The Guardian Lineage (4 page)

Then the blood in his body stopped moving.

Onto the stage walked the most terrifying creature Mike had ever seen.

It was huge, at least twice Garzan's size, and walked on its hind legs like a velociraptor. It had smooth grey skin, rippled by muscles up and down its legs and arms, and a long dinosaur tail. It wore a vest, similar to Garzan's, and a custom-made pair of shorts that cut off in the middle of the thigh. The creature had piercing black eyes, gorilla-sized nostrils, and two vampiric fangs on either side of its mouth. A cape was clasped around its collarbone—wait, no, those were its
wings
, tied by some sort of skin on the tip. A necklace, similar to the one Garzan wore, hung around his neck.

The gargoyle stepped back and unleashed its wings, causing the crowd to cry out. They were enormous, stretching almost the full length of the stage.

“The gargoyles are real,” Mike whispered.
The gargoyles were freaking real…

Beside him, he heard Aaron chuckle.

“Welcome to Windham,” the gargoyle said, its voice deep, as if it had emerged from a waterwell.

Gasps and cries rang out from amongst the girls. One girl screeched, “He talks!” Mike didn't say anything, but that was probably because his voice was buried down in his stomach with the hot dogs. But he knew he was thinking the same thing as that girl.

This was not supposed to happen in real life.

“Yes, the gargoyle talks,” Garzan said amidst the ruckus. “Flesh by night, stone by day. No doubt you noticed the statues on your way in.”

Garzan put a hand up, and the commotion started to die down. He motioned to the creature towering over him. “This is Jakkus. He is the leader of the Gargoyle clan that we protect here at Windham. While they roam at night, guarding us, we sleep comfortably, knowing that evil will have a hard time making its way into these walls. As they sleep during the day, we watch the premises. We provide for their safety, and they provide for ours.”

Garzan snapped his fingers. Mike looked in astonishment as parchment and pen appeared on the tables, one per place setting.

“At this time, we require each student to choose a major. Each department has its own strengths and weaknesses, so choose wisely. Choose something that speaks to your heart.”

There were six different possibilities written on the papyrus, each more exciting than the next:

 

Telekinesis
 
|  
Cryokinesis
 
|  
Pyrokinesis

Tele101  |  Cryo101  |  Pyro101

Object Control  |  Glacial Control  |  Fire Control

Multiplicity  |  Temp. Maintenance  |  Flame Defense

Shields  |  Ice Preservation  |  Extinguishing

Sparring  |  Sparring  |  Sparring

 

Electrokinesis
 
|  
Magical Medicine
 
|  
Espionage and Deception

Electro101   |  Elemental Magic  |  Stealth

Electricity Control  |  Healing Salves  |  Breaking and Entering

Magnetics  |  Life Sustenance  |  Anti-terrorism

Electric Fields  |  Short-range Attacks   |  Booby Traps

Sparring  |  Minor Wounds  |  Magical Detection

 

In addition to your magical training, each student will be required to take normal high school classes that are consistent with your grade level. Any failure to attend these classes on a regular basis will result in suspension and/or expulsion.

 

And all of a sudden, Mike forgot about the gargoyle.

The magic thing is real, too…

“What looks good to you?” Aaron said as he held up his parchment. He had already circled Electrokinesis. “I
always
wanted to do the Zeus thing.”

In truth, Mike had no idea what to pick. He had never really thought of actually learning magic, and now that he was being offered it, he felt totally unprepared. Besides, he was almost waiting for people to jump out from behind the pillars and yell, “Surprise, you're on Impractical Jokers!” Or some other reality TV show.

“Come on, you gonna be a Pyro or a Cryo?” Aaron said. “Those are the warrior guilds. Unless you like controlling electricity, or throwing a guy off a cliff from thirty feet away. Then maybe you want Electro, or Telekinesis. The last two are for wimps who can't handle combat.”

A few of the teachers – Mike assumed the people dressed in leather were faculty – started coming around collecting papers. Students were now jabbering wildly about their choices, but the buzz in the room only served to add to Mike's indecisiveness.

He narrowed it down to Electro and Cryo. He didn't care which type of warrior he became, but he disliked fire – a house of theirs had burned down in Minneapolis – and he wanted to have at least one friend in his classes. Using that as the determining factor, Mike circled Electrokinesis just as one of the leather-clad teachers (that part was still hilarious, by the way – what was their day job, stunt-doubling for Batman movies?) grabbed it away from him. Aaron hollered his approval.

“Thank you all for your speedy decisions,” Garzan said from the stage. Jakkus had disappeared, although Mike hadn't remembered seeing him leave. Maybe he had just been engrossed in choosing a major. Which cracked him up. Most high school kids had to worry about passing Chem, making the football team, or who to ask out to the school dance. But here he was trying to figure out whether to be the Silver Surfer or the Human Torch. He shook his head. It was more than he was ready to believe. Although, he
had
just seen a real live gargoyle…

Garzan collected all the papers and stuffed them into a small machine, like a fax, over on the right of the stage. The machine made a loud screeching noise. Then it spit out another stack of parchment. Garzan grabbed those and handed them to his staff.

“We will now be passing out schedules, according to your majors. Please read them over carefully – room and class are written very clearly, so please be prompt. Classes start tomorrow. Best of luck.” With that announcement, Garzan strode off the stage in the direction he had come.

Mike noticed that Stockton was the staff member carrying the printed schedules down his aisle. When he finally arrived, he handed Mike his paper without making eye contact.

Still playing the twelve-year-old-girl's cold shoulder game, I see?

Mike shook his head, then skimmed his schedule. He frowned. The paper read:

 

Michael Thaddeus Prior

 

9-9:45   |  Tele101   |  Jorisch

9:50-10:35   |  Cryo101   |  Thaler

10:40-11:25  |  Pyro101  |  Punn

11:30-12:45  |  Electro101  |  Wright

12:45-1:45   |  Lunch

1:45-2:45   |  Human-Gargoyle History   |  Stockton

2:50-3:35   |  Homeroom / Break

3:40-4:25   |  Magical Detection   |  Greyskull

4:30-6:00  |  Sparring   |  Staff

6:00   |  Dinner

 

Aside from the fact that he had classes
all day
, Mike didn't have any of the promised Electro classes on his schedule, aside from Electro 101.

He got up from his chair and went over to Stockton, who was still handing out papers. “Uh, excuse me, Mr. Stockton? I think there's a mistake with my schedule.”

Stockton whipped around as if he had been waiting for Mike to interrupt him. “First of all, Mister Prior, it's
Magus
Stockton to you. Second, the Headmage felt that a
special
schedule would be most appropriate for
Sepulchra's
son.” Stockton bent down and lowered his voice to a menacing tone. “Between you and me, I'd never have let you set foot in this place. So sit down, shut up, and be thankful you're here.”

Mike felt like Stockton had cut his tongue out. He wanted to spit out a comeback, but his mind betrayed him, and he said nothing.

Stockton whisked away to finish distributing his schedules. Once he was gone, Mike's shock turned to fury. What did Stockton have against him, anyway? Just because he got ambushed on his way home and Stockton had to bail him out… no, it couldn't be that, the guy couldn't be that shallow… why shouldn't he have been allowed in the school? What could he have
possibly
have done an hour into his Windham career?

When he got back to the table, Mike realized he must've looked pissed off, because Aaron gave him a look that said,
what gives?

“I got totally messed over.” Mike handed over the schedule.

Aaron skimmed the sheet. “What's all this? All these intro courses – this wasn't one of the choices!”

“Yeah, I know,” Mike said. “I'm not sure if I'm upset or not.” He glared at Stockton as the “Magus” completed handing out papers and strode out of the Hall.

Aaron said, “You don't have to take Chem, or Math!” He showed Mike his Electrokinetics schedule, which included those classes, plus English. “I
hate
Math.”

But Mike didn't hear him. He was too busy wondering what tiny detail he was missing here. What had his mom hidden from him? Why did he need a special schedule? Why didn't he know anything about this place?

And why did Magus Stockton want to rip his heart out and feed it to a gargoyle for breakfast?

***

Mike had expected to dorm with a stranger or two, but he was totally unprepared for his actual roommate.

The dorm room itself was pretty big, about the size of Mike's dining room back home. Two beds were set up, each surrounded by a tall closet on one side and a compact, freshly-polished wood desk on the other. A door lay open on the right, showing the way into a private bathroom, and the place smelled like cleaning spray. The beds were made, with two pillows and fresh linens spread out.

It was the nicest room he'd ever called his own, but it was the kid who blew his mind.

He was short and scrawny, wearing glasses that were bigger than his face. Several posters of Shakespearian plays had been slapped on the wall, and physical copies of those books littered his floor space. Two tremendous plaid suitcases were open on the bed, and the kid was pulling out all sorts of checkered clothing and arranging them in his closet.

Who am I rooming with, Hamlet?

Mike took one look at the mess, one look at the kid, and then decided to make the most of a bad situation.

“Mike Prior,” he said, extending his hand.

“Ahhh… choo!” The kid sneezed into his palm, then grasped Mike's hand before he could retract it. “Julius Brutus Alloway, nice to meet you, sir!”

Mike slid his fingers out and held them up like he was examining a bacteria slide.
Julius Brutus? Seriously?

He hurried away to wash his hands.
Well, as long as the kid didn't snore...

When he came back from the bathroom, Mike saw Julius Brutus flipping through several large books.

“Where did you get those?” Mike asked, peeling off his t-shirt to get ready for a shower. He could think of no better way to relax than a steaming-hot massage.

“They were in my closet. You have them too, sir, see for yourself.”

Sir?
Mike smothered a laugh, thinking he didn't want to offend the kid on the first day. He checked his closet, and sure enough, everything Mike needed for his classes were right there. Notebooks, pens, pencils. He even had the right textbooks for all his classes. Which was crazy – hadn't he only decided on his major a few minutes ago? Although,
decided
wasn't exactly the right word…

“Oh no, where's the internet jack?”

Julius Brutus bent down underneath his desk, shoving the chair away in desperate fashion.

Mike's thoughts came to a jarring halt. There was no internet? He fished out his phone, he had totally forgotten…

There was still no service.

“Please,
please
tell me there's wireless,” Julius Brutus half-wailed as he scrambled back to his bed. He picked out what appeared to be an expensive laptop amidst layers of clothing. He turned it on and waited, all while whimpering, “Please, please, please…”

Mike just stood there with his shirt off, trying as best as he could to stay composed. If there was no internet, and no phone service…

“Nooooooooooooo!” Julius Brutus slammed the laptop screen so hard Mike thought it might break. “Inexcusable! How am I going to keep up my wildlife blog?” Julius Brutus stomped towards the door, muttering something about going to see the Headmage.

Mike felt an inferno starting to build inside of him.

No cellphone service, no internet… and no way for him to get in touch with Laura.

Unless this place had a land line, or some internet in the library, his stay at Windham was going to be just another blip on the radar.

 

 

Mike didn't get into bed until after midnight because he wanted to unpack – he hated having a messy room – but even after the lights were out, his mind was totally agitated. He stared at the ceiling for over two hours, going over everything in his brain. What could he have done differently, after he'd been mugged? What had happened with the mutated cat? The tension between Stockton and Mike's mom… the way his mom acted so strange, the weird reaction Aaron had after learning Mike's name… and, of course, this whole miniscule thing about gargoyles and magic being real… what was going on here?

And when Mike finally drifted off to sleep, he ran into the worst nightmare of his life.

It wasn't one long dream, but alternating scenes of death and destruction that woke him every few minutes. First he was in a burning castle, with some woman holding a baby screaming so loud that Mike woke up in a cold sweat. Then he was at the gallows in medieval Europe, where someone he loved – he didn't know why he loved her, just that he did – was strung up despite Mike's pleas for mercy. The dream switched to more modern times, as a pack of gargoyles descended on a moving car and ripped it to shreds. When the victims were laid out, Mike saw his old friends from Queens.

But it was the last one that stayed with him long into the morning.

He was standing on a mountaintop, in a courtyard that had been totally decimated. Half-broken obsidian pillars lay scattered around the terrace. There was an acrid smell, like when a stray cat had died in their basement in Baltimore. A huge fire in the middle of the courtyard launched smoke that spiraled into the night sky.

Mike clamped his nose shut. It looked like the fire was fueled by bodies—Gargoyles. They were gargoyle bodies.

Panic gripped him. Somehow, he knew it was a nightmare, but he couldn't get out, as if someone was holding him down in the water, making him drown. He tried to force himself to wake, but it didn't work.

Then, a face appeared in the flames.

His mother's face.

“Michael,” she said, her features blurred by the heat. “There is a spy at Windham. Be wary. Of everyone you know.”

A hand reached out of the flames, streaking towards his face.

Mike screamed.

And he jerked out of bed.

***

To Mike's surprise, the classroom for Telekinesis 101 did not look like a seventh-century dungeon.

For some reason he'd expected some sort of gothic torture chamber with beakers with vinegar and vampire heads, but this place looked no different than his high school classroom at Queens. A standard teacher's desk was set up in front of a whiteboard, with five rows of desks and chairs arranged neatly behind. The walls were painted beige, and a draft blew in from ventilation shafts overhead, carrying the slight odor of magic marker.

Mike grabbed a seat in the front, the last dream still fresh in his mind.
Be wary. Of everyone you know.
He looked suspiciously at his new classmates for like two seconds before figuratively smacking himself upside the head.

There are no spies out to get you
.
You are an overtired, apprehensive, ADHD nutjob. Stop freaking out, and go try and make a friend or two. They're not going to stab you between the ribs on the first day of school.

Just then, a short, squat woman entered the room, wearing a bright pink dress and an enormous blue-pearled necklace. Two chopsticks pierced the bun in her hair. Her cherry heels clacked against the floor.

Mike suppressed a smile.

Apparently not everyone in Windham wore leather.

“Welcome, oh, welcome everybody!” The woman clapped her hands together and beamed as she scanned the class. “Such a beautiful group, yes, wonderful!”

Mike put a fist in his mouth to stop himself from laughing out loud.
How much coffee could she have drank to be this hyper at nine in the morning?

Professor Happy-Go-Lucky – or, according to the schedule, Mrs. Holly Jorisch – did a short roll call. As she read off each name, she gave each student a gleaming smile.

Except for Mike.

When she got to his name, she stumbled a bit, as if shocked by what she was reading. She lifted her 50's-style glasses to get a closer look at the sheet. When she seemed satisfied that the ink was not smudged in any way, she looked around the class tepidly and called in a squeakish voice, “Michael Prior?”

Oh, give me a break, you too? I know Stockton hates my guts, but I didn't know it was an institutional thing…

“Yeah, that's me.”

Mrs. Jorisch's gaze fell on Mike. She blinked a few times, then forced a wide smile. “Ahem, yes, well, welcome, Michael.”

She fumbled with the attendance sheet, and it fell to the floor. She bent down to pick it up, one hand on her hair as if to make sure it wouldn't fall out.

Mike raised his hand. “Mrs. Jorisch?”

Mrs. Jorisch stood up abruptly. “Yes, Michael?” She looked like Mike had just asked her to step outside into a dark alley.

“Just something that's been bothering me. Where are all the parents?”

“I'm… I'm sorry?”

“I've just been thinking,” Mike said, totally aware that everybody was staring at him. But he'd wondered about this during the night, and she was the first teacher he'd seen since. Besides, if she was going to be awkward about Mike being here, he could be awkward right back. “If we're all here protecting gargoyles, shouldn't there be, uh, older people too?”

“Oh!” Mrs. Jorisch's shoulders sagged, as if this was not the question she'd been expecting. “Well, you see, Guardian children usually attend school from ages sixteen to twenty, as per the Pact of Alliance. After age twenty, they are given the choice to continue on in service as one of the faculty—”Mrs. Jorisch inclined her head “—or return to normal life, without any Guardian responsibilities.” She gave a nervous smile. “Does that help?”

“Oh. Yeah, thanks.” Mike sat back into his chair, his mind still agitated.
Why would she be so nervous around me? It's not like I've broken any rules around here, have I?

“Lovely,” Mrs. Jorisch said. The relief on her face was evident as she returned to making her merry way through attendance. When she finished, Mrs. Jorisch slid the paper into a drawer and sat on the front of the teacher's desk, her stubby legs swinging jovially.

“Firstly, let's discuss the wondrous magic of Telekinesis, hmm? It is a fine art, a delicate way to use nature and its powers in a healthy, productive environment…”

Mrs. Jorisch continued with a flowery discourse for about twenty minutes. When she finished her speech, she moved behind her desk, and clapped her hands.

Mike jumped as three objects appeared on his desk out of nowhere – a feather, a beaker, and a brick. He looked around to see that every desk in the room had them, including Mrs. Jorisch's.

Okay, not used to that...

“Let's jump right into the fire, shall we? Well, actually, you can do that with Dr. Punn in Pyro.” Mrs. Jorisch giggled at her own apparent hilarity, which was good because the response from the rest of the room was less than deafening.

“But in a figurative sense, yes? We're going to practice our own Telekinetic powers right away.”

Mike straightened in his seat.

Now that's what I'm talking about
.

“The first rule of Telekinesis, in all magic, really, is that you cannot create the desired force from out of nowhere. We Guardians cannot create elements in space. Rather, we manipulate them, raising or lowering their strength as we wish. To illustrate.” Mrs. Jorisch placed the brick down on the desk and grabbed the feather. “If I want to push this feather from my desk onto Dana's” – Mrs. Jorisch motioned to the girl sitting in the front right corner – “I need a wind, or some sort of energy, to manipulate and push in her direction.”

Mrs. Jorsich thrust a hand forward like a chubby karate kid throwing an open-handed punch. “Energy is created when I push my arm forward. Whether it is the kinetic energy you use, or the tiny amount of wind that is produced, there is an element there for you to control.”

She lifted the feather in one hand, then released it. The feather swung back and forth, falling slowly to the ground. Mrs. Jorisch thrust out her other hand, and instantly the feather stopped. It hung in the air like it was suspended by invisible cables. Mrs. Jorisch twirled a finger. The feather proceeded to glide in Dana's direction, not wavering in the slightest, until it dropped harmlessly onto the desktop.

The class burst into clapping approval. Mrs. Jorisch curtsied like an embarrassed schoolgirl. “Thank you, really, it was nothing.” She picked up the beaker. “We'll start with the beaker, because it is more stable than the feather but lighter than the brick. This will show you how truly difficult it is at first. But don't worry, you will be flinging this around in no time.”

Mike pushed the feather and brick over to the left of his desk, so that the beaker was sitting square on his notebook.

“Now, I want you all to focus. Don't think about the beaker, we'll work on that later. Think about harnessing the energy that is around you and using it for what your mind desires. That is the key. Take a moment, yes, think about what you want to do, get a clear picture in your mind… you want to use the energy to lift the beaker off the surface…”

Mike imagined controlling the wind, the energy, using it to move the beaker as he wished… it was absurd at first, imagining he could control the elements… use the energy, harness it… what did that even mean…

“Now, when you're ready, create the energy and use it.”

Mike readied himself, backed up just a bit in his chair and held his hands in a karate stance. Just like he had done a million times, he thrust his arm forward like he was throwing an open punch—

And the beaker zoomed off the desk, directly at Mrs. Jorisch's head.

She ducked out of the way at the last minute. The beaker smashed against the whiteboard and shattered into a million pieces.

Mrs. Jorisch's eyes were wide, almost fearful, looking back and forth between Mike and the broken glass.

“I… I didn't mean to…” Mike stammered, shocked at what he'd done. “Really, I swear…”

As Mike looked around the room, he noticed everyone else's beaker hadn't moved an inch.

And that the room was deathly silent.

Mrs. Jorisch composed herself. “Yes, well, that was excellent, Michael… ahem, for a first try.” She motioned to the entire class. “Why don't we stick to the feather, hmm?”

And so it went for the rest of the morning. In each of Mike's classes, it was explained that Guardians could not create elements from scratch. In Cryo, there had to be some liquid in the area. In Pyro, some fire, and in Electro, any sort of electricity. Each time, the class was asked to attempt something miniscule, and each time, Mike's experiment blew up in his face. In Cryo, he froze a student's desk. In Pyro, he created a new Rorschach painting on the wall. In Electro, Mike blew the fuse in the entire left wing of the mansion.

So he was relieved when it was time for his first non-magic class of the day – History. Maybe he could go half an hour without blowing anything up.

Mike wandered towards the back of the classroom, totally shaken up by his newfound “abilities,” if you could call them that. On the one hand, it was incredible to be so powerful. What teenager wouldn't love to be able to explode a beaker from fifty feet away, or burn a hole in the wall just by thinking it? On the other hand, he was terrified of himself. This was all very new – scary new – and he was clearly not able to control himself. It was completely possible – no, even likely – that he would hurt somebody by accident, simply because he had no idea how to keep his power under wraps. He had never been the best kid in any class – definitely not karate class, Laura had proven that much – and now he was the most powerful kid in his grade…

Mike shook his head, to try and shatter the panic. As the therapists had encouraged him, when his mind started freaking out, he had to focus on more comforting things. For every day in the last two months, that had been one single thought.

Laura.

What was she doing now? Probably sleeping, Mike realized. She always liked to stay up late and sleep late. In a few hours, though, she'd head out for the dojo… and if she hadn't been calling him until then, she'd definitely notice when he wasn't there, and then she'd get worried…

Relax, you fool
.
You'll find the office during Homeroom, make a call from the landline there. You'll talk to her then, explain the situation…

And then hopefully she won't dump you.

Mike's stomach did a turn. He flipped over his notebook to check his schedule, to see who was teaching Hist—

Mike groaned out loud as His Royal Highness the Magus walked in right on time, cape-coat flowing behind him in majestic style.

Just when I thought the day couldn't get any worse
.

Stockton slammed a textbook down on the table, creating a
bang
that startled about half the county. “Open up to page two hundred and ninety three,” he said in a slow, menacing tone.

The stale air was filled with the sound of pages turning and students muttering to themselves. The kid sitting next to Mike muttered, “Heh, my book starts with page
one
,” a little too—

“That will be two hours' detention,” Stockton interjected without missing a beat. “With me, in my office, writing an essay about why you should mind your manners around someone who can fry your brain without so much as raising an index finger.”

The class instantly fell silent, like a rock band that's had their speakers unplugged. Mike scribbled a reminder to himself on the front of his notebook.

Do. Not. Speak in this class. EVER.

Stockton inhaled deeply, then turned his attention to the rest of the class. “Human-Gargoyle History, a subject no one wants to take and that everyone
must
know. What happened in the winter of the year 1682 in Wyvern, Scotland?”

No one so much as budged. Stockton scanned the class for a response, hands on hips. “Pathetic. You
must
know about your own history, your own lineage.” He broke into a mock scholarly tone. “By studying history, we are able to avoid the mistakes our ancestors made, blah blah blah—”

Stockton interrupted himself and raised a hand to the ceiling. A fluorescent bulb shattered, raining glass onto the floor. The electricity from inside the bulb shot down towards Stockton's palm. It shimmered there, floating above his skin, as if it was a planet hovering in orbit. Stockton danced the orb between his hands like a juggler, then
fired it
into the crowd.

Two kids jerked their heads away as the electricity collided with the wall in the back, creating an explosion and a small crater in the wall.

Mike gawked. The guy was
insane!
Certifiably and maniacally insane…

“
That
is why we must study our history,” Stockton said, pointing to the cratered wall and ignoring the open mouths of his students. “To know
who
we are,
what
our purpose is, and
why
we were put here in the first place. Without a greater purpose, we are all just marionettes, waiting for our strings to be pulled by somebody more powerful than ourselves.” Stockton motioned with his fingers. “But if we know what we're here for, we can live life to its fullest, with a sense of
purpose
.

“Now, someone scan page two-ninety-three and tell me what happened in the year 1682 in Wyvern, Scotland.”

A few moments passed, and some girl in the front raised her hand. “The betrayal of Rafael.”

“Points to the fastest reader,” Stockton said without recognizing the student. “In 1682, the course of Human-Gargoyle relations changed. Up until that point, the alliance between the clans had been steadfast. But then something happened, something that altered the history of our clan and its Gargoyle
protectsia
.” The last word rolled off Stockton's tongue.