The Guardian Lineage (7 page)

 

 

Mike peered out the passenger side window, gazing at trees that were half illuminated by the SUV's brights. There had been five minutes of silence already, which felt like a lifetime, especially because Mike was waiting for an all-time scolding. He was thankful the Headmage had shown up, that was for sure, but miserable about the fact that he had to go back to Windham. He never should've taken that hitchhike – that old guy was probably dead because of him – and now he'd blown his one chance to escape. They'd probably keep a leash on him now, or confine him to his room. Add in the fact that he'd probably get detention for a year, and Mike would've rather been anywhere else in the world.

Yet when the Headmage broke the silence, it was not with an angry tone in his voice.

“Jakkus told me you wanted to see your girlfriend,” Garzan said as he guided the SUV through the forest road.

Mike threw up his hands. “Okay, I get it. Gargoyles are not just big stone bats. Anything else I need to know?”

“Michael,” the Headmage said as he adjusted the speed of the windshield wipers. “Contact with your girlfriend will only serve to put her in danger.”

“But I thought—”

“That she'd be safe, once you were in Windham?”

Mike looked back out the window. Of course that was what he thought. His mom had said that to him.

Along with all the other lies.

“She will be. As long as you
stay
in Windham.”

Mike didn't respond.

“I know it's hard, Michael. But you've seen firsthand the danger we're facing. This is the danger your girlfriend – Laura, is it – she will face it, too, if you keep up this façade. And she does not have any magical abilities to protect herself.”

“Why would they hurt her?” Mike half-complained. He felt himself getting angry again. “It's not fair, why would they do this?”

“Why do evil people do evil things? Because they are evil,” Garzan said in a voice that made it seem more complicated than it sounded.

“But why me? No one else got a Calebra, and no one else has to break up with their girlfriend!” Mike didn't know if that was true, but he didn't really care at the moment. “Why does this all have to happen to
me
?”

Garzan was silent for a minute. “I think you can answer that one yourself, Michael.”

“Because of Rafael? I don't care that he was my great-grandfather, I'm not him! I'm not some two-face who'll betray his friends, I swear it!”

“I'm happy to hear that, Michael, but that's not what they're after.”

Mike took a deep breath, trying to keep himself together. He realized yelling at the guy who just saved his life would not help matters. “My mom mentioned something. About my family's power.”

Garzan nodded. “That is what they seek. And it is my job, amongst others, to make sure they don't get it.”

“By keeping me locked up?”

Garzan chuckled as he switched off the brights for an oncoming car. “No, Michael. By turning you into the most powerful force for good the world has ever seen.”

Mike didn't know how to respond to that little nugget of information. He was already uncomfortable with his newfound yet uncontrollable power, and it sure didn't seem like he was worth all the trouble. What would the bad guys steal, anyway – some kid who blew stuff up by just thinking about it? Okay, that could be useful, but Stockton had said this war had been going on for centuries – surely the bad guys had other ways of detonating Guardian targets without needing to steal an actual Guardian kid…

“You're not the only one they're after, you know.”

Mike cocked an eyebrow. “I have cousins here at Windham?”

“No, Michael.”

“Then who…”

Horror spread through Mike's limbs like he'd downed a shot of whiskey.

“Wait, my
mom
?”

“She was able to get away,” Garzan said softly. “But I do not know how long she will be able to hold out.”

“Then get her here to Windham!” Mike said desperately. “Bring her here, protect her!”

“It's not that simple, Michael.”

“Not that simple? Okay, I get it, I come from a family of traitors. But she's not a traitor, I'm not a traitor—”

“Listen, Michael.” The Headmage paused to navigate a sharp turn in the forest road. “I know you don't realize the severity of it all, but we are in the middle of a war with the Brethren. Our Guardians are not all here at Windham. They have other… tasks to perform.”

Mike thought of the dream he'd had the previous night, about how his mom was warning him about a spy in Windham. Could it be that his mom was doing Guardian spy work herself, somewhere else? He thought about telling Garzan about the dream, but for some reason, he didn't think the Headmage would take him seriously, not after the stunt he'd pulled tonight.

“Who were those guys, anyway? Black Brethren?”

“Perhaps,” Garzan said absentmindedly, “Or maybe Slayers.”

“Slayers?” Mike echoed. “What are Slayers?”

Garzan pursed his lips and didn't respond.

Of course, don't tell me. They almost killed me, but it's not like it might ever happen again
. Mike looked back out his window. The trees passed rapidly, the headlights making it seem like the forest was five feet tall. Above that, everything was black. As if the forest held deep secrets, and was unwilling to let anyone see but a glimpse of what might be.

Kind of like how Mike's life was unfolding.

“By the way,” the Headmage said as he pulled the SUV onto Windham's driveway, “I've spoken to Magus Stockton about reinstating you into Sparring class. I know he has his methods of discipline, but I'm afraid we may not have time for you to miss a week of class.”

Mike didn't say anything. He couldn't tell if the Headmage was trying to do him a favor, or just making sure his potentially volatile secret weapon was up to snuff.

“All he asked is for you to visit him in his office, to request reinstatement personally. Meet him there tomorrow, just before your Sparring class. All right?”

Of course,
Mike thought.
He'd want me to grovel my way back into his good graces. Okay, I'll go, but I'm not getting on my knees for him.

The SUV stopped in front of the entrance, and the Headmage got out. Mike followed and headed up the steps.

“Michael,” the Headmage said.

Mike turned to see the Headmage staring at him in the scariest way possible. Not menacing, just deadly serious.

“Focus on your studies. Hone your abilities. War is coming to Windham. You will need them sooner than you might think.”

 

 

Mike headed for Stockton's office as soon as Magical Detention was over the following afternoon, hoping to catch the Magus before he left for class. He'd thought about Laura all day. It took him many hours of being miserable to realize that instead of sulking about his life, the only way he'd be able to see her soon was to become the biggest kick-ass Guardian the world had ever seen. If he was more powerful, he'd be able to see her, and protect her.

And to do that, he'd need all the practice he could get.

Plus – he didn't admit this to anyone, but still – he was scared about the Headmage's last words.

War is coming to Windham.

The ambush last night had freaked him out more than anything else in his entire life. And, being a pretty freaked-out kid in the first place, that was saying something.

It was one thing to hear about war, to see army footage on TV, or watch some movie with stuff blowing up. But to be in the middle of an actual fight, to smell the smoke and the burning flesh, to see the destruction, the fighting… hell, the
death
, even if it was the bad-guys kicking the can…

It was pretty messed up.

But it also focused him.

This was a real threat to his own life. A real threat to the people around him, here at Windham. Even if Mike didn't know them from a hole in the wall, he still didn't want them being massacred. And he had other people he was close with. His Mom. Laura. Maybe even his friends from Queens. It seemed like they could all be in danger.

If he would somehow be able to counteract all that with his powers, even though he had a “checkered past…” well, there was no way he was going to turn that opportunity down.

Mike knocked on the frosted-glass window that said “Seth Stockton” in thick stenciled lettering and brushed the hair out of his eyes. He loathed Stockton for making him kiss up like this, but if this was how he was going get back in, so be it.

There was a “Come,” from the inside, so Mike turned the gold knob and pushed the door open.

The room was bigger than Mike expected. Photographs of Guardians in uniform lined the wall, the more recent portraits nearer to a window that overlooked the grounds. Two small chandeliers illuminated the room. A coat rack was set up next to the door, with a long leather jacket hanging on it. A filing cabinet marked “Windham Student Directory” was set against the wood paneling, and a rolling index was placed on top.

So they really don't have computers here, after all. The gargoyles can read people's minds, but the Guardians can't surf the internet. Hilarious.

Stockton was wearing a black button-down shirt and a necklace similar to the one Garzan had. He was seated at a mahogany desk, reading over a stack of papers. Mike's eyes flitted to the scar that stretched across Stockton's temple, and it occurred to him that whatever kind of injury it had been, it must've been insanely painful.

Stockton rapped the papers on the desk and placed them facedown.

“Mister Prior.”

“Hi, uh, Magus Stockton,” Mike said, recalling his teacher's preference. He spoke carefully, but to the point. “I wanted to be reinstated into Sparring class. If that's okay.”

Stockton glanced at his wristwatch and muttered, “Indeed.” He reclined, interlocking his fingers and placing them against his stomach. “Very well.”

“Very well” was not exactly the response Mike was expecting. He lingered for a moment or two, causing an awkward silence.

“That's it?” Mike said finally.

“Did I not answer your question?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Okay, thanks then.”

Mike turned to leave. But before he could reach the door, Stockton said, “Mister Prior?”

Bracing for some kind of insult, Mike said, “Yeah?”

“Do you know why I suspended you?”

The question caught Mike off guard. He had been expecting an argument, a rejection of the Headmage's orders, or something else to make him hate the Magus more than he already did. Instead, he had been met with a calm, collected… almost courteous professor.

“Uh, no, actually.”

Stockton snorted and placed his elbows on the table. “Of course not,” he said matter-of-factly, causing Mike to backtrack from his “courteous” assessment just a bit. Stockton rubbed his forehead, seemingly trying to pick which words to use. “Two things happened last night. Aside from you running away from school, of course.”

I didn't…
oh, nevermind
. Mike let it be. He was more curious to hear what Stockton had to say.

“First, you deliberately disobeyed my instructions to attack when the bell rang. Second, you nearly decapitated a fellow student. Which of those reasons was the basis for your suspension?”

Mike thought “nearly decapitated” was a bit of a stretch, considering Annabella had her arm in a sling. “I thought you did it because I couldn't control my magic. Because I hurt her.”

Stockton shook his head. “If you think that I care whether or not Miss Frost sprains a wrist, you are quite mistaken. Much worse has happened to Guardians in the past. A little toughening would do you people some good.”

Mike wondered what that meant, but he wasn't about to interrupt His Highness the Magus.

Stockton blew out a frustrated breath. “You don't understand, do you.”

Mike wavered. He thought about Jakkus and his mind-reading ability, and decided to take the high road.

“No.”

The Magus eyed Mike, seemingly deciding whether he wanted to share this information with him. Finally he said, “I
want
my students to get hurt.”

“Excuse me?” Mike blurted out before he could control himself.

“You heard me. I
want
my students to get hurt. I
want
my students to feel like they're on the battlefield. Because when you're fighting, you don't always have five seconds to form a shield. To tell you the truth, I was probably too generous; it should've been two or three.

“The whole reason we have a Sparring class is so that if you're confronted with a fight – and I don't mean four kids in the dining room trying to steal your lunch money, I mean a fight like you were in last night – so if you're in a fight, you don't wet yourself. If you've seen combat already, if you've learned what it means to procure spells on a dime, if you've felt what it means to get hit with a magical weapon, then you may survive. Without that, you might as well be a gargoyle at high noon.”

Mike was more fascinated than anything. Stockton
wanted
his kids to get hurt… and that would prepare them for battle? He wasn't sure if Stockton was crazy or brilliant, but he did know that these methods wouldn't go over too well with the board of directors. If this place even had one.

“And in the second contest of the year, you backed off. You allowed Miss Frost to form a shield, however pathetic it was, anyway. You defeated the whole purpose of the lesson with your mercy, and I couldn't have other kids doing that.”

Stockton regarded Mike with intensity. “We have to teach you to kill, Mister Prior. Because if you don't, the Brethren certainly will.”

Mike stared at his teacher. Then he realized this was something he had been struggling with over the past day and a half, aside from all the homesickness, aside from all the frustration over his suspension, and aside from the fact that he missed Laura so much.

Part of him loved being the most powerful kid in class, even if he had no idea how or why his powers worked. But a bigger part of him was scared. Scared he wouldn't be able to control himself. Scared he'd get drawn into the same evil that Rafael had been drawn to. Scared he would hurt or even kill someone.

Yet here was Stockton telling him it was okay. It was
okay
to unleash his power, so long as it was on his enemies. Which meant that the pleasure of letting go wasn't all that terrible, and the need for control wasn't all that good… Mike felt his head starting to spin. This was way too heavy. He'd hated the philosophy class he'd taken in Forest Hills High, and this was getting to be too much of a mind trip.

Stockton paused for a moment and studied his pupil. “You think I'm insane.”

“You think?” The moment the words left his tongue, Mike bit down on his tongue. Hard. Stockton would
cream
him for that…

But then the Magus did something unexpected.

Stockton called Mike over with his index finger.

Mike swore to himself but approached the desk anyway, bracing for some kind of spell that would turn his head into a basketball.

Instead, Stockton rolled up his left sleeve to reveal a forearm and bicep that looked like it had spent too much time in a broiler. The skin was black, flaky, charcoaled beyond recognition. Only towards the shoulder did the skin start reverting to its normal color.

“Holy cow,” was all Mike could say.

Stockton pointed to the scar that stretched across his temple. “Souvenirs from the Black Brethren. To remind me that every day I live is a gift, and that every student I teach will die unless I am unforgiving in my methods.” Stockton glanced at his watch.

“And now, we have class.”