The Second Siege
Page 4
“We should go after David,” said Cynthia. “He was just trying to be helpful.”
“You’re a kind girl,” said Mr. Sikes, turning his luminous eyes on Cynthia. “And I agree with you wholeheartedly. Many have been led to believe the worst of imps, and I can’t fault your friend for believing the stories.”
“Maybe I was a little harsh,” Connor admitted. “I’ll go find him.”
“No,” said Max, stirring the melting cubes in his lemonade, “just let him be.”
Connor nodded. “I’ll catch up with him tomorrow, then. Oh! Mr. Sikes, I almost forgot the original reason I summoned you tonight—but I guess you’re probably not feeling up to it anymore.”
Mr. Sikes’s ears twitched and the imp promptly smoothed his pearl-gray suit.
“If it’s within my power, I’d be honored to fulfill Master Lynch’s request.”
“Excellent,” said Connor, grinning at Max. “Can you make people forget things?”
“Of course,” said Mr. Sikes, affecting a little bow. “There would be little need for imps if their services were restricted to lemonade. I can do what you ask, Master Lynch, but . . .” The imp hesitated.
“What?” asked Connor. “What do you need?”
“Their names, for a start,” said the demon, rubbing his injured arm. “And, of course, I can’t be bound within a circle. Mr. Sikes needs to visit them when they sleep, you see.”
“Connor,” said Sarah with a disapproving tone, “this is not a good idea.”
Max was inclined to agree. He did not like the idea of a demon—any demon—flitting about campus on secret errands. Connor, however, merely ignored Sarah and kept his attention focused on the impeccably tailored creature removing a singed thread from his suit jacket.
“What if they see you?” asked Connor, ignoring Sarah.
“They won’t,” said Mr. Sikes reassuringly.
“And they won’t be hurt at all?” asked Connor. “No side effects or anything like that?”
“Never in life,” promised the imp.
Old Tom chimed seven o’clock, and Max felt his stomach growl.
There was another knock at the door.
“That’s probably David,” said Max, glancing at the key sitting on his roommate’s dresser. He climbed the stairs and opened the door only to find Cooper looming outside. Max had never seen Cooper in the dormitory wings and guessed that his unexpected presence accounted for the empty hallway and its uncharacteristic silence.
“Hi, Cooper!” Max shouted, for the benefit of those downstairs.
Cooper gave Max a quizzical glance but said nothing as he stepped past Max to examine the room and its celestial ceiling. Max heard the frantic whispers of his classmates down below.
“Who else is here?” asked the Agent, eyeing the staircase to the lower level.
“Nobody,” said Max defensively. “I mean, nobody who shouldn’t be here. I mean, er, Connor, Cynthia, Sarah, and Lucia.”
“Dinner’s getting cold downstairs,” Cooper murmured. “They’ll need to hurry if they want to eat.”
“What?” asked Max. “They have to go?”
“No,” said Cooper. “You do. Grab a sweater.”
Max hesitated.
“And where do I have to go?”
“The Director’s decided that you and David are to be Acclimated,” said Cooper. “We have to be there before midnight.”
“Maybe I should talk to Ms. Richter,” said Max, not at all liking the sound of Acclimation.
“The Director’s been in meetings ever since that witch left. She’s not to be disturbed.”
“But I haven’t slept in, like, twenty-four hours,” pleaded Max.
“You can sleep in the car,” muttered Cooper unsympathetically. “Where’s David?”
“I don’t know,” said Max quickly, very anxious that Cooper should not learn anything of Mr. Sikes. “He left a little while ago.”
Cooper frowned.
“We need to find him—now.”
“Guys,” called Max, “I’ve got to go somewhere with Cooper.”
The girls shuffled upstairs, murmuring good-byes as they filed quickly past Cooper. Connor came last, hefting his duffel and holding the small felt bag of stones.
“Hey, Max,” he said. “That thing is all taken care of—I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“Er, thanks,” said Max, secretly horrified that Connor had sent Mr. Sikes on his errands.
Connor disappeared into his room across the hall, and Max trotted back downstairs to snatch a pair of sweatshirts. All evidence of Mr. Sikes’s visit had vanished—the lemonades, coasters, and glowing circle were nowhere to be found.
As it turned out, David was easy to track down; Cooper and Max stumbled upon him as soon as they walked out the front door of the Manse. David sat at the edge of the drive’s circular fountain, dragging his hand through the gurgling water and gazing out at a sky of fading yellows and oranges that signaled the end of the day. He accepted Cooper’s command without comment and tucked the sweatshirt Max had brought for him under his arm as Cooper pulled a long black sedan round to the fountain.
Once inside the car, there was little talking as Cooper deflected Max’s questions and David sat quietly gazing out the window. The sedan wound past clipped lawns and tended gardens until it reached the darkening woods, easing under a newly constructed archway that tunneled through the massive walls of swirling granite that David had drawn from the earth. Great gates of iron swung outward, and the car was bathed in the sudden glare of powerful spotlights. Cooper accelerated, leaving Rowan far behind as they joined the broader road and sped up the rocky coast.
Since Cooper refused to answer any questions, Max had resolved to sleep throughout the ride. He was still half dozing when he felt the car ease to a stop. The engine was shut off, and Max heard Cooper exit the car, his footsteps crunching on gravel. Max’s door opened and he was unceremoniously plucked from the warm leather seat, his feet set down on the gravel, where he yawned and blinked at a stand of sparse-needled pines. A moment later, Cooper set David down beside him.
“Where are we?” asked Max.
Cooper ignored his question and glanced at his watch.
“No time for questions,” he said. “The instructions are simple. You two are to follow that path down to the beach. Once there, you’ll wait and offer your assistance to anyone who happens by. You are not to use Mystics or light any sort of fire. Understood?”
“Yeah, but—” began Max, but Cooper was already climbing back into the car. The engine hummed to life and he reversed up a long, twisting drive of patchy gravel.
Max and David were left alone, gazing at a worn, sandy path that wound past a long-abandoned cottage whose roof was warped and sagging. The cottage’s windows were broken and dark; weeds grew in tall clumps about it.
“I guess we go down to the beach,” said Max, passing the cottage on his right.
David followed, giving the cottage a generous berth as the two hurried down a crude staircase of sun-bleached boards half submerged beneath pebbly sand. Max’s hair whipped about as he stepped over a low dune and down to a broad expanse of beach.
The waves retreated to leave a gleaming swath of sand beneath a dead white moon. The two boys walked closer to the water, hugging their sweatshirts around them. They leaned against a great black rock crusted over with barnacles and absorbed the sounds and sights of the wind and sea. Nothing, not even a gull or insect, seemed to inhabit the stretch of beach. After almost an hour of silent vigil, Max grew impatient.
“Want to have a look around?” he asked David, pushing away from the rock.
His roommate shook his head, clutching his sweatshirt with his eyes riveted on the distant cottage, now silhouetted against the moonlit clouds. David’s teeth chattered from the cold.
“You sure?” asked Max. “Walking will keep you warm.”
“I’m okay,” muttered David, blowing on his hands. “Why don’t you just stay here?”
David nodded and scrunched into a warmth-seeking ball once again. Max ducked around the rock and walked farther up the beach, scanning about and stopping periodically to watch the tide fill in his footprints. Plucking up a sharp rock, he skimmed it far out over the waves. He was still watching the glassy swells when a high-pitched cry sent a shiver down Max’s spine.
The cry had come from David.
Max turned and ran up the beach, spraying sand in his wake. He found his roommate sitting bolt upright against the rock, staring straight ahead. Turning, Max saw light streaming from the cabin’s windows, giving it the appearance of a mad jack-o’-lantern on the hillside.
“When did the lights go on?” hissed Max.
David said nothing but pointed straight ahead, positively dumbstruck with terror.
Max forced his attention from the cottage to the gleaming stretch of beach before him.
Something was coming at them—a faint light bobbing across the sand.
Max’s breath turned to mist as cold crept up his toes and tunneled deep. A rising wave of fear almost made him gag. He heard David’s lunch splash on the sand. But as the light bobbed closer, Max saw that it was only a bonneted woman, clutching a basket and carrying a lantern before her.
“It’s just an old woman,” Max muttered.
“Look closer!” hissed David.
Max blinked and caught his breath. On closer inspection, he saw the woman was faintly translucent. Moon-dappled waves gleamed through her old-fashioned nightgown and robe as she came to a stop some twenty feet from them.
The ghost shone her lantern at them with calm curiosity.
“Say something,” hissed David, kicking lamely at Max’s foot.
“Er . . . hello, ma’am,” ventured Max, giving a hesitant wave and remembering Cooper’s instructions. “Can we help you with anything?”
“Hmmm,” said the ghost, her voice crackling with age. “Maybe you can. I’m trying to find my husband, you see. Silly me can’t sleep till he’s all home in his bed. Would you help me look for him?”
“Of course,” said Max politely. He reached down to pull David up, but the small boy made a gurgling noise and waved Max away. “C’mon,” whispered Max, tugging at David’s sleeve. “It’s not so bad, is it?”
David peeped once again at the waiting ghost and scowled at Max before clambering to his feet. The ghost thanked them kindly and adjusted the basket on her arm before continuing along the beach with the boys in her shimmering wake. David was silent and stopped periodically to spit up, but Max was determined to conquer his fear.
“Er, what’s your husband look like?” he asked as the ghost walked several feet ahead of them.
“Oh, he’s about your height,” she replied distractedly, “and he’ll be wearing the blue coat I made him last winter.”
The ghost stopped to inspect a dark shape at the water’s edge, but it turned out only to be an old oar and a shaggy clump of seaweed. She sighed and veered away from the water to search the hollows of some low dunes sprinkled with tall grass. After another ten minutes of fruitless searching, Max felt his nausea subside, only to be replaced by impatience as the ghost plodded on in a meandering path.
“Should we call out his name?” suggested Max.
The ghost stopped and flashed the lantern on his face.
“Why in good heavens would we do that?” she whispered, irritation flashing on her pale features. David nearly fainted.
“No reason,” said Max, putting up his hands defensively. “I just thought, you know, if we called out his name, he might hear us and—”
“Well, of course he’d hear us!” hissed the woman. “Think I want to wake him, do you?”
“What do you mean, wake him?” Max was confused. “Is he nearby?” he asked, ignoring David’s furious gestures to be quiet.
“Oh, I know he is,” muttered the woman.
The ghost began to laugh, and David withdrew behind Max. As she laughed, her girlish giggling gradually dropped in pitch until it became a hoarse titter. The lantern’s light shook on the boys’ faces while the ghost fumbled about in her basket. Reaching inside, the ghost took hold of something that seemed rather heavy. She thrust it forward at them.
It was a man’s head, its pale features clenched in silent shock.
Max shrieked. David leapt straight into the air, covering his eyes and flailing his limbs about in a sort of muscular spasm before collapsing on the sand.
“Where’s the rest of you, love?” asked the ghost, now addressing the grisly thing. She succumbed to another fit of laughter and flicked playfully at its nose. “C’mon and give your Mary a hint!”
The head’s eyes suddenly blinked and swiveled to look at her.
“Think I’ll ever let you rest, you miserable woman?” it shrieked. “Ha! Keep searching, you murdering trollop . . . .”
A spectral squabble erupted. Max took the opportunity to pull his petrified roommate to his feet. Once set in motion, David took off like a rocket. Max had never seen his friend run so fast, his little legs churning up the sand as he raced screaming back up the beach. The two left the bickering ghosts far behind and dashed past the eerie cottage.
The car had returned and was waiting on the weedy drive. The boys made a beeline toward it, flinging open the back door and diving inside. The engine roared to life as Cooper glanced back at them with a look of private amusement.
3
AUNTIE MUM
Hours later, Max yawned between bites of cereal, hunching over a table in the Manse’s vaulted dining hall while morning sun peeped through the stained-glass windows. The breakfast crowd was thinning, with First Years off to bond with their charges, mystic creatures that had been entrusted to them. The older students milled about in little clusters, comparing course schedules and marveling over the campus’s summer transformation. Across the table, Cynthia failed to shoo Connor away as the Irish boy poked methodically at David’s meager arm.
“He’s sleeping!” hissed Cynthia, resorting to a pinch.
“I can see he’s sleeping,” replied Connor, undeterred. “But he’s about to plop into his oatmeal.”
Max slid David’s bowl of oatmeal safely out of harm’s way while his roommate continued snoring, his mouth agape.
“Reckon you’ll be sleeping all day, too,” moped Connor, glancing at Max as Lucia and Sarah sat down to join them.
“Nope,” said Max, finishing his oatmeal and stealing a bite of David’s. “I’m scheduled to do a Course scenario with a couple of Agents.”
Connor nearly dropped his spoon at the mention of Rowan’s high-tech and rigorous training simulator.
“You’re doing scenarios with Agents?” he asked. “Real Agents? That’s the coolest thing I’ve ever heard! What level?”
“Six, I think,” said Max, wiping his mouth.
“Our boy is doing Level Six scenarios with Agents, my dear!” said Connor, wiping away a fake tear and taking the opportunity to squeeze Lucia, who scowled and squirmed out of his grasp. While Connor turned and crowed to a nearby table of Fifth Years, Sarah narrowed her eyes and cleared her throat.
“What do they want from you?” she asked pointedly.
“What do you mean?” asked Max, feeling suddenly self-conscious under the combined stares of the three girls.
“Let’s start with Acclimation,” said Sarah, folding her arms in the same imposing manner as Miss Boon, their Mystics instructor. “What’s that all about?”
“Oh,” said Max. “We’re not really supposed to talk about it.”
“There!” she said, snapping her fingers and leaning forward. “That’s exactly what I mean! They’ve got you doing things—dangerous things!—and then they get you to keep quiet about them.”
“I don’t think Acclimation’s actually dangerous,” Max assured her. “Supposedly it works better if you don’t
know what to expect—that’s why I can’t talk about it. Everyone goes through it by the end of Sixth Year—”
“So why do they have you and David doing it now?” interrupted Cynthia. “We’re just Second Years, if they haven’t noticed.”
“I don’t know,” said Max, shrugging. “They think we’re ready for it, I guess.”
“Ready for what, exactly?” asked Sarah. “You’re thirteen, Max!”
“What does that have to do with it?” he snapped. “Why don’t you ask the Sixth Years who trained against me over the summer? I whipped all of them!”
Max found that he’d been speaking louder than he had intended. A number of Sixth Years glanced over from a table underneath the stained-glass windows. Among them was the last student Max had literally chased out of the Sanctuary. The older boy gave Max a sour stare.
“Max,” said Sarah in a pleading voice, “this is what I mean—they’re using you! They’re manipulating you—sharpening you like a weapon! Did your father know about Acclimation?”
“No,” said Max warily. “Not that I know of.”
“So, they’ve got you hunting down students, training with Agents, and keeping things from your friends and father. Does that sound okay to you?”
“Nobody’s using me, Sarah,” muttered Max, standing up from the table and stalking off toward the kitchens. Pushing through the swinging doors, he made a beeline for a nearby sink, splashing cold water on his face. From the next room, he heard the sounds of music and singing. His father’s enthusiastic crooning was unmistakable, as was Bob’s rumbling baritone, but the third voice was unfamiliar—a woman, whose deep and playful singing almost managed to rescue the jazzy number.
Peering into the next room, Max saw his father bent beneath an exhaust fan stirring a monster-sized pot of what smelled like tomato sauce while Bob slid meatballs off a cutting board to plop into the sauce with a gurgle. A third person—Max thought it must be Mum—capered between them, mincing some leaves of oregano as she sang along with Ella Fitzgerald, whose vibrant voice issued from an old radio.
Secondhand love I can’t see
It’s good for some but not for me