He’s in on the secret, too, whatever it is.
“You could use Jack’s,” Linda suggested.
“Would a warrior’s Weirbook do me any good?” Seph asked. Jason’s wizard Weirbook had included pages of spells and incantations. “Warriors don’t use charms, do they?”
Linda studied her hands. “It’s actually a wizard’s book. Remember, Jack was a wizard born without a stone. A wizard implanted a warrior stone in him. That’s why he can do some wizardry. Nick taught him, too.”
Seph shook his head. “I don’t get it.”
“Jack was dying, so I found him a doctor, a wizard named Jessamine Longbranch,” Linda said, a little defensively. “She tricked me and implanted the wrong stone, hoping it wouldn’t kill him. She planned to play Jack in the Game if it worked out. That’s how he ended up in the tournament last summer.”
Seph was beginning to understand Jack a little better. But just then he was in no mood to be cooperative.
“What if I want to use my own Weirbook?” The question was intentionally abrupt. He held her gaze, experimentally flexing his mind a bit, exerting some pressure. She looked startled, then angry, and then pushed back fiercely. She was a master of mind magic, no doubt about it.
“Don’t try that with me,” she snapped. “You’ll have to work with what we have.”
She knows where the book is, Seph thought. He was sure of it.
“We can start today, if you like.” Snowbeard looked at Linda for direction.
“Seph, why don’t I show you around town a little first. Then the three of us can get my car. You and Nick can start after lunch. Can you wait that long?” she asked sarcastically.
“No problem,” said Seph. “I’ll get my shoes.” He carried his dishes into the kitchen.
“We should be back in an hour or so.” Linda slid her feet into her sandals and stood. “Let’s go.”
It was a beautiful late spring day. Now that it was daylight, Seph could see that Jefferson Street was lined with painted ladies: lovely old Victorian houses in authentic colors, iced with gingerbread, lovingly restored. Many of them were flanked by gardens planted with old-fashioned flowers: peonies, irises, bleeding hearts, and delphinium. Blue and purple spires of lupine lined the walk of the house across the street. There must have been money in this town a hundred years ago, he thought, to have founded a neighborhood like this. It reminded him of Toronto’s Cabbagetown.
Jack had left the Subaru for their use. As they drove down the street, Linda nodded to a man with close-cropped white hair and layers of silver jewelry who was retrieving his paper from his driveway. Across the street, an older woman with clouds of gray hair was working in her garden. She wore loose trousers and a short, Oriental-looking jacket. She waved at Linda as if she recognized her, but seemed to be studying Seph. Seph twisted around to look at them after they had passed by.
“Do you know them?” he asked, turning forward again.
Linda nodded. “Mercedes Foster is a sorcerer and a weaver. Blaise Highbourne is a seer and silversmith. We have quite a compound on Jefferson Street. Wizards. Sorcerers. Seers. Warriors. There are more Weir in town than ever before. The establishment of the Sanctuary has made Trinity attractive to Anawizard Weir, the nonwizard guilds that used to be controlled by wizards.” She braked to allow a fat gray tabby cat to saunter across the street. “Trinity has always been a refuge for artists and counterculturists associated with the university. So the Weir fit in quite well.”
She showed him the high school, a relatively new building at the western end of town. Because it was exam week, groups of students hung out in the parking lot, talking or waiting for rides.
Seph thought of the Havens. School would be in session for another week, and then the Anaweir would disperse to wherever they came from, leaving the wizards behind. He wondered what story, if any, had been concocted to explain his disappearance.
The town center had a familiar, European look. It was anchored by a large town commons surrounded by the nineteenth-century stone buildings of Trinity College. Small businesses crouched along the edges of the campus: art stores and bookshops, galleries and restaurants. Linda explained that both Blaise and Mercedes had shops in the area. They parked in an angle space along the green.
The air was cool under the trees, and Seph’s shoes were soon soaked from the dewy grass. A crowd of people was gathered around a brick-and-stone pavilion at the center of the commons, focused on an elaborate marble structure that extended above their heads. Their excited voices floated over the lawn.
“It’s just a fountain,” Linda said, looking puzzled. “Kind of a Greek Revival piece. I can’t imagine what everyone is so interested in. Maybe somebody’s giving a speech.” Curious, they changed directions and headed for the fountain. They had nearly made it there when they were intercepted.
“Ms. Downey?”
He was a large, bulky man with sandy hair and a graying mustache, wearing a brown sport coat that was worn at the elbows. The fabric strained across his shoulders and back.
“Ms. Downey,” he repeated. “I thought that was you. I don’t know if you remember me. Ross Childers. My brother Bill’s boy, Will, is good friends with your nephew, Jack. We . . . uh . . . met after that episode at the high school last year.”
Linda smiled. “Of course. It’s good to see you again, Sergeant.”
“Please. Call me Ross.”
“Ross.” She nodded.
“Here for a visit, I guess?” He squinted at Seph. “Good Lord! What happened to your face, son?”
Seph had almost forgotten about his appearance, and the question caught him off guard. He blinked at the offi-cer, then said, “I was hit by a fast pitch.”
“Forgive me,” Linda said hastily. “I should introduce you. Seph, this is Ross Childers. He’s a sergeant with the Trinity police.”
“Detective now, actually.” He stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets.
“A detective,” she amended. “Ross is Will’s uncle. Remember, Jack’s friend? You met him when we dropped Ellen off last night. Ross, this is Seph McCauley. He’s going to be staying at Becka’s this summer.”
“McCauley?” The detective frowned and glanced over his shoulder at the crowd around the fountain, then back at Seph.
“What’s going on over there?” Linda inquired, following his gaze.
“There was some vandalism there overnight,” Ross replied. “Kind of bizarre. Come take a look.” To Seph’s surprise, the detective dropped a hand on his shoulder and propelled him quickly toward the fountain. Linda had to hurry to keep up.
The crowd parted sufficiently to let them through. Everyone seemed to know the police detective, but they looked curiously at Seph and Linda.
The fountain was made of white marble, a collection of scenes of Greek mythology. At the center of the pool stood a statue of Perseus holding aloft the Medusa’s head. The decapitated Medusa lay crumpled at his feet, and alongside her lay another headless body, this one dressed in a Toronto Blue Jays shirt and jeans. Blood was spattered everywhere over the white marble, draining from the body as the water hit it. Blood sprayed out of the fountain and fell into the bloody pool below with a soft sound, like rain.
In case the point was missed, a message in large, violent letters was scrawled in blood across the back of the marble bench that ringed the fountain. McCauley.
Seph tried to take a step back from the carnage but Ross Childers’s arm was holding him in place.
“Kind of a mess, wouldn’t you say?” The detective studied him shrewdly.
“Do . . . do you know who it is?” Somehow, Seph managed to choke the words out.
Ross let him dangle a minute longer, then said, “It’s a mannequin. They dressed it up and chopped its head off. Then they killed some kind of an animal, a pig we think, let the blood drip into the fountain. Pretty sick.” He paused. “You sign your work, Seph?”
“I never took you for an idiot, Detective, but I guess I was wrong,” Linda
snapped.
Ross nodded grudgingly. “Okay. If I’m any judge, this was a complete surprise to him.” He blew out his breath as if unhappy with this assignment. “But that doesn’t mean he can’t help us find who did it. He comes to town, and suddenly there’s a crazy stunt in the park with his name on it. Must be someone he knows.” He moved to one side, in hopes of addressing Seph directly, but Linda sidestepped into his path, so he had to speak over her head. “Blue Jays. That your team, Seph?” Seph just stared down at his hands. “You know anyone who might do something like this? You ever play around with black magic?”
“I’m Catholic,” Seph replied in a whisper. “I don’t do that.”
Linda glanced at Seph, changed tactics. “Look. Those are Seph’s clothes. We left my car at West Market Mall last night while Nick and Jack and I were showing Seph around. The clothes were in there. We planned to go back and get the car today.
“Someone must have broken in and taken them. How would we know who it was? Seph just came from school in New England. He’s never been here before, and he doesn’t know anyone around here, right?” She looked at Seph, and he nodded. He was more than happy to let her make up a story.
Ross massaged his temples. “Maybe the three of us should go take a look at the car,” he suggested.
Linda shook her head. “You and I can go. I’m taking Seph back home.”
“I said I was sorry, didn’t I?” He looked sorry, too. “Listen, I’ll pick you up at Becka’s around two.”
Seph didn’t have much to say on the way back to Jefferson Street. Anything, in fact.
“What is it?” Linda said finally.
Seph cleared his throat. He didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. After all, Linda Downey had rescued him from the Havens only two days before. “I thought this was a sanctuary.”
Linda looked over at him. “It is. This is the safest place for you.”
“Then why don’t I feel safe?” Seph fingered the dyrne sefa and rested his forehead against the side window. “They were already waiting for us when we got here. They went after Ellen. Then this. It doesn’t make sense. Leicester let me go, didn’t he? Or did you just put a spell on him, and now it’s worn off?”
“Think about it. Why do you think they tried to keep you from reaching Trinity? As long as the rules are in force, he can’t really attack you here. Unfortunately, the rules don’t forbid them from trying to scare you to death.”
The other possibility was that Gregory Leicester was reinforcing his warning to Seph to say nothing about his experiences at the Havens.
“Well, they know exactly where I am. I don’t like waiting around to be ambushed. Maybe I should just go. Find me a summer camp in Canada, maybe. I’m used to being on my own.”
“That’s just what they’re hoping you’ll do. Promise me you’ll stay in town.”
Seph shrugged. He wasn’t making any promises. But he did need training in wizardry, and right now, Nick Snowbeard was his only option.
It was almost one by the time they pulled in next to the garage.
Snowbeard was waiting for them on the porch. Linda told the old man about the bizarre display at the fountain. He asked a few careful questions, but offered little comment. Linda went upstairs and returned with a leather-bound book.
“This is Jack’s Weirbook,” she explained, opening it to the last page and pointing to his name inscribed at the end of a family tree. She handed it to Seph. He scanned the genealogy, and then quickly turned to the section on spells and incantations.
There was a knock at the front door. Linda stood up and picked up her purse. “Ross Childers and I are going to pick up the car and probably go back to the police station to make a report. That should give you two time for your lesson.” And then she was gone, out of the deep shade of the porch and into the bright sunlight.
Seph thought Snowbeard might ask for a demonstration of what wizardry he already knew, but he didn’t. Instead, the old wizard steepled his fingers together and spoke in a soft voice, quite formally. “You may call me Nick. Shall I call you Seph?” Seph nodded. “Let’s start at the beginning, Seph, and lay the foundation. You may know some of this already, but it bears repeating. This is not the kind of education that should come to you piecemeal, as it has.”
He paused a moment, as if sorting through a myriad of mental files. “Wizards can call upon magic in three ways: corporeal, through the body, incorporeal, through the mind, and langue d’charme, through words of power, incantations.
“Wizards have long dominated the other magical guilds, by virtue of a covenant forced on them by deception at Raven’s Ghyll in Britain centuries ago. With the exception of wizards, each guild operates in a selective realm of magic, and each is supreme in its own realm. For example, warriors like Jack and Ellen dominate in the physical, corporeal world of warfare. Their magic depends on physical proximity and strength. There is no mind magic about it. In a fair, physical fight, a warrior will overcome a wizard every time.” He smiled ruefully. “Naturally, a wizard wouldn’t confront a warrior in a fair fight. We have other ways to dominate.
“Enchanters like Linda specialize in magic of the mind and emotions. Again, they are supreme in their own realm. Even wizards have difficulty resisting an enchanter, and the Anaweir are particularly vulnerable to them.
“Sorcerers specialize in material magic. They create tools, compounds, materials that can do magical tasks, or enhance the magic of others. They used to be much more powerful than they are now. Many secrets of the sorcerers have been lost over time. That is why talismans of ancient times are so highly prized.”
Seph was acutely aware of the weight of the dyrne sefa under his shirt.
“Seers are probably the least powerful of the Weir. They see the future, but often cannot interpret their visions in time to do any good. Some of them use talismans—mirrors, crystals, and the like—to focus and concentrate their power, to make it more effective, their visions easier to read.
“If a wizard comes after you, he may use any of the three realms. For example, he may use mind magic to influence you to do something foolish. It’s a subtle trick in the hands of wizards, most effective on the Anaweir. Or he may use physical power. Wizards can inflict pain with a touch.”
Seph lifted his hand to his face, thinking of Gregory Leicester.
“You can be trained to resist a physical attack, and you are powerful enough to do it, I believe. That leaves the use of charms. You told me you had received some training in that regard.” The wizard raised his eyebrows.
And so Seph went through his meager repertory, demonstrating those charms he knew he could perform flawlessly—small, rough magics that could be practiced in a dormitory room.
Nick nodded in approval when he was done. “There are two components to a wizard’s power when it comes to charms: the strength of the stone he carries and the power of the articulated word. Have you had any training in countercharms?”
Seph shook his head.
“Then we’ll start with that. A wizard’s charm is like any other weapon. You must be alert for it at all times. And when the attack comes, you need to counter it before he draws blood, so to speak. If he completes it, it may be too late.” Nick marked a few passages in the Weirbook. “Spend some time studying those charms. We’ll review the charms and the countercharms tomorrow.”
“You mean we’re done?”
Nick smiled. “It’s nearly five o’clock. I’m surprised Jack isn’t home already.”
“I have a question.” Seph had been leafing through Jack’s Weirbook, and it still lay open on his lap.
“What is it?”
“Everyone says the same things about wizards. We take advantage of the Anaweir. We treat the other guilds like dirt. We’re always plotting against each other. What I want to know is: is it some kind of inborn trait? If it is, why aren’t you like that? I had a friend at school, and he wasn’t like that either.”
Nick sat back in his chair and thought a moment. “Th
e problem with wizards is that their power manifests while they are still young. Young people shouldn’t have so much power, because they lack wisdom and discipline. They grow up spoiled, used to having their own way.” He paused. “You can compare wizards to wine. The best quality wines are harsh and strong when they are young. But good wines improve with age. A poor quality wine never improves. Sometimes it gets worse. Wizards are the same.” He leaned forward. “Sometimes I think it would be better if all wizards were raised as you were, by Anaweir, ignorant of their powers until they are grown. They might be more tolerant of others.”
There are drawbacks to that, Seph thought. The Anaweir are not always tolerant of wizards.
Somehow it was easy to talk to Nick. He was like the earth, wise and ancient and nonjudgmental.
“Do you know Gregory Leicester?” Seph asked. He looked down at the Weirbook to avoid the old wizard’s eyes.
Nick nodded. “I know him. He’s one who hasn’t improved with age. But he’s very powerful.”
“He murdered two of my friends. It was my fault,” Seph added, recalling his months of torture at Leicester’s hands, Trevor’s death, and the final capstone tragedy of Jason.
“Why do you think it was your fault?” Nick asked gently.
“They were trying to help me. If it hadn’t been for me, they would still be alive.”
“Perhaps that was their choice, not yours.”
“They didn’t choose to be murdered.” Seph traced the names in Jack’s genealogy with his forefinger, envious of his links to family.
Nick studied him. “And now you mean to take revenge on Dr. Leicester.”
Seph didn’t respond, but embedded himself deeper into the chair.
“A high-risk enterprise, certainly.” Nick smoothed down his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. To Seph’s surprise, the old wizard appeared to take him seriously, but he didn’t lecture him or try to talk him out of it.
“What about the Dragon? Do you know where to find him?” Seth asked.
“A risky admission to make, these days,” Nick said.
The Heir Chronicles: Books I-III Page 53