Bad Apple (The Warner Grimoire) Read Online Free Page B

Do you need anything?”
    His throat was sore. “Water,” he croaked. “Please.”
    Molly smiled. “You got it.” She crossed the floor to the kitchenette and pulled a glass from the cabinet. She filled it with a pitcher from the fridge and was back to his side without taking her eyes off the door. “Here you go.”
    The water soothed Simon’s throat, and he found it easier to talk after finishing the whole glass. “Zoey?” Unease gripped him. “Is she--”
    “She’s fine,” Molly said. “She told us what happened. You were very brave to fight off that dog. It’s a miracle you didn’t get bitten.” She took the glass from Simon and set it on the old trunk that doubled as a coffee table. “We think it’s the dog they’ve been talking about on the news.” She felt his forehead. “Are you feeling any better? Do you need something to eat?”
    “I’m fine,” Simon said, sitting up. His head swam and he laid back against the cushions. “Did they catch it?”
    “No,” Molly said. “Animal control couldn’t find him when we called. Zoey said that you knocked him down?” Her brow furrowed again. “What exactly did you do, Simon?”
    Simon struggled for an answer. “I just blocked him, that’s all.” He stopped for a moment before continuing. “It doesn’t make any sense. I held my arm up, then I yelled and swung with my other arm. I don’t know if I hit him or not. I didn’t want to, I mean, he’s just a dog, but I was--”
    “Simon, it’s okay.” Molly patted his shoulder. “You were defending yourself and Zoey. Believe me, I’m grateful you did what you did. We all are.” She gave him a small smile. “Even if it doesn’t make any sense.” She glanced at the door again. “I’m going to go see what’s taking Sam so long. He wanted to know the moment you were awake. I don’t know why he isn’t up here.” She stood in the doorway. “Zoey’s sleeping on your bed, I hope that’s all right. Holler if you need anything.”
    Simon watched Molly disappear through the door, then let his head collapse back onto the pillow. Everything was still a blur. What had happened, anyway? The dog had been leaping at him, and then he had shouted...
    “Ex vita luce,” Simon whispered to himself, and it hit him: he had gotten their motto backwards. Sam had made him say it so many times, and he had still gotten it wrong. Ex luce vita . He mouthed the words to himself. His head spun. He stayed on the couch only until he felt strong enough to walk. When he could, he got to his feet and walked to the kitchenette. He grabbed his glass on the way and drew himself some water from the tap, but as he drank, the water didn’t soothe like it had earlier. He put the glass in the sink, then started to make his way downstairs, his head still pounding slightly.
    He descended the stairs into the back hallway. The kitchen was completely empty, no dirty dishes stacked by the sink, no tickets on the wheel, nothing cooking on the grill top or the stove. The kitchen was utterly dead. This was strange for a weeknight. He could hear angry voices coming from the dining room. He peeked through the order window.
    Sam and Molly were behind the counter. They were speaking to an odd-looking man Simon didn’t recognize. He wore what looked like an old, mousy gray suit, which had obviously seen much better days. The sleeves were ripped and worn to tatters at the end, and his hair hung in long gray strands over his forehead, poking out from under the brim of what must have once been a very splendid hat. Then there were his eyes, one deep ocean blue, the other a putrid, rotten green. They were sunk deep into his face with large purple bags under his sockets, and he looked like someone who never slept much,if at all. His skin was the palish, sickly white of curdling milk, and his nose dove sharply down from his huge brown eyebrows until it almost collided into his rotten, grinning mouth. He made Simon think of a skeleton who was