The Guardian Lineage (3 page)

 

 

Mike sat cross-legged on his bed, staring at a piece of parchment.

Your enrollment at Windham Manor has been approved. Please bring with you the following items…

Mike had half-expected to see a list of wizard gear or something, but the letter did not ask him to bring any books or schooling material. Just your sleepaway-camp basics: clothes, linens, toiletries. He shoved his brownish hair out of his face and rubbed his eyes. This was getting to be too much.

There was a soft knock at the door, and Mom came in with two Cokes. She handed one to Mike.

“Come on, let's get you packed.”

Mike tossed the invitation in the garbage. “I'm not leaving, Mom.” He popped open the soda can, and the fizz bubbled against the drone of the air conditioner. He could probably live at Tank's for two, maybe three months, or at least until school started. He would figure things out from there.

Mom sat on the bed. “Listen, sweetie, I know you don't want to move again. But Windham is a very good, uh, boarding school.”

Mike sighed. He would let her play this game for another minute, and then she'd find out how serious he was. “That Stockton guy isn't going to kill any of my friends, is he?”

A smile escaped Mom's lips. “Of course not. But they may not remember what happened when they wake up in the morning.” Then her face straightened. She rubbed the sweat on the soda can and stared at Mike's Buzz Lightyear bedding.

“There's a reason I've dragged you around the country for the last ten years. Our family is… hunted. For their power.” Mom paused. “I know it's been a lousy way to grow up. I thought… I thought I was keeping you away from this. I thought if you were never trained, you'd never be sought after. But I guess our history has caught up with us, huh.”

Sure, Mom, whatever you say,
Mike thought. He took a long, slurping drag on his coke. He had no idea what history she was referring to, and didn't really care at the moment. Maybe he should've been clearer with his previous statement.

“I'm not leaving
Laura
, Mom.”

“No, Mike, you have to.” Mom's brow knotted. “Listen, Laura's a great girl, but if the Book of Lineage is gone, then every Guardian family will be tracked until they're…” Mom's voice trailed off.

“They're what, killed? Why would someone try to
kill
us, Mom?”

Instead of answering, Mom slipped off the bed and placed the soda on Mike's desk. She opened one of his wooden drawers and started pairing socks together.

“Mom, I'm not going.”

She didn't answer.

“I'm
not going, Mom!
”

Mom stopped packing and looked at her son. Her eyes were wet. “I wish there was another way, Michael. Can't you see that?”

Mike threw his hands up. She was going to give him a
guilt trip
for this? He took another swig of his coke.
For Pete's sake.

“What exactly is this ‘Book of Lineage,' anyway? Does it have my baby picture or something?”

Mom folded up a pair of pants. “Pictures, no. Names, locations, dates of birth. Family spells.”

Well, that made sense. Mike had been wondering what kind of hit squad didn't have pictures of their targets, but if they'd just had this book to go on, then then they wouldn't have—

Wait, what was that last thing?

“Did you say family
spells
?”

Mom took out some shorts and placed them on the floor.

“Hold on a second,” Mike said, the wheels turning in his head. “That guy Stockton said something about a headmage, and you're talking about spells. What, is Windham a real life Hog—”

“Were you with her, Michael?”

“Huh?”

“Were you with her. Laura. When you were attacked.”

What did that have to do with anything?
“What does—no, I was alone, I dropped her at…”

Mike's voice trailed off.

The horrible realization came to him all at once.

“For cryin' out loud, Mom, would they really go after her?” Mike scrambled off his bed, panic in his lungs like he'd been shocked with a defibrillator. “Where's my phone, where's my phone…”

“Michael, stop it, calm down.”

Mike fished frantically through his gym bag. Maybe he'd left it downstairs? He was almost out the door when his mom grabbed his arm.

“Michael, stop it! Listen to me. If you're at Windham, out of their reach… Laura won't matter to them.”

Mike stared at his mother, then threw her arm off. “So that's it, then? That's how you're going to play it? You're going to
blackmail
me?”

“Come on, Michael, that's not what I'm trying to do.”

“Then what
are
you trying to do, other than ruin my life?”

Mom winced. She looked at him for a minute, then turned back to her drawer.

For the love of all that's sacred..
. Mike lugged himself back towards his bed.
I should never have told her… I should've just spent the night at Tank's, or gone out to see a movie, or…

Who am I kidding, I was screwed either way.

That was the most depressing part. Even if Mike had kept the ambush from his mom, the – Calebra, was it? – would've come to their house anyway. His mom still would've freaked, and the result would've been the same. Another immediate departure, probably faster than this one.

Mike lifted the invitation out of the garbage. If Windham could protect him… and it would also keep Laura out of harm's way…

“Where is this Windham place, anyway?”

“Western Massachusetts,” Mom said into the drawer.

Mike nodded absentmindedly. Of all the places his mom had dragged him, he had never been to New England. But it wasn't even so far. It was like, what, a three hour drive? And if it was a private school, there would definitely be internet somewhere…

“So this is it, huh.”

Mom turned around, two knee-high socks in her hand. Mike made a mental note to get rid of those when she wasn't looking.

“This is what, Michael?”

“This is it. The last place. We're not going to move again after this, are we.” Mike said it more like a statement. How he knew this, he wasn't sure. It just felt… real. Not like all the fake stuff Mom had ever said to justify all the moving.

After a long moment, Mom said, “Yes, this is it.”

Mike bit his lip. He hated what he was about to say, but he swallowed and said it anyway.
I swear, Mom, if you make me regret this…

“Fine. I'll go.”

“Michael—”

“On one condition. Promise me you'll come and get me on weekends. Every weekend. So I can see her.”

Mom wiped her face with her hand. She seemed to have calmed down a little. “If they let me, I'll get you every Friday.”

“What does that mean, if they let you?”
What was this place, some sort of teenage jail?

Mom didn't answer. Instead, she moved over to his closet and started pulling down his t-shirts.

“Great,” Mike muttered as he settled back onto his bed. “How are we going to afford it, anyway?”

Mom picked her head up and peeled around, a sad smile on her face. She glided over to Mike and kissed him on the forehead. “Oh, you good, good boy. Your father would be so proud of you.” She brushed his hair back with a hand. “Windham is free of charge.”

Mike nearly choked on his soda. “Everything? Books, tuition, room and board – we don't have to pay a thing?”

Mom nodded.

“So it's a
free
teenage jail.”

Mom snorted, the way she did when she was stifling a laugh.

“Fantastic.” Mike set his coke down next to his bed. “Boarding school for the hunted. Can't wait.”

But deny it all he could, Mike knew a small part of him really wanted to go. If Windham was free, and he'd never have to move again, and he'd get to see Laura on the weekends,
and
he could avoid getting her killed by whoever was hunting them – that part was still ridiculous, but whatever – maybe it wouldn't be all that bad… and if the
magic
thing was real…

Oh come on, don't be an idiot.

Mike rolled off his bed. He could've sworn his phone was… ah, there it was, underneath a shirt his mom had folded on the floor. He wondered how Laura would take the news that her boyfriend was moving to a private school. Would she even stay with him?

Mike felt like his heart had jumped over the pole vault. He picked up his cell, barely calmer than a guy about to ask his crush to the prom. How was he supposed to phrase this?
Yeah, see, my house got attacked by a cat tripping on acid, and now I have to go to a teenage jail up in Massachussetts, even though I didn't actually do anything… I get paroled on weekends, will you still go out with me?

Mike flipped open his phone and readied himself.

“Wait, Mike, don't call her yet.”

“Huh?” Mike looked up. His mom was frowning at him.

“Can it wait until you get to Windham?” Mom asked.

“Why can't I call her now?”

“It could put her at risk. If they're watching us.”

“
Who's
watching us, Mom?”

Mom didn't answer.

“Fine,” Mike grumbled. He fired his cellphone at his pillow, nailing it right between Buzz's eyes.

He'd play along.

For like an hour.

He turned back to his closet. Massachusetts, was it? Didn't he have an old Red Sox t-shirt hanging around? Maybe that could buy him a friend or two. Although, it had backfired in Chicago, when he'd busted out a White Sox hat in a Cubs-crazy school…

Mike smirked, remembering the backlash. If that were the worst of his problems at Windham, he'd sign for it in blood right now.

 

 

The '98 Caravan rumbled through the hills, rolling up and down the tree-lined highways. Mike had the window down – the air conditioning was broken – and he was plugged into his old-school iPod. The one with the click-wheel.

The humidity was down, but for some reason, Mike was sweating. The invitation had asked Mike to arrive “before sunset” – as if they were afraid of vampires or something – and the burnt orange sky told him they were getting pretty close to that deadline. He'd learned that a good first impression was
the
determining factor in how the staff at a new school treated him, and he was hoping to make good on that trend here.

Besides, the sooner he got to Windham, the sooner he could call Laura.

He'd tried her several times late last night, but she hadn't picked up. Which worried him. The sooner he got in touch with her, the better. He'd explain what happened, she'd understand, and everything would sort itself out.

Or at least he hoped.

Mom pulled off the highway and onto a series of back roads. After a bunch of twists and turns that made Mike feel like he was in a hang-glider, the old Dodge drove through a gate lined by two stone pillars. Each had a gargoyle perched on top, crouching in menacing fashion. Mike glanced at the statues but paid them no real attention. Instead he took out his earbuds and popped open his cell phone—

To find that he had no reception.

“No service? Are you kidding me, Mom?”

“No service?” Mom repeated, as if she was genuinely surprised. “Things must be worse than I thought …” Then, as if realizing Mike was still there, she said in a stronger voice, “I'm sure you'll be able to call her once you're inside.”

Mike didn't answer. Instead, he folded his arms over his chest and stared back out the window.
If there's no service inside, Mom, I swear to you I'm breaking out of this joint and hailing the next cab back to Queens. And you'll have to figure out some way to pay for it.

The gravel road cut through a large expanse, with random oaks scattered across a neatly trimmed meadow as large as a football field. A wall of trees bordered the grounds on all sides, which rubbed Mike the wrong way. Like it was there to keep everybody locked inside.

Finally, after a minute or so, the van peeled around a tree-shrouded turn, and Mike got a look at his new home.

It looked more like a mansion than a boarding school. There were four rows of windows on the front of the building, each numbering more than twenty across. Marble pillars shot up from the embankment all the way to the roof, evenly spaced. Two tremendous wooden doors were slightly ajar. And on the roof, overlooking the estate, were several huge gargoyle statues, each a full-body illustration.

“What's with the statue kick?” Mike said as the caravan ached forward.

Mom gave a wry smile but did not answer.

Mike's attention turned to the wooden doors. The guy who had dropped off the invitation to school – Stockton, was it? – was standing there, greeting other kids who were about Mike's age. His mouth was twisted into a frown, as if it was engraved like that.

“Who is that guy, and why is he such a jerk?”

Mom exhaled. She was drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, like she did when she got nervous. “I'm not sure of his position nowadays, to tell you the truth. I'm sure you'll find out when you get inside.”

When the caravan reached the front of the line, Mike got out of the car and grabbed his gym bag and rolling suitcase. His mom hopped out of the driver's seat and left the car running.

“I'll be in touch,” Mike said as he gave his mom a hug.

Mom's eyes were wet. “Be careful, Michael. Don't trust—”

“
Anyone
, I know. You always say that.” All of a sudden, Mike felt something well up inside of him. He tried to give his mom a smile, but it came out as a scrunched-up frown, the kind that Kermit the Frog made when he was upset.

Mom smiled through the tears and reached an arm out to hug her son again. Then, without looking at Stockton or the building, she got in the van and drove away.

Trying his hardest not to cry, Mike realized they had never really been apart before. It had always been the two of them, no matter what, no matter where, with the Caravan as their safehouse and each other as a security blanket. Mike had always known that no matter how scary things got, his Mom would always be there.

Until now.

Mike took a deep breath.
I can do this… it's just another school transfer. I'm the king of school transfers, right? I'm the
LeBron James
of school transfers.
Just give me my ring and scepte
r already, I'm the man!

With that personal pump-up speech, Mike slung his bag over his shoulder and picked up his suitcase. He could handle this. Just another school transfer. No problem. And probably the last he'd ever have to go through.

When he reached the top of the stairs, Mike gathered himself and looked up at the guy who had taken out like six or seven sweatsuits by himself.

“Thanks for helping me out yesterday. You know, with the fight.”

Stockton handed Mike a tiny envelope with a bulge in it. “Your room is on the third floor, to the right.”

“Oh, okay.” Mike grabbed the envelope and stuffed it in his jeans. “What's your job here, by the way?”

Stockton looked straight ahead. “Welcome to Windham, Mister Prior.”

Okaaaay,
Mike thought.
On a scale of one to the least friendly receptions ever… Welcome to Windham!
He dislodged his gaze from Stockton's pouting face, then pulled on one of the wooden doors. When he stepped into the antechamber, his breath caught, and he let out a “whoa,” without even meaning to.

The place was incredible. The ceiling stretched for what seemed like a mile upwards, ending in a glass dome that bathed the room in failing sunlight. The floor was decorated with glazed ceramic tiling, green and gold, laid out in a fancy hexagonal pattern. Two tremendous chandeliers hung to either side of the dome, and glass lanterns lined the walls. There were two winding marble staircases on either side. Above each staircase hung a sign carved out of ivory stone; the right said
Gentlemen
, the left
Ladies
.

Then he saw a smaller plaque, set into one of the marble pillars near the staircases. He moved closer to get a better look.

Any student caught in a dormitory of the opposite sex will be dismembered in the most excruciating of manners.

Mike snickered. At least they had a sense of humor here.

Although… they couldn't ac
t
u
ally be serious, could they?

“Hey.”

Mike turned to see a boy about his height, wearing khaki shorts and an Abercrombie t-shirt. He had a knapsack slung over his shoulder. A sports bag dropped from his free hand. His hair was jet black, but what really caught Mike's attention were his eyes. They were different colors – one green, one blue.

The kid pointed to Mike's chest. “All right, let's go Sawx.” He dropped his bag and offered a hand. “Aaron Caulderon, nice to meet ‘ya.”

Mike took it, unable to move his gaze from Aaron's eyes. “Mike Prior.”

Aaron smirked. “They're just contacts. My mom said it'd scare people off, but whatever.” He grinned. “Where you from?”

“Uh, most recently?” Mike said, thinking maybe Aaron should've listened to his mother just this once. “Queens, New York.”

Aaron picked up his bag and headed towards the stairs. “Sharon, Mass. Moved around a lot?”

About as much as a priest touring the South, but I'll spare you the details
. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Sounds like fun.”

You have no idea,
Mike thought, and left it at that.

“So… it's Mike, right?”

Mike nodded, wondering how much time had actually passed since he'd introduced himself.
Two seconds? Three?

“What did you say your last name was again?”

Mike froze. The last time someone had asked him that, he'd ended up with a bloody nose from an attempted mugging.

“Uh, Prior.”

Aaron's brow creased, and Mike felt his heartbeat race just a little. He let his suitcase go limp in his hand, in case he had to block…

“You know, my mom told me to look out for you. ‘Stay away from that kid, he's trouble,' or something like that.” Then Aaron grinned. “But like I said, I don't listen to my mom all that much.” Aaron slapped Mike on the back. “Besides, you're a sawx fan, so how bad could you be?”

Mike brushed off the compliment, because his mind was swimming. Caulderon? Had he met a family named Caulderon? He definitely didn't recognize Aaron, and he'd never been to Massachussetts before… how could Aaron's mother have known
anything
about him, let alone that he was trouble?

Just then, a voice rang out from overhead. “All students please proceed to the Dining Hall. The dinner reception will begin shortly.”

“All right, let's get to the grub!” Aaron slapped Mike on the shoulder again and headed towards the big “Dining Hall” sign that hung from the ceiling.

Mike cringed, thinking this guy Aaron was a little too slap-happy for his taste. Then he trudged after him, a single thought in his brain.

What in the world was going on?

The Dining Hall was pretty impressive, although Mike had kind of expected that, considering the Entrance Hall. Ten or fifteen rectangular tables were set up across the room, each with a large number protruding from a bouquet of flowers. There was a stage towards the front, and a dais with about fifteen or twenty chairs, all facing the auditorium. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling; not as ornate as the one in the Greeting Hall, but fancy nonetheless. Colorful banners were set up around the room. There were several entranceways recessed into the walls, oval arches stretched at least twenty feet high, with wooden doors that were closed at the moment.

Mike ended up sitting next to Aaron, simply because he had nowhere else to go. He dumped his stuff underneath the table and sat facing the stage.

“So what are we doing here, anyway?” Mike skimmed the crowd. Maybe a hundred or so students, all about his age, give or take a few years. Most looked pretty comfortable, but a few of them seemed as new to this as he was. He caught a couple girls looking at him and whispering, and Mike found himself wondering if their parents had also—

Then he stopped. Aaron was staring at him like he had just asked him to marry his sister.

“What?”

“Well,” Aaron said, an amused look on his face. “What do you mean?”

“You know, all this fancy French-chandelier stuff,” Mike said casually, trying to make it seem like he knew what he was talking about, even though he obviously didn't. “What's the deal with this place?”

Aaron studied him. “You really don't know, do you.”

“Of course I… uh…” Mike shrugged. “Nope.”

Aaron laughed out loud, then patted Mike on the shoulder. It took all of Mike's energy not to grab Aaron's hand and snap it backwards. “Just wait, buddy,” Aaron said through a bright smile. “You'll see.”

Mike didn't know what that meant, but his thoughts were interrupted by the startling sound of trumpets. The doors snapped open with a cinematic whoosh. In walked men and women in Stockton-like outfits, two per entrance. Mike guessed there were twenty or so in all. They stood by the archways with their arms crossed, like watchmen on duty. Mike's heart skipped a beat. Why were they guarding the doors, if—

Holy shishkabob
.

Mike's apprehension melted away as people dressed as waiters came in, carrying enormous plates of food. There were different types of deli sandwiches, chicken wings, steak strips, meat on metal sticks, and an assortment of burgers and hot dogs. There was a roar of approval from the crowd. Mike dove right in, and soon he was one of a hundred teenagers stuffing their mouths.

Then Mike noticed a man walking silently onto the stage. He was also dressed like Stockton, complete with leather buttoned vest and black cape-coat. A strange necklace hung from his neck – a small teal stone supported by a thin gold band. The man's white-brown hair was cropped short, and his face was clean-shaven. It seemed like he had an important announcement to make.

Mike leaned over to Aaron. “You don't think he's gonna pull out a sorting hat, do you?”

Aaron smothered a laugh, and Mike tried to figure out whether the kid was being polite, or if he'd actually thought that was funny.
Well, he's eager to make friends, that's for sure. At least he's not cursing me out, eh?

Suddenly, the man clapped his hands twice, creating a noise far louder than Mike expected. The room fell silent.

“Welcome to Windham Manor. My name is James Garzan, and I am the Headmage here at this school.”

Mike snuck a peek at Stockton, who was standing next to one of the open doors. Hopefully this Garzan guy was a little more chilled out than Stockton was. From the look of things, he probably was – nobody who actually referred to themselves as a Headmage could be
that
downbeat.

“You are all part of a special lineage, a special tradition. I apologize for the haste in bringing you here, but we felt it was necessary to begin the school term as early as possible.” Garzan strolled up and down the stage, gesturing as he spoke. “The Guardians are an ancient guild, a pact formed long ago to protect the creatures of the night from enemies of the day. For those who may not understand…” Here Garzan looked intently at Mike, so that Mike felt goose bumps on his neck, “Perhaps a visual aide will help.”

Garzan touched the stone on his necklace. It lit up, as if it was battery powered or something. The chandeliers started shaking. Mike heard a loud thumping noise.