The Golden Tower (Magisterium #5)(2)

Call didn’t know what to say. Right now the idea of never dealing with the Assembly and its views on Makars, or the hatred people held toward Constantine Madden, the Enemy of Death, whose soul lived in Call’s body, sounded ideal. But …

“Look, there’s something I’ve got to tell you,” Call said. “Aaron’s not really gone.”

Alastair’s brows furrowed in concern.

Uh-oh, Aaron thought. I hope he’s not going to freak out.

“What do you mean?” Alastair said carefully.

“I mean, he’s still in my head. Like, he’s living on in me,” Call blurted out.

There’s really no need for you to tell him this, Aaron said. Which was pretty rich coming from him, since he’d just gotten through saying they had to tell Tamara.

Alastair nodded slowly, and relief made Call’s shoulders dip. His dad was taking this well. Maybe he’d have some ideas for what to do.

“That’s a good way of looking at it,” Alastair said finally. “You’re dealing with all of this really well. Grief is hard, I know. But the best thing to do is to remember the person you lost and —”

“You don’t understand,” Call interrupted. “Aaron talks to me. I hear him.”

Alastair continued nodding. “I felt that way sometimes after we lost your mother. It was almost as though I could hear Sarah’s voice scolding me. Especially one time when I let you crawl around outside and you ate dirt while I wasn’t paying attention.”

“I ate dirt?” Call asked.

“Helps you build immunities,” said Alastair, slightly defensive. “You’re fine.”

“I might be,” said Call. “But that’s not the point. The point is that Aaron is really, really with me.”

Alastair put a gentle hand on Call’s shoulder. “I know he is,” he said.

And Call didn’t have the heart to say anything after that.



The night before leaving home for his final year at the Magisterium, Call lay awake in bed as the moon made a white path over his bedclothes. He had packed a duffel for his trip to the Magisterium the next day, where he’d be putting on the deep red uniform of a Gold Year. He remembered looking at Alex Strike in his Gold Year uniform, seeming so cool and confident with his friends. Now Alex was dead. Call was glad, too. Alex had murdered Aaron and deserved everything he’d gotten.

Call. Aaron’s voice was a whisper. Don’t think about this stuff. You just have to get through tomorrow.

“But everyone will hate me,” Call said. He knew his father disagreed, but he was pretty sure he was right about this. He might have come out on the right side in the last battle, he might have saved the Magisterium, but he was still the bearer of Constantine Madden’s corrupted soul.

Havoc gave a whine and nosed at Call’s hand, then began trying to crawl under the covers. It had been cute when he was a pup but was downright dangerous in a full-grown wolf, even if he wasn’t Chaos-ridden.

Havoc, quit it, Aaron thought, and Havoc jerked his head up, blinking. He can hear me! Aaron sounded delighted.

“You’re imagining things,” Call said.

There was a knock on Call’s door. “Call? Are you on the phone?” Alastair asked.

“No!” Call yelled. “Just — talking to Havoc.”

“Okay.” Alastair sounded dubious but his footsteps receded.

You’ve got Tamara, and Havoc, and me, said Aaron. As long as we all stick together, we’ll be all right.





SITTING ON THE passenger side of Alastair’s silver 1937 Rolls-Royce Phantom, headed toward the Magisterium once again, Call thought about his trip to the Iron Trial four years earlier. He remembered the way his dad had told him that, if he just flunked the tests, then he wouldn’t have to go to magic school — which was good, because if he did go, he might die down in the tunnels.

Now Call knew what his dad had really been worried about — the discovery that Call was the repository for Constantine’s soul. And everything his dad had been afraid might happen had come to pass, except for the dying-in-the-tunnels part.

It wasn’t too late for that either.

Do you just think about the worst stuff possible? Aaron asked. Like this Evil Overlord point system. We really need to talk about that.

“Don’t judge,” Call said.

Alastair looked over at him oddly. “I am not judging you, Callum. Although you have been very quiet on this trip.”

Call really needed to stop responding to Aaron out loud.

And Aaron really needed to stop poking around in his memories.

“I’m fine,” Call told his dad. “Just a little on edge.”

“Only one more year,” said Alastair, turning onto the road that led to the caverns of the school. “And then the mages can’t claim you’re dangerously untrained or any of that hogwash. One more year and you’ll be free from mages forever.”

A few minutes later, Call was getting out of the car and slinging a duffel over his shoulder. Havoc jumped out after him, scenting the wind. A bus was letting out other students, young ones fresh from the Iron Trials. They looked really small to Call and he found himself worrying for them. A few peered over at him nervously, pointing and whispering to one another.