The Demon's Apprentice

by Ben Reeder

  “You said you were majoring in women's studies,” Wanda said with a knowing smile.

  “That's part of the course curriculum for a major in undecided. Studying women, biology, anatomy in particular, and chemistry, especially fermentation and distillation of spirits.”

  “You wouldn't touch alcohol if I paid you,” she said back.

  “Hey, I'm an AP geek during the day. Let me at least pretend to be cool after school,” Lucas shot back.

  “He wants to write,” Wanda told me confidentially. “What about you?”

  “I don't know. I haven't really thought about anything past graduating. I'm not sure if I'm going to college.” Was an apprenticeship to a mage like trade school, I wondered?

  Lucas pulled into the parking lot of Dante's a few seconds later. I unfolded myself from the back seat and looked around before I followed Wanda and him in. There was a strip mall across the street, and I spotted a nail salon, two insurance agencies, and an ice cream parlor with just a quick glance. Dante's was housed in a two-story metal building, and if the empty neon sign's shape was any clue, it had been a skating rink in another life. A newer sign proclaimed Wednesdays were Karaoke Night, and that Suicidal Jester was playing on Halloween. Two metal buildings flanked it, and an even taller one loomed up behind it. Alleyways yawned on either side of it, and if gambling was one of my weaknesses, I would have bet that Dante's had a dark chasm between it and the rear building too.

  “Ego sum inter illustrator,” I whispered as I followed my friends toward the door. I am among the enlightened.

  Three warding sigils flared to life above the door in response, only visible to those who could see beyond the Veil. One was a vampiric glyph that warned this was another's territory. The second was an Infernal symbol that meant “stay away,” and the third was a sign in the ominous flowing script of the Unseleighe Courts, marking the place as dangerous. Three warnings from people who didn't necessarily get along, all of them pretty much saying, “don't hunt here.” That screamed Conclave to me. Subtle, quick to anger, and always ready to lay down a little extra crispy justice, hold the mercy.

  There were a few little knots of people in the lot. A group of skaters were doing flips and grinds at the edge of the lot, near an iron handrail, while a trio of goths was huddled around someone's phone. Off to the right, Brad and his cronies hung out by his red monster of a truck laughing about something, and I spotted Alexis walking away from them with her cell phone to her ear. She had her head down, and her barely visible eyebrows were furrowed as she stalked away from them.

  “No,” she said into the phone as she got closer. “We're already at Dante's…Are you stoned, Mitchell? Alone? With you? Yes, Brad does have to know. Well, fine, if you have the balls to show up, you tell him that to his face…Yeah, I thought so.” She closed the phone up and looked at it for a moment, then muttered, “Asshole,” at it before she slipped it into her pocket. She stepped out from behind a car, and pulled up before she ran into me. Blue jeans and a red tank top never looked so good. Her eyes went from me to Lucas's car behind me, and I could hear her sniff.

  “You came in that?” she said with a chilly smile. Behind her, Lucas turned and stopped.

  “Yeah,” I answered.

  “You're braver than I thought,” she said. I expected Lucas to protest, but both he and Wanda broke into broad grins instead.

  I shrugged, so it wasn't so obvious that I didn't get the joke. “I'm full of surprises.”

  “That's not all you're full of,” she shot back. She took a quick look over her shoulder before she leaned close to me. “I meant what I said this afternoon. Stay away from Brad, and stay away from me, if you know what's good for you,” she said softly. If she was going to say more, it was lost when Brad called her name from across the parking lot. Her shoulders slumped and she started in his direction.

  “Way to go, Romeo,” Wanda said as she took me by the arm.

  While she was dragging me to the entrance, I craned my neck to sneak a look over my shoulder, just in time to see Alexis slide into Brad's arms. Her hand went to his chest and she looked up at him. He was busy talking to one of the other jocks, so he didn't see the resigned look on her face as she closed her eyes and laid her head against his chest.

  Brad didn't deserve her. The thought was like a

  spike through my c hest. He didn't deserve her loyalty, and what was worse, he didn't even seem to know he had it. I shook myself free of the funk my thoughts were stuck in. Alexis was a cheerleader, dating the varsity quarterback. They deserved each other. By the time I reached the door, I almost believed it.

  Once we were inside, I was lost in a flood of sound and energy. Dozens of people in the same place, dancing, talking, making out, all generated a low-level power buzz that left my skin tingling as it washed over me. Compared to what I'd felt at lunch, this was a lot softer, less focused. The atmosphere in here was a lot more relaxed, and the energy felt less intense.

  Inside, Dante’s wasn’t much different from outside. The sheet metal siding was exposed in some places, and the floor was hard concrete. It had two levels, with a big cut-out over the dance floor so you could look down on it from upstairs. The main counter and juice bar were next to the dance floor, and there were tables and some alcoves off to the right as you came in, past the six pool tables in the center of the floor. There were a few tables around the dance floor, and a stage on the left end of the building from the main door. A DJ was running a techno-heavy mix from the booth on the left side of the stage, and there were a few couples out on the floor.

  Brad and his crew of jocks muscled their way in behind us in a herd of purple and gold, and shoved a couple of guys off one of the pool tables. Lucas and Wanda led me to a trio of couches set in a u-shape around a low, black cube table that was littered with drinks and empty plastic baskets overflowing with food-stained wax paper. Pales faces turned to us as we approached, and there was a ripple of movement as Lucas and Wanda were greeted with somber nods and lifted hands.

  I was admitted to the circle of goths with a round of raised eyebrows and dark-eyed stares. Lucas and Wanda said I was cool, so butts slid, and a spot opened up at the end of the left side of the U. I sat and listened to them talk about music and gossip, and before long, everyone was pitching in on an order of cheesy fries. I was clueless for most of the conversation. That was cool, though. It wasn't about magick, and the worst it got was petty jealousies. There was plenty of laughter and smiles, in spite of the somber rep goths tended to have. Even if I wasn't a part of it, I was happy to be on the edge of it. I relaxed and let myself enjoy the energy in the place, especially right around me, feeling it with my mystic senses. A pleasant tingle crawled up my arms and across my chest as I slipped into a semi-trance, and let the energy of the room wash over me.

  My eyes snapped open when a cold spot brushed against the edge of my senses for a fraction of a heartbeat. I scanned the room, but the feeling was gone, and part of my mind was starting to doubt I'd even felt it. There were half a dozen perfectly rational explanations for what I'd felt. I was just about to chalk it up to paranoia when I saw Brad straighten up from the pool table and hand his cue stick to one of his letter-jacketed clones, then head for a door on the far side of the dance floor. Half way there, he turned his head and stared down at the empty space beside him, and I saw his lips move. Something slippery slid across the surface of my memory, the image of someone walking beside him, someone who’d been walking beside him from the moment he left the table. Someone vague, hard to describe…

  “Son of a…” I bit down on the curse and clamped my mental defenses down as I got to my feet. The flickering memory faded, and I still couldn't see who was walking beside Brad. At least part of whatever spell they were using was still working on me, but the influence on my memory dissipated. I was better than this. I'd kept a demon out of my head for three years, there was no way I should have been caught in a simple neglenom charm. Except that I was. My mind was already ignoring the pe
rson beside Brad. Even as the thought occurred to me, I found it hard to hold on to.

  Neglenom spells were illegal, because they used a form of mind control. They made the subject simply not want to think about the person or thing at the center of them. The eye would see them, but the mind would dismiss what it saw, ignore it as not worth worrying about. On most people, that was all it took. Ignoring the out-of-place was second nature to the cowan mind. They chose to disbelieve most of what they saw. A strong enough will could resist a neglenom spell by simple brute force, refusing to ignore what it was told to. Most of my defenses were like that. The rest were simple visualizations, like the iron wall I erected in my thoughts. It became easier to think about the person walking next to Brad, the person I still couldn't see. I kept the mental wall in place as I followed them across the dance floor.

  Brad opened a metal door behind the DJ’s booth and headed into the alley, and I had to hustle to catch it before it latched. I stopped for a few seconds, waiting for the sound of Brad's footsteps to get farther away before I pushed it open and slipped out behind him. Combat boots on concrete weren't a good combo for stealth, but any sound I made was covered between Brad talking and the muted thump of the music from inside.

  They headed deeper into the alley, toward the lone circle of light by the back door to another building. I ducked behind a dumpster and watched as they crossed the trickle of water that ran down the middle of the alleyway. Two pairs of wet footprints appeared as Brad crossed it, and the other guy shimmered into view, his presence too obvious to be ignored now that I could see his footprints, and probably grounded out at least temporarily by walking through running water. I couldn't make out many details in the dim light except dark clothes, stringy black hair, and cowboy boots. They stopped just before the well-lit spot, and I saw Brad hold up what looked like a stack of bills. I crept closer, and caught part of their conversation.

  “…this better work better than the last one.”

  “You got my word on it,” the dark man said. His voice was thin and reedy, and there was a wheeze to it. “This'll do what you need. It's stronger than the crap you been buyin’.” He held up a necklace, and Brad handed over the cash in exchange.

  This was worse than I thought. Whoever the guy was, he was selling charms at my new school. Selling to cowans was illegal to start with, and I was willing to bet that the charms in his repertoire weren't the warm and fuzzy kind, either. And if he was working for a demon as a familiar, this was an even bigger problem. A surge of unexpected anger brought me up short, and I wondered why I was so pissed off all of the sudden. Maybe it was the thought of a demon sending a familiar to work my school. To do the things I had been taught to do, to my classmates. Whatever the reason, now wasn't the time to do any navel-gazing. I'd made a promise, and it was time to start making good on it. The dark man reached for the amulet, and suddenly, I was out of options.

  “There's more than one price for that kind of thing,” I said, as I took a couple of steps forward.

  The dark man turned to face me with a wide-eyed look of terror, while Brad snarled and started toward me. The dark man's grip on the amulet pulled him up short, and I saw his lips move, then felt the brush of magick on the edge of my senses, that tingle down that the spine makes the hair on the back of most people’s necks stand up. I frowned as I came forward another step, and hoped Brad's soul wasn't too damaged as the dark man ran into the darkness.

  “I'll give you a price, you little prick,” he said as he came forward, his fist already on its way up.

  I shook my head and whispered, “Crebresco minuta.” The strength amulet kicked in fractionally. He was in for a big surprise if he thought he was going to get a shot in on me. Even at low power, I was still a match for most guys my age.

  The stars spun in my vision, and I wondered how I ended up on my back. A throbbing pain was exploding across the right side of my face, and I remembered Brad's left hook connecting with my cheek, then a bright flash of white. Brad's face floated into my view, and I felt him grab me by the jacket, then the world swam again.

  When my vision stopped spinning and tilting, I was up against the wall, and Brad was giving me a feral grin, with his right fist cocked back behind his ear. My left foot snapped up more by reflex than anything, into the soft spot between his legs, and he just sort of folded up in the middle. He let me go and staggered back a couple of steps before he fell on his ass. I just slid down the wall as my legs went out from under me.

  On the second try, I got to my feet and staggered over to where Brad was still doubled over and clutching at his groin. I put a boot to the side of his face to even things out from the first punch, and he sprawled onto his back. Without a second's hesitation, I drew my leg up and brought my boot down on his outstretched right hand as hard as my augmented strength could manage. There was a sickening crack as bone gave way under my boot heel, and I twisted my foot back and forth just to make sure I got the job done right.

  “I told you,” I said through bloody lips, as I squatted down beside him, “not to use your good hand the next time you touched me.”

  He drew his mangled hand to his chest and curled up on his right side, facing me. “Screw you,” he hissed, then his leg snapped forward and caught me in the ribs. It was like being hit by a car, and I ended up bouncing off the metal back wall of Dante's. I hit almost upside down, and landed on my shoulder, with my ribs and back a solid screaming mass of agony.

  Brad was on his feet by the time I rolled onto my side, shaking, then flexing his right hand slowly. My brain froze up for a second in total revolt. There was no way he should have been able to move his fingers, much less clench and unclench them into a fist. But there it was, and I was warlock enough to know that if I was seeing it, it was damn sure possible. Un-freaking-likely, but possible.

  “Crebresco,” I whispered as he walked toward me. The strength charm activated at full power, and I felt my bones and muscles get denser to make up for the strain I was about to put on them. Something in my face and ribcage shifted, bones grated against each other as the spell pulled everything into place and held it there.

  Brad came at me with his right hand back, and I came to my feet. He moved in slow motion to my spell-enhanced senses, and I had all the time in the world to get my hand up to catch his fist. He only looked like he was moving slow, though. When his fist hit my palm, my arm went numb almost to the elbow, with a promise to bring a ton of hurt back when feeling returned to it. The punch nearly drove me to my knees, but I held my ground, and looked Brad full in the face.

  “How the hell…?” he asked with wide eyes. He looked from his fist to my face, and I gave him a grin.

  “You ain't the only one with upgrades, asshole,” I growled, right before I drove my fist into his gut. He doubled over and staggered back, and I drove my knee into his face. That knocked him back further, but before I could cross the few steps between us, he shook his head and swung a haymaker left at me. I ducked under it and bobbed back up, then put my left fist into the side of his face. It didn't seem to faze him so much as surprise him. His backhand surprised me, and I didn't quite manage to get out of the way in time. Stars exploded behind my eyes, and I tasted fresh blood on my tongue as I hit the concrete. For a few seconds, all I could do was lay there and wish I'd had a better idea, like not getting up this morning. Then he hit me again, and the fist he put in my gut made me think being born wasn't a very good idea, either. It was my turn to hit the pavement on my hands and knees, but I added retching to the routine, too, for added difficulty. But I'd been beaten by pros, and this chump wasn't even close to my former master when it came to handing out a beat-down. Instead of kicking me while I was down, he grabbed me by the jacket…again. Kicking me would have been safe, and it would have kept me on the ground.

  When he got me to my feet, I drove my hand forward, fingers rigid like a knife, and caught him under the chin, right in the throat. His eyes went wide for a moment, and he gave a startled, choked gasp, and I
followed up with a punch to the middle of his chest. I heard and felt bone crack under my knuckles, and felt a spike of pain even through the numbness in my arm. That knocked him back across the alley, and his hand went to his chest as he looked up at me with uncertain eyes. I drew myself up as straight as I could, which ended up being more of a slouch, and tried to face him down across the ten feet of dirty concrete that separated us. My left arm felt like it was on fire, and my ribs and stomach sent sharp jolts of pain through me with every breath.

  “That all you got, asshole?” I growled slowly. He hesitated, then took a step toward me. I clenched my fists to match him, and a new feeling rose in my chest: anger. If he was going to try to kick my ass, I wasn't going to make it easy for him. “C'mon!” I yelled. “Bring it!”

  Brad took a step back, then turned and took off at a run for the mouth of the alley. I slumped against the dumpster once he turned the corner. This was one gift horse I wasn't going to look in the mouth. With a handful of broken ribs, yelling had been a lot like swallowing broken glass, and my hands weren't happy with being clenched into fists, either. For that matter, my body wasn't happy with me in general, and it seemed to think that now was as good a time as any to let the numb feeling in my left arm fade, so I could feel the damage blocking Brad's punch had done in excruciating detail.

  With Brad and the dark man gone, all I was left with were a few guesses and a lot of questions that I didn't really want the answers to. The dark man was selling charms; that much I knew. It was a toss-up whether he worked for a demon or not. Brad must have been into him for some serious strength charms. I was pushing the upper limits of human strength with the charm I had, but Brad's strength left things like human limits in the dust. And he could heal fast. No wonder he was the varsity quarterback his freshman year. If the dark man's strength charms were turning him into Super-Brad without aging him a year for every ten seconds he used it or something nasty like that, then he was a better warlock than I was. A lot better.