“For pure entertainment’s sake,” Stockton smirked as if he had planned this, “Let’s begin with Mister Prior and Mister Zucker.”
Mike started when he heard his name. He was going to fight… Zachariah? A single thought pulsed through his head.
Oh, baby.
Zachariah seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he headed onto the carpet with a swagger. He was dressed in his “I Crush Nerds” t-shirt from yesterday, hemp necklace and baggy khakis. Mike wasn’t sure if the guy wore the same thing every day because he liked it, or because he was too lazy to wash it. Either way, Mike wasn’t intimidated, least of all because his name wasn’t Julius Brutus.
Mike felt his adrenaline pumping. He knew he should feel bad for wanting to cream Zachariah, but he just couldn’t help it, the guy was such an a-hole…
Stockton set up the torch, water bottle, and electricity conductor and motioned for the two to come together and knock fists.
Zachariah stepped forward but didn’t offer his fists at all. “After this is done, Prior, you’re gonna regret attacking a defenseless girl.”
“But I haven’t even touched you yet,” Mike said, grinning.
“Fifteen paces,” Stockton said sharply. “Both of you.”
Zachariah glowered as he backed up the necessary space. Mike winked at him, which incensed Zachariah even further.
Stockton raised an arm in the air, then released it like a green racing flag.
“Begin!”
Mike created a shield at once, just in case Zachariah would attack first. Sure enough, Zachariah immediately let go a volley of flames. Mike blocked it easily. He countered with a thrust of telekinesis, which Zachariah caught with his shield. The attack made Zachariah stagger back a few steps. Mike fired again, casually, arrogantly, and Zachariah fell back even further.
What was it that Stockton had said? I want my students to get hurt…
Mike felt an adrenaline increase, and a startling jolt of clarity.
Happy to oblige, Magus.
Zachariah fired again, but his shot went wide. Mike inched closer and poured it on, directing more wind and force at Zachariah. Mike advanced like a master who knew he couldn’t be touched, holding his shield carelessly at his side, bringing it up only when Zachariah got an attack off. But that was a rare occurrence – Zachariah was stumbling backwards, with both hands on his shield to try and prevent himself from falling too far off the carpet.
Mike fired telekinesis again, and again… it was amazing, to make Zachariah cower like that… Mike varied his attacks for effect, trying to scare Zachariah as much as he could… he was deaf to the world now, not caring what the other kids in the class were screaming or saying… he shot fire, electricity, telekinesis—
Then Mike felt something different. Like a ball of power forming in his chest. It was startling at first, but then it warmed him, strengthened him…
And made him feel entirely drunk with power.
Mike diffused his shield – they had covered that yesterday – and fired with two hands now, with more intensity. He had no idea how he knew to do this, only that it felt incredible. The look on Zachariah’s face was priceless, cringing behind his shield as if he was terrif—
All of a sudden, a noise like an air raid siren pierced the air. Mike stopped his attack and grabbed his ears. He felt the ball of power in his gut dissipate.
Zachariah pounced, firing flames and running down the carpet. Mike reformed his shield up just in time, but Zachariah was almost on top of him…
“Stop, everybody stop!” Stockton screamed over the roar of the alarm.
Zachariah ignored the command. He reared back with a fist, Mike raised his arms to protect his face—
But no attack came.
Zachariah had stopped in his tracks, as if he had been frozen in place. He was mid-jump, mouth open, hand curled into a fist and ready to strike. But he didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. He was a wax statue, hanging in midair.
Mike looked from Zachariah to the Magus. Stockton’s arm was outstretched in Zachariah’s direction. His brow was knotted, his expression furious.
“Everybody out, back to the dorms!” Stockton yelled at the students. “Leave your belongings!”
Stockton flicked his wrist casually, as if he was a king disinterested in his servant’s company. Zachariah’s body jerked backwards and slid all the way to the wall.
Funny, that’s how Annabella looked when I nailed her yesterday.
“Let’s go, move, move!” Stockton shouted again.
Mike didn’t need to be told again. Images of the ambush in the forest zoomed through Mike’s mind. He bolted up the three flights of stairs and into the Greeting Hall with the rest of his classmates. The alarm, increasing in volume, drowned out panicked voices and stampeding feet.
What was going on? It sounded like the building was under attack, but Mike didn’t see anything—
Suddenly, one of the wooden doors crashed in. A girl screamed, and the line of students broke for a moment to allow Mike a view of what had happened.
A body had crashed through, skidding across the polished floor and painting a streak of red behind it. She lay face-up on the floor, mouth open, body inert, legs twisted in an unnatural manner.
The woman wore a bright pink dress.
Which was now smeared with red paint.
Mike stared, unable to look away. Mrs. Jorisch… was she…
Somebody yelled from behind, “Keep moving!” and Mike broke out of his daze. He ran, fueled by a new energy of fear. After what felt like forever, he finally reached the white comfort of the dorm hallways. Mike threw the door to Room 303 and jumped onto his bed.
He swore, repeatedly, colorfully, varying his word usage, as if the more curses he used, the better he would feel. That was his teacher… sprawled out like she was… he cursed again, then threw his pillow against the wall for good measure.
Mike peered out the window, trying to see something, anything. What was going on? Was the mansion under attack? By whom? Why would they strike in broad daylight? After a minute, Mike realized the obvious answer – any genius assaulting a stronghold protected by gargoyles would attack during the day, when the gargoyles were not a factor.
Garzan’s words echoed in Mike’s brain like a gong from a Japanese game show.
War is coming to Windham, sooner than you might think.
Dude sure wasn’t kidding around.
Mike peered out the window in the bathroom. Several figures were retreating across the lawn, firing some sort of black goop behind them. They were dressed in black, but it was impossible to tell if they were the same uniforms as the assassins who’d attacked him. One of the shots caught the trunk of a large oak. Mike felt his stomach churn as he watched the weapon devour the bark like it was a swarm of wood-eating gnats. The tree fell in a matter of seconds.
Then the attackers were gone, and everything was still.
Chapter Fifteen
The alarm shut off a few moments later. Which would’ve been a relief, except for one thing.
There was no sign of Julius Brutus.
Mike paced around his room. Julius Brutus had been in Sparring class, Mike was sure of it…
He noticed the wall clock.
Five thirty.
It had been almost an hour already.
He was about to go look for him when he heard a voice ring out from above, like he’d heard the first day of school.
“Please stay in your rooms until further notice. The dormitories have special charms and wards; it is safest for you there. Dinner will be brought to you in half an hour.”
Great, just great. Now he couldn’t go looking for Julius Brutus even if he wanted to. Even worse, without a cell phone or a computer, he couldn’t even tell anyone that the kid was missing.
Three hours later, Mike found himself at wits end, mostly because he had absolutely nothing to do. He’d gone down to chill with Aaron, but he’d excused himself when Aaron’s roommate Toad had
started talking about his girlfriend. That made Mike more than a little sick, so he’d come back to the room, hoping to find Julius Brutus, but to no avail.
He was about to jump in the shower when the alarm went off again. It was after sunset now, the orange daylight turning to navy blue on the horizon, and it seemed like more fighters were approaching the mansion than last time. Mike counted forty, maybe fifty. They were spread out in flanks across the grass, bunched into companies of ten or so, approaching without any impedance whatsoever.
Where are the Guardians? Mike thought. Shouldn’t they be out there, making sure they don’t approach—
Then it hit him.
The Guardians didn’t fight at night.
The gargoyles did.
Craning his neck to look upward, Mike noticed the creatures, just sitting there on the roof. He couldn’t see directly up, but overstepping the roof ledge was the shadowy likeness of wings and talons… moving, ever so slightly. Living. Just perched there, watching, waiting for something—
Screams cut off Mike’s train of thought. Most of the black army had stopped moving; some of them were shaking as if caught in some sort of invisible booby trap. It had caught only a few of them, but the ward had done enough to frighten the others and halt their advance.
Suddenly, the gargoyles swooped off of the deck in full force. Mike counted fifteen, maybe twenty… they were huge, and they were fast.
The gargoyle mass descended upon their enemies like vultures at a coliseum. One gargoyle grabbed some electrocuted guy and climbed back into the air. The creature drew his sword and ran the guy through, then dropped him thirty feet below for good measure. Mike was shocked at the gargoyles’ raw speed – the guy wouldn’t have had a moment to react even if he had control of his limbs.
Another Gargoyle swept up behind an unmoving target and beheaded him. A third picked up a fighter and tossed him up into the air for another gargoyle, who thrust his sword through him, as if it were a sport. Yet another pinned a fighter to the ground and promptly bit into him, scratching and clawing at his body.
If he was up close, Mike might’ve lost his appetite. Instead, he was captivated. These creatures were the most incredible warriors he had ever seen. They were huge, lightning quick, and they could fly…
The enemy began to retreat. The gargoyles, not content to let their prey leave unscathed, killed as many as they could before returning to their perch atop the mansion, presumably to scout for more trouble. Mike waited to see if there would be another attack, but the alarm shut off soon after.
Two thoughts raced through Mike’s head. The first, something like how many shades of awesome was that! was the less important of the two.
Where was Julius Brutus? Had he gotten lost on the way back to the rooms? Maybe he’d been hurt in the stampede of kids? Did he take a detour or something? Mike didn’t really know the kid all that well, but he struck him as someone who could get very freaked out by this kind of thing, and maybe get himself into some serious trouble.
Mike bounced off his bed. He had to tell someone. It was only right. He couldn’t just forget about it if the kid was in danger.
He grabbed a flashlight from Julius Brutus’s closet and bolted out the door.
Chapter Sixteen
Mike crept along the hallways of the mansion, mind alert. The lights were off, for some reason, which gave the corridors an eerie feeling. Moonlight crept through the windows, and the paintings of vampires and gargoyles on the walls watched him with silent eyes. Mike avoided looking at them, as if that would cause the depicted creatures to jump out at him. He swallowed, trying to remove the lump in his throat.
Why wasn’t there anybody around?
Mike cleared off the first floor and ascended the dark marble steps two at a time. He had tried Stockton’s office already, but the lights had been off inside, so he decided to start at the bottom and work his way up. The flashlight’s beam pushed aside the darkness, illuminating the green and gold wallpaper. He started wondering where he would look if he didn’t find anyone in the hallways. Who knew how many rooms this place had—
Voices filled Mike’s ears, coming from the end of the hallway. The sound was muffled, like the conversation was taking place behind closed doors. Mike made his way past two ivory goddess statues and approached the source of the noise with the utmost caution.
“All my brothers are accounted for, Headmage.” It was a gargoyle’s voice, deep and throaty. “What of the Guardians?”
Mike approached the wooden door and shone the light on the nameplate. It said “James Robert Garzan, Headmagus” in scripted bold letters. So this is Garzan’s office. Mike made of mental note of its location, just in case he would ever need to run here again.
“Aside from Mrs. Jorisch,” Garzan’s voice said softly, “We are all accounted for.”
The words hit Mike like one of Sensei Jon’s karate kicks. Aside for Mrs. Jorisch…
“I am grieving, Headmage. My brothers have already prepared the burial rite.”
No, Mike thought in horror. It couldn’t be…
“Why would they attack at night?”
“I do not know, Jakkus.”
Jakkus growled. “Pure lunacy. Suicide. The Brethren know this. We are not new creatures to them. What could cause them to forfeit their lives in such a manner?”
“We are in agreement, Jakkus. It is most puzzling.”
Mike still couldn’t get over what he’d just heard. Mrs. Jorisch was dead…
“And what news from the Slayers?”
Mike’s ears perked up. Slayers? Garzan had mentioned something about Slayers in their car ride back, but he’d conspicuously failed to explain their meaning. The only reason Mike hadn’t prodded him at the time was because he’d felt so friggin’ miserable. Weren’t the Brethren the Guardians’ enemy? What in the world were Slayers?
Garzan sighed. “They believe we set up Kimmy’s murder as an excuse to renege on the treaty.”
And… more stuff I don’t understand, Mike thought. Someone else had been killed, before Mrs. Jorisch? A girl named Kimmy?
Jakkus roared, and something smashed against a wall. “Of all the ludicrous things to say!”
“Indeed,” Garzan said, his voice still quiet. Apparently whatever Jakkus had broken hadn’t been that valuable. “That we would kill one of our own as predisposition for war—”
“A needless fight! We have common enemies, do they not realize this?”
Then the room went silent. A shiver ran through Mike’s body. Did they know he was outside? Jakkus could do some crazy things; this would hardly be his best trick. And the Headmage… he wasn’t exactly a slouch when it came to magical prowess, either…
Mike shook it off. Even if they did know he was outside, he was doing nothing wrong. He raised his fist to knock on the door.
“Could the attack have been about the boy?”
Mike’s heart skipped a beat. Were they talking about him?
“I am unsure, Jakkus.”
Jakkus snarled. “His blood runs afoul. His lineage is tainted.”
Well, that answered that question.
And it also answered how Jakkus felt about him. Which was curious, because it was Jakkus who’d said, it is your life to live when Mike had been trying to run away.
“His lineage,” Garzan said, “But not his soul.”
Jakkus grunted. “I dislike his being here, Magus. Given a choice, I would have him leave us.”
“I understand, my friend, but he has a good heart. Give him a chance.”
Jakkus made another noise that sounded like a snarl. “My brothers and sisters are dead because of him.”
“Not because of him, Jakkus. Because of Rafael—”
All of a sudden, Mike heard breathing in the dark. Intense, heavy breathing. Like a dog, only much larger.
And it was coming from behind him…
Mike’s blood froze. He heard a growl; a guttural, inhumane sound. He could not bring himself to turn around, e
ven though his mind was screaming for him to run. He smelled the creature’s sweat, heard it take a step closer—
Then he forced himself to wheel around. A scream caught in his throat, and no sound came out.
He was staring at the face of a gargoyle. It was down on all fours, wings unleashed, eyes blood-red with no pupils, muscular jaw open, saliva dripping down two enormous fangs… and all not more than two feet away…
“Well, well,” said a voice from behind the beast. Stockton appeared, his lips taut with satisfaction. “A bit of eavesdropping, Mister Prior? Maybe I shouldn’t have reinstated you, after all.” Stockton’s mouth curled into a sneer. “Let’s see what the Headmage has to say about this.”
Before Mike could protest, Stockton raised an arm.
Mike was flung into the Headmage’s door, which opened on impact. He tumbled onto soft carpet, which burned his shins through his pajama pants.
He saw the Headmage jump up from behind his desk. Jakkus drew his sword in innate fashion. Garzan looked from Mike to Stockton and back again, his ice-blue eyes sweeping a piercing gaze. “Explain yourself, Mister Prior,” he said in a quiet, harsh tone.
Mike scrambled to his feet, his attention locked on Jakkus’s broadsword. Oh, this is not good…
“Well, uh, you see…” He’d been so confident only a second ago… but now his nerves wreaked havoc on his brain cells, and his throat constricted. Maybe something to do with staring a gargoyle in the face, looking like he wanted to slice his head off…
Stockton said, “Perhaps the spy we have been looking for, Headmage.”
The spy? Mike thought. Oh, no… this had all gone terribly wrong…
Garzan looked Mike up and down. “I hope you have an explanation for this, Mister Prior. If you do, speak it now, for gargoyles are known to have much less patience than humans.” As if to reinforce that idea, the crouched gargoyle got up on his hind legs and drew his sword as well. He wasn’t as tall as Jakkus, but compared to Mike, he was enormous.
The Guardian Lineage Page 9
