by Ilana Waters
“A good captain must always stay one step ahead.”
Chapter 26
Ten minutes now.
The ticktock of another clock on the wall seemed deafening. I opened a portrait-door on the other side of the passage. The draft inside it blew the edges of my cloak around me as I stepped into the hall. I tensed and held my breath. If Victor was already in the vicinity, I prayed the draft wouldn’t alert him to my presence. The last thing I needed was him taking me by surprise.
I listened hard for a few seconds. Nothing. Nothing except for the same loud, metallic ticktock as before. I closed the portrait-door. Glancing up at the painting, I could see the likeness of a former headmaster staring down severely at me.
Which office would he be in? I placed my feet down lightly, stealthily, as my father had taught me when hunting prey. The last door—the one to Specs’s office—was flung wide open. I peeked inside. Through the Palladian window, I could see the hourglass.
Nine and a half minutes to go.
The setting sun washed the room in swaths of yellow and red. It was the only part of the office that was pleasing to the eye; the rest had been ransacked. Bookcases lay facedown, the bodies of books crushed beneath them. All the chairs had been overturned and heaved out of place. Paintings on the walls hung askew. The desk lamp lay dead on one side of the room. The upright lamp was still on, but broken in half. And papers. Papers and folders were strewn everywhere, the floor of the office a sea of white.
And bent over Specs’s desk, yanking open drawers, was Victor.
“A-ha!” I shouted as I burst into the room. “There you are. Did you think you’d get away with it? Well, guess again, you lying prick. It’s over. Whatever you were trying to do, it’s over.”
If Victor was surprised to see me, he hid it well. He stood up slowly and smiled.
“What’s this? No spectator spell on you?” He clucked his tongue. “Very bad form, Alderman. But what else can we expect from the vampire’s son? Works out well for me, though. Dirk was a little afraid that hologram wouldn’t be enough to fool the spectator spell. But if it’s not in effect where you are, well, this gives me an extra bit of insurance. Now, they definitely can’t see me.”
“Dirk? Fool . . . the spell?” I blinked in confusion.
Victor sighed heavily. “Really, Alderman. I thought you were cleverer than that. I needed a way to make the spectator spell follow the hologram instead of me. Obviously.” He picked up a porcelain paperweight and looked at it for several seconds. Then, he let it drop to the floor, where it smashed to pieces.
“Of course.” I nodded slowly. “Already figured out the hologram bit, naturally. Easy enough to have Dirk or Mason break into the storeroom and steal the spell for you. But prying the magic off oneself and placing it on something else . . . those are powerful spells. Too much for any one witch. Definitely a two-man job. Especially if you need to conserve your magic to search for the Chalice later. And you could easily have set them up to take effect at a certain point during Tournament. Everyone sees you on the big screen before the teams leave the field, and assumes the spectator spell’s working as it should.”
“You’re finally catching on.” Victor placed his hands over the large globe standing next to the desk. His eyes formed slits, and magic came off his hands in waves. When it didn’t have the desired result, Victor kicked the globe’s base—hard. The base broke, and the globe fell to the floor and shattered. “Of course, if I knew how good your flimsy friend was at extending spells,” Victor went on, “maybe I’d have used him to help me with my spectator problem.” He shook his head as he continued examining Specs’s desk, tossing pens and pads from it left and right. “Extending the no-spectator spell zone instead of using a hologram. Now, why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because you think every element other than fire is worthless.” I moved toward Victor. But I wasn’t sure if I should stop him, and preserve what was left of Specs’s office, or let him continue trashing it. The latter might yield clues as to his ultimate aim. I glanced to my right. Specs’s teacup, normally on his desk, dangled by the handle off a shelf. It was a shelf I assumed had been straight before Victor knocked it askew. “It never occurs to you that people are capable of amazing things if you give them the chance.”
Victor rolled his eyes. “Bollocks. And naïve bollocks at that. But what does it matter? With the spectator spell following the hologram, I’m free to do whatever I like.” He saw me moving closer, and lifted a stack of papers from the desk. They went up in a ball of fire from his palms.
I hope those weren’t important, I thought to myself, and stopped walking forward. But something was off here. With every object he touched or examined, I could tell Victor was using searching magic. But it wasn’t any magic I was familiar with. Nothing that could be used to find a mundane object like a chalice—even a hidden chalice. It was like the magic was looking for something deeper. Something even more hidden and harder to find.
“Yes,” I said. “Free to do whatever you like. Which is what, exactly? You’ll have to forgive me if I’m a bit slow.”
“Gods, but I cannot abide stupid people.” Victor smashed a desk clock on Specs’s blotter and worked his fingers above the pieces. They moved left and right, up and down, as he sifted through them. “Though you all do make my job easier. You’re as bad as Professor Martinez—the one who oversees the class schedules. I swear, that woman has the same love for old firewalls as she does for ancient projectors. It was like she was begging me to switch your classes in the computer.”
“Leaving me with no alibi every time you or your goons committed a crime.” I folded my arms. “That part, I got. So you decided to cause a little mayhem.” My heart started to pound with growing fury. “The most recent of which nearly ended someone’s life.”
“Yes, I do wish that last one had gone a bit more smoothly.” Victor waved his hand above his shoulder several times. The bits of clock he’d finished with flew back and hit the window behind him. “But no matter. It still got the job done. With me promoted to captain as McKay’s second, I could order lesser team members to split up. Which allows me to do what I need to.”
“Yes, that part’s still a bit unclear.”
“And once again,” Victor continued as if I weren’t there, “you’re separated from everyone else. From the rest of your team. Without an alibi. I say, this has all played into my hands quite nicely.” Indeed, I could feel Liza, Rami, and a few of the others tapping on the edges of my mind with messages like, “Where the bloody hell are you?” But I couldn’t answer them now.
“You’re doing all this for the Sylvan Chalice?” I scratched my head. “Though I’m loathe to admit it, Victor, you’re bright, talented, and the product of a powerful Wiccan family. I can see why a lesser witch might need the Chalice. Maybe to perform some sort of magic they couldn’t do on their own. But the only reason I can think that you’d want it is sheer laziness.”
Victor looked up from the pieces of clock. “You think this is about the Chalice?” he scoffed. “That rusted piece of crap? Don’t be daft. I never cared about winning this stupid Tournament. No one in the Wright clan does.”
“Then what is it about?”
Victor leaned his head so far back, the base of it touched the top of his shoulders. “You really are thick, aren’t you? Obviously, you aren’t aware that my father owns Wright Capital Investments.”
“Yeah, Miles mentioned something about him being a hedge fund bigwig.” I shrugged. “So what?”
“So, you don’t get to be the head of one of the world’s largest asset management firms by being a pansy. My dad had to use skill, ingenuity. And occasionally a few special tactics.”
“He cheated, essentially.”
Victor rolled his eyes again. “I don’t see what the big deal is about insider trading. I mean, if you’re clever enough to use it, you should reap the rewards. Which my dad did. Until some self-righteous witch colleague of h
is caught him last year. Threatened to go to the law.” With a sharp wave of his hand, Victor flung what was left of the clock off the desk. “We all felt so betrayed. This bloke had known my dad for years. Which is probably why he gave Dad until July—this July—to come clean, or he’d do the honors himself.”
“Your dad’s colleague gave him a year to confess? That’s awfully generous.” Maybe I can use that air-sucking spell on Victor like I did before to make him confess.
“Yeah, well, like I said, he’s known my dad for centuries.” Victor went back to pulling desk drawers open. “They were close. Until this, of course. Dad said he had to get some things straightened out, minimize the damage to the family, yadda yadda.”
“A song and dance, no doubt.” Dammit—I can’t use that spell. He wouldn’t have enough air in his lungs to confess anything. And even if I could read his mind, it’s just my word against his about what’s in there.
Victor smiled proudly. “My dad could’ve been a Shakespearean actor. That’s how good he is.”
“Why not just kill the snitch?” I asked. I hated to even broach the possibility with Victor, but it was doubtful his family hadn’t already considered it.
Victor sighed. He dropped a box full of staples, a jar of binder clips, and a bag of rubber bands onto the floor. “That’s the problem with people these days. They’ve come up with all sorts of clever ways to handle information. My dad’s friend used a fail-safe. He did a spell so that if my father didn’t comply with his demands—”
“Which were perfectly reasonable, if not magnanimous.”
“—a message would be sent throughout the Wiccan community detailing what he’d done. E-mails, texts, voice mail, newspapers, you name it.” Victor started going through the next drawer. “And the spell couldn’t be undone once it had been cast—not even by the caster. Not even after they died. There’d be no retracting it. Nowhere in the world we could hide. We’d be ruined. Everything my family built . . .”
“Stole.”
“Gone. Just like that.”
“Sounds like some pretty potent magic. I didn’t even know witches could do things like that.”
“We can’t.” Victor’s voice darkened. He’d gotten to the last drawer, and still hadn’t found what he was looking for. “Somehow, this obnoxious git got his hands on something even more powerful: faerie magic. Only by faerie magic could the spell be undone.” Victor grabbed blank envelopes and Equinox stationery by the fistful. They burned to ash in his hand before they reached the floor.
“But you can’t just go up and ask a faerie for such magic,” he continued. “Their demands would be outrageous. And even if they agreed, you’d have someone else who knew about the scheme. Someone who could blackmail you forever if they wanted, or just let the information slip. You know how loose faerie lips can be. Hardly any of them are as self-contained as Specs. And good luck catching the little buggers fast enough to kill them. It’s bad enough they can hear you coming a mile away.” Victor wrenched the drawer out of the desk and slammed it on top.
“But we were in luck.” He placed both hands on the side of the drawer and leaned forward. His dark eyes bored into me. “Rumor had it that Specs possessed a magic that could reach through the tendrils of time and space and undo the spell. But no one had any idea what the magic looked like, or where he kept it. It was my job, during my last year at Equinox, to find it and bring it home. At any cost. The entire Wright future depended on it.”
That’s what Dirk meant when he said, “We can still do this thing.” When he, Mason, and Victor saw I was still captain. They didn’t mean winning Tournament. They were referring to stealing Specs’s magic. That’s what Victor’s been searching for this whole time.
“And what about Rosemary? And Oliver?” I squeezed my hands into fists, and felt blood run down them from where nails met flesh. “And Colleen? I suppose none of them deserve a future?”
“Who gives a shit about their meaningless little lives?” Victor snapped. I ducked as he flung scissors, a paper cutter, and other sharp objects at me with his mind. “Our lives were going swimmingly. Then, that stupid witch had to go and grow a conscience.”
“Yes, what irritable little tumors they can be.” I used the ducking motion as an excuse to inch forward toward Victor. I could see the light of the hourglass through the window. I didn’t have much time left.
“I don’t expect you to understand.” Victor grabbed a letter opener from the drawer and stabbed the desk with it. “This is about my family’s reputation. The only reputation your family has is for murder and . . . I don’t know . . . peyote smoking on your mum’s side.”
“You’re developing quite a reputation for murder yourself. At least, you’re trying to.” I gathered magic in my hands, slowly, so Victor wouldn’t see.
“Clearly, the ends here justify the means,” Victor snarled. “At least they do when—I’ll be damned!” I heard a click from beneath Victor’s fingertips. “A false bottom!” His eyes bulged as he pointed at the drawer. It burst apart, and I had to shield my eyes from flying splinters of wood. “Yes!” Victor cried. His voice—vicious and angry only seconds ago—was elated now. On the desk lay a small metal box, formerly contained in the false bottom of the drawer. He pointed at the box. But unlike the drawer, it did not explode. His smile faded a little, and he jabbed his finger at the box again. Nothing. His features grew pinched, searching magic crawling all over the metal.
“Can’t see inside it, eh?” I was standing right in front of Victor now, careful to glamour my built-up magic invisible. “Not surprising. Faeries often use iron and other heavy metals to protect their treasures. Probably why they started the myth of iron harming them.”
“No matter. This has to be it.” His voice was strained as he struggled to pry the box open with strength magic. “No time to look for the key. But I’ll get into it somehow. And when I do, that’s when you’ll play your part.”
“My part?”
“Yes. You make the perfect—what’s the term? Fall guy.” Victor heated the box till it was white-hot. But it still didn’t melt, or open. “I considered using MacLeod, but he’s far too much of a Goody Two-shoes. No one would believe he was the one who stole the magic, smashed Cerridwen, and all that. But little black sheep Joshua? With the blood of a vampire in him, just waiting to do some damage? Now, that’s something everyone would believe. You’ve been pissing off people left and right all year. Hell, you practically live in Specs’s office.” He indicated the ruin all around him.
Colleen’s words about fencing echoed back to me. Control. Precision. Choosing your targets carefully. That’s exactly what Victor had done with me. I did make the perfect patsy, because everyone assumed I was up to no good anyway. I’d fallen right into his trap.
“You deserve it, anyhow.” Victor panted as the box cooled off, sizzling and sending up tendrils of smoke. “No one humiliates Victor Wright. Especially more than once. Dirty little half-breeds need to know their place.” He kept gasping, trying to catch his breath, his dark eyes glowering at me.
My nostrils flared. Every muscle fiber in my body tensed with rage. “So that’s why you sidelined Oliver. With ultimate responsibility as captain, I’d be the most logical person to blame if something went wrong during Tournament. Hell, I’m surprised you didn’t just take MacLeod out altogether.”
“Imbecile. A student dying during a play-off?” Victor’s breathing was more even now, but his voice was no less furious. “Specs definitely would’ve had to cancel Tournament. And I couldn’t have that. Not when it provided me with the perfect opportunity to hunt for his hidden magic. When else would I have nearly free reign of Equin’s grounds?”
“But how could you be sure Oliver would choose me as captain? You already knew we weren’t fond of each other.”
“He didn’t need to be fond of you.” Victor raised the box above his head and brought it down on the desk. “It was easy to see, from the first day, how adept you w
ere at magic.” The sound of the box hitting the desk again and again was like thunder. “MacLeod saw it, too, in that damned air spell that you nearly killed me with.” Slam. Slam. Slam. The box went right through the blotter to make a square indentation on the desk.
“You were the only one skillful and cunning enough to lead air to victory, despite his personal feelings toward you.” Slam. A wave of strength magic flew off the box. This time, I had to crouch to half my height to avoid it. “I knew MacLeod would choose a captain most likely to win. He isn’t the type to get all sentimental, like those House of Water crybabies.” Out of breath again, Victor brought his fist down on the box, then leaned over it.
“You had Oliver pegged,” I said cautiously. “I’ll give you that much. Choosing me to be second, regardless of any antipathy, is exactly the sort of thing he’d do.” Victor is actually rather brilliant. And it’s getting on my nerves.
“Thanks, mate.” He looked up and me and grinned. “I confess, I was wondering how I was going to pin the rest of this on you. Thought I’d figure it out when I found that dirty little faerie’s magic. But you’ve made it so simple.” He laughed, despite continuing to grapple with the box. “I’ll grab enough of whatever’s in here to bring back to my family. I’ll plant some of it on you, then mind-message Dirk to take the spectator spell off the hologram. It’ll instantly revert back to me. I’ll rip off the charm that little water witch put on you—clear evidence you cheated, messing about with the no-spectator spell. Then I’ll ‘catch’ you here, in Specs’s office, with his magic. Red-handed. I’ll be a hero.”
“And I’ll be in a Wiccan jail.” I should have enough magic gathered now if Victor tries anything.
“Or worse.” Victor stopped his war with the box and gave me another menacing smile. “Maybe the Council will decide there are more fitting punishments than incarceration for a vampire-witch half-breed.” He barked a laugh. “Gods, I can’t wait till my family undoes that blasted witch’s spell. We’ll kill the ingrate, naturally, so they don’t try it again. No one will be the wiser. This whole bloody horrible year will be over. I’ll graduate and be out of this ridiculous school, and everything will go back to the way it was.”