“Havoc,” he yelled. “Come on! Get her! I mean, don’t hurt her. Only maim her a little!”
Havoc gave a howl, but Aaron — after giving Call a thoroughly disgusted look — grabbed for his collar. The Makar threw himself on the wolf while Call skidded out into the corridor just in time to see Tamara’s braids whipping around the end of the hall. He started after her, but he knew that with his leg, he could never catch up.
Fury bloomed inside his chest as he ran. Tamara was untrustworthy and terrible. He’d expected his friends to be angry, but not to betray him. Fiery darts of pain shot up his leg; he slipped and fell to his knees, and for a moment — just a moment — he thought of what exactly he would do if he could have two working legs, if he could leave the pain behind him. What would he do for that? Would he kill for it? Would he stop caring about his Evil Overlord list?
“Call?” There was a hand on his shoulder, and then on his arm, pulling him to his feet. Alex Strike, looking put-together as usual, his uniform pristine, seemed concerned. “What are you doing?”
“Tamara —” Call gasped.
“She went toward Rufus’s office,” said Alex, pointing at a set of iron-and-copper double doors. “Are you sure you should —”
But Call was already darting around him. He knew exactly where Rufus’s office was. He pounded down the last corridor and threw open the door.
Tamara was standing in the center of the room, on the middle of a circular rug. Rufus was leaning against his desk, backlit by the glow of lamps behind him. He looked very grave.
Call skidded to a halt. He looked back and forth between Tamara and Rufus.
“You can’t,” he said to Tamara. “You can’t tell him.”
Tamara straightened her shoulders. “I have to, Call.”
“You promised,” Call said raggedly. He’d half thought that Aaron might have followed him, but Aaron hadn’t, and he felt suddenly and horribly alone, facing both Tamara and Rufus as if they were enemies. He felt a flash of rage toward Tamara. He’d never wanted to be angry at her, or hide things from Rufus. He’d never wanted to be in this position. And he’d never wanted to think he couldn’t trust Tamara.
“It seems that something serious is happening here,” said Rufus.
“Nothing,” Call said. “Nothing’s wrong.”
Rufus looked back and forth, from Call to Tamara. Call knew which one of them would be trusted. He even knew which one of them should be trusted.
“Fine,” said Tamara. “I’ll just say it. Alastair Hunt is the one who tried to steal the Alkahest, and if we don’t stop him, he’ll try again.”
Master Rufus raised his thin eyebrows. “How do you know that?”
“Because,” Tamara said, even as Call fixed her with eyes like daggers, “Call said so.”
THE MAGES SENT Tamara back to her room. She went without looking at Call, her head down, her shoulders hunched. He didn’t say anything to her. He had to stay behind and answer endless questions about what he’d seen and hadn’t seen, about how Alastair had been behaving and whether he’d ever spoken about Constantine Madden. Call was asked whether he knew that his father and Constantine had once been friends, and especially about whether Alastair had ever spoken about Call’s mother, Sarah, in a way that suggested he wanted to bring her back from the dead.
“Is that possible?” Call asked. But nobody would give him a straight answer.
Call could tell that while Aaron — and even maybe Tamara — might have believed Alastair wasn’t in league with the Enemy, all the Masters were sure he was a traitor. Or crazy. Or a crazy traitor.