“You little fool!” The words were full of venom. “I can't believe you would sacrifice your nephew like this. Why not let him fight, and at least give him a chance?”

“You cast the graffe, Jessamine, I didn't. You can explain it to the rest of your House. Jack said he'd rather die than end up in your hands. I honored his choice.”

“I'm most displeased. I think I'll pay your sister Becka a visit. She's staying on Thurloe Place, isn't she?” Dr. Longbranch stalked from the church.

Linda rang Becka repeatedly, but there was no answer. She lounged at the church until about midnight, then slipped out the back door.

The Chaucerian Society was a flexible group. When Linda introduced herself as an expert in medieval myth and magic who would be replacing Leander Hastings for a few days, there was hardly a ripple of concern. The boys in particular were pleased with the change. The notable exceptions were Will and Fitch, who knew that Linda Downey surfacing unexpectedly meant that trouble would follow.

Linda was a good choice for the assignment. She was an ardent Anglophile, and shared her family's interest in English literature and medieval studies. She had lived much of her life in England, and was able to add detail and color to the information provided by the official cathedral guide. They were all suitably impressed with the sheer nastiness of a murder in church. We weren't far from that last night, Linda thought. She wondered where Jack and Hastings had gotten to. She'd heard he had a house in Cumbria, perhaps they'd gone there.

She tried to call Becka several times during the day, but there was no answer in the hotel room in London. Becka surely wouldn't leave for Oxford without Jack. She left a message at Devon House for Becka to call her in Canterbury. The story she had devised was that they had spotted the kidnappers in London, and although Hastings had taken Jack to a safe place, they were all in danger.

There were no messages when Linda returned to Hastings's room. There was sparse evidence of his presence: a book on the table, a leather shaving kit in the washroom, a sweater draped across the foot of the bed. Impulsively, she pressed the wool to her face, breathing in his scent. Embarrassed, she dropped it on the bed.

By now, Becka might be frantic. What if she called Dr. Longbranch? Surely now that the wizard thought Jack was dead, she would leave Becka alone, despite her threat in the church. Unless Longbranch decided to use Becka to take revenge on Linda for the double cross.

And where were Jack and Hastings? Hastings owned property somewhere in Cumbria. Perhaps they had gone up there. Maybe Hastings had called Becka and told her some story on his own. Anything was possible.

There was a knock at the door. When she pulled it open, Will and Fitch stood in the hallway, Fitch with a folder under his arm. They looked to be on a mission.

"Hello, Ms. Downey. We need to talk to you. If… are you busy?” Will shifted from foot to foot.

“Not at all. Please, come in! Would you like some tea or something?” Linda looked from one to the other.

Fitch shook his head. “We came because we want to know why you're here and what it has to do with Jack,” he said bluntly.

“I see. Well, won't you sit down?” She gestured toward a little table next to a window that overlooked the narrow street below.

They arranged themselves as best they could, seeming overlarge for the delicate table, all elbows and knees and long legs and wary determination.

Fitch dropped his folder on the table and said, “So where's Jack? And why are you filling in for Mr. Hastings?”

Linda steepled her hands and rested her chin on her fingertips, studying them. They had earned the right to information. Without them, Jack would no doubt be dead or worse. “Jack's had trouble again since coming to London. He had to leave with Mr. Hastings. That's why I'm here.”

“Listen, we're tired of being clueless.” Will placed his palms flat against the table. “Jack won't tell us anything. He just says not to worry, there's nothing we can do. Crap like that. We think you can tell us what's going on.”

“I can do that. It's up to you to decide what you want to believe.” Linda could make them believe Jack had been kidnapped by aliens if she wanted to. But, this time, she preferred to convince them by non-magical means. She took a deep breath.

“Jack should have been a wizard, but he was implanted with a warrior stone when he was a baby.”

Fitch squinted at her doubtfully, as if trying to decide if she were joking. “Implanted with a … what?”

“A Weirstone. Those who carry a warrior stone have certain magical attributes that manifest when they come of age—”

“Right.” Fitch rolled his eyes. “Jack Swift is … is some kind of gladiator with superpowers. Is that what you're saying?”

Linda nodded. “There are other stones and other guilds, of which wizards are the most powerful. Wizards play warriors in tournaments called the Game. Only there aren't many warriors left. So Jack is what you might call a rare find. Because of that, wizards are after him, trying to capture or kill him.”

“Hold on,” Will said, scowling. “Wizards? Like in a fairy tale?”

“Well, more like a nightmare, I suppose. They are crafters of magic, using spells and charms. Unlike warriors, wizards have no specific physical manifestation, but rather a powerful presence.”

Will slammed his hands down on the table. “Fine. If you're not going to tell us the truth, just say so and quit wasting our time.”

“Will.” Fitch put a hand on Will's shoulder. “Remember the dude in the graveyard, and the flaming sword and all that?”

“That was a wizard. In fact…” Linda hesitated, then went on. “In fact, there are a number of wizards who live right in Trinity.”

“Like who?” Fitch demanded, searching her face for clues. Then his eyes widened behind his glasses. “Mr. Hastings, I'll bet.”

Reluctantly, Linda nodded.

“Who else?” Fitch thrust his chin forward, clearly in interrogation mode.

“Well, there's Nick Snowbeard. And Leesha Middleton.”

“Nick? And Leesha-frigging-Middleton? The princess?”

“Well, yes,” Linda said. “She was working with those men who tried to kidnap Jack from the high school.”

“No way!” Fitch shuddered.

“Don't tell me Lobeck was involved, too?” Will said.

Linda shook her head. “A bully and a jerk, maybe, but not a wizard.”

“Not unless they come in stupid,” Fitch added. “Are we going to be able to see Jack while we're here?”

Linda hesitated. “I don't know. I'm not even sure where he is right now.”

Fitch tapped his folder with his fingertips. “What does this have to do with his grandmother and the graveyard?”

“Susannah had the same gift, the same stone as Jack. She was a warrior like he is. That was her sword you dug up. We were hoping he could use it to protect himself.”

“Can a Weirstone be stolen?”

“Not without killing the bearer.”

“But could it be stolen? Like, if you cut somebody open? Would someone have any reason for doing that, maybe to implant it in someone else? Like Jack?”

Linda thought a moment. “Weirstones have some magical power in themselves. Wizards sometimes buy them off traders and use them as talismans. Jack's the only person I've heard of who had a stone implanted. That was because he was missing his.”

“I was thinking about Jack's grandmother, Susannah Downey, and how she died. Whenever I see that star-shaped scar on Jack's chest, I think of it.”

“What are you talking about?” Linda looked from one boy to the other. “She died in an accident. Didn't you say she fell from a horse?”

Fitch nodded. He opened the folder. “But the cause of death was a hole in her chest. It said in the paper that maybe she fell onto a fence post or something. Look.” He pulled a microfilm printout from his folder. “I ended up with this when we went to the library. It sounded kind of far-fetched to me. I don't imagine forensics were very sophisticated in those days.” He passed the paper to Linda. It was Susannah's obituary.

Linda scanned it quickly, then read it again more slowly.“ 'Lee Hastens, a visitor in the township, found her lying in the woods back of the family farm in the late evening. Although known to be a capable horsewoman, Mrs. Downey took a fall onto a fence post. She had a severe gash to the chest, which was the cause of death.'” A tiny flame of an idea kindled in the back of Linda's mind. It burned with greater and greater intensity, no matter how hard she tried to put it out.

Fitch broke into her thoughts. “Maybe it's because we've been talking about all these murders in the past few days. And now the Weirstones. Could Susannah have been murdered, and her stone stolen?” Fitch stopped, peering at Linda. “What's the matter?”

“It's Jack,” Linda whispered. “I'm afraid I've made a terrible mistake.”

Chapter Thirteen

Cumbria

Jack remembered little about his last hours in the church. He lay mortally wounded, the Weirlind keeping vigil around him. A vast darkness threatened to overtake him, but somehow was kept at bay by the music of women's voices praying. He clung to the sound as to a lifeline, and then finally there was a new voice and a new prayer, and the darkness receded and the throbbing in his shoulder eased. Someone lifted him up, and there was fresh air and rain on his face. He was carried some distance through the rain, and then bundled into the backseat of a car. He remembered the scent and feel of leather against his face. Someone lifted his head and poured a burning liquid down his throat, and then he slept. He awoke once to darkness and the slamming of car doors and what might have been his mother's voice. He tried to call to her, but it was impossible to stay awake.

When he finally awoke again, it was to a soft daylight that intruded into sleep. He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow to force the light away. He was in a large bed that was made up with rather coarse linens with a light coverlet over the top. He was dressed in unfamiliar clothing: shorts and a T-shirt. Memory began to overtake him, and he sat up quickly, too quickly, became dizzy, and lay back against his pillows.