Seph asked about Weirbooks.
“You have one somewhere,” Jason said. “It was created by the Sorcerers’ Guild when you were born, and it can’t be destroyed. If you could find it, it would tell you all you want to know about your family.
Jason showed Seph his own Weirbook. Jason’s name was recorded on the last page, along with his parents and grandparents. The genealogy went back to the tenth century. He kept it locked up, protected by a series of complicated charms. “You don’t want your Weirbook to fall into your enemies’ hands. Then they have your history, and they know your weaknesses and strengths.”
Seph was fascinated by the idea that, somewhere out there, his history lay between the covers of a book, if he could only lay his hands on it.
By the end of April, spring was visiting the Havens in frustrating fits and starts. The snow melted away to patches where the heavy drifts had been, and daffodils glittered among the trees. Gregory Leicester had visitors, also. Rental cars and cars with out-of-state plates appeared in the parking lot, feeding what appeared to be a series of small meetings. One morning, Jason intercepted Seph on his way to class, pulling him into a stairwell.
“D’Orsay’s here,” he whispered. “Gamemaster of the Council. Let’s go.” Within seconds, they were both unnoticeable, loping across the grounds, heading for the administration building.
This was a very private meeting, just Leicester and D’Orsay, held in Leicester’s office on the third floor, with Hays and Barber stationed in front of the door like bouncers at an exclusive club. Seph and Jason had to wait in the hallway for two hours until Martin Hall arrived with lunch. They managed to slip through the doorway behind him when he rolled the cart in.
D’Orsay and Leicester sat at the table by the window, bodies rigid, faces stony, like a quarreling couple interrupted midspat. Papers were spread out across the table and a notebook computer sat between them.
Claude D’Orsay was a tall wizard with close-cropped gray hair and custom-tailored clothes. He wore a heavy gold chain around his neck, the emblem of his wizardly office.
When the door closed behind Martin, Leicester hissed, “I can’t believe the Dragon’s that difficult to find. He puts up new messages every day. Listen to this.” Leicester pulled his laptop toward him and read from the screen. “‘One wonders what games the Gamemaster is playing. Sources tell the Dragon that D’Orsay has scheduled a series of secret meetings leading up to the Interguild Conference. If you’ve not received an invitation, I suggest you watch your back.’ Where the hell does he get his information?”
“Guesswork and speculation,” D’Orsay suggested, sipping at his wine.
“Really? He goes on to list the dates, participants, and locations of three of the meetings.”
“Let me see that.” D’Orsay turned the screen so it faced him. Then swore softly and pulled out a cell phone. He punched in a number and spoke into it, low and urgently. Jason nudged Seph with his elbow.
When D’Orsay put the phone away, Leicester said, “We’re running out of time, Claude. He’s got the Roses murdering each other in the streets. How long before they come after us? He knows we’re meeting outside of the usual channels. You promised you’d run him in to ground before the conference.”
“We almost had him in London. We’ll get him the next time. Nora Whitehead’s working on it.”
Leicester frowned. “Nora? This is too important to hand off to her. Why aren’t you handling it yourself?”
“I am handling it. Nora’s working for me.”
“She doesn’t stand a chance, if it comes to a duel. If it’s who we think it is, he’ll cut her to pieces and then where will we be?” Leicester didn’t seem to be as concerned about Nora as worried his quarry might get away.
D’Orsay flicked imaginary lint off his trousers. “Don’t be theatrical. I’m not planning on a duel. There’s no one we could send against him, one on one.”
“Doesn’t the man have a family? Someone we could use to draw him out of hiding?”
“I was told they were all murdered back in the day,” D’Orsay said, frowning, as if this was most inconvenient. “Apparently that’s the source of his fanaticism. But we think we may have found a vulnerability.”
“A vulnerability?” Leicester raised an eyebrow skeptically. “What?”
D’Orsay glanced about, as if there might be spies behind the stonework. The outing of his meeting had clearly rattled him. “Ah . . . let’s see what comes of it. We should know, fairly soon.”
“Fairly soon?” Leicester rolled his eyes. “We’ve spent years on this project. They’re too close to you as it stands.
If they trace us back here . . .”
D’Orsay’s expression morphed from disappointed to annoyed. “Unlike you, I have other responsibilities. While you’re playing schoolmaster, I’m courting seven different sides, trying to keep this whole scheme from unraveling. Keep in mind that there are advantages to having the Dragon at large. When items disappear from the Hoard, he always gets the blame.”
He stood and dropped his napkin on the table. “No one wants to catch the Dragon more than I do. But just now I have to go and reschedule three meetings before our colleagues walk into a trap.”
The two wizards glared at each other, emitting faint showers of sparks.
“I’ll call you when the roster is finalized,” D’Orsay said, stuffing a sheaf of papers into a briefcase.
Seph and Jason managed to slide out after him when he went out the door.
Back in Jason’s room, Jason fizzed with excitement and worry, pacing back and forth. “Did you hear that? ‘If you’ve not received your invitation, watch your back.’And did you hear D’Orsay? They don’t know who they’d send against him—he’s that powerful. The Dragon’s got this network of spies all over the world that he works constantly . . .”
“Do you think they really know who it is?” Seph asked. “They seemed pretty confident.”
“I’ve heard rumors.” Jason shrugged. “Seems to me the Dragon would be dead by now if they did know.”
“So Leicester’s online,” Seph muttered to himself, sorting through a pile of CDs. “He must have a wireless network in his office, at least.”
“But they think they’ve got something on him,” Jason leaned against the doorframe. “I wish there was some way to warn him.”
Seph chose a CD and slid it into the player. “If I could just get into Leicester’s office, I bet I could break into his system.”
“To warn the Dragon?”
“No. To e-mail Sloane’s. So I can get out of here. And don’t give me that look. I don’t really want to get involved with the, um, wizard politics, as you call it. You don’t have enough information to warn the Dragon, anyway. What are you going to say? ‘Be careful, they’re on your trail? Watch your back?’”
Jason wasn’t really listening. “Maybe it is time to leave. Maybe I should get out and try and find him. Tell him about the meeting here, the alumni, and all that. See what he makes of it.” He tugged at his earlobe. “Then again, I could hang around, see what else I can find out. I wish I knew when this Interguild Conference they’re talking about is.”
Seph fastened on the notion of leaving. “How would you deal with the wall?”
Jason grinned. “I think I’ve finally got that nailed. Barber’s the architect, you know. I heard him bragging about it when I was lurking in the alumni dining room. So I tossed his room and found some books on the subject.”
“So how does it work?” “It’s a real, physical wall overlaid with confusion charms. So you can’t stay focused enough to get over or around it. I’ve put together some countercharms that should work.”
“Should work,” Seph said skeptically. “Then let’s try it.”
Jason shook his head. “I don’t want to tip Leicester off before I’m ready to leave.”
“If you can leave, you should. Before something happens.”
“I really don’t care what happens to me.
As long as I get Leicester.”
In the end, Jason decided to stay a little longer to see if he could gather more news to take to the Dragon. But Leicester and D’Orsay didn’t meet again.
A few weeks later, in mid-May, Seph brought his workout gear to the Alumni House one evening, intending to meet Jason to go over some books they’d taken from the library. He ate dinner with Martin and Peter, then walked through the common room and into the stairwell. He took a quick look around, then spoke the unnoticeable charm. Just then, the door flew open behind him.
It was Warren Barber. He must have followed Seph out of the common room. He looked around the landing, puzzled. Seph had just stepped through the door, and now he was gone. Seph wondered if Barber had even heard him say the end of the charm.
Barber stood frozen for a moment, listening, then loped down the stairs with Seph ghosting along behind him. When Barber reached the basement, he looked up and down the empty hallway. Seph slipped into the workout room. A moment later, when Barber opened the door, Seph had disabled the charm and was adjusting the weights on the rowing machine. Fortunately, there was no one else in there.
“What are you doing in here?” Barber demanded, scanning the room, his pale brows drawn together suspiciously.
Seph locked the weights in place and looked up at Barber, lifting an eyebrow. “I’m . . . um . . . working out?”
Barber leaned against the doorframe and lit a cigarette. “Yeah? Well, it ain’t helping. You look like a bag of bones.”
Seph shrugged. “It helps me sleep.”
“I’ve got stuff that’ll help you sleep. What do you need?”
“No, thanks.”
Barber blew out a stream of smoke. “What are you trying to prove?”
Seph stopped wrestling with the machine and turned and faced Barber. “I don’t get it. Why does it matter to you so much? Do you get a bonus if I link with Leicester?”
“More like, he’ll make us miserable until you do.”
Careful. You don’t know anything. “Why does he want this so much?” Seph asked. When Barber rolled his eyes, he added, “No, really. I want to know.”
“You’re just a blue-blood rich kid. You think you can just decline Dr. Leicester’s invitation like he asked you to a fricking soiree. He won’t take no for an answer. If he can’t use you, he’ll destroy you.” Barber stubbed out his cigarette, turned on his heel, and walked out.
Seph waited half an hour. When he peered out into the corridor, there was no sign of Barber or anyone else. He slipped down the hallway to Jason’s room.
“Sorry I’m late,” Seph said after Jason shut the door behind him. “Barber almost caught me.” He explained what had happened, as Jason cleared books and papers off a chair so Seph could sit.
“He believed you?” Jason asked, frowning. He pulled two cans of soda from the refrigerator and handed one to Seph.
“I think so. I mean, he left a half hour ago.”
Jason started to say something else, but then his head snapped up and the blood drained from his face. “We’re screwed!” He flung an arm out toward Seph, casting an unnoticeable spell. At the same instant, the door banged open, the bolt dropping to the tile with a hollow ping. Gregory Leicester stood in the doorway.
“Dr. Leicester,” Jason said, almost choking on the words. “I didn’t hear you knock.”
“Hello, Jason,” the headmaster said, his gaze drifting around the room, settling on the two cans of soda still sitting on the table, the piles of books and papers on the desk. He remained where he was, filling the doorway, as if to prevent any attempt at escape.
Jason and Gregory Leicester faced each other. The air shimmered with the tension between them. Jason was deathly pale.
“Jason, what do you know about Joseph McCauley?”
The voice was complex, full of fire and ice, sorcery and menace.
Jason toyed with his earring, frowning, as if struggling to remember. “He’s the one you told me about, right? He spent a lot of time in this building over winter break. I think I’ve seen him in the workout rooms.”
“We’ve been working with him all year, but we aren’t making the kind of progress we would like. He’s hallucinating. Delusional. Dangerously symptomatic. But refuses our help. And now there’s been a change in his behavior that makes me think perhaps he’s been spending time with you.” The voice was gentle on the surface, but there was steel underneath. “Do you remember our discussion about your negative influence on the other boys?”
“I’m not stupid.”
“I hope you haven’t been filling his head with a lot of talk about conspiracies,” Leicester continued. “He’s extremely vulnerable right now.”
Jason stared at the floor. He didn’t say anything.
“Have you forgotten the consequences we had talked about, both to you and to him?”
“I haven’t forgotten,” Jason replied, He looked up at Leicester in the eyes. “Believe me.”
“Good,” Leicester said softly. He took another look around the room. And then he was gone.
Seph breathed. “Thank God,” he said, half aloud. He waited a count of five, then disabled the charm. Jason did not look relieved. He still sat on the edge of the bed, staring out at nothing. His face was the color of putty, and he was shaking.
“Well, that was too close,” Seph said. Jason looked up as if startled out of his reverie. “That wasn’t close, Seph. That was dead on.” He stood and went to his closet, rummaged through it, and produced a backpack. He unzipped it and spread it out on the bed.
“What are you doing?”
“I’ve got to get out of here.”
“What?”
“He knew you were in the room, Seph. Barber must have gone to get him as soon as he left the fitness center. All that stuff about your delicate condition—that was for your benefit.” Jason shoved his Weirbook into the daypack, followed by his organizer and notes from the library.
“How do you know?” Seph watched as his friend continued to pack. He took very little: a photograph of a woman in a frame, a sweatshirt.
“Trust me. We’ve never had a conversation like that— ever.” Jason zipped up the pack. “If you hadn’t been here, I’d probably be dead by now. He’s not sure how much you know. He’s hoping I haven’t ruined you. As it is, they’ll probably come for me tonight. They’ll wait until you’re back in your room.”
“I’ll stay here, then.” Seph sat back in his chair.
Jason laughed. “You’re really something, you know that? Believe me, you don’t want to do that. Besides, I’m leaving.”
“Then I’m going with you.”
Jason shook his head. “No. You’re safer here than you would be with me. They may be waiting for me, but they won’t kill you as long as they think they can get to you. Make sure they keep thinking that.”
Seph cast about for an alternative. “We’ve been studying attack magic for months. We can take him if we work together.”
“Look, man, I’m flattered. You’re the one with the talent. I’m cagy as hell, but I’m just not that powerful. It’d be two against sixteen, and they’ve been training for years. Leicester channels them, somehow. There’s no way we win. I’m not getting anyone else killed.”
“I’d rather be dead than stay here.”
Jason shook his head. “Listen to me. You’re tough. You made it on your own for four months, remember? I still don’t know how you did it. And now you have the dyrne sefa.” He paused. “Look, if I get out of here, I’ll get you out. I promise. I’ll contact Sloane’s, whatever it takes.”
Seph swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, Jason. I’m the one who got you busted. First Trevor, and now you.”
“Seph, I’m afraid I haven’t appropriately oriented you to your new role.”
“What do you mean?”
Jason grinned. “Wizards never say they’re sorry—not about anything.” Jason embraced, then released him quickly. “Whatever happens, it’s been cool knowing you, Seph.
Never think any different.”
Seph was speechless for a moment, his throat congested with grief. Then he said, “Where will you go? How can I find you?”
“If you get out, look for the Dragon. If you can’t get out, I’ll come after Leicester, sooner or later.” He pulled on his jacket, slung his pack across his back, spoke his charm, and was gone.
Chapter Nine
Desperate Measures
The normal cadence of life at the Havens continued after Jason’s departure for everyone but Seph. For most of the students, Jason had never existed so no one noticed his absence.
Days passed, and there was no word from Jason and no indication from Sloane’s that he had contacted them. Seph was increasingly worried. Had Jason even made it past the wall? There was no clue from Leicester or the alumni. They asked him no questions about Jason’s disappearance, which Seph took as a bad sign.
Seph continued to visit the alumni library, but it was an empty gesture. There seemed to be no future in it, no outlet for the magic he copied into his memory. Seph felt more alone than before. Jason had been his first teacher of magic.
His only teacher.
The weather continued to warm. Students clustered under the pavilions between classes, eagerly exchanging summer plans. Frisbees soared over tiny patches of lawn and the school dress code was challenged on a daily basis. Seph checked the mail regularly, hoping he might at least hear something from Sloane’s about arrangements for summer. Then Gregory Leicester called Seph into his office one afternoon after class.
Seph went reluctantly. He assumed an audience with Leicester could not bring good news. He was right.
The headmaster rose from his computer when Seph arrived. “Come in, Joseph,” he said. “Sit down.” He gestured toward the same table where they had sat the night of Seph’s arrival. Seph perched on the edge of the seat, bracing his palms on the arms as if ready to launch. Leicester sat down across the table.
The Heir Chronicles Omnibus Page 47
