Bradley, Marion Zimmer - Shadowgate 04 (58 page)

 
          
It
was the young man at the back of the auditorium, and he'd quoted the classical
definition of true magick as proposed by the great twentieth-century magician
Aleister Crowley.

 
          
"If
that is how you define magic," Colin answered honestly, "then, yes, I
do believe in magic. Come down and sit in the front, please; I don't like to
shout. What's your name?"

 
          
"Hunter
Greyson," the young man said, moving down to the front of the auditorium.
His pale hair was just past shoulder length. "I'm a transfer from SUNY New
Paltz."

 
          
"Next
time, don't be late," Colin cautioned, and went on to the next question.

 
          
There
were no more surprises in the question-and-answer period, and it wound up right
on schedule. The usual students hung back to ask one last question; predictably
enough, Hunter Greyson was among them, though he waited until all the others
had drifted away.

 
          
"I
was hoping you could help me out," Greyson said. "I wanted to take
some of the advanced courses, but they said over at registration that I had to
have your signature."

           
Greyson smiled winningly. He had an
easy charm, and the particular sort of confidence that sprang from a young
lifetime's experience of being able to talk his way into
—
or out of
—
anything.

 
          
The
ghosts of knowledge he should not have stirred beneath the surface of his mind
—
which of Colin's beloved
dead stood before him now in new flesh? "They were right," Colin
said.

 
          
He
took the list of courses from the boy's hand and scanned it. "You do need
my signature. You also need a personal interview with me and a passing grade in
Occult Ethics and Practices."

 
          
There
was a pause as Colin saw Hunter Greyson digest both this information and his
manner and retrench accordingly.

 
          
"Well,
I'm a transfer student, so I haven't taken the course yet. I'm pretty well
read, though; if I can't test out of it I was hoping I could maybe take it
along with the others . . . ?"

 
          
The
next batch of students was already filing into the auditorium. During
Orientation Week, the scheduling in Lookerman was tight.

 
          
"I
have a meeting at three, Mr. Greyson, and we're not wanted here. Why don't you walk
over to my office with me and we can finish our discussion?"

 
          
"SUNY
New Paltz is a state school. I take it Taghkanic wasn't your first choice
college?" Colin asked.

 
          
Early
September was still summer in the
Hudson
Valley
, with the sultry days of
Indian summer lying in wait. But the air had an agreeable bite to it, and the
apple trees that dotted the campus were heavy with ripening fruit.

 
          
"It
was. But Taghkanic's expensive, and it gives preference to
New York
State
students, and my grades
weren't exactly ..." the boy shrugged.

 
          
"Mr.
Greyson," Colin began. Now was as good a time as any to discourage Hunter
Greyson from his attraction to the parapsychology courses. He was a charming
young man, and Colin distrusted that charm even as he felt its pull: such
charming young men were likely also to be heartless manipulators, and
additional power was the last thing that would be good for them
—
or for anyone else.

 
          
"Call
me Grey." Again the flash of the irrepressible smile.

 
          
"All
right. Grey. I'll tell you right out: I honestly don't think you have what it
takes to make it on our parapsych track, and your attempt to maneuver your way
around the requirements as if they were meant for everyone but you doesn't
impress me favorably."

 
          
Grey
stared at him as if he could not believe what he was hearing. But it was not so
easy as all that to step back into one's place in each life: Colin would not
let the boy trade on a friendship they'd shared before his birth.

 
          
"But
. . . That's
it?
If I have to wait a whole year before starting the
Bid-ney courses I'll be a year behind! You aren't being fair! You didn't even
look at my qualifications
—
" Grey yelped.

 
          
"You
should have gotten in touch with Taghkanic sooner to find out what the
requirements were," Colin said implacably. "One of them is
Introduction
to Occult Ethics.
I'll be looking forward to seeing you there. Good
afternoon."

           
"I wonder if you might
reconsider the Hunter Greyson case?" Eden Romney said a few days later.

 
          
The
new Taghkanic president made it a point to lunch weekly with Colin in the
faculty dining room
—
assuring them both, she had said with a smile, at least one
civilized meal per week. The Bidney Institute was the original 800-pound
gorilla; it had the potential to make every sort of flashy trouble for the
university, and Dr. Romney was insistent on keeping up-to-date with
developments there.

 
          
"I
didn't know there was a Hunter Greyson case," Colin said evenly.

 
          
Truth
to tell, Colin's conscience had been poking him since his summary dismissal of
Hunter Greyson earlier in the week. A freewheeling attitude toward rules and
requirements didn't necessarily indicate that Greyson was not meant to take the
Path once more, nor that he wouldn't be a good student.

 
          
Dr.
Romney shook her head. "Well, it isn't as if there are parents involved,
thank God
—
technically, there's an aunt somewhere out West, but
practically speaking, Hunter Greyson's been on his own since he was sixteen.
You know we hand out very few scholarships here
—
"

 
          
"Good
Lord," Colin said, surprised. "Don't tell me that Greyson's here on a
scholarship?" He remembered the boy mentioning that the school was expensive,
but he'd thought nothing of it: everyone did.

 
          
"Scholarship,
work-study, and a few loans; the Finance Office had the devil's own time making
it work. But we were glad to be able to get him
—
you should see his list of
credits and publications."

 
          
"I
see," said Colin, who didn't. He was saved from having to add to that by
the arrival of their lunches, brought over by a student waitress from the
dumbwaiter in the corner. The area reserved for the faculty's use was on the
second floor of Taghkanic's cafeteria building, and doubled as the faculty
lounge.

 
          
"Perhaps
you'd like to fill me in," he said, once the plates had been set out.
Today's hot entree was roast beef; Colin sniffed the steam rising from his
plate appreciatively. "Greyson mentioned that his grades weren't
particularly good, so I'll admit I'm puzzled about the scholarship," he
said, after taking a bite.

 
          
Romney
sipped at her wine
—
a faculty privilege
—
and considered her words
before answering.

 
          
"Well,
the GREs and SATs weren't anything special, but he graduated high school at
sixteen with Emancipated Minor status and has amassed quite a CV since then.
Published a number of scholarly articles in academic journals and an
underground comic book
—
about Carl Jung, of all people
—
appeared in dinner theater
in
San
Francisco
, did some commercial art: quite a number of different
things, really; I haven't told you the half of them. Apparently he's finally
focused his interests toward aiming for some sort of art-therapy credential
based on his own theories. He's working on a book about them; I've seen the
first few chapters, and if the rest of the book lives up to them, I think it
could be rather brilliant."

           
"And he wanes to take the
Bidney courses," Colin said.

 
          
"It's
one of the reasons that he chose us," Dr. Romney pointed out.

 
          
"And
after I told him he had to follow the rules like everyone else, he came to
you."

 
          
Dr.
Romney looked startled; Colin was startled himself by the amount of rancor in
his voice. It was a transgression against all he had ever been taught to let
knowledge gained of a soul in a previous life prejudice one against them in
this. And if anything, his prejudice was in favor of Greyson
—
not against. Why was he
judging the boy so harshly?

 
          
"I'm
sorry,
Eden
. That was completely
uncalled for. I apologize," Colin said.

 
          
"Well,
I'd be a liar if I didn't admit that sometimes the kids can get on our nerves.
But for the record, it was his advisor, Professor Rhys, who spoke to me about
it, and I thought I'd see why you turned him down."

 
          
Fear.

 
          
Colin
was honest enough with himself to be able to admit that. When he looked at
Hunter Greyson he saw not the boy's potential for greatness but the potential
for sheer disaster. He saw Simon Anstey. He saw Thorne Blackburn. He saw every
other brilliant adventurer who'd flown too near the sun.

 
          
He
saw Grey's death long ago across the sea, himself unable to save him.
Oh,
Michael
—

 
          
"I'll
give Auben a call and see about setting up an interview with Greyson,"
Colin said, still feeling that terrible reluctance to let the boy into his
life. "I'm not making any promises until after I've reviewed his file and
spoken to him, but at this point I won't rule anything out."

 
          
"Thanks,
Colin. I appreciate you taking the time to look into this."

 
          
What
in heaven's name is wrong with me?
Colin wondered, staring around his office.
He toyed with the cold pipe between his fingers, tapping its charred bowl
against the thick file in front of him.

 
          
As
Eden
had promised, Hunter
Greyson's credentials
—
especially for an incoming college sophomore
—
were impressive. Impressive
enough to have warranted at least a first look instead of a summary dismissal.
He hadn't let his emotions take control of him that way in years
—
and certainly not in such a
surreptitious fashion.

 
          
His
first intuition had been correct: it was fear that motivated his actions. But
fear of what? If Grey should choose the Path once more and fall victim to its
many perils, that would be a tragedy, true, but nothing that could not be
repaired by another turn of the Wheel. Yet Colin had been afraid
—
and for himself, not for
Hunter Greyson. If Colin should take on the responsibility of teaching him
—
and if, then, Grey should
fail. . .

 
          
What
would that say about Colin? The outward was the reflection of the inward: if he
could not make anything that was not marred . . .

 
          
Then
it's just as well to know it,
Colin told himself brutally.
And to
address the matter while there is still time.

           
There was a knock at the door.
Greyson had learned to be prompt, if nothing else.