The Mage Tales Prequels, Books 0-II: (An Urban Fantasy Thriller Collection)

by Ilana Waters

  “If you think so.” Specs walked over to the wheelbarrow. “As I was saying, the rest of you get back to your houses as quickly as possible. Soon, it’ll be time for dinner, and that will give the staff an opportunity to inspect the field for any more possible threats.” He walked off with Yen, who carried the wheelbarrow with hands splayed in front of him, protective magic surrounding the spell-cleanse. Cho left the field as well, mumbling something about checking on Oliver.

  “Better luck next time, Alderman,” Victor called over his shoulder. Mason and Dirk flanked him, smirking at me. “I’m sure there’ll be no shortage of opportunities to wreak the kind of mayhem you’re after. Just know that for every action, there is a consequence.”

  “Get back here, Wright.” I stomped toward him, pulling my gloves further onto my hands. “I’ll take your sodding consequences and shove them up your—”

  “Steady on, mate.” Miles held onto one of my shoulders, while Colleen tugged on my other arm. “Kill Wright now, and everyone’ll think you’re the one who did Oliver in for sure.”

  “I’ll quit the team, then.” I shrugged Miles and Colleen off, sending one last glare in Victor’s direction. “That should remove all suspicion that I stripped Oliver’s magic so I could take his place.”

  “What?” Colleen’s mouth hung open. “But you can’t!”

  Jae’s eyes bulged. “No, mate, don’t do that. You have to stay. Please.”

  “You want me as your current captain even though you suspect me of deposing the last one?”

  Jae shook his head. “I never said I suspected you. And yeah. You and Oliver were pretty much all we had.”

  “He’s right, Josh,” Colleen said. “House of Air is counting on you. You can’t let them down.”

  “I don’t want to let them down, but what am I supposed to do when Victor keeps . . .?” I gestured helplessly. “It was Victor, I swear. You have to believe me.” I told them what I’d seen with Victor’s mirror, how he must have been the one who sabotaged Oliver.

  When I was finished, Colleen nodded. “Sounds like the sort of thing Victor would do. And this is Oliver’s last year, too. If he can’t keep up with his classes this term, he won’t graduate.”

  “Why would anyone want to stop Oliver from graduating?” Imogen asked.

  “To hell with that,” Miles said. “Oliver almost died. Who else, besides Victor, would want to kill him?”

  Jae snorted. “Have you met Oliver?”

  Miles sighed. “I’m serious, Jae. You have to admit, he has his good side. I really can’t imagine anyone hating him. Or even feeling that strongly about him. Sure, he can be annoying—”

  “Because he gave you a demerit yesterday for taking too many breakfast sausages?” Pen asked. Imogen and Suyin glanced at each other, smirking.

  “—but mostly,” Miles frowned at Pen as he finished, “he’s just sort of . . . there.”

  “Maybe Oliver wasn’t the intended target,” said Colleen.

  “Indeed.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “Why Oliver? Why not me? Victor hates me more, I’m sure of it.” I grimaced. “None of this makes any sense.”

  “Maybe Victor wanted Oliver out of the picture so you could become captain,” said Jae.

  Imogen made a face. “That’s crazy. Why on earth would he want that?”

  “I don’t know.” Jae shrugged, then looked at me. “Maybe he wants to bury the hatchet between you two.”

  “In MacLeod’s back?” Miles blew a puff of air out his lips. “Not bloody likely.”

  “Yes, about as unlikely as Victor wanting to see me succeed at anything, or help me in any capacity.” I mashed my fist into my palm. “No, if he did this to make me captain, it’s to further his own ends. You’ll see.” This time, I pulled back my fist and punched my palm so hard, magic shot out between my fingers. “Dammit. We’re all little chess pieces in his macabre game. I just wish I knew how.”

  Maybe, when we played the final Tournament against House of Fire, I’d finally find out.

  Chapter 20

  It wasn’t long before the entire school learned the details of why the play-off was called early.

  All the parents—including my father—were informed of what happened to Oliver, the spell-cleanse, et cetera. I suppose I was lucky that, since no evidence pointed directly at me, I was spared another angry phone call with Titus. Specs, on the other hand, was not so lucky. He spent weeks fielding interrogations from families. Why were their children placed in harm’s way? What were Equinox and the Wiccan world coming to? And so forth. I heard Specs barely convinced Oliver’s aunt not to sue. Then there were the threats of alerting the Council.

  The Council. The only thing worse than facing my father after an expulsion was the possibility of facing the Council. The Council might not care if a half-blood witch like Rosemary broke every bone in her body. But magically sabotaging another full-on witch, like Oliver? That would raise more than a few eyebrows. A witch like that—even a young one—could be seen as a threat to the entire community. And the Council was known to deal very swiftly with threats. I could only hope no further incidents occurred that a) appeared to have me behind them, and b) involved crimes worthy of Council involvement. But I knew both were about as likely as a vampire getting a suntan.

  Ever since the play-off, the whole school had been tense, on edge. Many at Equinox were sure I did it. Others suspected a conspiracy. Still others thought it was a harmless prank.

  “What witch would prank another into losing all their magic?” I overheard Grace say one night at dinner. “Doesn’t seem harmless to me.”

  “I heard Specs is even considered canceling Tournament this year,” Liza added.

  “What?” Rami’s fork clattered to his plate. “That’s bollocks. Not after how hard we’ve been practicing! I don’t care if the whole school gets doused with spell-cleanse.” He paused. “Well, I sort of do.”

  Rami wasn’t the only one. Everyone was worried that something similar—or worse—would happen at Tournament, just three short months away.

  At least Rosemary was doing better. I’d gone to see her on her last day in the infirmary, just before she went to recuperate with her sister in the Cotswolds. I asked if she remembered anything more about the night she fell, but she failed to provide any new insight.

  “You know it wasn’t me, don’t you, Rosemary?” I asked, sitting on the side of her bed. There were dark circles under her eyes. And her cheeks—usually so pink—were an ashen gray.

  “Of course, love. I know a nice boy like you don’t go around playin’ tricks on other people.” She patted my hand, as if I was the one who needed comforting.

  “But I’m going to find out who did,” I said adamantly. “I promise you that, Rosemary. Something’s rotten in the state of Equinox, and I’m going to find out what.”

  “Of course, you is, love. You’re the type of bloke who always gets what ’e’s after. Who don’t let nothin’ stop ’im.” Despite her frailty, Rosemary’s voice was so strong and firm, I almost believed her.

  Oliver was recovering as well, only he was staying in bed in our room. The infirmary wouldn’t be much good for him; the only thing that could replace a witch’s magic was time. Possibly a long time, if it happened at all. But Oliver seemed to be doing all right in body, if not in spirit. He looked about as sallow as Rosemary, but improving. However, he was frustrated at the temporary loss of his powers. Since he couldn’t perform his magical studies, he worked on getting more mundane ones out of the way. Most of the time, he could be found leaning against his pillows, grumbling over an assignment on Shakespeare, or solving a tricky equation for quantum mechanics.

  And it wasn’t as easy taking over as prefect as I’d imagined. Oliver’s list of duties was prodigious. I was now in charge of enforcing all the rules I thought were ridiculous. These included ones about lights-out, running in the halls, and making sure no one took too many breakfast meats.

  �
��I didn’t come to Equinox to be a bloody sausage monitor,” I grumbled to him one day. It was partly in response to his complaint about having to write yet another essay in Italian. “Not sure why I did come, but it definitely wasn’t for this.”

  “Now you know how I felt.” Oliver searched through the bedsheets for his notes. “Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Or the P, in this case.”

  “You know,” I coughed and fingered the curtains on the window, “some people would do anything to get that crown. Any crown. Not me, I mean. But others . . .” Oliver looked askance at me, and I hesitated before speaking again. Do I dare broach the subject of my suspicions about Victor? About his spell with the mirror? Oliver’s life could be in danger. No, I have to tell him, I decided. So I did.

  “That’s why it had to be him who knocked you into the spell-cleanse,” I finished. I didn’t know if Oliver would believe me, but I felt I had to warn him. Just in case Victor tried something like that again. It turned out Oliver was more receptive to the idea than I’d imagined.

  “I wouldn’t put it past Wright.” He nodded and moved the dictionary of Italian verbs off his lap. “But you’d better be on your guard against him as well, Alderman.”

  “You mean you believe me?” I looked down at Oliver, who suddenly seemed very small and vulnerable. It was hard to imagine him as the staunch prefect who’d held me off Victor the first day we met. Or the dauntless captain who always put his team first. I narrowed my eyes at him. “But how do you know I’m not lying to you to throw suspicion off myself?”

  “I don’t.” Oliver closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “But I’m also not stupid. I know the sort of bloke Victor is.” He sat up again. “You were the one who stopped Cho from finishing me off—even if he didn’t realize he was doing it at the time. If Victor did plan what happened, he wouldn’t have bothered saving my life.”

  “Good point.” I nodded. “Though I’m still surprised you haven’t requested a change of room.”

  “If you think someone’s your enemy, better to have them where you can keep an eye on them.” Oliver gave me a look.

  Sounds as if he’s been studying warfare like my father. “Thanks. I think.”

  “You can thank me by leading House of Air to victory at Tournament.” Oliver sat up and tried calling the Italian book to his hand. But it only shook and wobbled before falling flat again. Oliver gnashed his teeth and heaved a sigh.

  “You know,” I walked to the door and put my hand on the knob, “if you’d have chosen someone else as your second, none of this might have happened.”

  “Yes, well . . .” Oliver glanced out the window onto the practice field below. “Too late for that now.”

  ***

  So, Oliver wasn’t mad about my being his second. But my new position didn’t make getting through the next term any more bearable. The only bright spot in it all was Colleen. Her faith in me was unwavering. I still wasn’t sure how the rest of my friends felt. Although Miles did later offer me his begrudging congratulations on winning the match.

  “Fair play to you, mate. I didn’t get a chance to tell you that day on the field, what with what happened to Oliver and all.” He nodded as we waited inside the auditorium to be escorted back to class. Specs had just announced that the practice field had been thoroughly examined, and was safe to use again. However, he also gave a very severe warning. If anyone was found with spell-cleanse on their person, it would result in their immediate expulsion, and possible handover to the Council. Needless to say, it left the entire student body feeling ill at ease.

  “Thanks.” I glanced around for Victor and his lot, in case they tried to cause trouble. But they were lost to me in the vast crowd. “You played admirably yourself. And it definitely wasn’t my choice to go up against you.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not exactly happy about losing,” Miles grunted.

  “You have to admit, Miles,” said Pen, “what they did took some brass. Shocking yourselves with static electricity?” She raised her eyebrows at me. “I’d say the game should go to witches who throw themselves on their swords like that.”

  Mile sniffed. “Maybe.” He turned to me. “Though that was a pretty sly trick you pulled on me, mate. Glamouring Pen’s voice the way you did.”

  I popped the collar of my duster. “Like you wouldn’t have done the same to me using Colleen’s voice.” I gave Miles the side eye. “If you’d thought of it first.”

  He grinned. “You’re not wrong. Besides, I’m still proud of the game water played. Especially you, Zaira. Your idea was truly brilliant. And the execution? Flawless.”

  Zaira sighed. “Yeah, but it didn’t help us win.”

  “It was still very impressive,” said Imogen. “I don’t think there’s ever been a ‘rain of toads’ play before.”

  “Very plague-like and biblical,” agreed Suyin.

  “I think even Mason was freaked out.” Pen put her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. “Did you see how green he looked in the stands?”

  Miles laughed. “Yeah. Mason hates toads.”

  “Ironic, since he is one,” muttered Zaira. “Nasty blighter. Probably runs in the family. I’ll bet his parents are just like him. Dirk and Victor’s, too.”

  “Speaking of families,” I turned one of the rings on my thumb around and around, “I’ve been meaning to ask you lot something. Why do all the parents and staff attend the final match? It’s essentially an overblown scavenger hunt. They won’t be able to see the teams while we’re running all around Equinox.”

  “Yes, they will,” said Pen. “A spectator spell is cast on the teams. Everyone watches on a huge screen in the same field where the play-offs were held. The screen is split into two parts, so they can see both teams as they try to find the Chalice.”

  “What if the captain orders the team to split up?”

  “Then the screens are split into different parts showing where all the players are,” Suyin said. She looked to the stage where Specs had just told everyone how close Oliver came to losing his magic.

  “I mean, if nothing awful happens to the teams first,” she murmured. No one laughed again—or even spoke—after that. Soon, we filed out of the auditorium in silence.

  ***

  Three months passed. Summer Solstice came and went, and with it, another break. As usual, most of the students went home. Even Oliver stayed with his aunt to recuperate. I was left to batter around Equinox like a frustrated, magical pinball.

  Summer Solstice in late June marks the longest day of the year, and the shortest night. It’s a time when life overflows: trees are at their fullest, the air rich and heady with scent of flowers. It should be a time of abundance, of joy. Instead, there seemed to me only a dearth of information and insight where I needed them most.

  When it came to the wheelbarrow “accident,” there wasn’t even the remotest possibility of my investigating the crime scene this time. Staff had long since blocked off that part of the field and cleansed it. All magical impressions, or residue, if you will, were gone. And although every other inch of the field had been searched—bleachers and dugouts as well—no further evidence of foul play was found. I’d given up trying to figure out whether Specs thought I was guilty this time. Victor had covered his tracks, and covered them well.

  Before everyone knew it, it was the eve of Tournament. The excitement and tension in the air were almost unbearable. Students were getting restless, cutting class, letting their grades slip. The professors tried to keep them in line, but even their minds were on the game. I swore I heard Professor Yen say “Tournament” instead of “telekinesis” at least three times. There was even rumor that spell-boosting magics were being passed around, like steroids. Or like those medications mortals illicitly use to enhance academic performance. Of course, as the new House of Air captain, I made my team aware, in no uncertain terms, that such practices would not be tolerated. I think it made several of them call me “Oliver wannabe” under thei
r breath. But really, dear reader, one must have some standards.

  “More like an Oliver don’t wannabe,” I groaned. I dragged myself up House of Air’s steps for what I hoped was the last time that night. I’d just broken up the third Tournament-related fight that week, and received a black eye for my trouble. It was past ten thirty by this time. Past lights-out.

  Not that I would ordinarily care, except that I have to now, being the new Oliver. I leaned on the banister before forcing myself up more steps. Even though a good portion of Oliver’s magical abilities had returned, Specs thought it best if he focused on his studies, without the additional responsibilities of being prefect. On the bright side, Tournament was tomorrow, which would hopefully put an end to all the fighting. And the week after that was the end of term, and then—

  And then what? I’ll go home to Titus, and hope we don’t kill each other?

  I wasn’t sure what to expect when I got home. All I knew was that, right now, I just wanted some peace and quiet. I confess that, like everyone else, I was too wound up about Tournament to try and sleep. But I did not want to join the impromptu party that seemed to have sprung up in the common room.

  At least half of House of Air was here, along with a few students I recognized from other houses—clearly a violation of school rules. Streamers were hung up everywhere. People were snogging, or playing snooker or darts, the faint whiff of alcohol coming from the red plastic cups in their hands. Somewhere in the background, music played, the thump thump thump of the bass practically shaking the walls.

  “What the hell is going on?” I demanded. A few students turned to me, then looked at each other.

  “Uh-oh,” I heard someone snicker. “Oliver’s here.”

  “Oh, it’s just a bit of fun, Josh.” Liza waved one hand and threw a dart with the other. It sailed through the air and landed smack in the middle of the bull’s-eye. All around her, the boys with darts in their hands groaned.