by Tara Lain
“If you say so.” Lindsey raised a well-shaped, pale blond eyebrow.
Pop-Pop gave Lindsey a direct gaze and said, “But we aren’t here to discuss Dash’s decision, are we?”
“Well, kind of.” Jazz looked at all of them from under his lashes.
Seth frowned, always a scary sight. “Get to the point, Jazz. What’s wrong?”
“Dash is in some kind of trouble.”
His mom pressed a hand to her chest. “You heard from him? What is it? What kind of trouble?”
Jazz shook his head. “I didn’t hear from him, uh, exactly. It’s a feeling.” He ran a hand through his always-too-long hair. “No, it’s more than that. Like a certainty. When Dash was here, that’s how he knew I was in trouble. We have this link. Maybe because he was teaching me or something. Anyway, I keep getting this, uh, knowledge that there’s something wrong. He’s in trouble, or maybe danger.”
Pop-Pop said, “Have you spoken with Lysandra?”
“Briefly. But she won’t tell me anything. She says it’s better if we don’t pull on each other’s energy while he’s in school.” That made him frown really hard.
“Jazz.” His mom put a hand on his shoulder. “That has to mean he’s not in trouble, doesn’t it? Wouldn’t Lysandra know if he was in danger?”
He twisted and looked back at her. “I’m not so sure of that, Mom. When the whole thing was going down with Nardo, she missed a lot of it.”
“But she came to fight for all of you, didn’t she?” That came from Lindsey.
“Yes, but that was when Dash was in real dire straits. And I can’t even read his thoughts and feelings real clearly. I think it must have something to do with the magic of the school.”
Pop-Pop folded his hands against his still flat stomach. “What can we do for Dash? Do you want me to call Lysandra?”
His mom said, “If she wouldn’t respond to you, does it seem likely she’ll tell Pop-Pop what’s really going on?”
Pop-Pop grinned. “Do you want to see if you can discover the location of the school and you and the pack stage a rescue?”
Seth snorted. “Right. Show them what a bunch of alpha wolves and friends can do.”
Jazz chuckled. “Tempting. The trouble is, I’ve got no idea what’s going on or what to expect if we found the place.”
“So what is it you want, Jazz?” Pop-Pop asked it serenely, like he knew that Jazz had already decided what he wanted.
“Well, you see—” He swallowed hard. “—the night Lysandra came to see me, she offered to nominate me for Arcantaria.”
His mom cocked her head. “Arcan—”
“—taria. Superwizard school. She said I was eligible to go based on, you know, the whole Nardo thing.”
“But you didn’t accept the invitation. You didn’t go.”
“No. I felt like I wanted to stay here with you and with my other friends more.”
Pop-Pop said softly, “And now?”
Jazz rolled up to his knees and faced them all squarely. “But I’m not with you or my friends. I’m in college, and it feels—weird.” He flopped his arms. “It doesn’t seem important, like to my life, and I thought it would. I mean, I want to be a great businessman so I can be a credit to Vanessen Enterprises and all that, but I go to classes and keep wishing I were someplace else. What the other kids care about, I don’t.”
“Life and death situations will do that to you, man.” Seth wiped a hand across the scruff on his tough, handsome face. Definitely the voice of experience from one of Hartford’s best cops.
“Maybe if I was with Carla.” Jazz sighed.
His mom asked, “Do you want to transfer to Harvard, dear, so you can be with her? You were accepted.”
Pop-Pop said, “No, Elizabeth. I believe Jazz wants to go to Arcantaria.”
Jazz looked up. Do I? “But Arcantaria’s not going to teach me statistics, accounting, or marketing, Pop-Pop.” Gods, he half wanted Pop-Pop to talk him out of it.
Lindsey chuckled. “Hmm. When I want Vanessen Enterprises stock to rise, which will do us the most good? Marketing or magic?”
Pop-Pop said, “We probably need some of each. But the fact is, Jazz, you can likely go to Yale or Harvard or some other college at another time. This may be the one important chance to go to Arcantaria.”
“I don’t even know for sure if they’ll take me.” His heart was beating too fast, but whether it was excitement or fear he wasn’t sure.
Seth said, “How do you find out?”
“Talk to Lysandra Mason, I guess.” He could feel the crease between his brows deepening and he couldn’t stop it.
His mom leaned from her chair and put a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t seem enthusiastic about this decision, Jazz.”
“That’s why I said I was confused.” Both of his hands went into his shaggy, werewolfy hair. “I want to see Dash and know that he’s okay, or if he’s not, to try and make things better, you know? But Arcantaria? Nobody knows anything about it for sure, but it’s supposed to be far away, and once you’re in there, there’s no communication with the outside. At least now I can call you guys.” He sighed. “And what if I hate it?”
Seth barked a laugh. “Write an escape clause into your contract.”
Jazz gave him back a snort. “Yeah, right. It’s not like the MagiCouncil’s dying for little werewolf Jazz to go to Arcantaria. I think the idea was mainly Lysandra’s. That’s why I don’t know if they’ll take me even if I decide to go. Plus, they’re already a couple weeks into the semester, or whatever they call it, so it could be too late.”
Lindsey frowned at him. “I don’t think you want to go, Jazz. I’m the first to promote romance, but you need to honor your own feelings and instincts. Dash is a powerful wizard, even if a young one. When you saved Dash’s life, it was because Nardo was part werewolf and you defeated him with werewolf power. Whatever threat might exist at Arcantaria would likely be magic based. Dash is better equipped than you to deal with that.”
“Is that a nice way of saying he doesn’t need me?” Jazz looked up at Lindsey.
His mom said, “Dash may not need you to save him from danger, Jazz, but he might need you for friendship, support, and love.” She gazed at him with those mom eyes. “Still, that doesn’t oblige you to go. You need to do what’s right for you.”
He sighed. Not off the hook in any direction. He turned his head to Pop-Pop. Since the day they’d met, Jazz had known that he was okay with Pop-Pop however he was or wanted to be. Of course that made him work ten times as hard to make his grandfather proud. The old man was a human. Theoretically less powerful than the supernaturals who surrounded him. And yet in any room, Pop-Pop was the strongest, the wisest, and the kindest. As Jazz gazed into those deep eyes, a certainty arose in his heart. “You think I should go, don’t you, Pop-Pop?”
He smiled softly. “Like your mother, I think you should do what’s right for you. But the fact remains you’re not just a werewolf, you’re a mage. That’s a rare being from the little I know. In this house, you’re surrounded by some of the most powerful werewolves on earth, but none of them, none of us, can help you explore your magic. Dash was your guide, but he’s at Arcantaria. Perhaps you could become a protégé to Lysandra Mason as he did, but that would likely separate you from us as much as going to wizard school. You were offered the chance to go to Arcantaria by someone who recognizes your skill and potential. Maybe the universe is telling you that you need to recognize it too.”
Wow. Just wow. Jazz stared around the circle of many of the people he loved most in the world. A few were missing—his other brothers and pack members, the Superordinary Society, and Dash. Each of them was extraordinary in a unique way. Time for Jazz to understand his own unique way.
With a deep breath, he hauled his phone from his pocket, dialed, and waited for an answer. Still staring at Pop-Pop, he said, “Hello, Lysandra. If you have time, I think I’m ready to talk now.”
Chapter Six
DASH LE
APED behind a tree trunk as the bolt of power banged against it; flying bark slammed against his goggles and tingled across his bare cheeks.
Focusing his mind, he sent back a wider wave of energy since the bolt had come from a position behind a rock where two other mages were holed up. Strange. This was supposed to be every wizard for himself or herself. They were each being evaluated on individual skill. So why would two competitors be hiding in the same spot?
No time to think about that. Dash hunkered down and sped to a large boulder that provided better protection than his tree. He estimated he’d already scored against at least five other mages and racked up a dozen or more points. Whether that was good or bad compared to the others, he didn’t know.
A stream of energy flashed from his right, then one from the left and, God’s butt, a third poured down from above him. Don’t they have anyone else to attack? There were only ten mages in his class.
He popped his head up for a quick look. At least three of the attackers were all in the same place, which was good for retaliation if not particularly fair odds wise.
Bam! Crackkk. Two thunderous blasts split the rock from Dash’s hiding place.
He jumped and swerved. Well hell! They were all dressed in protective gear, but they were also supposed to be pulling their punches. Blasts. Whatever. Those last two hits weren’t mitigated at all. If they’d hit him, they’d likely have done damage.
Screw that! He leaned to the side of the rock, spread the fingers of his hand wide, folded the fingers in a fanlike gesture, then flicked his hand. A wave of power that appeared to the eye as shimmering red light undulated out from the rock like a slow wave.
The voices of the other mages behind their own rock sounded startled, but, as he’d hoped, they figured they had plenty of time to move to another spot to escape his bolt. They headed for a small hillock in the imaginary landscape of the obstacle course.
Dash twirled his finger in the air, and the undulating wave formed into a lightning bolt that flashed, then smashed into the two fleeing mages—both males. They yelled and fell to the ground, which prompted another mage, this one female, to run from behind the original boulder.
Dash waved a hand and slammed her to earth.
“That’ll teach you to break the rules and gang up on me, assholes.” He didn’t yell it, but he did say it out loud.
A chuckle sounded behind him, and he jumped back, hands raised, ready to strike.
The redheaded teacher walked out from behind a tree where he seemed to have just conjured himself.
Dash frowned at him. “What the hell’s your story? First you battle me with no warning and no agreement, and now you seem to have formed the other students in my class into some kind of ambush party. When did it become beat-up-on-Dash week?”
The professor chuckled again, and Dash gritted his teeth. Would they toss him out of Arcantaria if he hit this asshole? Hell, he didn’t even care. He clenched his fist, and the man raised a hand.
“Sorry. You’ve done brilliantly, really. It’s just that your professor and I had a bet. He thought the others would defeat you.”
Dash raised a brow. “And you didn’t?”
“I had the advantage since I’d battled you.” He smiled and extended his hand. “I’m Eustace Hillebrand, by the way. I’ll be teaching you conjuring, but I’m also the head of the Olympus Club.”
“Olympus?”
“The peak, the top. The home of our magical gods.”
“I thought that’s what Arcantaria is.”
“It is. But some fit in more than others.” He grinned. “Professor Santos and I cooked up this little test to see how you’d do in heightened competition. Obviously you rose to the occasion.”
Dash narrowed his eyes. “You could have just asked.”
“Yes, well, why don’t you get cleaned up and have lunch with me. We can discuss the particulars of the Olympus Club.”
Half of Dash wanted to tell the guy to conjure his ass elsewhere. The other half was dying of curiosity, and Lysandra would fire him as her nephew if he didn’t push down pissed off in exchange for insider information. “Sure. Thanks. I’ll get dressed and see you down there.”
“Excellent.” With the swipe of a hand, he disappeared.
Okay, that’s a skill I want to develop.
Feeling kind of tired from too much adrenaline, Dash returned to the entrance to the obstacle course and never encountered a person or a challenging construct. He pushed open the door to the locker room and found himself face-to-face with three of the other mages from his class—all newcomers like he was. They’d already taken showers and were pulling on clothes at their lockers. Jerrel Marquant was probably in his thirties and had the great advantage of blending in due to his sheer ordinariness. While that trait might not get him dates, it gave him an edge as a spy or informant. Mal Jeffrey was the opposite. Being very tall and very handsome made him a celebrity in any crowd. Likely in his late twenties, Mal passed himself off as a slow-talking athlete, but Dash guessed his brain worked as fast as he moved on a basketball court. Last of the group was Winslow Jerns, the oldest at maybe fifty and the most obnoxious. He raised his bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows at Dash. “The man of the hour.”
Dash tried for a pleasant expression. “Oh?”
“Yes. We all have to fall in line to make sure you get the recognition you so unjustly deserve.” He sneered toward Dash and glanced at the others. Neither Marquant nor Jeffrey contradicted him, but they also didn’t offer any support.
Dash flashed a frown at Jerns. “I didn’t ask for a damned thing, so cool your attitude.”
“Oh, right. It’s our job to make you look good while we get overlooked.”
Dash took a step forward, and Jerns moved back, though just a little before he ran into the solid wall of Jeffrey. Dash said, “A, you never made me look good. As far as I can tell, you busted your ass to hurt me. And B, you’re easy to overlook.”
Leaving Jerns sputtering and Marquant with a small smile on his face, Dash pushed by them and walked to his own locker. He needed serious cooling down, but he couldn’t force himself into a cold shower, so he kept it hot but let the water run over his head. Maybe it would wash all the bad things he wished he’d said out of his brain.
When he stepped from the shower, he ran a towel across his body and whipped it over his hair real fast, pulled on his jeans and shirt, and hurried out of the locker room, anxious to leave the vibes behind him. How dare his professors enlist other students in his challenges and make him the butt of their dislike in the process? If that was a part of their teaching method, then damn, maybe he needed to be someplace else.
He trotted down the glass-lined hall, ignoring the phony view and unable to wipe the frown from his face. Other students passed him, but he kept his eyes staring front and ignored everyone else.
Inside the dining room, Professor—what did he say?—Hillebrand stood at a table near the big windows and waved. Anastasia Jones also sat at the table, which kind of pleased Dash because he liked her but also pissed him off more because he couldn’t be as direct with Hillebrand as he felt he wanted to be.
Dash walked to the food line and got a salad, meatloaf, and veggies. When he approached the cashier, she waved him off with a smile. “Professor Hillebrand is paying for it.” One more thing that made Dash feel two ways.
Carrying his tray, he went back to the table. “Hi, Anastasia.”
“Hi, Dash.” She smiled, but a slight wideness to her eyes suggested she didn’t know any more about what was happening than he did.
Hillebrand said, “Sit, please. Glad you two know each other.”
Dash took his dishes from his tray, dumped the tray on a nearby stand, and settled into one of the available chairs. He took a breath and figured what the hell. “Yes, Anastasia’s one of the few people around here who’s willing to talk to me since I’ve been systematically made persona non grata.” He fed a big bite of meatloaf into his mouth to keep from adding more angry phrases.
If Hillebrand was surprised at Dash’s anger, he didn’t show it. He smiled slightly and said, “There are all kinds of lessons at Arcantaria, Dash.”
“So actively making sure that the other students dislike me is one of my lessons?” Dash chewed instead of gnashing his teeth.
“Perhaps. What have you learned from it?”
Dash shrugged. “Not to trust anyone at Arcantaria except maybe Anastasia and Kitty.” He gave her a quick grin.
Hillebrand pursed his lips. “Maybe in light of your experience, that’s wise advice.”
Dash took a bite of salad and started to nod in agreement-—then stopped. Words pressed against his lips, and he had to swallow fast. “Like hell. I’d be dead if it weren’t for my friends. They risked their lives for me and cared about me when I gave them few reasons to. I’ve got nothing but trust—for real friends.” Warmth spread through his chest, not like when he manifested magic. Better. Suddenly he could feel Jazz hammering against the walls of Arcantaria, begging for Dash to let him in.
He heard himself gasp. So did Hillebrand and Anastasia who stared at him.
Anastasia reached out and touched his arm, and he could feel her tingles mixing with the waves of Jazz energy that flowed under his skin. She said, “Are you okay?”
Was he? He grinned. “Yeah. Thanks for asking.” For the first time since he got to the wizard school, he wasn’t alone. It would be great if he could be by himself and see if he could commune with Jazz. His brain yelled, I thought you were mad at him.
He slowly exhaled. Hell, he’d been mad at everyone since he got to Arcantaria. He’d gotten ripped away from Jazz and his friends before he was ready to go, and because what he got in return was something he’d always wanted, he didn’t feel like he could complain. Then he arrived at the school and everyone treated him like crap. That was a total shock to his system. After all, he was Lysandra Mason’s protégé. He was used to getting a reflection of the respect accorded her as a master mage. So maybe he’d been acting like a spoiled brat—even toward Jazz. Maybe that’s why I haven’t been able to hear him. He could sure feel Jazz now, like a river of sweetness.
