Seph felt blood rush to his face. “Really, I—”
Becka plowed on undeterred. “It’ll be great. We’ll get to see more of Linda, since I know she wants to spend some time with you. And Jack can introduce you to his friends.”
Seph glanced at Jack, who probably knew better than to object. “I don’t really want to impose....”
“If it would make you feel better, you can help Nick with the wallpapering. There’s always plenty of work to do around here. Please say you’ll stay.”
Wordless, Seph nodded. Jack’s mother was hard to refuse.
“Then it’s all settled.” She smiled at Seph. “Why don’t you bring in your things?”
Seph looked at Linda for help. She jumped in quickly. “We don’t have much, because we . . . ah . . . were in a hurry. We’ll get you some clothes tomorrow, Seph.”
“I bet some of Jack’s old clothes will fit him,” Becka suggested. “The ones from before that growth spurt last year.” She laughed. “We have clothes in three sizes upstairs. They’re scarcely broken in.”
They changed the subject. Linda asked about Becka’s work, and people Seph had never heard of. Their voices gradually faded to a kind of buzzing sound. Seph opened his eyes to find everyone staring at him. He’d actually fallen asleep at the table. “Sorry,” he whispered, mortified. “It’s not that you’re boring. Really.”
They all laughed. “Jack, why don’t you show Seph upstairs and help him make up his bed?” Becka suggested. “And you need to get to bed also. I hope you found time to study before your aunt came.”
Jack carried his glass to the sink, then nodded toward the back staircase. They climbed the narrow stairway to a landing on the second floor. Jack scooped up an armload of sheets and towels from a linen closet in the hall, and they ascended another flight of stairs to the third floor.
There were four rooms on the third floor, three of which were crammed floor to ceiling with old furniture, filing cabinets, and boxes of books. The largest room was sparsely furnished with a double bed, bookcase, and dresser. One and a half walls were papered in a William Morris print. More rolls of paper and a wetting tray leaned against the wall. There was a bathroom off to one side. The bed was stripped, and everything was covered with a fine layer of dust. It was suffocatingly hot and stuffy.
“I planned to move up here if it ever got finished,” Jack explained. “Maybe now it’ll finally happen. I hope you’re not allergic to dust.” He dropped the linens on the bed and muscled one of the windows open while Seph went to work on the other, which seemed to be painted shut. With the windows open, a cool breeze carried in the soft sounds of the summer night.
Jack and Seph rolled back the comforter and laid the sheet over the pad. Seph worked quickly and efficiently, despite being half asleep. He’d made a thousand beds in his lifetime.
“Look,” he said to Jack as he crafted a perfect corner. “I’m sorry about moving in on you like this.” He couldn’t seem to remember that wizards never say they are sorry.
Jack finished up his side too, less expertly. “It’s okay. Really. I don’t mean to be rude. I just need to get used to the idea. I guess you’d say I’ve had a lot of trouble with wizards.” He straightened and looked across the bed at Seph. “So you and Aunt Linda have known each other for a long time.” There was a question hidden in the statement.
“I met her for the first time yesterday,” Seph replied. “She said she’s been my guardian for years, but it was news to me.”
Jack frowned. “Yeah, well . . .” his voice trailed off. “I’m sure there’s a good explanation.”
“I guess.” Seph shrugged. “Is it true you used to go out with Alicia Middleton?”
“What?” Jack straightened, almost bumping his head against the ceiling.
“Nothing. I ran into her in Toronto is all. She mentioned your name.” He raised an eyebrow. “She seemed like bad news to me.”
Jack stared at Seph. Then shook his head. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, either. But I’ll tell you this: I had the year from hell two years ago. It started with Leesha and ended with the tournament at Raven’s Ghyll. Ellen was the only good thing that came out of it. That and the establishment of the Sanctuary.”
He leaned on the bedframe, and the muscles stood out along his arms. “This past year has been nice and quiet. In Trinity, at least. I don’t know how long it’ll last, but I just hope you’re not the one to mess it up.” He smiled, as if to take the edge off, but his blue eyes were cold and direct. “I’ll get you some shorts to sleep in.”
When Jack came back up the stairs with an armload of clothes, Seph was already fast asleep on top of the comforter.
Chapter Eleven
The Sanctuary
When Seph awoke, the sun was sliding through the branches, dappling everything in the room. It took him a moment to remember where he was. It had been a long time since he’d slept so long or so soundly. He was still lying on top of the comforter.
A pile of clothes lay heaped at the foot of the bed. He found a toothbrush and towels and soap in his bathroom, and it was obvious that someone had cleaned in there. He washed his face carefully. The swelling in his lip had gone down, but the rest still looked pretty bad, having gone from red and purple to purple and yellow. What he really wanted to do was take a long, hot bath. Instead, he tried on clothes until he found a workable pair of jeans. He pulled on a T-shirt that said TRINITY SOCCER and walked downstairs.
The house had emptied out while he was asleep. Dirty coffee cups and glasses sat in the sink, boxes of cereal on the counter, and a newspaper lay spread out on the table. He poured himself some juice.
“Seph, is that you?” Linda appeared in the doorway, barefoot, wearing jeans and a tank top. She didn’t look much older than Seph. “We’re on the porch.”
Seph walked out onto the screened porch. The stone floor was cool under Seph’s bare feet. Linda and Nick Snowbeard were sitting in two wicker chairs. Linda had a mug of tea in front of her on the glass table.
“Hi.” Seph paused. He still hadn’t figured out what he should call Linda Downey. She noticed his hesitation.
“Why don’t you call me Aunt Linda,” she suggested. “Everybody else does. I guess I’m a pretty good aunt,” she added, as if reassuring herself.
Seph set his juice on the table, and drew up a chair.
“Where is everybody?” he asked.
“Jack’s at school. Becka’s at the university.” Linda drew her feet up under her and settled the mug of tea onto her lap. “So it’s just us.”
Seph took a sip of juice. His lips and tongue still felt swollen and clumsy. “What did you tell your sister about me?”
“I told her you were hiding from an abusive family. Your parents beat you, and I was unable to get you removed from the home, so I spirited you away.”
“Isn’t that illegal?” Seth asked.
“Becka doesn’t always play by the rules. She has a soft heart for children in trouble. I knew she would take you in.”
“I finally get a family, and they beat me up.” Seph looked at Linda out of the corner of his eye. “Well. If I’m going to be here all summer, I’d like to find some kind of part-time job.”
She frowned. “If you need money, I’ll . . .”
“I’m used to working. I’d like to earn my spending money, at least.” Seph wanted a source of income that didn’t go through Linda Downey. That wouldn’t involve questions and explanations and contacting Sloane’s.
“Maybe he could work for Harold Fry,” Nick suggested. “Jack’s crewing for him this summer, so he might need someone at dockside and in the office.”
“Who’s Harold Fry?” Seph asked.
“He runs fishing charters to the western basin of Lake Erie,” Nick explained. “He’s one of my chess partners. I could put in a word.”
“Could you? I don’t know much about fishing, but I’m willing to learn. Thanks.” Seph was pleased the old wizard was willing to help him. He
turned back to Linda and continued his gentle interrogation. “So Jack was the warrior who fought in the famous tournament at Raven’s Ghyll.”
“It was Jack and Ellen Stephenson.”
“Jack and Ellen fought each other? Aren’t those tournaments to the death?”
“Well, they refused to go along with killing each other. That started it all.” She smiled wryly at the expression on Seph’s face, then went on, “The Judges of the Field made the mistake of trying to amend the rules during the tournament, the first time they’d been opened in nearly a thousand years. They didn’t realize that breaking the Covenant made them vulnerable. They were forced to make other changes as well. The old rules codified the rule of wizards over the Weir. Warriors, enchanters, and sorcerers may be powerful relative to the Anaweir, but we have always been at the mercy of wizards, treated as playthings, gladiators, and slaves.
“The new rules do away with the old hierarchy and require the participation of all of the guilds in decision making.” She shrugged. “That’s why there’s so much turmoil. No one’s sure how to implement that. There’s considerable mistrust among the guilds. The other Weir aren’t eager to sit down in a room with a bunch of wiz-ards. They would be in fear of their lives.”
“Not all wizards are like that,” Seph pointed out.
Linda nodded. “Particularly here in America, families are mixed. Jack is a warrior; I’m an enchanter. Leander Hastings is a wizard; his sister was a warrior. There are many wizards like Hastings who hate the old system. They would like to make the new system work.”
Seph pushed his cereal bowl away and settled back in the wicker chair. “How do Jack and Ellen get along now?”
“Oh, they fight all the time. On and off the field.” Linda laughed. “Warriors in love.”
Seph digested that for a moment, then decided to change the subject. He turned to Snowbeard. “When can I start training? I’ve already done a lot of reading.” He thought of the library at the Havens, all those rows of ancient books.
Snowbeard’s eyes flicked briefly to Linda. She nodded reluctantly.
“Is there a Weirbook we could use?” the wizard asked. Another exchange of meaningful glances between Linda and Snowbeard.
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?”