The Copper Gauntlet (Magisterium #2)(3)

Call had a hard time keeping his mind on the movie, despite the spaceships, aliens, and explosions. He kept thinking about the way they watched movies at the Magisterium, with an air mage projecting the images onto a cave wall. Because the movies were controlled by the mages, anything could happen in them. He’d seen Star Wars with six different endings, and movies where the kids from the Magisterium were projected onto the screen, fighting monsters, flying cars, and turning into superheroes.

In comparison, this movie seemed a little flat. Call concentrated on the parts he would have done differently as he downed three Extreme! Sour Apple Slushies and two large tubs of buttered popcorn. Alastair stared at the screen with an expression of mild horror, not even turning when Call offered him some peanut clusters. As a consequence of having to eat all the snacks himself, Call was buzzing with sugar by the time they got back to Alastair’s car.

“Did you like it?” Alastair asked.

“It was pretty good,” Call said, not wanting Alastair to feel like he didn’t appreciate his dad dragging himself to a movie he would never have gone to see on his own. “The part where the space station blew up was awesome.”

There was a silence, not quite long enough to be uncomfortable, before Alastair spoke again. “You know, there’s no reason for you to go back to the Magisterium. You’ve learned the basics. You could practice here, with me.”

Call felt his heart sink. They’d had this conversation, or variations of it, a hundred times already, and it never went well. “I think I should probably go back,” Call said as neutrally as possible. “I already went through the First Gate, so I should finish what I started.”

Alastair’s expression darkened. “It’s not good for children to be underground. Kept in the dark like worms. Your skin growing pale and gray. Your Vitamin D levels dropping. The vitality leeching from your body …”

“Do I look gray?” Call rarely paid attention to his appearance beyond the basics — making sure his pants weren’t inside out and his hair wasn’t sticking up — but being gray sounded bad. He cast a surreptitious glance at his hand, but it still appeared to be its usual pinky-beige color.

Alastair was gripping the wheel in frustration as they turned onto their street. “What is it about that school that you like?”

“What did you like about it?” Call demanded. “You went there, and I know you didn’t hate every minute. You met Mom there —”

“Yes,” Alastair said. “I had friends there. That was what I liked about it.” It was the first time Call could remember him saying he’d liked anything about mage school.

“I have friends there, too,” said Call. “I don’t have any here, but I do there.”

“All the friends I went to school with are dead now, Call,” said Alastair, and Call felt the hair rise up on the back of his neck. He thought of Aaron, Tamara, and Celia — then had to stop. It was too awful.

Not just the idea of them dying.

But the idea of them dying because of him.

Because of his secret.

The evil inside him.

Stop, Call told himself. They were back at their house now. Something about it looked wrong to Call. Off. Call stared for a minute before he realized what it was. He’d left the garage door closed, Havoc tied up inside, but now it was open, a big black square.

“Havoc!” Call grabbed at the door handle and half fell out onto the pavement, his weak leg twanging. He could hear his father calling his name, but he didn’t care.

He half limped, half ran to the garage. The rope was still there, but one end of it was frayed, as though sawed through by a knife — or a sharp wolf tooth. Call tried to imagine Havoc all alone in the garage, in the dark. Barking and waiting for Call to answer. Call started to feel cold all through his chest. Havoc hadn’t been tied up a lot at Alastair’s, and it had probably freaked him out. Maybe he’d chewed the rope and thrown himself against the door until it opened.

“Havoc!” Call called again, louder. “Havoc, we’re home! You can come back now!”

He whirled around, but the wolf didn’t come out of the bushes, didn’t emerge from the shadows that were starting to gather between the trees.

It was getting late.

Call’s father came up behind him. He looked at the torn rope and the open door and sighed, raking a hand through his gray-black hair. “Call,” he said gently. “Call, it’s gone. Your wolf’s gone.”

“You don’t know that!” Call shouted, spinning to face Alastair.

“Call —”

“You always hated Havoc!” Call snapped. “You’re probably glad he’s gone.”

Alastair’s expression hardened. “I’m not glad you’re upset, Call. But yes, that wolf was never meant to be a pet. It might have killed or really hurt someone. One of your friends or, God forbid, you. I just hope it runs off into the woods and doesn’t head into town to start snacking on the neighbors.”

“Shut up!” Call told him, although there was something vaguely comforting about the idea that if Havoc ate someone, Call might be able to find him in the commotion. Call pushed that thought firmly out of his mind, consigning it into the Evil Overlord column.

Thoughts like that didn’t help anything. He had to find Havoc before awful stuff happened. “Havoc’s never hurt anyone,” he said instead.