The Hound of Rowan

  “Hey, Max! Up here.”

  He stopped near a bench at the entrance to the green. Connor and David were grinning at him from up in the branches of a gnarled tree. Connor’s mouth was smeared with chocolate.

  “There’re lots of names and initials carved up here,” said David excitedly. “I think I found one by Mr. Morrow. It says ‘Byron loves Elaine ’46.’”

  “I can’t picture old Byron as a kid,” mused Connor. “Imagine a wrinkly kid with a pipe snogging in this tree a hundred years ago.”

  Max laughed, happy to resume the good time he had been having. With a quick step, he caught a branch and hoisted himself up to join them.

  “Hey, can I try one of those sand dollars you bought?” asked David, tracing the carved lines of a limerick with his finger.

  “Oh, I dropped mine on the street and they got smooshed,” Max said quickly. “I threw them out.”

  “You should have kept them!” moaned Connor. “We could have used them for an Etiquette scenario!” His imitation of Sir Wesley’s voice was perfect. “Scenario Number Twenty: Salvaging the Mangled Sweets of the World.”

  “They’re in the garbage can at the corner if you want them,” sighed Max. Connor seemed to think it over a moment before letting the matter drop.

  They spent the next two hours exploring the village green, climbing a bronze statue of a man on horseback and perusing the names on the granite headstones in a small cemetery. It was getting dark when they finally ran back along the cobblestones, weaving their way through old-fashioned streetlamps and converging with other First Years at the foot of the high hill.

  The Grove was a sprawling, well-appointed house whose lower floor had been converted to several large dining rooms. Max followed Mr. Vincenti and a hostess down a hallway lined with maps of early New England and frayed etchings of whaling scenes. Max’s section of First Years was seated in a candlelit dining room whose table was decorated with Indian corn and short sheaves of wheat bound with copper wire. Mr. Vincenti rearranged the seating to alternate the boys and girls. Max found himself sitting between Sarah and Miss Boon.

  Mr. Vincenti took his seat at the head and rang his wineglass.

  “I’d like to propose a little toast.”

  The students reached for their wineglasses filled with apple cider.

  “To a month under the belts and young minds on the move!”

  The glasses clinked, and even Miss Boon managed a smile as Mr. Vincenti began quizzing the group about the more memorable experiences to date.

  “Any mathematicians in this bunch?”

  They all tossed out David’s name, except for Jesse, who offered his own.

  “Who’s a whiz at science?”

  Sarah blushed as her name was called.

  “Any budding ambassadors or diplomats among us?”

  Everyone screamed, “Connor!” who received the accolade with typical bravura, wiping away fake tears.

  As Mr. Vincenti continued rattling off the subjects, waiters brought steaming plates and baskets of food. Warm squares of thick cornbread, sizzling crab cakes, and plates of cod and perch drizzled with lemon were set on the table. Max nearly spit out a mouthful of sweet potatoes when Lucia and Cynthia reenacted one of Connor’s many efforts to impress the older girls on campus. Even Mr. Vincenti put down his fork to laugh as Lucia swaggered about the room, sucking in her tummy and lowering her voice.

  An hour into the meal, the group laughter gave way to smaller conversations; Max watched as their hostess entered the room and bent down to whisper into Mr. Vincenti’s ear. Mr. Vincenti excused himself and continued their conversation in the hallway.

  As soon as Mr. Vincenti left, Miss Boon turned to Max.

  “You know,” she said quietly, “I happened to overhear Nigel mention to Ms. Richter that the tapestry you discovered involved the Cattle Raid of Cooley?”

  “Yeah,” said Max, distracted. His eyes wandered back to where he could see Mr. Vincenti’s very still shadow in the hallway. Something was wrong.

  “Max,” she said tersely. “Say ‘yes.’ Has Sir Wesley told you that ‘yeah’ is not proper English and that it’s rude not to look at someone when he or she is speaking to you?”

  Max flicked his eyes back toward her face.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “That’s all right,” she said, her voice softening. “Have you taken the time to read up on the Cattle Raid or its hero, Cúchulain?”

  Max shook his head. “No, Miss Boon, I haven’t had time.” He reached for a piece of cornbread.

  “Listen to me, Max,” said Miss Boon, placing an icy hand on Max’s arm. He looked directly at her, her young features so serious and strange with their mismatched eyes. “That vision was tailored to you. It’s very important that you understand everything you can about its history and symbols. Cúchulain was a great hero and champion—people called him the Hound of Ulster for the way he guarded their kingdom, but he had to make some awful choices along the way. It would be best if you knew them, Max.”

  Max stared at her; his mind flashed with thoughts of his recurring dream of the monstrous wolfhound. He decided against sharing this with Miss Boon; her gaze and grip were too intense for his comfort.

  Just then, Mr. Vincenti rejoined them from the hallway. His voice rose well above the many conversations.

  “We have a change of plans. I need everyone to place their utensils on their plates and follow me. Quickly.”

  “But, Mr. Vincenti,” said Connor, “you have to come see what Omar can do with his—”

  “Right now, Mr. Lynch!” thundered Mr. Vincenti, who circled around the table physically hoisting the confused children from their seats. Without a word, Miss Boon rose swiftly and started pulling the children’s chairs away from the table, herding them out the door and down the hallway.

  Their hostess was standing by the doorway looking frightened. “Be careful, Joseph. Be careful, Hazel,” she whispered, dimming the house’s lights. Other First Years hurried out from the other dining rooms, accompanied by their advisors. A dozen limousines were parked in the street, their doors open and engines running as the hostess locked the door behind them.

  Max crowded into the second limousine. Mr. Vincenti slammed the back door shut, and the car raced down the street toward Rowan’s gates. The street looked abandoned; all the shops and stores were dark. As they passed the church, Max thought he saw a pair of dark figures melt off its lawn to disappear behind a hedge. A few seconds later, he was thrown to the side as the limousine made a sharp turn and screeched through the gate. They wound through the trees and along the sea before coming to a jarring halt near the fountain. Max’s heart froze as he heard the familiar awful wailing coming from the direction of the Kestrel.

  Mr. Vincenti opened the door and ushered the children out as Nolan galloped from around the Manse seated astride YaYa. There was nothing old or broken about her now, Max noted. Steam billowed from the ki-rin’s nostrils, her massive head craning from side to side to scan the grounds with eyes that glowed white in the darkness. And Max had never seen the normally cheery Nolan so grim. The groundskeeper shouted over the distant keening sound.

  “Joseph, get the children inside. You and Hazel are to take up your assigned positions along the perimeter—Director’s orders.”

  The Manse was a frenzy of shouts and slamming doors. Max, David, and Connor sprinted past a pair of Sixth Years who stood guard at the entrance to their hallway. The older students ordered them to lock themselves in their rooms and to be quiet. When Max and David turned to close their door, they saw Connor blocking their doorway.

  “I’m coming in with you two!” he hissed. “My roommates are wankers!”

  Connor hurried inside and Max shut the door, making double sure it was locked tight.

  The minutes and hours ticked by at a crawl. Unable to concentrate, Max tossed his sketchbook aside as David and Connor played cards downstairs. Hearing muffled sounds from the hallway, Max got up from his bed
to investigate. Connor and David stood on the stairs to the lower level, wrapped in blankets and looking frightened, as Max listened at the door. Hearing footsteps and whispers outside, Max turned to them and put his finger to his lips. Holding his breath, he silently turned the knob and peeked out into the hallway.

  A small group of First and Second Years were pressed against the window at the end of the hall. Max beckoned to David and Connor, and the three of them joined the group. Rolf stepped aside to let Max peer out the window; he leaned forward to press his forehead against the cold glass. Lanterns bobbed about the dark grounds in pairs as the faculty combed the orchard, lawns, and gardens. Away in the woods, Max saw more lanterns peeking from among the trees. He whispered to a Second Year standing next to him.

  “Have you guys seen anything?”

  The Second Year shook his head and motioned for quiet. Suddenly, someone at the end gasped, “Something’s happening!”

  Max was smooshed against the window as the crowd surged forward. Below, the lanterns bobbed wildly, rapidly converging at a point near the orchard’s edge. A huge plume of flame erupted at the spot. Max and the other boys gave out a yell.

  Something monstrous and wolf-shaped was illuminated by the sudden burst of light. It took several hunched, uneven steps on its hind legs before dropping to all fours and racing across the lawn toward the forest and the road.

  “Get back in your rooms!”

  Max whirled to see the two Sixth Years hurrying angrily down the hall. The boys scattered to their rooms in a sudden flurry of shuffling feet and slamming doors. Max and David ran down the steps to their bedroom’s lower level. Connor flew in a moment later, locking the door behind him, his eyes wide.

  “Did you guys see it? I saw it!”

  “I’m not ever leaving this room,” whispered David.

  The three sat in silence for several minutes. Max shivered, replaying the image of the terrifying shape lowering itself to the grass and galloping across the grounds. He looked up at the sky dome, watching Scorpio twinkle into view.

  “What do you think that was?” he asked softly.

  “I don’t know,” said David, rubbing his temples. “I don’t want to know.”

  “Maybe it was a werewolf,” volunteered Connor. “Like in the movies.”

  “That didn’t look like any werewolf I ever saw in the movies,” quavered Max. “It was a lot worse. And it looked bigger….”

  A loud knock on the door woke Max from his sleep. Blinking, he looked around the room. Connor was asleep on one of the couches. David was huddled near the fireplace, a shapeless lump underneath his blanket. There were three more knocks, quick and decisive. Max lurched to his feet and climbed the stairs, halting at the door.

  “Who is it?” he ventured, his voice slow and wary. “It’s Joseph Vincenti, Max. The danger has passed. Ms. Richter would like everyone to come to the orchard. It’s chilly, so bring a jacket or a robe.”

  Mr. Vincenti moved down the hall, rapping on the next door. Within a few minutes, Max had woken Connor and David. The three boys shuffled sleepily with the other Apprentices out the back doors to the orchard, where the sky was a pale wash of blue in anticipation of the sunrise.

  Ms. Richter stood near the first row of trees, flanked by the faculty and a dozen other adults. The hushed conversations ceased immediately as Ms. Richter’s voice filled the morning air.

  “Students, we have had a loss. Another golden apple graces this orchard—all too prematurely, I’m afraid.”

  Max watched as several older students began whispering and scanning over the faculty with worried expressions. The Director shook her head.

  “No,” she said. “Our loss did not occur on this campus. We lost a member of our Recruiting staff: Miss Isabelle May, whom many of you undoubtedly met during your tests for admittance here.”

  There was stunned silence among the students. With a solemn face, Ms. Richter continued.

  “We do not, as of yet, know what happened to Miss May. Our last communication with her was one week ago, despite our best efforts to contact her since. We have been monitoring her Class Tree anxiously throughout. Mr. Morrow made the unfortunate discovery before dinner last night. Miss May’s apple has turned to gold.”

  Several older students hugged one another. Max saw Lucia wipe tears from her eyes; he guessed that it had been Miss May who had recruited her.

  Ms. Richter raised her arms for quiet.

  “Shortly after we lost Isabelle, something triggered the defenses of this campus. While I apologize for actions that might have confused or frightened you, they were necessary precautions. For the first time in Rowan’s history, this campus has been penetrated by agents of the Enemy.”

  The student body erupted in sideways looks and whispers.

  “They are gone now,” Ms. Richter assured them, her voice silencing the students, “and you may rest assured that all our resources will be mustered to determine exactly what has happened and what steps are necessary to ensure your safety. Until that time, no student is to leave this campus for any reason whatsoever. Failure to mind this rule will result in expulsion. Is this clear?”

  Max found himself nodding and saying “Yes, Director” along with everyone else. Rubbing his arms, he realized he had forgotten to bring a jacket, and the early-morning air was unseasonably cool.

  An older girl raised her hand.

  “How could they be here?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Rowan is supposed to be hidden from the Enemy! What does this mean?”

  Ms. Richter’s glance was stern, her voice sharp.

  “It means we have entered a time of danger.”

  10

  THE COURSE

  In the weeks that followed, all students had to travel in pairs, and Rowan Township was off-limits. Faculty and older students volunteered for evening patrols and as security escorts for the younger students. Most notable were the strange adults that had arrived on campus. They flitted through the woods, appeared suddenly in corridors, and stood watch throughout the campus. The students were assured that these individuals were present for their safety but that they were not to be approached or bothered. Among them was one particularly alarming man with a badly burned face. It soon became something of a dare to cross his path at night as he walked quietly across the grounds in his black knit cap and peacoat, swinging a shuttered lantern. His name was Cooper, and Max was afraid of him.

  After two tense weeks, Max was working alongside his study group in a small room off the Bacon Library. Despite recent events, the faculty had decided to keep the midterm schedule, and Max needed to score well on several of the exams. He took a handful of popcorn from Cynthia, then grumbled at his math notebook; only half of his responses matched those in the answer key. Max yawned. It was getting late and he still had to feed Nick. As he gathered his things and zipped up his fleece, David peeked up from reading a book on the couch.

  “Are you going to the Sanctuary?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” said Max, stretching. “Want to come?”

  “Nope. I’m going to bed. You should get an escort to go with you, though.”

  David returned to his book. Sarah looked up suddenly.

  “I’ll go with you, if you want. Just let me get my coat,” she said, snapping her book shut.

  Lucia grinned and tossed a popcorn kernel at Cynthia, who glanced sideways from her book. Max looked at Connor, who merely raised his eyebrows.

  “Uh, sure,” said Max. “Thanks, Sarah.”

  Sarah smiled and left the room. Max turned to the others.

  “What are all of you smiling about?” he asked, glancing from face to face.

  “C’mon, Max,” scoffed Connor. “She likes you.”

  “No, she doesn’t,” Max protested.

  “Sure,” giggled Cynthia. “That’s why she always picks you in Games and sits next to you in every class. Believe me—she’s not trying to copy your homework!”

  Max glared at her.

  “Sorry,”
pleaded Cynthia, laughing again and feigning interest in her reading.

  Lucia put down her pen and snorted. Her English had improved tremendously, but now she spoke so rapidly that Max had trouble understanding her. He heard something about him being a baby and Sarah being beautiful and smart, but it was the word “festival” that caught his attention.

  “What did you say about the festival?”

  Lucia narrowed her eyes.

  “I said she is too good for you and that you are very lucky to go to the Halloween festival with her!”

  Max shot a terrified glance over his shoulder at the door.

  “What are you talking about?” he hissed. “Sarah’s going to ask me to be her date for Halloween?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Cynthia chimed in. “Sarah’s far too old-fashioned for that.”

  Max exhaled.

  “She’ll simply let you know that she wants you to ask her,” Cynthia added, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

  “But—” Max halted in mid-sentence as Sarah reentered the room, wearing a hooded windbreaker.

  “Are you ready?” she asked, walking past and waiting by the door. David rested his book on his face as Connor chuckled. Max followed her down the hall, wiping his palms hard against his fleece.

  Except for a brief stretch of Indian summer, the days had been getting steadily cooler. Sarah walked the path next to Max, fiddling with a series of beaded bracelets.

  “So,” she said, “I’ve never really seen Nick up close before. What’s he like?” “Oh, he’s okay,” replied Max quickly. “He eats a ton, though, and he likes to attack me.”

  “Really?” She laughed.

  “He also gets pretty angry if I show up late,” added Max. “He’s already shredded a couple sweaters.”

  “Are you late tonight?” asked Sarah, with a playful note in her voice.

  Max gave a sheepish nod as they hurried up the main path through the wood.

  Just then, a dark figure rose up from the nearby underbrush, shining a lantern on their faces.