The Wizard Heir

“You'll have to wait until summer,” Harrison said regretfully. “Or winter recess, anyway.”

Seph took this news philosophically. N'exigez pas beaucoup et vous ne serez pas déçu. Don't expect much, and you won't be disappointed.

One thing he did expect was Internet access. “What's this deal about not being able to go online?”

“It's weird,” Harrison said. “They're up-to-date in a lot of other ways.”

“Let's go ask Dr. Leicester about it,” Seph suggested. This was greeted by a notable lack of enthusiasm. Which was surprising, because people always liked his ideas. He tried again. “We could get up a petition. Have a demonstration.”

Troy cleared his throat. “Um … I don't think that's such a good idea.”

“Don't you even care?” Seph demanded, exasperated. Being online was like having access to oxygen.

“You could ask Dr. Leicester about it,” James ventured, making it clear Seph was on his own. “But I wouldn't get your hopes up. I think the alumni go online, but that's it.”

“That's another thing,” Seph said. “The alumni. What's up with them? What are they doing out here in the middle of nowhere?” He looked around the table, but nobody met his eye. “I mean, aren't you curious?” There was some shrugging of shoulders and clearing of throats. But no real response.

“Okay. So you're not curious.” Seph pulled out his cell phone, wondering if the change in location would make any difference. It didn't. “My cell phone isn't getting a signal. Should I change providers?”

“I guess there's no transmission towers around here,” Trevor said. “Nobody's phone works. You'll have to use a land line.”

This was the most passive group of students he'd ever met. It was as if something had taken the rowdy right out of them.

“Is there a Catholic church near here?”

“There are no churches of any kind that you can get to,” James said. “You'll have to make it up to God in the summertime.”

“There's nothing?” Seph looked around the table. “I can't believe that.”

“They have an outdoor chapel here, though I can't tell you why, in this climate,” Trevor said. “There are ecumenical services once a week, either there or in the admin. building.”

Genevieve had been a devout Catholic, so Seph had attended Jesuit schools until she and the Fathers had disagreed on how to deal with his magical extravagances. The Jesuits had proposed an exorcism. Genevieve had declined.

Church had always been a sanctuary. The Latin Masses relaxed him. He liked the reassuring cadence of the old language, like ancient charms against the darkness, the perfumed smoke rising from the censers, the cavernous architecture within which his problems seemed small and manageable. He seemed to have an affinity for ritual.

No Masses. Well, he didn't expect to stay long.

“Which one of you is Joseph McCauley?”

Seph looked up, startled, realizing that the table conversation had died away. Two young men, perhaps college age, stood at the head of the table. One was tall and whippet thin, with hair and lashes so pale as to be almost transparent. The other was dark haired, broad shouldered, and bulked-up. The kind of guy who had creases in the back of his neck and needed two-a-day shaves.

“That's me,” Seph said, raising his hand and waggling his fingers. “What's up?”

“Dr. Leicester would like to see you in his office.”

Seph noticed that everyone else at the table was focused on the floor. Like in class, when you hadn't read the chapter and were afraid the teacher would call on you. “Oka-ay. And you are … ?”

“I'm Warren Barber,” the blond one said. “This is Bruce Hays.” As if that explained anything.

Seph glanced at his watch. Almost eight o'clock, and, despite his nap, he was bone tired. Best to get this meeting over with so he could go to bed. He pushed back his chair and smiled around the table.' “Hey. Good to meet you. Thanks for all the inside. Guess I'll see you later.”

They all studied him as if they were trying to fix his image in their minds, like they might forget what he looked like after he was gone.

“Good luck, Seph,” Trevor said softly.

“Welcome to the Havens,” Hays said as they climbed the stairs from the cafeteria level to the administrative offices on the third floor.

“Thanks. Ah—are you faculty members?” Seph asked, while trying to imagine what these two could possibly teach.

“Nah. We're alumni,” Barber replied. “We're the alpha wolves in this organization. Hate to tell you, but you've been dining with the sheep.”

“I … um …” Seph had no clue how to respond to this.

“Dude, you're going to like it here,” Hays said, clapping him on the back. “We promise.”

Dr. Leicester's office occupied the choice position at the front of the building, with the best view of the ocean. It was like no headmaster's office Seph had ever seen: sleekly modern, with a fax, computer, printer, and scanner. He saw none of the usual diplomas, awards, and other detritus of interschool competitions, save several large sailing trophies.

Seph looked longingly at the array of cutting-edge hardware, then leaned his hip against a table by the window. “So. What exactly do you do here?” he asked Hays and Barber. “Are you like, teaching assistants?”

Hays and Barber looked at each other. “I guess you could say we're more like, you know, research assistants,” Barber said, grinning.

Seph thought they looked more like, you know, thugs. If you saw Hays and Barber walking down the street, you'd cross to the other side.

Well, maybe good help was hard to find. “What's your research about?” Seph asked. “Do you have a grant, or what?”

“Dr. Leicester will tell you more about the—ah— research,” Hays said. “The thing to remember about us is that we rule on this campus. We answer only to Dr. Leicester.”

Well, if so, it's kind of a remote kingdom, Seph thought. I'd rather rule a few square blocks of Toronto than—

“Hello, Joseph.”

Seph swung around. Dr. Leicester stood in the doorway.

“Thank you for coming up. Have a seat.” Leicester pointed to one of two chairs drawn up to a table in the corner. Seph sat. Leicester took the other seat. “You've met Mr. Hays and Mr. Barber? Good.”

A file folder lay on the table. Leicester pulled it toward him and began leafing through the contents. “Joseph, I told you earlier today that here at the Havens we pride ourselves in tailoring the curriculum to the student. Based on your record and the difficulties you've been having, I suspect that you may require special attention.”

Seph peered at the pages between Leicester's hands, trying to read upside down. “I'm not sure what you mean. What difficulties?” Muddled by fatigue, his mind was not as nimble as usual. “I've been doing really well. If you look at my transcripts, you'll see that…”

“I'm talking about the episode down at the cove this afternoon.”

Admit nothing—that was his first rule. “I'm sorry I was late. I'll make sure it won't happen again.”

Leicester waved away his answer impatiently. “The ocean very nearly came to a boil. Most unusual, even in midsummer. In fact, it's never happened before.”

Appeal to logic—second rule. “What's that got to do with me?” Seph looked from Leicester to the two alumni and back again.

“We believe you were the cause—intentional or not.”

Delay the inevitable—third rule. “Look, I'm really tired, and none of this is making sense. Could we talk about this tomorrow?”

Leicester riffled through his papers. “You've changed schools four times in three years.”

“Sometimes it takes a while to find a good fit.”

“I understand there have been other incidents. Fires. Explosions. Flying sheep?” Leicester raised an eyebrow.

Seph was baffled. If Leicester knew his history, then why had he been admitted in the first place? He shoved back his chair and stood. “Flying sheep? Sorry. I don't know what you're talking about. I've really got to go.” He turned toward the door, but Hays and Barber blocked the way.

“Sit down, Joseph,” Leicester said calmly. “Please. Trust me, it's in your best interest to hear me out.”

Hays and Barber weren't moving. Seph returned to the table and sat.

“That's better.” Leicester sighed and thought a moment, as if unsure how to begin. Finally, he reached out and closed his hand on Seph's forearm. Seph flinched, expecting the crushing grip characteristic of men who make a religion of working out. What was surprising was not the strength, but the raw power that roared through. Seph sucked in his breath, struggling to keep a stunned, stupid look off his face and not sure he succeeded. After a moment, Leicester released his arm. The print of his hand remained.

Dr. Leicester was a wizard, too.

Leicester's voice trickled into his brain, exploding with a heat like Genevieve's brandy. “None of what's happened is your fault, Joseph. Wizards need training, and I expect you've had none. You are very powerful, from what I've seen. And power will find its … outlets.” He paused, then spoke aloud. “So. Am I right so far?”

Wordlessly, Seph nodded, still trying to grapple with this sudden twist of events.

Leicester patted him on the shoulder. “I know this must be a bit …jarring.” The wizard settled back in his chair. “Once, Mr. Hays and Mr. Barber were just like you—gifted but unschooled. Now they are well on their way to becoming masters.”

Hays and Barber smiled modestly.

If I were a master of magic I would work on my appearance, Seph thought.

“What about everyone else?” he began. “Are they all … ?” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">