“I'm Catholic,” Seph replied in a whisper. “I don't do that.”

Linda glanced at Seph, changed tactics. "Look. Those are Seph's clothes. We left my car at West Market Mall last night while Nick and Jack and I were showing Seph around. The clothes were in there. We planned to go back and get the car today.

“Someone must have broken in and taken them. How would we know who it was? Seph just came from school in New England. He's never been here before, and he doesn't know anyone around here, right?” She looked at Seph, and he nodded. He was more than happy to let her make up a story.

Ross massaged his temples. “Maybe the three of us should go take a look at the car,” he suggested.

Linda shook her head. “You and I can go. I'm taking Seph back home.”

“I said I was sorry, didn't I?” He looked sorry, too. “Listen, I'll pick you up at Becka's around two.”

Seph didn't have much to say on the way back to Jefferson Street. Anything, in fact.

“What is it?” Linda said finally.

Seph cleared his throat. He didn't mean to sound ungrateful. After all, Linda Downey had rescued him from the Havens only two days before. “I thought this was a sanctuary.”

Linda looked over at him. “It is. This is the safest place for you.”

“Then why don't I feel safe?” Seph fingered the dyrne sefa and rested his forehead against the side window. “They were already waiting for us when we got here. They went after Ellen. Then this. It doesn't make sense. Leicester let me go, didn't he? Or did you just put a spell on him, and now it's worn off?”

“Think about it. Why do you think they tried to keep you from reaching Trinity? As long as the rules are in force, he can't really attack you here. Unfortunately, the rules don't forbid them from trying to scare you to death.”

The other possibility was that Gregory Leicester was reinforcing his warning to Seph to say nothing about his experiences at the Havens.

“Well, they know exactly where I am. I don't like waiting around to be ambushed. Maybe I should just go. Find me a summer camp in Canada, maybe. I'm used to being on my own.”

“That's just what they're hoping you'll do. Promise me you'll stay in town.”

Seph shrugged. He wasn't making any promises. But he did need training in wizardry, and right now, Nick Snowbeard was his only option.

It was almost one by the time they pulled in next to the garage.

Snowbeard was waiting for them on the porch. Linda told the old man about the bizarre display at the fountain. He asked a few careful questions, but offered little comment. Linda went upstairs and returned with a leather-bound book.

“This is Jack's Weirbook,” she explained, opening it to the last page and pointing to his name inscribed at the end of a family tree. She handed it to Seph. He scanned the genealogy, and then quickly turned to the section on spells and incantations.

There was a knock at the front door. Linda stood up and picked up her purse. “Ross Childers and I are going to pick up the car and probably go back to the police station to make a report. That should give you two time for your lesson.” And then she was gone, out of the deep shade of the porch and into the bright sunlight.

Seph thought Snowbeard might ask for a demonstration of what wizardry he already knew, but he didn't. Instead, the old wizard steepled his fingers together and spoke in a soft voice, quite formally. “You may call me Nick. Shall I call you Seph?” Seph nodded. “Let's start at the beginning, Seph, and lay the foundation. You may know some of this already, but it bears repeating. This is not the kind of education that should come to you piecemeal, as it has.”

He paused a moment, as if sorting through a myriad of mental files. "Wizards can call upon magic in three ways: corporeal, through the body, incorporeal, through the mind, and langue d'charme, through words of power, incantations.

“Wizards have long dominated the other magical guilds, by virtue of a covenant forced on them by deception at Raven's Ghyll in Britain centuries ago. With the exception of wizards, each guild operates in a selective realm of magic, and each is supreme in its own realm. For example, warriors like Jack and Ellen dominate in the physical, corporeal world of warfare. Their magic depends on physical proximity and strength. There is no mind magic about it. In a fair, physical fight, a warrior will overcome a wizard every time.” He smiled ruefully. "Naturally, a wizard wouldn't confront a warrior in a fair fight. We have other ways to dominate.

"Enchanters like Linda specialize in magic of the mind and emotions. Again, they are supreme in their own realm. Even wizards have difficulty resisting an enchanter, and the Anaweir are particularly vulnerable to them.

“Sorcerers specialize in material magic. They create tools, compounds, materials that can do magical tasks, or enhance the magic of others. They used to be much more powerful than they are now. Many secrets of the sorcerers have been lost over time. That is why talismans of ancient times are so highly prized.”

Seph was acutely aware of the weight of the dyrne sefa under his shirt.

"Seers are probably the least powerful of the Weir. They see the future, but often cannot interpret their visions in time to do any good. Some of them use talismans—mirrors, crystals, and the like—to focus and concentrate their power, to make it more effective, their visions easier to read.

“If a wizard comes after you, he may use any of the three realms. For example, he may use mind magic to influence you to do something foolish. It's a subtle trick in the hands of wizards, most effective on the Anaweir. Or he may use physical power. Wizards can inflict pain with a touch.”

Seph lifted his hand to his face, thinking of Gregory Leicester.

“You can be trained to resist a physical attack, and you are powerful enough to do it, I believe. That leaves the use of charms. You told me you had received some training in that regard.” The wizard raised his eyebrows.

And so Seph went through his meager repertory, demonstrating those charms he knew he could perform flawlessly—small, rough magics that could be practiced in a dormitory room.

Nick nodded in approval when he was done. “There are two components to a wizard's power when it comes to charms: the strength of the stone he carries and the power of the articulated word. Have you had any training in countercharms?”

Seph shook his head.

“Then we'll start with that. A wizard's charm is like any other weapon. You must be alert for it at all times. And when the attack comes, you need to counter it before he draws blood, so to speak. If he completes it, it may be too late.” Nick marked a few passages in the Weirbook. “Spend some time studying those charms. We'll review the charms and the countercharms tomorrow.”

“You mean we're done?”

Nick smiled. “It's nearly five o'clock. I'm surprised Jack isn't home already.”

“I have a question.” Seph had been leafing through Jack's Weirbook, and it still lay open on his lap.

“What is it?”

“Everyone says the same things about wizards. We take advantage of the Anaweir. We treat the other guilds like dirt. We're always plotting against each other. What I want to know is: is it some kind of inborn trait? If it is, why aren't you like that? I had a friend at school, and he wasn't like that either.”

Nick sat back in his chair and thought a moment. “The problem with wizards is that their power manifests while they are still young. Young people shouldn't have so much power, because they lack wisdom and discipline. They grow up spoiled, used to having their own way.” He paused. “You can compare wizards to wine. The best quality wines are harsh and strong when they are young. But good wines improve with age. A poor quality wine never improves. Sometimes it gets worse. Wizards are the same.” He leaned forward. “Sometimes I think it would be better if all wizards were raised as you were, by Anaweir, ignorant of their powers until they are grown. They might be more tolerant of others.”

There are drawbacks to that, Seph thought. The Anaweir are not always tolerant of wizards.

Somehow it was easy to talk to Nick. He was like the earth, wise and ancient and nonjudgmental.

“Do you know Gregory Leicester?” Seph asked. He looked down at the Weirbook to avoid the old wizard's eyes.

Nick nodded. “I know him. He's one who hasn't improved with age. But he's very powerful.”

“He murdered two of my friends. It was my fault,” Seph added, recalling his months of torture at Leicester's hands, Trevor's death, and the final capstone tragedy of Jason.

“Why do you think it was your fault?” Nick asked gently.

“They were trying to help me. If it hadn't been for me, they would still be alive.”

“Perhaps that was their choice, not yours.”

“They didn't choose to be murdered.” Seph traced the names in Jack's genealogy with his forefinger, envious of his links to family.

Nick studied him. “And now you mean to take revenge on Dr. Leicester.”

Seph didn't respond, but embedded himself deeper into the chair.

“A high-risk enterprise, certainly.” Nick smoothed down his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. To Seph's surprise, the old wizard appeared to take him seriously, but he didn't lecture him or try to talk him out of it.

“What about the Dragon? Do you know where to find him?” Seth asked.

“A risky admission to make, these days,” Nick said.

Seph noticed he didn't really answer the question. “I have information that might be helpful to him.”

Nick cleared his throat. “Perhaps you should think of the Dragon as more of an icon representing a movement than as an individual.”

“Fine. I'd like to talk to the icon who's been ripping off magical weapons from the Roses, freeing members of the underguilds, and posting Leicester's secrets on the Internet.”

Just then they heard a door slam elsewhere in the house, and someone's noisy progress through the kitchen. “Hello?” came the familiar voice. It was Jack.