reopened, that the Demonata could come through in their thousands and take over our world. You don’t think Juni and Lord Loss . . . ?”
“No.” Beranabus smiles wryly, showing his crooked, discolored teeth. “Lord Loss has no interest in opening tunnels between universes. Most demons want to destroy humanity, but Lord Loss thrives on human misery. He’s as keen to keep that tunnel closed as we are.”
Beranabus picks at his teeth with a thin chicken bone. His breath stinks. In fact, most of him stinks. He obviously isn’t concerned about personal hygiene. Finally, laying the bone aside, he speaks again. “The cave brought me to Carcery Vale, but you’re why I stayed. I could feel the power in you, bursting to be released. I wanted to be there when it exploded—or when you imploded.”
“Imploded?”
“You could have burned up. If the magic hadn’t found an outlet, it would have destroyed you from within. There was no way of telling until the full moon, when I knew you’d be pushed to the point where you and the beast had to settle the matter once and for all.
“The werewolf is the key,” he continues. “The curse of the Gradys. Many centuries ago, your ancestors bred with demons.”
“Bred?” I yelp. “No way!”
“It doesn’t happen often,” Beranabus says. “Most demons are physically incompatible with humans. But it’s not unheard of. When such unions occur, the offspring are never natural. Humans and demons weren’t meant to mix. When they do, their children are freaks of the highest order, neither human nor demon, caught painfully between. Most die at birth. But some survive.”
His face is dark, shadows flickering across it from the flames of the fire. “A few grow and thrive, either in the demon’s universe or ours. Your ancestor’s child was one of those. The magical strand of the Demonata stayed hidden, at least long enough for the child to mature and bear children of its own. When its demonic legacy finally surfaced, the victim turned into a wolflike creature.”
“So the Demonata are to blame,” I growl, hating them afresh. “I gathered as much from Dervish, but I was never sure.”
“I don’t know about blame,” Beranabus says. “Such couplings are often set in motion by humans. Your ancestor quite possibly made the first approach, and . . .” He twirls his fingers suggestively.
“Here comes the bride,” mutters Kernel.
Beranabus looks into the flames, considering his next words. “You’re a unique specimen, even for a Grady. I’ve never seen or heard of anyone like you. Magic is unpredictable, chaotic. It works differently in each person. But there are general rules that have always applied—until now. You shattered all of them.”
“Is that a good or a bad thing?” I ask.
“I don’t know. It’s the reason I didn’t approach you immediately. I wasn’t sure how you’d change, what the magic would do when it surfaced. Of course there was Juni to consider too. I didn’t know how close you and Dervish were to her, if you knew whom she served.”
“Of course we didn’t!” I bellow. “Lord Loss killed my parents and sister. Do you think —”
“Peace,” Beranabus says. “I trust you now, but I couldn’t before. For all I knew, you and Dervish were in league with Juni Swan, and I was being lured into a trap. Dervish himself might have opened the entrance to the cave to entice me to Carcery Vale.”
“Have you been paranoid for long?” I ask cynically.
“I learned a long time ago not to trust anybody,” he replies tightly. “Not until they’ve proved themselves worthy. And even then I keep a close watch on them.”
“I’ve been with Beranabus for thirty years or more,” Kernel says, “and I still wake up sometimes to find him giving me the evil eye.”
“Thirty years?” I study the boy again. “You can’t be that old.”
“We’ll come to that soon,” Beranabus says before Kernel can respond. “Let’s finish with your magic first. Where was I?”
“You were waxing poetic about how unique he was,” Kernel reminds him.
“Aye.” Beranabus’s face lights up. “In every other magician, the gift of magic is evident from birth. Even if they’re unaware of their potential, other magicians can sense it. Dervish should have seen the magic within you but he didn’t. Because you hid it from him. From yourself too.”
“No. I knew it was there.”
“You knew after Slawter,” Beranabus corrects me, “but it didn’t start then. This power has been with you since you were born. Some secret part of you knew what you were from the day you came into this world—but it was afraid. It didn’t want the power and responsibility. So it pushed the magic down deep where it couldn’t work or even be noticed.
“No other magician can do that. They can deny their calling and refuse to hone their talent, but they can’t bury it completely. But you were so powerful that even as a child you were instinctively able to hide your magic from the world. If not for the Grady curse, it would have lain hidden for the rest of your life, a great power wasted.”
“I wish it had,” I mutter angrily.
“You shouldn’t,” scolds Beranabus. “If not for the magic, you’d be a wild, raging animal now. The barriers you erected between yourself and your magical potential began to crumble when you first faced demons. You had to draw on your inner power when you fought Lord Loss and his familiars. You drove your magic back down afterward, but cracks had appeared in your armor.
“The magic has been buzzing around inside you ever since, trying to break free. You kept a lid on it for a long time, but then the curse kicked in. The werewolf came to the forefront. That should have been the end of Grubitsch Grady. But the magician within you opposed the beast. You said you used magic to fight the change, but you’re wrong—magic used you. It stopped you from becoming a monster.”
“No, it didn’t,” I say guiltily. “I turned for a while. I killed Ma and Pa Spleen. Next time, when the moon’s full and the werewolf takes over, I’ll kill again.”
“Do you really believe that?” Beranabus asks.
“Of course.” I stare at him, confused.
He shakes his head. “The moon has exerted as powerful an influence over you as it ever will. The beast dominated for a short time, but you drove it back. It will rise again, but you’ll beat it then too. It will be easier next time. The beast will always be within you, snarling and spitting, battling to break free when the moon sings to it. But you’re in control. You won.”
“I didn’t win!” I snap. “I killed Bill-E’s grandparents. That’s not winning. Even if I never lose control again, I’ve already killed. How can you say everything’s OK? Maybe you don’t count the murder of your half brother’s grandparents as a big deal, but I do. So don’t —”
“Show him how to remember,” Kernel interrupts. “I’m not going to listen to him rant and rave for hours. Teach him the spell—let him see how it really played out. That will shut him up.”
“What are you talking about?” I growl.
“A spell to help you recall everything that happened while you were transformed,” Beranabus says.
“Why would I want to do that?”
“To learn the truth.”
“But I already —”
“Just let him teach you the damn spell,” Kernel snaps.
I feel uneasy—I don’t want to relive the murders—but they’ve aroused my curiosity, so I play along. Beranabus tells me to close my eyes and focus on my breathing. I breathe in . . . hold it for five seconds . . . then breathe out. When I have the right rhythm, he tells me the words to use. Breaks them down into simple syllables so I can repeat them, even though I don’t know what they mean.
As I draw toward the end of the spell, a screen forms within my thoughts. It’s the huge TV screen from home. Blank, grey, like it’s on standby. I’m about to tell Beranabus there’s no signal, but then the screen flickers. Bursts of light. Static. Then . . .
The cave. Just after I froze the waterfall into ice. I see everything through the eyes of the
beast. I’m crouched low, howling, squinting into the light of Juni’s flashlight as she pads hesitantly toward me. It’s crazy, but as I’m watching, in spite of all I know about her now, I feel concern for Juni. I want her to flee before the wolf attacks. I almost call a warning to her, but then I remember this is a screened replay, it’s not happening live.
In the cave, Juni comes within touching distance and regards me coolly. “The great Grubbs Grady changes at last,” she sneers, then spits at me. “You pathetic creature! If you knew how much I’ve loathed these past weeks, having to be nice to you and your mongrel of an uncle.”
The beast roars at her and raises its fists to beat her to a pulp. This time I root for the werewolf, wanting it to kill the deceitful witch. But before it can strike, Juni utters a quick spell and it falls to the ground and rolls around with muffled grunts and yelps, before coming to a quivering halt.
“There,” Juni smiles, faking nice. “That should hold you.”
She puts her flashlight down and walks around me, checking from all angles, then produces a large knife—one from our kitchen!—and lays it by my head. The beast tries to howl but can’t. Juni strolls to the wall of the cave, where the crack I created runs up near the icy waterfall. She stares at the ice, then at me, troubled. Shakes her head and chants a spell. I listen for a few minutes.
When the spell shows no sign of ending, I say without opening my eyes, “Is there a fast-forward button on this thing?”
“What’s happening?” Beranabus asks.
“I’m in the cave. I’ve turned. Juni’s crafting some long-winded spell.”
“Probably calling Lord Loss,” Beranabus notes. “Very well. Try this.”
He teaches me some new words. Once I’ve repeated them, the picture fades out, then, after some static and crackling, tunes back in. Juni’s still chanting, but she’s standing over me now. No sign of Lord Loss, but the wall is red and yellow around the crack and the ice is melting, becoming a normal waterfall again. The heat in the cave is vicious. The beast I’ve become is sweating.
Juni’s holding up the knife. She bends, presses it to the left side of my throat, makes a quick swipe. Blood spurts, drenching the blade. I go stiff, both as the werewolf in the past and me in the present. But then Juni puts her face to the cut, breathes on it, and the wound closes. She moves the blade to the other side of my throat and does the same thing. Then she takes the red blade to the crack in the wall.
“What’s happening?” Beranabus asks, and I describe the scene to him. “Strange. I never heard of a demon being summoned that way. But Lord Loss is unique. Nobody knows why he’s the only demon master who can cross to our world, or how he does it. This must be a method he taught her.”
Juni smears my blood down one side of the rock within the crack, then the other. She steps back and chants more spells, louder, arms thrown wide. Finishes with a triumphant yowl, then leaps away from the crack, covering her eyes.
Nothing happens.
Juni lowers her arm and stares at the crack for a long time, then at the blade, then me. She walks across slowly and looks down, confused.
“Juni . . .” The word comes from deep within the rock. I place the voice right away—Lord Loss. “Juni . . .” he calls again, distant, hungry, anxious.
Juni returns to the crack and talks quickly, softly. I can’t hear what she says. But then Lord Loss hisses a name that chills me to the bone. “Billy Spleen . . .”
Juni bows, sets the knife down, looks at me, and grins nastily. “Stay where you are, beastie. I’ll be back for you soon.”
She leaves, not bothering to take the flashlight.
On the floor the werewolf struggles to tear free of its magical constraints. After a while the beast becomes still. Its hands start to glow. The glow spreads and sweeps up its arms, hits its face and chest, then radiates down its body and legs.
The werewolf stands and cocks its head as if listening to someone speak. Then, with a noise that sounds like a growl of agreement, it races for the exit and heads for the surface.
As the beast lurches through the forest, I fill Beranabus and Kernel in on what’s happening. Beranabus is unsure what to make of Juni’s behavior. “She seems to have been trying to summon Lord Loss. For some reason the spell didn’t work. But I don’t see what difference the other boy’s blood would make.”
“I don’t think she wanted Bill-E for the spell,” I murmur. “And I don’t think it failed. Lord Loss stopped her. He wanted Bill-E to be there when he crossed, so he could kill us both.”
“Perhaps,” Beranabus says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.
The chase concludes. The beast arrives at Bill-E’s house. The back door is open. The wolf bolts inside and finds Juni picking up the unconscious Bill-E Spleen. Ma and Pa Spleen are both dead. The werewolf howls at Juni. She drops Bill-E as the beast leaps. They fight, my transformed self ripping at the albino with its teeth and claws, Juni fighting back physically, no time for spells. She screams my name and the beast roars. Juni screams my name again and again, each time adding more distress to the cry.
Finally, after a minute of Juni screaming, the werewolf releases her. She staggers back, bloody and stunned. The beast growls angrily, standing firmly between Juni and Bill-E, protecting the otherwise defenseless boy. Then the view goes blurry. I sense the creature changing. Juni sighs with relief, then spreads her hands and talks quickly, faking concern. “Grubbs?” she gasps. “Is that you?”
I open my eyes and the screen disappears inside my head. I stare at Beranabus, openmouthed. “I didn’t kill them,” I whisper. “I tried to save them. I protected Bill-E. I didn’t kill them!” The last sentence comes out as a sob. I bend over and weep with relief, all else forgotten, eternally grateful to be innocent Grubbs Grady again—not the loathsome killer that I mistakenly believed I was.
The Veteran
MY first impulse, when I stop crying, is to rush back to Carcery Vale and warn Dervish and Bill-E of the danger they’re in.
“We already had this conversation,” Beranabus sighs.
“I don’t care,” I snap. “Juni didn’t just target me—she went after Bill-E too. She might not return to the Vale right away, but she can easily phone Dervish and ask about me. If she discovers he doesn’t know where I am or what really happened, she can return and . . .” I shake my head viciously, trying not to think of all the terrible things she could do. “We have to go back and warn them.”
“No,” Beranabus says softly. “Their welfare isn’t my concern.”
“How can you say that?” I shriek. “Dervish is your friend.”
“No—if anything, he’s my employee.”
“What do you . . . ?” I stop, finally realizing where I had heard Beranabus’s name before. Dervish mentioned it when he was explaining about his work. I should have put two and two together when he was talking about the warning spells at the cave, but my head’s still in a whirl. “You’re the boss of the Disciples,” I mutter.
“I wouldn’t describe myself that way,” Beranabus sniffs. “I don’t have much to do with them. I use the Disciples where appropriate, but I fight most of my battles in the Demonata’s universe, alone.”
“Not quite alone,” Kernel huffs.
Beranabus grunts offhandedly at Kernel, then addresses me again. “I didn’t form the Disciples. They came to me looking for leadership and training. I occasionally demand their help but have no vested interest in the group.”
“But Dervish is one of your people,” I argue. “He told me you sent him to Carcery Vale to protect the cave. You’re responsible for him.”
“No!” Beranabus barks. He brushes his long hair back from his face, glowering at me. “I sent Dervish to Carcery Vale, as I sent others before him, to watch for demons and their human servants, to report to me if any came sniffing in search of the cave. Everything else in his life was secondary to that task. He should have respected my instructions, kept a low profile, and not gotten entangled with a demon master like L
ord Loss. He brought this trouble on himself. I don’t have time to get involved in personal conflicts. Lord Loss has nothing to do with the cave, so I don’t care what he does to Dervish.”
“You’re a monster,” I sneer. “You’re no better than the Demonata.”
“Perhaps not,” Beranabus concedes. “But the Disciples understand that there are forces at work in the universe far more important than anything in their own lives. They accept the need to put human concerns behind them and focus on the nobler cause to which they’ve been called.”
“I don’t do noble causes,” I retort. “I care about Dervish and Bill-E. That’s all. They’re more important to me than anything else, even the safety of the bloody world.”
“He’s arrogant and stupid,” Kernel says, staring at me coldly. “He can’t see the bigger picture. You made a mistake bringing him here. Send him back. Let him perish at the hands of Lord Loss.”
“That isn’t your decision to make,” Beranabus says, eyes flashing. “Don’t forget your place. You’re here to serve.”
“Well, it’s true.” Kernel pouts.
Beranabus takes a steadying breath, then faces me again. “What I’m trying to explain,” he says, only barely restraining his anger, “is that Dervish wouldn’t want us to rush back. He understands the importance of my work and knows I don’t get involved in minor skirmishes—which is all this is. He doesn’t expect me to ride to his rescue. This quarrel with Lord Loss and Juni Swan is of his own making, and he must deal with them himself.
“Having said that,” Beranabus continues, raising his voice to stop me from interrupting, “I will get word to him, as I promised. I can’t get in touch with him now—there are no easy means of making contact with the outside world from here—but as soon as I can, I’ll warn him of Juni’s treachery and the threat he faces. That’s the best I can offer. And it’s all Dervish would expect.”
“Fine,” I grunt, getting to my feet. “But I’m not one of your Disciples, so I don’t have to obey your rules. I’ll go and warn him right now if you’ll just point me in the right direction . . .” I look at him challengingly, expecting an argument.
Beranabus smiles flatly. “Once you leave the cave, the fastest route is east. It’s a long, hard walk. The sun is merciless, water holes are few and far between, and there’s little food to be found. An experienced trekker or a magician might make it out alive. But you’re not a worldly traveler, and you don’t know how to make the most of your magical potential. You’ll be dead within a week. If you want to make the attempt regardless, go ahead. I won’t detain you.”
“Right,” I nod sharply. “I will.”
I start toward the rope ladder but Kernel stops me. “Grubitsch . . . Grubbs. He’s telling the truth. You can’t make it. You’ll die if you try.”
“I’d rather die trying than live and let Dervish and Bill-E be butchered.”
“It would be pointless,” Kernel argues. “Even if you got out alive, it would take weeks to reach civilization. Dervish will find out quicker