The Heir Chronicles: Books I-III

  When the dining room began to empty, Seph went to the washroom and took his time. Finally, he slipped through the hallway and into the back stairwell beyond. The door into the stairwell bore a sign, FACULTY AND ALUMNI ONLY. He took a deep breath. What could they do, kick him out of school? Send him another nightmare?

  The door at the top of the stairs opened onto a small circular landing, with hallways spoking off to either side, the stairway to the third floor directly ahead. The corridors were lined with gleaming wood molding, shaded wall sconces, rows of closed doors. No one seemed to be around.

  He’d try the library first. His presence there would be easier to explain.

  The hallway to the left was lined with classrooms, with the library at the far end. Fortunately, the heavy wooden door was unlocked. He glanced over his shoulder, stepped inside, and pulled it shut behind him.

  The library smelled like Genevieve’s attic: of dust and mildew and disintegrating paper. He stifled a sneeze. The books on the first set of shelves appeared to be quite old, with dark leather covers and stamped gold lettering. Curious, Seph pulled a volume from the shelf, tilting it so the title caught the light. It seemed to be in Latin. Transformare. The next one was entitled, Extracten Poysoun 1291. Not Latin, exactly. He’d studied Latin with the Jesuits. But close. Middle English? He moved on into the room, hoping to find what he was looking for at the rear.

  He worked his way toward the back wall. More old books and some new ones. He pulled out one of the newer ones. Spellbinding: The Art of Influencing Others. Here was the reading he should have been doing. Rows and rows of large volumes were shelved together, books that looked somewhat alike. Their titles were similar, too. Weir Smythe John Artur. Weir Thompson Harold Franklin. Weir Huntingdon Bru Amfeld.

  Weirbooks. They must be. Seph lifted one down and leafed through it. The first part was taken up with a family tree, all handwritten, going back centuries, illuminated in bright colors. Another section of the book was entitled “Charms and Incantations.” Something about the books struck a chord with Seph, stirring up a memory he could-n’t quite capture. Reluctantly, he returned the book to its place on the shelf.

  He finally found what he was looking for under the windows at the back of the room. There were six computers lined up on tables and networked to a cable plugged into the wall. They shared a common printer.

  Seph couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and his arms prickled with gooseflesh. The building creaked and complained under the assault of the wind. He peered over his shoulder, seeing only books and dust and narrow aisleways. Shrugging, he hit the power button on one of the PCs. It sounded jarringly loud in the stillness as it booted up.

  The computer hadn’t even made it through its startup routine when he heard running feet. Swearing softly, Seph hit the power button again and the screen went dark. The door slammed open, and the lights overhead flickered, then kindled into brilliance.

  “I saw someone moving around in here,” someone said breathlessly.

  “You stay by the door,” the other replied. “I’ll check it out.”

  Seph slipped between the rows of shelves and cat-footed up the aisle along the wall toward the exit. Peter Conroy waited by the door, nervously scanning the aisles, forehead gleaming in the overhead light.

  “You sure you’re not seeing things again?” The other voice was familiar and startlingly close at hand. “You’d better not have dragged me up here for nothing.” Seph could hear the sound of feet moving toward him. He was trapped.

  Someone clapped a hand over his mouth and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him back against the wall. “Be quiet!” a voice hissed in his ear. It said something else Seph couldn’t make out.

  At that moment, Warren Barber came around the corner and walked toward them. He still looked a bit green from last night’s drinking. Seph didn’t struggle. He stood quietly, wondering what the penalty for breaking into the alumni library would be.

  To his amazement, Barber walked right past them toward the front of the library. “Nobody’s back here now.”

  “I swear I saw someone on the monitor.”

  “Yeah? Well, maybe he flew out the window. As if someone would break into a freaking library.”

  “Keep still!” the voice whispered again. Seph turned his head slightly so he could see who had hold of him. To his shock, he saw nothing but the shelves of books behind him. There was no one there. The hand over his mouth tightened, smothering his exclamation of surprise.

  He felt sick. He was hallucinating again. He must be. His palms went clammy with sweat, and he wiped them on his jeans.

  Barber and Conroy met up at the front of the room, then walked up and down the stacks again, passing within inches of Seph and his invisible captor. Barber still reeked of beer.

  “You’re delirious, Conroy,” Barber said, shaking his head. “You must’ve blundered onto the Sci-Fi Channel.” Conroy was still protesting as they walked out and closed the door behind them.

  “Just be cool a minute,” Seph’s captor instructed him. “Make sure they’re really gone.” Seph stood as still as he could, although he was beginning to tremble, his heart pounding wildly. After a minute, the hand was removed from his mouth.

  “Come on,” the disembodied voice said. Someone shoved Seph up the aisle to the front of the room, then to the right, toward a door marked AV Storage. “In there,” the voice said, and Seph pushed the door open. It was a large closet, lined with projection equipment, AV carts, and a couple of old computers. Seph stepped inside and the door was pulled shut behind him.

  “No cameras in here,” the voice explained, following with something that sounded like Latin. Suddenly, as if assembled out of the air, he could see the body that went with the voice.

  He looked to be seventeen or eighteen, slightly built, dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans. His hair was dark, but had been bleached out at the tips and spiked, an amateur job. He had two earrings in one ear and one in the other. He was grinning as if delighted.

  “So you’re the newbie,” he said. “I heard you were here. Not that anyone offered to introduce us, of course.” He swept an arm toward an audiovisual cart. “Welcome to the catacombs,” he said gravely. “Have a seat.”

  Seph sat down on the cart with a bump and put his head in his hands. He’d thought he was clearheaded after two nights of sleep. Apparently he’d thought wrong.

  “Are you all right?”

  Seph looked up to find the stranger staring at him. “I . . . I’m not sure,” Seph replied cautiously. “I . . . ah . . . I haven’t been well.”

  The boy leaned against the wall. “Allow me to offer you a belated welcome to the Havens—where all your dreams turn into nightmares.”

  Seph laughed in spite of himself. It struck him that it had been forever since he’d laughed, forever since he’d actually heard anyone make a joke. “I’m Seph McCauley.” He hesitated. “How’d you do that? Are you one of the alumni? I don’t remember you from Christmas dinner.”

  The stranger rolled his eyes. “No, I’m not planning to join that particular club. I’m just the poltergeist in this haunted house. I’m Jason Haley.”

  Jason. According to Trevor, he was the one who’d instigated the ill-fated rebellion. Who’d gotten Sam killed.

  “You’re gifted, but you’re not one of them?”

  “Nope.”

  “That’s not what I heard.”

  “Well, you heard wrong. By the way, if you’re going to be sneaking around in here, you ought to know that they have cameras just about everywhere. Matter of fact, I wouldn’t do or say anything in your room that you don’t want to share.”

  “Then you’re a student?” Seph persisted.

  “So to speak,” Jason said dryly. “I’m not supposed to be up here, either, but I’m doing a little independent research.”

  “So what’d you do in there? It was like we were invisible.”

  “Oh, we were bet
ter than invisible,” Jason replied. “We were unnoticeable.” He laughed as if this were a fine joke. “How long have you been here, Seph?”

  “Since September.”

  “You’ve been here almost four months, and you haven’t given in?” A note of respect crept into Jason’s voice. “And they’ve been doing you?” He touched his head with his fingertips.

  “Almost every night now.” Seph laced his fingers together and stared at the floor.

  “You must be damn tough,” Jason said. “But they’re getting to you, aren’t they?”

  Seph nodded, without looking up.

  “And you’re clueless about what’s going on.” It was not a question.

  “It’s like they’re trying to make me crazy.”

  “If you think they’re trying to make you crazy, it’s because they are. Crazy enough to join them.” Jason pushed away from the wall and came and sat next to Seph on the cart. He stared at him for a long minute at close range. “Can’t your family get you out?”

  Seph shook his head. “I don’t really have any family. Only a guardian. A lawyer in London.”

  “What were you doing in the library?”

  “I’m trying to reach my guardian. Dr. Leicester won’t let me call him. I’ve been sending letters, but no response. So I thought I’d email him from the computers out there.”

  Jason shook his head. “Won’t work. They batch everything and go through all the messages before they go out, even in the Alumni House. You’d need to use one of the machines in administration. And you can forget about your letters. If they didn’t go straight to the shredder, Leicester’s been reading them in bed.”

  Seph blinked. Jason Haley was matter-of-fact, authoritative, convincing. “What about you? Why haven’t you joined?”

  Jason stood. “Look, I’ve been warned against having any contact with you. If they find out we’ve been together, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  “You’re saying I might end up like Sam?”

  Jason nodded, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if it hurt. “Yeah. Or I might.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway. Nice meeting you, Seph. Good luck.” He turned away.

  Seph slid between Jason and the door and put his back against it. “No. Tell me what’s going on. I can’t fight them if I don’t know what I’m fighting. If I stay here much longer, I will be crazy.” He cast about for a weapon. “If you don’t help me, I’ll tell them about the invisibility thing. I’ve got nothing to lose.”

  Jason stood, hands in his pockets, lips pressed together, looking off to the side as if he might find his answer written on the wall. “Listen,” he said after a long pause. “Let me think about it. Meet me in the woods by the outdoor chapel tomorrow at six. And you’d better not let anyone follow you.”

  Seph nodded, and stepped aside. Jason brushed past him and was gone.

  The next evening, Seph left the dorm, avoiding the paths and cutting through the woods. The air was cold and clear, prickling his nose, and his breath emerged in clouds of vapor. The winter sun had already set and the moon hadn’t risen, but the snow reflected back what light there was and made it easy to pick his way through the trees. Trevor had said Jason was with the alumni now. But Jason said he wasn’t, and Seph hadn’t seen him at the ceremony in the woods or at dinner. It was as if Jason had been hidden away from Seph, and perhaps from everyone. Why had Jason been told to stay away from him?

  Now Jason wanted Seph to meet him at the outdoor chapel. He couldn’t help wondering if it was a trap.

  He approached the chapel from the woods on the right side. Surrounded by soaring pines, it had the look of a primitive cathedral. Someone had been there before him. Snow had drifted over the seats to the rear, but several rows of stones at the front had been brushed clean. The clearing was quilted with tracks, and the snow around the seats was beaten down, as if by many feet. The notion of a trap returned.

  He climbed onto the stone platform. There were signs of recent activity there as well. Someone had constructed a ring of weathered gray stones in the center, and left blackened remnants of a fire within. Had there been another ceremony? The bonfire must have happened within the past week, because it had snowed a few days before Christmas.

  Seph shivered, and not from the cold. The wind sighed through the trees.

  He grabbed up a fallen branch and poked it through the ashes and chunks of charred wood on the makeshift hearth. Something glinted in the pale moonlight that filtered through the trees. He caught it on the branch and lifted it. It was a gold chain with a pendant, blackened from the heat of the fire. It looked familiar, but he couldn’t place it. He put it in his pocket.

  “Someone was celebrating the solstice.” Seph spun around to see Jason standing a few feet away. The moon was behind him, his face hidden, his shadow tall and angular as it stretched across the stone toward Seph. His gelled hair stood up a bit from his head like a crown. He looked like a shaman from an ancient tribe, in a leather jacket and blue jeans.

  “Solstice?”

  Jason nodded. “It’s the best time to conjure old magic. Leicester’d better be careful or he might get burned.” Stooping, he picked up a piece of the wood from the fire and put it into his jacket pocket. “I’m surprised they didn’t clean this up.”

  He sat on one of the stone benches, his shadow compressing itself, and motioned for Seph to sit next to him. Warily, Seph complied.

  Jason stared into the cold hearth for a long moment, a muscle working in his jaw. But when he began to speak, the words poured out in a rush, as if he had already made his decision, and just wanted to get it done.

  “Look. I’m going to tell you some things. But you’d better know now that I’m dead if Leicester ever gets a whiff of this. God knows what he’ll do to you. After what happened with Sam and Peter, I swore I’d work alone.” He paused again. “So what I’m saying is, if I help you, and Leicester twists your arm and you spill your guts, I’ll kill you.” He opened his eyes and looked directly at Seph, and Seph believed Jason Haley when he said it.

  “So the question is, are you strong enough to say no to him?” Jason’s eyes were like bright blue crystals.

  Seph nodded. He had already said no to Leicester, and he was paying for it, every night.

  “Good,” Jason said. He sat thinking for a moment, as if he weren’t sure how to begin. “How much do you know about the magical guilds?”

  “A little. Nobody’s trained me, if that’s what you mean.”

  Jason grinned. “Truly. I’ve seen your work. Nice job on the chemistry lab.”

  “You said you had something to tell me.”

  Jason’s smile faded. “All right. Leicester is trying to get control of young, ignorant wizards like yourself.” Jason threw him a sideways look. “Wizards born into Anaweir families. Mostly he gets your common hoodlum. A lot are referred from the courts. The program up here works well for them. Leicester shows them a few of his nighttime videos, and they settle right down. So his success rate is very high.” Jason pushed himself up and off his stone seat, pacing back and forth in front of the dais. “But every so often he turns up a pearl in his oyster. That’s you, Seph.”

  Seph nodded toward the stone platform. “He brought me up here right after I came. I was the guest of honor at some kind of . . . of ritual.”

  Jason rested his hand on the altar. “It’s Old Magic. He wants you to link to him. You’ve seen the faculty and the alumni. All former students, all wizards, all under Leicester’s control. I guess it’s an easy sell for most of them. You’re a teenager, you’ve been in trouble all your life, and he promises to make you ‘one of the most powerful magical practitioners of the age.’ I mean, why would you read the fine print?”

  Jason had totally nailed Leicester’s stuffy private-school British accent, and Seph couldn’t help laughing. “What’s he want with them?”

  “I don’t know, exactly,” Jason admitted. “But if you have even two or three wizards, you have an army. He trains some of them, anyway.
That’s what the library is for. All magic and poisons and incantations. Huge section on attack spells. Some of the alumni have spent years studying here. Leicester’s in no hurry, because wizards live a long time. He hits pay dirt probably only once every two or three years. I came last year as a kind of bonus, but I haven’t worked out very well. But, you—” Jason smiled crookedly. “Powerful as you are? He’s never going to let you go.”

  “What makes you think I’m powerful?” Seph was absurdly flattered.

  “Trust me. That’s why you’ve been having so much trouble. When you don’t know how to use it or dissipate it, magic builds up and eventually explodes. It’s like shaking a bottle of soda.”

  “But what’s he going to do with an army of wizards?” Seph persisted.

  “Did you hear what happened at Raven’s Ghyll?”

  Raven’s Ghyll. That girl Alicia had mentioned it at the warehouse. “Some kind of tournament?”

  Jason settled back on the bench. “I hate to break this to you, but as a rule, wizards are nasty people. They’re powerful, capricious, ruthless, egotistical, used to getting their own way. That’s being kind. There are two great wizard Houses, the Red Rose and the White. They started fighting back during the War of the Roses, if you know your British history. After a couple centuries of bloodshed, they adopted a document called the Rules of Engagement. Without it, they might have wiped themselves out years ago.

  “For hundreds of years, the only sanctioned fighting they’ve done is through the Game. Even in the tournaments, the fighting is done by warriors, not wizards. It’s a fight to the death. They use medieval weapons, and it’s all really structured under the rules. The winning house controls the Hoard: a crapload of property, magical artifacts, and like that. Still, there’s a lot of unofficial bloodshed and intrigue that goes on behind the scenes. They call that wizard politics.

  “There was this tournament at Raven’s Ghyll last spring. An army of ghosts showed up, the players revolted, and the rules were changed. They established a sanctuary— in Ohio, of all places. Some little town called Trinity.