The Last Apprentice: The Dark Arts

Chapter XI: Sacrifices

"Well," the Alchemist said in his deep, foreboding voice. "What is going on here?"

"I'll kill you, Alchemist!"

Suddenly, Grimalkin slapped me across the face. The blow sent me reeling. "He's been a pest. I wish we could kill him already."

The Alchemist shrugged. "I wanted to torture him--torture him physically--but sacrifices must be made. The culling has begun. We must hurry, Grimalkin. Collect his blood from his throat when you slit it. You should still have those vials I gave you for the job, correct?"

"Yes . . ."

"Get to it."

Sighing, Grimalkin went to pull some vials she had attached to her chest along with her knives. She stopped.

"I don't . . ."

"You don't want to what?" the Alchemist asked. "Are you backing out now? After all the planning we've been through?"

"I just . . ." She grimaced. In pain.

The Alchemist held up a fist, which was engulfed by purple-blue light. The sight of it made my stomach queasy. What added on to my queasiness was the sight of Grimalkin, falling to her knees and coughing up blood. Light from the Alchemist swirled around her.

"G-Grimalkin!" I crawled towards her.

She shoved a hand out at me. "No . . .," she murmured. "No. He's too . . . strong."

I shivered.

The Alchemist walked over. With his hard boot, he kicked Grimalkin up the chin.

"No!" I got up to help her. Though I desparately wanted to help, it wasn't my plan. I was trying to bait the Alchemist.

He tried to grab at me. I let him. Trapped in his grasp, squirming like a lunatic, I clawed at his arms and shoulders and chest with my talons. The Alchemist howled in pain. I didn't know he could feel pain at all.

Finally, he snatched my arms and wrenched them behind my back. He pulled until my arms popped from their sockets. I fell on the ground yet again, a lump of human agony.

"Looks like I did get to torture him. Though not to the extent I wished. Now, Grimalkin. Do what I asked of you."

Grimalkin stood to obey the Alchemist's orders. A knife fell into her hand. She roughly sat me up and pulled me against her body, an arm around my throat, her knife-hand ready to strike. For some reason, she brought her lips near my ear. I fely her foggy, humid breath as she spoke.

"You're the son of Lamia. The scales say enough. Lamias can fly. Take him out quickly; it's . . . it hurts to rebel against h-him--"

"Hey," the Alchemist said. "Cut his throat. Now."

Grimalkin nodded.

Then she hacked away at my back. She even grabbed a second knife, making sure to stab near my shoulder blades. Cloth, skin, and muscle peeled from my back like the pages of a book. Blood soaked my back, dripping down. I convulsed; I couldn't even scream, the pain was so bad.

I heard the Alchemist complain, "Finish the job, Grimalkin! We don't have time! We need to collect his soul and the rest of the souls of the County before they disappear!"

"No."

"What?"

"Do you know what you've done to the boy?" Grimalkin asked. "A mistake. That's what you've done. You have gone and awakened something inside of him, with your magic. Something we can't control. Something he can control, though. Because it's what he is."

"What are you talking about?"

"He is a lamia, Alchemist. And he is angry."

I rose. Rage bubbled within me. Scales scattered along my back like wildfire--I felt it. And then something else. Something that I couldn't believe.

Fleshy wings sprouted from my back.

Slime dripped from them, but I . . . I worked new muscles, fanning the wings until they were dry. Finished, I flapped myself into the air, pointing a finger at the Alchemist. The rage. It . . . It consumed me.

One second I was in the air, the next I was sprawled on top of the Alchemist. I tore into him with my talons, digging deep, deeper. His torn skin evaporated. More replaced it. I attacked vigorously at what grew back. I was a ravenous beast; I didn't stop until his putrid blood drenched me, until pieces of viscera covered the floor, until his blood coalesced with the mists.

I wanted to do so much more to the Alchemist. But Grimalkin dragged me backward.

"Tom, Tom!" she said. "He is dead. That is enough."

She helped me to stand. "But . . . but . . .!"

I thought of James. Of Judd. Of my brother Jack and his family. Witches had overrun the County. Would they get to those I loved before anything could be done?

The rage returned. My body twitched uncontrollably. My vision clouded over, and . . .

The next thing I knew, I woke up in a bed. My bed. I was back at the Spook's house. How I had gotten there, I hadn't a clue. Things had been . . . too blurry. To even write about that ordeal of mine in the realm of darkness, I had needed Grimalkin's help to fill in missing details.

Speaking of Grimalkin, she entered the room a short time after I had awoken.

She heaved a sigh.

"It is over."

"What's over?"

"You're that out of it?" She laughed. "What do you remember?"

"I . . . it's . . . foggy, in my head. I just woke up. If I get up and move around--ow."

Grimalkin came over as I fell to my pillow. In a sort of . . . motherly way that I didn't expect from the go-to assassin of an infamous witch clan, she pulled my blanket over me, brushing hair from my forehead. "Rest. I will explain after you have had your rest."

I nodded. Then I past out.