Page of Swords (The Demon's Apprentice Book 2) (11 page)

Chapter 10 Sunday Morning (Four days left)

~ A mage’s restraint stems from those they love. Threaten the family of a mage, therefore, at your peril, or better, from a range far removed. ~ Rasputin, 1922

The morning sun was an ugly shade of cheerful when Dr. C pulled up in front of my house.
Even with my shades on, it hurt my eyes enough that I was cursing the merry, glowing day-ball from the second I got out of Dr. C's Range Rover and all the way up the front door. The dim interior was like a salve on my bloodshot eyes when I slipped inside, and whoever was playing the drum solo on the inside of my skull decided to take it down a notch. I slipped my sunglasses into my jacket pocket and ran my hand over my head as I tried to relax my back and get my shoulders down out of my ears.

“Wizards,” I muttered. “They can suck the fun out of anything.”

Never mind that I was training to
be
a wizard and grow up just like Dr. C. All-nighters were supposed to be fun. There should have been pizza and green, caffeine-laden soda, nacho cheese chips, and good music. And people. That was how it had been during midterms. Hell, I would have given a lot if all I had to do was make it through a day of midterm exams. Instead, I had a head full of information I didn't have the first clue what to do with, a death sentence from the High Council hanging over my head, and a pissed-off mother to deal with. The first two I could handle. But only an idiot would cross my mother when she was mad.

“Chance?” Mom asked from deeper in the house. “Come to the kitchen, please, son.”

Well, so much for slipping in unnoticed. Still, I reminded myself, I did go and get myself arrested last night. I should have figured on getting more than a little punishment, and it sounded like Mom was going to be getting an early start on that. My feet felt like lead weights as I shuffled across the hardwood floor toward the kitchen. There wasn't an ounce of the usual comfort in the house as I went. No lights on, not even the smell of food, which was almost always in the air. Mom always cooked breakfast. Except today. Even my usually loud and bouncy little sister seemed to be in on the silent treatment. Extra chores or an ass-chewing should've been nothing compared to some of Dulka's more enthusiastic punishments, but a broken arm would have been easier to deal with than the look on Mom's face last night.

My feet stopped on the kitchen tiles, and I got a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach as I saw Mom sitting at the table. Her left eye was swollen and her bottom lip was puffy. A man stood behind her with one hand on the side of her neck. Mom looked terrified, and the guy had a smug look on his face. For a second, I had no idea what to do. Every bad thing I had ever dreamed of was suddenly coming true right here in my mom's kitchen and I was almost totally paralyzed with fear for her life. Some of Dr. C's training must have stuck with me, though, because as immobilized as my brain was, I still found my left hand closing around the TK wand in my front pocket. My right hand balled into a fist, and the guy behind Mom chuckled.

“You need to chill out, kid,” he said. “Unless you want to bury your mother today.”

While he was gloating and exerting his control over the situation, I looked him over. He was pale with gaunt features that were sharp enough to cut yourself on. There was a redness around his dark eyes and his straight black hair hung to his shoulders like he'd just left the stylist or something. He wore a long black trenchcoat and a black, worn fedora. I thought I caught a glimpse of a logo on his t-shirt, but I couldn't make anything out for sure. I waited for a few seconds and watched his chest rise and fall with a breath. He wasn't one of the undead, then. Sunrise didn't affect all of them as badly as people thought, but
none
of them breathed reflexively. The fact that he was on the wrong side of a threshold was also telling, even assuming he hadn’t tricked his way inside.

“You okay, Mom?” I asked.

“I'm fine, son,” she said, then gave a little gasp of pain as Fedora's hand closed on her neck. I made a mental note that ignoring this asshole pissed him off.

“You're here to do one thing, boy,” he hissed. “Listen and answer.” His cadence and the slightly formal way he talked was another clue. This guy obviously spent a lot of time on the other side of the Veil. Wording was incredibly precise and manners were everything. Even being rude to someone required specific forms. For example, calling me ‘boy’ as an insult.

“That's two things,” I said. “And you're an idiot if you think I'm gonna let you walk away from this.” His hand closed a little tighter on Mom's throat.

“Yeah? You might want to ask yourself where your little sister is before you do anything stupid.”

The question hit me like a kick in the gut. From an elephant. It also told me something about him. A lapse into normal speech…he hadn’t been born behind the Veil. He’d been born mortal, and if he was still breathing, odds were good that most of my mystic arsenal would work on him.

“She'd better be okay,” I snarled.

“One word from me, and she'll be dead. So shut up and listen.”

“I'm listening,” I said. I had to, until I came up with a better plan. This guy held all the cards, and he knew it. I'd been in the same boat for eight years under Dulka, and being back there, even for a few moments, made me madder than almost anything else. But as angry as I was about that, it was chump change compared to the mad I had going over him hurting my mother. It took all the discipline I'd learned under Dr. Corwyn to harness that rage and focus it into the cold, calculating force I needed it to be.

“That's better. Now, tell me how you came to interfere in my Lord's affairs.”

“By accident!” I said sarcastically. “Since I don't know who your 'Lord' is or what his affairs are.”

“Oh, of course, you just happened to interrogate one of my Lord's servants by sheer coincidence,” he sneered. My brain raced, which after my weekend, meant it moved at a slow walk.

“Pretty much. You mean Julian? That wanna-be warlock? He worked for your boss?” I let out a bark of laughter even as my sluggish brain tried to remind me that there was something about this that was important. “Your boss must have some pretty crappy standards.”

“Shut up!” Fedora barked. Mom flinched and went pale at the outburst. “I warned you, boy, about your behavior. You're already a suspect in Julian's death. You won't be able to explain a second corpse in your own home. If I raise my voice one more time, your sister dies.”

I let my eyes narrow at that and did my best to keep my feelings off my face.
Gotcha!
I thought. Dee was in the house somewhere. Now, all I had to do was get Fedora off Mom and keep him quiet while I freed Dee before his buddy could hurt her. Yeah, this just got easier and easier as I went along.

“Hey, I answered, just like you said. Not my fault you didn't like the answer.”

“Now, you will shut up and you will listen, if you value your family's lives. My Lord demands that you cease your meddling in his affairs. If you do not, you will return home one day to find your mother and sister much . . . changed. Are my Lord's wishes clear?”

“I think I get it,” I told him as I worked out my plan.

His grip loosened on Mom's neck and he straightened, leaving me a clear view of his upper body.

“You're pretty important, then?”

“I am my Lord's most trusted and powerful mortal servant,” he said. “He does you too great an honor in sending me to deal with you.”

“That's good. Because if you're the best he's got, I've got a message for you to give him.”

My left hand tightened around the TK wand, and I silently thanked Lucas for all those hours spent watching Star Wars, and for the idea for the particular variant of the telekinesis spell I was about to use. He'd even convinced me to practice it on a pumpkin last Halloween. It worked, but the question was, how well?

“You aren't worthy of his time, mortal.” Boy, Fedora had a case of Master-worship going on with his Lord. And, he'd given me a good straight line to cast my spell. Who was I to waste it?

My right hand came up with my index finger out, looking almost casual. “I find your lack of faith disturbing,” I said in my best James Earl Jones impression. It wasn't a very good impression, but it was the effort that counted in my head.

I felt the tingle of magic course through my body and down my arm, and Fedora blinked for a moment as his brain tried to make sense of what I was saying. The skin on his neck dimpled in a second later, as a ring of telekinetic force closed around his throat. Then, his hands left my mother's neck and went to his own. He tried to speak, to yell, but all that came out was a choked gasp as he staggered back against the wall behind him. Mom was out of the chair and moving across the kitchen like a shot as soon as his hand left her neck. As soon as she was clear, I turned and sprinted for the stairs.

My feet cleared the steps three and four at a time, and I was at the top of the stairs in three bounds and headed for my sister's room at the end of the hallway.

“
Obex!”
I hissed halfway down the hall, which got the shield spell up a split second before I hit the door to Dee's room.

The shield slammed into the thin wood of the door and knocked it open with a bang, knocking it clear of its hinges in the process.

Time slowed to a crawl as I charged into the room, but all I got were quick impressions. Dee was in her desk chair. A big, heavily tattooed guy in a mesh shirt and black pants with lots of buckles and straps was standing over my sister with a wicked-looking knife. He looked at me with wide eyes, then his knife hand started to move in a vicious arc toward my sister.

I reacted the way any fifteen-year-old would if his family was in danger: violently. Only I'm an apprentice mage and a reformed (mostly) warlock. When I resort to violence, I do it with a lot of power to back me up.

“
ICTUS
!” I yelled, and poured every ounce of magick I could muster into the spell.

There was a bright flash, then a wall of noise struck me in the chest as the kinetic force of the spell left my hand. Then, there was the memory of the air pressure in the room dropping and rising, a sound like a side of meat being hit with a wrecking ball, and a crunch from across the room.

When my eyes would focus again, all I could hear was Dee screaming from about a mile away. I was on my butt, and there was a big, thug-shaped hole where Dee’s window used to be. My breath misted in the air in front of me and the walls of Dee's room were covered with a thin layer of white frost. I crawled forward on aching arms to Dee and saw that she'd been tied to her own chair with duct tape. I fumbled my balisong out and tried to cut her hands free without cutting her hands
up
. 

When she was free, she hit me in a flying tackle and held on for dear life. Words and sobs poured out of her as I tried to stand with her weight in my arms. It took me a couple of tries, but I got my feet under me and staggered to the jagged remains of Dee’s window.

The guy was lying next to the neighbor's house with his limbs pointing in painful-looking directions. I was pretty sure arms and legs weren't supposed to bend in that many places. And I was also pretty sure I'd have a hard time explaining the vaguely person-shaped crater in the neighbor's second-story siding. Maybe no one would notice. Like, if the police sent over a blind cop with the IQ of an eggplant.

“Dierdre!” Mom cried out from behind me, and suddenly my sobbing sister was being pulled from my arms.

She adhered to Mom with an almost audible sound, but the crying stopped almost immediately.

“Is the guy I did the Darth Vader kung-fu grip on still in the kitchen?” I asked Mom.

She gave me a nod as she backed away.

“Call Detective Collins!” I told her as I stalked through the splintered door. “And Dr. C!”

“All right, son, but why are you shouting?” Mom asked.

“I'm not pouting, Mom!” Dee said from her shoulder. “I was just scared!”

I gulped at the thought that I might have just made my sister deaf, and my ears popped. Mom's almost frantic-sounding giggle was a little clearer, and I breathed a sigh of relief. The overpressure from my spell had probably done the same thing to Dee. It was a lot like a change in altitude. Now I could talk to Fedora without distraction.

I went back to the kitchen and found him still struggling on the floor. If I'd been much longer coming back, he probably wouldn't have been struggling at all. As it was, his lips were starting to turn blue and his eyes were starting to look a little glazed. I squatted next to him and tried not to let him see how painful that was. A wave of my hand released the spell, and he sucked in a gasping lungful of air.

“So, you're the best he's got?” I asked again.

Fedora's right hand was on my throat before I could even see it moving. It felt like a band of iron strapped to my neck. He flowed to his feet and held me up off the floor, and it was my turn to start choking. He'd caught me being overconfident and stupid. Dr. C would never let me live that down.

“I am indeed,” he snarled.

I smelled the coppery tang of blood mixed with the moldy odor of grave dirt as I tried to get air into my lungs. I'd completely underestimated Fedora. He might have been a living person, but that didn't mean he couldn't bench press a house. Hell, I had the hots for a werewolf; I should have known that.