by Clay Held
“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 fou
nd 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.”
