Charm School (The Demon's Apprentice Book 4)

by Ben Reeder

  His hand came away from my shoulder like he’d grabbed a live wire, and I fought to keep from sighing in relief. “Body count?” he said. I just smiled and gave him a quick nod. His frown softened for a moment, then he jumped and looked down. I followed his look to see Junkyard nudging his ankle. He pulled back, looked up at Lodge, then bared his teeth silently for a split second. Before anyone could react, he was back to his friendly looking canine self, leaving Lodge to wonder how close he’d come to losing a leg.

  A loud boom echoed through the room, and everyone’s head turned to the front table. A silver haired man with a close trimmed white beard stood at the center place, with a silver staff topped with three prongs holding a pale blue crystal.

  “Everyone, take your seats please,” the man said, his voice carrying through the hall. Seats scraped across the floor as the last holdouts sat down, including Lodge. “For those of you who are new to us, I am Mr. Caldecott, the headmaster. I want to wish all of our new students a warm welcome, and express my joy at seeing our returning students. Ours is a tradition of excellence that reaches back over two hundred years, and you are the next to carry that tradition forward, into the future.” He paused and let his hand drop from his staff, which did that cool wizard trick of staying upright like it had been nailed to the floor. For a moment, he stood there with his head bowed and his hands clasped in front of him, looking like he was about to do something unpleasant. “You may have noticed the presence of Sentinels today as you arrived. There has been no shortage of rumors and speculation regarding their presence. The truth, however, is not as exciting as the conjectures. Indeed, it is far more tragic. It pains me to inform you all that Leonard Cargill was killed over the summer, and that Josie Hart disappeared at the end of term.” A collective gasp went up at that, and I saw several of the girls put their hands to their faces. The girl across from me sat blank faced, tears running down her smooth brown cheeks.

  “Len?” one of Lodge’s buddies said. “Len died? How? What happened?” He wasn’t the only one with questions, because the room started to buzz with conversations. Caldecott held his hands up, and the room went quiet after a few seconds.

  “A memorial service will be held on Sunday in the chapel for those who wish to attend. For those of you who knew Mr. Cargill and Miss Hart, grief counselors will be available for you to speak with should you need to. Master Polter has asked us to keep the details of these cases confidential until the investigation has been concluded. If any of you have information regarding your lost classmates that might be of use, we encourage you to speak to your housemaster right away. In the meantime, if you see a Sentinel during the course of your day, do not approach them or impede them in their work. If you are approached by a Sentinel, cooperate with them fully.”

  “They should just arrest you and be done with it,” Lodge leaned over and whispered to me as Caldecott continued talking. Teachers were being introduced, each one standing as he said their name.

  “I wasn’t even here last term,” I said between the short bursts of applause.

  “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be arrested for being a warlock.”

  “Been there, done that. Got the fancy sword.” I could feel the disturbance in the Force as Lodge’s face screwed itself into a confused look.

  “I know we can expect your best this year as we continue our tradition of academic excellence and leadership through the new term,” Caldecott concluded. Chair legs scraped on the floor as hundreds of chairs slid back at the same time. Junkyard got up and yawned as I got to my feet. Lodge stopped in front of him and looked down at him.

  “Get that fucking mutt out of my way before I step on him,” he said with his upper lip curled.

  “That’s a good way to end up with a permanent limp,” I said.

  “Are you threatening me, plebe?” Lodge asked.

  “Just stating the obvious,” I said. “You’re the one who made a threat.”

  “No one’s going to believe a warlock,” Lodge sneered. He turned and walked off with his two escorts in tow. Hoshi waited for me with a grin on his face.

  “Well, that was fun,” he said as we turned and headed for the door along with the rest of the students. “And informative.”

  “Kind of a downer,” I said.

  “Maybe for you,” Hoshi said with a laugh as he pulled two slips of paper from his pockets. “I got a couple of numbers.” I shook my head. We crossed the commons to Jefferson Hall and eventually found ourselves back in our room. My trunks were next to my bed, and a trio of soft sided suitcases sat next to a large cardboard box on the other side of the room.

  “Well, nothing got lost,” Hoshi said as he went to the suitcases and started unpacking clothes. I pushed the trunk holding my books against the wall, and turned it on its side before I unbuckled the leather strap holding it closed. The sides opened out, then I flipped the catches on the middle and flipped it up to rest on the top of the trunk so that the top was right at eye level for me. Once the top was secured, I pulled the cover holding the books in place out, then doubled it over to make a compact writing desk. The middle was filled with books, older leather bound tomes sharing space with my newer text books, as was the right side. The left side held ten leather scroll cases in leather loops, with an old fashioned dip pen, ten small ink bottles and a box containing different nibs for the pen.

  When I turned to the clothes trunk, I found a receipt for the rest of my school uniforms from Hobarts. A quick glance in the closet by the door showed them hanging up, with another pair of shoes on the floor and several pairs of socks in a box on the dresser. With my school clothes good to go, I opened the clothes trunk and started putting my normal clothes away. It didn’t take very long.

  Finally, I was down to the important stuff. I sat on the bed and unzipped my backpack. First out was Pyewacket, who got the place of honor on the desk. Then I pulled out my laptop and got it set up. My meager magickal gear was next, which at this point was only my hawthorn wand in its case. My new TK rod, my retrieval ring and my amethyst scrying stone were locked up somewhere in the dorm, along with my athame and other working tools. All of my other charms had been left in New Essex. I tried to shake the naked feeling that had been pushed to the back of my head all day, and mostly succeeded again. I was at a school, protected by Sentinels and some of the best educated practitioners of magick in the US. I wasn’t supposed to need the stuff I usually carried around in my backpack. My paintball gun and its specialized alchemical rounds were still in Missouri. I’m safe here, I told myself. I don’t need it. I’m safe. Except I didn’t believe me. I was a good liar, but I’d never been able to fool myself for long. Even if I was safe, I hated having to depend on someone else to keep me that way, even the Sentinels. They might have been total badasses in the magick department, but they weren’t always around. My hands itched as I opened the case and pulled the long leather pouch out the held my wand. The thirteen inch wand was still in perfect shape, with the copper and silver wire that was wound tight through its core wrapped around the seven sided channeling quartz tip and the garnet sphere at the base. The wood was smooth and warm, still holding the slight sheen of oil that I’d applied right before I left. It was good work, even if I said so myself. With it, I could cast pretty much any spell I knew, though a specialized rod would have made it twice as potent. Still, it was better than nothing.

  I slipped the wand into the little pocket for it in my jacket and went back to the backpack. The package from Mitternacht’s was next, and as much as I wanted to open it and see what Lucas had sent me, there was still one last thing to do. I closed my eyes and reached into the pack, letting my fingers run along the bottom of the pack. My hand brushed the cool metal of the little tin I was searching for, and I whispered the command word for my chameleon charm before I pulled the tin it was wrapped around into sight. The charm came off with a gentle tug at the knot, and I ran my thumb up the side to push the top open. Inside was a layer of cotton that held several semi-precious gemstone
s in place so they didn’t slide around. A miniature stylus was held in place along two small bottles. The first was filled with a mix of sage, ginger root, holly leaf and St. John’s wort, the second with dragons blood ink. In the top, I’d replaced the pages that represented the sum total of my knowledge with blank rice paper for scrolls on the fly. And finally, below the padding that kept the stones in place, I’d laid a broken bit from a CD, a narrow silver ring, a silver skull pendant and a razor blade.

  “What’s that?” Hoshi asked as he perched his butt on the corner of my desk.

  “My best friend calls it my prison kit,” I said. One corner of my mouth lifted in a half smile. “It’s all the stuff I’d need for spell casting and making a couple of charms or scrolls in a pinch.” The contents clicked softly as I put them back into place and closed the lid.

  “Ever have to use it?” Hoshi asked.

  “Once, when I escaped,” I said. “I hid the blades I used to cut my pentagram into the floor in it.” I wrapped the cord for the chameleon charm around the box as I spoke, and it shimmered from view when I whispered the command word.

  “Seriously?” Hoshi asked. “That’s so legit, man.” It looked like Hoshi had his stuff pretty much set up. He’d put his text books in the shelves next to the closet, along with some other, more colorful books and CD cases. On the wall, he’d put a bright poster of a manga character. Dressed in a trench coat, the character held a katana with tassels dangling from the pommel in his right hand, and an oversized revolver in his left.

  “So, who’s the manga dude?” I asked with a nod toward the poster.

  “That’s Chikao Nishimara, from Five Tail Fox Detective,” he said. “It’s my favorite manga. He’s a kitsune who fights crime in New Tokyo as a PI, trying to stop the Veiled Mistress and her crime syndicate from taking over the whole city. But she’s also his older sister, and she’s a seven tailed kitsune, so she’s more powerful than he is. The last series ended with the Mistress getting Chikao’s hoshi no tama, the pearl that holds his soul. I can’t wait for the next series to start.”

  “I might have to start reading it so I can keep up,” I said while I opened the bag from Lucas. Inside was a white cardboard box with a note taped to the front. Get your computer and wi-fi set up before you open, it read. Grumbling, I grabbed the orientation packet we’d been given while we were enrolling and turned to the section on how to connect to the school’s Wi-Fi. I shook my head as the connection completed. Somehow, a magick academy with Wi-Fi seemed … wrong.

  The school’s website came up in my browser, and I spent a couple of minutes checking out the bells and whistles. Mission statements, history, and a gushing blonde named Tiffany offering a virtual tour of the campus. I followed Tiffany’s virtual self as she showed the features of the familiar friendly dorms, like the little lever on the bottom of the door that opened it from both inside and out, and the folding roosts on the windows. The beds had foldout places for most small animals to sleep literally at their masters’ feet. She ended her tour of the dorms by reminding me to check my school mail drop daily as she turned to open what looked like a small cabinet door set into the wall. Hoshi and I traded surprised looks and scrambled to the two drop boxes set in the outside wall. Sure enough, both of us had several thick envelopes waiting for us. I sat mine on the desk and closed the school’s intranet browser. The rest could wait for later. I’d waited long enough to see what Lucas had for me.

  I opened the box to find a small white square with a lens in it and a thumb drive. Below those was a mount and a USB cord to connect the external camera to my laptop. The camera had a sticky note attached to it that read “Plug in first.” It only took a couple of moments to get it into the mount and the USB cord connecting both ends. Then I plugged the thumb drive in and waited. The little boxes with the slowly filling bars popped up, and were eventually replaced with one box that read “Hit this button.”

  “What to do next?” Hoshi asked from over my shoulder. “You’d think he’d leave clearer instructions.” When I did move the cursor over the button and clicked it, a larger screen popped up and I heard a tone over the speakers. It repeated two more times, then Lucas’ face appeared in the video chat.

  “Hey, Lucas,” I said. “Working hard?” The background was dominated by old wooden bookcases and tall, plate glass windows. Over his shoulder, I could see the sign for his grandfather’s bookstore backwards against the glass.

  “I got off a couple of hours ago,” he said. “I just didn’t feel like moping around upstairs all afternoon. I see you made it to wizard school okay. Who’s your shoulder surfer?”

  “This is Hoshi, he came with the room,” I said. “Hoshi, this is my best friend Lucas.” In the smaller picture, I could see Hoshi raise his hand and wave behind me. On the larger screen, the background moved, and Lucas’ face started bobbing around.

  “Hey, Hoshi,” Lucas said. “So, now we can talk and if I need to consult with you on things, it’s as easy as hitting a button on your computer screen.”

  “Are you on your phone?” I asked.

  “Yeah, it’s an app that’s compatible with the service the camera uses, only this one can be made more secure. All you need to do is open the file marked ‘Blooming Onion’ on the thumb drive I included and follow the directions. I’d walk you through it, but it’s better if you learn how to do it on your own.” His face took on an amused expression that I took to mean there was another reason I should learn it for myself, a look that I’d long since learned meant he was keeping a secret.

  “Cool, I’ll check it out later,” I said. “By the way, we missed you this morning, man.” His expression clouded and he nodded quickly.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” he said with a tight voice. “I’ve said goodbye a few too many times lately, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I get it,” I said, trying hard not to think about his parents’ funeral back in June. The scars were still pretty raw from that. “Man, I wish you were up here. You should come out on one of the family weekends or something.”

  “That’d be cool. And you’ll be back during the holidays and over the summer, too. Of course, it’s probably going to be pretty boring here without you around to get us into trouble.”

  “You’d think you’d be happy about that part.”

  “You would,” Lucas said with a half-hearted smile. “But, I do a lot of cool things when you’re around. Anyway, I’m glad you got the camera working. Now it’ll be easier to keep in touch. Look, Grandpa wants to go to lunch here in a few, so I have to run. But this comes to my phone and my computer, so you can use it to contact me any time.”

  “Uh, okay, cool. So, I’ll talk to you later?”

  “Yeah, dude. Catch you later.” The screen went blank, and Hoshi let out a low whistle.

  “That went to awkward fast,” he said.

  “His parents were…they died a couple of months ago. He’s still trying to deal with it.”

  “Sure, okay,” Hoshi said as he stood up, leaned against his desk and pointed at his face. “This is me, not judging.” I narrowed one eye at him, and he shrugged. “Okay, not judging out loud.”

  “It’ll do. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry. I’m going to find the cafeteria and eat like a bear.”

  “And I’ll silently judge everyone else’s table manners and diet while they look down their noses at my fashionably poor wardrobe.”

  Chapter 3

  ~ Second chances are rare. Do everything on your power to keep it that way. ~ Common saying in the Abyss.

  My first class was American Mage History, and I was almost late to it. Hoshi and I did our best to run quietly though the almost deserted halls, but the sheer emptiness worked against us. Every footstep was amplified by the walls, and we nearly passed the room we were looking for. When we got into the room, the only two desks that were still open we right in front of the teacher’s desk. The room was a sea of smirking faces, all of them younger than Hoshi and me. I slid into my s
eat with a smile as Junkyard laid down beside my desk No sooner than I had my butt in the chair, the teacher walked in. He was tall, pudgy and had already lost most of the hair above his ears, leaving the slightly pointed top of his head exposed.

  “Good morning class,” he said as he walked in and laid his leather attaché on the desk. “I am Mr. Goodwin. Welcome to American Mage History. Now, before we settle on our seating arrangement, I thought I’d share some statistics for class. Students who sit on the front rows tend toward A grades about eighty-five percent of the time, which means that those of you already on the front row stand an excellent chance of making the Dean’s List, and becoming Hall Captains after your first year. So I guess I can see who my natural acheivers are. It’s good to see some scholarship students up front.” There was a nervous buzz behind me as the freshmen reevaluated their choices to sit at the back of the class. “Now, let’s get started.”

  An hour and a half later, the first five pages of my notebook were crammed full of notes. Far from being the snooze fest that Mr. Strickland’s American History classes were back at Kennedy, Mr. Goodwin managed to make history kind of interesting. Every once in a while, he’d stop and ask someone what they thought of something he’d just described. After the first couple of freshmen got caught stammering, more pens came out and a lot more notes seemed to be taken.

  “Read Chapters two and four, specifically the socio-economic causes behind the Kentucky Rift,” he told us as the bell chimed the end of class. Hoshi and I went our separate ways from there.

  I ended up in the last building on the end of the left hand prong of the U of the main campus. It looked older than the rest of the buildings, built on thick stone slabs with black, natural rock for the walls. It was almost as tall as the main building, stretching four stories above ground. The stone arch above the main door read “Denham Building” in simple black letters. Inside, it was even more hushed than the other building I’d just left. My footsteps and the click of Junkyard’s claws on the floor seemed too loud for the somber quiet that laid over the hall. My class was on the fourth floor, so I hit the stairwell, careful not to slip on the smooth stone steps.