do have a certain history, after all."

Sam leaned into Boeman's face. "Look. You are not welcome here. Leave now." Sam's voice was tinged with something Simon couldn't quite identify. It wasn't anger, but more like intense wanting, very strong desire, compelling, palpable and heavy. Whatever it was made Simon's skin break out in goosebumps.

Simon peeked around Sam at the skeleton man. "That was your dog?" His and Boeman's eyes met. The man's eyes were both bright green now, the color of the sky before a tornado. A frigid feeling squirmed its way around Simon's chest.

"Oh don't worry," Boeman said. "Streaker is not so lightly discouraged. Though he can be a little too rough if I leave him off the leash for too long, but you took care of him, didn't you boy?"

Sam looked grimly at Simon. "Our motto. Tell me you didn't..."

"Ex vita luce," Simon whispered.

Sam let go slowly. "Still backwards," he said. "It's why you passed out." He stared past Boeman. "This was your doing."

Boeman sneered. "That's what you get for not telling him what he is. You keep someone in the dark, and then they make mistakes. You would know all about that, wouldn't you?"

Sam took a step back, braced as if to grab Boeman.

"Sam," Molly said. "Don't do anything stupid."

"I'm not," Sam said. "This man loves fools. Believe me, I know." He stepped closer to Boeman. "The only foolish one here tonight is him."

Boeman smiled. "Oh, am I now?" He leaned forward. "Only the fool doesn't see the foolishness within himself, Thatch. To be wise is to know your foolishness. Are you a fool, or are you too wise for my tricks now?"

"Final warning," Sam said. He reached under the counter. Simon saw the candles Sam had been looking for that morning were sitting next to the pumpkins. It made sense now. "Leave now, or I'll\--"

Boeman swiped his hand through the air. Sam's voice instantly froze in his throat. A moment passed, then another, and yet Sam did not move. He was stuck leaning forward, over the counter, completely unmoving, not even breathing. Molly tried to move him and failed.

Boeman's eyes locked on Sam, who remained motionless. "Dear Sammy boy, have you forgotten? You cannot defy me now that I have found you, after all these years. I am in your house. I am in your soul." He faced Simon. "Now you on the other hand are something of a free agent, Simon. I suppose you could strike at me, if only you knew how. Not that it would do any good." He stepped back, spread his arms wide. He reminded Simon of a scarecrow in this pose. "I'm glad to know you're still in the picture, though. I have just the plan for you. Sam knew his day would come, but you, you are a treat. Oh my, look how red his face is getting! The poor fellow can't seem to breathe. Now, he's known all these years, but he's never, ever told you, has he?" Simon looked at Sam. "He's been hiding things from you. I would never do that to you." Boeman held out his hand. "Just shake my hand, Simon, and we have a deal. I will show you a life of endless power, just like your parents."

Simon's eyes widened.

"Tell me something, Simon." Boeman flicked a bony finger at the candles on the counter. One by one they erupted with tiny green flames. "Does you heart go bump in the night?" He bent over until his eyes leveled with Simon's. "This is your destiny. You have a hint of it, don't you? The power that sleeps in you. That's how you beat my dog." He placed his hand on Simon's shoulder. "So many plans, my boy. My head can barely keep up. But one in particular comes first. Simon Warner, I will finish what you started at the lake. I am going to save you from the life they would have you live. I will grant you true oblivion. I will bring you the Dark Death."

"Don't you touch him!" Molly stepped fiercely in front of Simon, a lioness protecting her young. "Get out now before I call the police!"

"Oh, whatever will I do," Boeman said mockingly. "The police, oh no, oh we can't have that. They might put their little shackles on me or stuff me in their wagon." He raised both hands in the air. "Oh no, constable! I didn't do it!" His laugh was knuckle bones in a soup can. "Please, oh please don't!"

Simon stepped forward. "Stop!" He held out his hand. "I'm warning you!"

Boeman smiled, turned his head back to Simon. Sam's body suddenly relaxed, and he fell hard onto the counter, drawing in several deep breaths. "Simon..." he finally gasped. "Don't..."

"Who is this guy?" Molly put her arm under Sam's shoulder. "How did he do that to you?"

Boeman kept his eyes on Simon and chuckled again. "I already told you who I am, my dear. What I am is another story entirely." He pushed the tip of his hat back. "What you need to know is, I cannot be stopped, and come hell or a hundred men, I will have these two." He stabbed a finger towards Sam. "He is already under my dominion, and this one," he pointed at Simon, "is not far behind." Boeman's face twisted suddenly, a snarl of unchecked rage tearing across his face, and for just the briefest instant all his composure seemed lost, then just as quickly as it had come, it was gone, tucked behind his mask again. He casually withdrew a small white card from his coat pocket and placed it on the pumpkins. "Something for you, Simon, to get you started. Oh I have such big plans for you!"

Sam started to talk, but Boeman cut him off. "Hold that thought. How about we end on a high note." Sam focused his eyes on Boeman, but didn't speak. Another wave of goosebumps raised on Simon's arm, but they felt sour and wrong. Boeman turned and headed towards the front door. "That's a good boy," he said over his shoulder. He stopped at the front door and pointed at the rabbit paw mounted over the entrance. "That was still clever," he said, his voice frosty, "but not clever enough." His sunken eyes fell on Simon. "Come hell or hundred, boy, you can't stay here forever. Eventually, you will have to leave, and when that comes, it will mean the Dark Death for you." He glanced at Molly. "The coin is for the sugar," he added, then he stepped through the door and vanished into the night, smoke rising from an invisible fire.

Simon stood behind the counter, his eyes fixed on the candles burning next to the pumpkins, transfixed. Molly helped Sam to a stool, where he sat, shaking. Finally Simon broke away from the candles and joined them. "Are you okay?"

Sam was rubbing his temples. "I need to find someone," he said, starting towards the kitchen. "Molly, get Zoey, watch Simon. Lock the door."

Molly looked at Sam, her eyes full of quiet anger. Her voice was firm when she spoke. "Sam, what's going on?"

"Later," he said as he reached the kitchen door. "I'll explain everything, but right now I need to reach someone." Sam was gone down the back hallway, out the back door into the alley. Molly let out a small, frustrated huff, then went to lock the front door.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "This was not what we planned at all." She clicked the lock on the front door. "Sam went and got pumpkins from the store today. We spent all day decorating for Halloween, and we were going to carve them tonight. We even closed for a few hours this afternoon to go get more decorations from the store. Then when we got back, we found you collapsed in the alley, and then..." his voice trailed off. "...and then this. I don't even know what to make of this." She headed for the kitchen door. "Stay here," she said. "Don't open the door for anybody."

Simon was left alone. He walked around the counter and picked up the small white card Boeman had left. It was a business card, only instead of a name or address, it bore a strange, twisted symbol of a writhing snake. He stared at it a long time, then stuck it in his pocket. Then he sat at the counter, feeling numb, and with only the green candle flame to distract him. He ran his fingers through the flame while Boeman's words echoed in his head. "I will bring you the Dark Death."
CHAPTER FOUR

THE WIZARD

Sam murmured into the bedroom phone while Molly sat with Simon and Zoey on the couch. Zoey leaned against him and dozed quietly. He looked at Molly, who rubbed her temples. "Who was that man?"

"He came in during the dinner rush. I saw him sitting at the table in the corner, but we were busy. Then..." Molly's voice trailed off. "Then we started to thin out, fast. It was like everyone up and decided to leave all at once. I've never seen anything like it. I was so busy at the register and Sam was up here with you, so I didn't have time to come up. Then when Sam came down I came up to check on you. By then we were almost empty, except for that man."

Simon glanced at the bedroom door. Sam was speaking quickly. "That man. What was he talking about when he said Sam kept secrets?"

Molly stroked Zoey's hair. "I don't know. Sam has always had his demons, but I never thought anything like this."

"He said he was looking for me," Simon said.

Molly met Simon's eyes. Hers were puffy and red. "I don't know what's going on, Simon. Nothing has made any sense tonight. Everything has been so crazy." She wiped her eyes.

Simon was confused. "Everything about today?" Simon stood up. "What else didn't make sense?"

Molly composed herself. "Well, finding you passed out with Zoey behind the restaurant wasn't exactly normal," she said. "Zoey said you chased the dog away, but she wouldn't stop shaking. You wouldn't wake up, you didn't even stir until right before, before..." Molly turned away. Simon could see more tears in the corner of her eyes. "That man, he just stood there. Sam didn't do anything."

"I don't think he could," Simon said. "I think he was..." He searched for the right word. "I think he was...stuck."

"Stuck?" Molly shook her head. "Stuck? How?"

Simon went over the events in his head and ended up saying the only answer he could put any faith in. "I don't know." He had seen the man\--Boeman\--talking with Sam and Molly, Sam had threatened the man, and then... Sam was just stuck, completely unable to move. Then the candles...

Sam came out of the bedroom. "All right," he said. "Chief McTaggart is going to keep an eye on the place for us. Simon, get your backpack. Molly, I'm going to need you to watch the Paw for a few weeks. Simon and I have to go away for a little bit."

Molly leaned Zoey back against the cushions and stood. "What? Sam, you can't just leave right now. Who was that man? What did he want? Why did he come in tonight?"

Sam was across the apartment."He wanted me and Simon." He was to the kitchenette, where he grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filled it with a bottle from on top of the fridge. "I thought he was just here for me, but he'll take Simon while he's at it." His voice was sour. "Help is coming, Simon. I called someone who will look out for us. He's on his way now."

"Who is coming?" Molly walked over and grabbed the glass from Sam's hands. "Do I know them? Shouldn't we call the police?"

"The police couldn't help," Sam said. "He would just flick his fingers and be gone. They wouldn't know what to do." Sam leaned back against the fridge. "This guy, this monster, he's not going to give up. He's set his eyes on us, and if we don't act now, we could lose everything."

"Everything?" Simon looked at Sam. "Even the Paw? Our home?"

"Simon..." Sam started to talk. "I'm sorry, but things are going to get more complicated. This man\--"

"Boeman." Simon's fingers tingled.

Sam moved towards Simon. "Don't...don't say his name. He wasn't lying earlier. He's a plague. You let him in, and before you know it, he's..." Sam clenched his fists. "He's infested you. Infected you. Once that happens\--" Sam grabbed Simon by the shoulders. "He offered you his hand. You didn't take it, did you? Tell me you didn't. Tell me you stayed back."

Molly put her hand on Sam's shoulder. "Simon didn't go near him."

Sam's shoulders relaxed. "Good." He walked towards his bedroom. "Simon, get your backpack. Pack clothes. We're going to be leaving."

Simon looked towards the bedroom door. "My backpack?"

"Yes!" Sam snapped. "We're leaving tonight. Once I\--"

The lights flickered and went out. Darkness cloaked them.

"Sam?" Simon stood still. "Sam, is he\--"

"No," Sam whispered. "No, this...this is different. Hang on." Sam moved towards the door. "I just need a minute." The door opened, then closed, then Simon heard footsteps as Sam went downstairs. A minute passed, then the lights flickered back on.

"You're going to die," whispered the Other Voice in Simon's head. He shook his head and snatched his backpack off the floor, heading for his bedroom.

Molly watched him. "Simon, are you okay?"

"I'm going to pack. Sam said to pack."

Molly frowned. "I don't think you need to do that just yet. We'll call the police..."

"The police can't do anything!" Simon shoved clothes into his backpack. "You saw him. He made those candles light themselves. You saw that, right?" He grabbed his toothbrush from the bathroom. "Sam and I have to leave!"

Molly spoke again, her voice low. "Simon...please, just wait..."

Footsteps thundered outside the door. Sam burst into the room with a second man following him. The man's hair was a wild tangle of chestnut, and he had at least three days stubble on his face. He swept through the room quickly, his long, mossy-green coat billowing around him like blowing leaves. His coat was ragged and splattered in mud, and he carried himself like someone always on the run. He dropped a large canvas shoulder bag near the door right as he entered, then took wide steps across the apartment. His piercing cobalt eyes darted around the room quickly, taking in every detail, then finally cataloging each of them with no more than a glance.

"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?"

His parents.

The firehouse buzzed with activity. Several firefighters ran out of the main truck bay. The bay doors were fully lifted, spilling light out into the street as they ran hoses across the street.

"Come with me," Boeman said. "Simon, now..."

Simon flung the bag of salt directly at Boeman. It thudded off his chest and fell uselessly to the ground, spilling everywhere.

"Oh, well, bravo." Boeman chuckled as the bag lay on the ground. "Salts. How very cute." He glanced at the firefighters barking instructions back and forth at one another, getting the hoses into position, shouting for water. Molly and Zoey stood in the two large bay doors of the firehouse. Molly had found a cellphone and was talking into it while Zoey clung to her side.

"Bravery," Boeman said, dropping his arms. "A shallow reflex best used only by those to mindless to think forward. Look at them, Simon. Look at how much they have forgotten. It's in them, every last one. Any one of them could snuff this fire with a thought, if they could only remember the days of magic. That's why you're special, Simon. Like me, like Samuel, even that wandering mongrel Tamerlane. The First Secrets are still strong in us. We remember. Our blood remembers. How can you not want to know?"

Smoke billowed out of the shattered windows of the Paw. Simon kept hoping to see Nathan sprinting around the corner to his rescue, but no such luck. A small shiver rippled up the base of his neck, spreading to his ears, then up to the crown of his head. Boeman and Streaker circled around Simon. "It's time we left, Simon." The shiver climbed to Simon's forehead as his vision began to blur. He started to feel like he had that afternoon, and he realized Boeman was behind it. Magic? The idea still seemed too foreign, too impossible for him to digest.

Simon felt a deep sickness twisting inside him, and he knew he was going to lose his balance. Terror seized him as he dropped to his knees, then images beginning to fill his head, bizarre and unfamiliar\--black birds sitting on top of high stone walls, a young woman with blue eyes staring down at him, a worn path through a deep forest.

He struggled to lift his head, to shake the flood of images loose from his mind. Boeman's shoes came into sight. The tingling in his head turned to a sickening spinning sensation, more images flowed into him, longer, clearer\--a dark, dusty place with rows and rows of books, more books stacked so high Simon could not see where they stopped. He could smell the air in there, musty and old. In his next breath the library gave way to an image of a large, elegant room with broad, sweeping staircases curving along the sides up to a second floor where a man stood. The man leaned over the banister, looking down at the floor below. Simon tried to focus on the man's face, but before he could see him clearly the image melted away again, and a vision of a graveyard swelled within his mind, rotten and thick. Old, decaying trees surrounded this place, and the air was thick with the smell of sickness, and that whistling again\--the same four-note tune he had heard in his nightmare. Dead leaves crunched under his feet as Simon tried to back away, but no amount of effort could separate him from this image.

"Your heart goes bump in the night, child." Boeman's voice floated right above him. "Join us on the righteous path. Join your true teacher. We will help you remember the secrets of the First Days. We will show you the secrets of the World Next Door."

The gruesome image surrounded him, held him, choked him. A chill ran down Simon's back as he struggled to stay conscious. Try as he might, darkness was pushing down on him, compelling him to relax, to give in and stop fighting and just lay down. He wanted more than anything to close his eyes, to escape from the sickness swelling in his stomach and find any small relief he could. "Sleep." The Other Voice was in his head again. "Sleep will free you." It would be fine, right? Nothing bad could happen if he just laid down in front of the tall gray man and the dog, someone would surely come and pick him up and put him in a bed, but not his bed, his bed was probably burning up at this very moment, but that was no cause for alarm, was it? If he just closed his eyes for a minute...

A low growl rumbled out of Streaker, the sound tearing violently through the dead air of Simon's vision. He was lying on his stomach now, but he still managed to lift his head.

Streaker was before him now, surrounded by the warped trees and the moss-ridden gravestones, but this was not the same Streaker. Here he rustled with the same strange, malefic energy from Simon's dream. His fur was longer and ragged, dotted with mange, and he had swelled to almost twice his size in the waking world. He dwarfed the tombstones as he paced between them, back and forth, never once taking his burning green eyes off of Simon.

Blackness spilled over everything, wiping every last detail from his mind's eye, leaving only darkness. There, in the void that stretched before him, came mindless, unyielding terror.

Shouting came from the very real firefighters behind him, then the shine of the emergency lights on the firetruck began to pulse into his vision, throwing red and blue light across the graveyard, along with the street. The fire whistle blared, jolting Simon completely from his vision, yanking him out of the graveyard and reminding him of the pain and the heat of the fire blazing through his home not twenty yards away. More shouting. Simon heard Molly, and then other voices, too, closing around him. It was hard to tell over the siren wailing, but for a moment he thought he heard Sam's voice calling out to him too.

The sudden wail of the fire whistle startled Streaker, who backed away quickly, his ears folded back and his nose pointed down as he slipped behind Boeman. His eyes flickered one last wave of bright green before fading. He reached out one last time, seemingly to help Simon to his feet.

"Run," said the Other Voice. "Flee."

The spell was broken. Strength and confidence returned to Simon's legs as he scrambled to his feet, grabbing the bag of salts and sprinting towards the fire house. The firefighters had already filled the street, but Simon weaved and bobbed through the equipment and hoses, ducking under a ladder as he ran into the bay. He found Molly and Zoey at a table off to the side, in front of the lockers and spare equipment that hung on the wall.

"Sam?" Simon looked at Molly, who shook her head. "They haven't found him yet." She wiped tears from her eyes. "Simon, what's going on?"

Simon looked over his shoulder into the street. Firefighters darted around the burning building while the chief barked orders into a radio. Broken glass littered the streets, and Sam was nowhere to be found. Boeman and Streaker had vanished. Nathan came around the corner from the alley, alone. He looked right at Simon, then shook his head.

The hard reality of what was happening crept over Simon.

"They really took him." Simon turned slowly to Molly, angry tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. "They have Sam."
CHAPTER FIVE

THE SILVER LEAF

Nathan flew into the firehouse. "We need to get going," he said, throwing his shoulder bag against the table and tossing Simon his slightly-burned backpack. It was heavier than when he remembered. Inside were several more changes of clothes, what looked like the entire contents of their medicine cabinet, and a silver fork.

"Do you still have the salts I gave you?" Nathan walked over to the lockers and popped the first one open. He ransacked its contents, never stopping, then slammed it shut before going to the next one. On the third locker he found a brown paper bag. He examined its contents quickly, then rolled it tightly closed and stuffed it into his pocket. He reached into another pocket and pulled out a large silver coin which he set in the locker before closing it.

"What are you doing?" Molly said, seated at the table the whole time, eyeing Nathan darkly.

"I'm looking for supplies," Nathan said, almost frantic. "Something, something, almost...anything." He looked at Simon. "Simon, the salts?"

Simon fumbled in his pocket, drawing out the small red bag. Nathan snatched it, quickly working the drawstring. "Thanks," he said. He worked the tiny opening of the bag, then threw a pinch of salt over his left shoulder, then another small pinch at Simon.

"Hey!" Simon stepped back. "What are you\--"

"Hold still," Nathan said, frustration in his voice. "I can't do it if you keep fidgeting."

"Do what?"

"Hit your shoulder, or really, over your shoulder." Simon eyed Nathan for a moment, not sure which one of them was crazy, but he held still while Nathan tossed a small pinch over his left shoulder. A moment passed, then he turned and flung a large handful at Molly, landing most of it on her and in her face.

"Hey!" Molly jerked back. "Watch it!"

"You'll thank me later," Nathan said, squatting down and delicately flicking a small pinch of salt over Zoey.

"Why?" Simon brushed off his shoulder. "Why are you\--"

"Plenty of time for that later, after we're gone," Nathan turned over another locker, pulling out a very fine silver watch. It looked like it had been a gift. Nathan considered it a moment, rolling it between his fingers, before finally returning it to the locker and slamming the door shut. "We leave tonight."

"Leave?" Molly stood up. "Where? We can't just up and take off."

"We are not," Nathan said, pointing at all four of them. "Us," Nathan said, pointing at him and Simon. "We're leaving. Now. Soon, you know, very quickly." He spun towards Simon. "I grabbed what I could, I didn't have much time. Is that enough?"

Simon ruffled through his backpack. "Uh, I guess. What about my books? My homework?"

"Don't need them where we're going." Nathan pulled a small leather book from his coat pocket. "Let me check," he said. His eyes scanning the pages at a feverish pace. "Yes, okay, good." Nathan's eyes rolled back, then he was thinking with his fingers and thumb again. "I think we have just enough time," he said suddenly, snapping the leather book shut and tucking it back in his coat.

Molly jumped in. "Now wait! Simon is Sam's son and I'm not just letting him leave with some stranger I just met!" She jabbed a finger at Nathan. "Just what is happening, and don't keep saying it's magic."

Thunder rolled across Nathan's face. "There isn't anything other to say," he said. "The truth is, we don't know where Sam is, and that is a problem too big for just us." He pointed at himself and Simon again. "We are going for help."

"He said he took Sam," Simon said. "He said Sam would be safe if I went with him. He said I, that I\--"

"Look at me." Nathan took Simon by the shoulders, squeezing him until it hurt. They locked eyes. "Boeman is a liar. He would steal the coins off a dead man's eyes, and you can't trust a single word that crosses his lips. He would take you and Sam and throw you to the Old Dominion just for a laugh. Do not trust him."

"Old Dominion?" All Simon could think of was Sam and where he must be at that moment, locked away somewhere in a room, a specimen in a cage, Streaker prowling feverishly all around him.

A melancholy look crawled across Nathan's face. "Not all of the Folk are good. All is not well anymore." His voice thinned. "Boeman takes people and breaks them. He does it..." he trailed off, wiping at his eyes. He glanced quickly, quietly at Zoey.

"Why does he do it?" Molly placed one of her hands on Zoey's back. "Why does he take children?"

Nathan never lifted his eyes from the ground. "You misunderstand," he said. "Not only children. Usually children, you're right about that, they're easy to frighten." He took a deep breath. "Adults, especially adults, have greater fears in them. He exploits that fear, turns it against them until they break."

"Brainwashing?"

"Soul breaking," Nathan said, his voice a whisper. "Nothing can conquer the soul quite like fear. Make somebody look at it long enough, make them see nothing but the monsters of the world, and they stop seeing all the good there is." He looked at Zoey again. "All the goodness in the world just floating around, happy as a bird, and their eyes are locked into darkness, unable to see any of it. They wither under the weight of that darkness, until they are nothing but sad wraiths of their former selves. That fate is what it means to be truly taken, truly broken."

"Why?" Molly said. "What does he gain from doing all that?"

"Power," Nathan said slowly. "For his master, and the Old Dominion. They need foot soldiers to fight their battles, fodder for their war."

"Master?" Simon said. It scared him\--how could someone like Boeman serve another? What monster could hold his reins?

"Yes," Nathan said. "A wicked man, if you can even still call him one." Nathan eyed the firefighters in the street. "These men are going to have a hard time with that spellfire. Sam tried to hold it back, but it was too much for him to hold out for very long. He's out of practice, and Boeman has strength only the old can know. He'll be halfway back to his lair in the Volobog by now."

"Then what happens?" Simon asked. "He'll be...broken?"

The look on Nathan's face was all the answer he needed. He swallowed the lump of fear in his throat and grabbed his backpack from the table. "We need to get him back," he said, trying to sound strong, to hide the waver in his voice. "We can't let him be broken."

Nathan looked at Simon and laughed a small, quiet chuckle. "Brave kid. Like your old man," he said, and Simon felt another slight twinge in his heart. Nathan must have seen it, quickly adding, "He was a good guy, your dad. You're real dad, I mean. Sam too, yes, but, I meant Thomas..." Another deep breath. "I don't know what all Sam has told you, but\--"

"Nothing," Simon snapped. "I've just...I've always lived with him."

Nathan looked away. "It...I..." He looked over at Molly. "We need to get going. Ms. Molly, for Sam's sake." He swallowed. "Will you watch their home?"

Molly stared across the street at the green fire. "Magic?" she said, her eyes searching Nathan's face for the truth.

Nathan produced a small seed from one of his pockets. Silently, he put it to his lips, then set it on the table. Quietly the husk split open, and tiny green roots began to poke out and dig into the table. Within moments a plant had taken full root in the table, growing to half a foot in height, when a bright purple bloom appeared. The flower blossomed and stretched towards Molly, who tightened her jaw, but did not make a noise. Then, just as quickly as it came, the flower was gone, already wilting. A moment later the entire plant had crumbled to dust and was gone.

Molly, ever the stoic, took this impossible event in stride. Slowly she nodded and asked, "Where are you going?"

Nathan considered his words for a moment. "Somewhere," he said. "A place where we have built a home for ourselves." He ran his hand through his hair. "A hidden place where we will find help."

Another slow nod. "How long?"

"I don't know," Nathan said. "Not long, I imagine. Help will either find us, or..."

Simon looked up at Nathan. "What?"

Nathan let out a deep breath. "I hate to admit it, but where we're going, it's curse or be cursed." Nathan stuck his hand in one of his many pockets, drawing out a silvery white stopwatch. "Oh, hey," he said. "Free silver. This should do." He grabbed Simon by the shoulder. "Grab your bag. We have people to meet."

#

They left the firehouse and quickly made their way to the edge of town, until the last row of houses smashed up against the woods, then they found the old train tracks heading south out of town. They followed the tracks for almost an hour when Nathan abruptly turned left at a fallen tree and started straight into the wilderness. Another hour passed when they finally reached the river bank. The moon was directly overhead by then, lighting their way as they went further from town into the wilderness.

Dread began to claw at Simon. He had expected to find somebody, anybody, waiting for them when they reached the river bank, but instead, they found only fog and the chirping of cicadas. Bugs ate at him. "We're really meeting somebody out here?" he said finally, breaking the silence.

"Friends," Nathan said. "Should be here any time."

Simon looked over his shoulder where they had broken through the trees. The bank dropped down right to the river's edge, where huge trees towered over them and the water. For a moment Simon feared eyes were on them, great and terrible things watching them from just out of sight. A strange mixture of fear and concern began to overwhelm him. Nathan was supposed to be a friend, and Sam had brought him in to help, but that was before the fire, before the abduction. Simon found himself relying on this complete stranger in a way he had not expected, and he had followed him into the woods without question. Had he acted foolishly. He had followed Nathan away from his home and Molly and Zoey down to the river.

They waited. Cold air rolled off the river, sticking to Simon's skin and making his bones feel like ice water. He tightened his jacket around him and rubbed his hands over his arms, wondering all the time just who these friends could be.

Another hour passed in complete silence when Nathan began to look concerned. He paced up and down the river bank, his hands jammed into his pockets and his eyes fixed firmly on the river. Simon sat on the ground nearby, huddled into a ball for warmth, watching Nathan as he walked back and forth.

"Mr. Tamerlane\--"

Nathan tilted his head but didn't stop walking. "That is absolutely unnecessary, Simon. Please, call me Nathan."

This got under Simon's skin unexpectedly. "Got it," he said. "Sorry."

Nathan stopped pacing. He gave Simon a thoughtful look that seemed to last for hours, then finally he walked over and plopped down on the ground next to him. "No worries," he said. "Better to have manners than not." He flipped through his mental book again, then he checked his watch and pulled out his leather book. Simon peered over at it. It was a little bigger than a paperback, a journal of some sort from the looks of it. It was bound in dark brown leather with blood red material on the corners and the spine. A symbol of a leaf shimmered in silver on the cover.

"What is that exactly?" Simon stared at the leaf. "Spell book?" It seemed too stupid to be right, but how far off could he be?

"Close," Nathan said, snapping the book shut. "It's called a grimoire. It's like a...like a textbook, or a planner, I guess, and a journal, good for keeping track of accounts and things." Nathan ran his fingers over the leathery cover, his fingers tracing the leaf symbol. "It's very important. Very necessary in my line of work."

Simon stared at the silver leaf on the cover. It seemed familiar, like some half-remembered dream. Searching his mind yielded only ghosts of memories, phantasms without names or places to ground them. The closest he could envision was a woman's voice, soft and quiet, like a lullaby. As hard as he tried to remember more, that was the limit of his memory. "What do you do?" he asked.

Nathan gazed off into the waters. "A lot." His eyes flittered across the surface of the river, towards the crickets chirping just off shore, over by the trees and then the overgrowth. He eyed the grimoire in his hands. When he finally spoke, his voice was ash. "So you really don't know anything, do you?"

Simon's cheeks ran hot. "Yes I do," he said, defensively. He took a small breath and asked what had been burning in his mind since the firehouse. "I know you knew my parents."

"Tom, yes." Nathan checked his watch again, the lines in his face crimping into a grimace. "Your mother, too, but only a little. Wonderful woman, especially to put up with your dad like she did." A small smile forced itself on his face. "We used to work together, he and I. Used to track revenants out west." He looked at Simon, who only stared at him. It was so strange, after all this time, to hear his parents talked about so casually, not like mysteries, but like people. Nathan cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his hair. "They were good," he said. "As good as you can get." He handed the leather book over to Simon. "Here, take a look. Probably none of it will make any sense, but no harm."

Simon took the grimoire in his hands. As he opened it a small sensation like a raindrop ran down his neck. Unsure whether it was excitement or fear, he flipped to a page at random, only to find it filled with diagrams and notes, all handwritten and scrawled over every available inch of space. Flipping forward he found more drawings, this time they reminded him of his geometry homework, all circles and triangles and, off to the side, what looked like algebra equations, but with symbols rather than letters, none of which Simon had any hopes to recognize.

Impulsively, Simon flipped to the very front of the book, and on the first page was a handwritten inscription, which read:

NATHAN ALAN TAMERLANE

BORN IN A SUMMER STORM, RAISED IN THE RAIN

JOURNEYMAN \- GOOD STANDING

DIVISION NO. 713

THE GREAT HALL OF THE FREE AND ACCEPTED MANCERS OF NOVA MUNDUS

REESTABLISHED 1680.

SIGNED, NICODEMUS LIMNIC, ARCHMANCER

"Inscribed by the former Archmancer himself," Nathan said, a look of profound sadness on his face.

Simon handed the book back over to him, feeling he didn't have the right to hold it anymore, let alone leaf through it at random. "Who are the Mancers of Nova Mundus?" he asked after a moment. The name was almost carbonated on his tongue.

"Our people," Nathan said. "Nova Mundus, the New World. Witchbreed of all kind came to this land during the colonial times. Witches, wizards. Almost anyone or anything like us."

The next question burst of him. "What about warlocks?"

Nathan hesitated. "No," he said. "At least, not for long, usually."

"Boeman said I was one. A warlock. Is there much difference?"

Nathan didn't answer right away. His face was long and drawn out in the moonlight, and suddenly he seemed very aged. He looked out over the waters again, his eyes upstream. "Many differences, Simon. Warlocks are..." his voice was distant and low. "There's a few big differences. That means a lot, where we're going."

"So, is that what I am?" Simon asked. "Are they bad, like Boeman? Am I\--"

"Quiet." Nathan jumped to his feet. "Stay behind me. Something's here." He motioned behind him.

Simon swallowed his question, suddenly angry to have been cut off, but he crept to his feet regardless, moving slowly, straining to look upstream, expecting Streaker or Boeman to come bursting out of the fog at any moment. The air had changed, he could feel it, and now something did seem to be happening. Someone, or something, was coming.

Silence cloaked the area. Simon finally stood beside Nathan, who held stone still, his hands held out at his sides. Simon strained to hear a noise, any noise, any clue of what to expect. His mind wandered from Boeman and Streaker to other possibilities, to bizarrely shaped shadow creatures that almost threatened to overrun his imagination. With a sudden, intense shudder Simon recalled his dream, questioning now just how much of it could be real, and how many other creatures might have been there. What else could be moving around in the night?

Splashing. A low, quiet noise out in the fog, growing steadily louder, yet Simon could not see where it came from. He braced himself as best he could, trying to steel his mind for whatever creature or beast was about to come sloshing out of the fog. Whatever came, horrible or unimaginable, Simon promised himself he would be ready, but his stomach started to churn, and he finally admitted to himself that he was ready to run, all the way back home if he had to. He stepped back, ready to take flight, when Nathan grasped him by the wrist and held him there.

The splashing grew. It was getting closer. Simon's imagination went wild, filling his mind with terrible suggestions of what was coming. Everything turned inward on him, and he was awash in absolute, mind-shaking fear. Finally, a figure emerged from the fog.

It was a frog.

It made no sense, and his mind spasmed at the sight, but nonetheless a frog was advancing very deliberately on them, paddling himself along on a lily pad with a tiny stick he used for an oar. He stood about a foot tall and carried a tiny lantern on top of his twig. The frog paddled along, humming to himself as he made his way ashore. As it came closer his lantern turned out to be a firefly, which flickered one last time and flew away as the lily pad coasted to a stop several feet from the shore.

He swore his eyes were tricking him, but as the frog drew closer Simon could see the frog was fully dressed in a small and elegant uniform, like something an admiral might wear. On its head, though, was a tiny, floppy straw hat.

Nathan's shoulders relaxed. He stepped closer to the water and whistled a small, songbird-like tune. The tiny frog cocked its head towards the sound, then after a moment, whistled back a response. Another whistle from Nathan, then the frog began to paddle towards them. When he reached the embankment Nathan stepped forward, waving Simon to follow.

The firefly flew high over the frog's head, the light reflecting in his small, black eyes. The frog spoke with a thick Creole accent. "Dis' the boy?"

"Hello," Simon said quietly

"Oh he speak!" The frog smiled at Nathan. "He's talent!"

Nathan spared a smile towards the frog. "Please, Lungwort, play sweetly with him."

The frog hopped furiously. "Names! Names! Mind yourself Tamerlane, or I leave now!"

"Sorry," Nathan said, smiling. He turned to Simon. "Simon," he said, throwing a glance at the frog. "Please allow me to introduce you to, well, Mr. Frog."

"Mr. Frog," Simon said. "Nice to meet you."

"Polite, too," the frog said. He turned back to Nathan. "Dis' the boy?"

"No, of course not," Nathan said, rolling his eyes. "I brought an entirely different one all the way out here, just for fun. The real boy is still back at the fire."

The frog eyed Nathan. "Tamerlane. Always too much trouble for too little return. Where do you want to go?"

"The Gate," Nathan said. Simon's neck tingled.

The frog croaked quietly to himself. "That's not so far. Why you call the wild?"

"The land is hot," Nathan said. "Dominion hounds are after us. We need the safety that only you and yours can offer."

"Hot land, eh?" The frog rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Must be big."

"Mystic," Nathan said. "Can we count on you?"

"Heh," the frog said, a small smile creeping across his lips. "All will be that was, no?"

"Don't mock the Freemancers," Nathan said. "We have business, and if you would, we would have you render us to our destination."

"Not so fast!" The frog jumped off his lily pad onto the sandy shore. "You bring dis, dis big trouble, to me, and why do I offer you my help?"

Nathan's eyes narrowed. "Because you know what's at stake," he said, stooping down. "Besides, you have never paid me for your nymph problem two summers back."

"Didn't I now?" The frog scratched his head. "I seem to remember giving you two vials of werewolf's blood\--"

"That deal was for five," Nathan said. "I can forgive the debt, Lungwort, if you would grant us safe passage down your river."

Lungwort clucked his tongue thoughtfully. He eyed Simon, his tiny black eyes examining every inch of him. "Very well, Tamerlane." The frog hopped on his lily pad. "I will take you, but not without first the formalities!" The frog shook his twig at the two of them. "You know the order of things, Tamerlane. You know the rites. Your family helped write most of them, and I will not be without them tonight, of all nights!"

"The rites?" Simon looked at Nathan. The whole conversation between Nathan and Lungwort had left him utterly lost.

"I'll explain later," Nathan said. "Follow my lead." He turned to face the frog. "My name," he began. "Nathan Alan Tamerlane. Born in a summer storm, raised in the rain." He followed with a glance at Simon. "Simon?"

Simon was still at a loss. "Huh?"

"Your name, boy," Lungwort said. "Full name, and don't try to skip on any of your middle names. I'll know if you carry extra of them. It won't taste right."

Simon was confused, but he obliged the frog. "Simon. Simon Theodore Warner." He looked at Lungwort, who eyed him hungrily. "No extra middle names."

"The rest!" Lungwort shouted.

"That's all," Simon said. "I don't have any other\--"

"You're mantle, boy!" Lungwort removed his hat, threw it to his feet. "I said no tricks!"

Simon drew a complete blank. He stood dumbfounded, staring at the frog. "I\--"

"He doesn't know," Nathan said. "He's never been told."

Lungwort eyed Simon again. "Never told, eh? What game you play, Tamerlane?"

"He's been in the Quiet his entire life," Nathan said.

"No excuse," Lungwort said. His eyes were laced with something frightening. "I still require his mantle."

Nathan let out a deep sigh, then spoke. "Simon Theodore Warner. Born in a snowstorm, raised in a forest."

Absolutely none of this made any special kind of sense. "I was born in March," Simon said.

"I know," Nathan said. "Freak snowstorm. It was special. That's how we knew."

"Is this so?" Lungwort rubbed his chin. "Theodore. Snowstorm and the Forest."

Simon nodded, unsure really what to say or do. Around them the cicadas chirped louder then before.

Lungwort finally smiled. "Well, then, boy, let that be the last time you give yourself so freely!"

"He's right," Nathan said. "Your name, your mantle too, it's all you, just, another way of you. Handing it out can be dangerous."

Embarrassment and frustration rushed Simon. "Then why'd you tell him?" He glared at Nathan, betrayed.

"Because," Nathan said, "we don't really have much choice." He turned to the frog. "Now, we've upheld our commitment, Mr. Frog. Would you do us the same honor?"

"Simon Theodore Warner," the frog said, tasting the words. "Yes...Yes! You hide nothing. You carry no lies this night. Yes, yes of course, of course!" He hopped up and down happily. "We can make a deal." The air around them began to tingle, and the hairs on Simon's neck stood at sudden attention. "We can deal. Nathan Alan Tamerlane. Simon Theodore Warner. Yes! Yes! My name. My name!" The frog joyfully threw his floppy straw hat into the water and hopped high in the air, landing right in front of them. When he spoke, his voice was sunshine on the delta. "My name is Lungwort, boy, that you already heard. Captain Lungwort Girardeau Broussard. Born on the lovely waters, raised between the banks! Tonight we will take to the water with my love and my life\--and by dawn, I swear to you, we shall render you to the Gate!"

The air continued to pulse with a strange flow of energy. The cicadas all stopped. True silence pressed around them again, and the moon glowed brighter than before. Simon glanced around him. "How?"

"How?" The frog was shouting now. "How? Boy, they do not call me Captain for nothing!" He hopped onto Simon's shoulder and let out a loud, echoing croak.

The water exploded in front of them, a huge shower of water rupturing into the air. Simon jerked and threw his hands to his face in reflex, and when he had rubbed the water out of eyes, before him was a grand riverboat, large and completely aglow in orange lights. It was exactly like the ones he had read about in school. Twin smokestacks rose into the air with a quiet, towering majesty all their own, and magnificent windows flooded every last plank and nail of the antique vessel in light. At the rear a huge red waterwheel spun lazily, and two large boarding ramps at the front were folded up towards the sky. A true bear of a man appeared on the uppermost level of the boat. He had fierce, fiery eyes and a snow-white beard, cleanly trimmed. "Orders, Captain?" he bellowed down to them. Lungwort gave a nod, and then the bearish man was leaning over the railing and shouting to a swell of men who had all appeared suddenly from every door and window, spilling out onto the decks of the ship. More men appeared and began lowering the boarding ramps straight down into the water. The very edge of the ramps came down exactly on a log floating just offshore. Lungwort hopped excitedly, skipping over the plank entirely, landing squarely on the deck railing. "Ready the boilers!" He shouted. "Make the way for a quick departure!" The roof captain on the upper level nodded and disappeared. Lungwort spun around and faced Nathan and Simon, his face beaming with warmth and joy. "Greetings my friends, great and wonderful greetings! Come aboard!" More crew hustled along the deck, attending to their duties while the roof captain continued to bark orders. "I am pleased to grant you board and passage on my fine and lovely ship," Lungwort said, his little eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "My beauty, my love, The Idlewild. She be the Belle of the River, and she and my crew shall take you safely on your way. Welcome, welcome now! Welcome and hurry!" Lungwort hopped away onto the deck, vanishing in a flurry of crew, leaving Simon momentarily mystified on the shore next to Nathan.

Nathan wasted no time hurrying out onto a log and hopping onto the boarding ramp. Simon stumbled on the log, raising alarmed cries from the men not to touch the water. Lungwort continued to hop about the strange crew, croaking more orders as others scurried to ready the ship. As they boarded Simon noticed all their clothing was from all different times and places\--here a man in colonial clothing, there a man in tattered rags with a simple straw hat. As Nathan and Simon followed Lungwort to the bridge a man in a modern gray suit hurried by, great coils of rope slung over his shoulder. The man's eyes were wild with joy and he wore a smile to match.

Lungwort croaked more orders to the crew. "Get her ready!" he bellowed. "Get that coal in the fire!" He looked to the roof captain. "Manage the turbines, Mr. Winters, and make ready for the muddy waters of the Gate! We leave at once! Our next stop, St. Louis!"
CHAPTER SIX

THE GATE

Simon and Nathan sat with the boat's crew at a gigantic wooden table in a large dining room. Oil lamps lit the big room in a dim, yellow light, and all along the walls were ominous windows opening up into the night, revealing an occasional glimpse of the stars, clouds, and, every so often, the moon.

It was well past midnight, but the crew showed no signs of weariness. Several of them spoke excitedly to one another, laughing and telling stories at a fevered pace. Several of them gathered around one man, an older gentlemen with wild white hair, who spoke bombastically from the far end of the table. His voice carried over all the others until Simon could clearly hear him from the other side of the room. The man spoke of life along the river, transitioning seamlessly into days of old, and then bouncing just as quickly to tales of all the animals he had known, great and small, and the hidden lives of each. Yet more members of the crew hurried in and out of the dining hall, coming and going from their work through one of the many doors, never fully stopping, but still finding moments to exchange greetings with one another, and always to steal a glance at Simon.

At the foot of the table was a young boy, maybe five years younger than Simon, wearing coveralls and a mud-splattered white shirt. An entire field of freckles dotted his chubby face and a large straw hat covered a head full of dirty blond hair. He listened to the older gentlemen with the white hair, dressed all in white and sporting a very large, very bushy gray mustache. The old man waved his arms wildly in the air while he talked, pausing only to laugh and cajole the men seated around him, then to pull a small hunk of bread out of his pocket which he split between himself and the freckled boy.

Simon had not had time to even think about eating, but the site of the bread made his stomach ache. He was disappointed then that the grand wooden table was completely barren of anything to eat, but a passing crew member in a faded military uniform reassured him the table was never empty for long.

Most of the crew eyed Simon while Nathan spoke with the roof captain, the man Lungwort had called Mr. Winters. As Simon sat at the table, trying to avoid eye contact with the crew, his mind wandered back over the events of the past day\--from the dream, to the dog attack, to the whole episode at the Paw with Mr. Boeman. Simon's stomach knotted at the memory. How had Boeman frozen Sam at the diner? It was like he simply shut Sam off, every last muscle, and even though Simon now knew that magic was real, it didn't stop the idea from terrifying him.

One crew member snored soundly next to Simon. It was the man he had seen earlier in the gray suit, but now his head laid on the still-bare table. Simon did not wish to disturb him\--he looked very tired when he wasn't manic\--so Simon continued to watch the crew bustling through the dining room. Every now and again the room erupted with the clanging of pots and pans from behind the galley door, each time accompanied by much shouting.

Nathan leaned over and spoke quietly to Simon. "You hanging in there?" After a nod he continued. "We shouldn't be too long\--maybe a few hours, dawn at most, then we'll have you somewhere safe."

A large crash of pots coming from the galley stopped all the conversation in the dining room, prompting Mr. Winters to excuse himself from the table. Simon looked with the rest of the crew, but a moment later they all fell back into their conversations without a second thought.

"What's going on in there?" Simon whispered to the man in the gray suit, who had lifted his head

"Meal might be ready, sounds like," he said, before dropping his head back on the table with a dense thud. "Wake me when it's time." A moment later he was snoring again, his chest lifting and falling in short, quick breaths.

"We won't wait for Cookie to finish the meal," Nathan said, settling down next to Simon and fishing in his pocket. He pulled out the brown paper bag from the firehouse and handed it to Simon. "Here. Should hold you over for now."

Simon peered in the bag, finding a small green apple and a sandwich inside. Grateful, he re-wrapped the apple and placed it on the table and began on the sandwich quietly. "Thanks," he said. The food did not help the nervousness in his stomach. Between bites he debated the best way to ask what was rattling around in his head. Finally he took a deep breath and swallowed. "What's in St. Louis?" He tried his hardest to sound casual, like it was no big deal, but he knew he sounded scared.

"The Gate," Nathan said. "We'll be able to make it the rest of the way by ourselves from there. It's too risky to travel by land." He looked out one of the large windows, staring into the night for a moment. "Best for us to travel by water. Not entirely safe, but safer."

Simon finished the sandwich. "So why can't Boeman follow us by water?"

Chatter in the room choked and died off at the mention of Boeman. All eyes were definitely on Simon this time.

"What?" Simon looked from face to startled face. "Can Boeman\--"

A startled cry rose from the older gentlemen at the end of the table. "Wait my boy, wait! Have you got no sense rolling around in that dull head? That name is a blight!" The old man closed his eyes and rolled his head. "Oh, oh this boy will be the end of this crew and this ship! Letting every loose thought drop out of his head like a squirrel losing his acorns!"

"Quiet, Hannibal," said Mr. Winters, returning from the galley. He voice was deep and quiet. "Boy don't know 'bout the boogeyman. He thinks it's just a bedtime tale, so cut him some slack." Hannibal started to speak again, but Mr. Winters locked him down with a piercing glare, and the room fell silent again.

"I'm sorry," Simon said, almost a whisper. "I didn't know\--"

"There is nothing to worry about," said Mr. Winters. "Just be mindful of names while on board The Idlewild."

"I don't follow," Simon said. "It's just a name."

"Your name is you, my boy!" shouted Hannibal. "You bandy it about like that and things won't stay quiet for you for long! You speak a curse like you did and you call out to it, call out to that curse, and you bring it here. You bring it down on us all!" The old man raised his arms, his great white mustache fluttering violently while he spoke. "We can't have a curse on board! A curse like that is a blight to end all other blights! A wickedness to rattle the very gates of Thule!" He leveled his darkening eyes on Simon. "Even now, I feel if, it follows us, always behind us, ever waiting. You, boy, may have given it just the opening it needed, the opportunity to strike!" The crew began to murmur to one another worriedly, casting several looks between themselves and Simon.

"Ridiculous!" Mr. Winters slammed a fist on the table. "Superstitious nonsense," he said. "Now be quiet," he said to Hannibal, who fumed silently. The crew continued to whisper to one another. "All of you," Mr. Winters said, his voice a growl. The crew settled down again almost instantly.

"Never a dull moment," Nathan whispered to Simon. "The river types fancy their stories. Never mind Mr. Mustache up there," he said, smiling. A moment later he added, "But all the same, probably best not to say Mr. B's name around here, okay?"

Simon nodded. "I didn't mean to\--"

"You didn't know," said Mr. Winters over Nathan's shoulder. "I think food's ready," he said, as another, louder clang of pots and falling pans erupted from the kitchen. "Cookie!" shouted Mr. Winters. "Cookie! Are you done yet?"

A tinny, hollow voice floated into the dining room from the kitchen. "You don't rush art!"

Mr. Winters rolled his eyes. "Art is for the museums! Not the boiler deck!" He made for the galley door. "Cookie!"

"All right, all right," came the voice from behind the door. "Honestly, how many lives have I saved, how many of you even know how to work a stove." Simon looked up when the kitchen door swung open, expecting to see a man, short or tall, thin or fat, whatever it was, a part of him figured the voice had to belong to a man, of all things, but to his surprise, it did not.

A large, fat ghost drifted through the galley door into the dining room. He held a large bowl and a spoon, and while Simon could see partially through the ghost, the bowl and spoon appeared solid, and a foul, putrid smell wafted it across the room. Simon continued to stare as the ghost made his way to the end of the table, where it looked frustratedly at the freckle-face boy.

"Packet! You forgot to set the table!" The small freckled boy jumped up from his seat and scurried into the galley, leaving the ghost drifting in place a few inches off the floor. "Always forgettin' the table settings," he said to Mr. Winters. "Earl, I tell ya, one of these days that grandson of yours." But the ghost did not finish his thought. Instead, his eyes fell on Simon and Nathan. Its translucent jaw hung open.

"Guests?" the ghost said, surprised. Then more irritated, "We have guests?" The ghost jammed the big wooden spoon in the bowl, already heading back towards the galley door. "Oh, figures," he mumbled quiet loudly, "figures nobody tells the cook, nothing ever makes it back to the kitchen, these animals think these meals just plan themselves..."

"Cookie..." Mr. Winters started. "Don't start with us now about guests, and you get my grandson out of that galley of yours right now. I don't need him getting into any more trouble..." Another clang, the loudest one yet, erupted from behind the kitchen door, accompanied by an unearthly howl that froze Simon's bones. Mr. Winters sprang to his feet. "What do you have in there!" he shouted, heading for the galley door, barreling straight through Cookie and bursting unceremoniously into the galley.

The ghost flipped around in the air and began gliding back to the kitchen, completely ignoring Mr. Winters. "Guests!" he shouted. "Of all nights! I have to change the whole menu now. Packet!" he shouted as he entered the kitchen. "Packet! Put the bowls back and find my large platters! Guests! Of all nights!"

The kitchen door drifted shut behind the ghost. Simon stared for a long time while the crew eventually fell back into their murmurings. Without Packet to talk to, the old man with the white mustache stood and was walking his way over to Simon. He stood there, for several moments, fiddling with an old tobacco pipe before finally speaking. "I'm sorry, my boy," he said. "Not everyone speaks of the river same as I do." He pocketed the pipe and straightened his jacket. "There, I am completely forgetting my manners!" He stretched out his hand. "Forgive me, my boy. I am Hannibal Hewn. Born by the river."

Simon looked over at Nathan, who gave a small nod, and Simon stood and tentatively shook the old man's hand. Despite his age Hannibal was surprisingly strong, and he gripped Simon's hand with confidence and determination.

"Simon Warner..." Hannibal said, his mustache twitched wildly when he spoke.

"How did you know my name?" Simon withdrew his hand, never taking his eyes off the man.

Hannibal chuckled. "Why, counting yourself an acquaintance with the captain is not without its array of privileges, my young friend! Come, tell me, what business have you at The Gate?" The old man's eyes glimmered like two tiny twin moons, but his question rekindled the knots in Simon's stomach.

"We, uh..." Simon looked to Nathan, who stood up from the table.

"Nathan Tamerlane," he said, stretching out his hand. As Nathan did this, Simon caught sight of a small silver ring on Nathan's hand. The ring bore the same leaf symbol as Nathan's grimoire, but the symbol was under what appeared to be a large green gem, possibly an emerald.

Hannibal must have seen the ring too, for he eyed Nathan's hand a moment before shaking it. "Ah, yes," he said, his eyes still on the ring. "Yes, yes of course! Ha! A good man for it!" he said quickly, releasing Nathan's hand and pulling out his pipe again. "Good man, yes, a Tamerlane, I see." His words trailed off suddenly as he became forcibly interested in his pipe.

Lungwort appeared at the head of the table, standing on a tall stool. "The river be with us tonight!" he announced to the room, almost in a singsong voice. "She wants to see us make good way to Zebulon's Dare!" Every crew member in the room cheered at this news, even the sleeping man next to Simon let out a small whoop between snores. Mr. Winters appeared again, coming this time from the stairs leading up to the bridge. A deckhand followed behind him, his arms overloaded with papers and rolls of yellowed maps. Winters spoke quietly to Lungwort, who motioned for them to spread out the aging yellow rolls on the table. Together they spread out the maps and Lungwort began studying them furiously, hopping across them furiously, even producing a small pair of spectacles when he leaned in close to read.

Simon had not recognized the name. "Zebulon's Dare? Is that named for someone?"

Hannibal let out a hearty laugh. "Hardly, my boy!" he chuckled. "It's a name, yes, a nickname of sorts for the Gate. A very special place, right off the river."

"Special?" Simon asked. "Special how?"

Hannibal smiled, a mad twinkle in his eye. "Oh, my boy, I'm sure you'll see just why before breakfast." He turned to Nathan. "Taking the boy in for questioning, no doubt?"

"Hardly that," Nathan said. "He has an appointment with the leadership. I am escorting him." Nathan's words were sharp like glass. "Nothing more."

Hannibal eyed Nathan for a moment, then, clutching his pipe in his mouth, said, "I see. Officials. Yes, well, then. Let me leave you to your peace. Farewell, Simon." Then, over his shoulder, Hannibal added, "You too, Mr. Tamerlane."

"What was that about?" Simon asked when they were alone. "Who are we seeing?"

"No one," Nathan said, his voice low. "At least, not yet. Not that I know of. Here, follow me."

They made their way to head of the table, where Lungwort still hopped excitedly across the maps. He was studying one particularly ancient-looking yellowed chart with great interest.

"Pardon us, Captain," Nathan said. "Might there be a place where we could rest before we reach the Dare?"

Lungwort's hugely magnified eyes focused on them and blinked. Simon swore the frog was frowning. "Yes, your rooms, yes." He turned back to his maps. "The boy will be in our finest stateroom."

"Stateroom?" Simon felt uneasy by this. "I don't need anything special."

"They're just rooms," Nathan said. "Named after states, that's all. Nothing fancy."

"You'll be in Transylvania," Lungwort said. "Nathan, we were going to put you in Absaroka, but the room took on water damage. You can thank Madam Mamzelle for that. We put you a cot in the boiler room. It'll have to do." Lungwort hopped off his stool. "I need to see to something up in the pilothouse. Please excuse me," he said, hopping out a window.

"I don't think I need a room," Simon said. "Not really. I can just stay here in the dining room."

"Nonsense." Nathan snatched the apple from the table and pocketed it. "Let's find our beds. I can find my own way, but let's get you set up in your room." He headed towards one of the many windowed doors where light was eagerly spilling out into the inky blackness outside. "I think it's right out here and to the left. Shouldn't be too hard to find. Only about a hundred places it could be."

The Transylvania room was absolutely nothing like Simon imagined. Instead of the cold stone floor, there was thick green carpet, and instead coffins and cobwebs on the walls, there was clean white paint, albeit a little yellowish in spots, and a few old paintings of what looked like a colonial settlement. More of the same large, windowed doors on the far side of the room looked out into the night. All in all, it was more motel room than dungeon, and after an hour of sitting on the bed and staring out the windows, the name made no more sense than when he had first opened the door.

A large bed filled the room, and the day's events began to lay heavily on his shoulders. Getting some sleep would ease his burden, help him recharge for when they reached the Gate, or Zebulon's Dare, whatever they called it. Everything seemed to have too many names. He collapsed onto the bed, asleep before his head hit the pillow, and for the first time since the drowning, he had no nightmares.

* * *

Simon would never know how long he slept or if someone had come knocking right as his head hit the pillow. Whatever the case, he was completely exhausted as he answered the door. Sleep pushed hard against his eyes. "Yeah?"

Nathan thundered into the room and to the windowed doors. He locked them with a loud click.

"We're here," he said. "Grab your bag. Anything you unpacked. Grab all of it." He spun around. "Do you still have the fork I packed you?"

"Huh?" was all Simon could manage. "Yeah, I should."

"Have it out," Nathan said. "Be ready. It's almost dawn."

Outside the sky had already begun to lighten. The first fiery blossoms of red and gold were beginning to bloom over the trees far off on the horizon, and just across the river the faint outline of buildings were just barely visible. Further up the river a large bridge caught the first rays of sunlight, its metal supports starting to shimmer bright yellow and orange as dawn crept over St. Louis.

They made their way around to the front of the boat, their feet stomping down hard on the deck as Nathan suddenly broke into a run. Simon scrambled to keep up.

"Don't stop!" Nathan shouted over his shoulder. "Get out the silver!"

"The what?" Simon's side was already starting to hurt. He never had been a runner, and the boat really was a lot longer than he would have figured.

"The fork, Simon! The fork! Get it out!" Nathan glanced back over his shoulder. "Simon hit the deck!"

Simon's back rippled with ice as a heavy weight took him down from behind. Lifting his head he saw him, standing on the deck not ten feet from him, a large beast with pitch black eyes and mangy, wild fur.

Streaker.

Nathan mumbled a curse and spun around, but Streaker ignored him, his full attention on Simon. The dog did not hesitate, lunging forward, snapping its jaws viciously. Simon fell back and covered his head.

The deck of the boat shimmered for an instant, a brilliant flash of gold and red, there and gone in a moment's breath. Simon didn't have time to ponder it, for the hound suddenly bellowed, a harsh, guttural cry that made Simon's bones ache. After a moment he lifted his head to see the dog dizzily shaking its head, small puffs of smoke and steam rolling off his fur. The smell of burning fur and sulphur filled the air.

Nathan stood behind the dog, his bag of salts clenched in his outstretched hand. "Hey. Hellhound." He rattled the bag of salts. "Get."

Streaker's fur was sizzling, exposing cracked skin in places. It snarled at Nathan, wild, angry teeth flashing in the dawn as Nathan hurled a large wave of salt through the air. The salt exploded against the hound, tiny silver sparks erupting like firecrackers all over its body. The air was rotten now with the smell of singed fur, and Streaker fell back as larger puffs of oily black smoke rolled off his back.

"Raise your hand," spoke the Other Voice in Simon's head, and he obeyed. If he could focus, maybe he could repeat the flash of light from his hand yesterday. All he needed to do was point his hand and concentrate. He could get it right this time. "Use your gift."

"Ex luce..." he started.

"Don't Simon!" Nathan yelled. "Don't! Off the boat! Now!"

"I can help!" Simon focused on Streaker. Ex luce vita. He had the motto right now. Now he could really help, do it right. The hairs on his neck began to tingle, and goosebumps swept over his arm. He could almost do it. It had worked yesterday, even when he had it wrong. It would work now. "Vita," the Other Voice in his head spoke. "Ex vita..."

"Simon!" Nathan screamed. "STOP!"

Streaker slowly turned towards Simon, his oily black eyes burning with anger. Growling, the dog braced its shoulders to attack. Simon steadied his hand, pointed it at the dog.

Nathan bolted towards Simon, completely ignoring the hound. "You don't know what you're doing!"

Simon's head swam, his feet uneasy under him. "I got this," he said. "I stopped him yesterday, I know I can do this!" he shouted. The tingling in his hand gave way to burning. Streaker held his spot, shoulders braced, his eyes locked on Simon. Why wasn't he attacking? Why did he just stand there, its fur singed and skin burned, and didn't go for him now? What was it waiting for?

The boat rocked violently under them. Nathan braced himself and shouted, "We don't have time! Get off while you can!" He flicked his hand at Simon\--it was like a slap of cold water across his face, then Nathan was scooping him right off the deck of the boat and running towards the front of the ship. The crew was hurriedly dropping the ramps onto the shore as they approached. Lungwort was sitting on the guardrail too, his tiny eyes focused on them as they hurried ashore.

"Thank you," Nathan said to the crew, breathing heavily as he set Simon down on the shore. The burning sensation in Simon's hand had all but faded.

Lungwort gave Nathan a piercing glare. "The leaves be with you," he finally said. "Best you were off the boat by dawn, ramps and all, before the sun touch us." He tossed a small wrapped package to Simon. "From Cookie," he said.

Simon fingered the folds of the cloth wrapped around the package. Given the smell of the meal last night, there was no way of knowing what was under there. "What is it?" Simon asked tentatively.

"No time." Nathan was already putting the boat behind them. The morning dew clung to the grass under their feet, leaving a sweet smell lingering in the air. Dawn touched the ground around them.

Simon tucked the package in his backpack and turned to shout goodbye to Lungwort and the crew, but when he looked behind him the boat had vanished\--only a few leaves and twigs floated on the surface where the great ship had been.

Nathan was checking his grimoire again. "We still have to hurry," he said. "There's not much time."

"Where now?" Simon zipped his backpack. "We're in St. Louis? Are we catching a plane?"

"Hardly." Nathan pointed high in the air behind Simon. "Look up."

The St. Louis Arch stretched high into the sky behind them, its metal skin gleaming a brilliant, blinding cascade of oranges and yellows as the sun swept fully over the horizon.

"The Gate," Nathan said, somewhat proudly.

"The St. Louis Arch?" Simon shielded his eyes against the glare of the metal.

"Well, yes and no," Nathan said. "The Gate was here first, for a few hundred years at least. Zebulon Muske put it together right after the Witch Folk reached the river. He dared to put it right by the river."

"What's wrong with that?"

"This water's dangerous," Nathan said. "It was risky, but Zeb did it all the same\--good energy under here, once you get past the bad stuff. Arch came later. Odd how people always have a way of knowing where important things ought to go. Anyway, handy for us." He checked his grimoire again, nodded. "Cleaning crew will be here soon. You have the fork?"

"Yeah," Simon said, fishing the fork out of his backpack. "What is the fork even for, anyway? I don't get it."

"Payment," Nathan said. "Nothing's ever free. Wouldn't normally need this for you, but under the circumstances, we have to." He took the fork from Simon. "Here, follow me." Nathan led Simon directly under the Arch. Looking over his shoulder, Simon saw Streaker coming out of the water.

Nathan looked back too and said, "Don't worry about him now. He can't follow where we're going. Can't even get close to us while we're near on top of the sigil that powers the Gate. Freemancer power is strong here."

Streaker rose out of the water but did not advance. He only stood watching from the shore, his black gaze never wavering from them.

Nathan turned his back on Streaker and began murmuring, walking in a tight circle right on the grass under the center of the Arch. The air vibrated around them, and the buildings in the distance blurred into fuzzy shapes of orange and blue and gray.

The ground beneath their feet hummed, then silvery-blue lines appeared and began to spread across the grass. The lines interconnected in a series of geometric shapes, mostly triangles and squares, all surrounded by one silvery-blue circle which glowed bright in the morning light. The sigil.

Silvery fog crept in from the river. It swam around the circle, slowly building speed as it surrounded the two of them. The air was electric, the buzzing of ten thousand bees, the rush of a roller coaster. The mist suddenly shimmered with blue lighting, sprouting long, misty tendrils that rose and wove delicately around the sigil on the ground, twisting themselves into a shimmering lacework, knots and braids entwining around each other as it circled around them.

Nathan finished chanting. His eyes glowed the same faint silvery blue as the sigil. The mist lacework drew in tightly, compacting itself into a circle on the ground, then it became blindingly bright, and the circle sprang high into the air, sending goosebumps tearing over Simon. A small, silver archway stood in front of them, just tall enough for someone to walk through. The surface of the Gate rippled like glossy water, and Simon shuddered to look at it. Water.

"It's okay to close your eyes," Nathan said. "It doesn't hurt, but it can be a little disorienting." He tucked his grimoire back inside his coat. "I'll be right behind you. Make sure to hold the fork tightly, until you're through to the other side."

Simon stepped in front of the silver portal. Would it feel like being underwater? If so, forget it. Where did it even go\--straight to Sam? To help, or to Boeman?

Nathan placed his hands on Simon's shoulders. "I'll see about getting the fork refunded."

Unease crept into Simon's stomach. He closed his eyes and took a breath, the smell of the dew flowing deep into his chest. He would hold his breath when he stepped through\--hopefully the journey wouldn't last long.

Nathan stepped away.

Simon gripped his backpack hard and took a deep breath.

For Sam, he thought to himself.

Another deep breath, then he stepped through the Gate.
Act Two

The Thief and The Bookworm

Magic concerns itself with the fundamental forces of the Universe.

This is where the trouble starts.

––Nicodemus Limnic, An Honest History of the Wizard's Craft, Introduction
CHAPTER SEVEN

SILVERWOOD HALL

Trees.

Everywhere around him, tall trees, old trees, young trees, broken trees. Early morning fog slipped lazily around the tall oaks that surrounded him and the hill behind him. The air was sweet with the smell of a recent rain. Sunlight broke through the branches overhead, coating the forest floor in bright yellows and oranges. Dawn had already been here for some time, where back at the riverfront it was only just arriving. Realization hit Simon. He was very far from where he had been just a moment ago.

The Gate had been a rush of sensation. The ground under his feet had fallen away for an instant, and he had jerked when it happened, expecting to plummet. A blur of colors rushed past his eyes, and then his feet had crunched down on the forest floor a moment later, the morning air stinging his face. It had all come and gone in a heartbeat, yet it left him shaken. The rush of the movement faded, and his bearings slowly limped back to him. He recognized that he was in a forest. Beyond that, nothing else.

The noises of the forest crept in around him, a few insects buzzed quietly and the birds overhead occasionally chirped. Without knowing why, the hairs on the back of his neck tingled, and all the air around him seemed to hum with some unspoken quality.

"I would move if I were you," said a rough voice behind him. Simon froze. He did not recognize the voice, but it was deeper and rougher than Nathan's. He closed his eyes, and the buzzing in the air died off. He tried to count to ten. Maybe it had been his imagination. Maybe it was Nathan, or nobody at all, just his mind playing tricks on him. "No use pretending you're not there," said the rough voice, this time off to Simon's left. "The oaks know you're here, so save your jabberings. It'll do you no good where you're standing."

A large man dressed in animal skins and gripping a very large wooden staff stepped into Simon's view. His head was draped in a large-brimmed hat, big enough for the brim to droop down until it almost covered his gray eyes, which thundered like tiny storm clouds. A long, green feather hung lazily from the brim. "In case you hadn't noticed, there's a bonding-sigil under your feet," he said. Simon glanced down. He stood on a rough stone platform with strange lines and letters carved into it. The man smiled broadly. "In case you're wondering just how that seal happened be right under where you're standing, that's because we don't do well to suffer trespassers near our home."

The man swept in close to Simon. Simon wished he could step back through the gateway, but it had long vanished. Still, he stepped backwards, off the stone platform and into the leaves, his feet crunching as he backed away.

The man continued towards him, his hand outstretched as if to beckon Simon closer. Simon continued to back away until he bumped up against something. Something large. He reached around blindly to feel for an opening, but his fingers grabbed thick, soft fur.

"Keep him right there, Grisly. Sterling will want to know about this one." Simon looked over his shoulder. A very large and very gray bear laid on the ground behind him, its big, questioning eyes focused on Simon.

Simon struggled against the urge to run. Every bone in his body screamed to break into a sprint, to try to put as much distance between him and the bear and the strange man he took for its master, but fear held him in place. There was no outrunning a beast this large, even though at the moment it looked content to remain lying on its sunny spot among the trees.

The man was at arm's length from Simon when a small pop rippled through the air. Simon felt like his heart might burst at the sight of Nathan appearing a few yards behind the strange man, who spun on his heal at the noise.

"Another trespasser, eh?" The man held his staff in front of him. "We won't be having any o' these today."

Nathan locked eyes with the man, then cocked his head. "Cynric," Nathan said, sounding beleaguered. "Not now, okay? Not ever. Ever. Got it?"

An excited noise escaped the man's lips. "Nathan?" Then the man was dashing towards him, momentarily forgetting Simon. Simon distanced himself from the gray bear, who rolled onto its back and promptly fell asleep.

The strange man continued to pat down Nathan, running his hands over Nathan's face and shoulders. "Dogs and devils, Nathan. It really is you! It really is." The mountain man seized Nathan in another hug, lifting him clear off the ground.

"It's me," Nathan said, finally stepping back from the man. "Honestly, Cynric, don't you ever check the bulletin? I sent word." Nathan crossed over the stone platform to Simon. "You didn't let Grisly frighten him too much, did you?"

Cynric shook his head. "How long has it been? Five years? Five years gone, and you just pop back in, a leaf on the wind?"

"I said I sent word." A troubled look spread across Nathan's face, followed by realization. "Archmancer Sterling, well that figures," he said, petting the large gray bear, who let out a large huff and stayed asleep. "Don't worry, Simon, Grisly is all grumble and no growl. She'd sooner sleep than chase after you."

"Is this one yours?" Cynric rooted Simon with a piercing glare. "Have you brought home another makeshift apprentice?"

"Apprentice?" Simon felt a small surge of curiosity at the idea. "You have apprentices?"

"Where did you think the Freemancers come from?" Cynric kept his eyes fixed on Simon. "Think they just pop up out of the earth, all trained and proven?" He broke his stare to look at Nathan. "Honestly, Nathan, I hope you know what you're doing, bringing in another bit of odd stock like this."

"He's not my apprentice," Nathan said sternly. "He's my guest."

Cynric's eyes widened, his large face folding slightly into a smile. "A...guest? Well, then, I assume you've sought all the proper permissions from the council?"

"All in the notice," Nathan said, smiling and leading Cynric away from Simon. The two spoke in hushed tones for a moment, each of them glancing back at Simon off and on. Nathan then lead Cynric back, grabbing his oak staff from him. He turned to face Simon head on. "Simon Warner..." he said, his tone formal and stately.

"You even remember it all?" Cynric leaned against Grisly, who snoozed softly in the morning light.

"I remember enough," Nathan replied, then added, "don't break my chain of thought." He focused his eyes on Simon, and the hairs on the back of his neck tingled again. "Simon Warner, son of our brother, son of our sister, and one of the Folk..." Son of our brother. Had Simon's father been here? Something screeched loudly behind Simon, startling him.

Nathan held out his hand to stop Simon from turning around. "Eyes on me," he whispered. Simon barely resisted the urge to look behind him, and Nathan continued. "I welcome you now, now and forever, to the realm of your people and the place of your home."

"Home," snickered the Other Voice in Simon's head.

The forest groaned around Simon. He kept his eyes on the ground in front of him and waited for Nathan to continue.

"You forgot the swearing of allegiance," Cynric said.

Nathan smiled. "Close enough," Nathan said. "Let's go Simon. We're almost there."

"Where?"

"Where we're going," Nathan said, tossing the staff back to Cynric and walking briskly past Simon. "Follow me."

"There isn't anything that way\--" Simon's words were cut short. Where a thick line of trees had stood, a new path had appeared, twisting and writhing further down the hill, leading deeper into the forest. Nathan was already walking down the path, about to follow the curving path down around a ridge and out of sight.

"Better keep up," Nathan called to Simon before disappearing around the large mossy rock formation that jutted out of the forest floor. "Unless you want to stand guard and wait for the boogeymen with Cynric some more."

The gentle huffing of the sleeping bear was all the motivation Simon needed. He made his way down the path, eager to keep sight of Nathan. He caught up quickly, and together they hiked along the path. As they moved along, something odd began to nag at Simon. The forest floor was gradually succumbing to a worn stone path. It was overgrown with moss and covered with leaves, but it was there nonetheless. The sky overhead had lost its bright yellow sheen, and clouds began to stretch into long, colorless sheets, washing out the sky to a dull, endless gray. Where birds had sung earlier, the air now was filled with a distant, quiet humming.

They continued deep into the forest. Nathan gripped his grimoire always, never taking his eyes off the path ahead. The moss and leaves receded, eventually revealing the stone path completely. Up ahead, the path curved, and they found themselves crossing a large stone bridge over an deep, silvery blue creek. The path beyond cut deep into a large rock bluff, revealing steep stone stairs carved straight into the bluff.

"Where are we going?" Simon asked as he climbed over a large dead tree that had fallen across the foot of the stairs.

Nathan paused a few steps ahead of Simon. "We have folk here," he said. "People like us, people who should be able to help us locate Sam and rescue him."

Simon started up the stairs, but Nathan held out his hand to block him. "Are they hiding?"

"They live here," he said. "This is their home." Then, after an odd pause, he added, "All our home, really."

"Our home?" Simon asked. This was his chance. "Did my parents live here?"

A pained look crossed Nathan's face. Finally he said, "This was your parents' home. There is Warner land out in the woods. That makes it your home too. You look back far enough, almost every one of the Witch Folk leads back to here," he said, his fingers unconsciously finding his way to the small silver ring on his right hand. "Some more than others."

"Our home," Simon said to himself. The idea was so strange. He had never thought of anywhere other than the Paw as his home, really. "Why didn't Sam tell me any of this?"

"To protect you," Nathan said. "He wanted better for you, he didn't want\--" Nathan suddenly stopped, looking down at the carved steps with a forced interest.

"Didn't want what?"

"Simon..." He put his hands on Simon's shoulders. "Not now. Soon, I promise, but not right now. You need to understand where we're going."

Frustration breathed inside Simon. His anger was not going to die off any time soon. His inner voice had suddenly started screaming for answers, and Nathan wasn't willing to share what he knew. All these years, Sam had been lying to him, keeping him in the dark, keeping all of this from him. Magic. His past. His parents.

They were holding out on him.

Simon eyes dropped to the ground. "Why?" he said quietly. Angry tears welled up in his eyes, and he turned away, blinking furiously.

"Simon..." Nathan said quietly. "This wasn't to hurt you. We were looking out for you." He paused. "We all were."

Simon kept his eyes closed, drawing in breath after deep breath, clenching his fists until his knuckles ached. Finally his anger quieted down, replaced by a heavy sadness. His shoulders slumped. He turned back to Nathan but his eyes stayed fixed on the ground. "We, huh?" Simon said. "I guess you all must have thought I was really stupid not to figure out any of it, didn't you?"

"No," Nathan said solemnly. "Now, look, Simon. You'll get answers, I'll see to that, but for now we have to focus on the monsters ahead of us, so to speak. Monsters now, answers later, okay?"

Simon lifted his eyes to Nathan. "Who were they?" he whispered. "My parents."

Nathan took a deep breath. "Good. They were good people." Nathan started up the stairs. "We need to keep moving. C'mon."

Simon followed slowly, letting Nathan get further and further ahead of him as they made their way deeper into the bluff. Nathan must have sensed Simon needed space, because even when he looked back over his shoulder he didn't wait to let Simon catch up. When he reached the top of the steps he waited, his eyes alternating between his grimoire and watching the woods ahead.

"Be ready," he said as Simon reached the top of the stairs. The stairs had cut deep into the rock\--by the time Simon emerged from the stairs they were far from the cliff face. The air was colder up here, and Simon shuddered as he gazed over the forest stretching out below them, watching the woods swell and dip all the way out to the horizon, every last tree and branch bathed in sunlight. Large hills swooped and dipped throughout the forest, and other large rocky bluffs sprang up intermittently, sleeping stone giants in the early morning.

More intricate patterns and strange words emerged along the stone path. The patterns and words were so bizarre that Simon thought they may have been carved by a madman, and all the while neither of them spoke. Nathan paused one last time to check something in the grimoire, then motioned for Simon to follow.

"The hall of your fathers," Nathan said. "Welcome to Silverwood."

The stone path dropped suddenly down, revealing the edge of a small valley full of activity. Nestled deep on the west side of the valley was a marketplace full of stalls, and past the crowds of people and the numerous small buildings was an impossibly large mansion. It must have had hundreds of roofs, all running at different angles into each other, and several in different styles. It looked not like the work of one architect but of hundreds, maybe thousands, as decades of expansion had spread the manor out until it was almost an organic growth, no different from the forest around it. Numerous wings of the manor ran in every direction, and thousands upon thousands of windows shimmered in the morning light. Simon tried to count the floors but quickly lost track, as it was almost impossible to cleanly see where floors stopped or started. Around the valley was an impressively tall stone wall, topped with iron fences decorated with gargoyles, and seven watchtowers spaced evenly along the perimeter.

"Here we go." Nathan called for Simon to follow. "Don't let anybody sidetrack you. We need to head right up to the main house." Nathan walked to the main gate, giving only a brief nod to the guards standing there. Neither of them made a move to stop Nathan, so Simon fell into step behind him and walked briskly down into the valley.

The path to the large house was lined with oak trees, and as Simon followed his eyes scanned all the other activity around them. There were other buildings scattered across the valley, with people hurrying from one to the next without paying attention to anybody around them, let alone Simon or Nathan. No one seemed to notice they were there at all. Despite feeling like a complete stranger, no one stopped or questioned either of them as they moved along.

A small flash of magenta light danced in front of Simon, drawing his eyes off of Nathan and into a nearby clump of bushes. Simon glanced at Nathan, but he had not seen it. After a moment's hesitation, Simon broke off from following Nathan to investigate. They were, after all, in a safe place, weren't they? It would only take a moment to check out, then he'd be right back along with Nathan, off towards the large house, and no one the wiser. He followed the light to see where it had gone, but as he approached, the magenta light stopped bobbing, then disappeared entirely, making a small sound as it winked away. Simon stood dumbfounded for a moment when he sensed something coming at him from behind. An instant later Simon was falling, tumbling down into the bushes. He rolled over, expecting to see his assailant standing over him, but instead he saw only trees and the endlessly gray sky above him.

Simon scrambled to his feet. He looked for his backpack, but it had disappeared. The magenta spark winked in front of him again, bobbing in the air for a moment before zipping around a tree. Simon sprang to his feet, this time determined to catch it. Running around the tree he collided with someone, a taller boy with short, dirty blonde hair. Simon bounced off the other boy, landing on the ground with a loud whump, then small stretches of vine erupted from the ground and wound around his ankle and wrist.

"Watch where you're going," the other boy said. He was half a head taller than Simon and athletically built\--he had the bearing of someone used to working outside. He wore ratty jeans and a brown hooded sweatshirt that had definitely seen better days, black fingerless gloves, and around his neck was a silver necklace with two charms\--one the silver leaf of the Freemancers, the other a silver skull with red gemstones. The boy moved quickly, his blue eyes darting around, constantly counting the variables around him. He held Simon's backpack tightly, his fingerless gloves rubbing dirt and muck all over it. Looking at him, with his darting eyes and muddy-brown hair, Simon couldn't help thinking of a fox.

"That's mine," Simon said, reaching out. The other boy stepped back out of reach.

"Prove it," he said, eyeing Simon. "I have one just like it, and I lost it earlier. I found this one here on the ground, unattended. It was mislaid, you might say. How do I know it's yours and not mine?"

"My name's on the inside," Simon said. "Permanent marker. Simon."

The boy smiled coyly. "Well, maybe that's my name, too. Maybe this is my pack, and you saw my name on the inside, and now you're trying to take off with what's mine, eh?"

"Thought you said you found it on the ground." Simon tugged against the vines. When the other boy hesitated, Simon reached feebly for it again. "Give it back."

The other boy hesitated again, then finally tossed the backpack to Simon. "Here," he said. "Nothing good in it anyway."

The vines went limp, releasing Simon. "You went through it?"

"Thought it was mine."

Simon ripped open his backpack, taking quick inventory to make sure everything was still there. When he was satisfied nothing was missing, he looked up to see the other boy walking away, the small magenta light bobbing around his head.

"Hey!" Simon closed in on the boy, but the magenta light jabbed back at him, a mad streak of light zinging at his face repeatedly, like some devilish bug. Simon swatted madly at the tiny speck, unable to knock it away.

"Easy there, Maggey," the boy said over his shoulder. "Don't make him hurt himself."

The light swooped back to the boy, coming to rest on his shoulder, up close to his neck.

"Good girl," the boy said, not even glancing back.

Simon started to follow the boy again, ready to tackle him, but a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Simon! What did I say?" Nathan's voice boomed as he directed him back towards the main house. "Now is not the time to wander!"

"There was a weird light, a bug or something," Simon started. "It buzzed me, then this kid, I followed them..."

"Weird light, other kid, that's great," Nathan said, dragging Simon the rest of the way to the estate house. The front doors swung open as Nathan and Simon approached, and Nathan went inside, walking past another set of guards without speaking a word, and Simon followed. He found himself standing in the foyer\--it was large and luxurious, with checkered marble floors, hardwood walls, and broad staircases sweeping up the sides, and his stomach lurched when he recognized it.

It was the grand room from his alleyway vision.

"We knew you were coming," whispered the Other Voice.

"Simon?" Nathan tapped him on the shoulder. "Stay here. I won't be gone long." He climbed the stairs and disappeared into the second level.

Portraits hung on the wall between the swooping staircases, all of stern-looking men, each one of them flocked in the same dark green robes and wearing the same pointy, green hat.

"Ceremonial clothing," said a surprise voice to Simon's left, making him jump. The would-be thief from earlier lay across a large green chair, idly flipping through a book. "Greencloaks, y'know? Most of it's laughable, but you know how much they love to stand on their ceremony, don't you?"

Simon tightened his backpack on his shoulder. "Just who are you, anyway?" he asked, glancing for any signs of the magenta bug from earlier. "Why are you following me?"

"Maggey's outside," the boy said. "Her kind aren't allowed inside. Don't you know that? What's your master teaching you anyway?"

"My master?"

"Yeah, tall guy, brown hair, you came in with him?" The boy dropped the book on a table, rising to look Simon in the face. "So what's your deal anyway? How many years do you have left on your apprenticeship?"

"Left?" Simon was trying to keep his backpack out of reach without being obvious, but the boy didn't make any grabs for it.

The boy furrowed his brow. "Oh c'mon, you're not just starting, are you?" Surprise filled his face. "Are you really just an initiate?"

"Maybe," Simon said, looking off to the side. "Why should I tell you anything?"

"You sure don't know nothing," the boy said. "You're gawking at the portraits of the former Archmancers like you expect them to bite."

"It's my first time here," Simon finally said, his cheeks on fire. "I'm a guest."

"A guest," Luke said, amused. "Well, that explains a lot." The boy flashed an empty grin and held out his hand. "Luke."

Simon hesitated for a moment before taking his hand. "I'm Simon," he said, remembering Lungwort's warning about names. "It explains what?"

Luke's grin slowly disappeared from his face. "Why you look so lost." Luke snatched his book off the table. "Hate to say it, but it's not my day to drive the welcome wagon, so I guess I'll be seeing you around, Stray. Make yourself at home."

"Simon?" Nathan appeared behind the boys. "Well, now, is this the other boy?" He pinned Luke with his eyes. "You, son, I hear that you have got just the most fascinating little red light. Devil's ember, maybe?"

"Fairy," Luke said with a hollow grin. "My aunt gave her to me when I was a baby. Had her all my life."

"That so," Nathan said. "Where's she at now?"

"Sleeping," Luke said. "She's napping under a downspout in the gardens. She likes the smell of the butterfly bushes."

"Good," Nathan said, eyeing Luke. "Simon, they can see us now."

"Who?"

"Our council," Nathan said. "C'mon, through here," he said, ushering Simon through a door under the stairs. "You\--" He pointed at Luke. "There are frogs in the gardens. I'd hate to see one of them burping up sparks. You might want to check on your little friend."

Luke stared daggers at both of them until the door had clicked shut.

The door lead into a large unlit corridor, too big to fit under the stairs in the foyer. "Wait," Simon said. "Didn't you go upstairs?" He looked around for another set of steps but didn't see any.

"Same place, different door," was all Nathan said. "Doesn't matter, we'll be gone before we get here, I imagine. C'mon, we need to keep going."

Hanging oil lamps flickered to life all the way down the hallway's ceiling, tiny dots of light stretching until fading into the shadows ahead. The hallway was narrow, the walls stretched up into more darkness above, and iron chandeliers, covered in cobwebs, hung down out of the void. Once elegant carpet ran down the hall, but all the plushness and color had been crushed out of it from countless years of wear. Simon hesitated near the door, looking at Nathan.

"Old doesn't mean bad," Nathan said. "Just...old, and a little creepy." Nathan struck off down the dark corridor. "We shouldn't be here too long." Nathan moved quickly, never pausing or hesitating as he plunged headlong into the dark. Several warped, timeworn doors with ornate carvings ran the length of the hall, and Simon bolted past all of them as he kept pace with Nathan, who continued briskly down the endless hall.

Gradually a glow appeared in the distance, growing brighter as the minutes passed. The light flickered like a campfire on the walls of the corridor, the peeling wallpaper finally giving away to bare wood walls, the carpet surrendering to a smooth stone floor.

"This is the oldest part of Silverwood," Nathan whispered as they grew closer to the flickering orange light. "Much power here. The seat of authority for the Freemancers."

"Can they help us find Sam?" Simon asked, pulling a cobweb out of his hair.

"I hope so," Nathan said. "Sam was never good at making friends, plenty good at making enemies. Some of them wound up on the Council. Mostly junior officials, but still. I can't imagine most of them still being sore at him for taking off like he did."

"Taking off?" Simon stopped walking. "Were they mad at him for leaving?"

"Some more than others," Nathan said, his voice low. "Don't worry about that right now. Just stay by me. I mean that. Don't wander off chasing fairies this time."

"Okay," Simon said, embarrassed and more than a little angered by Nathan's remark. "Yeah, okay. I'm sorry about that."

"Just stay by me. "We should be fine," he said, smoothing his hair back with his hands. At the end of the hallway the floor gave way to a set of stone steps leading down to a large open archway. Two torches blazed on either side of the doorway, each partnered with a large man clad in dark green robes.

"How old is this?" Simon whispered.

"Old," Nathan said. "Very, very old."

The guards remained stone still when Nathan and Simon entered. They stepped into a large auditorium with a high ceiling held up by thick wooden rafters. The room was absolutely filled with people, most sitting around the edge of the room on long, large wooden benches. The floor stepped down three times about every ten feet, creating descending tiers. Large windows filled every wall, each looking out to the forest surrounding them. No other buildings could even be seen, let alone any other part of the house. Simon could not tell how high up they were, or where the room fit in the overall structure of the house. An expansive skylight overhead filled the room with a misty yellow light\--not quiet dawn, not quiet dusk. The room was undeniably old, and its season had clearly moved into full autumn.

Nathan and Simon sat on the lowest tier in the middle, near two older women wearing luminescent green robes, with two cats winding around them. Nathan spoke genially with them, provoking polite giggles and keeping their attention while Simon sat there, unsure of what was coming next. People milled around the large room, most of them talking in small groups, none taking any specific interest in either Simon or Nathan, except for one man standing in the corner with a large oak staff in his hand, and animal skin clothing. His gray eyes were fixed on them.

"Isn't that Cynric?" Simon grabbed at Nathan's arm, pulling him away from the two women and their conversation about which strain of monkshood was most effective.

"What?" Nathan followed where Simon pointed. "He can be here," he said.

"I thought he was supposed to be watching the Gate?"

"He is," Nathan answered. "He's here too. Simon, this room is Timeless. A special enchantment. We can be here and not-here at the same time. Cynric slipped away from his post to come here, when it's done he'll slip back to when he left, within a couple moments. Same with us."

"So it's always the same time here."

"It's no time here," Nathan said.

"Oh," Simon said. This made sense for a moment, then, in another instant, it didn't. "Huh?"

"Can I get everyone's attention!" said a tall, stocky man in dark green robes. He stood in the middle of the room, the wiry gray hairs on his head sweeping over his thin face like a wispy crown. "The meeting will be starting shortly!" His voice rang across the room, breaking harshly against the rafters of the room.

"Who's that?" Simon asked, pointing at the man. He was busily instructing a group of young people as they brought out a cluster of chairs, along with a podium and a large handmade table to flank each side. A red-haired girl around Simon's age followed behind them, quickly setting papers out at each seat.

One of the women in green robes leaned over before Nathan could answer. "That's Ellicott Sterling, our current Archmancer," she said. "Handles all Freemancer affairs."

"All areas," added the other woman. "Haven't had a Head like him in some time, have we sis?"

"Oh, no, not one like him in, I'd say, a hundred years." She reached down to scratch the ears of her cat, a hefty hunk of gray fur with bright blue eyes. "So much better than that horrid Nicodemus Limnic."

"Oh, what a scoundrel, that one."

"Absolutely."

"Couldn't be counted on." The other woman chittered excitedly in agreement. "Not since he...well, you know."

"Oh I know, never did keep my poor Vernon in work more than half the year."

"Speaking of, did you hear Cynric Dempster is being considered for the Council?"

"Oh no, I hadn't, after all these years?"

"Heard it from Goody Neb just this morning. We both thought he was too fond of the bottle to be considered." The second woman turned to Simon, who was completely lost by their conversation. "Never know which way the leaves will fall, do we?"

Nathan cleared his throat. "Simon," he said, "this is Claudia and Jeannette Verde." Both women eagerly shook his hand, leaning close to him and scanning his face intently.

"Reminds me of that Thomas Warner," Claudia said finally. "He hasn't been around in months, has he?"

"Years," Jeannette said. "Years at least."

Claudia's face brightened. "Is that your father, boy? Thomas? Where's he been hiding?"

"Err, yes," Simon said. "I mean, he's my father. He's, at, well..."

"Away," Nathan said. Leaning in close to the sisters, he added, "Folk business." The sisters exchanged an excited look, and seemingly satisfied with this, they leaned back to discuss between themselves.

"That should occupy them," Nathan whispered to Simon. The gray cat wound its way over to Simon, nuzzling his leg and purring, and he scratched its ears idly. Folk business, Nathan had said. Was it just a ruse, something he had spun for the sisters, or was there more to it than that? The question of what Nathan really knew still burned like fire in Simon's mind.

The gray cat pushed harder against Simon's legs, but wouldn't let Simon come close to picking him up. Instead the cat trotted back to the two sisters as Ellicott Sterling approached the podium in the center of the room.

"Let us begin," he said. "All who can, please rise for the Creed."

Simon stood with the rest of the assembly, each placing their hand over their heart, and then all at once their eyes began to glow\--brilliant blues, radiant reds, pairs of silver and gold surrounding him. They began to speak in unison, their combined voice resonating off the walls of the ancient room. Simon did not know what to say, so he listened as they recited their Creed:

I do not see magic with my eyes.

My eyes are weak, and magic hides in the Dark.

When gloom is the path set before me, Algul let me see with my mind.

I do not cast spells with my tongue.

My tongue is weak, and spellcraft hides in the Dark.

When gloom is the path set before me, Algul let me cast with my soul.

I do not curse with my magic.

My magic is weak, and curses hide in the Dark.

When gloom is the path set before me, Algul let me curse with my heart.

A soft rumbling pushed through the air around Simon, signaling the beginning of the meeting. The assembly sat down without another word while Sterling approached the podium.

"Let the minutes reflect that for today's meeting our regular archival duties will be entrusted to Ms. Penelope Nettle, daughter of Peter Nettle, Head Archivist." Sterling spoke quickly, indicating the red-haired girl from earlier, who now sat at the far end of the table to his right. "Ms. Nettle won't begin fulfilling her official duties for many years, but given the unexpected illness of Goody Neb this evening, this course of action proved the most prudent. Ms. Nettle," he said, looking in the girl's direction, "do not let us down." The girl nodded nervously. Sterling continued without noticing her. "Well, then, onward, everyone? I see we have a few leftover matters of business from our last meeting that we failed to discuss."

The red-haired girl scribbled furiously as the meeting wore on. Before long, she had a huge pile of papers in front of her, and the meeting showed no sign of ending. As the business of the day wore on Simon began to understand the need for a meeting room where time held utterly still. After the recounting of some old business involving an infestation of something called a krumpus, another man delivered a report on the rising risk of shipping exotic materials along their regular transport routes.

"Duly noted," the Archmancer noted as the man finished his report. "At this time, it is the recommendation of the Council," he indicated the people seated to his sides, "and the Archmancer, Ellicott Sterling, that the transportation of silver eagle feathers remain on their designated routes." The man started to protest, but Sterling quickly added, "BUT, should future incidents with the Old Dominion occur, we will assign members of the Council to explore the option of additional security. Does the membership agree?"

There was a general murmur from the crowd, while the other members of the board sat silently, nodding their heads slowly. The man walked slowly back to his seat while the red-haired girl hurried to record the official vote numbers.

"Why doesn't she just use magic to keep her notes?" Simon whispered to Nathan.

"She has to learn to do it herself first," Nathan said. "Magic is a tool, Simon, not a crutch. You get too used to using it for everything, you forget how to use common sense." He leaned in closer. "Many folks around here have forgotten that."

Simon watched the girl continue to record everything, from the update on the pack of goat-men moving through the forest to the final piece of new business concerning the finalized guest list for the Masquerade Ball to occur on Halloween. The pile of paper slowly grew in front of her until only see her fiery red locks peaked out over the top.

"I believe that concludes the agenda items concerning the Council," Sterling said eventually. "At this time the floor is open for discussion and opinions from the assembly. I believe there was a concern from Mr. Chapman regarding his apple orchard on the east side of the grounds..."

Nathan rose suddenly. "With all apologies to Jonathan," he said, indicating a haggardly looking man who had just started to speak. "I have an urgent matter for the council." He looked around the room quickly. "I have located the apple of the Warner line." The room instantly broke into murmurs. "Furthermore," he continued, "I have learned the identity of his kidnapper." He drew a deep breath. "Samuel Marshall Thatch."
CHAPTER EIGHT

THE COUNCIL

Shock held Simon to his seat. Kidnapped?

Another murmur rippled through the assembly. The Verde sisters exchanged surprised looks and started whispering between themselves.

Sterling observed Nathan with a strange look. "Mr. Tamerlane," he said, "we received your notice earlier today regarding," he checked his notes,"Samuel Marshall Thatch. You are here to tell us that not only he has been found, but also that he was the abductor of the Warner child, all those years ago?"

"Yes," Nathan said stiffly. He risked a glance back at Simon, who stared disbelievingly at him. Kidnapped? It didn't make any sense at all. Was Nathan lying to the council? It didn't seem so. They all apparently know what he was talking about, so did that mean Nathan had lied to him, had he been keeping secrets since the beginning? It was too much to process at once.

Sterling's voice clanged sharply through the confusion. "You have done your duty as a Journeyman of this order and apprehended him, I presume?"

"No," Nathan said. "I was unable\--he was taken by another before I could."

The Archmancer raised a mouse gray eyebrow. "So the abductor was abducted you say?" He spoke wryly. "Why am I not surprised."

"He was taken," Nathan repeated, "by Fellis Boeman, suspected servant of\--"

"Thank you," Sterling said, cutting Nathan off. "We are already aware of Mr. Boeman's alleged associations. Leaving that matter aside, I can assure you that an inquiry will be convened to ascertain the veracity of this alleged abduction." He checked his notes. "Fellis is abroad, so we've been told, so we expect a response within two moons."

Simon roused himself from his stupor "Two moons?" he asked, confused and frustrated. He looked at Nathan, suddenly uncertain whether he was friend or foe. "What does that mean?"

"Two months roughly," Nathan whispered back. "Archmancer Sterling, if I may, I can remove any doubt to the truth of the matter." He beckoned to Simon to join him, and put his hand on his shoulder. Simon quietly fumed at the gesture of familiarity. "I have a witness here who can attest to the matter."

Sterling swept a loose hair back into place. "You brought an unauthorized and unwelcome person into Silverwood, I see."

"Hardly unwelcome," Nathan said. "He was in my notice." He took another deep breath. "Simon Theodore Warner. Born in a snowstorm, raised in a forest."

A great wave of excitement overtook the crowd. Claudia and Jeanette Verde beamed great smiles, informing those around them of their association with the boy. Sterling looked up from his notes, his eyes focusing on Simon. "Is this so?" The words were sour in his mouth. "I don't see any mention of him in your notice," he said, holding up a small piece of paper.

"Oh, I'm sure it was there," Nathan said. "Second page, I believe."

Sterling shuffled through his papers. "I only have one page here."

"Oh, well, sounds like the second page got lost," Nathan said casually. The red-haired looked up from her notes, aghast. She yanked out a clean sheet of paper, scribbling a small note on it before tucking it into her pocket.

More paper shuffling by the Archmancer. "Cynric," Sterling said. "I fail to see any mention of young Mr. Warner in your message as well."

"I might have forgot that detail," Cynric said gruffly, glancing at Nathan. Simon swore that, for a second, Nathan gave the most imperceptible of nods to the woodsman. "Ol' Grisly's been a might bit antsy with all the thropes and hobs in the wood as of late," Cynric said. "Must've slipped my mind."

A man sitting at the end of the table to Sterling's left made a loud, impatient noise. He was rumpled and sour-looking, with patches of beard sprouting at odd angles all across his face. His hair clung greasily to his head, and everything about his clothing was filthy, except for a pair of pristine white gloves he wore.

"Yes, Douglas?" The Archmancer looked at the disheveled man, who sat suddenly quiet. The Archmancer sighed. "Does Junior Officer Churl have any opinion into the supposed disappearance of Mr. Thatch?"

The rumpled man crossed his arms sullenly. "The Junior Officer does not," he said, fidgeting with his dingy blue robe. "The Junior Officer only finds it typical behavior from what he remembers of Mr. Thatch, and Mr. Tamerlane."

"That so?" Nathan locked eyes with Junior Official. "I could offer some stories about you, Doug."

"Thank you," Sterling said sternly. "Ms. Nettle, please strike the last comments from the minutes. We will refrain, everyone, from engaging in spurious rumor. The inquiry will be dispatched, and it is, at this time, the recommendation of the Council, and the Archmancer, that\--"

"I saw him!" Simon shouted, his anger starting to boil over, at Nathan, at the Archmancer, at everybody there. "Boeman was there, at our home."

More murmuring.

"Simon, hang on," Nathan said.

"Did you truly see him?" Sterling sorted through his notes, not bothering to look up. "Did you see him abduct Mr. Thatch?"

Sterling's words sizzled in Simon's head. He paused, picking at his memories, his anger momentarily jammed. "Well...no, but he told me, in the alley behind our tavern."

"Hmm," Sterling said, fixing his eyes coldly on Simon. "So we have only your testimony to guide us. Tell me," he said, "did you, at any time, see Mr. Thatch in any state of distress?"

"Their home was burning," Nathan said, stepping in front of Simon. "He was inside containing the fire so we could make it out." The image of Molly running down the back hallway floated through Simon's mind. Zoey, still sleeping in her mother's arms, her mother running down the alley.

"Couldn't it be," Junior Officer Churl said, "that Thatch conspired with Mr. Boeman, if he even was there, to use the fire as a means of distraction, of escape, himself? Seems to me that Mr. Thatch might have grown tired of the life of a wanted kidnapper and babysitter and saw a chance to make a new life for himself."

"He wouldn't," Simon said. "We're a family. We're happy."

Churl raised his eyebrow again. "That so? Thatch, our kidnapper, a family man?"

"He's not a kidnapper!" Simon screamed, his anger finally igniting, tiny sparks flying from his hands. The room fell tomb-quiet. "He is my family," he spat, his blood hot in his ears. "He has always been good to me. He did NOT kidnap me, he loves me, and he loves Molly and Zoey. He wouldn't abandon us."

"I'm sorry," Sterling said dispassionately. "Who?"

"They're not of the Folk," Nathan said. "This doesn't concern them." Simon started to speak again, but Nathan held out his hand, and Simon's vocal cords froze.

"Typical," Churl said. "Consorting with those who would see our kind hunted down and eradicated."

"Last time I checked," Nathan said, his voice ice, "we had larger hounds to hunt, Doug."

"That will be a discussion for another time and place," Sterling said. "At this time, the Board, and the Archmancer, recommends we await word from our official inquiry. Now then, and then only," he added, "we will reassess. Until then, the matter is closed. Ms. Nettle, please earmark Mr. Tamerlane's demeanor for review."

Simon looked to Nathan, who was staring straight ahead at Sterling.

"Never mind, then." Nathan stepped closer to the podium. "I guess the matter is closed for now." He paused. "Well, then, I guess we'll be going."

"Excuse me?" Sterling fixed his eyes on Nathan. "Our meeting has not concluded. You have not been dismissed."

"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 roof lines, 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."

"I'm doing fine," Simon said. "We're on our way to the Archives."

Luke raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Well, fancy that, then. I'm going that way too. Right off the North path. You want to head out together?"

"No thanks. I'm waiting on my host."

"Just look at you," Luke sneered. "The good little guest. I'm sure you're just going to sit right there on your lumpy old couch and just wait for Boeman to walk right up with directions to where he's keeping your guardian."

Simon jumped up. "How do you know\--"

"Word gets around, Stray. The walls have ears. People are talking about the apple of the Warner line. Not often a lost apple shows up. You're big news."

"I am?"

"One of the severed lines of descent just wanders in out of the woods? One of the original founding lines, the one that went about as rotten as you can get? Yeah, I'd call that big news."

"What are you saying, rotten?" Simon asked.

Luke sat up. Simon couldn't tell if the look of surprise on his face was genuine or not. "You mean you don't know about your own family? The Warner line goes all the way back to the founding of Silverwood. There's more than one Warner on that wall in the foyer. Every one of them good, until your dad. After he came along, well..." He chuckled. "This must be hard, right? Find out about all this, only to learn you're the son of a bona-fide warlock."

Simon gulped. "How's that any different than anybody else?"

Luke's face soured. "You really don't know anything, do you? It's in the eyes. They're called the window to the soul for a reason. Warlocks souls are different. They're..." he trailed off.

"They're what?"

"Kind of...well, green," Luke said. "You see it when they use their power. Their souls have gone rotten with power."

"And green is bad?"

"Not always, but it's an easy way to spot a warlock."

Simon glanced at the mirror. He wondered what color his eyes might glow, if they even did. Could they? "So what did my dad do?"

Luke smiled. "Well that's it. No one's too sure where the damage stopped. The only real way to know what went down is to read the official transcripts of his trial."

"He was on trial?"

"He was...until he fled," Luke said. "Most figured he fled to his master's hold out at sea."

Simon stared at Luke. "How do you know all this?"

"Are you kidding?" Luke laughed. "Everyone knows the story of the Walking Shadow. The Fallen One. That's why you're such a big deal, Son of the Rotten. People want to see how far the apple has fallen from the tree."

The apple. That's what Nathan had called him. "Where are the transcripts?" he asked.

"Same place they keep everything else," Luke said. "The Archives."

Burning, sickening curiosity flared inside Simon. He stared long and hard at Luke. In five minutes he had learned more about his parents than all his time with Nathan, and really, how was Luke any less trustworthy than Nathan? At least this way he might actually get to learn something real about his parents. He thought another moment, then locked the door to his room. "Let's go."

* * *

Luke led Simon out through a door off of the dining room and cut through the gardens, whistling as they passed a small stone statue of two frogs sharing a tiny stone bench. Maggey darted out from under the statues straight to Luke and bobbed happily around his shoulder, whizzing around a few times in the air before settling down on his shoulder and winking back to sleep.

Simon got a clearer picture of the estate as they followed the North path away from the house. People hurried into and out of the house, most making their way to one of numerous smaller buildings around the estate. The Grim House sat far on the south end of the grounds, away from the other buildings, tucked inside its own small grove of twisted trees. The people walking by it all seemed to avert their eyes as they passed, not only as if the house wasn't there, but as if they were trying to will it out of existence. A few young children, clinging to their parents' side stopped to look and point at the house, only to be scooped up by their parents and hurried along towards any one of the smaller buildings that dotted the grounds. All around them the wilderness pressed in, held back only by the same ancient stone wall Simon had passed through that morning.

The Archives were almost as large and as complicated as the manor, and built in the same mixture of styles. It stood at the end of its own path, almost tall enough to blot out the morning sun, and stone gargoyles were perched high on several of the edges of the multileveled roof, silently peering down as the two boys entered.

"After you," Luke said, standing aside to let Simon enter first. Simon rolled his eyes, then pushed the large door open and stepped inside, with Luke crowding in behind him. The front desk was right in front of them, semicircular and occupying almost the entire first floor. Staircases swept up either side to the second floor, where the walls of books began. Row after row of shelves faded into the distance, dozen of them, the back wall barely visible, and magnificent columns reached from the ground through every floor all the way to the ceiling. Small wooden walkways were visible among the shelves on the higher floors, some winding around several shelves, then some even turning and running in long stretches through the open air. There were at least a dozen floors, and every one was open in the middle, allowing a clear view of the stained-glass skylight at the very top. Visible shafts of colored light filtered down, and dust could be seen floating through the shafts of light. Simon and Luke stood in the pattern of light cast down through the skylight, which fell right in front of the circulation desk. Everything else was lit in yellow from the light coming through the large side windows, and the entire place smelled of pine trees and honey. Behind the counter was an office that appeared to occupy the rest of the modest first floor.

"Whoa," Luke said quietly. "Lot of books."

Simon shot him a suspicious look. "I thought you'd been here before."

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah, that's right. Plenty of times." Luke started towards the counter ahead of them. "Just been a while. That's all."

"Can I help you boys?" A slender young woman appeared behind the counter. She had raven-black hair pulled behind her head into a ponytail, and a pair of glasses hung recklessly from her neck. She had bright blue eyes, and besides those and her dark hair, she looked strikingly like the young girl Simon had seen at the meeting. She had a tray on the counter in front of her, and it was full of tiny mechanical pieces made out of silver and brass. The pieces clicked and whirred quietly as they tried to assemble themselves into something Simon couldn't even begin to guess. When he looked up from the pile of gears her eyes seemed to stab right through Simon.

"We, uh, hello," Simon said, not at all as at ease as he wanted to sound.

"Smooth," Luke whispered. The young woman's eyes softened only slightly, the smallest smile slipping through.

"We're looking for..." He looked at Luke, who gave no help whatsoever. "Something." Simon felt his face grow hot.

She smiled. "A book, perhaps?"

"Yes!" Simon shouted abruptly, then shook his head. "I mean, no. Maybe. I need to know where I can find information on\--well, on my, I mean\--"

"Bloodlines," Luke said, finally chiming in. "Next to Dark Bargains, right? Just point us in the direction, we can find it."

"I don't know," the woman said coyly. "You have the right idea. I think you two could use an escort, perhaps?"

"I think we'll be fine." Luke straightened his shoulders, and put on his best smile. "No need for you to trouble yourselves with us."

"Nonsense," said the woman, never taking her strikingly blue eyes off Luke. "I'll get my sister. Penny!" she boomed, her voice thundering off of every wall of the Archives echoing down all the shelves and back again. Her voice reached the top of the rafters and slowly died away, and silence filled the room again. "Hmph," she said after no one appeared. "One moment." The woman stepped away from the counter into the office behind her. "Wait right here please."

"C'mon," Luke said when she had gone. "We don't need a babysitter. I know where we're going. It's this way," he said, pointing towards a hallway leading down to the right. "Bloodlines are down here."

"Not anymore, said a quiet, squeaky voice from above. The red-haired girl from the meeting spoke from a balcony overhead. It was the girl from the meeting earlier. "We moved the bloodline section last spring. It's between the section on reanimation and Forgotten Lore now." Climbing down a ladder she added, "Not too many people come looking for bloodline information. Most have their own records. You two don't seem like you're too...documented, are you?"

"Apprentice, second year," Luke said, holding out his hand first. "Visiting with my mentor."

"Visiting?" Her eyes narrowed. "Which order?"

"Delta," Luke added, always smiling. "Up from the bayou."

"Hello," Simon said. "I'm a visitor, too."

"Don't mind him, Strawberry. He's just a guest," Luke stepped in front of Simon. "He doesn't belong here."

"I'm the son of Tom Warner," Simon added, irritated.

"Oh," the girl said, her eyes focusing on him for the first time. They were lakes of emerald flecked with purple and gold. "That explains the interest in bloodlines." She looked at Luke. "What do you need, exactly?"

"Oh, well," Luke said, "I'm just helping my friend out here. Helping him find out where he comes from, if he has any lands. Things like that, you know."

"Friend?" Simon asked, insulted. "You tried to steal my backpack earlier."

"Misunderstanding," Luke said, more to the girl than Simon. "I thought it was mine."

"Sure, sure," she said absently. Her eyes started to float around aimlessly. She tilted her head all the way to one side. "My sister called for me. Was it to help you?"

The pile of silver pieces on the counter chirped and clicked, then fell apart spectacularly. An instant later the older sister appeared in front of the counter. "There you are! Where in the Moat have you been?"

"I was cataloging the new Vaudevire donation, Jo." She yawned. "Right where I said I would be."

"Penelope Jane Nettle," Jo snapped. "Don't you fluster more fairies than you can catch. These two need help. Can I trust you to handle that?"

"Yes, Jo."

"Yes, Jo, what?"

"Yes, Jo, Queen of Books."

Jo's eyes brightened. "And?"

"Books and Smarts." Penny stood straight. "Queen of Smarts."

"Thank you," Jo said, satisfied. She put on her glasses and resumed with her copper and brass pieces. "Take them to Bloodlines."

"Follow me," Penny said. She moved quietly down the hallway, her hands tracing along the walls lightly as they walked. The floor beneath them suddenly went from hardwood flooring to lush, red carpet, and the walls went from wood paneling to eggshell paint and plaster. The Archive was just as cobbled together as the main house.

"Which bloodline are you looking for? The mother's line, or the father's?"

Simon wasn't sure what to say. "Warner, I guess."

"Oh we have lots on them," she said. "All the way back to the first colonies, I think. It's been a while since I've cataloged the Warner line, but I believe everything should be up to date, up to and including the trial\--"

The doors to the Archives slammed open, the echo careening down every hall. "SIMON!" Nathan boomed through the still air. "SIMON! Where in the Moat are you!"

Simon froze. Nathan continued to shout for him, prowling around the circulation desk, leaning over the counter. "Hello?" he shouted. "Hello? SIMON!"

Simon slowly turned around. "I'm here," he called out, just a little louder than normal, but not quite a shout.

Nathan fixed his eyes on Simon, and the muscles in his throat tightened. "Simon," he said, his voice calmer than Simon expected "What have I said about wandering? You see another fairy zip all the way down here? Thought you would follow it again? How well did that work for you last time?"

"I brought him," Luke said suddenly. "I saw you two, and sir, you looked exceptionally tired, and, well, I had heard you talking, and figured since this was where you were heading next, that I would be able to render my assistance\--"

"Quiet." Nathan stared at Luke, his eyes sweeping over him more carefully than before. "Simon, you need to stay with me. We stick together, not you two, got it?"

"I thought this was where we were coming," Simon finally said, irritated. "I thought we'd just meet up. I wanted to look up my parents."

"That so?" Nathan closed the gap between them. "Ever occur to you to ask me? That you might go missing too if you wandered off with someone you just met? "

Frustration exploded within Simon. "I've just met you!" he shouted. Instantly, Jo's watchful eyes were on him, and she glared fiercely, but Simon didn't care. Somewhere, at this moment, Sam was being held prisoner, and for all he could tell, there was not a single answer to be found anywhere, not here in the Archives, not here in Silverwood, not anywhere. The frustration choked him, and he stood there, stuck to the floor, his eyes starting to burn.

Nathan stood silent, his mouth hanging slightly open. "I..." he started. "Yes, I guess. I guess we did." He shook his head. "That's still not good enough reason to run off. You need to stay where I can see you. Keep an eye on you. Understand?"

"It's not like anyone can get him here," Luke volunteered. "Unwelcomes can't enter the estate."

"Now that's where you're wrong," Nathan said curtly. "Ours is a member of the Freemancers. He can enter whenever he wants. Same as me, same as her," Nathan pointed at Penny, who was sitting on the floor by a nearby table, petting a black kitten and humming to herself. Nathan stared down Luke. "Same as you too, right?"

Luke did not immediately answer.

"What?" Simon broke the silence. "How? He's...he's...!"

"I don't make the rules," Nathan said. "He pays his dues, his official record is clean, he's welcome. As long as he's in good standing with the Records Room, he can come and go as he pleases. So please, Simon, stay with me. Got it?"

"I didn't know that," Simon finally said. His stomach was sour with anger. "I thought it would be all right. I thought here was safe. I just wanted to learn about my parents."

Nathan put his hands on Simon's shoulders. "Soon," he said. "I can't lose you, too. Not now. Your room's a safe place, the only truly safe place, so I need you to stay there, or with me, when we're about the grounds." He eyed Penny. "Tell me, miss, are you one of Peter Nettle's daughters?"

"That's my father," Penny said, standing.

"Could you please go find him for us?" Nathan asked. "He is expecting us."

"I'll see what I can do," Penny said. "He's been busy with the new Vaudevire collection."

"My many thanks," Nathan said. He turned on Luke, his tone instantly changing from gentle to stern. "Your necklace\--Delta Order, I think? Who in Madam Mamzelle's Court is your master? Full title, order and verse. Show the one who trains and feeds you the respect he, she, or it deserves."

Luke's smile faltered. "I think I should help the young lady," he said. "It would be rude to leave her unescorted."

"That so," Nathan said. "Perhaps just your name and mantle, I think." Nathan squared his shoulders, addressing Luke just as he had addressed Simon that morning with the staff. His entire demeanor shifted in a heartbeat. "I speak as a mentor. By our rites I request you answer me."

Luke looked uncertain, then finally spoke. "Luke Briar."

"Middle name?"

"Ain't got one."

"That so?"

"Just Luke Briar. Born to a fox and bird, raised along the river."

Nathan settled down, his demeanor returning to normal after one last, long stare at Luke. "We really should keep our manners, shouldn't we?"

"Yes, mentor."

"You best escort the lady then."

Luke agreed with a fierce nod and hurried to catch up to Penny, who had not waited for him and was already halfway back to the circulation desk.

"I'm sorry," Simon said flatly when Luke and Penny were out of sight. "I didn't think it would be a problem.

Nathan waved the apology aside without another word. "What were you really looking for, Simon?"

"I told you. Information on bloodlines," Simon said. "I thought there might be information on my mom and dad."

Another pained look from Nathan. "I hate to say it, but probably not," Nathan said. "At least, nothing out here, nothing out in the open. Not anymore."

"Why not?" Simon asked. "What's the deal with my parents anyway?" After another fierce glance from Jo he dropped his voice to a whisper. "Luke called my dad the Walking Shadow. That he was rotten. I thought you said they were good."

Nathan scratched his eyebrow with his thumb, and took a deep breath, followed by another. "Simon, this really isn't the best time\--"

"Something tells me it never will be."

Nathan started to object, then took another run at his eyebrow. He looked Simon dead in the eye and took a final deep breath. "Well, this is the thing, Simon. They were good. That much is true. They were good, until..."

"Until what?" Simon hissed, his voice rising.

Nathan looked away. "Until you."
CHAPTER NINE

THE MESSAGE

"Nathan!" A tall man with a wild mane of rusty brown hair approached them. "Nathan, Nathan, Nathan. So good to see you again!" A scraggly brown beard framed out the bottom of his thin face. He grabbed Nathan in a fierce hug. "My friend!"

"Peter," Nathan said after being released. "Thank you for seeing us like this."

"Oh, nonsense, nonsense!" said Mr. Nettle. "You must be Simon, am I right? Of course I am! Come on, come on back with me. Come!" He motioned for them to follow, then he all but sprinted into the office behind the counter. Simon still wanted to ask Nathan just what he had meant about his parents, but besides one quick look, Nathan made no immediate effort to further explain his remark as they followed Mr. Nettle. Jo made no effort to stop either of them, but she watched Simon with great interest as they stepped behind the counter into her territory, then into her father's office at the very heart of the library.

Mr. Nettle's office was much like the rest of the Archives, occupied with huge piles of books, some which reached to the ceiling, some which even seemed to be holding the ceiling up in places. "Come in, sit down, sit down!" Mr. Nettle cleared two small chairs, sweeping a pile of papers up into his arm and displacing a small black kitten in the process. Only once they were seated did Mr. Nettle stop humming around the office, closing a second door off to the side and finally settling down on the corner of an ancient-looking desk covered with huge stacks of paper and what Simon assumed to be bottles of ink, and behind his desk a great fireplace burned brightly, a dance of flames and shadows all around him. Mr. Nettle folded his fingers in front of him while the black kitten jumped up onto an empty spot of desk and sniffed around, settling on a spot on the corner to start another nap. "Now then, Nathan, what can I do for you?"

"I need to find Nicodemus," Nathan said bluntly.

"I see," Mr. Nettle said slowly, leaning back in his chair. "I think you might find that the old Archmancer has not exactly been in the mood for company, not since Sterling began his term, you see."

"Not too unusual, I guess," Nathan said. "I heard it was a close tally."

Nettle's face grew dark at the memory. "Closer than a cat's whisker," he said, petting the kitten. "All anyone knows with any certainty is that after the Electing Board concluded, Sterling was the new Archmancer, and Nicodemus was out."

Nathan leaned forward. "Then what?"

"Then? The same thing that always happens when new leadership takes over. Changes. Sterling had new ideas, not all good, and I'll tell you, not all of them have gone over with everyone." Mr. Nettle turned towards the fire, his glasses flickering from the light. "With Limnic completely out of the picture, there's no one to challenge Sterling. He had the option to remain as Archmancer-in-Standing, but he declined even that. Then, he was just gone, off to devil-knows-where."

Nathan leaned back. "It seems like he's needed more than ever."

Mr. Nettle kept his back to them. "I don't think guild affairs are why you've come home."

Nathan glanced at Simon. "Last night Fellis Boeman showed up at Sam Thatch's hiding place.

"So I've heard."

"He set fire to the home, broke the warding spells, and abducted Sam."

Mr. Nettle turned back around slowly. He sat quietly while Nathan recounted the rest of the details, from their journey on The Idlewild, to their meeting in the Timeless Room. The entire time Mr. Nettle sat quietly, his eyes occasionally flicking over to Simon, but mostly his gaze stay focused on the enormous stacks of papers in front of him. "You hope that Limnic would be able to help?" he finally asked when Nathan was finished. "What makes you believe he'd involve himself?"

Nathan drew his grimoire from the pocket of his coat. "When Nicodemus\--Archmancer Limnic\--inscribed my grimoire, he added something small at the bottom. A note really. It read 'good luck.' I didn't think anything about it at the time, but from time to time the message has changed. It's been his way of keeping an eye on me, I guess." He thumbed to the inscription page. "Recently it changed again, this time to something dire."

"A warning?" Mr. Nettle asked.

"Not just any warning," Nathan said. "A portent. An omen of things to come."

"What did it say?" Simon asked.

Nathan gave Simon a long, sad look, then handed the grimoire to Simon "I don't think you'd understand, but all the same, I grant you the privilege." Nathan spoke to the book. "Reveal the secret of the dedication page."

Simon opened the book to the front, where the same handwritten words were:

NATHAN ALAN TAMERLANE

BORN IN A SUMMER STORM, RAISED IN THE RAIN

JOURNEYMAN \- PROBATION

DIVISION NO. 713

THE GREAT HALL OF THE FREE AND ACCEPTED MANCERS OF NOVA MUNDUS

REESTABLISHED 1680.

SIGNED, NICODEMUS LIMNIC, ARCHMANCER

He looked at Nathan. "Your standing has changed from good to probation."

"What? Let me see." Nathan took the book back and glanced at the front page. "That happens from time to time. Don't worry about it. Do you see what it says below?"

A new message faded in below the inscription, the same handwriting, the same ink, but it seemed to have been written in a great hurry:

DARROW WALKS

"I don't understand," Simon said. "Who is Darrow?"

Mr. Nettle sat up straight in his chair. "Silas Darrow? The devil's own dogs, Nathan! Just what is this about?"

Nathan stared out the window. "Just what it says. The Dreamer has awakened. Darrow walks."

"What does that even mean?" Simon asked. "Who is this guy?"

"Silas Abraham Darrow," Mr. Nettle said. "Born beyond the Moated Veil, raised again to rule." He took a deep breath. "One who has walked in Thule."

"A warlock on the less-than-nice side," Nathan said. "Wrote the book on half the known necromantic rituals. All but invented exomancy. One of few who have walked in the necrotic city of Thule. He carries a full mantle for that\--birth, life, and death."

"Not without a great personal cost," Nettle said. "Few who walk in the streets of Thule ever return, let alone complete."

Simon looked between the two. The mood in the room had definitely changed. "What happened to him?"

"Necromancy is a theurgical rite," Mr. Nettle said. "It works in deals. Divine trades. You don't get if you don't give, and the power of Thule comes with great and terrible costs. Since that time he has slept off and on, periodically caught in the dreams between this life and the next. They say in the twilight between worlds you hear the whisper of the Originals, the Timeworn beings of Old, and in that place you may learn their darkest secrets. If he has truly awakened from his slumber again, he is more dangerous than before."

Simon tried to follow. "What does he want?"

Nettle took a deep breath. "Darrow does not see the world as we do, Simon. He sees a world that wishes to destroy us, a world that has hunted us for millennia. While we choose to live in quiet harmony, Darrow believes the only way to protect our people and our way of life is to strike first. He wants to go to war with those not of the Folk."

"He sees us as victims who need to retaliate," Nathan added. "For years he's been trying to gather forces strong enough to confront the outside world. Every time he awakens, he is stronger than before, and we have done our best to stop him, at great cost every time."

"Where does Boeman factor into this?" Simon asked.

"Boeman is his most trusted lieutenant, "Nettle said. "He is Darrow's boogeyman. Just him we can deal with, but if his master has awakened, the situation is more grave than we thought."

"So Boeman is his apprentice, then?"

"An Acolyte," Mr. Nettle said. "Head of the inner circle. They have given us a great many troubles over the years. Broken men. Banshees. Voodoo priests, even some of the remaining Edisonites have fallen under Darrow's spell. They named themselves in honor of the Timeworn\--they are called the Old Dominion, among many more names, and I curse every last one of them."

"Then why isn't Boeman banned from here?" Simon stood. "Why can he come on the grounds at all?"

"Boeman swims in murky waters, have no doubt," Nettle said. "But good luck getting any one of them out into the daylight. Even if you do, only the Archmancer has the authority to forever banish someone from the estate." Mr. Nettle leaned back in his chair. "Good luck getting Sterling to take action that divisive. Limnic would have, but not Sterling."

"Why not?" Simon asked.

"Sterling sees division within our brotherhood," Mr. Nettle said. "He fears dissolution, the shattering of our bonds, each of the seven orders a body unto itself. He fears there are those who would openly align themselves with Darrow, given the right provocation."

"He fears losing his position more," Nathan said bitterly. "Someone might oust him like he did to Nicodemus."

Mr. Nettle rose from his chair and began stoking the fire with an iron poker. "Be careful where you say that. Go around talking like that and it'll be you who ends up banished."

Nathan managed a weak smile. "I wouldn't be entirely without good company at least."

"This isn't amusing," Mr. Nettle said. "Sterling has enemies. We all know that. He is hunting them down and banishing them right and left. He fears another war."

"The War of the Two Tribes is how we got here," Nathan said, growing agitated. "It's how Darrow became what he is. How they found Thule. If we can just find Nicodemus\--"

Mr. Nettle's anger burst. "That man is gone!" He threw the iron poker into the fireplace, and the fire burst into a storm of orange and blue flame. A twin flame erupted from a small piece of crystal around his neck, and his voice slowly crumbled. "Sterling is our man now. Not Limnic. He can not, will not, return." He stared into the flames again. Nathan stood patiently, his hands folded in front of him while Mr. Nettle crumpled against the fireplace mantel. He did not speak for several moments, and Simon could just faintly hear a clicking sound right outside the door. "We need to take this to the council," Nettle finally said.

"Tried and failed. They wouldn't hear it."

"Then we go again." Mr. Nettle straightened himself. "I will go with you."

"I can't let you do that," Nathan said. "You have your family to think about. Besides, Sterling will never budge, not even with the full weight of the council against him. You'd only be making yourself an enemy. We both know that."

Mr. Nettle stared deeply into the fireplace before speaking again. "If what you say is true, then we must do everything we can."

Nathan hesitated, glanced at Simon. "There is something else you can do." Nettle was quiet, his eyes still fixed on the fireplace. Nathan put his hand on Mr. Nettle's shoulder. "Tell me where to find him."

Nettle sighed. "I've told you, I don't know where Limnic\--"

"Not Limnic," Nathan said. "Boeman."

The kitten snored and kicked its feet.

"Nathan..." Nettle was surprised. "I\--"

"You can tell me where we can find him." Nathan tapped the crystal around Nettle's neck. "Don't pretend you can't. Use your talents to help us."

"Scrying?" Mr. Nettle shook his head, suddenly angry. "Nathan I cannot\--I will not..." The black kitten stretched on the corner of the desk, kicking the red quill onto the floor. "Oh by Salem!" Mr. Nettle thundered. "Penny!"

Penny appeared in the side doorway suspiciously quick, her sister's mechanical pieces currently assembled into a beetle which clicked wildly on her shoulder. "Yes, Dad?"

"Penny," Mr. Nettle said, his voice quickly growing soft and gentle. "I think your kitten needs fed."

Penny's eyes brightened. "Malkin?" she said, her voice quiet and cheerful. The kitten lifted its head at the sound of its name. "Here kitty," she chirped, scooping up the ball of fur. "I've been looking for you. What are you doing in here?"

"I'd say she's been spying on us," Mr. Nettle said, giving his daughter a knowing look. "I hope she isn't planning anything. You know she doesn't need to be getting into any more trouble."

"She won't, Dad." Penny's face flushed slightly. "You have nothing to worry about."

"Good to hear it," Mr. Nettle said. "Now, better feed her."

Penny glanced at Simon as she left. Even though she held the kitten up towards her face, Simon swore she was hiding a tiny smile as she passed. At least, he hoped it was a smile.

"I need to find him," Nathan said after Penny had left. "Please, Peter."

"You need to handle this right," Mr. Nettle said, removing his crystal necklace and placing it in his desk. "Have faith in the council. They will send an inquiry."

"They're dispatching Mancer Wisely," Nathan said. "The Wolf of the Woods."

"I know him," Simon said suddenly, desperate to keep a foothold in the conversation. His words bounced off both men, who stared at each other, then at him.

"Seems Frank has been keeping a few secrets of his own," Mr. Nettle said. "Simon, are you saying that Mancer Wisely has been in contact with Thatch?"

"He's our bread man," Simon said. "I see him every morning. He's almost one of the family."

Mr. Nettle looked at Nathan incredulously.

"What's the big deal about that?" Simon asked.

"Sam was Frank's apprentice before he left," Nathan glanced at Mr. Nettle. "Hey, I didn't know! Sam didn't just go to ground, he set up warding spells to beat the devil. It makes sense when you think about it. Sam all but became a ghost to hide him."

"Why?" Simon asked. "Why did they hide me? Why hide from all this? Why leave this place?

Nathan and Mr. Nettle exchanged a long and wearied look. "Simon, they hid you because a deal was made with Boeman. Sam had to act quickly when the time came to collect. He tricked Boeman and took you into hiding. He did it to save..."

"What?" Simon asked, his voice already rising.

The two men stared at each other, both of them suddenly unwilling to speak.

"WHAT!" Simon all but knocked over the stack of papers on Mr. Nettle's desk, yet the two men were still silent.

"So many secrets," giggled the Other Voice.

Mr. Nettle finally cleared his throat. His voice was grave. "Your soul."

Simon stared at them, feeling all the color drain from his face. "Huh?"

Nathan's eyes dropped to the floor. He wouldn't look Simon in the eyes when he spoke. "It was your parents, Simon. They sold your soul."

* * *

Nathan lead Simon slowly down a large hallway into the manor dining hall. This room was the largest yet, from the rolling thick green carpet, to the rustic log cabin walls, to the high vaulted ceiling built entirely of wood. A massive stone fireplace dominated the room, and above it, a large, stuffed head of a buffalo. Absolutely everywhere Simon looked something was happening\--table after table was filled by every kind of person imaginable, all of them eating, talking, laughing, or leaving. In some small way it reminded Simon of the Paw.

While Simon picked halfheartedly at his food, Nathan suddenly excused himself, asking Simon to stay at the table until he returned. He sat alone, trying to detangle everything they had told him. His soul, they had said. Your parents sold your soul. What did that even mean? Nathan said his parents had been good\--do good people sell souls? Nothing about it made any sense. Did he still have it? Part of it? Almost none? Did that explain why he always felt so broken?

"What else are they keeping from you?" asked the Other Voice.

"Cheer up, Stray." Luke said, breaking Simon's thoughts and settling into the chair next to him. "The way you're moping people around here are going to think you're under a hex or something."

Simon slammed his fork on the table. "Just what do you want? Every time I turn around you're in my shadow. I have no money, I have nothing you could want. So just leave me alone, okay?" He stabbed at his green beans. "Find someone else to bother."

Luke grabbed a piece of chicken from the enormous platter in the middle of the table. "Well, now, can't a fella just sit and break bread with another traveler? Look around, Stray. This is an open area."

"You want something," Simon said. "What I can't understand is why you think I have anything."

Luke dropped his chicken onto the plate. "Is that all you think? That I want something? You ever stop to think that maybe I'm trying to help you?"

"Help?" Simon scoffed. "How." He tried to keep from looking obvious, but his eyes darted around, waiting for Maggey to suddenly buzz him.

"You need something," Luke said. "I've seen that look plenty of times. Lost. Alone. Sure, you might have your watchdog looking over your shoulder, but his hands are tied, aren't they? They always are." He scooped some dumplings onto his plate. "Now, I can help you. My hands aren't tied by nothing. I'm a free agent. I can get you what you need. Anything, anything at all, anything in the whole wide world." He ate a forkful of potatoes. "For a price."

Simon laughed, despite himself. "You're fooling yourself, Luke. I don't have any money."

"Ain't money I'm after, Stray. What I want is information. Spells, incantations, charms. That's how I deal."

"How's your mentor feel about that? I'm sure he doesn't appreciate his apprentice sneaking around without him, making deals behind his back."

Luke leaned in close, until he was almost whispering. "What do you think you're doing, right now?"

"I haven't agreed to help you. You don't even know what I'm looking for." He set his fork down. "And Nathan is not my mentor."

"Don't matter," Luke said, rising from the table. "You help me, we've got a deal. I'll help you with whatever you're up to. There has to be something here you want."

Simon stared at his plate, trying to push away thoughts of his soul, thoughts of how untrustworthy Nathan had become. He thought of the crystal around Mr. Nettle's neck, how he had put it in his desk during their meeting. He had seemed unwilling to let them use it.

"Sounds important," said the Other Voice.

"There is one thing I think I need," Simon said. "In the Archives."

Luke smiled. "Now we're talking. Just tell me when and where."

"The garden tonight," Simon said, trying to sound confident. "Meet me at midnight."

"Well, look at you," Luke said. "Mr. Merlin and everything. You should know midnight is a dangerous time\--too many omens at work." He held out his hand. "We'll meet at eleven instead. You help me, and I'll help you. Deal?"

It was odd seeing Luke act so formal, but he took his hand regardless. "Fine, whatever. Deal."

A small spark stung his hand as they shook.

"Our deal is sealed," he said, rising from the table. "Tonight. Eleven." Luke rose from the table, then hurried from the dining room, ducking through the kitchen door just as Nathan returned with Kate.

"Hello, Simon," Kate said, a smile spreading across her face. "Eating alone?"

Simon looked at both of them for a moment, his eyes flickering to Nathan's plate. Luke had taken this food with him, leaving only a few crumbs. "Yep. Just me."

"Mind if we join you?" she said, pulling out a seat next to Nathan. "I hear you're looking for someone."

The look on Simon's face must have revealed something, because a moment later Nathan quietly said, "It's okay, Simon. We can count on Kate."

"Like we could count on Mr. Nettle?" Simon turned over the piece of chicken on his plate. "He was plenty of help."

Kate looked to Nathan. "Peter not work out for you?"

"That's one way to put it," Simon muttered to his mashed potatoes.

Nathan glanced at him but let the comment slide. "I'm sure he has something telling us how to find Boeman," Nathan said. "He was more occupied in keeping things on the official side though. I can't really blame him, I guess."

"You need somebody who will keep things out from under my uncle's nose." Kate smiled. "I know him better than most. He won't leave either of you alone while you're here. That'll make keeping things quiet more difficult."

"I never said quiet," Nathan said. "Just unofficial."

Kate smiled. "You have something clever in mind?"

Nathan took a bite of his food. "Werewolves."

The suggestion clunked onto the table. Kate and Simon stared at him. "Excuse me?" they said together.

"What?" Nathan said. "I don't mean on the grounds. Just...you know, a sighting, or six. Out in the woods."

Kate raised her eyebrows. "And how are you planning to create six sightings?"

"Cynric's agreed to help sound the alarm. Besides, I've been working on my Air trade," Nathan said boastfully. "I'm becoming quite the amateur conjurer."

"Conjuration?" Kate gave Nathan a doubtful look. "I seem to remember someone causing a rather large rift over the lake when they were first learning how to conjure.

"Like you said, I was learning," Nathan said. "I've had plenty of time to practice," he said defensively.

"Conjuring," Simon said blankly. "Werewolves."

"Well, yeah," Nathan said, shoving another forkful into his mouth. "Well, just wolves, really. Wolf-shaped. It'll work. They'll think they're werewolves, anyway, so it's a bonus, really." Another forkful. "Conjuring is easy, well, easier, than some forms of magic. Very little mess to clean up if things go wrong."

"When they go wrong," Kate said. "You really need to know what you're doing," Kate added, looking at Nathan.

"I said I've been practicing the trade," Nathan repeated.

"Why are you calling it a trade?" Simon asked.

Kate glance at Nathan. "He doesn't know?"

Nathan paused, the fork already halfway to his mouth again. He set the fork back down slowly. "No," he said quietly. "Sam kept him in the dark. He was going to let the magic fade from him."

"You poor thing," she said, turning to Simon. "No wonder. This must be very confusing."

"I've got most of it," Simon said defensively.

"It's okay not to know. I understand why Sam kept this from you." Kate looked to Nathan before continuing. "Air is one of the six trades of magic. Illusions and conjuring, mostly. If your trade is air, then you have a chance of being a powerful illusionist\--of learning all its secrets. Now, others..." she glanced at Nathan. "Your talents can be anywhere, but that doesn't mean you can't learn other trades. You just have to practice more to get the spell work right. Right, Nathan?"

"I said I've been practicing," Nathan said, almost hurt. "Why just last month I conjured a, well, it was..."

Kate and Simon both waited for Nathan to answer, eyebrows raised.

"A boot."

"Oh, well." Kate bit her lip. "There we go. A boot."

"It was a very fashionable boot."

"Nathan, maybe you should just leave the conjuring to me," Kate said. "Stick to your own talents on this one."

Simon looked at his hands. "What are the other trades?"

"Five others," Kate said. She turned to Nathan. "You didn't tell him any of this?"

"I was getting there," Nathan said. "We've kind of had larger hounds to hunt, Kate."

She stared at Nathan, then turned back to Simon. "Six total. Air, like I said, is for conjuring. It's counterpart is Earth. Then there is Fire and its counterpart, Water."

"He's seen fire magic at work already," Nathan said. "It was how Boeman got Sam out in the open, past the warding spells."

"He was running out after me," Simon said bitterly.

"You had no choice," Nathan insisted. "That wasn't regular fire, Simon. Spellfire is wicked, vicious, cruel. Sam couldn't fight it for very long. Not even the Archmancer could. He wanted you to run out. Staying inside would have meant death, for both of you."

Simon looked down. "It's meant death for him."

"Don't," Nathan said. "Don't you start talking like that. We are going to find him."

Simon stared quietly at the plate in front of him. "What are the last two?"

"Magic of the soul," Kate said softly. "Split in two parts, called Light and Darkness. They're the very first trades, the truly cosmic forces, and the oldest and most dangerous of all the trades. From before even the days of the First Secrets."

"They're strong stuff," Nathan said. "Strong enough to find Sam. We just need a little...assistance."

"Mr. Nettle won't help," Simon said. "So what do we do?"

"We don't need him necessarily," Nathan said, dumping a small amount of sugar on the table. "We only need some...tools he has in his office. Peter wasn't always such a choir boy, don't forget that." He tapped his finger three times on the table. His eyes flashed bright blue, and the tiny pile of sugar began to form into a shape. It thrashed and moved quietly, growing multiple nubs, six in all, each stretching and taking shape slowly. The pile stood, taking four nubs for legs, then the other two on each end becoming a head and a tail. The blob shook itself like a wet dog, and the form of a wolf finally coalesced. It started to trot happily around the table between the plates, itself no bigger than a walnut.

"See?" Nathan said, folding his arms, clearly pleased with himself. "Simple as that. Except, well, you know...bigger." Nathan held his arms out wide. "Big."

Kate and Simon stared at the pile of sugar on the table. "Sugar wolves," Kate said. "Well, you were right. "That's certainly not quiet."

* * *

That evening Simon stood outside the door to his room waiting for Luke. He had tried to catch some sleep in the afternoon but couldn't, so he had killed some time by skimming through some of the books that had appeared on a small bookshelf next to his bed. One book, An Introduction to Conjuring, had caught his attention. He flipped through it idly, thinking on the off chance he might see what spell Nathan had used to conjure the wolf. After several more minutes of searching Simon gave up, utterly frustrated with the inaccessibility of the subject matter. These were books for people raised in the trades, not him. He was an outsider here, the only place he really belonged.

Just another way of being broken.

The rest of the books seemed surprisingly like schoolbooks, however. They all had straightforward, inelegant names written in gold across the covers: CURSES, said one book, and next to it was a slightly larger book with the title COUNTER CURSES. Next to them he found six more books, each with the name of one of the halls of magic, each title written in shimmering gold lettering, and at the end of the shelf was a book unlike any of the others, smaller than a textbook, and its cover was plain brown leather. He flipped through it, front to back, but found nothing written inside. It was just as out of place as Simon.

The most peculiar item on this newly bestowed bookshelf, though, was a small felt bag, and on it was the same snake symbol as Boeman's business card. Inside the bag was a chunk of crystal, no bigger than a rabbit's foot. Simon rolled the clear rock over in his hands, feeling the smooth lines with his fingertips. Something about this crystal was unsettling, and undeniably connected to Boeman. Finding nothing obviously weird with it though, he set the crystal on the bed and picked up the felt bag\--the serpent was embroidered in gold and silver thread, and it felt sharp to the touch. The harder Simon thought about it, the more he began to shudder. He set it down and tried to push it from his mind as best he could, trying to focus on searching the rest of the room. It had been changing off and on all day, growing numerous little touches that made it look more like home\--a trunk like the one they used as a coffee table had appeared in the corner, next to a stack of old video game magazines, and Simon had found some shirts under that bed that matched ones he had at home, even down to the rips and stains. There was even a loose floorboard behind the couch, but nothing was in the space beneath. Despite all the best efforts by the room, nothing could shake the foreignness of it all, and the shelf and its contents were the centerpiece of all the strangeness.

There was a knocking at the window\--Luke peered at Simon from the outside. Simon set the plain brown book back on the shelf. "I thought I said to meet me in the garden."

"This way's quicker." Luke eyed the crystal on the bed. "I see you've hit the gift shop."

"Shut up." Simon put the crystal back in the felt bag on the shelf, then hesitated for a moment before grabbing his backpack from the floor. He dumped the contents out of the bed and slung the empty pack over his shoulder. "We might need this," he said.

"Good thinking," said Luke. "When we get to the Archives, we go straight to Dark Bargains, okay?"

"We need to go to Mr. Nettle's office."

"Well, good for you," Luke said. "After I get what I want. That was the deal\--you help me, then I help you. In that order. We shook on it," he added when Simon started to object.

Simon felt a small pang in the palm of his right hand, reminding him of his promise. "Okay," he said. "What you want first, but we can't take forever."

"I wouldn't, even if I could," Luke said. He looked to his shoulder."You ready?" A small magenta blip on his shoulder winked once. "All right, let's go."

"This way?"

Luke was already halfway to the ground. "Yep," he whispered.

Simon sighed and swung his legs out the window. He had forgotten that his room was on the seventh floor, and the shock of how high up he was killed his breathing. His head swam dizzyingly, and he fought against the wild panic which was suddenly shaking him, and he grasped tightly, clinging as hard as he could to the window sill and vines.

"Relax!" Luke hissed. "Find the vine next to you. Use it to climb down." Luke lowered himself down the vine, reaching the ground before Simon had even moved.

Simon steadied himself. He could do this. All he needed to do was keep a firm grip on the vine and don't look down. Keep his eyes straight ahead at the side of the manor, and work his way to the ground. If Luke could do it, he could too.

Yet despite all these very compelling reasons, his hands and feet stayed planted where they were. He was stuck to the side of house, and he suspected he might stay there until morning, and he just might have, if Luke had not hissed "We had a deal!" The words not only roused Simon from his thoughts but also caused a great stinging pain to bloom in his hand. In shock he let go of the vines, and then he was losing his footing. In an instant Simon went from imitating one of the numerous stone gargoyles that perched along the exterior into a free fall.
CHAPTER TEN

THE ARCHIVES

Simon hit the ground with a sickening thud. He lay there, completely motionless as the stars heaved in a dizzying dance overhead. Terror fed on him while he laid there, unable to move. He was numb everywhere, save for a sick feeling in his stomach. He closed his eyes, and darkness swam all around him, coating him like sticky, black tar. He lay there and breathed, one breath, two breaths, one after another, no sense of time until his head stopped swimming and feeling began to return to him. Luke's voice slowly floated down to him.

"Bats," Luke said. "This is just bats. Simon, can you hear me?"

Simon could hear him, but he could not tell if he gave any sign he did. At most, Simon was confident he had managed a weak grunt and maybe a moan. Feeling slowly crept back over his body as he lay there, silently cursing. There had been no pain, he realized, only numbness, which scared him. It was scarier to feel nothing, he realized, than to feel pain.

Slowly, excruciatingly, he worked his arms, and then the rest of his body slowly followed, sitting up but still breathing heavily. When he opened his eyes, Luke stared at him wide-eyed.

"Dogs and devils," he said. "How are you even still alive?"

Simon continued to breathe deep. "I'm not sure," he said.

"That was over a hundred feet," Luke said, still in disbelief. "Maggey, how?" The twinkle shot from Luke's shoulder and looped quickly around Simon, zipping into his face and tangling his hair. She flitted so close to him that she made his forehead tingle.

"We need to get going," Simon said, managing his way to his feet, uncertain at first but finding his balance quickly.

Maggey zipped back towards Luke's shoulder, bobbing around his head a moment. Luke seemed to be listening to her. "What? Nothing?" He looked at the fairy, then back to Simon. "There's something not right about you, Stray."

"Good for me." Simon grabbed his backpack. "Let's go." He moved quickly away from the spot where he fell. They were out in the open, and that was bad enough, but the spot also unnerved him.

They made their way away from the manor, finding the North path in the dark. Walking along the path, Simon saw the Grim House again, standing silent witness to their sneaking about. The huge empty windows stared into Simon, the darkness behind them appearing every bit as sticky and alive as the darkness that had coated him when he fell. He shuddered and quickened his pace.

They made their way to the Archives, slipping around to the back of the building. Lights still burned inside, and shadows moved around in the windows. Simon ducked beneath the window. "There's still people in there."

"The Archives don't sleep," Luke said. "Less people at night though. Nobody should notice us. We go in through the back door, then up the staircase to the left. Third floor, got it? Act natural, like we're supposed to be here. You act nervous, like we don't belong, and they'll throw us out." Simon nodded. "Get the door," Luke added.

Simon pulled the door open. They entered the Archives and found the stairwell, where they began their quiet, deliberate climb to the third floor, never once seeing another soul. In the back of his mind Simon began to doubt all the floors were open access this late at night. On the third floor landing, they found a simple door, flanked on either side by a plain wooden table covered in pamphlets and papers. On the door, set in gold paint against the glass, was a list of subjects:

REVENANTS & NECROMANTIC RITES

DARK BARGAINS

BLOODLINES

"Pleasant material," Simon whispered. "Aren't they missing Devils and Supernatural Horrors?"

"Sixth floor," Luke said, without any hint of joking. He grabbed the doorknob. "We're here. Section 6, row J3. Bottom shelf."

"So, what are you looking for?"

"Book." Luke peered through the keyhole before turning the handle.

"Just one?"

"It don't concern you." Luke opened the door slowly. It swung open silently, revealing nothing but darkness ahead. Maggey zipped off Luke's shoulder and darted down into the room, casting a pink-and-purple haze over the shelves. "What's the matter, Stray? Worried you might miss bedtime?"

"Shut up."

"Section 6, then. Hurry up." Luke stepped through the door and walked headfirst after Maggey.

Simon stepped through the door, and his nose instantly jammed with the smell of basement must and old books. Stacks of ancient books towered high over him, reaching up into the dark like decaying old watchtowers, and everywhere, yellowed pieces of paper littered the floor, overturned tables and broken chairs scattered throughout the dusty room...

His head spun as his vision-memory of the room regurgitated in his mind. He had seen this place before, in his vision behind the Paw. The nausea didn't hit him like it had the night before, it flitted over him for just a moment then quickly faded away. The sudden familiarity of the place nevertheless startled him, and he steadied himself against a nearby shelf. It was wet and sticky. Luke was unfazed by the room. He was already down the aisle, counting off the rows of books, searching for Section 6.

Simon took several deep breaths. The image the night before had been so clear, so vivid, that to see it now, right in front of him and matching so perfectly, left him even more shaken than the fall.

A reddish spark winked in front of Simon. Maggey swooped around his head, and this seemed to clear his thoughts, the last remnants of his nausea melting away. "Thanks," he said. The purple spark bobbed happily in the air, then zipped off to catch up with Luke. Simon followed her, pushing the thoughts of Boeman to the back of his mind. For now, he had to help Luke, if he wanted any chance of finding Sam.

He found Section 6. Luke was busily pulling books off the shelves, flipping through them, scanning each one quickly before slipping them back onto the shelf. "What are you looking for, anyway?"

"I told you, spells and incantations." Luke yanked a large book off of the bottom shelf, knocking several smaller books onto the floor. One book fell from the shelf and hit Simon's foot. Unlike the books from Simon's room, this book was not brown with gold lettering, but appeared to be bound in black leather. The title Speaking with the Dead shone in bluish-silvery lettering.

Below the title was Boeman's snake symbol.

He picked it up, mesmerized. "This isn't coincidence," the Other Voice spoke in his head. First, the business card, then the felt bag, now this book. He opened it slowly, then flipped through the pages while Luke continued to scour the shelves. "There's spells in this one," he said quietly. "Divining, catop...catop-tro-mancy, austromancy..."

"No," Luke snapped. "That's not it. You're not helping at all."

Simon snapped the book shut. "Well, maybe if you told me what you were looking for, I could help."

Something new appeared on Luke's face, something Simon had not seen before: fear. It was gone in a second, replaced by his practiced grin. "The dead are boring," he said. "I need spells for the living."

"Why's that?"

"More valuable," Luke said, making it all sound so simple. Content to let Luke hunt for himself, Simon sat on the floor and started to flip through the black book while the pile of rejected books continued to grow around Luke's feet.

"Hey," Luke finally said after a few minutes. "You're supposed to be helping."

"I am," Simon said, flipping idly through the pages. "There might still be something in here. You don't know if there's not." Luke scowled and went back to his search while Simon flipped through the pages again. One passage grabbed him:

Dreams are a gateway into the realm of the deceased. In dreams, the Moated Veil is pulled back, if only partially. For the trained observer, this can be an excellent opportunity to commune with the spirits, but for one just beginning their training, it is not recommended to journey through the Moated realm alone, for the realm of dreams are often fraught with dangers unprecedented in the waking world....

Even dreams weren't safe.

"Found it!" Luke snatched a book from the shelf. "Turn around."

"Why?"

"Because," Luke said. "I'm putting it in your bag." Luke tugged at the zipper of the backpack. "A-ha, I see you've already got a souvenir in here too."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's all right." Luke zipped the bag shut. "It'll be our secret. I was never a fan of due dates either. So you got what you're looking for?"

"No," Simon said, getting irritated. "I've been with you the whole time."

Luke finished zipping up the bag. "So this brown book in your bag isn't what you're here for?"

"No," Simon said. "I need into Mr. Nettle's office."

"Shooting for the big score, I see." Luke eyed Simon for a very long time, adding Simon up, counting all the cards in his deck. "Nope," he finally said. "Way too risky. Let's go."

Simon stood his ground. "No. I have to go. He has something I need."

"I'm telling you, it's too dangerous."

"I'm going to his office, with or without you."

"Okay," Luke said smartly. "Just give me my book and I'll be on my way."

"No." Simon took a step back. "You help me, you'll get your book."

"I ain't going in no Scryer's office," Luke snapped. "They can feel your soul for days after you've left. No way. Now give me my book and I'm gone."

Simon dropped his backpack and shot Luke a dark look. "I helped you, Luke. We had a deal."

Luke cringed, his hand twitching shut. He rubbed his palm and swore to himself softly.

"So that's how it works," Simon said. "We made a deal. I upheld my end, and now you have to help me."

"You barely helped." Luke flexed his fingers. "Bats. Okay, I'll help you break in, but that's it. Once you're past the threshold, our deal is done. We go our own ways, got it? I'm out, right then, right there."

"Suit yourself." Simon grabbed his backpack. "How many books are in here?"

"Just mine and your two," Luke said, brushing past him. "Which way to the office?" Luke shoved the rest of the books back onto the shelf. A small shadow bolted out from another nearby gap and shot along the floor. Both the boys froze.

"Don't move," Luke said. "Don't move a muscle."

"What is it?"

"Don't know."

The small shadow moved along the floor, staying close to the bookshelf. Two large silvery eyes stopped right in front of Simon, staring straight up at him.

"It's okay," Simon said, kneeling to touch the small shadow. "Come here."

"Are you batty?" Luke snarled. "You have no idea, at ALL, what that\--"

The shadow meowed.

Simon recognized the kitten from earlier in the day. "Hello Malkin," he said, trying to make his voice light and cheerful. The kitten's big, silvery eyes shone at him from the darkness. It's little head tilted sideways when Simon talked, its tail flicked idly behind it.

"Good kitty," he said. "Just be quiet, don't need to let anyone know we're here, okay?"

Luke relaxed. "It's a stupid cat?"

"He found you two," said a voice behind them. The boys spun around to see Penny standing at the far end of the aisle. Malkin trotted over to her, winding and purring around her feet.

Luke and Simon both jumped, but it was Luke who recovered first. "You need to stop doing that, Strawberry." He smiled. "I might start thinking that you like me."

Penny said nothing while Simon continued to stare daggers at Luke.

"Maybe you can help us," Luke continued, unfazed. "We were just looking for Needham's Notes on the Big Muddy Monster. We in the right section?"

Penny placed her palm on the end of the long line of bookshelves and closed her eyes. "You took something," she said after a moment. "Messed the whole shelf up, too. That's going to take forever to straighten out." She let out a light, little sigh.

"Well, we'll let you get right to it," Luke said, backing up the aisle. "Come on, Simon. Let's let the pretty girl work."

"Put it back," she said sternly. "I don't care what it was. Just put it back anywhere and I'll straighten them all out in the morning."

"We didn't take anything." Luke held his hands out wide. "See? Nothing?" She stared at them. A moment later a book from one of the higher shelves suddenly fell, hitting him on the head. "Hey!" he said. "Now what'd you do that for?"

"For lying," she said. "Now put it back."

"Now look here bookworm\--" Another book, this time a much larger and heavier one, fell onto the floor, right next to Luke. Luke stared at her in shock. Penny watched him with great interest, her hand still on the shelf, her head tilted, cat-like, waiting on what he might say next.

"I ain't got nothing!" Luke held his arms out to his side. "Where would I hide it? Huh? I got nowhere to put it."

"He could," Penny looked at Simon.

"I didn't take anything," Simon said, looking at Luke, who returned a serious look back at him, then smiled.

"Thirteen books are missing from this shelf," Penny said. "I know seven books are checked out, and four are currently being read. That leaves two missing, and you two are right here, why should I believe you didn't take it?"

"I swear it," Luke said, picking his words carefully. "I swear I do not have anything stolen on me." He turned to Simon. "Swear."

"But, I\--"

"Swear," Luke said. "Swear you didn't take anything."

Simon realized what Luke was doing. He did have the book, but he had not taken it. Likewise, Luke had taken the book, but he did not have it. "I swear I did not take anything," he said quietly. A gentle pulse moved through him, causing goosebumps to erupt on his skin. He tried not to show it, but the sensation left him feeling sick for a moment.

Penny stared at both of them. "My dad told me more about you after you left. Said you're trying to piece your whole life together in one afternoon. That's not very realistic."

"I...guess?" Simon's tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth. He needed a reason to be there, quickly. "That's...kind of why I'm here. I came back to look at those records." Lying didn't come easy to Simon, and he did not like lying to her, but he still needed Luke's help, and he couldn't risk breaking their deal now.

Her eyes narrowed. "Well, if that's why you're here now, then why are you with him, and what are you doing in the section on Dark Bargains? This isn't Bloodlines." Penny cast a doubtful look at Luke.

"Sons of Salem Historical Society," Luke said. "Late-night research session. Chasing an interesting lead."

Penny rolled her eyes. "Bloodlines are in the middle of being moved to the sixth floor to make room," Penny said, ignoring Luke. "I can show you."

"Uh\--" Simon's mind went blank.

"Well, that would be lovely," Luke said, smiling. "Show us the way."

Penny gave Luke another doubtful look. "Follow me," she said, turning away, the little black kitten trotting alongside her.

"What are you doing?" Simon whispered.

"Relax, we'll ditch her in the stairwell, all right? I ain't giving up yet. Go."

The two boys rounded the corner and set off after Penny. She was already several aisles ahead of them, slipping around tall book stacks and the odd cart here and there, all of them overloaded with yet more papers and books.

"This way is quicker," she said, "stepping behind a large potted plant. "I know all the secret passages through the Archives. This one will take us straight up to the sixth floor." She reached out to a small shelf and tipped a tiny black book forward. A moment later the panel of the wall swung outward, revealing a passageway behind it.

"Just like in the movies," Simon said.

"A what?" Penny asked.

"A movie," Simon repeated. "Don't you have..."

"Illusion of light and sound," Luke said. "The non-Folk make them. I've seen a few."

"Oh?" Penny tilted her head again. "What are they like?"

"Nothing beats the real thing," Luke said, flashing a coy smile at Penny. "Maybe sometime I can show you."

At these words an angry, jealous feeling wove its way up into Simon's stomach, but he kept quiet. Even in the darkness of the library Simon could see Penny's cheeks flush. She must have realized it too, for she turned away from both of them quickly, stepping into the passageway. "Follow me," she said before disappearing around a corner.

Luke glanced at Simon, who was scowling. "You jealous, Stray?" He stepped aside. "Go right ahead then. After you." Luke started away from the hidden doorway, towards the door they had first used to enter the library.

"Where are you going?" Simon hissed.

"To the stairs," Luke said, irritated. "That was the plan."

"We can't just leave her in there."

"Sure we can. You heard her. She loves it in there. Let's go." He started towards the door but stopped short. Two silvery eyes stared out at him from just before the door.

"Fine," he said, after a moment of staring at the eyes. "We'll follow her." The kitten sat motionless in front of the door, then finally tilted its head and made a noise half meow and half trill.

"Okay!" Luke hissed. "Fine! Stop looking at me like that." Luke turned around and headed back to the passageway. "You happy now, you little furball?" In response, the kitten trotted over to the passageway, tail pointing straight up in the air, and walked between Luke's legs and into the darkness after Penny.

"I hate cats," Luke said. "We'll ditch both of them once we get upstairs. After you."

The passageway had no light and no windows. Stepping over the threshold Simon bumped into many stacks, knocking some papers over and sending several books tumbling to the floor with a loud thundering thud.

"Careful!" Penny whispered. "These took me ages to sort out."

"Sorry," Simon mumbled. The shapes of the hallway started to come into sharp focus, the large bulky shape next to him coalescing into a large table, and the walls of the passageway revealing themselves to be looming towers of books, so tightly stacked against one another there wasn't so much as a crack between any two of them. Simon was almost certain that if he were to pull a book at random that the wall of books would not budge even an inch, but the combined forces would hold every last book in place.

"Here," Penny said at the top of a flight of stairs. The wall was made out of several stacks of books all shoved together, and she pushed on one exact spot. A door made out of books swung obediently inward. "Sixth floor."

"Lead the way," Luke mumbled, eyeing Malkin, who stayed glued to his side.

Simon did not think it possible, but the sixth floor was creepier than the third\--dust coated everything beyond the passageway, and spiderwebs dangled high overhead as he stepped out of the wall and into the hall. His nose began to run from the mold.

Simon wiped his hand on his sleeve. "Did you hear something?"

"Probably some of the books," Penny said, stepping out of the passage. "There's a few old moaning tomes up here. The silencing ward on some have worn off. Jo's supposed to redo them on the coming Eve tomorrow night, so the magic lasts longer."

Simon strained his ears. The noise had faded, but that did not put him at ease. The three of them moved along quietly for several minutes, passing by several rows of shelves, each of them seemingly built of rotting wood too weak and frail to hold a single book, let alone hundreds. The smell of mold and decay hung in the air, and it made Simon's nose burn. Dread began to bubble inside him.

"Why would anybody want to move an entire section up here?" Luke said. "There's dust up here older than Salem."

"New collection came in," Penny said. "We move things all the time. Dad takes care of the top levels, usually me and my sisters watch the ground floor and a few special sections, but I have been helping him up here some this week."

"Yeah?" Luke said. "Well, your father needs to work on his housekeeping skills. This place is a tomb."

"We're in the older section," Penny said defensively. "We haven't gotten back here yet."

Luke shook his head. "Well, then why did you bring us this way?"

Penny stood in an archway. It too was made of books. She looked back at the boys. "What's wrong with this way?"

"It's fine," Simon said, looking around. His eyes scoured around every shelf, peeked through every crack in the books, looking for a way away from their unexpected guide. "If it's too late we can always come back later," he said.

Penny led them down a long, narrow aisle. The shelves here held not only books, but several other items, from withered bat wings to what looked like burnt bones, each one seated far from the edge of the shelf, and each with a tiny tag. Several of the items were held under glass, with thick carpets of dust surrounding them. The moaning was louder here.

Penny stopped abruptly and placed her hand on the shelf. "Tell me what you took."

Simon's tongue went dry. "I\--"

"Not you," she said, staring at Luke. "Him, and don't think your half-truths will fool me."

"Now wait just a moment here sister," Luke said. "Is that why you brought us up here? To question us?"

"More than books up here," she said. A few of the objects on the shelf started to rattle under their glass domes. "My offer still stands. Leave what you took on the shelf and you can go." She smiled an empty smile, and her emerald eyes locked on Simon. "Just leave it," she repeated. "Please."

"Look," Luke said. "I'm telling you, we haven't stolen anything. We're still in the library, right? We can't steal something if we ain't left with it, you know what I mean? So why don't you go polish your cauldron and leave us\--"

"No!" Penny's voice cracked. "I keep everything the way it's supposed to be. You're messing it up. This is not how we keep things. I have to keep everything the way she left it!"

"Geez," Luke said. "Who died and left you in charge?"

Penny lowered her eyes, suddenly interested in the floor. She withdrew her hand from the shelf and turned away. Malkin swept between their feet and across the floor to Penny. Simon swore her eyes had begun to water.

"Okay," Simon said finally. "We'll leave it."

"Simon!" Luke hissed. Behind them, the sound of the moaning grew louder.

Simon dropped the backpack to the floor. "It's only a book," he said.

"You just don't get it." Luke snagged the bag from the floor. "Books are power. Real power. Strawberry over there knows what I'm talking about," he said, looking at Penny, whose back was still turned to them. "Hey," he said. "Are you okay?"

Penny's shoulders dropped slightly. "Yeah," she said at last, barely louder than a whisper.

Luke stared at the ceiling, exasperated. "Okay, fine," he said. "We'll not take anything. Just cut it out with the moaning routine. You're not fooling anyone.

Penny turned around, her eyes puffy and red. "Moaning?"

"Yeah," Luke said. "I know you're riling them up. Ain't no good though. You ain't scaring me."

A loud, windy howl tore across the floor of the library. Penny's mouth dropped.

Her reaction frightened Simon. He stepped closer to her. "Penny, what is it?"

Her eyes locked with Simon's again, all the color rapidly draining away from her face. "That's not the books."
CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE ATTACK

Simon froze. Behind him, Luke stared towards the sound of the moaning. "Maggey," he whispered, and the tiny spark lit up from his shoulder and shot down the aisle. The fairy's departure excited Malkin, who bounded off after her into the darkness.

Simon watched the pair disappear down the hall. "What is it?"

Penny dropped to her knees, jamming her palms against the floor. A moment later she jerked back up, upset and shaking. "Hellhounds," she said weakly.

Luke muttered a curse. "Well, this is just bats," he said. "We can't do this. Hounds move too quickly. We'll never make it out of here."

Simon looked down the hall. "We run," he said. "We'll run back to the passageway, be gone before they find us."

"For all we know that's how they came up here," Luke said. "That could take us right to them."

"Penny?" Simon said. "Is there a way to check?"

"No," she said. "I\--I can't. I can talk to the Archive, see what she sees, but\--I just can't. Their minds are too scrambled." She wrapped herself in her arms. "Too dark. Too cold." She looked into Simon's eyes. "Please don't ask me to do that."

"Shh," Luke whispered. "Listen."

"What?" Simon and Penny said together.

Luke's face was wrought with worry. "It's stopped."

Luke was right\--silence had fallen over the floor of the library, until the only noise was their frightened breathing. Simon's heartbeat jammed in his head. They drew closer, the moment stretching into what felt like hours, days, weeks. It was like a dream. Together they waited for a hint, any movement at all, to clue them into where the danger was lurking.

There was swift movement at the end of the hall. Suddenly there was a tiny black kitten at the end of the aisle, her tiny legs pumping furiously, running towards them at full speed. A moment later a large, hideous, dog-like beast appeared, eyes blazing green, and huge ivory jaws snapping viciously. Malkin ran at full speed but there was no denying the beast was quickly closing in.

"No!" Penny screamed. She thrust her hands into the nearest shelf, knocking several books out of their place, and even rattling several of the more disturbing items still under glass containers. Penny whispered quietly to herself, and a wave of books flowed off the shelves, cascading down, a tidal wave of books tumbling over the beast. Malkin scrambled under the falling books, nimbly avoiding several large volumes, each striking the floor with a loud thud. The beast was not so lucky\--loud howls of pain filled the air as the books fell on the beast like boulders.

The glass containers on the shelve exploded, sending glass flying in all directions. Simon dropped to the floor and shielded his eyes while glass rained down on him. When he opened his eyes, the burnt bones he had seen earlier lay in a pile before him, and slowly they began to move, shaking and sliding, climbing on top of one another, the bones pushing one another upward. The macabre spectacle continued until a fully assembled skeleton stood in front of Simon, and suddenly its sockets burst to life with orange and yellow fire.

Malkin dashed between the skeleton's legs and leapt into Penny's arms. The skeleton watched the kitten and began to move after it until its fiery eyes met with Penny's. Her eyes flung wide and glowed a brilliant, blazing blue, and for a moment Simon thought she might collapse, but she regained her composure, and she stared deep into the sockets of fire. After a moment the skeleton's sockets eyes blazed with blue flame, then it turned away from them and marched towards the huge pile of books, which had begun to shift as the large beast struggled to free itself. The skeleton stood its ground, a sentinel to block the beast's path.

"Let's go!" Simon shouted. Penny bolted past them, carrying Malkin, who quaked in her arms. The burning skeleton continued to guard them as they sprinted back the way they had come.

They ran back towards the passageway, Penny tracing her fingers along the bookshelves as she ran. Behind them, wave after wave of books erupted from the shelves, sending huge clouds of dust flying into the air. Somewhere behind them, the beast howled, its cry sending shivers through Simon. He continued to run until his legs burned, but he did not dare stop until they reached the passageway door.

"Hurry up," Penny said, still clutching Malkin. "Into the passage."

"I'll go first," Simon said.

"Wait!" Luke hissed. "Wait!"

Simon almost tripped over the threshold into the passage. "What is it?"

"Something here ain't right," Luke said.

"We need to go now," Simon said. "If we stay here that thing will get us."

"No." Luke looked back the way they had just came. "That was a hellhound," he said. "A dog, kind of, but worse."

"Yeah?" Simon said. "So?"

Luke turned back to him, slowly backing away. "Dogs can't moan."

The significance blossomed slowly in Simon's mind, but it was a second too late for him to act. A hand burst out of the passageway, seizing him, trying to pull him back into the dark. It was strong, and it gripped his shoulder fiercely. Foul, frigid breath fell on his neck, and slowly the sound of moaning returned, filling his ears utterly. Simon knew in that instant that the creature was going to drag him down. His mind dropped down, far down, first through the passage, then further, then into a darkness his mind could not grasp. His very thoughts turned to ice. It was hopeless. In the next instant he would be taken away from everything he knew, from this new place he had only just discovered, from his home at the Paw, from Molly and Zoey, from Halloween and homework and everything good and bad in life\--it was all going away. He was leaving it all behind.

He was leaving Sam.

A bright magenta dart streaked out of the darkness, moving so fast it burned a path in Simon's vision. He could not see it, but he smelled burning skin above him, and the iron hand instantly released his shoulder. Simon fell to his stomach, and from the floor he had his first clear view of the passage, and the creature. It appeared human, or at the least mostly human, at least in all the important, noticeable ways. Simon doubted it could pass for human in daylight, but night was a different matter. The creature lay still, the only movement at all being the small plumes of smoke that slowly rolled off several large patches of its ruined body. Its milky white eyes stared emptily at Simon, but the creature's eyes were well past ever seeing anything ever again. Further down the stairs other shapes were moving in the dark, and their moaning became louder than before.

Simon scrambled out into the passageway. Luke helped him to his feet, while Penny peeked down the passage. "Moatlings. More of them," she said. "Can your fairy handle them?"

Maggey floated slowly on the air back to Luke. "I think that one took it out of her." He stroked a small spot on his shoulder. "I can't believe this. Moatlings and hellhounds in one place. They never work together. This is bad."

Simon sat up. His senses slowly recovered. "That was\--"

"Maggey," Luke said. "Popped up out of nowhere and got that one right in the face."

Strength was slowly returning to Simon's legs. "Thank you," he said in the direction of Luke's shoulder. "You saved me." The spark flashed twice, dimly, then went dark.

"She needs rest," Luke said. "That wasn't easy for her." Another howl cut through the air above them. "They have us pinched," Luke said. "This is weird. These two nasties don't mix." Both the boys looked at Penny. "Which way now?"

"There's the main stairwell," she said. "If they followed us through the passage, then it might be clear."

"Better than nothing," Luke said. "Lead the way."

"How is she?" Simon asked, looking at Malkin.

"Scared. She'll be okay." Penny looked back a the passage. "We need to go."

She lead them into the stacks. After a minute of sneaking, Penny paused to put her hand on a shelf. Somewhere out in the silence a small thud happened. A moment later she shuddered. "Four of them. I dropped books on the far end of the floor, away from us, try to draw them that way. When we make it to the stairs, we go straight to my dad's office."

"That so?" Luke peered into the dark. "Beeline it straight there. Why?"

"Threshold," Penny whispered. "Dad has a second one on the doorway there, stronger than normal. Almost impossible for them to get through."

Luke stepped back. "Music to my ears. How far till the stairs?"

Simon's heart thundered in his chest, causing him to stumble. He steadied himself against the wall as Boeman's discordant, tinny laugh suddenly jangled inside his head.

"Simon!" Penny said. "What's wrong?"

"Boeman," Simon said, trying to shake the laugh from his head "He's here."

"How do you know?"

"I feel him," Simon said, the pounding in his chest fading. "I hear him. He's really close. Penny, how far till the stairs?"

"Close," she said. "Can you move?"

"I think so," Simon said, finding his footing. "Go."

They ran as quietly as they could to the front of the floor, never pausing, not even when Luke knocked over a cart containing more books than Simon thought possible. Penny had merely slapped a shelf as she ran past, causing a wave of books to go careening to the floor, the noise of the barrage almost covering the sound of beasts yelping and the gnashing of teeth. They reached the door to the main stairwell and Penny slowly slid the door open, peering down into the floors below. "All clear," she said at last. "Hurry."

They slipped into the stairwell and began rapidly descending the flights of stairs, while above them they heard the howling and thrashing of the hellhounds as they continued to tear the sixth floor to shreds. As they reached the landing for the ground floor, Penny paused to peek through the doors.

"There's one in front of Dad's office," she whispered. "They must have figured we would head there.

Simon peered through the glass of the doors. In front of the side door to Mr. Nettle's office was a large, familiar black shadow moving back and forth, its silhouette cutting through a patch of moonlight as it paced back and forth. Streaker.

Simon's heart pounded. "We can't go this way."

Luke peered through the glass. "Yeah? Why in the world not?"

"That's not just a hellhound," Simon said. "That one works with Boeman. They took my guardian, Sam."

"Wait." Luke said. "Hang on. Did you say Boeman?"

Simon stared at Luke in disbelief. "Haven't you been listening?"

Luke shook his head. "Not really." He looked at his shoulder. "Dogs and devils, Maggey. We've really done it this time."

"What are you talking about?"

"Look," Luke said after a moment. "This here's our best shot. I'll create a distraction, you run for the office, got it?"

"What are you going to do?"

"What I do best," Luke said. "You ready?"

Simon exchanged a long look with Penny. "Okay," he finally said. "Ready."

Luke took a deep breath, followed by another. "Now," he whispered. "Hey ugly!" he shouted, kicking the door open. Unlike Penny's eyes, though, his eyes flashed a deep, scarlet red. The dog was instantly locked onto him. "You're IT!" His eyes flashed again, and he snapped his fingers, hard and loud. A high-pitched tone burst throughout the air, and Streaker howled in terrible pain. Luke followed by hurling a large book at the beast, then broke into a run, away from them, followed closely by Streaker, who had quickly recovered and was chasing him like Death itself had been let loose.

Simon waited until the coast was clear, then slowly slid the door back open and peered around. "Okay," he said. "Looks clear." Penny shoved her head through the crack in the door, too, performing her own rapid-fire inspection.

"Straight ahead," she said. "Once we're through the door, we're safe. It's done."

Another quick check. "Okay," Simon whispered. "Now!"

The side door to Mr. Nettle's office was at the far end of the room. Simon moved quickly, keeping his head down and listening for any sudden sounds, all the while an icy cold sensation spread across his chest, seizing up towards his throat. Penny slipped along beside him, and he suddenly realized that she was barefoot. She barely made any noise, padding along quietly as the two of them slipped along the floor to her father's office.

They were halfway to the door when another vicious howl shot through the air, joined a moment later by moaning. Penny grabbed Simon's hand. "Hurry!" she shouted, pulling him into a run.

Shadows moved behind the shelves around them, human-shaped creatures stumbling rapidly forward, falling towards them in an unfettered pursuit, and behind them claws could be heard scraping across the floor.

They were a few yards from the door. From safety. In a few seconds, they would be inside, past the threshold, safe behind Mr. Nettle's magic. Simon pumped his legs harder, Penny already running at full sprint.

Something darted in the corner of Simon's vision. It moved quickly, leaping in front of the door to Mr. Nettle's office, its teeth flashing blood-red in the moonlight.

Penny screamed and stopped short.

A hellhound blocked their escape. The moaning shadows began to close in around them.

The Other Voice whispered in his mind. "You're pinched, Simon. Do something."

"Get behind me," Simon said. He raised both his palms towards the snarling hound. "Ex luce vita," he said, albeit weakly.

Nothing. He shook his hands as the beast arched its back and growled.

"What are you doing?" Penny put her back up to Simon, her eyes fixed on the shadows around them.

"Just something I do," Simon said. "I did it yesterday. First my hands sort of, well, buzzed, then this light\--"

"Are you insane?" Behind them a shelf of books collapsed onto a group of the advancing ghouls. "You can't just tap your life force around like that."

"You're weak, kid," said the Other Voice.

Another hellhound appeared at the stairwell door. They were boxed in. "Do you have any other ideas?" Simon flexed his hands and held them back in front of them. In his mind, he tried to reach out to the same force he had felt before, to connect to what he thought was his hidden strength.

Cosmic forces.

Strong stuff.

Poofy.

Slowly, the buzzing began to creep into his hands, and the hellhound in front of Mr. Nettle's door began to growl louder. He tried to focus his thoughts more clearly, to line them up all in a row, put them in order like books on a shelf.

"I sure hope you know what you're doing," Penny said.

"I think so," Simon said. He closed his eyes and tried to think of the brightest image he could. Maggey had been bright, in the corridor. Brightness was the key, he was sure, but he was without any idea what to say. He thought of the sun, and spoke the first word that sparked in his mind. "Burn."

Dizziness.

Fire poured out of his fingertips like orange and red water, and he was aghast. Flame erupted from his hands and washed over the hellhound, chasing it off into the darkness. Despite the inferno that now suddenly raged around them, the path to the door was now completely clear. He shook the fire from his hands. "Go!" Simon shouted, and Penny flew to the door, throwing it open and charging inside. Behind Simon the flames leapt across the piles of fallen books, spreading rapidly across the floor as it closed in on every moving thing, moatling and hound alike. The moatlings fell back from the flames, shuffling a hasty retreat into the depths of the library, but the hounds remained, ignoring the inferno for the most part.

Simon's hands tingled even though the flames had faded away, and his head swam clumsily as he backed towards the open door. His eyes kept failing to take in all the sights around him. His chest had gone numb. He crossed into the office with a shiver then collapsed in a heap on the floor. Penny helped him sit up, and when he looked out the door again, Luke was there, on the far side of the room, near the main exit.

"Luke!" Simon's voice was a muddled croak. "Luke, hurry!"

The moatlings had completely disappeared, and the hellhounds only retreated when the shelves began to heave and fall all around them. They rapidly retreated through several large broken windows, yet Luke remained frozen in place, his face a flicker of flames and shadow.

"Luke!" Simon shouted again, trying to get his voice to carry. "LUKE!"

"I said I'd help you get in there," Luke shouted. He pointed at Mr. Nettle's office. "Which I did. There you are."

The air thickened with smoke. Simon could barely make out Luke's outline across the floor. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "ARE YOU FOR REAL?"

Luke looked back at them. "Yeah."

Penny fumed. "Some friend!" she screamed.

"Sorry Strawberry!" Luke started to back towards the main exit. "Ain't nothing personal!"

"I won't forget this!" Simon shouted.

Luke stared at both of them. It was a long, hard stare."I know," he said slowly. Then his face slowly hardened, the flame baking it to brick. Without another word, he backed slowly through the door behind him, and was gone.
CHAPTER TWELVE

HOLLOW

Penny stood in the doorway of the office "Where's he going?"

"Gone," Simon said bitterly. Rage burned inside his throat, bitter and sharp. "Just like he said he would."

Penny backed away from the door. "My father's threshold should protect us. This office is like his home, nothing should be able to get in."

Simon was quiet, another wave of weakness forcing him to sit on the floor. "Is it bad?" he finally said. "The fire?"

Penny gazed at the roaring inferno. "Not yet," she said. "I think we can still put it out. Here," she said, sitting down across from Simon. "Give me your hands."

"What?"

"Your hands," she said, grabbing them. "Sympathetic spell-work. I talk to the Archive, you talk to the fire, okay?

"It can hear me?"

"You created it." She squeezed his hands. "Together we can do this."

His heart pounded in his chest. He had never held a girl's hand before. "What do I need to do?" he asked, forcing himself to focus.

"Close your eyes," she said. "Just follow me. You'll probably see a few images, but try not to panic." She squeezed his hands. "I'll tell you what to do.

He closed his eyes and tried to calm down. It took several deep breaths, but slowly his heart slowed, then his mind began to fill with a few random images, a flower, Malkin, the circulation desk. These images did not pound into his mind but bloomed like flowers. The images tumbled together, the individual pieces piling on top of each other, assembling themselves until an image of the Archives filled his mind completely. Every floor, then every shelf and book, whether they were on the shelf or sitting in a pile on the floor. Almost all of them were on fire.

"Focus," Penny said softly. "Repeat after me. You are the fire, the fire is you."

"I am the fire, the fire is me."

She squeezed his hands tighter. "Again. Talk to the fire, not to yourself."

Simon took a deep breath. "I am the fire." A strange sensation flickered across his tongue, hot and wild, like the flames itself. "The fire is me." He began to feel feverish. "Burning," he said, the words hot and strange, cinnamon tasting. "We are burning."

"Yes, we are." Penny squeezed his hands again. "Rest." Her voice quavered. "Rest in peace."

Sweat broke out across Simon's brow. "Burn..."

"Rest in peace," she said, clutching his hands. Another image flickered across Simon's mind\--the flower, again, then another. Hundreds of them, all sunflowers.

Be at rest," Penny said, her voice wavering. "Rest in peace."

Visions of a somber and quiet place flowed into Simon's mind. A garden. Sunflowers. Rainclouds. People wearing black, and then, Penny and her sister. Their father. Rain. The butterfly garden. Crying.

He was seeing a funeral.

The hot feeling began to fade from Simon. "Rest," he repeated slowly. "Rest in peace." The flames in his mind died away, and with it the cinnamon taste in his mouth. The image of the library slowly began to leave him, collapsing in on itself as it washed away like a dream.

"It's out," he whispered before opening his eyes. He found Penny staring at him intently. "Uhm..." he started to say. "Are you\--"

"Lost," she whispered, her eyes locked on him. "So lost."

This confused Simon. "What are you talking about?"

Her eyes were puffy. "I saw\--" she began. "I didn't mean to, honestly, but...I saw into your mind." Her eyes broke away. "I'm sorry."

"I saw into yours too." His heart began to pound again. "I saw sunflowers, and a funeral."

Penny flinched and pulled away from him.

"I'm sorry," Simon said. "I was like you, I didn't mean to. It just sort of happened\--"

"The fires are out," she said, standing quickly. She leaned out of the side door. "I think they're gone." She kept her back to him, unwilling to talk anymore.

Simon slowly got to his feet and started towards Mr. Nettle's desk. He needed to be looking for that crystal rather than sitting there dumbstruck, staring at Penny's back.

"What do you think you're doing?" Penny asked when she saw what he was doing.

"Lie," whispered the Other Voice.

Simon ignored it. "I came here to find something in your father's desk. He has a way of finding Boeman."

Penny stomped over and slammed the desk shut. "You have no right to go through his desk," she spat.

"It's the only lead I have!" Simon shouted, his chest tight with frustration. "Ever since I came here it's been nothing but meetings and talking. I can not let Sam be taken away from me forever. I will do whatever it takes to find him. That means finding Boeman, whatever it takes." He stared deep into Penny's eyes, which were still puffy, and immediately felt regret for taking his anger out on her. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm desperate. He's the only parent I've ever had. I have to find where Boeman took him."

"You could always just ask," a cold voice said from beyond the doorway. Simon and Penny both jumped. Boeman leaned in the doorway, his hands and feet dirty with ash. "You never know. I may just be willing to work with you." He wiped his hands on his clothes. "I have to give you credit, you're more like Sam than you know," he said, eyeing the doorway. "Second threshold. Clever." His blue eye locked on Penny. "Tell me, was it the girl that thought this up?"

"How did you find us?"

"A friend told me," Boeman said. "Besides, it wasn't like it was really that hard. You did all the work for me, Warner. When you took your little fall out of the window and hit the ground like a limp bag of lifeless potatoes, you set off, well, let's call it an alarm." He chuckled. "So how about it, come along with me? Take you right to Sam. You can even bring your little girlfriend if you want."

Simon and Penny exchanged a look, then backed away from one another. She scooped Malkin off the desk and held her close. "What are you talking about?" Penny asked, blushing.

"Off we go," Boeman said to Simon. "You know, find Sam, save the day. Die the Dark Death," he added mockingly. "We'll go see him together. You already took off with Tamerlane without stopping to think. Why start now?" He pointed a crooked finger right at Simon. "How do you know I'm not the better choice? You really do need to stop and ask yourself just whether you're exercising your most prudent options."

"We're not going anywhere with you. You break people."

"Oh, come on now! Who told you that? Boy, I help people. I help them get what they want, and maybe teach them a thing or two about themselves in the process. I'm a mentor, when you think about it. More of one than that sad sack Tamerlane, anyway. He's always moping about, isn't he? Such a pretty face." Boeman's face suddenly darkened. "Pity I haven't been able to rip it off."

"You're a monster!" Penny blurted out.

"Don't be so sure, young lady." Boeman tapped his finger on the threshold. "Besides, you might find things are easier when you are the monster." The air sizzled around the doorway as the wood splintered. "Less things come after you when you're what goes bump in the night." Streaker appeared beside Boeman. "That's a good boy," he said to the dog, who growled in response. "Have fun," Boeman said, backing away. "I've left a little present for you, but I think you've found it already. See if you can read between the lines. If you can figure it out, feel free to call on me. Do that and I'll take you straight to your dear, beloved Sam, but don't forget, after that, I'm going to watch you die."

"I'm going to save him," Simon said.

"Sure you will. But first, Streaker would like to spend some time with you. I'm not the only one who has business with you," Boeman said, walking away. As he left he began to whistle, the same flat, sad song from Simon's nightmare.

"I hate him," whispered the Other Voice.

Streaker gnashed hard against the threshold, sending up a shower of green sparks. The wood buckled heavily from the impact, sending splinters wildly into the office.

"He weakened the wards," Penny said. "It won't hold forever, not with that\--that thing pushing against it." She swept around the desk.

Simon flexed his hands. "I'll try again. I'll control myself better."

Penny grabbed his hand. "Don't. You're burning your life force up every time you do that."

"My what?"

"Your soul. You're a living being. That makes you a part of the Cosmic Tide\--the Anima, and when you just start throwing around your life force around you risk wearing yourself out. Too much magic at once, without training especially, is a good way to end up hurt, or worse." Her voice dropped. "Hollow."

Suddenly why Nathan had stopped him yesterday at the Gate became terrifyingly clear. Boeman was bleeding him dry. "Hollow?"

"If you do it too much you'll be left too weak to fight," Penny said. "You wouldn't be able to hold them off anyway. They're just wearing you down right now."

Streaker bashed harder against the threshold, causing sparks and splinters to tear through the room as the doorframe buckled from the force. "It's almost through." Penny backed towards the fireplace. "Here, we'll move back towards the side door. Just...back away, slowly. Act like were just hiding. Then once we're out of sight we'll make a break for it."

"Then what?" Simon asked.

"I haven't thought that far," Penny said, scooping up Malkin, who let out a tiny snort and went back to sleep.

"I don't like this." Simon grabbed an iron poker from beside the fireplace. "We're safer here. When he comes through, just stay behind me.

"I don't think that's a good\--"

The door frame burst into a thousand pieces. One final blast of green and red sparks scorched Streaker as he crossed into the office. Once past the broken threshold, the beast threw back his head and howled.

Simon gripped the iron poker tight. "Don't run. He'll just chase you." Streaker moved slowly around the office, his head low and teeth bared. His eyes were pitch black in the moonlight.

The back of Simon's neck ran cold as ice seemed to crawl up his back. He tightened his grip on the iron poker and swung wildly, hoping to connect with the beast, graze it, maybe knock it out. Penny gasped as the poker swung through the air, only to find nothing. When Simon opened his eyes the beast was nowhere to be seen.

"Where is it?" Simon spun in a circle, looking frantically for any sign. Penny stood against the fireplace, her back pressed against the brick. "Where is it?" Simon shouted. "Where did it go!"

"I\--I don't know. It was there one moment, then the next it was just..."

"Where Penny!"

"Gone." She clutched Malkin. "Just...gone."

"It's messing with us," Simon said. "It wouldn't just run\--" Something large and heavy knocked him down, sending the poker sliding wildly across the floor. Streaker landed squarely on his back, pinning him to the floor.

Penny screamed. She grabbed the poker from the floor and swung it frantically. "Get back!" she shouted. "Get off of him!"

Simon heard a soft thunk above him, and he struggled to lift his head against the weight of the beast pressing down on him.

A hatchet was embedded in the front of Mr. Nettle's desk. It quivered for a moment, then went still as intricate lines and patterns in silver began to ebb and glow alone the handle, covering it in brilliant lacework, then finally reaching the blade. Suddenly, a burst of bluish-silver light erupted from the hatchet, filling the room with an ephemeral haze. Streaker fell off of Simon with a loud yowl of pain, whelping frantically as it kicked its way into a corner.

Another familiar voice came through the haze. "Hey there, doggie. I thought I told you to get." Nathan stepped through the silvery mist, his bag of salts in his hand. "Guess that makes you one of them old dogs has that trouble learning new tricks, ain't you?"

"Looks like," said another voice. Kate stepped beside Nathan, her eyes flickering with silver. She was followed by Mr. Nettle.

Who was followed by Luke.

Nathan poured the salt into his open hand and pocketed the rest. With a whisper the salt erupted into a silvery-blue blaze. He approached Streaker, who had stopped kicking and was whining, quietly in the corner.

"Don't be like that," Nathan said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "It's time for you to rest again. Back on the other side." He knelt down to run his hand over the beast's fur. "It was never fair." Streaker whined. "I know, I know. We'll let you sleep." With one last burst of strength, Streaker reared up and sank his teeth deep into Nathan's arm.

Nathan winced. "Bad dog," he said, blowing the salt at Streaker. A bright, quiet flash bloomed, and after a wave of sizzling and smoke, the dog was gone, the smell of rotten eggs and mold hanging in the air. Nathan stared at the spot where the dog had vanished, a very concerned look appearing on his face.

"Penny!" Mr. Nettle rushed across the room to his daughter. "Dogs and devils, daughter! What are you doing here?"

"I\--I heard a noise on the sixth floor. I went to check it out, when\--" she hesitated.

"When what?" Mr. Nettle demanded.

"It was my fault," Simon said, making his way to his feet. "I dragged her into this. I came here to look for a way to find Boeman. Penny\--"

"Again with this!" Mr. Nettle pounded his fist on the fireplace mantle. "This is your doing, isn't it Nathan?"

Nathan was still squatting where the hellhound had been laying, eyeing the floor. "Excuse me?"

"Maybe we should all sleep on this," Kate said, stepping between the two men. "Leave it till morning, give everyone a chance to clear their heads." She pulled her hatchet out of the front of Mr. Nettle's desk. "Sorry," she said quietly when she saw the look on Mr. Nettle's face.

After a moment Mr. Nettle's face slowly softened. "I suppose one more gouge isn't going to be that big a deal, not after the rest of the havoc tonight. Penny," he said, "tell me you didn't let anything out."

"What about the\--" Simon stopped when he saw the look she was giving him.

"The what?" Nettle's eyes were unnerving to behold. In an instant he understood Luke's fear of the man.

"The skeleton," Simon said slowly. With the burning eyes." Mr. Nettle raised his eyebrows and looked at his daughter.

"I panicked," was all Penny said.

"Unfortunately, the Bloody Bones cannot wait till morning." Mr. Nettle pulled a large, dark stone out of his desk drawer. "I'll attend to this myself. Penny, to bed. You will need your rest for tomorrow, when you are to pick up every single book that was displaced."

"That's not all," Simon said guiltily. "Some of the books..."

"Yes?"

"Some of them...caught fire."

"Fire?" Nathan and Kate said at the same time. "How?"

"I did it," Simon said. "I was trying to clear the way to the door, and I\--"There was no use delaying it\--"Fire came out of my fingertips."

"Simon..." said Nathan. His voice was sad. "You really shouldn't have done that. I was going to talk to you in the morning to explain\--"

"I know I shouldn't have," Simon said. "Now."

Nathan stopped short. Over in the corner, Luke snickered quietly to himself.

"What are you laughing at?" Simon snapped. "You left us here. You took off to go save yourself!"

Luke's face darkened. "I went to go get help, or in case you forgot, I couldn't leave until you crossed the threshold to the office. That was our deal."

"Simon, you're making deals now too?" Nathan said, his eyes wide. "You have no idea what forces you're dealing with here, or who you're dealing with either. You," he said, pointing at Luke. "Who is your mentor?"

"I don't have to take this," Luke said, starting for the door. "I'm out of here."

Kate blocked the door. "Better answer him, kid."

Luke huffed. "He ain't here," he said through gritted teeth. "He stayed down in the Delta, sent me up alone to pay his dues."

"Well, ain't that just lovely of him?" Nathan focused solely on Luke. The air began to buzz. "Not too common to send an apprentice up alone." He closed in on Luke. "Now why do you think he would do something like that, Mr. Briar? I ask as a mentor." His voice was an icy poke in the chest. "Answer me."

Luke shivered. "He's busy, okay?" He held his ground when he answered "Tracking a Roux-Ga-Roux for Madame Mamzelle. Last name of Foxworth."

"There you go," Nathan said curtly. "See? Easy. Simon, don't make deals."

Simon had been staring at the spot where Streaker had vanished. "What? Why?"

"Because you're too young to know what you're doing, and deal-making isn't just agreeing to do something. You're forming a pact, and those come with consequences if you don't honor your side. There are those," Nathan looked at Luke, "who might try to take advantage of that.

"Hey now, our business is done," Luke protested. Nathan threw him a suspicious look. "Well, it is."

"We need to go, Simon. Peter, we can be by in the morning to help pick up the mess."

"I'm sure there will still be plenty of it to go around," Mr. Nettle said, looking at Penny, who looked away.

Nathan headed towards the door. "Simon," he said as he crossed the broken threshold, "isn't this yours?" He held up a rather sorry-looking and beaten-up backpack.

"I\--" Simon started. "Yes."

"Don't forget it," he said, tossing it to Simon and leaving. He glanced at Luke, then Penny. Luke remained silent while Penny stared daggers at him. He started to talk, but then Luke put his arm around her and winked. She flushed when he did this, causing Simon to storm out of the room.

Kate was outside the library, staring up at the stars. "I guess we'll have to wait another night to finish our walk," she said as Nathan and Simon came out of the library.

"It would seem that way," Nathan said. "Simon, could you give us a minute?" They stepped away, just out of earshot, but not completely out of sight. Simon had a bad feeling Nathan wouldn't be letting him out of his sight very often anymore.

Luke stepped up beside him. "All right, Stray, hand it over."

Simon watched Nathan and Kate talking. Their heads were close together, their voices soft. "What?"

"My book," Luke said. "I ain't walking away from tonight empty handed."

Simon handed his bag over. Luke unzipped it and stuck his arm deep into the bag. After a moment of fishing around he yanked his arm out and glowered at Simon. "What did you do with it?"

Simon continued to watch Nathan talking to Kate. Despite what had just happened inside the library, Kate seemed to be acting cheerful, smiling and even laughing. "What are you talking about?"

"My book, that's what. It's gone." He threw the backpack on the ground and closed in on Simon. "I see you still managed to get your little prizes though."

Simon snatched up his backpack. "What are you talking about?" Opening his backpack he saw two books but couldn't explain how either one had ended up in his bag. The first book was the blank one that he had left in his room, on the bookshelf.

The second was Speaking with the Dead.

"I don't know how either of these got in here," he protested.

"Sure you don't." Luke sneered. "You still owe me, Stray, you got that? We ain't over yet." He started towards the trees. "Not by a long shot."

Simon was left alone with his thoughts, utterly dumbfounded. He had left his room, after all, with an empty bag, only now to have two books unexpectedly appear. Boeman's words echoed in his mind. I left you a present. Read between the lines.

Simon flipped through the brown book again, but its pages were just as blank as ever, meanwhile the lettering on the cover of Speaking with the Dead glimmered blue and silver in the moonlight. Simon checked the front page but did not find any handwritten messages.

Kate stepped away from Nathan, her hand lightly touching his face before heading up the trail. A moment passed, then Nathan was at Simon's side. Neither of them spoke, only exchanging angry looks. They walked back to the house in complete silence, all the while the two books were nestled in Simon's backpack, thumping against his back with every step.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE LESSON

The following morning came quickly. As Simon woke up on the familiar-feeling couch, for an instant he imagined himself in their apartment over the Rabbit's Paw. He could almost hear Sam cooking breakfast, or talking with Molly, and Zoey would be using his toothbrush again. Then, after Frank brought the bread delivery, he'd be off to the bus stop, and then on his way to school, where his biggest problems would be homework and school lunch and running the mile. But, he was not home, Sam was not cooking, and there was no gym class here. Only a nagging sense of despair.

The couch he had slept on, while identical to the one from their apartment in almost every way, gave him no comfort. The rest of the room, for the most part, had taken on more qualities of his home, from copying the rugs on the floor to gaining the same cracked yellow wallpaper from the main dining room, and yet, for all this, he did not feel at home. His backpack sat on the bed, undisturbed since the night before, when he had dropped it onto the covers, spilling out the blank journal and the book he had reluctantly brought back from the Archives.

Simon picked up the brown book. He had half expected it to be just a copy of the one he had discovered in his room the day before, but as Simon held the book in his hands, he saw the empty space on his bookshelf. Slowly he slid it back into its spot, then picked up Speaking with the Dead. A passage caught his attention:

It is important to remember that not all forms of death are equal. The moatling, or ghoul, for instance, is neither living nor dead, and as such communication with one is frivolous. Experts believe this is due to the process one undergoes when becoming the ghoul, where the soul of the person has been forfeited to another, while the body remains imbued with their residual kinetic energy.

There was a knock at the door. In a panic, Simon shoved the stolen book back into his backpack while the knocking grew louder. "Simon?" Nathan was pounding on the door. "Simon! Wake up! Are you in there?"

"Yes!" Simon shouted. He threw the backpack under the bed and ripped the door open. "I was getting dressed," he said curtly as Nathan swept into the room.

"We need to get you fed," Nathan said. "Today is going to be busy. You will need your stamina."

"Why? What's happening?" Simon spied the strap of his backpack sticking out from under the bed, the muscles around his stomach tensing up.

Nathan was at the windows, peering out the curtains. "I've made special arrangements. After last night, I've convinced the Archmancer that it's too dangerous for you here." Nathan paused, his eyes still focused on something outside. "Too dangerous unless we teach you some of the basics. We can't have you burning yourself out all because no one took the time to teach you a little self-control."

Simon kicked the strap of his backpack under the bed and joined Nathan by the window. "So does this mean I'm going to be somebody's apprentice?"

"It won't be 'somebody,' kid. It'll be me. Besides, being an apprentice isn't like signing up for the scouts. You're only accepted after you've passed a set of tests\--trials, really."

"Trials?" Simon thought for a moment. "Could I do them while I'm here?"

"Oh," Nathan said. "All ready to leave your old life behind?"

"There's not much back there," Simon said grimly.

"Don't say that." Nathan checked his grimoire. "You can't take the trials now. Perhaps after we find Sam, if you really wanted, and if the council allowed it."

"What do you mean? If the council allowed what?"

"There's too many factors here, Simon. Not everyone joins the Freemancers. It's entirely possible to just have your powers and use them in your day-to-day life. You're free to live a normal, quiet life, like Sam was, if you wanted. Nothing says you have to use your talents to the defense and safety of others. The board evaluates potential apprentices closely."

"Well what if I wanted to?" Simon insisted. "Would joining the Freemancers help me save him?"

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Nathan said. "It's not just you that wants to see Sam safe. We are going to find him, I promise you that."

"If you're going to be training me anyway..." Simon started.

"Basics," Nathan insisted. "Defense techniques, nothing more. Frankly, they're worried even this might be too much for you to absorb. You are terribly unprepared for this."

"That' not fair," Simon said. "I haven't even had a chance yet."

"Your track record is already against you," Nathan said. "The spellfire incidents alone were enough to give the Archmancer pause."

"The first one wasn't my fault."

"But last night was," Nathan said. "You need to know something, Simon. The Folk tap into the fundamental forces of the universe. It's the gift of Par Adhara\--realm of the Old Ones. Last night, you tapped into the only force you know naturally\--your soul. You set half the Archives on fire and you risked burning yourself out. You can't just tap into your own reserve like that."

So he did have his soul in him. "Why?" Simon asked. "Would I end up\--" the next word stuck in his throat\--"hollow?"

Nathan stared out the window again. "It's not pretty," he finally answered. "It's not something you can just sleep off, or fix with a big meal. Your natural life is a vase that can't be refilled. What you've been doing...it's been tipping the water out."

Simon stared at the bed. "I didn't know," he said flatly, his chest feeling suddenly very empty.

"You do now. That is what's important," Nathan said quietly. "You learn from your mistakes, and you're still young." He smiled weakly. "The vase isn't nearly as empty as you think." His words were not comforting.

"Well what was I supposed to do?" Simon finally asked.

"That's what we're going to show you," Nathan said. "After breakfast, anyway." He slowly made his way to the door. "Try not to worry too much about it, okay? Can I trust you to be down in the dining room in five minutes?"

Simon's eyes wandered back to the space under his bed. "Yeah," he answered.

"Okay," Nathan said. "Good. I'll see you there." He shut the door behind him.

Simon sat on the couch, his chest aching as he struggled to control himself. He hadn't known, hadn't realized what he was doing. At first, the discovery of what he was had been overwhelming, but underneath the revelation, there had been excitement at the prospect of what this meant. Now, sitting on the couch that wasn't the one he usually slept on, but looked like just it, sitting in the room that tried to be like home, but wasn't, what Nathan had told him finally started to sink in. Nothing's ever free.

Simon must have sat on the couch longer than he realized, for the sun coming in the window was stretched across the floor to the bed now. He made his way to the hall, half expecting to see Nathan storming towards him, but the hallway was empty, save for a few servants cleaning the windows and an old man with giant bushy hair sleeping at the far end of the hall.

Simon found his way to the dining room without incident, and to his surprise Nathan was seated at the table under the stuffed buffalo head. Kate was seated across from him, and they were talking pleasantly over breakfast. Simon slid into a seat between them and reached for an empty plate. He was not hungry, but he knew he needed to eat if he was going to make it through the day. He reached for a piece of toast without looking either of them in the eye.

"Good morning, Simon," Kate said. Her plate was piled high with fruit. "Have you picked a tongue yet?"

The bizarreness of her question shook Simon. "Excuse me?"

"I hadn't gone over that with him yet," Nathan said. "Simon, you need to pick a language. A tongue. It's going to be like a...like a toolkit, I guess you could say. Your means of control. It doesn't have to be anything fancy, just something you'll be comfortable using." He sipped his coffee. "Not what you use for regular talking, though."

"Why not?"

"Spoken spells entwine magic directly into speech," Kate said. "It's not like using a grimoire or a staff. So your tongue needs to be separate, otherwise you would start casting spells just while talking. Every word you speak could be laced with magic. Casting that much constant magic can be dangerous, plus without a determined source to channel, you would tap your own power. You need to act as a conduit, rather than be the source."

"Oh," Simon said. Hollow. "So what language do you use?"

"Out loud?" Kate said between bites of fruit. "Gaulish. Older languages are better since they're more removed."

"Always better if it's not too close to home," Nathan said. "What do you think, Simon? Do you need a few minutes to decide?"

Simon thought about his experience with other languages in school. He had taken some Spanish and some French, but neither had been particularly easy. There had been a few books on Latin in the school library, and he had glanced through them a few times out of curiosity. They had been utterly and completely alien. Perfect.

"Latin," he said, finishing his toast. "Can I use that?"

"Quite a few do," Nathan said. "I did, even, at first. Perfect." He sipped his coffee. "We won't even have to go to the Archives for a primer. That's probably for the best anyway, until Peter has everything sorted back out."

After breakfast the three of them walked across the grounds behind the manor, behind the gardens and into a clearing between Silverwood and the Grim House. They passed several people on the way there, most of them younger than Simon, many of them shouting and talking in strange languages that Simon couldn't begin to understand. One tall boy with dark brown hair clutched his hand and yelled something harsh that sounded like German, and a small rock in front of him cracked into two pieces. Clearly pleased with himself, the boy nodded and pointed at the rock while motioning to several younger students, who stopped what they were doing to come and see.

Nathan led Simon away from the other kids, around a grove of trees to a secluded spot near a small pond. "Here we go, this spot will work nicely." Nathan picked up a small pebble and placed it on an old and worn tree stump. "Okay, Simon. First lesson."

Simon stared at the pebble. "What do I do?"

Nathan folded his arms. "Attack it."

"What? How?"

Kate tossed her hatchet idly. "Right into the deep end, Nathan?"

"How I learned."

"Look how you turned out." Kate squatted next to Simon. "Focus, Simon. It's easier than you think. Concentrate on what you want."

He felt dumb, but Simon squinted his eyes at the rock, at a loss for what to do next. "I don't know what to do. Normally it feels like I'm getting dizzy."

"That's your own energy swimming inside you. You get dizzy because you're tapping your own strength." Kate drew her hatchet, pointed it at the pebble. "Think it through. What do you want to do?"

Simon thought for a moment. "Do I need to crack it, or just knock it back?"

Kate smiled. "That's a very good question. Nathan?"

"Me? I'd probably just flick it into the next Order."

Kate raised an eyebrow at Nathan. "Let's try a little push," she said to Simon. "How do you make a rock move?"

Simon wracked his brain. It was too big a box for him to think out of. Finally he had an idea. "What about wind, or shaking the ground underneath?"

"Both good options," Kate said. "Wind is a good choice. It's quick and hard to completely block. Nathan?"

Nathan was busy picking through his thoughts again. "Hmmm?"

"Latin for air?"

Mental page flip. "Aeres."

"Okay. Simon you got that? Look at the rock, focus on what you want it to do, and speak the word aeres. Put your will into it. Let the word carry your will. Tap the wind."

Simon did as he was told, lifting his hand out in front of him to help him focus. He looked down his fingers, until the tips were pointed directly at the pebble. He thought of hard winter winds, tornadoes, and gentle breezes. He focused on the breeze in his mind, wanting to see it push against the little stone. He focused as hard as he could, and he whispered. "Aeres."

Nothing happened. The pebble remained on the stump, unmoved.

"Aeres," he said again, anger slipping into his voice. "Aeres!"

"Its okay, not everyone can do it the first time," Nathan said.

"I can do it!" Simon insisted, staring daggers at the pebble. "Aeres!"

"Simon, it's okay." Kate put her hand on his shoulder. "It's only your first try."

Something angry seized Simon, grabbing him by his heart and throttling him. He found a new thought bubbling up inside his mind, a new idea, and a new command blew into his mind, whispered by the Other Voice. It told him a command to yell, a command to let thrash and rage in the air around him. "Destruo!" he screamed, his voice twisted with anger and hatred and rage. Images of destruction ran rampant though his mind. On the tree stump, the pebble cracked and shattered, tiny shards ripping through the air, one piece zipping past his face, stinging slightly as it cut his cheek.

These feelings were different, they rocked Simon's body, strength pouring through him. Through his heavy breathing he felt stronger, more powerful. He didn't need these lessons. He was ready. He could find Boeman himself. He would force Mr. Nettle to tell him how to find Boeman, and then Simon would force Boeman to take him right to Sam. Nothing could stop him from saving Sam, showing him how powerful he had become, and how wrong he had been to keep this world hidden from him. It all felt so good.

Something small and hard bounced off the back of Simon's head. He spun around to see another tiny pebble land on the ground between his feet. His concentration broke, and his anger suddenly waned. "I'm sorry," he said, looking Nathan in the eye. "I don't know what came over me."

"It's okay." Nathan eyed Simon with caution "But what made you say that? Where have you heard that before?"

"I don't know," Simon said. "It was just there in my mind all of a sudden."

Kate holstered her hatchet. "Maybe we should go to the Archives after all," she said. "It couldn't hurt to get a primer."

"There's no time," Nathan said, staring at the rock fragments. "Tomorrow is Halloween. That's not a coincidence. Darrow has something planned."

Kate's eyes widened. "Silas Darrow? But he dreams..."

"He dreams no longer," Nathan said. "Nicodemus has felt it. Darrow walks again."

Her hand found its way to her hatchet. "Nathan, why didn't you tell me?"

"I had hoped not to burden you with it." He stared at the stump, which had also been destroyed. "But now I'm seeing that bigger forces are at work."

Kate glanced at Simon, then quickly averted her eyes. "How long has he been awake?"

"We're not sure. At least a few weeks, maybe even longer."

"That's why Peter thought you were looking for Nicodemus, isn't it? You want his help."

"I want many things right now. Sam most of all." Nathan looked at the ground. "At any rate, Nicodemus owes me."

"He owes you?" Simon rolled the unbroken pebble back and forth between his fingers, barely feeling it at all.

"Don't worry about that," Nathan said. "One devil at a time. Right now, Simon, you need to learn this, and you need to learn this quickly."

"I'm not so sure the Council would agree with you," a voice said behind them. A tall man stepped around the tree. Simon recognized him from the meeting in the Timeless Room the day before.

"Junior Officer Churl," Nathan said flatly. "Pleasure as always."

"You were reported walking out here with the Warner boy." Churl straightened his pristine white gloves. "Apparently some people are disturbed by another Warner wondering around, let alone one without any self control." He locked eyes on Kate. "Greetings, Ms. Merrimoth! Good morning to you."

"Doug," she said.

"I hope I will be seeing you tomorrow night at the Masquerade Ball. Representatives from all seven orders will be present. You will be attending unescorted, yes?"

Kate crossed her arms. "That has yet to be determined."

"I see." Doug bowed slightly. "Perhaps I will have the good fortune tomorrow night to have your hand for a dance, but for now I bring ill news for Mr. Tamerlane and young Mr. Warner."

"And what would that be, Doug?" Nathan stepped between him and Simon. "Was there a request to investigate another wendigo up in the far frozen norths?"

"You would do well to answer one of the council's requests every now and then, Nathan, if your family standing is ever to survive you. Alas, that is not the case today. I am here with a simple message from the Council." He flicked a bug off his sleeve. "Stop."

"Stop?" Nathan shook his head. "Stop what?"

"You know what I mean, Nathan. Stop causing trouble, stop your little campaign against one of our senior members, and most of all," he pointed at Simon, "stop trying to train this one. He's lost. Driftwood. Best to leave him as he is before you get into more trouble again and he ends up like his father did."

Simon started for Churl but Kate was right there to block him. Nathan moved forward, stretching his face into a smile. "I don't know what you're talking about. We were just out enjoying the fresh morning air."

Churl smiled back. "Of course you were. Now stop."

"They're only trying to help," Kate said. "It's clear the Council has lost interest in trying to find one of us who's gone missing."

"That is still undetermined." Mr. Churl straightened his jacket. "We are still awaiting word from our own investigation whether Mr. Thatch has simply taken his leave of his burden."

"Burden? He's the only family I've ever known." Simon clenched his fists. "He loves me."

Mr. Churl frowned. "A regrettable fact, if you ask me."

"No one is," Nathan said. "How about you run along, Junior Officer Churl, and leave us to our morning walk."

Churl shifted his weight. "Nothing would please me more. However, I am tasked with taking back your assurances that all this meddling has concluded." He smiled. "I'm going to have to insist."

"Lucky you," Nathan said. "Are you going to just be our shadow, then? Make sure we stay off the grass, play all peachy with the other kids?"

"Nathan." Kate said.

"Oh come now," Churl said. "There's no reason to be like that. I am merely doing my duty as a sworn officer of the council."

"Must have forgot my manners this morning." Nathan stepped in close. "So come on, Doug. I want to know: you plan to stick to us like the bug that you are?"

Mr. Churl leaned in. "Like the wind to the wing if I have to," he snarled.

Nathan set his jaw. "Where I walk you won't follow."

"Try it."

"Boys!" Kate said. "Enough. Please."

"Yes, Nathan. Enough." Mr. Churl sneered. Please. Drop this act, let us handle what there is to handle."

"If I thought you could I wouldn't have to," Nathan said. "Maybe if your precious Council could pull its collective noses out of their own petty squabbles and power plays, they could see what's happening."

"Oh, we see what's happening, all right," Mr. Churl said. "You're a cat's whisker from banishment, Tamerlane. You push too hard, and you'll see just what kind of shadow I can be. STOP."

"Enough," Kate said, stepping between them. "Both of you can stop. This isn't helping anyone."

Nathan gritted his teeth. "Doug."

Churl turned to leave. "I think I'm done here. Nathan. Ms. Merrimoth, perhaps we will see each other tomorrow night."

Kate stiffened "Perhaps."

There was a long silence after Churl was gone. "Well, then," Nathan said, "back to it, I suppose? Kate, you good?"

Kate gave Nathan a sidelong glance. "I think I'm done here too," she said. "I'm heading back to the manor."

"Kate\--"

"No, Nathan. I'm done. I'll see you tonight."

"What's going on?" Simon asked.

"You wouldn't understand," Nathan said gruffly, watching Kate leave. "Somedays I don't think even I do." He tossed his pebble into the pond. "You should probably get to the Archives."

"Why?" Simon asked. "We've barely started."

"Because she's right. We should get you a list of basic spells and visualizations. Probably need to help clean up the mess you made, too."

"You can't just show me? I promise I won't use that word again\--"

"No," Nathan said firmly. "Simon, do as I say. Go. I'll meet you at the manor later."

Simon hesitated for a moment, wondering what it was Nathan was keeping from him. "Is everything all right?"

"Simon, GO."

"Okay." He hesitated a moment, wanting to find the right words to say, but finding none. "Fine," he finally said, and he left Nathan staring out into the pond, rounding around the small grove of trees as he made his way back up the path.

* * *

The front desk of the library was stacked high with books, many of them slightly singed and charred. Simon swallowed his guilt and began to look around for Penny. Malkin slept cozily on a large overstuffed chair near Mr. Nettle's door.

A red tangle of hair bobbed over a nearby stack of books. Simon tried to smooth his hair. After the fire, he had found himself thinking of Penny, and he couldn't help but sense a connection had been forged between them while they hid in her dad's office during the fire. It might have just been his imagination, but just in case it wasn't, he smoothed his hair and checked his nails. It was silly, preening behavior, and he knew it, but that didn't stop him.

Penny came around the corner, her arms full of yet more damaged books. "Hey," she said. "Can you help? All these books need to go to the Restoration Room."

"Sure," Simon said, grabbing an armload from the counter and following her. "Listen, I'm really sorry about the fire. I'm still learning a lot of, well, everything."

"I understand," she said, leading him into a side room filled with more charred books. "We all have to figure out what we're going to be. It takes time. Believe it or not, this isn't the first time there's been a fire that caused a little damage."

"You call this a little damage?" Simon asked, looking into the room. "There must be hundreds of books in here."

"Nothing we can't handle. Dad is a master binder. He and Jo will have these back in circulation soon enough."

Simon was almost unnaturally relaxed around her. "Your whole family works here, don't they?"

"We live here," she said.

"What's your mom do here? Does she do binding too?"

Penny set her stack of books down. "She did," she said, her tone odd and flat. "She died last year from illness."

His question could not have backfired any worse. "Oh," he said, feeling his wind sputter out of him. "I'm...sorry."

She looked hard at him, her eyes stony, like a wall. Then, her features slowly softened. She set her book down and crossed the room to a large bookshelf, where she found a large green book and tilted it forward. A section of the nearby bookshelf swung silently inward, revealing a small room beyond. The walls inside were made of cubby holes, each one stuffed with books and papers. "She used to read to me in here every night. We'd sit on the couch in the corner there," she said, pointing at a large green couch with a rumpled yellow pillow and blanket tossed to the side. It looked freshly slept in. "This was our secret room."

Shame throttled Simon. He had kicked a hornet's nest. "I'm sorry," he repeated, angry at himself for not having something smarter to say, something comforting that might undo the damage he had just caused. He heard Luke's mocking laugh in his head.

"It's okay," Penny said. "Whenever I'm feeling afraid, or upset, I come in here. I still like to sleep in here, feels like she's still close, you know?"

Simon did not.

Penny sat on the couch. Next to it was a dark red book, a little larger than a phone book and the color of fresh blood. She picked it up. "This was her grimoire," she said, holding up the book. "It was her mother's, and her mother's, back through the generations all the way back to the founding of the Order. It had all their secrets, every spell, every enchantment they ever uncovered. When she died the pages went blank, the magic reabsorbed back into the paper itself." She smiled as she traced her hands over the blank cover. "'Every life is a story', she used to say. Everything she knew, it's all in here, waiting to be rediscovered." She was quiet a moment. "It's almost like she's still here, like she just left to grab an extra blanket or a cup of hot chocolate like she would in the winter." She blushed. "I don't even know why I'm showing you this. I just..." She locked her pale green eyes with him. "I haven't really felt...close to anyone since she died. I guess, after last night, you and I...I mean..."

Simon's heart began to pound in his ears. Whatever had happened, she felt it, too, and she could explain it to him, help him make sense of it. He stared at her as he felt his palms start to sweat.

She shook her head. "It's stupid. Never mind," she said, dropping the grimoire on the couch. He started to speak, but she was pushing him back out of the room, her hand firmly on his chest. She traced her fingers along the wall as she went, and after they were clear, the bookshelf slammed shut behind her.

They continued their work in silence. They made several more trips to the Restoration Room, stacking the books in multiple areas, until the room was almost completely filled. Jo sat behind the desk, eyeing Simon over another pile of silver gears every time he came for another stack of books. "The Bloody Bones really took it out of Dad last night," she said as they were finishing. "Kept him awake until almost sunrise. His whole day is thrown off."

"That was my fault," Penny said. "I'm the one who let him out."

"Gave poor Goody Neb an awful fright," Jo said, never taking her eyes off Simon. "Thought it was Goodman Neb back from the World-That-Comes. Guess he wasn't much to look at in life, to confuse him with that."

"Jo!" Penny's cheeks flushed with red. "I told you, I was the one who let it out. Blame me, okay?"

"Just looking out for you, Sis. Don't want to see anything happen to you."

"Jo!"

"All right, all right. You don't have to bite my head off." Jo stared at Simon over her pile of silver. "You. Nothing happens to her, got it?"

"Okay," Simon stammered. "I won't\--"

"That's right," Jo said. "You won't. Got it? Good." Jo produced a box from under the counter. "We had some requests from the Frontier Order that need to go out this morning. Since Dad is still sleeping I'm running them down to the Transfer Depot. I should be able to catch them before they head out. Watch the front desk until I get back."

Penny flushed. "Will do, Jo. Queen of Books."

Jo smiled. "I shouldn't be away too long. No more fires while I'm gone."

Penny settled down behind the counter while she waited for her sister to leave. Once Jo was gone, she grabbed Simon by the wrist. "Follow me," she said, leading him to the door to her father's office.

"What are you doing?" Simon asked. "Can we go back in here?"

"You heard Jo\--Dad's asleep. I think I know what you're looking for." Penny dropped to her knees in front of the fireplace and began to sweep aside the ashes.

"Why are you helping me?" Simon suddenly said as she exposed a grate hidden in the fireplace under the ash.

Penny paused. "He's your father, right?" she said, her face turned away from him.

"Yes, mostly. I've never known my real father, but Sam's raised me my whole life."

"Close enough," she said. Her fingers found two holes in the floor of the fireplace, and with a small metallic clunk she pulled the metal grate cover free. "In here. Dad puts things in here he doesn't want me to find. He doesn't know I found it last year, after...Well, last year."

Malkin appeared between Simon's legs. The kitten cuddled his feet before the open grate stole her attention. Penny scratched her behind her ears with her free hand, while her other arm was plunged deep into the floor. "Here we go," she said, sitting up. Her arm was covered in soot, but in her hand she clutched a twisted branch shaped like a wishbone. Two of the ends were wrapped in brown leather straps "Is this what you were looking for?"

Simon shook his head. "I was coming for a crystal your dad wears around his neck. He put it in his desk."

"His crystal?" Penny tilted her head. "No...no it wouldn't work."

"Why not?"

"Because you're looking for someone who's alive," she said hesitantly. "My dad is a Master Scryer. You become one by forging an Esper crystal. It can find anyone anywhere. It's tuned to everything alive, but after Mom died, he re-tuned it. He tuned it to her. He wears it, in case one day, he can...I mean in case she..." Her eyes glistened with tears. "It can't do what you want, but if people found out he had re-tuned it\--"

"I won't tell," Simon said quickly. He desperately wanted to change the subject. "So what is this stick used for?" he asked, hating how forced it sounded.

She held up the stick. At the center of it was an empty socket. Her voice regained some strength. "A dowsing rod. A tool for scrying\--uses the ley lines of the earth. Works with crystals, because they're of the earth, and you can tune them to a specific person or place. Like...my Mom." She composed herself. "My Dad's crystal won't work for what you want though."

Penny handed the staff over to Simon. It was almost as long as his arm, a dark wood with a smooth texture. One end of the stick bore an empty socket, a hole just big enough to insert a small rock. Roughly the size of a lucky rabbit's foot\--

"Wait a minute," Simon said. Deep down, a loose, wild thought began to run rampant through his mind.

Penny looked at him quizzically. "What is it?"

Simon looked at the socket. "This uses crystals?"

"Yeah..."

He looked deep into the socket, and the next thought struck him like lightning.

Crystals.

Like the one in his room, in the bag with Boeman's symbol.

His heart pounded with excitement. "I have one back in my room," he said. "It showed up yesterday on my shelf. It's the right size." He was already backing away. "It has to fit. It has to!"

"Simon," Penny said, the lines on her face knotted with concern. "Something like that shouldn't just show up. Nothing is ever free. If it came to you, it came with a price, whether you know it or not."

"I don't care!" Simon snapped. "This is what Nathan was looking for. It's been in front of us the whole time." He clutched the dowsing rod. "This is the best lead I've found to finding Sam. I have to try!"

Simon bolted from the room, Penny close behind him. "Wait!" she shouted, but it was no use. He ran past the front desk, through the door, bursting out into the lawn behind the manor. He ran hard, cutting through the garden, up through the back doors near the dining room, nearly knocking over a member of the staff carrying decorations for the Masquerade. He bolted up the rear stairs, taking them two and three at a time until his legs ached, but he wouldn't stop. Penny was at the bottom of the stairs, shouting after him, but he would reach his room first and then he would have the crystal, and the staff, and he would find the man who had taken Sam. It had to work, it just had to.

Simon threw the door to his room open, rattling the windows as he entered. He nearly tripped over his backpack, which was laying, empty, right inside the door. Catching himself he saw that his room was in pieces. The bookshelf on the far side of the room lay on its side, its contents spilled over on the floor. What clothes Simon had packed were thrown about the room, the covers to the bed were pulled away and thrown all over the room. The cushions of the couch had been slashed.

Simon stood dumbfounded in the doorway, long enough that Penny had time to catch up to him. "Simon, wait!" she still shouted. "You need to let me see this crystal first\--" Her eyes went wide at the sight of the ruined room. "What happened here?"

"I don't know," was all Simon could say. "I thought these rooms were protected..."

"They are," Penny said, taking in the room. "I don't know how this could have happened."

Simon sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the mess of clothing and sheets in front of him and the empty spot on the shelf where the crystal had been that morning.

"It was him," Simon said quietly. "He saw it when he was here last night."

Penny sat next to Simon, strands of red hair falling in her face. "What's wrong?"

"The crystal is missing," Simon said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I left it on the shelf. I thought it would be safe in here," he said. "He got in here somehow and took it. I don't know how, but he did."

"Who?" Penny asked. "Who took it?"

The blood had drained from Simon's knuckles, he was clutching the backpack so tight. "Luke."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE DOOR AT THE BOTTOM OF THE LAKE

"Crystal?" Nathan's voice thundered across the almost-empty dining hall. Most of the tables had been removed by the servants in preparation for the Masquerade, and all around them the house staff continued to set up for the big event, removing the last of the furniture and hanging decorations. The fireplace was being emptied and cleaned, and on the far end of the room it appeared that a medium-sized pond was being installed, complete with cattails and tall grasses.

"Nathan, keep your voice down," Kate whispered. "They're setting up for the gathering in here."

"I don't care!" Nathan said. "Simon, how in the Moat did you find a dowsing crystal?"

Simon and Penny sat abashed at one of the few remaining empty tables. "I didn't know what it was," he said quietly. "It was just in my room. I didn't know it was anything special." Frustration snaked through his words. With every passing minute, Sam was slipping further and further from him.

"Anything special?" Nathan yelled. "Anything special! Look around you, kid! Everything is something special here!"

Kate put her hand on Nathan's shoulder. "Nathan, enough. He didn't know. How could he if you continue to keep him in the dark?"

Nathan locked eyes with Kate for a moment. Her gaze seemed to soothe him\--when he spoke again, his voice was noticeably calmer. "We need to figure out where the crystal has gone, who sent it to you, and why."

"I'm not sure," Simon said, which was only half true. Boeman's words from the Archives echoed in his head. I have left a little present for you, when you're ready. "It just appeared yesterday, along with some books."

"Books?" Nathan raised an eyebrow. "What kind of books?"

"They mostly looked like manuals," Simon said. "One was about conjuring, I remember that one."

Kate and Nathan exchanged a surprised look.

"What is it?" Simon asked.

"We'll talk about that later," Nathan said. "You say the crystal appeared at the same time?"

"They were in there when I came back yesterday afternoon," Simon said. "Before\--"

"Before the Archives," Nathan finished.

Simon hesitated. "Yeah."

"Don't think that's been forgotten about either."

"All right," Simon muttered. "I'm certain Luke took it."

"I agree," Nathan said. "All this business about him coming up alone from the Delta Order. Something's not right there. Apprentices don't travel alone. Penny, you should probably get back to the Archives."

"Jo is covering for me," Penny said. "I told her a little about what's happening. She said it was okay if I helped."

"I'm sure your dad would feel different," Nathan said. "At the same time, we'll take any help we can. This whole situation is rapidly growing out of control."

"I think we should talk to my uncle," Kate said. "Go back to him and explain everything we've discovered. He'll have to help."

"No," Nathan said. "I'd rather go back to Peter before that, and I don't think we're his favorite people right now. I think we should head out and talk to Cynric at the Gate. See who all been coming and going."

"That won't tell us everyone that's been through," Kate said, crossing her arms.

"It'll tell us most," Nathan said. "The Gate connects to most of the major lines, almost everyone that travels by them come through there, and if someone's been coming from the Delta, they'd almost certainly be coming through there. It'd be suspicious if they went out of their way to not travel by the ley lines."

"I guess it's better than nothing." Kate eyed the staff as the servants continued preparing the hall for the Masquerade. "We should get moving."

The four of them exited the dining room right as the pond was being filled. They moved through the garden and out to the path in silence, Nathan leading the way through the market back to the entrance, then down the path deep into the woods. Kate followed, with Simon and Penny close behind. They passed a few other people heading towards the manor, most of them on foot, with a few spirited along on horses.

"The Majesties of the other Orders are starting to arrive," Penny whispered to Simon. "It's always a big deal. Jo always gets excited. I don't usually see them this close."

Simon watched a young woman glide overhead on a large black raven, her hair falling in long blonde tangles over her shoulders. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and she glided past them without ever looking down. She was followed by a young man riding in a flying vertical wheel. It sputtered and belched white smoke from its exhaust pipe, and his black mustache fluttered wildly as he soared overhead. He wore a tight leather cap and goggles, and he was followed closely on the ground by a slim man with silver skin and brass-colored eyes. He wore a long brown trench coat and a newsboy cap. As the man slipped past him Simon could hear the clicking and whirring of clockwork, and he realized the slim man was some sort of machine. "Are they all here for the Masquerade?"

"Yes," Penny said. "We live in several small communities across the Here and There. The Freemancers like to keep connections alive with the other lodges, and the Majesties like to show off." She eyed the silver man as he disappeared up the path. "The Masquerade Ball is a chance for both."

"Keep up," Nathan called from the front. "Simon, up here with me."

Simon picked up his pace, followed by Penny. A rugged man rode past them on a horse. He wore rugged cowboy clothing and had a length of silver rope along his saddle. "Ma'am," he said to Kate, tipping his hat as he passed. He repeated his action to Penny, then was gone. At the stone bridge they met a large crowd of identical men, dressed all in green and gold robes, carrying a purple and white carriage high on their backs. The windows of the carriage were covered with thick red curtains, and as they passed, loud Dixieland music seemed to seep out from behind them. Simon tried not to stare as they passed, but despite himself he tried to peek into the carriage, only to see a single golden eye peering out at them, and he shuddered.

Then there was Churl.

He blocked the path across the bridge, joined by three very large men clad in black robes. "Nathan Alan Tamerlane," he called out, his voice calm and steady. "Born in a summer storm, raised in the rain."

Nathan stopped short. "Well, this isn't good," he muttered.

"What do you mean?" Simon whispered.

"Full name and mantle. With him that's never good. Get behind me."

Churl spoke again. "Nathan Alan Tamerlane, son of the Quicksilver, The One Who Walks Behind\--"

Nathan smiled wide. "Doug! Breaking out all the big fancy titles I see. Douglas Edward Churl. Born to a weaver, raised within the orb. Hey, what was that nickname we had for you growing up? Kate what was that?"

"Spiderskin," she said coldly.

"There we go. So what can we do for you, Spiderskin?"

Mr. Churl shuddered and scowled. "The inquiry into the disappearance of Sam Thatch has returned unexpectedly early, and they come bearing some ill news for you, Nathan, as you no doubt have been aware this whole time."

Nathan's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

Churl removed his white gloves. His hands were thick and covered in coarse hair, and the skin was a withered charcoal gray. They reminded Simon of pincers. "Tell me, Nathan, how long did you think you would be able to maintain this little act? Our agents have returned from visiting Fellis Alistair Boeman in the Volobog and he has a witness for the night in question."

Nathan bristled. "Then he's lying. Imagine that."

"Oh, is he now? Honestly, Tamerlane, I expected more from someone such as yourself."

"What is he talking about?" Simon asked Kate.

"This is a long story," Nathan said. "One that goes back further than we have time. Doug, I see what you're doing. I'm not going to let you\--"

"Oh, but you see, I already have." Mr. Churl smiled. "It was quite simple, really. Mr. Thatch was abducted, that we have confirmed, but there is one question that no one has been able to answer to my satisfaction. Where were you when Sam was abducted? So far it would seem you are the only one who has not proved his innocence in his abduction."

"WHAT?" Kate shouted. "This man did not abduct anyone," she said, pointing at Nathan. "How dare you."

"It is not me," Mr. Churl said. "It is simple logic. There has been a crime, and everyone but one has proven their innocence. That person is here right now, and we have come to deal with the matter."

Nathan went white. "Simon you know I didn't," he whispered. "I was too late, in the diner. Sam was already gone. It was Boeman, believe me. I would never do anything to hurt Sam."

"He did it," whispered the Other Voice. "Don't trust him. He's lying." Simon reflexively took a step back.

"Simon?" A hurt look spread across Nathan's face. "You don't believe him, do you? After everything I've done?"

"Liar," whispered the Other Voice. "Do not trust him."

"I can't believe you're doing this," Kate said to Churl. "This is insane."

Nathan leaned against the side of the bridge, the color completely gone from his face. He stared long and hard at Churl. "I won't forget this, Doug," he said, closing the gap between them. He stumbled a few feet, then a curious look sprouted on his face. His mental book had flipped to some random page, and whatever he was thinking, it made him chuckle. A few more steps forward, then he fell to his knees at Churl's feet, where he whispered something too low for any of them to hear.

Churl loomed triumphantly over Nathan. "I'm sorry Nathan. Would you care to repeat that?"

If Simon had not been standing right there, he would never have believed what happened next.

Nathan smiled.

He moved faster than anybody could realize, swooping up fast, a hawk in flight, swinging his fist solidly into Churl's jaw. It was bone cracking bone. Churl fell back, knocked cleanly off his balance, but then he was flipping over, catching himself on his feet without ever hitting the ground, his gnarled black hand clutching at the cobblestone.

Churl rubbed his jaw. "Rash, Tamerlane. Assaulting a member of the council. With witnesses, no less."

"Worth it," Nathan chuckled, the very last of his color fading from his face. He glanced over at Simon as his face became thin and sallow, until his bones almost poked out, and he smiled again.

"That is quite enough." Mr. Churl swept his arms wide, his bare hands rippling with shadows. Nathan's chuckle died immediately as he buckled over, drawing several sharp, short breaths. Churl spat as he spoke. "You are bound, Shadowheart." Nathan wheezed one last time and collapsed on the ground. Churl nodded to the men around him, and they moved suddenly to surround Nathan. A flurry of black cloaks folded over him, their hands a blur of movement as they closed ranks. With a loud flutter like the sound of wings, they, and Nathan, were gone.

The air settled. Mr. Churl turned to leave. "Still hope to see you tonight, Katherine," he said. "Pity to let a fine evening be spoiled by such a trivial affair.

"Trivial?" Kate spat. "You've arrested Nathan. I wouldn't call that trivial."

"Never worry." Churl pulled his gloves back on. "I think you'll find there's one less thing going bump in the dark tonight." He turned and headed back up the bridge, humming quietly to himself.

"I have to go see my uncle," Kate said abruptly. "He can reverse this."

Simon watched Churl leave. "Destruo," whispered the Other Voice.

He shook his head and stared at the ground. "How did he weaken Nathan? What did he do?"

"You're on Freemancer land," Penny said. "You leave a portion of your power at the Gate, and Churl's an official. He can bewitch you easily."

The Other Voice tried to whisper more in Simon's head, but he ignored it. "Nathan's one of you. He could have fought back. How can he be overpowered?"

"It could be his standing," Kate said. "If your standing with the Freemancers falls too low, they can take away your power." Her fingers touched her neck idly. "It's part of our Creed." She stared into space a moment longer. "I must get to my uncle," she said, snapping out of it. "I'll appeal for leniency. We need Nathan."

"We'll continue on to Cynric," Penny said. "Luke is still our best lead."

"Agreed." Kate holstered her hatchet. "Find me at the manor later," she said. She disappeared quickly into the woods, the sound of her feet quickly fading.

Penny started down the path. "Come on." She was several feet down the path before she turned back to see Simon had not moved. "What's wrong?"

Cursed thoughts flowed through Simon's mind, but he pushed them away and began to follow. "It's nothing," he lied. "How long until we get to Cynric?"

"Just down the path and beyond the hill. We can come down on the far side of the slope and\--"

Penny tilted her head at a noise coming from the nearby trees. Her mouth hung slightly open as her eyes scanned the trees.

"What is it?" Simon asked.

"It\--nothing," she said. "I'm sure it was nothing. Let's keep going."

They continued along the path. The stone beneath their feet gradually became covered in leaves again, then finally gave way to the forest floor Nathan and Simon had walked the day before. At one point Simon felt a warm shiver ripple through his body.

"Threshold," Penny said. "Your full power should return now that we're past the boundary line. Churl would have had a much harder time bewitching Nathan here."

They continued down the path in silence, leaving the influence of Silverwood behind as they entered the wilderness. "My father would throw a fit if he knew I was out here," Penny said. "He doesn't let me\--us, really\--go out alone, let alone leave the grounds..." Her voice trailed off. Simon let it go without comment. He didn't feel like talking.

They eventually came upon the Gate platform. Cynric was no where to be seen. On top of the stone pedestal, Grisly slept, snoozing soundly.

"Where is he?" Simon asked.

"He should be near." Penny tilted her head and scanned the trees. "This doesn't make sense. The Majesties are arriving. He should be here."

Simon eyed Grisly. "It doesn't look like anybody is coming through here right now," he said. "Not with her sleeping right there."

A branch snapped nearby, followed by footsteps, heavy and loud. Penny and Simon slipped behind the sleeping bear, peering over her back. "Do you think it's him?"

"We wouldn't hear him," Penny said. "So, no."

They listened. The footsteps drew closer, the leaves crunching as the person approached. The footsteps stopped. An inaudible curse boiled in the air, and a small ripple blew over Grisly, ruffling her fur. She remained asleep, breathing as softly and as slowly as ever.

Penny placed her hand on the stone pedestal and closed her eyes. A moment later they popped back open and she bit her lip.

"What is it?" Simon whispered.

Penny didn't respond. She whispered quietly to herself, her hand still pressed firmly against the stone.

More footsteps. Another curse. Another ripple. More air. Simon felt around on the ground for something, anything he could throw, if it came to that. No magic. That had become dangerous suddenly, maybe even deadly, but despite himself, a small spark snapped off his fingertips.

"Careful," Penny hissed. "You're on a sigil. All magic is stronger here. It only takes a little here to wield a spell."

Grisly let out a loud snore and rolled over, exposing Simon and Penny.

Silence, followed by more silence. Neither of them moved.

"Well, how about that." Luke stepped around the sleeping bear, his eyes locking with Penny. He stared at her dumbly. "Hey, Strawberry."

Simon was on his feet. "You!"

"YOU!" Luke said mockingly.

Simon went for him. "Wait!" Penny shouted, jumping between them.

"Why should I?" Simon shouted. "He's who we've been looking for!"

"That a fact?" Luke smiled. "Now, that is sweet. What you looking for simple old me for?"

Simon gritted his teeth. "You know why," he said. "You have something of mine. You took it from my room."

"Now, tell me," Luke said, "how could I do that?" It's your room. It's not like I could have just walk in."

"I know it was you," Simon said. "I haven't been able to trust you once since I met you."

"Awfully close-minded of you there, don't you think?" Luke took a quiet step back. "Don't you think it's a tad quick to jump to conclusions like that? You don't want to go treating me like you did Nathan."

"I'm not jumping to\--" Simon paused. "How did you know about that?"

"Heh," Luke said. He took another step back. "The woods have ears, guess you could say." He turned to leave, but Penny had slipped around him, blocking him.

"Tell the truth," she said, staring him down.

Luke stared hard at her. Her eyes never lost focus, constantly reading his face. "Okay," he said finally. "Okay, yeah. Yeah, I was there, I saw the cloaks take him."

"You were following us the whole time," Simon said. "Did you know we were looking for you?"

"Well, I had my suspicions," Luke said, rolling his eyes. "You two ain't exactly quiet, you know. What with all the chattering about thresholds and the Majesties arriving. I could hear you all the way out at my\--" Luke stopped short.

"Your what?" Penny said. He eyes shimmered.

"My...camp," Luke said, the words sour in his mouth.

"Camp?" Simon said. "Why aren't you staying at the manor?"

"I don't like it up there," Luke said defensively. "Down in the Delta they teach us to live off the land. Things are a lot drier up here, but the principles are the same." He looked back to Penny. "Your poor daddy, he must be ever so worried about you, what with you being out in the wilderness and beyond the sphere of his influence."

"He's resting," she said, folding her arms and shoving her nose up close to Luke's. "He needed rest after what we put him through last night."

Luke hesitated. "That right?" he said finally. "Well, that's too bad. Still, don't you think it was time you got back to your dusty old books?" Penny's eyes seemed to go out of focus, losing her gaze with Luke as she started to stare into the distance.

"What have you done with it?" Simon asked.

Luke turned his eyes to Simon "Done with what?" he said.

Another spark zipped between Simon's fingertips. "My crystal," he said.

"That's some temper, Stray," Luke said. "I still haven't admitted anything, you know\--"

"You don't have to, I know you did it." Simon squared his shoulders. "Just give it back and leave."

"Well," Luke said. "I don't think I want to," he said. "And you can't make me\--"

Penny snapped her hand down on Luke's shoulder, her eyes snapping back into focus as she did.

"Hey!" he said. "What are you\--"

Penny moved quickly, clapping her hands tightly into a ball. "Got her," she said, almost wickedly.

"Maggey!" Luke's eyes shot to his shoulder. "Now you wait just a second!" he said. "You leave her out of this!"

"Give us what we want," Penny said. "Give him back the crystal, and we'll give you back your pet."

Luke looked back and forth between the two of them. Neither backed down. "Okay," Luke said after a moment. "Fine." He fished in the pouch of his sweater, his right arm disappearing right up to his elbow. "She isn't really my pet you know," he mumbled as his hands disappeared deeper into the pouch of his sweater. "Hold this," he said, handing a ratty old book out of his pouch to Simon. It was dark blue and the binding looked ready to fall off. A copper skull was on the cover. Penny eyed the sorry looking grimoire with a mix of disgust and regret for its condition. Luke finally pulled the felt bag out, its snake symbol burning in the light. "Here," he said, tossing the bag to Simon. "You got your dumb crystal. You probably don't even know what it does." He shoved his grimoire back in his pouch. "Now let Maggey go."

Penny looked at Simon, who nodded. She opened her hands, and a very angry spark shot up, zinging and pinging upwards to skulk in the branches overhead.

"I know what it is," Simon said, pulling the dowsing rod out of his backpack. "We use it with this."

Luke scoffed. "Oh you got it all figured out, don't you? You're half right, Stray. This crystal is bound to twilight. Only works at sunset."

Penny looked at the horizon. "That's almost now," she said.

Simon watched the sun gradually dipping below the horizon. He handed the crystal and the dowsing rod to Penny. "Is he lying?"

She squinted and held the crystal up in the light. "He's right. It's enchanted to only work at a certain time of day. Otherwise, it'll shatter. Something like this isn't for everyday use.".

Luke leaned against Grisly and watched Maggey bounce around the trees. "I only had the crystal. Thought I could use the sigil to forge a makeshift dowsing rod."

"That would never work," Penny said.

"Worked for me before." Luke eyed Simon. "Since you were kind enough to bring the actual goods with you, I say we skip all this arguing and see where this goes."

Simon started for him again, but Penny held him back. He stared daggers at Luke."Why should we let you go?"

"You're looking for that guy, Boeman? He owes me something."

"What?"

"Payment for something."

"For what?"

Luke raised an eyebrow. "That ain't important."

Another spark flew between Simon's fingertips.

"The sun is almost down," Penny said. "We have the rod and the crystal. If we're going to do this, now has to be the time."

Simon sat on the ground, turning the crystal over in his hand. He didn't know where Nathan had been taken. At the same time he didn't know what was happening to Sam, if he was even alive. The crystal was still his only lead, his only chance of straightening everything out."What do I need to do?" he asked, taking the dowsing rod from Penny.

"The crystal rests in the socket," she said. "Then hold it out in front of you, like this." She held her arms in front of her, hands clasped into fists, like she was riding an invisible bicycle. "The rest should take care of itself."

Simon placed the crystal in the notch at the fork of the stick where the wood branched. Squaring himself he held the rod by the leather wrapped ends. He held the rod down, slowly lifting his arms up in front of him, until the stick pointed straight ahead.

Nothing happened.

"Am I holding it right?" Simon gripped the staff tightly. "Do I need to hold\--"

The crystal suddenly flashed orange.

Simon jumped. Luke looked at the sky. "Well, look at that. Right at sunset."

Light flowed from the crystal, coalescing into a wild ribbon of pulsating orange light. It ran over the ground, zipping over the spot where Grisly slept. It raced over the bear, pulsing as it flowed across the ground, into the woods.

"It's following a ley line," Penny said. "That's...really strange."

Simon lowered the stick. The light flickered and died. "Keep your hands up," Luke barked. "Just give it to me. You don't know what you're doing."

"You're not getting this," Simon said. "I'll hold it, and we'll all follow it, or you can leave now. Your choice."

Luke grumbled. "Fine," he said. "Lead the way."

"Wait!" Penny said. "We don't know where this goes. It could be a trap."

"Might be," Simon said, trying to contain his excitement. This was the path to Boeman. "Right now, I don't think it matters. C'mon." He raised his arms again, and the light pulsed into the trees, cutting a path along the forest floor. Maggey flew overhead, flitting through the branches as they followed the stream of light. It moved straight along the ground, leaving a faint trail that quickly faded. They broke into a run, shoving aside the low-hanging branches and jumping over the fallen trees that blocked their way. Simon's heart began to pound. "Hurry!" he shouted, racing ahead to keep up with the ribbon. Branches smacked into his face as he sprinted, but he did not dare lower his arms. "We can't lose it! Keep up!"

Maggey zipped overhead, keeping pace with the ribbon. Her glow began to grow stronger as the sun slipped steadily below the horizon. Day was almost over, and to Simon's horror the ribbon was already losing its luster, dying out fast as night fell.

"Come on!" Luke and Penny hurried behind him. The ribbon raced as quickly as ever, never slowing even as it faded from a bright yellow to a burning crimson. If they lost the ribbon he would have no idea where to go, and they had run so deep into the woods, it would be too dark to find their way back to the path. His arms and legs ached. "It's fading!" he shouted, taking another branch to the face and almost tumbling down a small embankment that gave way to a steep hill. The light broke through the trees and dropped down a hill. Simon tumbled after the dying ribbon, now an ebbing yellowish flutter. He slid down the hill, bouncing off the ground, then suddenly he found it becoming very soft and sandy. The ribbon, in one last burst, shot forward several feet, only to stop suddenly, then fade without hesitation into a bank of mist.

Simon locked his eyes on the spot, determined to reach it before the night completely swallowed him. He pumped his legs harder and raced along the sandy ground until he was unexpectedly splashing into very cold water. He tripped and plunged into it face-first. He panicked and scrambled back, coughing and choking as memories of his drowning flooded over him. Simon plopped on the ground, shaking and shivering, momentarily defeated. The mist slowly receded, revealing the shore of an unexpected lake. Small glowing blue orbs floated idly around him, and he rubbed his arms for warmth. The lake stretched out forever in front of him. The ribbon had dissolved right over the middle of the water, completely beyond Simon's reach. The crystal and the rod were nowhere to be seen.

Luke and Penny caught up with him as he sat by the shore of the lake. "What are we waiting for?" Luke said. "Where'd sparky go?"

"Over the water," Simon said bitterly. "It died over the middle."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Luke was already kicking off his shoes and stripping off his hooded sweatshirt. "It ain't getting any lighter out here, even with these will o' the wisps." He waded into the water without hesitation, swatting aside a group of the blue orbs. "What are you waiting for? Hurry up!"

Penny placed her hand on Simon's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Memories of the spillway filled Simon's mind. Falling, the undertow, the way he had been pulled down so suddenly. Then kicking, thrashing, then Sam pulling him up and breathing life back into him. It was the last time they had gone to the spillway. Simon had not been back in the water since. "I'm not a very good swimmer," he said, still rubbing his arms. "Had some bad luck in the water."

"Guess that means you're staying behind," Luke said. "Watch my stuff," he told Maggey, who bobbed happily around the pile.

Simon watched Maggey for a minute. "You're really going out there?"

"I was born on the river," Luke said. "You might be a crawdad, but water ain't got nothing over me. I can swim like a catfish."

"Those are bottom feeders," Penny said to Luke. She looked at Simon. "We'll figure something out. If the ribbon was leading here, we'll figure out how to get down there."

"If?" Simon rubbed his arms. His body was not ready to cooperate. "What do you mean?"

Penny swallowed. "The ribbon only died here. There's no way to be certain this is where it was going." She ran her hand along the surface of the water. "It probably was, though. I'm just not completely sure."

Luke waded further away from shore. "Well, then somebody needs to found out, don't they? You two can sit here all night. I'm checking it out."

"Luke, please wait," Penny said.

"No doing. If there's something down here, then that's where I'm going." He waded out until the water was up to his chest. "Bottom feeder, after all," he said, his head disappearing below the water.

"Wait," Simon said. He stood slowly. "I need to go too." His heart pounded in his chest as he kicked off his shoes and pulled his backpack snuggly shut.

"Are you really sure?" When Simon didn't answer she kicked off her shoes, too. "I'm coming along then."

"You don't need to," Simon said. He stared at the black water, the glints of early moonlight rippling across the surface. "We don't know what's down there."

"I used to swim with my mom," she said, walking into the water. "She taught me a few things about being in the water." She waded further out. "I can keep us warm, at least. Can't help the wet while we're down there, but I can help the air a little."

The moon was already rising into the sky, rippling milk white over the surface of the lake. Simon tightened his backpack again and waded into the water. He went slowly, feeling the cold water wrap around him. He tried to think warm thoughts, but they seemed to bleed out of him, soaking into the black water. The water was up to his knees, then his chest, the icy feeling all around him. His pulse raced, and he shivered in the water next to Penny. His feet still touched the bottom, but the water was already lapping around his neck. He tried not to panic, and largely failed.

"Simon?" Penny's head bobbed just above the water, her hair already clinging to her.

"Yeah?"

She reached out her hand and found his chest. Warmth flooded into him, the numbness pushed away as her spell took over. "That should help," she said. "On three, okay?"

Warmth returned to his finger tips. "Okay," he said meekly. He had never thought he would get back in the water again. "One..." he said, trying to calm his screaming nerves. "Two..." he took a deep breath, the deepest he could, his heart pounding in his ears.

He nodded to Penny, and together they dropped below the surface.

* * *

"You're going to die down here," said the Other Voice.

The water stung Simon's eyes, but he kept them open. Penny was swimming down already, her figure rapidly disappearing into the depths. She moved quickly, quicker than Simon could manage, but slowly he began to follow her, swimming down, hoping that she could see Luke. He swam down until the water began to grow dark around them. His lungs began to hurt, and small, dark shapes moved around him, darting away as he swam deeper into the lake. Terror seeped into him.

Penny's figure began to grow faint, washed out by the ever-increasing dimness. The darkness closed in around him, and he could not hold back any longer. His heart thudded in his chest and his fingers began to grow cold. The warmth slowly ebbed out of him again, and his chest began to feel heavy. He closed his eyes but could not take a breath. For a moment he considered turning back, kicking towards the surface, pumping his legs until he broke through into the air. His lungs started to burn, and his arms became heavy like lead. Penny's outline faded into the dark.

He was alone.

He struggled against the impulse to gasp. Dizziness flowed into him, and he lost his bearings. The darkness coiled around him, and suddenly he felt the presence of several dark figures around him...

Some burning-hot thing grabbed his ankle and pulled him down. He gasped involuntarily, and the water flowed into him. The burning in his leg grew, and he was pulled down more, where no moonlight went, only darkness, and no one could hear his panicked yelling.

The depths were claiming him again.

He thrashed wildly as white-hot hands closed around his shoulders. He opened his eyes in shock, the water still stinging, and saw Penny floating in front of him, her eyes shimmery blue. Simon could feel they were sinking, as fast as stones. Her lips were moving, but her words were muffled and garbled. Simon thrashed again as bubbles escaped from both of their mouths.

Something was very wrong. The bubbles did not float away, but instead sank down, staying with them as they sunk further into the lake. Rapidly the bubbles smashed and coalesced into another, until they had grown into one large bubble, big enough for one head, and then two. Penny jammed her head into the bubble and pulled Simon's head in, and he sputtered and shook while involuntarily drawing in several deep, panicked breaths. The glow from her eyes lit the bubble from inside.

"Simon!" she said, her face very close to his. Her voice sounded funny in the pocket. Even underwater she managed to shake him. "Are you okay?"

They settled on the floor of the lake, their heads bobbing into the bubble. "This won't last forever," Penny said. "Catch your breath. We have a minute. Two, tops."

Simon wiped his eyes, taking several more breaths. "What..." he asked. "What is this?"

"Water magic," she said. "Pushing together air into a breathing point. Only really good for emergencies, doesn't last long." Her eyes were red and puffy. "What happened?"

"I got cold," Simon said, shivering. "I don't know what happened."

"Sorry," Penny said. She placed her hand on Simon's chest, and warmth slowly trickled back into him. "I'm still learning."

"Where's Luke?"

"I don't know," Penny said. "I haven't seen him."

"Can we move with the bubble?"

"Not since we settled. It will stay here now until we leave. After that it'll float to the surface and be gone."

"Can we make another?"

"All the air is gone from down here. This is it."

Simon looked up. The water was strange looking. "Okay," he said, rubbing his eyes. "I just need a minute."

"Okay," Penny said apprehensively. "Stay close to me this time. I almost didn't find you."

Simon took another deep breath, followed by another. He nodded, then dropped out of the bubble.

They swam along the bottom of the lake, moving as quickly as they could along the bottom as the silt and soil began to slope downwards. Among the weeds and sunken logs that littered the bottom was a large chasm, and a dark shape was moving towards it, kicking quickly into the opening. They exchanged a glance, then paddled furiously, trying to catch up. They closed in on the chasm, then Simon kicked his feet, swimming down against the current.

It was pitch black in the hole, and they sunk quickly once they entered. The undertow seized them, pulling them down sharply, until it was a shock when Simon felt ground come up under him again. Ahead was a light, and the ground turned suddenly, curving upwards. Luke paddled ahead of them, drawing closer to the light, then suddenly he turned upwards and was gone. Simon kicked hard, his heart pounding as he swam upwards towards the light.

To Simon's great surprise, his head broke through into a cave lit completely by torches. Luke sat a few feet away, curled up for warmth, staring at the ceiling overhead. Not ten feet from the water stood a large, wooden door, covered with symbols and inlaid with numerous silver locks and mechanisms. It was flanked by two torches that burned with green and blue flames.

Penny surfaced a moment later. "What?" she gasped. "What is it?" She saw the door. "Where are we?"

"Don't see many cave pockets like this all that often," Luke said. "We're actually under the lake. Can't imagine what treasure they're hiding on the other side of this, but I got here first, so whatever it is, it's all mine."

Simon pulled himself out of the water. "Treasure?" he asked as he helped Penny out. "Is that all you think about?"

"Not everything," Luke said, quickly glancing sideways at Penny, who sat shivering behind them.

"You should have stayed with us," she said.

"Someone had to find this," Luke said. "You two were busy messing around to get down here. You never would have found this without me."

"We were right behind you," Simon said. "We saw you swim in here."

"Not even," Luke said. "I've been waiting for you two for ten minutes, easily. Much longer and I was going to head on in without you."

Simon shook his head. "Then what did we see swimming down here?" he asked Penny. "If you weren't showing us, who was?"

Luke stood up. "Beats me," he said, approaching the door. "Right now, I'm thinking about this door, how to open it, and what's on the other side."

"A way to find Sam," Simon said.

"Who?" Luke asked absently, never taking his eyes off of the door. He slowly reached out a hand to touch one of the silver mechanisms laid into the door.

The flames of the torches pulsed and grew, and the door shuddered in front of them, the silver locks sprang to life, reminding Simon of Jo's random silver and brass parts. Penny jumped back as dust rattled through the small cave pocket, and slowly the two great oak doors swung inward, light spilling out into the cave. A man stood beyond the doors, completely silhouetted by the light. He was tall and thin, with a great mane of white hair and a wild, scraggly beard. He swayed and loomed all over the entrance like a scarecrow dancing in the wind. He lurched slightly, and his clothing was tattered at the edges. "Who's there?" he called. His voice was raspy and deep. "Peter? Silas? Nathan?"

"Hello," Simon said. He pulled the copy of Speaking with the Dead from his soaked backpack. The book was somehow completely dry. "I'm Simon. Simon Warner. I'm looking for Boeman. I have his gift. I'm ready to talk."

The figure did not move. "Warner?" he shouted, his voice tripping over the name.

Luke stepped away from the door. "All you, Stray."

Simon cleared his throat. "Yes! Simon Warner. I'm looking for\--"

The torches flickered and died. The shadowy man did not move. Simon took a step forward. "Are you okay?"

The figure took a step back, followed by another, until he was scrambling back up the corridor."Come in," he shouted. "All of you. Be quick." The figure disappeared down the corridor. It was cut stone, lit only by a few small torches every few feet. The three of them glanced at each other, then hurried quickly down the tunnel.

"Who is that?" Penny asked.

"A loon," Luke said. "Seriously, who lives under a lake?"

"It's not Boeman," Simon said sourly. "That much is clear. Could it be another of his acolytes?"

"Simon, are you sure about this?" Penny asked.

"Here," Simon said, handing her Speaking with the Dead. "Look at the snake symbol on the cover. It's the same symbol that was on the crystal bag\--"

Penny eyes burned. "So this is what you two took this from the Archives?"

Luke looked over his shoulder and smiled. "So you kept that, huh? Good for you."

"What?" Simon said. "It\--no. No, Boeman gave it to me."

"It wasn't his to give," Penny said. "I'm keeping this. It's going back to the Archive."

"Fine!" Simon said. "After this, fine, but right now I still need it."

Penny huffed. "Fine, but I'm marking this in your account when we get back."

"He'd have to have one first." Luke peered around the corner. "Why's that book so important?"

"Look at the cover," Simon repeated. "The snake at the bottom. I've seen it before\--it was on Boeman's business card the night we met, and it was on the bag that held the crystal. It has to point to him."

Penny traced her fingers over the seal and shuddered. "I've seen it somewhere before, but I don't remember. It's the mark of the serpent though, so it's an old family. I know that much."

"Up here!" The man's voice echoed down the tunnel. "Hurry!"

They moved up the tunnel, exiting into a large, cavernous chamber. Simon shivered as he stepped into the room. The chamber had been cut out of the rock, and the cave walls gave way to hewn stone dotted with torches. Hundreds of rugs and blankets were thrown about, covering large parts of the rocky floor, and a lifetime of furniture filled the cavern: chairs, bookshelves, desks, and books\--thousands of them, scattered everywhere. The centerpiece of it all was a large wooden table on the far side, and behind it a wall of organized books and artifacts. Above their heads, the cave ceiling shimmered\--moonlight flooded in through a large hole in the cave ceiling, distorted by the gentle rippling waves of the water overhead.

"We're still under the lake," Penny said in awe.

"Yes," said the man. He stood behind the large wooden table on the far end of the room. On the table was their shoes and Luke's hooded sweater. "Directly under the deepest part, but do not worry. The enchantment that keeps us all dry has held for over three hundred years." He stepped around the table, a small tray of food in his hands. "I don't think it will pick today to drown us."

"Who are you?" Simon said, still clutching Speaking with the Dead. "How'd you get our stuff?"

"An old friend," the man said, smiling. Maggey zipped from behind his shoulder over to Luke, whose eyes went wide. "You have one of my books," the old man said. "That is amusing, considering I seem to recall donating it to the Archives, along with several others, including a bolt of Atlantean fire silk, if I recall correctly. Then again, I quite possibly may not." He smiled again, his face crooked and disarming.

"Wait," Penny said. "Fire silk?" The old man nodded. "I didn't remember the seal but I remember the dragon skin," Penny said. "Private collection that came in last year, right after Sterling took over." She looked at the old man with surprise. "The Limnic Collection." The three of them turned to the old man, who smiled crookedly.

"Please, call me Nicodemus," he said, holding up the tray. "Cookie?"
CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THE EMBER

"Nicodemus the Truant?" Luke cried, his eyes flaring red. "The wayward conspirator. The doddering old fool!"

The old man nodded, his eyes closed. "Nicodemus Ellery Limnic. Born in a hollow tree, raised like a wolf..." he paused, the words heavy in his mouth. "...One who has walked in Thule." The full mantle was heavy on him, and he seemed to sway under the weight of it. When he opened his eyes again they were heavy with sadness. He tapped his chest and smiled, his voice the rustling of straw in the wind. "That's me."

"Be quiet," Penny said to Luke. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"The hell I don't." Luke stepped up to Limnic. "My old man couldn't keep work the last few years while this old geezer was running the show. We thought he had been killed. Turns out he's just hiding like a rat."

"I am sorry to hear about your father," Limnic said, his eyes suddenly very sharp and very blue. "It was never my intention to put anyone out of work. I can put in a good word for him with the new Archmancer, if you like."

"He ain't in the picture anymore," Luke said. "Not like your word would do him good anyway."

Penny smacked Luke. "That's enough," she said.

"Hey!" Luke said, rubbing his shoulder. "What crawled in your cauldron?"

"I don't suspect you came here to argue just for me," Limnic said, setting down the tray. "I daresay I don't receive many visitors."

"We were looking for someone," Simon said. "He gave me a gift, said I could use it to find him."

"A gift?" Limnic made a small, frightened gesture with one hand.

"I thought it was this," Simon said, holding out the book. Limnic did not reach to take it. "I guess not," Simon said.

"Tell me," Limnic said carefully, "was it that book that led you to me?"

"It was a dowsing rod, paired with a scrying crystal." Penny said. "It led us here."

Limnic nodded slowly. "I see, Miss Nettle."

Penny's eyes widened. "You know my name?"

"Parts of it," Limnic said, smiling. "I left the dowsing rod with your father. Either he sent it with you, or you found means to bring it nonetheless. Given your desire to find this mysterious gift-giver, I suspect the latter." He sat behind the table, his elbows digging into two great grooves in the surface. "Curious, though, to know that someone is giving out my former belongings in this manner."

Simon sat on a large purple couch. A great plume of dust rose into the air. "I thought it would lead to him," he said sourly. "It all made so much sense."

"Usually it's the things that make too much sense that you should trust the least." Limnic stood and walked under the large opening, gazing upwards through the water. "It shines like diamonds, doesn't it? Tell me, did this gift giver bequeath you anything else of mine? I had this old hat that I really do miss..."

"Listen up, you old skeleton," Luke spat. "I ain't down here to help you find your old hat, or your mittens, or your socks. I came down here for one thing\--information. Power. Instead I find a rambling old fool and a plate of cookies. There ain't no profit in my being down here."

Limnic continued to gaze into the water. "Delta Order, yes?"

"What of it?" Luke's eyes narrowed.

"So driven, so determined." Limnic closed his eyes. "For all the wrong things." He breathed deep, almost tasting the lake overhead. "Tell me, how is Madam Mamzelle these days? I fear the Delta has been troublesome for her of late."

"I'm a free agent," Luke said. "I don't work for Mamzelle, this Boeman guy, the Freemancers, or anybody. I work for me."

"Boeman?" The old man's eyes snapped open. "What has he to do with this?"

"He's who I'm looking for," Simon said. "He gave me the book. He's the one who took my dad, Sam\--"

"Thatch..." Limnic swept across the floor to Simon. "He has Samuel?"

"You know him?" Simon asked. "How do\--"

Limnic's eyes went wide. "Wait!" he shouted, his eyes trained on the water. A dusty shadow had begun to form in the water. "Ah ha!"

Simon jumped from the couch. "What?"

"No time just yet," he said, rushing to the wall of books behind the table. Angrily he grabbed a large book from the shelf and slammed it down. A great cloud of dust and wood shavings flew into the air. He flipped the pages furiously, stopping to scan one page. "Here," he said, pointing to a line of writing. "Simon, read this aloud when I tell you to. Miss Nettle, over here, opposite him. I'm going to need your talents."

Penny stood opposite from Simon, a bewildered look on her face. "What's happening?"

Limnic didn't answer. "You. Delta boy. Stand here." He grabbed Luke and set him under the pool of water. "It is night, the water is calm." He passed Luke a silver coin, then pointed at the growing cloud of murk in the water. "Watch that, closely. If you see anything change, let us know."

"Can't you do a little better than that?" Luke said.

"Watch the murkiness," Limnic said, grabbing a ceramic jar with the head of an eagle from under the table. "Ready, Simon?"

Simon had started to sweat. "I think so."

"Good, good. Miss Nettle, hands on the table."

She shook her head. "What am I listening for?"

"Nothing, hopefully." Limnic opened the eagle jar. "Ready. Simon, read the line."

"It's in English, won't I\--"

"The book is the conduit, not you. Quickly now, read!"

Simon began to read, slowly. "From the earth, and to the earth, all that rise and fall\--"

Penny winced. "I hear humming," she said. "Loud humming."

"It cannot hurt you," Limnic whispered. "It will get louder, but it cannot truly hurt you. Simon, continue. Quickly."

Simon's nose itched. "From the sea, and to the sea, over foam and squall\--"

"Something's getting angry out there," Luke shouted, never taking his eyes off the water. "Something big."

Simon's head began to tingle as he read. "Of the fire, and to the bloom, shadow and the wall. Broken hearth, and open flame, hear the Moated call..."

Penny's breathing increased."I can't hear it anymore," she said. "It stopped."

Limnic's shoulders dropped. "No, it didn't." He upended the jar, and dirt came pouring out onto Simon's head.

"Hey!" Simon yelled.

"Spoken spells won't work now. Their song has moved beyond our ears." Limnic scooped most of the dirt back into the jar and made for the fireplace. "It sings to them, bids their entrance into this world."

Overhead the lake churned and frothed as a dark mass began to form in the wake. "Guys," Luke said. "Something big is moving out there."

"There isn't much time!" Limnic came hastily around the table. "Simon, follow me." He moved to the fireplace, the flames roaring to life as they approached. "Hold very still. Very, very still. In front of the fire." Limnic closed his eyes and began to murmur. "Ventulus," he whispered, throwing the dirt into the fire. It burned emerald green. "Ventulorum ventuli." He clapped his great withered hands. "Ventulo!" He flashed his hands towards Simon.

A sudden gust of wind swept over Simon, blowing the last of the dirt from him and into the fireplace. The flames crackled and roared deep blue and purple.

"Back," Limnic whispered. "Back from the fire."

Simon stepped away, putting the book back on the table. "What was that?"

"Latin," Penny said. Simon gave her an irritated look. "What?" she asked.

Limnic eyed Simon. "I believe you were the carrier of a curse, Simon. Boeman placed it on you, and I believe he hoped you would find me."

"How could he plan that?" Simon said. "How could he curse me without my knowing?"

"By giving you a cursed object," Luke said. "You can sucker people easy that way. I\--" Luke saw everyone's eyes on him. "--never mind," he said quietly.

Simon immediately remembered the business card from the diner, and it hit him. All this time he had thought it was Boeman's calling card, but it was just a game, a trick to put him on Limnic's trail, just to unknowingly deliver a curse to him. He had wasted his time on a fool's errand, and done completely what Boeman wanted. I have plans for you, Boeman had said, and he had fallen for it completely. He swallowed the urge to punch the table.

Limnic held Speaking with the Dead in his hands. He stared at it long and hard, not just reading the book but the boy who carried it. Finally he set the book on the table and smiled. "Be calm, Simon. Fellis has been trying to murder me for years. If he passed on an opportunity as ripe as this I might have begun to worry for him."

"The lake...thing is gone," Luke said. "What was that?"

"Another gift," Limnic said. "A ley beast from beyond the Moat, cast to the depths of the sea eons ago in the days of the First Secrets and made to sleep until called. Boeman sought to unleash him on us, but for now it sleeps again."

"Ley?" Simon did not understand the word.

"Hidden," Penny said. "Was it coming for Simon?"

"It was coming for us," Luke said, his eyes flickering with an unwholesome amount of greed. "What you got down here so valuable that Boeman would send Mr. Nasty to get it?"

"I think that is all you think about," Simon said.

"Simon," Limnic said, stepping so close his wild beard was almost in Simon's eyes. "When was Samuel taken?"

Simon involuntarily stepped back. "Two nights ago."

Limnic sighed. "Then it is as I have feared. Tonight is the third night. They will turn him."

"What?" Simon said. "Turn him?"

"He won't have any choice," Limnic said. "Three days is how long it takes to cast the enchantment that breaks a soul that carries debt. How long it takes to create a ghoul. A thrall." He sighed. "At Halloween, no less."

Simon shook his head. "What does Halloween have to do with any of it?"

"Time and space are interconnected," Penny said. "Just as there are ley lines through space, there are points in time where magic runs stronger. Halloween is one of them."

"A thrall?" Luke said, abandoning his spot under the water. "We've already seen them,in the Archives last night."

"Why?" Simon said. "Why turn Sam?"

Limnic settled at his table. "It is not a question of why, Simon. Sam owes Boeman his soul. He has come to collect." He stared at his hands. "I do not know why Sam chose his path, but it is not as I would have had it," he said quietly.

"You have to help us," Simon leaned over the table. "Please. We need to find him. Nathan was helping us, but he was taken."

Limnic's eyes brightened. "Tamerlane?" He smiled. "He is your mentor?"

"I\--no," Simon said. "I'm not an apprentice."

Something strange played across Limnic's face\--not quite a smile, not quite a frown. "I see," he said, quietly. "You say he has been taken as well?"

"By Mancer Churl," Penny said. "They arrested him this afternoon. They're saying that he was the one who took Sam."

"Of course," Limnic said softly. "Never put it past a man like Churl to use tragedy to their advantage, professional or otherwise." He pulled another book from the wall. "Has anyone else been taken?" he asked.

"No," Simon said. "We have someone talking to Sterling. A friend of Nathan's. Kate Merrimoth."

"I see," Limnic smiled and slipped the book back onto the shelf. "I suspect there isn't much we can do for Nathan tonight, but I have faith Kate will win that battle for us. She is very resourceful, especially against her uncle."

"So you know her?" Simon said.

"Oh my, yes. She's a very strong young woman." Limnic's smile was crooked and more than a little wild. "She has a strong heart, and I trust her completely. Now, we must turn our attention to finding Samuel."

"I ain't turning my attention to nothing," Luke said suddenly, his voice thin. "I don't know this Sam guy, and I hardly know any of you." He stared at Simon. "You've gotten me in plenty of trouble already, and last I checked ain't none of this has been worth my time. I ain't come all this way for traitors in caves."

Limnic looked at Luke. "Just what did you come here for, young man?"

Simon turned on Luke before he could answer. "You said Boeman owes you payment, didn't you? Is that why you came with us?"

Luke bristled. "So?"

"So what'd you do?"

Luke smiled. "That's confidential."

Simon grabbed Luke by the shirt. "Answer me!"

"Simon..." Penny said. "He can't."

"Why?"

"It was in my deal," Luke said. "Can't tell you, or I'm his." Luke pulled away "Hope you understand."

"Wait!" Simon grabbed him by the arm.

Luke shrugged him off. "Ain't no doing!" He continued towards the tunnel.

"I'll pay you," Simon blurted out. Limnic looked at him, his eyes shining like twin moons.

Luke slowed a moment, looking over his shoulder hesitantly. The air was thick with calculations. "Yeah?" he said finally. "What you got that I want?"

"This," Simon said, grabbing Speaking with the Dead from the table and shaking it "Don't tell me there's something in here you don't want."

Luke reached out and took the book. He ran his hands slowly over the black leather, and a small smile broke across his face. "One night," he said. "I agree to help you for one night, in exchange for this book. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Simon said, taking Luke's hand.

"Good," Luke said, tucking the book in his sweater pouch. "Be seeing you."

"Wait!" Simon said. "You agreed\--"

"Only said I'd help one night. Didn't say which one. Thanks for the book."

"Get back here!" Penny shouted. "You know that's not\--"

"Don't matter what the spirit is," Luke said, reaching the mouth of the tunnel. "Only matters what's the letter of it, and tonight the letter says I have a new book, and I owe you."

Simon stood there dumbstruck. "Let him go," he said bitterly. "It's my own stupid fault for thinking he would want to help," he mumbled.

"You're a real quick study," Luke said, walking up the corridor. He glanced over his shoulder at Penny. "Maybe if you live through all your trouble you might make a good bookworm like Strawberry here."

Now it was Penny's turn to fume. "Fine," she said. "Just go. We don't need you."

"Just how I like it." Luke stepped into the corridor. "You have anything else you want to get rid of, you find me," he shouted, his footsteps fading up the tunnel. "See you around." Maggey zipped from Limnic's shoulder and up the tunnel, leaving a reddish trail behind her.

"Learn from this what you will," Limnic said when Luke had gone. "For now we must focus on the matter at hand."

"It's no use," Simon said. "I don't know where to begin."

"Yet you've already begun!" Limnic returned to the fire. "The journey has started, and now you must finish it!" He stoked the flames. "Find everything you need along the way, starting with the Masquerade."

"The Masquerade?"

Limnic nodded. "There is too much power all in one place tomorrow for Darrow to ignore, now that he has awakened. Whatever he is planning, it will start there." He stared into the flames. "Boeman may not be acting alone. Other acolytes of Darrow will be in the gathering. Find them, and you find Sam."

"One of the Majesties?" Penny asked.

"There's no way to be certain," Limnic said. "Darrow has lived a long time." He sighed. "Longer than any man should. This has given him connections to every Order, every Majesty of the last two hundred years. There's no telling from where the strike may come."

Simon lifted his head. "Will you come with us?"

Limnic's face dropped. "I'm afraid I can do no such thing, Simon." His eyes stayed on the fire. "I am unable to leave, trapped here, just as you are trapped in your journey. I would gladly offer all my help, yet I am bounded by these walls."

"What?" Simon demanded, suddenly angry. "Why?"

"It is a long and tired story," Limnic said wearily. "I will help as best I can, but here, I'm afraid, I must stay. There can be no other way."

A cold, dizzy, angry feeling churned up inside Simon's heart. "Fine," he said quietly, barely containing his disgust. "We'll be going."

"Simon!" Penny said. "We came all this way\--"

"Now we're leaving," Simon snapped. "There's nothing we can do from down here. Any of us," he added. He pointed to the silvery pool of water overhead. "The fight is up there. The only real family I've ever known is in danger. I can't hide down here and do nothing while Sam is twisted into something I don't recognize."

Limnic leaned over the fire. "Simon, a moment." His voice was a calm break in the storm.

"No." Simon approached the corridor. "I don't\--"

Limnic thrust his hand into the flames, which sizzled and popped as he groped through the embers.

Penny gasped. "What are you doing?"

Limnic grunted. "Here," he said, withdrawing his unburned arm from the fire. A tiny orange ember burned in his hand, which he dropped into Simon's palm. "This is a devil's ember. It will always give you light, but never heat." The ember flickered yellowish orange in Simon's hand. Limnic closed Simon's fingers around it. "It saves its fire for the wicked among us. May it prove useful to you."

Simon studied the ember, turning it over slowly in his hand. It burned brightly in his palm, but he felt no pain. "Is it safe?"

"Only the wicked will burn," Limnic assured him. "No worse than anything else you may come across. You could drop it in a pumpkin if you like."

Simon quietly stuck the ember in his pocket. "Thanks," he said, suddenly uncertain of what to say. "Penny, are you ready to go?"

"I think so."

Limnic turned his attention to the dying flames in the fireplace. "I think I may have disturbed things a little too much," he said, working the poker into the fire. "It'll take much effort to keep the fire going, but that's okay. Not all is lost."

* * *

Simon coughed and sputtered as he stumbled ashore, the lake water somehow burning despite being cold. Penny sat on the ground, her arms wrapped around her legs, rubbing herself for warmth. Simon sat down next to her, soaked and tired. Overhead, the moon hung low in the sky. There was no sign of Luke.

"At least it was quicker coming up than going down," she said, trying to be reassuring.

"Not so sure about that." Simon slowly peeled off his socks and wrung them out. The ember glowed dimly in his pocket. He stared at the lake.

"We need to get back," Penny said. "They're going to be wondering where we are, I mean. Even with all the visitors here for the Masquerade, it's still not a good time to disappear for too long. There's many old feelings stirred up by a gathering like this."

"Yeah, the Masquerade..." Simon put his socks back on, thinking about everything Limnic had said. "Who all is going to be there?"

"A Majesty from each of the seven orders," Penny said. Their attendants, servants too. Then distinguished guests and whoever else could get an invitation."

Simon stood. "Limnic seems to think Boeman is working with one of the Majesties. Could that be true?"

"It's quite a reach," Penny said. "There's no way to be sure. There was concern among the council that Limnic was losing his mind\--it happens with almost all who walk in Thule, eventually. I'm worried he's grabbing at imaginary straws."

"I don't think so," Simon said. "You said it yourself, didn't you? There's old rivalries there, and Boeman preys on anger."

"It's unlikely," Penny said sharply.

Simon tugged on his socks. "Well, I don't have anything else."

They stared at each other, a long moment dying between them under the moon. Her eyes were watery emeralds.

"I'm too young to have an escort," she said abruptly.

"Huh?"

"You have to be eighteen to have an escort." She stood. "A date," she added, crossing her arms firmly.

Simon squirmed, his feet squishing in his socks as he stood. "What? I\--No, I didn't\--"

"Don't worry," she added quickly. Her blush was volcanic even at night. "I think I know how we can still get you in."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THE MASQUERADE

Simon stood in the bushes, tugging at the starched servant's shirt. "Are you sure about this?"

"It's the best I got." Penny said. She was wearing a blue dress and a small mask with pointed ears. It was painted to resemble a cat, and delicate silver whiskers shined as she helped him through the window. "It's either do this or sneak around without being seen. At least this way people will actively ignore you." She fidgeted with her dress again. Her mask kept trying to fall off. "Just don't look anyone in the eye for too long." She straightened her dress one final time. "The Majesties will be too busy watching out for each other, so odds are you won't turn any heads.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Now, I have to go find my father and Jo. The kitchen is through the last door on the left." He nodded, and she disappeared down the hall and into the crowd of people.

Simon made his way to the kitchen. Other uniformed people hurried in and out of the swinging doors, most of them carrying large trays piled high with all kinds of food. Simon could identify most of what he saw, but some servants carried oddities\--a young man not much older than Simon hurried by with a large tray of raw steaks. "For the wolves," he said as he disappeared through another door. "Take the Bottled Sandstorm out to the Majesties from the Frontier Order?" he asked before going completely out of sight.

Simon grabbed an empty tray and made his way out into the dining room, his eyes constantly darting through the crowd, not even sure what or who to look for. The room was almost unrecognizable\--it had been completely transformed from a rustic decor to that of a stately ballroom. Only the buffalo head gave any clue of how the room had looked the day before. Under the buffalo head, the Verde sisters were moving excitedly through the crowd, completely identifiable despite their masks. All around him people moved, almost all in masks. The man from the flying wheel was making his way systematically through the crowd, his silver automaton following him, clumsily mimicking his master as much as he could. On the other side of the room, the cowboy leaned against a pillar and stared menacingly at anyone who came his way. Near the fireplace was a luxurious woman dressed in resplendent golds and greens which almost glowed against her caramel skin. She spoke to Junior Councilman Churl, who seemed both captivated and unnerved by her attention. He nodded rapidly, trying to back away from her, but the woman kept moving in, closer and closer, never letting him escape as her eyes glowed a honey golden color. He was clearly uncomfortable, and Simon almost felt bad for him.

"Simon!" a loud and bombastic voice boomed behind him. "I say my boy, by the blue stars themselves! Is that you, lad?"

Simon spun around to see an older man emerging from the crowd\--Simon recognized him by the fluttering white mustache as he approached. "I say, it is you!" Hannibal was not even bothering with a mask, and his wild hair swayed as he talked. "I can't believe we're running into each other again so soon. I say, have you heard the Archmancer is missing? Either that or he simply opted to forgo his obligation to the Freemancers and the Seven Orders at large!" Hannibal spoke louder than necessary, obviously wanting to be overheard.

"Good evening Mr. Hewn," Simon said, lowering his head, trying to direct the old man to a whisper.

"Now now, my boy, it's Hannibal to you!" the man shouted, slapping Simon hard on the back. His voice boomed off everyone around them. "Tell me, what has become of your traveling companion, the young Tamerlane fellow?"

"I\--he...he's around, somewhere." Simon kept his voice down, not wanting to draw any more attention to them. "We're\--I mean I'm\--I'm here to, to..." Simon realized he did not have any kind of real explanation for himself, let alone why he was wearing servant's clothing. He could only say one thing with any certainty. "I'm working."

"That I can see!" Hannibal said, laughing. "The question here is, why? Certainly, I expected if you're here under the auspices of the great Tamerlane family they would do better than to put you to work!" His voice was sour with indignation. "It was that Alan Tamerlane put you up to this, wasn't it? Why is it I am never surprised by the depths that man will plunge his...amorality towards the basic tenets of decorum!" He eyed the crowd, who had all utterly failed to notice his outburst.

"Mr. Hewn, please, I'm here by myself. I want to be." Simon held the tray close to his head to hide his face. "Nathan doesn't know I'm here."

"That so?" Hannibal puffed out his chest. "I'm proud of you, my boy! Wanting to earn your way! Nathan must be proud of you, too, to have such an industrious young apprentice."

"I'm not his apprentice." Simon was starting to grow frantic. A few guests had paused their conversation to look their way, whispering to themselves without breaking eye contact on Simon and the old man. "That's not why I'm here."

"Hannibal, is that you?" Kate broke through the crowd. She was wearing a dark blue dress with a matching mask with detail work in gold. It made Simon think of an owl. "I knew I heard you thundering over all this commotion." She glanced at Simon and smiled. "We're good, young man. Thank you. It looks like you need to head back to the kitchen anyway to fill your tray," she added, winking at Simon.

Simon leapt at the opportunity. "Yes, ma'am," he offered quietly, backing away. In his haste to escape he bumped into a sticky man, who was very tall, and very green. He appeared to be made out of slime and muck, and smelled like a swamp. The creature stared at Simon with its large, yellow eyes until Simon backed away, this time slower, and looking over his shoulder to see where he was going.

Kate led Hannibal into the crowd. Before she disappeared, she looked over her shoulder at Simon. "Nathan?" he mouthed at her. Her smiled faded and she shook her head. Simon's heart fell.

He made his way further into the crowd. He slid past the woman in golds and greens, and she stared at him as he brushed past her. He did his best to make his way to the fireplace, hoping to overhear any mention of the Archmancer and where he was. If Boeman had any accomplice at the Masquerade, Simon figured it would be him.

Then he saw Sam.

For a moment Simon swore his eyes were simply playing a cruel trick\--but it was Sam. He stood in the doorway to the kitchen, looking right at Simon. He stayed only a moment, then he slipped through the door and was gone.

"Sam!" Simon handed the plate to the cowboy and began to shove his way through the crowd, barreling past a startled Junior Officer Churl into the kitchen. Sam was nowhere to be found, but the back door was open. Simon hurriedly stripped off his servant's apron and made his way through the commotion of the kitchen, hoping against everything to catch Sam before he was gone for good.

He burst through the door. Up ahead a figure was moving quickly, heading straight towards the gardens. Simon bolted down the stairs, rushing down the path until he reached the garden, where Sam stood, silhouetted by the moonlight.

"Sam?" Simon stood next to the butterfly bushes, as still as one of the statues. He could not believe his eyes. "How?"

Sam turned around. "Hey, Simon."

"How did you get away?" Simon asked. "Boeman\--"

"It wasn't easy," he said. "Fellis was keeping me locked up, somewhere dark and deep. I only made it out tonight."

"Where has he been keeping you?"

Sam's face darkened. "Under the manor. There are caves. He and Archmancer Sterling have been keeping me under there."

"The Archmancer?" Simon said. "So he is the one working with Boeman."

"Yes," Sam spoke slowly. "The two of them are trying to take over. The Archmancer is power hungry. Silverwood isn't enough for him." Sam's hands shook while he talked. "You can help, Simon." His shoulders slumped. "I need you to come with me."

"Where?" Simon asked.

"Not far," Sam said. "We need to go, now. If we hurry we can disrupt what they're doing. Simon, please. Come with me."

Simon felt sick to his stomach. "We're going to stop them?"

"Yes," Sam said, his voice growing impatient. "That is what I am trying to tell you. Now come with me," he said, and then Simon saw it\--a flash of green in his eyes.

Green.

"I can get help," Simon said, trying to stall. "I've made friends, I can get them, we can go together\--"

"No!" Sam shouted. His hands were shaking worse than before. "No. Simon...we don't have time, and Fellis is dangerous. He and the Archmancer are dangerous. You don't want to get your friends hurt, do you?"

Simon was struck silent. "No," he said, his stomach beginning to churn. "We can go alone."

"Good," Sam said. "We need to hurry."

"What are they doing?" Simon said, trying to keep them in the garden. "What are they trying to do?"

"Sacrifice," Sam said coldly. "Nothing's ever free, Simon. I'm sure you've learned that by now. Great power demands even greater sacrifice, and Fellis seeks to unleash that power, channel it for his master."

"Darrow?" Simon said quietly.

"Yes," Sam whispered. "There are forces beyond the Moat that want to return. They have anointed their acolyte\--Darrow\--to open the way. In return for this they offer power, as they have offered before, countless times. Power beyond what you could ever expect. This is what Darrow seeks, what drives his every action, every thought. Tonight is the night he will sacrifice everything he can for that power. All of Silverwood, gone in an instant, and he will bring a horror into this world that hasn't been seen since the days of the First Secrets. Then, his war will begin."

"How can we even stop them?"

"Are you doubting me?" Sam snapped.

"I didn't mean that," Simon said quickly. "Just, you've been locked up, they've been hurting you\--"

"Quiet!" Sam snapped again. "Don't you dare ever doubt me, Simon Theodore Warner. Don't you dare."

"I\--" Simon swallowed, his stomach, twisting in knots. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to\--"

"We need to get going." Sam moved across the garden. "Follow me, Simon. Now."

Simon tentatively followed Sam across the garden. "Wait," he said. "We're moving away from the manor. Isn't that where we need to be heading?"

Sam ignored him, moving quickly off the path into the nearby trees, barely slowing down as he smacked through the branches. Simon reluctantly followed. As they approached the tree line, a whisper broke through the silence. "Simon!" the whisper said. "Simon! What are you doing?"

Simon glanced over his shoulder. Penny leaned out from behind a butterfly bush. "Hey!" she hissed. "Where are you going?"

"It's him," Simon whispered. "It's Sam."

Penny's eyes widened. "What?"

"He's been here the whole time." He snuck back towards the garden. "He's been trapped. Boeman and Sterling have been keeping him under the house."

"In the caves?" Penny shook her head. "That doesn't make sense. Those have been sealed off for a hundred years or more. No one ever goes down there."

Simon scanned the tree line. Sam's figure was moving slowly into the dark. "I'm worried something has happened to him."

"Do you think he's a thrall?"

"I don't want to believe that," Simon said. "I want to believe he escaped."

"Or they let him go! Simon, please. I'll go and get help. I can get Kate and they'll have to let Nathan go if Sam really is out here. He can prove Nathan didn't take him."

"There's no time. He knows Boeman's plan. They're going to kill everyone up in the house. For their sacrifice."

Penny's eyes went extra wide. "Sacrifice? What are you talking about?"

"SIMON!" Sam shouted. "Simon! Where are you!"

Simon's stomach lurched at Sam's voice. "I have to go."

Penny grabbed Simon's arm. "Simon..." she started.

"No!" He was almost shouting. "You don't understand at all. I can't lose him!"

"Don't understand?" Penny shoved his arm away. "Fine," she hissed, her nostrils flaring. "Then go. Get out of here." Her eyes brimmed with tears

Shame washed over Simon. "Penny, I didn't mean it like that. I\--"

"Just go," Penny repeated, turning away. "Go."

"Simon!" Sam shouted. His voice was harsh and angry. "SIMON!"

"Better get going kid," whispered the Other Voice.

Simon backed away from Penny quickly. "I'm sorry," he said, before turning and running after Sam.

The area ahead had grown mangled and wild, and there was no path where they walked. He followed Sam as closely as he could, climbing over fallen trees and large rocks, kicking up dead leaves as he went. This place was gnarled and unfamiliar to him, not at all like the clean paths around Silverwood. Sam moved ahead of him, always moving deliberately in one direction, always towards a destination he did not share. Eventually they passed through a large hole in the perimeter wall, where several men in green cloaks lay on the ground, unconscious.

"Where are we going?" Simon asked.

"We have until midnight to stop him," Sam said. "Silverwood sits on a large pool of magical energy, a nexus, where a Timeworn being fell in the First Days. Its blood is our power. Boeman plans to use that to fuel his ritual."

Simon tripped over an upturned root. He cursed loudly as he hit the ground hard, almost turning his ankle. Remembering the ember in his pocket, he pulled it out and clasped it in his hand, making a tight fist. A warm, orange light filled his hand, illuminating his bones of his arm and spreading out onto the forest floor.

Sam watched with interest. "I see you've been busy." His voice was ice. "Nathan give you that?"

"No." The light cast weird shadows on Sam's face, and Simon felt a wave of fear. He would have to answer carefully. "Someone else gave it to me," he said, cupping the ember tightly.

"Who then?" Sam gathered over Simon. "You shouldn't trust strangers. Who gave you this?" He shook Simon's wrist fiercely, the light from the ember flickering coldly in his eyes.

"Peter Nettle," Simon said quickly without thinking.

Sam cast Simon a weary look. "Peter," he said.

"Yes," Simon said. "Yesterday, at the Archives."

"I see," Sam said, walking closer. "Odd thing about those embers, Simon. You don't just conjure them out of thin air. Did Peter explain that to you?"

A cold chill began to creep up Simon's back. "No," he said. "He just gave it to me, that was all."

"Oh, he just gave it to you? Just like that?" The chill seized Simon by the throat. "See, I have a problem with that, Simon."

The ache in Simon's stomach grew worse.

"I know Peter," Sam said. "He's a family man and a worry wart, sure." He closed behind Simon. "Yet for all his fear of what goes bump in the night, I do know at least one thing about him, and that is, he wouldn't dare deal in the devil's embers."

The ember began to tingle in Simon's froze fist. "I\--"

"Throw it away."

Simon held out his fist but his fingers refused to open.

"I mean it, Simon. Now."

"I'm trying," Simon said, but his hand refused to open. His hand clenched even tighter even as the ember grew hotter and began to sear his skin. The pain began to build, until Simon's entire hand began to throb. "Sam!" He pleaded. "Help me!"

Sam backed away. "This changes things," he whispered, his voice was not his, but Boeman's.

Agony crawled up Simon's arm, burning white-hot pain that clouded his thoughts as the ember smoldered in his hand, and for a moment Simon thought he would pass out. "Sam..." he whispered, weakly.

"No." Sam leaned against a tree. "This is your own doing. You have to wait it out," he said sourly.

"What?" Simon whispered, falling to his knees. "What is\--"

Sam's eyes flickered and filled with green light. Suddenly, overwhelming pain exploded across Simon's mind, and he collapsed, unconscious before he hit the ground.

* * *

Simon was cold.

He sat up and tried to look around. He was in a faded white mess of a room. Everything was dingy, from the rotted floorboards to the water-stained ceiling. Wind and moonlight stumbled in through a broken window behind him, and something scuttled across the floor, darting in and out of the shadows. His arm throbbed but was still there.

He looked down. He recognized the couch he was sitting on. It was exactly like the one from home, and exactly like the one in his room at the manor\--only this one was tattered and frayed at the edges. It smelled bad and one of the cushions was ripped open. Something had made a home out of the inside.

He looked out the window. In the distance, he saw Silverwood manor, its windows flickering as the glow of the Masquerade stretched out over the grounds. Realization blossomed in his mind. Slowly, he backed away from the window.

He was in the Grim House.

This room was also modeled exactly like his room in the manor, complete with a bed and set of bookshelves full of rotted books, and an empty crystal bag. Simon checked the rest of the bookshelf but it was empty. He tried the door, but it would not open. He returned to the window and looked down, crossing through a cold spot in the middle of the room that made his skin feel like ice. Just like at the manor, this room was several stories from the ground. He contemplated jumping when he heard whistling coming up behind him\--the same flat, four-note tune he had come to associate with Boeman.

Simon didn't even have to turn around to know he was there. "I could jump," he said.

"I already saved you from that first fall two nights ago," Boeman said. "I'm not feeling quite so generous this time."

"I thought you wanted me to die."

Boeman's grin was ghastly. "When the time is right," he said grimly. "So I suggest you have a seat and we discuss your options." Sam was with him, leaning against the wall. His face was sunken, with his eyes cast down to the floor. He lifted his head, and Simon saw his eyes had gone milky white. A moment later his head dropped hard against the door frame.

"What have you done to him?"

"Nothing he didn't do to himself," Boeman said. "Nothing's ever free, Warner. He made a deal. I'm just here to collect, keep the books balanced, simple as that. I did him a favor, really. Those who defy my debts always lose, Simon. Always. The old laws demand it. It was either this, or let him become a moatling. Well, technically he's become one, but I kept him on the fresher side of things. Give him a few years, and he'll be all good and scraggly, like the rest." He patted Sam on the back. "He might make a good agent to have among all them regular folk out there in the world, don't you think? He's already used to all their inane little problems and quirks. You as well, come to think of it. Tell me boy, how is life in that little town of yours? Are people...wanting?"

Disgust swelled in Simon. "What are you anyway?"

Boeman smiled. "Come," he said. "Let's sit and have a talk." He motioned to Sam. "Bring us something to eat," he said, and Sam woozily walked away.

"See?" Boeman said. "See that power? I could make him do anything I want. Anything I say." Boeman leaned over. "All I have to do is ask, and it is done. That's my power. Your parents' power. Now sit down."

Simon sat back down on the decrepit couch, the springs jabbing him in the leg. Boeman flopped on the edge of the bed opposite him. "What do you really want to get from this, Simon?"

Simon did not speak right away. "Sam," he whispered.

"Oh come on now," Boeman said, his one green eye flickering wildly. "You have all the world at your disposal, you could have anything you want, and all you think to ask for is for him back?" He waved a finger condescendingly. "I don't think you're considering all the possibilities before you, boy. You could have anything. Just say the word, take my hand and it's all yours. Just like that...for a price."

Simon looked at his hands. "Why do you do this?"

Boeman laughed a thin, wispy laugh. "Why?" he said. "Because I believe. Silas Darrow is not just a man. He is a visionary. He remembers the witch hunts, the inquisitions. The burnings. He remembers when our people were taken to the very brink of extinction. He is a great sorcerer, and he will save our people. But the hearts of our people are not easily moved. Give and take, Simon. Give and take. He wants to take our people out of the shadows, so he asks that I use my talent to give them what they desire, and so for now I do." He snapped his fingers. "Is Sam all you really want, Simon? To go back to that little family diner, and that little family life, when all this is right before you? It's all here, you know. All the answers, everything, everyone who should matter to you." He leaned forward, both eyes flaring with magic. "Why do you want him, when you can meet your parents, learn exactly why they sold me your soul?"

Simon flinched.

"There we go," Boeman said. "That's it. You want to know more about them. Who they were, what they did, why they were so terrible. I can't blame you. I didn't know who my parents were either, but that's just me being a product of my environment." He leaned in. "Tell me, Simon. Would you want to see them?"

"Don't do it," whispered the Other Voice.

Sam returned before Simon could answer, carrying a tray of bright green apples and a crystal water pitcher.

"Thank you," Boeman said quietly. "Watch the door." Sam set the tray on the bed and returned to his post in the hallway.

"Apple?" Boeman offered, tossing it to Simon. "Come on, lad. Tell the truth, you have to be dying with curiosity. It's okay, Simon. No one will blame you. Not even him," Boeman said, pointing at Sam. "He knew this day was coming. He's known for a very long time, ever since he stole away with you. He's known the day was coming when he couldn't hide you from the truth. From your parents. From me."

"Where are they?" Simon said.

"Can't tell you," Boeman said, tauntingly. "Not yet."

Simon stared at the apple in his hand. "You already have my soul. What more could you possibly want?"

Boeman stood and walked to the window. "Join us. Join your parents and the warlocks of the Old Dominion. Give your heart to Darrow and his vision for our glorious future."

A glacier ran down Simon's spine. "My heart?"

"Yes," Boeman said, looking out the window. "And it's about time, I might add. This has always been your path, since before you were born, but I think you already know that much, what with your parents selling you to me and all. You can keep your mind, don't worry about that." He pointed at Sam. "You won't end up like droopy face over there, I can promise you that much."

Simon stared at Sam. "Is he even still alive?"

Boeman puffed out his chest. "People are funny things. Your bodies have a mind all their own. He'll still be good for a nice, long time. After his heart stops it'll only take a small investment to keep him upright. That's the power of our trade, Simon. Your trade. Like so many before, like so many to come. Join us, and he can even be your personal attendant. That would be my gift to you. What could be better?"

Simon stared longingly at Sam, turning over everything in his mind. "What was it?"

"How's that?" Boeman said, still staring out the window.

Simon's arm began to ache. "What was so important to him that he would\--"

"What?" Boeman giggled. "Make a deal with me?" He turned away from the window. "It seemed so banal, so bland, at the time. The ability to hide, he told me. Said he had gotten in bad with a couple of Edisonites and needed to disappear." Boeman laughed, a harsh, angry laugh that stretched his face in odd directions. "I had no idea what he was planning. That is rare, you understand that? For someone to pull the wool over these eyes." He stared out into the sky. "I gave him the ability to vanish. I didn't think much about it. Sam Thatch, nothing special there. Figured he'd be dead soon enough and the Old Dominion would have just another moatling, another foot soldier in our fight to save this planet from those wretched ape cousins of ours." Another tortured laugh rose out of him. "You, Simon. It really was for you."

Simon's stomach finally dropped out of his abdomen. "Me? Why? Why was he so\--"

"Just another sad, pathetic, broken young man who just wanted to trade." Boeman's grin was an upturned grave. "It was too good to pass up. His soul for the ability to disappear. Simple enough. Just a rabbit's paw and a little chanting. Then he surprised me. He took you before he vanished. I should have seen that coming. He thought he could hide forever. Probably would have too, if he hadn't had to revive you. " Boeman suddenly seized Sam around the neck and swung him around the room. "But I have him now!" He laughed wildly, an insane noise that made Simon's skin crawl. Boeman dropped him on the bed and turned his wicked eyes on Simon. "He wanted to protect you, the little bundle of joy, torn from his wicked parents at such a young age. He couldn't just leave you out in the cold\--I mean, you started it all." Another insane laugh. "Your little family started unraveling the instant you came along. How could you not know?" He swung his wild eyes out to look at the moon. "I guess I can understand." He laughed again. "I can't say I feel Sam has been very fair about our deal, but then again, he always has fought dirty when it comes to you."

Simon's was sick from Boeman's laughter. "I don't understand. Why did he care? Why do all that to protect me?"

Boeman stared out the window. "Who else would?" The laughter started again, deep in his stomach, growing in pitch as he laughed maniacally at the sky. "Why? Why care? Why indeed!" His mismatched eyes blazed with cruel humor. "Stupid boy, that's what an uncle is for!"
Act Three

The Devil and The Dog

The key to successful wizardry is to always be on your guard.

If you're not careful,the magic ends up controlling you.

––Nicodemus Limnic, An Honest History of the Wizard's Craft, Chapter 36
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THE GRAVEYARD

The words were novocaine. "My uncle?" Simon whispered softly.

Boeman's laughter continued for a full minute before showing any signs of dying. Finally he composed himself. "Emma's half-brother. The so-called good child," he said slowly. "Honestly, I'm not at all that surprised he never told you. He's never been one for sharing much about himself."

Numbness bled into anger and confusion. "Why?" Simon's face was hot. "Why never tell me?"

"That would be a question to ask him now, wouldn't it?" Boeman sat on the molded couch. "But you can't have it both ways, so take your pick, Simon."

"What do you mean?" Simon said, confused. The throbbing in his arm grew worse..

"I mean, what's more important to you," Boeman said. "The truth of why your uncle kept this secret from you, or meeting your parents?" Boeman smiled his empty grin. "It's your choice, Simon. I really am just here to give you what you want."

"I don't even have anything to trade," Simon said. "You already have my soul."

Boeman's smile was a field of rotted tombstones. "Takes more than one of those to make a person, Simon. You really ought to learn that. I have your soul, yes, but there is so much more there. Your heart, your mind. No, your parents sold me only a part of you, boy, and now I want to negotiate for more. Right now, the question is, which is more important to you? Parents you've always wanted to know, all the answers finally revealed, everything you ever secretly wanted and more\--" Boeman jabbed a thumb lazily at Sam. "Or him?" Sam leaned sluggishly against the doorway, his eyes staring blankly down the hall. A cold wind rustled down the corridor, kicking up leaves and sending a few tiny creatures scurrying off into the shadows.

Boeman picked at his rotten teeth. "Or maybe...maybe it's revenge you want," he said. "Is that what burns inside you now, Simon? They sold you, traded you away like an object, signed away your life to serve their own selfish desires. Is that what smolders in your heart, right this very moment?"

Heat flooded through Simon. His jaw ached from clenching it so hard, and his fingernails dug into the palms of his hands. Boeman had struck a nerve. Under everything, deep down, Simon was mad, betrayed, and Boeman could feel it, draw it up to the surface, until the anger began to speak, whisper in Simon's ear. Rage toppled over his reason, until he heard only the thump-thump of his heart, and was drowning in anger.

"You need to decide," Boeman said, his eyes filled with greed. "Right now."

Simon looked at Sam, who remained at the door, motionless. The only family he had ever known, and now, after learning they were truly related, seemed a total stranger. Why keep this from him, for all these years? This was wedged between them now, and in his heart Simon wondered if he could ever forgive Sam. If they did survive, they could never really ever go back to Crowley, to the Paw, to Molly and Zoey and homework and regular life and everything else, not after knowing the truth about where he came from, that all this was out here. Even if he dragged Sam back, he would not be the same person anymore. He would not be the same anywhere. Wherever he would go, he would always be a stranger, in either world. He would always be alone.

Sam had done this to him.

"You don't have to be alone," whispered the Other Voice. He tried to quiet it, tried to push it out, turn his anger and resentment into a wall and block it out, but it was no use. The voice slid through every crack, found every way back into his thoughts, until Simon could resist it no longer.

"You don't have to be alone."

Simon whispered his answer.

"Sorry," Boeman said, "what was that?"

He whispered again.

Boeman smiled, obviously savoring the moment. "One more time."

"I want to know why," Simon snapped, fury dripping from his words. He had hoped letting the words out would bring him relief, take the weight off, but none came. Instead he was utterly and completely lost in his rage, even as he groped with the decision. "I want to meet them, to learn why they sold me. Why they went bad. Why they did this to me."

Boeman smiled. "And all these answers will be yours," he said softly. "If you give me your heart."

Simon's anger cracked, the pieces melting into confusion. "What? My heart?"

Boeman rolled his eyes. "Oh don't make that face. I'll let you keep it, after all. In your chest, that is. It's just...it will be mine. You'll still have your mind and body. Two out of four isn't so bad, is it? You won't even miss it, I promise." He held out his hand. "Just take my hand, and we'll be off. If you want we'll come back for old droopy-faced Sam later." Boeman's hand was right in front of him, bone white and perfectly still. He stood motionless, waiting for Simon to take it and seal their deal. Not alone, Simon thought, or maybe it was the Other Voice? He realized he couldn't tell. He raised his hand, which ached horribly, and took Boeman's hand.

Red-hot agony fired up his arm as his palm began to glow. Boeman seized it, holding on for only a few moments before letting out a harsh gasp and backing away, the smell of burned flesh filling the air. "My, my, my. You are full of little surprises, Warner, but the deal is sealed."

The pain in Simon's arm lingered. "What was that?"

Boeman stared at his hand, then at Simon, his eyes calculating. "The shape of things to come, I'd imagine," he said, grabbing his hat from the bed. "You're the apple of a good man, Simon. That's getting rarer these days." He stood in the doorway. "Fortunately that's just what we need, and that makes you special. Never lose that, young Warner. Never stop being so very, very special." Boeman headed up the hall. "Sit tight," he shouted as he made his way down the hall.

The burning in Simon's arm faded. "Where are you going?"

"We need something," Boeman said. "Wait there."

"You said you were taking me to my parents," Simon shouted.

"We are, we are. Now wait there." Simon suddenly felt very heavy, unable to rise from the couch. He watched Boeman disappear around a corner.

Several minutes passed in silence, and Simon began to regret his decision. What had it meant, when he took Boeman's hand? Why had it burned? It was a bad sign, a warning that he had possibly made a mistake. He knew so little about his parents. He tried to recount everything he knew about them, about Sam, about everything. His parents were Thomas and Emma Warner. They were members of the Old Dominion, maybe even Acolytes, and they had sold his soul to Boeman, but he didn't know why. Then they had disappeared, and Sam had abducted him. All before he could walk. His entire life since then had been a lie.

A weak moan escaped from Sam.

Simon jumped at the noise. He looked at his uncle cautiously. Another full minute passed, then another groan came, just barely louder than the first, but there were words in it, words Simon could only barely make out. "Exxxx..."

He managed to sit up. "Sam? What are you\--"

"Lllluuuucee..."

The air crackled around Simon. "Sam?" he asked, uncertain what was about to happen."

"Vvviita..."

The air popped between them, and Simon's body was itself again. Gone was the feeling of dead weight, of the heaviness Boeman had inflicted on him. He rose from the couch slowly and made his way to Sam. His eyes were milky white, but there was something else: a faint, blue glow. Sam was fighting Boeman's control, and he was pouring all his energy into helping Simon. Another word squeezed through his lips. "Rrrruuunn."

Images played themselves out in Simon's mind. The lake, almost drowning, Sam breathing life back into him. The Paw, Molly, Zoey, their first day in Crowley. The big orange couch. Boeman's wall of hatred broke, and everything flooded back into him. Suddenly everything was precious to him, it was his life, a life that he had loved, and somewhere deep down, he knew it was something he would love again. His emotions swirled and spun inside him, fighting the grief and the anger from minutes earlier, until he felt sick, and there was Sam\--motionless, bewitched, but still trying to help him.

"Sam!" Simon grabbed him and shook for dear life. "Please!" He shouted. He didn't care if Boeman heard. Regret has swelling inside him, harder and heavier than Boeman's spell. "Sam! Please! Wake up!" The white clouds in Sam's eyes swirled more violently than before, but Simon kept shaking, shaking, shaking until his arms began to ache. "Sam! It's Simon! Please! Your nephew! Come! On!"

Sam blinked rapidly. His lips parted, and the mist in his eyes barely moved\--just barely a flicker, and words began to form in his mouth. "Rrrrrruuuuunnnnnnn\--"

Footsteps like thunder crashed down the hall.

They had moments now at best. Everything was on the line. "C'mon! Now! Sam, WAKE UP!" Simon's hands burned like fire. It wasn't working. The spell was too strong. Simon took a deep breath, tried to focus. "Ex luce vita," he whispered, and the burning in his hands turned to a buzz, pins-and-needles erupting in his palms. Sam's eyes flared with blue. His nostrils went wide and he took a deep breath, followed by several more. Simon spoke the words again, and Sam began to work his jaw back and forth. He started to stretch his neck, all the while the footsteps in the hall became louder and louder. Several more small creatures bolted out of hiding and down the corridor, knocking over decaying furniture and sending up clouds of dust and paint chips as they burrowed straight into the wall to escape. Boeman came swiftly around the corner into Simon's field of vision. He was carrying a shovel, and he scowled madly at them.

"Think you're a strong one, do you?" Never breaking his stride, his free hand shot out, pointed right at Sam. His fingers locked into a claw as he twisted his palm upward, closing tight into a fist. Sam shuddered and collapsed against the wall.

Simon screamed. "SAM!"

Sam's head snapped up, then dropped back down. When he lifted his head again, the mist had returned, now misty green and swirling like a violent summer storm.

"Sam?" Simon's voice was a hollow echo. "Ex luce\--"

Sam's arm shot out, striking Simon hard in the shoulder. The blow sent him tumbling backwards onto the floor. Too shocked to even yell, he fell into the pile of dead leaves and trash on the floor, stunned. A dark shape mewed and bolted past him and out the open window.

"I'm impressed," Boeman said. "There's much will in you, but it will take much more than that to break my hold over your uncle." Boeman dropped the shovel next to Simon. Its clang sent another wave of creatures scurrying into the shadows. "Nasty gremlins," he said. "Pick that up. You're going to need it."

"Why?"

"Why? You want to see your parents, don't you? Well, that right there is the key."

He stared at the shovel, caked in dirt. Was it for digging graves? Nausea crept into Simon's stomach, squeezing him until even his eyes hurt. "Are you telling me they're\--"

Boeman chuckled. "Dead? Nothing of the sort. Better than that. Come on, let's not keep everybody waiting."

* * *

Simon stood in the graveyard from his vision. "You knew we'd be coming here, didn't you?"

"Not at all," Boeman said. "Though I must admit I am very, very glad things have turned out like this." Boeman led Simon through row after row of decaying tombstones, whistling that same haunting, four-note tune over and over. Around them the graveyard stretched long and low into the forest, and the moon was barely visible for all the entangled branches above.

"What are we doing here?" Simon carried the shovel awkwardly. It was heavier than it looked. "Why didn't Sam come with us?"

"Your parents are lost, Simon. Lost in a very dark place. The key to reaching them is here." They came upon a rusted iron fence. Boeman shoved open the gate and kept going.

"It's buried here?"

"Under the headstone of one of the founding Archmancers." Boeman said. He stopped and turned his head, listening to the darkness that engulfed them, and smiled. "Once we have it we'll be able to open the way, and then it's happy mommy and proud daddy and you and your uncle and everyone's a big, happy family again.

Simon's hands hurt. "But\--it's buried, right? Somebody buried it for a reason, didn't they?"

"A greedy old man with a lust for precious things," Boeman snapped. He slammed through another metal gate and continued. Simon's neck tingled as they passed. "Like most of the Freemancers he was just as greedy, just as willing to hoard his treasure, when they could have been helping others." The rage on Boeman's face flickered, and his voice dropped low and quiet. "They never help, not really," he said, almost to himself. "Not even once." Sadness slipped over Boeman's face.

"Wouldn't help who?"

Boeman collected himself, quickened his step. "Hurry up, Warner." He walked several feet in front of Simon, bursting through a third gate. Another tingle across his neck, and Simon felt faint for a moment.

Simon began to struggle with the weight of the shovel\--it seemed to grow heavier the further they went. They passed through another gate, and then several minutes later another, and several minutes after that another one. Each one left its tiny pinprick on Simon, and the shovel grew heavier. The forest grew quieter after each passing, until the only noise was theirs, and even it began to seem flat. Simon felt alone, more alone than he had ever felt, even with Boeman up ahead. Boeman moved quickly ahead, stopping suddenly before a large white wall, where he waited for Simon. Drawing closer Simon realized it was not just a wall, but a wall made of statues\--large ones, short ones, human, animal, creatures he didn't even recognize. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of them, all in a line that stretched far off into the darkness. Every last one of them, from the statue of the large man with the humongous belly, to the tiny statue of a fox, every last one seemed frozen in an expression of complete and utter agony. Simon tried to tell himself it was only an illusion, a trick of his eyes and the light, but they all seemed to be reaching out directly at them, clawing over each other, a tangled mass of frenzied stone all trying to seize him. Boeman stood just out of reach of the statues, and Simon stood back farther still.

"Six gates in, one gate down." Boeman held out his hand. "The shovel," he said. Simon's entire upper body ached and he was grateful to hand it over. Boeman took it in both hands and held it level with the ground, never taking his eyes off the wall of tangled statues. Simon wondered who could have even carved it, and, more so, who would have even wanted to? Boeman raised his arms up in front of him and closed his eyes, and red lines and patterns began to appear on the shovel, glowing dimly. It reminded Simon of blood. He looked at his hands and realized he was bleeding from both palms\--blisters had formed and burst on his palms from carrying the shovel, and he hadn't even realized until that moment.

"Thank you for carrying this for me," Boeman said. "It's been a very, very long time since this place could be opened, but I think your blood will finally do the trick, apple of a good man."

Simon tried to back away but his feet were stuck firmly to the ground. He looked in horror as the shovel glowed brighter, the lines and patterns smoldering. Burning symbols appeared on the statues, spiraling out along them like glowing tattoos. Boeman uttered a few words quietly, then turned suddenly, striking at the head of the giant statue with the shovel.

The wall exploded with impossibly harsh light. Simon shielded his face as a painfully loud crack broke the silence all around them. When he opened his eyes the wall of statues had ruptured. The statues that remained seemed to have moved\--the statue of the giant man, which Simon had seen right where Boeman had struck, now seemed to be off to the side, revealing an innocuous metal gate behind him. One of the giant man's arms was missing, and its face was a frozen mask of agony and rage, staring straight at them.

Boeman tossed the broken shovel aside. "All done with that. Follow me."

Simon flexed his hands. "You said nothing about bleeding."

"First lesson," Boeman said, "is always negotiate all the terms. Consider your blood the cost of learning." Boeman stepped through the hole in the wall of statues. "Now follow me."

Simon began to protest. "I\--"

A wave of sickness hit him. He was pulled uncontrollably forward.

"That's what happens when you don't obey. Unless you want to end up like Sam, I suggest you start listening."

"But, I\--"

"Shut up."

Simon's mouth locked closed. Surprised by this, he stopped walking, until his legs began to move, painfully, on their own. Slowly, he moved forward, almost spasming through the hole in the wall, feeling the stare of a thousand pairs of eyes upon him.

The air was unnaturally still inside the wall. Boeman led him deeper, down a slope until they were in the very heart of the graveyard. There were no tombstones here. Simon finally felt the tension in his jaw slack, and he managed to talk. "Why is it empty here?"

"None are welcome here, living or dead." Boeman held out his hand. "The very air is like a curtain, everything holding back that which sits beyond the Moat." His tone was reverent. "Can you feel it? Can you hear it?" He fell silent. "Whispers, Warner. Always whispers." Boeman tilted his head. "The Old Ones yearn for this world again."

Simon began to hear a faint humming. At first he thought it was his ears grappling with the quiet, or his imagination, but the humming swelled for a moment, just on the edge of real noise, then quickly died away. Silence, true silence, settled over them again. Boeman resumed walking, pulling Simon forward as he went. The muscles in Simon's jaw tensed up again.

The ground leveled out beneath them as they reached the bottom. A small tombstone, like a small gray pyramid, stood in the middle of a wide circle of stones, bathed in clear moonlight. "Whateley's Rest," Boeman said. "Come here," he said, and Simon had no choice but to obey. "We need what is under the stone." Boeman's voice frosted over. "Speak to it."

"I don't know how," Simon said, genuinely confused by the command.

"Do not play games with me," Boeman said. Simon felt the muscles in his throat relax. "You were born to do this. Your very heart beats with the knowledge of how to do this. Call to the keystone," he repeated.

"The what?"

"The keystone!" Boeman snapped. "Summon the Key of Algul! Call it from the grave and let us be done with this world!

Simon hesitated. "I don't think I want to\--"

Boeman's face twisted with sudden fury, and his voice filled with rage. "Call it! Apple of a good man!" The tombstone shuddered, rattling the ground beneath them. Boeman whipped a clawed hand at Simon. Simon convulsed, and his arm flew up in front of him. The feeling burned. Boeman screamed an incoherent scream, his eyes burning wild, and Simon's thoughts fell into shambles. Boeman was in front of him, and something\--something else\--was moving, slinking around in the shadows beyond the stone circle. Simon's arm convulsed again, but he did not collapse, he did not scream.

Against his will, Simon stretched his arm out to the tombstone, his fingers curling into a fist as he felt the pull of Boeman's influence. He did not want to do any of this, but the pain was too great, too strong. The ground beneath the tombstone shuddered, and fear struck Simon at the thought of what could possibly be trying to emerge, but there was nothing he could do to fight it. Desperately, he fought to move, to run, but he could not. He was frozen in place, an unwilling pawn, completely under the control of Boeman.

Just like Sam.

Boeman continued to shout, his words utterly drowned out by the searing pain that blossomed in Simon's hand. It moved up his arm, across his shoulder, slowly making its way up his neck, over his face, and finally to his temples. He fought as hard as he could against Boeman's control, to no avail. His body began to feel heavy, and all the while his eyes remained transfixed on the tombstone. With a sick, sucking noise, the tombstone began to heave, throwing aside dirt and moss as it slowly rose. An obelisk grew through the muck and the moss, and on the front the Silver Leaf of the Freemancers glowed brightly in the moonlight. The base of the obelisk was carved black stone, and below the leaf was a small opening just large enough for someone to slip a hand inside. The obelisk settled into place, and every muscle in Simon's body relaxed as he collapsed to the ground.

Boeman turned to a shadow just outside the circle of stones. "I told you it would work." The shadow moved through the edge of Simon's vision, then slowly it came forward, its movement fluid and sinister. It moved on all fours, circling around the stones, until it came to a stop right in front of the two of them. Simon lifted his head to see two glowing green eyes staring back at him.

Streaker.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THE SECRET SIGIL

Simon stared blankly into the green eyes of the hellhound. "How?"

"Simon, Simon, Simon." Boeman clicked his tongue. "So many little questions," Boeman said. "Sam raised you well, that he did, but I'm afraid he left you with a little too much curiosity."

Streaker paced around the circle of stones, a low growl rumbling in his throat.

"Nathan killed him," Simon said. The dog growled louder at Nathan's name.

"The correct term is banished," Boeman said. "Might have been permanent on a lesser hound, but crossing the Moat is nothing for him. Our boy here is made of thicker stuff. Aren't you boy?" Boeman reached out a hand towards Streaker, but stopped when the dog snapped his jaws.

"How did you bring him back?" Simon asked. "Is that what the sacrifice was for?"

Boeman laughed "There never was a sacrifice, Warner. My lies out of Sam's mouth." He smiled. "You can make a thrall do just about anything. That's the power of holding one's soul in the grip of your fist." He knelt down over the grave as Streaker growled again. "We ARE well enough along," Boeman said. The dog moved away slowly, sliding back out to the edge of the darkness. Simon stood transfixed on the spot.

"What is it?" Simon asked. "What's in the ground? What did you bring me here for?"

Boeman stared at him. "The keystone," he said. His knelt down, his fingers fishing along the ground. "Tonight is a powerful night, the lines through time and space are carrying massive currents of a strong power this night. More power than you could ever imagine, and my master bids me tap into those currents. Tonight I will fulfill my master's wishes, and we shall peel away the gateway to the Moated Veil."

"To where?"

"To where?" Boeman snapped. "To the World Next Door, Simon. Shining, glorious Algul, across the black emptiness above the sky. Our ancient lands beyond the Moat of empty space, to the glorious Empire above the stars." Incandescent green flickered across Boeman's eyes. "Tonight we welcome back into this world the darkest and most powerful of the Old Ones, those who seized our world from the cosmic dust and forged it anew, from empty rock and space they created our world, this world, the Crucible of the Sun. Your precious Greencloaks speak only of the kingdom of Par Adhara and their dead city of Thule, but there was another kingdom, a glorious kingdom\--Par Jabbah, the Empire of the Shroud! We know of them only in the whispers of ancient shadows, hidden in terrible nightmares that seize us as we drift through restless sleep. The first men of this miserable little world called them monsters, beings older than Life and more terrible than Death, but they are not monsters. Tonight, we reopen the last remaining bridge to their world. We will open the way to the Shrouded Ones of Par Jabbah\--the first true masters of magic in all the cosmos, worn from time and more powerful than anything you have ever seen. Across the Moat they will come back to this world." He closed his eyes in reverence, throwing his arms open wide. "Darrow has foreseen this in his Waking Sleep. The Timeworn will come. They will be our blessed way to salvation!"

Simon listened carefully, backing away slowly, hoping to disappear into the dark, but Boeman's eyes opened and locked onto him.

"Stupid boy!" Boeman howled. He reached out his hand, and with it came an unyielding force against Simon, like glaciers, bidding him to hold still. He fell awkwardly to the ground, his body locked solid. He struggled against Boeman's will until his blood almost ignited from the effort. White-hot agony seared through his temples, and slowly he could move his fingers, and draw a fist. It was a start, a small one to be sure, but a start nonetheless.

Boeman was on him now, his gangly form looming over Simon, his thin arms hanging like branches of a dead tree. "Obey," he commanded, his eyes and hands focused on Simon. His eyes flickered green one last time, then the emerald energy died away, leaving only bone white eyes. His pupils were gone. "Obey and become as you were always meant to become. Obey, and feel the cold embrace of the Dark Old Ones, the Ones who Conquered Thule..."

Darkness swam swiftly over Simon, choking him, filling his lungs with ice water. Everything around him grew dim, and his vision began to blur. In the void that filled his head, shapes began to move: odd, unfamiliar forms that erupted, slithered violently, flowing into every corner of his mind, washing over him. It was exhausting. His blood which had burned so hot a moment ago ebbed with cold, and a blizzard of pain dragged over him as his ears filled with a low, continuous humming. Dizziness boiled in him, and his stomach ached and spun as the forms continued their assault from within, vague shadows folding and bending into long arms, and emerald eyes exploded into being all around him. The coldness grew. It was numbing, almost enough to push back all the dizziness and the pain, and Simon welcomed it. In the space of a heartbeat, a way to escape had blossomed within: the coldness, the chilled path of the grave. In that instant he welcomed it, welcomed the release it meant, welcomed the escape from all the agony and the pain. He would give in. He would not fight. The shadows pressed down on him harder, the coldness deepening, beckoning him with its ink black promise of relief. Almost he thought. Almost free.

The icy waters rose up to him, the same he felt when he almost drowned at the spillway. He wondered idly if this was how it would have felt if Sam hadn't pulled him from the water and breathed life back into him while Molly and Zoey stood by, both of them crying.

Sam.

Molly.

Zoey.

The thought of losing them strangled him, and somewhere deep down, far in the very recesses of his heart, he felt something odd. Some wall inside him began to crack, and finally, excruciatingly, painfully, it broke.

Electricity sizzled inside Simon, burning deep within. An explosion happened, a passionate swell of feeling erupted inside him, filling him, warming him. The ink black promise of relief retreated, fleeing in the rush of adrenaline and heat. His blood pumped furiously, pushing white-hot fire through him again. His muscles relaxed. His bones unfroze.

He could lift his head. He looked at Boeman, and his blood running hot in his ears, his eyes, his tongue. He looked down. Both of his hands glowed a deep,jack-o'-lantern orange. Focus he told himself. Sam. Molly. Zoey. He drew his feet up under him and pushed himself up. He locked eyes on Boeman and clenched his fists. "No," he said in between deep breaths. "I. WILL. NOT. OBEY."

Boeman's upper lip curled back, revealing his perfect, bone-white teeth. His eyes flicked to the shadows, where Streaker stood at the very edge of the circle of stones. "Get him," he hissed.

Streaker did not move.

"I SAID GET HIM!" Boeman raged, and Streaker looked at him, a look like liquid hell pooling in its incandescent green eyes. Still, the beast did not move.

Greenish white wildfire erupted in Boeman's eyes. Enraged he lunged forward, seizing Simon by his shoulders. The whites of his eyes grew cloudy and misty, overtaken by tiny storm clouds that tumbled and erupted with a silent, electric green fury. "You will obey!" he screamed. His voice became rhythmic. "In judgment poor, in haste a trade--free from deceit a deal was made..."

The pumpkin-glow under Simon's skin blazed white-hot as a wave of heat erupted from him. Boeman flew back, his hands sizzling as small wisps of smoke rose from him. "The ember..." he said slowly. He chuckled. "Limnic, you funny, funny old man." His face contorted with amusement and disgust as his eyes settled back down to their same steely gray calm as before.

Simon looked at his hands, glowing with the same familiar orange-red light, the bones from his fingers easily visible. Comprehension came painfully slow. He had absorbed the ember.

Boeman sneered at Simon. "You little pawn. Just so willing to accept gifts from strangers." Another green flicker sparked through his eyes and died. He seemed unable to maintain it. "What would your dear uncle say?"

Simon locked eyes with Boeman. "Release him." he said, trying to sound as strong as possible.

"No doing," Boeman said, almost casually. "Nothing's ever free. His deal was made, and his debt is mine to collect." He chuckled. "You know this. In your heart you know I have a claim. Look at you. There is nothing you can do."

"He's right," said the Other Voice.

Simon looked down. The glow was fading from his hands, the fire in his blood suddenly burned off. He was without options, it would seem. He closed his eyes, already dreading what he was about to say.

"Yes, there is." The words were sticky in his mouth. He took a moment to steady the sickness in his stomach. "I'll make a deal with you." Almost there, he thought. "You release Sam and I will take his place. Heart, mind, body, soul. Everything. Release him, and I will become your thrall."

Boeman stared at him, the laughter dying on his face. He stared a long, hard moment, then a roaring laugh erupted from him, scraping across the lines of his bony, gray face. He covered his face with one hand, trying and mostly failing to compose himself. Outside the stone circle, Streaker growled again. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said, still chuckling. "Oh that's noble, very noble, but very, very foolish. I'm sorry, Ember Boy, but that's just not enough." The last of the laughter died. "I'm afraid that you offer really just isn't up to trade...yet."

Simon stared at the looming obelisk and the open receptacle in the obsidian base. An idea flickered in his mind. "You need what's in there, don't you? Your master wants it, yeah?"

The last shred of Boeman's smile faded.. "I yield to Darrow's commands, for now. Yes, he desires it, and so do I."

"Release Sam and I'll open it for you willingly," he said. "You need my help, don't you? You can't take it yourself, that much is obvious, or you would have already. Let's make that deal then. My willing help for Sam's freedom. Is that trade enough?"

"I didn't always need help," Boeman snarled, surprisingly defensive. He gazed at Streaker. "If I could, I would have broken down the Maddening Wall and come here already, and you and your whole stupid, traitorous family would have been a pile of ash long ago."

"Then let me," Simon said, thrusting out his hand, the ember glowed brightly, but this time it did not hurt.

"Oh, now it's let you?" Boeman smiled again, a long, horrible grin. "Tell me this, Simon. Why would I let you, when I can make you?" Boeman's eyes suddenly flushed with white mist again as he flashed his palm at Simon.

Agony. A terrible phantom weight crushed down on Simon's neck and shoulders, his bones feeling like they would crack at any instant from the strain. Boeman snarled at him. "Pain is a great motivator, better than any other. Dread is a powerful motivator, but pain\--true torture\--that's how you really get things done." Outside the circle of stones, Streaker began to pace, faster now, furious. He barked and snapped his jaws, his eyes an emerald hell burning bright in the darkness.

Simon moved his mouth, but no noise would come. He could not move, could not scream, his own thoughts becoming lost in the loud humming that now seemed to come from the obelisk, seemed to fill his mind. Boeman gestured like a phantom puppeteer plucking invisible strings, and Simon watched in horror as his hand lifted on its own. He could only watch as his palm was sliced open, cut by an invisible knife, and the blood flowed freely down his arm. Unwillingly he approached the obelisk. Boeman gestured again, and Simon lifted his hand and reached out to the black needle in front of him. All the while the humming filled his ears, his mind, until it left him hollowed out, as hollow as the empty receptacle in the stone.

Boeman silently brought agony to Simon's legs, while the ember roared within him, causing flames to lick at his insides, charring his bones\--and yet, he could not resist. He was trapped between agony and hell. He was not strong enough to resist, and he knew that he had no real choice. He understood now. Obey and suffer, no matter what.

With a harsh cry he plunged his hand into the obelisk.

Nothing.

The pain washed away while Simon stood there with his fist plunged deep into the obelisk. The pain seeped away, then all sensation followed. All emotions and feelings inside him drifting away until he felt nothing. If he could have been scared again, then fear would have seized him in that moment, held him down, and choked the life from him, but he couldn't feel anything, so he stood there, as numb as the stone.

The humming in his mind died away too, flowing out just as easily as it had flowed in. He was fixated on the silver leaf, ever glowing in the moonlight, and he grew calm, his eyes drifting out of focus as he settled deep into the bluish white glow of the symbol.

Streaker snapped his jaws again, another low growl starting to turn over.

"Patience," Boeman said the hound. "Give him a moment. The blood must flow."

The stone suddenly felt very cool around his fist. Whatever was going to happen had begun. He could move his fingers if he wanted to, but he did not dare, for fear something would snap them off. He had no trouble holding still. Slowly he was overcome with tranquil thoughts and feelings, and he soon found himself completely transfixed by the leaf symbol.

Streaker paced back and forth outside the circle of stones while Boeman was just inside of it, his tall, skeletal frame standing to the left of the looming monolith. His lips moved slowly, almost imperceptibly, and Simon only dimly realized he was chanting. Boeman's hands were stretched out before him, his fingers slowly flexing open and closed as he spoke the incantation. "Apple of a fallen man, broken hearth, and bone. A knife that cuts the darkness, a blade that's never honed..."

Something rustled in the trees behind him. Footsteps. Simon craned his neck to see three figures approaching, moving quickly through the trees. They paused for only a moment at the hole in the wall of statues before crossing, the three of them jumping quickly through the gap and moving away just as fast. A small flash of silver light marked their crossing.

Boeman's eyes were wide open, bone-blank as the figures drew closer. Even Streaker failed to notice as the figures approached. It was only when the figures had moved fully into the moonlight that the hound finally took notice, his head swiveling around, his burning emerald eyes focused very suddenly on the trio of dark figures as they stood at the tree line.

"So much for that," the tallest figure wheezed, barely more than a whisper.

Boeman's head snapped up. He scanned the tree line briefly, then smiled. "No matter," he said. "You are all far too late." The three figures remained in the shadows. "Oh come on," he said, beckoning to them. "Come out, please. Celebrate with us." Slowly, the figures moved forward, stepping out into the full wash of the moon's light. Nathan came first, looking as haggard and tired as any man Simon had ever seen. He had almost a full beard on him, and he looked to have lost several pounds. Kate followed him, then Penny. Both of them were still in their Masquerade dresses. Penny held Malkin in her arms.

Boeman's smile widened. "Brought the whole gang, I see." His eyes found Nathan. "Now that's impressive," he said, pointing a finger. "Even I couldn't have gotten him out of where they had him tucked away, Ms. Merrimoth."

Kate bristled. "So the arrest was your doing?"

Boeman chuckled. "Oh no. He did that one all himself, but I was watching that whole affair with great interest. Tell me, Nathan, I simply must know\--how did you escape?"

"No escape," Nathan said. "Suspicion of kidnapping lands you in the regular holding cells." He smiled. "Assaulting a council officer\--that means you serve your time in one of our special cells\--a timeless cell."

Boeman stared at him a moment, adding up the variables, then laughed. "Oh that's clever, Tamerlane. Truly clever." He bowed slightly. "I salute you and your unending willingness to shoot the moon."

"I was out as soon as I went in," Nathan said, stepping closer. "Wasn't easy, I admit. Few months at least, maybe a season. See, time really doesn't mean that much in there, and the phantoms who run the place aren't really all that timely, which shows a real lack of discipline." He stepped forward again. "And you just can't get any sleep in there." He popped his neck and back. "After my sentence was up I was released, right back into the thick of things. All that was left was to track you down."

"Well, that's dandy," Boeman said. "You're too late, anyway. Big hand moves around, and the hour is already slipping away." He glanced at Nathan. "I'm not sure you're even well enough to die, let alone fight."

"Heh. Shows what you know," Nathan said, swaying a little until Kate steadied him. He leaned against her, clutching his salt bag in his other hand. "I haven't even begun to get myself in trouble." He slowly looked at Streaker. "Hey pup. Now didn't I kill you already?" Streaker circled around in front of them, baring his teeth. "Then again, you're not an ordinary hellhound, are you? I'm starting to think you're something bigger that just pushed itself into that shape. It was the way your body sizzled in the library that finally clued me in. You're a simulacra, aren't you? An artificial vessel built to hold the essence of one of the Timeworn. So what's your real name, pup? Adulz? Nollib? Pazog?" He opened the salt bag. "Stop me when I'm getting close."

Simon struggled hard against the obelisk to no avail. He remained glued within the obelisk while Streaker's eyes blazed hotter than before, his growl shaking the ground beneath them.

"You sure do growl a lot, pup." Nathan wheezed, then he chuckled a hollow, rattling laugh. "Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe you have no bite left in you, you mangy, old, decrepit\--"

That did it. Streaker lunged straight for Nathan.

Kate dove left, Penny right.

Nathan stood alone, right in the path of the snarling beast. He dropped to his knees, throwing the salt bag aside. His last bit of strength seemed to fade from him. His eyes rolling back in his head and he fell forward onto his hands.

The hound closed in, faster now, foam flying from his mouth as he charged.

The ground in front of Nathan erupted. Dirt exploded up from the ground, and roots, and leaves, and muck, then it was all twisting, writhing into shape as it churned upwards. A large canine head formed inside the swirling mass of earth, followed by large shoulders. It didn't have time to completely form itself, bursting upwards to catch Streaker mid-flight. The hound let out a loud yelp as it was knocked aside, momentarily stunned.

Nathan slowly lifted his head and smiled as the earthen wolf coalesced in front to him. Nathan looked to Simon. "Told you I had been practicing," he said, managing a small smile.

Penny was next to Simon now, tugging feverishly at his wrist, trying to yank him free from the stone. "It's no use," Simon whispered, his heart pounding hard and slow in his chest. "I'm stuck."

"Not good," Penny whispered. She saw the silver leaf above the receptacle. "Dogs and devils," she whispered. "Do you know who's grave this is?"

"Not now!" Simon yanked harder to free his hand, feeling his wrist almost pop from the strain. "Get me out, please! Hurry!"

Penny hesitated, her eyes still fixed on the symbol.

"Penny!"

She shook her head. "Okay, sorry. Sorry!" She calmed herself and placed her palm against the stone. A moment later her eyes went wide. For a second she seemed lost inside herself, knocked down inside her own head. She backed away, shaking her head a few times before regaining her senses.

Simon's hand slipped free from the stone. "Thanks." He rubbed his wrist. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Penny said quickly. Her gaze darted back and forth before slipping behind the obelisk. "It was nothing."

"No, it wasn't," Simon said. "Are you okay?"

"Shh," she said. "Follow me, before they see us."

"No," Simon whispered. "How did you get me out? What was\--"

"Quiet, Simon! Please!" She turned to face him, and he saw it\--her eyes were glowing, but they were a sickly mixture of blue and green, like ink dropped in water. Her face seemed drawn and thin, and she looked like she might be sick any minute.

"Our girl here is awfully special, isn't she?" They turned to see Boeman standing behind them, his eyes normal again, voice calm and deep. "You are a real rarity, young lady." He walked towards them casually, one hand in his pocket, the other gesturing questioningly in the air. "What a little secret you've been, and a Nettle at that! Tell me, pretty little apple, does your heart go bump in the night?"

A tiny shape mewed and bounded out of the darkness. It ran along the ground, heading fast for Boeman. Malkin tore up Boeman's front, finding his face and tearing into him viciously. The kitten hissed and caterwauled furiously, his teeth biting and his claws slashing at Boeman's face without relenting. Boeman fell back, his focus on the two children lost.

"Penny," Simon started. "I\--"

"Run," she whispered. Behind them Malkin continued to hiss and claw. She grabbed his arm and kept her head down. "Run."

They ran.

Boeman howled behind them. Penny gripped Simon's hand tighter as they tore through the cemetery. "Watch the wall!" Simon shouted as they approached the grotesque, twisted stonework. "Stay clear of it!" Penny took a hard turn and ran alongside the wall, being careful to avoid the outstretched stone arms of the statues. One statue of an animal frozen mid-snarl almost tripped Simon.

"Keep going!" Penny shouted. In the distance they heard Boeman begin to shout, rhythmic and loud.

"Here!" Penny let go of Simon's hand. They were coming up on the large hole in the stone wall. "We have to get through," she shouted, breaking into a full run.

"The statues!" Simon shouted. "Something's not right about them."

"Don't look at them!" Penny threw herself through the hole, spinning around after landing. "Go!"

There was no time to doubt. Simon squeezed his eyes shut and jumped without slowing down. Something hard hit him in the shoulder, and when he looked back up, the hole in the wall was gone. Every last inch of space had been filled in by the statues, dozens of stone creatures all silently screaming at him. Their numerous hands and claws and beaks and eyes were just inches away, every last one reaching right for his face.

"We can't leave them," he said, getting to his feet. "I need to go\--"

Penny slapped him, hard, and he fell to the ground even harder. "What were you thinking?" She hissed at him.

She had completely knocked the wind out of him. "What was that about?"

"Why did you follow him!" She turned away. "Why couldn't you have just stayed at the house? Why couldn't you have just stayed where it was safe?"

Simon wasn't sure what to do. He started to speak but hesitated, then he started to put his hand on her shoulders, but stopped. Awkwardly he backed away. "Penny, please." It was a stupid response, but he had nothing better to say. "He's the only family I have."

She kept her back to Simon. "We're not supposed to be here," she finally said, her voice low and fragile.

Simon swallowed. "I had to follow."

She slowly turned around. Her eyes were red and puffy. "It's not safe here. There's too much...stuff out here. A lot has been laid to rest that isn't quite ready to be there." She looked at the ground. "Some people are out here that shouldn't be."

Simon looked over Penny's shoulder. Right behind her was a tombstone that somehow seemed familiar. In a moment he realized where he had seen it\--it was the monument he had seen when he and Penny had connected in her father's office. The inscription was clear in the moonlight:

ELIZABETH JULIET NETTLE

BORN IN A FIELD OF WHEAT

RAISED TO RUE THE NIGHT

TAKEN BY A HUNGRY RAVEN

AND DIED BY WAY OF BITE

"Penny," he started. "I\--"

Boeman shouted in the distance again, followed by the dreadful sound of moaning. This was not just one moan, but several, all blended in a terrible cacophony of wailing and dread. Moatlings.

The wail rolled over the graveyard at them like a fast moving fog, until it threatened to surround and seize them with its unearthly sound. Simon's ears throbbed from the noise. "Where did they come from?"

Penny shook her head. "They've answered their master's call," she said, still wiping at her eyes. "Wherever they are, living or dead, they will always come when called, and their true form is always revealed."

Simon looked towards the sound of the moaning. "How many?"

"All of them."

Dark shapes began to climb over the wall, scrambling shapes slipping madly over the twisted, howling statues. The moatlings swarmed over the stone figures without any resistance, dozens of the black shapes cresting over the statues and falling to the ground in thick black clumps. The black mass swelled towards them, a giant grasping hand snatching at them from the darkness. A second sound followed from far behind the wall\--the unmistakable howling of dogs.

Penny grabbed Simon and awkwardly pulled him into a run. Simon pumped his legs hard\--he was desperate to put the wall and the creatures far, far behind them. Tree branches lashed at his face like tiny corpse hands as they ran towards the next fence, the fourth one, or was it the third? There had been so many coming in, but now he could not recall how many fences there had been when he had first followed Boeman. The moaning never once faded behind them, only growing louder and closer. They ran over fallen, decaying trees, past crumbling tombstones, and mausoleums with weeping angels. They ran and ran and ran.

Until they fell.

The ground simply stopped under their feet, but it was gone too fast for either of them to react. Simon had no time to register that Penny had disappeared from his sight until he was falling too, dropping off an unseen embankment. Ice cold water splashed into his face. They had fallen into a creek.

He thrashed in the water, a sudden fear of water overtaking him. He thrashed his way to the shore, then found Penny and helped her to her feet, tasting blood in his mouth. Above them the moaning seemed to fall back, getting lost for the moment in the air above them.

They ran blindly now, stumbling over roots and rocks that threatened to send either of them tumbling again at any moment, leaving them at the complete mercy of what was chasing them. Miraculously, they seemed to be gaining distance on their pursuers. As they neared another row of mausoleums the moans and groaning had all but completely faded.

He stumbled again, tasting dirt and more blood as he hit the ground. He had fallen in front of a very large mausoleum with a small stone gargoyle leering down at them from the pitched roof. It reminded him of the tiny gargoyle they kept on the cash register back at the Paw. He felt a twinge of pain as he found himself wondering if Little Sam had survived the fire.

"They answer the master's call," said the Other Voice. "All of them."

An idea sprouted in his mind. "We have to go back," he said, brushing himself off.

Penny stared at him, her voice quavering. "We can't. We need to get back to the house."

His words were bloody and muddled. "No. I know what I need to do."

"Then you'll be killed."

"He needs me."

Penny touched Simon's shoulder. "Sam needs you alive. This is not the right way to go."

The words were harder now, almost sour. "No. Boeman. He needs me," he said more to himself than to her. "They won't hurt me. He needs me."

Penny's eyes went wide. "Are you saying\--"

"They'll take me back to him."

Penny jerked back. "There is NO way of knowing\--"

"Penny!" Simon suddenly screamed, his voice cracking. "I don't know what I'm doing! I know nothing about this place, about magic, about anything here, but I have to do something!" His hands were shaking. "Sam is still in there. I almost reached him before, I can do it again." He spit blood on the ground. "I'm going back."

His words hung rotten in the air.

Penny slowly backed away. "I can't do this with you," she said.

He looked her dead in the eyes. "I'm not asking you to. Keep going. Get help."

"This is crazy."

"I know."

The moaning was closing in on them again. Penny continued backing away, her eyes growing wider with each step. "Don't look at them," she finally said. "No matter what, don't look at them." She bit her lip. "Please."

"Okay."

The moaning was almost upon them. Penny turned and ran, vanishing into a thicket of trees.

Simon closed his eyes as the moatlings approached. The moaning filled his ears, and then, his mind. He could feel them now, closing in around him. They all come, he thought. All of them.

"Well done," whispered the Other Voice.

The cold hands grabbed him, and it was over.

* * *

The moatlings were quiet now.

They dragged Simon along the ground, the occasional rock stabbing into his back as they took him to what he could only hope was Boeman. Do moatlings eat? He wondered idly. At one point he hit his head on what had to have been a tombstone, and his eyes burst open involuntarily from the shock.

The creature dragging him was almost human in the moonlight. It was certainly pressed into a human shape, but small differences revealed themselves under the moon. Its skin was gray, and its eyes glowed with a faint, silvery-green haze. It was gaunt, thinner than Simon had imagined, but also impossibly strong. Despite its appearance, it bounded over crumbled brick and fallen tombstones effortlessly, yet for all its unnatural grace, it moved without any care for Simon. More rocks stabbed into his back, and Simon kept spitting blood and dirt the entire time the creature dragged him. They were followed by the scores of more creatures, most no more than the outline of a person against the night sky. Simon's eyes darted between what shapes he could make out, desperate to spot Sam.

Finally the Maddening Wall came into sight. Simon had been right\--they were taking him back to Boeman. Small murmurs rippled through the creatures as they reached the barrier, and for a moment Simon thought they were going to begin moaning again. However, they simply shuffled through the opening, their worn faces temporarily lit by the clear patch of sky overhead. Simon searched what faces he could again, and his heart leapt when he thought he saw him, but when the shadow cleared he saw the creature was missing half its face, and dread began to creep over him. Had this been the right choice?

Simon felt the small pop again as they crossed the invisible barrier that permeated the Maddening Wall. They were close now. He swallowed his revulsion towards the creatures, forcing his disgust to the back of his mind. The obelisk still towered over the top of the hill, and next to it stood Boeman, who stared at him with a bemused smile. Off to the side stood Nathan and Kate, back to back, circled by a pack of hounds, all their eyes blazing green. The earthen wolf stood defiant against the pack, and Simon saw the hounds tear into it all at once, tearing and pulling and tugging it into pieces. He cringed at the wolf's death howl. Nathan's coat was torn right above the shoulder, and the brown fabric was soaked in blood. Kate gripped her hatchet tightly, its ethereal, almost silvery white light seemed to be holding the beasts at bay. Her eyes kept darting around, her mouth moving quickly but speaking too softly to be heard.

"Simon!" Nathan screamed when he saw him. "Simon!"

The growling grew louder, the sound of Streaker's pack mixing with the renewed moaning of the ghouls. Something very large and very heavy hit Simon's captor, causing it to release him, dropping him unceremoniously to the ground. Simon lifted his head, and directly in front of him was one of the new hounds, it's muzzle thick with matted fur. Its eyes and fangs were trained on the ghoul. The ghoul lashed at the dog furiously, swiping dirty, clawed hands without any regard for its own safety. Behind him some of the ghouls began to groan, harder and harsher than earlier, and a small group of them broke off in a clump and headed straight for the pack. Nathan took this in with extreme interest. "Seems they're not getting along much these days," he shouted to Boeman. "What's happening out beyond the Moat to make a couple puppies get so bent out of shape?"

Boeman's eyes flared. With a flick of his wrist the wandering ghouls caught fire, a bright blue flame accompanied by shrieks and screams of agony, then they fell to the ground lifelessly. The errant hounds fell back just in time to avoid getting burned, then rejoined the pack around Nathan and Kate. Streaker growled at Boeman, who looked at the hound scornfully. "If you can't control your stupid beasts, I will." At this remark Streaker bared its teeth at Boeman. "Well, fine," Boeman said, exasperated. "You do it then if it's so damn easy. Oh wait, you can't. So quiet down and let me work."

A new pair of cold hands grabbed Simon and lifted him back into the air, carrying him up the hill and throwing him onto the ground at Boeman's feet. Simon tried to stand but a large, heavy weight came crushing down on his neck. The moatling was standing with one foot on him.

"Simon!" Nathan shouted again. With a great heave of his good arm, Nathan threw his salt bag towards Simon, and a burst of green and purple sparks erupted as it flew through the air. Streaker glowered at Nathan, its eyes hot with anger.

"Not this time," Boeman said. "I'm afraid the time for your little parlor tricks is over, Mr. Tamerlane. You only have yourself to thank for that. Every time Streaker crosses the Moat he only grows stronger, and you, Ms. Merrimoth, what kind of company is this to keep? Honestly," he said, dropping his shoulders. "If your father could see you now\--"

"You shut your mouth!" Kate snarled, and the silver light from her hatchet waned as she lost her concentration. The dogs immediately fell in as the light shrunk.

"Stop it." Simon struggled to breath from the weight of the ghoul on top of him. "Let them go."

"Why?" Boeman squatted down next to Simon. "What good would that do for me? No, I think my interests are better served if I keep them right here, right now, but the real question is, what will you do to free them?"

Kate's shield shrunk again. Her arms were starting to drop. "Don't do it Simon!"

"Don't hurt them," Simon said. "Please."

"What will you give me?" Boeman said.

"Give him nothing," whispered the Other Voice.

Simon glared at Boeman. "Nothing," he said through gritted teeth. "Let them go."

The dogs moved in again, a chorus of low growls beginning to form.

Boeman smiled. "Time's almost up, Mr. Warner. Do you really want to risk it?"

"No," Simon said. "I'm done making deals with you."

Kate's shield winked out.

"Pity," Boeman said. He waved his arm towards Nathan and Kate. The dogs scattered as the Nathan and Kate were lifted suddenly into the air, blown back by the force of Boeman's spell into the waiting arms of the Maddening Wall. The statues had made a spot for them already\--one bare spot of the underlying iron gate was exposed, and they hit it with a sickening clang. Simon flinched at the noise, and when he looked back he could see the statues had already closed their arms around them, pinning them, trapping them under stone arms and with stone hands covering their mouths.

"No!" Simon pounded his fist against the ground. A huge flash of light erupted out of him, blowing the ghoul off his back. It was a full second before Simon realized he was free, then he scrambled to his feet.

"Won't be long for them now," Boeman said. "They'll be fine if you can ever get them out."

Simon turned to face Boeman. Sparks flew wildly between his fingertips. He didn't care anymore, didn't care if he wasn't trained, didn't care if he was putting himself at risk. He couldn't let this go on any further. His heart began to pump furiously as he tried to summon all his strength, all his anger, all his rage that slept deep inside him. His muscles tensed and ached from the effort. His teeth began to grind and his vision blurred as adrenaline coursed through him, firing wildly against every one of his nerves as he felt the power building, growing, boiling inside him as he prepared to give Boeman everything he got.

"Destruo," the Other Voice whispered.

He hadn't known then what he knew now, hadn't understood the magic inside words, hadn't understood the need to keep a buffer, or a sight through which to aim his anger and his magic. The word boiled inside his mind again\--destruo. His shoulders burned, spreading like fire until he felt he was going to burst. Destruo. "Become the hand," the Other Voice said. "Become the right hand of destruction. Fulfill your destiny." The thoughts were confusing, cracking his concentration. He did his best to swallow his confusion and focus on Boeman, on the man who had torn the only family away from him he had ever known, his uncle, a secret he had never known. "Destruo, and the anger building. Destruo, and the fires burn. Destruo, and the fury is born." Fury burned within Simon, seeping outwards until the air began to sizzle, and the grass around him turned brown and died.

"Say it," the Other Voice commanded. "Do it now."

He knew exactly what to do.

"Impressive," Boeman said, holding his hands up. "But before we let things get out of hand\--"

Simon moved fast, hawk-like, swinging his fist as hard as he could into Boeman's jaw. Bone found bone, and Simon felt an ungodly pain erupt in his hand.

Boeman stumbled back a few feet, thrown off balance by the force of the impact. Simon's hand stung horribly, and when he tried to move his fingers pain shot up his arm. In the back of his mind he knew he had broken his hand.

Boeman regained his footing, rubbing his jaw gingerly. "All right," he said. "I thought we might amend our arrangement, but you," Boeman worked his jaw, which made a terrible clicking noise, "you want to get down to it, I see."

The throbbing pain in Simon's hand distracted him, washing over his anger. He held his hand to the side and hoped Boeman wouldn't notice.

"Tell you what," Boeman said. "I could just force your hand back into the obelisk. I do have control over you heart and soul." Simon's left arm lifted up against his will, phantom pains pulling the strings. "But you're such a baby you might go running off and crying that it wasn't fair or some other nonsense. So let's level the field, shall we?" His eyes flared with green and blue sparks. "Simon Warner, I release you from our agreement." Instantly Simon's arm dropped. It swung loosely at his side, and he was glad Boeman hadn't lifted up his injured hand.

"There now, is that better? Let's make a new deal." Something rustled in the bushes behind them. "I don't think you can do much for your friends, and finding your parents again probably isn't going to pan out all that well anyway, so I don't think I can convince you that way. I don't think you'd make a deal for any of that," Boeman said. Behind him, a figure stepped out of the trees. The figure walked closer until Simon could see his face clearly. Sam. "But I think you might still make a deal for him."

"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, Boeman's chanting cutting 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 encased 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."

Molly blushed. "Just better make sure I don't change my mind before the big day."

Sam smiled. "I'll behave."

"You better."

Simon ducked under the plastic sheet, leading the new bread deliveryman. He was a young, gangly boy with a thin neck hiding under a sparse beard and his eyes were covered by stringy brown hair. He struggled with his bread cart, which was twice his size. Simon lifted the plastic for him.

Sam broke away from Molly to help them. "I'm glad to see you helping more, Simon."

"Sure," Simon said, rubbing his wrist. He had just gotten the cast off the week before "I'm glad to."

"Great!" Molly grabbed a tub of wrapped silverware. "Can you set the tables for me? Chief McTaggart and his men are going to be over soon for their thank-you breakfast."

"We sure were lucky they were able to save what they did," Sam said, walking down the back hallway. "I'm still not sure about the new tablecloths though."

Simon took the tub of silverware and ducked under the plastic again. Light filled the new dining room\--Sam had large windows installed in place of the old tiny ones, and gone were the huge, bleak curtains, replaced with lightly colored blinds that let the sun in easily. New booths lined the walls, and brand new tables filled the center of the dining room. Above the entrance hung the familiar rabbit foot, having miraculously survived the fire. Happiness filled the room.

So did one unexpected man. His chestnut hair dangled in front of his eyes, and he had at least a week's worth of stubble. He was taller than Simon by a foot, and was wearing a beaten-up green coat with a inexpertly repaired tear on the right shoulder. His whole coat was splattered in mud, and he looked like he hadn't slept inside in days. He had a large canvas bag slung over his shoulder.

"Hello Simon," Nathan said, his eyes low. "You have a minute?"

Simon blinked. He stood in place for a moment. "I\--yeah, yeah." He set the tub of silverware on one of the ugly new tablecloths. "How are you?"

"Good." Nathan nodded a few times. "Good. How's your\--" he pointed at Simon's hand.

"Good," Simon said. "Just got the cast off."

"Good."

"Okay."

They stood quiet for a moment. Nathan was first to break the silence. "Oh!" he said suddenly. He fished in his pocket. "Here," he said, pulling out a silver fork. "Told you I'd get it back for you." He smiled and meekly set it on the nearest table. He waited for Simon to speak, but he remained quiet. He fidgeted for a moment before speaking. "That's not all," he said, reaching into one of his many pockets. He withdrew something completely unexpected. He fumbled with it for a moment, unsure of how to continue. He took a quick step forward. "Here," he said quietly, looking at Simon very cautiously, handing him the object from his coat.

It was a book.

Simon was confused. "What's this?" The book was brown and a little beaten, and as he turned it over in his hands. Slowly it dawned on him where he had seen it. "This is from\--"

"The Freemancers," Nathan said.

Simon opened the book cautiously, unsure what he would find. The very first page was blank, and his heart absolutely sunk, but then, something strange began to happen\--words began to flicker and burn into the page, and when the message became clear his heart leapt:

SIMON THEODORE WARNER

BORN IN A SNOWSTORM, RAISED IN A FOREST

APPRENTICE (NEUTRAL STANDING)

DIVISION NO. 713

THE GREAT HALL OF THE FREE AND ACCEPTED MANCERS OF NOVA MUNDUS

ESTABLISHED 1680

UNDER THE ASSIGNMENT AND TUTELAGE OF:

NATHAN ALAN TAMERLANE, JOURNEYMAN (QUESTIONABLE STANDING)

APPROVED AND SIGNED, ELLICOTT STERLING, ARCHMANCER

Below that, written in a different hand, flickered a second message, written in Nicodemus's handwriting:

DARROW WATCHES

"How?" was all he could think to say. "I haven't taken the trials for apprenticeship. I'm not sworn. I'm too old. I thought I couldn't\--"

"It would appear that someone very persuasive seems to think your...Involvement...last autumn fits the requirement. As far as the age consideration, I'm not worried."

Simon closed the book. A copper version of the Freemancer's Leaf slowly formed on the front cover before his eyes, burning with an odorless, smokeless fire. Something inside him ebbed at the sight of the cover\--his heart beat loudly in his ears for a moment before settling back to its normal rhythm.

"The first thing you must know," Nathan said. "Your grimoire is your closest companion. It will stay with you no matter where go, remember everything you do."

Simon remembered finding the then-blank book in his backpack at the Archives. It had been odd then, but now a question burned deep in his mind. Why had it been following him then?

"The copper on the cover signifies apprentices," Nathan added. "That will change as you advance. Any questions?"

About a thousand leapt to mind, but right then Sam and Molly came walking into the dining room. "Simon," Sam said. "I want your opinion. These tablecloths. Are they really all that..." He stopped short by the counter and smiled a huge, grateful smile. "Nathan?"

"Hey there," Nathan said quietly. "Glad to see you're still enjoying the life of a free man."

"I have you and Peter to thank for that," Sam said. "I understand the council took a lot of convincing."

"That they did," Nathan said. "Lots and lots of meetings. They had to re-enchant the Timeless Room," he added with a smirk. "But you're free and clear. You're even welcome back in Silverwood."

"Thanks," Sam said, "but I plan to stay here." He hugged Molly around the waist.

Nathan glanced at her and snatched the fork from the table. "I brought this back," he said. "I told you I would."

Molly gave them all a sidelong glance then broke away, quickly disappearing back behind the plastic.

Sam crossed the dining room quickly, reaching out to shake Nathan's hand. "How have you been?" He caught sight of the grimoire in Simon's hand. "Oh." A smile crept across his face. "Who's call was that?"

"I think you know," Nathan said.

Sam reached for the grimoire. "May I?" Simon handed it over slowly. "Heh," Sam said. "Sterling. He must have just loved that." He returned the book to Simon. "I know we've talked, Simon." He paused. "Since we came back. I'll support your choice, whatever you want it to be. Nathan's a good mentor, believe it or not." He glanced at Nathan, then back to Simon. "Is this what you want?"

Simon swallowed the nervous feeling that was crawling up from his stomach. "It is."

Sam chuckled. "It's a good match," he said to Nathan. "Bet you didn't expect to pick up another apprentice."

Nathan smiled at Sam. "You have been nothing but trouble, cousin."

"At least I'm settling down."

"Not nearly soon enough."

"Wait," Simon said. "Cousin?"

Nathan and Sam both smiled. "That makes us related," Nathan said. "Funny how those things work, right? Everyone is connected one way or another, ours is just closer than most."

All connected. A horrible thought slithered through Simon's mind. "What about Boeman? Is he gone?" he asked. "For good, I mean? He blew away, in the graveyard, so he's...he's not coming back, is he?"

"He had to blow somewhere," Nathan said grimly. "Things like him are hard to destroy. We haven't seen the last of him, I'm certain of that."

Simon's stomach seized. "Can't he come and go from the grounds since he's in the Freemancers?"

"Now here's the thing," Nathan said, a small grin spreading across his face. "Seems that his official standing has vanish. The records clerk Marilyn seems to have no record of him. On a completely unrelated note, Hannibal Hewn sends his regards as well, and he also wanted me to tell you that if any more records clerks need help with their record keeping, to please think of him."

Sam suppressed a small chuckle. "Stay for breakfast?"

"I wish I\--well, we\--could stay." Nathan blushed. "But..."

Sam raised one eyebrow. "What?"

"They've given me an assignment."

"What? You? They must be getting desperate."

"Part of my probation. I have to work off my punishment for striking a certain junior board member." Nathan smiled. "It was worth it. Besides!" he said, "I always thought practical experience beat book learning any old day." He clapped a hand on Simon's shoulder. "I'm ready when you are."

Simon's head was swimming. "I need to pack," he said. "Books, clothes...I'm...something else, I'm sure. I need\--"

"Do what I do," Nathan said. "Just the essentials. Everything else you'll find along the way. Usually works out. Speaking of that, cousin, could we get some breakfast to go?"

"Sure, cash or charge?"

"Open me a tab?"

Sam chuckled and ducked under the plastic sheet. Simon followed, running up the stairs two at a time. He burst into the apartment, which had been largely undamaged by the fire, and was now big enough for all of them after the remodel. He grabbed his backpack from behind the couch and dumped his schoolwork out on the cushions. He stuffed his grimoire inside, then after making sure he was alone, he slipped behind the orange couch and pushed it aside. He pulled up the loose floorboard, then reached under and pulled out his composition notebook, and then Speaking with the Dead. He knew in the back of his mind if he saw Penny again she would ask him about the book, but he wouldn't mind. He slipped it quietly into his bag alongside some spare clothing. He ran to the bathroom to grab his toothbrush, and when he glanced in the mirror, he saw it, unmistakable in the dim light\--a green flash rippled across his eyes, tiny emerald ribbons which ebbed and glowed in the dark light. Boeman's color. His parents' color. And now, his color.

"Warlock," whispered the Other Voice.

He backed away from the mirror and rushed down the stairs. Molly and Zoey were in the kitchen. He tucked what he had seen in the mirror to the back of his mind and gave each a quick hug, then went out to the dining room just in time to find Sam handing a large paper bag over to Nathan. The two men shook hands.

"We're always here," Sam said, offering Simon his hand. He had never done that before. "You made sure of that," he said, shaking Simon's hand firmly. He knelt down and looked Simon deep in the eyes. "When the day comes, we will find them, together. No more hiding, I promise you that. We will find your parents. Together." Simon swallowed hard, unsure how to feel about this promise, then hugged his uncle again.

Nathan was at the door, the paper bag tucked firmly under his arm. He checked his grimoire, flipping quickly through several pages. After a moment he found the page he was looking for, jabbing it with his finger. "Hmm. Frontier Order, out West. This should be interesting." He snapped the book shut. "You ready Simon? Captain Broussard has offered to give us a lift again. Silverwood first to check in and get you a few necessities, then we're taking the train."

"Silverwood?" Sam said. "Please give Kate our regards when you see her again, and thank her for us." Nathan blushed in response, rubbing his thumb against his eyebrow to hide his embarrassment.

Simon hugged each of them one more time and approached the door. Beyond it stood a whole new world, one monumentally bigger then anything he had ever expected or even imagined. One with his parents, one with answers\--Speaking with the Dead would help with that somehow, he was certain. He was ready, and he clenched his backpack tight. His ears buzzed as he passed through the threshold, walking beneath the rabbit foot. His family was safe now, and his own journey was just beginning.

"We're watching," whispered the Other Voice.

I know, Simon thought. I'm counting on it. And with that, he took one last deep breath, adjusted his backpack, and followed Nathan out into the new day.
THE MAGIC CONTINUES...

The Warner Grimoire has only just begun.

Simon's story will continue in Revenant Moon, coming Summer 2014

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