The Wizard Heir (5 page)

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 … ?”

“Most are not. Most are only what you would call
wayward.” Leicester shrugged dismissively. “We recruit students
who've had difficulty elsewhere because often that includes persons like
yourself. The untrained gifted.” The headmaster toyed with an elaborate
ring he wore on the middle finger of his left hand. “How much do you know
about the guilds and the elements of power?”

“A little.”

“Tell me.”

Seph searched his memory. “Um. The gifted are
born with Weirstones, a crystalline source of power that sits behind the heart,”
he recited. “The power runs in families. The … ah … kind of Weirstone you
have determines the nature and extent of your power and which of the guilds you
belong to.”

When Seph paused, Leicester nodded, encouraging him to
go on.

“The magical guilds include sorcerers, seers,
warriors, enchanters and wizards. In the specialty guilds, the magic is more
elemental, more direct. Wizards are the most powerful, because they shape magic
with words.”

“And who told you all this?”

“My foster mother. She was a sorcerer.”

Genevieve claimed she'd promised his parents not to
involve him in the dangerous world of wizardry. So she'd left him with a
thousand questions and a power he couldn't control.

“And where is your foster mother?”

“She died three years ago.”

“Pity.” Leicester mustered up the familiar,
sympathetic look. “So you don't have any family.”

“Not really.”

“What is your House affiliation?”

The same question Alicia had asked. Maybe now he could
finally get some information. “I guess I don't know much about the
Houses.”

Leicester studied him with his ball-bearing eyes, as
if trying to decide if he was telling the truth. “As the ruling guild,
wizards have been required to develop systems for the allocation of power. Else
we would have had Armageddon on our hands.”

Seph sensed that Leicester had delivered this speech
many times before.

"There are two major Houses of wizards, the Red
Rose and the White. Wizard families align themselves with one or the other, and
many of those allegiances go back to the War of the Roses in fifteenth-century
Britain. Interactions between the Houses have been governed by a document
called the Rules of Engagement, the treaty that ended the war.

“For centuries, power has been allocated between
the Houses by a series of tournaments. Members of the Warrior Guild fight as
proxies for the Roses. The winning house rules the Weir—the magical
guilds—until the next tournament is held. It's a system that has worked
well.”

Seph leaned forward. His weariness seemed to have
disappeared. “Why haven't I heard of this?”

“Here in the States, many of the Weir don't know
they are gifted. Old connections have been broken. Some who came here made a
conscious decision to leave their Houses behind.” Leicester sighed.
“I suppose the underguilds saw it as an opportunity to escape from
service. But for wizards, the result is that young people like yourself have no
guidance or instruction. And that can be disastrous. Our purpose here at the
Havens is to remedy that.”

“So you're saying you can train me in
wizardry?”

Leicester smiled. “I am saying that, yes.”

“And I'll learn how to control magic, and how to
avoid…accidents.”

“Yes.”

After the warehouse, Seph had wanted to have nothing
to do with magic, ever again. But he had no choice. In his case, power had a
way of surfacing in uncontrollable ways. To be able to control magic, to use it
properly … that would be a miracle.

But he knew enough to question wizards bearing gifts.

“What's in it for you?” Seph asked.

Leicester stood and walked to the window. He gazed out
at the harbor, hands clasped behind his back. Then turned back to face Seph.

“These are troubled times for the Houses, a time
of great danger. Back in the summer, a tournament in Britain went wrong. The
Rules of Engagement were broken. A group of mostly servant-guild rebels has
taken sanctuary in Ohio. An anarchist who calls himself the Dragon is fomenting
rebellion and attacking wizards of both houses all over the world. Alliances
are shifting. If war breaks out between the Houses again, we are all at risk.”

He paused, as if expecting a reaction, but Seph said
nothing. He'd always found that he learned more if he kept quiet.

“To answer your question, I am still nominally
affiliated with the White Rose. But it is my hope that through our work here at
the Havens we can create a new path, a new order that ends the bloodshed and
eliminates the constant warfare between the Houses. Think of what we could
accomplish if we were not focused on murdering each other.”

That made sense.

“Are there students from other guilds here?”
Seph asked. “Like warriors and … and sorcerers?”

“They hardly need the kind of instruction I can
provide. After all, they are bred to a purpose.” Leicester's expression
was faintly disdainful. “No, we focus on wizards. Our graduates become the
most powerful users of magic in the world.”

“How long have you been doing this?”

“We graduated our first class five years
ago.”

“How do people find out about the Havens? I've
been looking for help for three years, and I've never heard of it.”

Leicester smiled thinly. “The nature of wizard
politics requires that we be discreet. You may have heard that we closely
control communications in and out of here. There is a reason.”

“But I don't understand why …”

“When you know more, you'll understand,”
Leicester said sharply. “We can't risk discovery by those who would
destroy our only real hope for peace. There are those who have a strong vested
interest in maintaining the status quo. For that reason, it's important that no
whisper of this reach the Roses.”

From what he knew of wizards, Seph wasn't surprised to
learn that Leicester had a political agenda. Genevieve had infused into him a
deep suspicion of wizard politics, which often seemed to involve bloodying the
underguilds. No doubt the headmaster would try to get him involved sooner or
later. But he'd deal with it, if he could get the help he needed. “How
does it work? Who does the teaching? How long does it take?”

“Shall we assume, then, that you are interested
in joining our magical collaborative?” Leicester's eyes glittered.

“Yes. Absolutely.” The precision of the
wizard's language was a warning, but he could not afford to say no.

“Good,” Leicester said. “I thought that
would be your answer.”

“When do we get started?” Seph persisted.

“Take a few days to settle in and get caught up
with your other classes. Then we'll talk again. We have techniques that
streamline the process.”

“Isn't there something I could be reading in the
meantime, some way to prepare?”

Leicester studied him a moment. “Perhaps. Do you
have a Weirbook?”

“I don't know what that is.” Alicia
Middleton had mentioned Weirbooks at the party.

“Each member of the Weirguilds has a Weirbook,
created at birth. Even those in the servant guilds. It summarizes the member's
magical lineage and family history. Wizard Weirbooks include charms and
incantations that have been handed down through families over the
centuries.” He paused, raising his eyebrows in inquiry.

“I don't have one,” Seph admitted.

“Actually, you do have one,” Dr. Leicester
said. “It's a matter of locating it. What is really key is what I told you
earlier: we require total commitment from our wizardry students. Are you
capable of that?”

“Yes, sir,” Seph replied. “You won't be
disappointed.” He'd lived precariously for years, like someone with a
terminal disease, never able to plan more than a few months ahead. Whatever the
consequences of this decision, he'd risk it.

“Good,” Leicester said. “Oh, and it
would be best for you not to discuss any of this with the Anaweir.” At
Seph's blank look, he added, “The ungifted students. It only causes
resentment, and we don't want them spreading rumors once they leave the Havens.
In fact, it would be best for you to keep your distance from them outside of
class.”

Seph thought of Trevor and Harris and Troy and the
others. “I don't understand. Why do we …”

Leicester waved his hand impatiently. “Oh, be
polite, of course. But you'll find you'll have little in common with them as
your training progresses. Once you are properly enrolled, we'll move you into
the Alumni House with the others.”

Seph remembered how Trevor and the others had
responded when he mentioned the alumni. “The wizard students live in the
Alumni House?”

Leicester nodded. “All of the alumni are
gifted.”

Seph glanced at Hays and Barber. “Are they … have
they all graduated? I mean … is there anyone else my age? Will I still be in
class with the others?” He felt connected to Trevor and the others now
that he'd met them.

“We'll get into that once your training is
underway.” The wizard stood, signaling that the interview was at an end.
“Now, you'd better get on to bed. You've had a long day.”

And Seph realized he had been dismissed.

A
Visit to the Alumni House

As promised, Seph's books and class schedule
were delivered to his door early Sunday morning. He found the locations of the
classroom buildings on the campus map, reviewed the syllabi, and started in on
his reading. He'd always been a good student, so he didn't think he'd have any
trouble catching up. He wanted to get as much work as possible out of the way
before his classes in wizardry began.

By late afternoon, however, he was having trouble
concentrating on eighteenth-century European history. He tried it with and
without headphones. He moved from his bed to his desk, hoping sitting upright
would enforce some discipline. But he found himself punching randomly at his
keyboard, wishing he could go online. He was used to spending hours every day
online with his friends, a stimulating blend of media, music, IMing, and homework.

He thought about Leicester and the alumni. Wondered
how long it would take to gain control over his gift, as Leicester called it.
How would the lessons work? Would Leicester tutor him one-on-one so he could
catch up with the others? Would they recite incantations in class? Practice
spell-casting on the soccer field? Would his not having a Weirbook be a
handicap? He'd always been popular among the Anaweir. Would he have trouble
making friends among the gifted?

Leicester had said that Seph had a Weirbook somewhere.
If so, he could find the answers to his questions between the covers.

Some of them, anyway.

Maybe he should try and get to know some of the alumni
right away. Organize a study group. Make some allies who could help him along.

Preferably someone other than Hays and Barber.

He finally gave up and set his textbook aside. Shoving
his feet into his shoes, he walked down the hall to Trevor's room. Trevor's
door was open, and Seph heard the throb of a heavy bass line halfway down the corridor.

Trevor was sprawled on the sheepskin rug in front of
his fireplace, two-finger typing into a notebook. Papers and books lay
scattered all around him. He looked up at Seph, blinking, as if surprised to
see him.

“Let's do something,” Seph said.

Trevor hit the mute button on his player and squinted
at Seph. “Such as … ?”

“Anything,” Seph said expansively.
“Let's go.”

“I don't know. I've got a lot of homework.”
Trevor hesitated, studying Seph warily. “By the way, you okay? How'd it go
with Leicester last night?”

“Fine. Great. We talked things out, and we're
okay.”

“You're kidding, right?”

Trevor looked so solemn that Seph had to smile.
“Yeah, I'm kidding. Sort of. You coming? It's going to be dinnertime
pretty soon, anyway.”

They walked out into the dusk. Seph breathed in the
complex, burnt-toast scent of the autumn woods.

Trevor became more animated once they'd left the dorm
and his homework behind. “Maybe we can get a racquetball court and play
before dinner,” he said.

Seph looked down at his jeans and sweatshirt.
“What about dressing for dinner?”

Trevor grinned. “It's Sunday. Weekend rules. Dr.
Leicester's usually not around.”

They were passing the Alumni House. “Hey, hang on
a sec. Let's take a look inside.”

“No, Seph, come on.” Trevor grabbed for his
arm, but Seph was already through the doorway.

The foyer opened into a common room with a large stone
fireplace at one end framed by bookshelves. Leather sofas crouched like
stranded bovines along the perimeter of a Persian rug. It was similar in style
to the other buildings Seph had seen, but more opulent, more expensively
decorated, aggressively masculine. No one was in there, but Seph could hear the
murmur of conversation and clatter of silverware from a nearby room.

Trevor gripped his arm hard. “We're not supposed
to be in here,” he whispered.

“I just want to look around a little,” Seph
whispered back. “Don't worry. It's cool.”

“I mean it,” Trevor persisted. “Let's
go.”

Seph scanned the directory next to the stairwell.
“Hey, there's a library on the second floor. Have you ever been up
there?”

“No. I said. We're not allowed.”

“I bet they have Internet access.”

“Seph. I'm leaving. Come on.” Trevor took
two steps toward the door.

“Be right back.” Seph took the steps by
twos, paused on the landing, and turned left along the gallery, passing rows of
unmarked doors. A door at the end of the hallway stood partly open. Peering in,
he saw rows of shelves loaded with dusty, leather-bound books. A flicker of
movement to the right startled him. He jerked back, flattening himself against
the corridor wall. Then he heard an explosion of voices from the first floor.

“What are you doing in here?” someone
demanded. The voice was familiar. Then something or someone was slammed hard
against the wall.

Seph leaned over the gallery railing. Bruce Hays had
Trevor shoved up against the wall. Seph heard a scraping of chairs, and then a
half dozen others poured in from the dining room, forming a jostling semicircle
around Bruce and his captive. Warren Barber was among them.

Trevor said something back, so faintly that Seph
couldn't make out the words. Whatever it was, it must have been unsatisfactory,
because Bruce did something and Trevor screamed.

“Hey!” Seph charged back along the gallery
and vaulted down the stairs. He shoved his way through the circle of wizards
and gripped Brace's arm. “Let him go!”

Bruce flinched, released Trevor, and swung around,
hands raised as if to fight. His eyes widened when he saw Seph. “What?
You're with him?”

Warren Barber turned on Trevor. “You know you're
not allowed in here,” he said in a soft voice. Barber extended a hand, and
Trevor pressed himself back against the wall, closing his eyes, sweat pebbling
his forehead despite the chill in the air.

“Ease up. It was my idea,” Seph said,
stepping between them. He smiled and shrugged, turning on the charm. “I
just wanted to look around.”

Warren wasn't impressed. “This one should know
better.” Warren's breath stank of beer, and he spoke with the deliberation
of the profoundly wasted. He reached around Seph, grabbing at Trevor, and
Trevor jumped backward.

Seph pushed Warren's hand away. “I don't see why
it's such a big deal. What are you hiding in here?”

“Well, it is,” Warren said, rubbing his
stubbled chin with the palm of his hand. “It is a big deal.”

“Warren …” Bruce cleared his throat.

“Didn't Dr. Leicester tell you to be careful who
you hang out with?” Warren said to Seph, nodding at Trevor.

Seph lifted his chin defiantly. “Come on. Do
you do everything Leicester tells you to?”

Warren's smile faded, leaving resentment in its wake.
“What do you mean by that?”

Seph looked around the circle of wizards, his gaze
lingering for a moment on each face. “I mean that my friends are my
business.”

Nobody said anything for a long moment. Then Warren
shrugged and smiled, as if trying to disclaim all the threats and innuendos
that had gone before. But the smile never made it into his eyes. “All
right then,” he said. “It's just a—you know—misunderstanding.”

“It's cool, Joseph,” Bruce said
reassuringly. “Wait till you move in here. It'll be great. The other dorms
suck in comparison. The food's a lot better, too. Hey, why don't you come on in
and have dinner with us? We can fill you in on some things.”

It was an invitation that clearly did not include
Trevor.

Seph was tempted. He could definitely use some filling
in. But he felt the need to establish a boundary, to make a statement about who
he was and what he would tolerate. “I've already got plans tonight,”
he said, smiling. “Maybe another day?”

“Sure,” Bruce said. “Come to dinner
tomorrow. We start around seven.”

Trevor looked from Bruce to Seph to Warren.
“Don't tell Dr. Leicester I was here,” he whispered.
“Please.”

Warren smiled wolfishly. “What's the matter?
Afraid you'll get a demerit?”

“Please,” Trevor repeated. “I'm really
sorry. Just don't tell Leicester.”

“Maybe you'd like to be my personal servant for a
month. Hmmm?” Warren said. He grinned at the other wizards. “Trevor
is very good at doing laundry. Much better than the service. Gets those colors
sparkling.”

“Hey, Warren,” Seph said, keeping his tone
light. “Enough already. What don't you understand about leave him
alone?”

Warren raised a hand, grinning. “Sure. No
problem. See you tomorrow.”

Seph touched Trevor on the shoulder. “Come on,
Trevor. We got places to be.”

Once outside, Trevor didn't speak, but turned and
headed back toward the dormitory, head down, scuffling hard through the leaves.

Seph had to trot to catch up. “Hey! Trevor! Look,
I'm sorry. You were right. I should've listened to you.”

Trevor didn't look up, and his pace didn't falter.
Finally, Seph grabbed his arm, spinning him around. “Talk to me, will
you?”

Seph half expected Trevor to rip free, or punch him,
or something, but he just stood, gazing down at the ground, a muscle working in
his jaw.

“I said I should've listened to you,” Seph
repeated. “That was totally bizarre. But no harm done, right?”

Trevor looked up at Seph like he'd told the sickest
kind of joke. “Right. Sure. No harm done.”

He went to turn away, but Seph tightened his grip on
his arm to keep him in place.

“Let. Go. Of. Me.” Trevor kept his eyes
averted, as if it might be dangerous to look at him.

Seph kept hold. “What? What is it?”

Trevor just shook his head.

Seph carefully released a trace of power into Trevor.
Feeling bad about it, but needing to know.

He could tell Trevor didn't want to answer, but the
words poured out just the same. “You never said you were one of
them.”

“One of who?” Seph asked, though he already
knew.

Trevor cut his eyes toward Alumni House.

“I'm not an alumnus,” Seph said, lamely.
“I'm a junior. It's just that I'm enrolling in a special program.”
Trevor said nothing. “Ah … why? What do you know about them?”

Trevor shuddered. “I don't want to know anything
about them—you.” Now he did try and wrench free, and Seph let him.
“You don't care what happens to any of us. Some of us listened to Jason,
and …”

“Who's Jason?”

“He told us we should fight back, and we tried,
and now Sam is dead and Peter and Jason are living at the Alumni House.”

Trevor may as well have been speaking in Japanese.
He'd left Seph back at the first sentence. “Fight back against what? Who's
dead? I don't know what you're talking about.”

Trevor had his hands over his ears, speaking loudly
enough to drown Seph out. As if afraid Seph would seduce him with words.
“I've gone six months without a disciplinary, and now …”

“I'll go to Dr. Leicester,” Seph offered,
still bewildered by the emotion in play. “I'll explain. Whatever it
takes.”

“No,” Trevor said. “Don't do me any
favors. You'll make things worse. Just stay away from me.” He wheeled and
walked away, back toward the dorm. Seph stood and watched him until he was lost
in the shadows of the trees.