The Second Siege (40 page)

There was Miss Boon, sitting upright in a chair, staring out at him with a dull, blank gaze. Her intelligent eyes were dim; no recognition flashed across her face as Max stood just beyond the bars.

“What’s the matter with her?” asked Max.

“Don’tcha see the baka?” asked Jimmy. “There, at her shoulder.”

Max looked again and saw a little creature, like a pale-skinned imp, naked and shriveled, that sat upon the back of her chair like a hideous gargoyle. It was hunched forward, its mouth moving ever so slightly as it whispered in the young teacher’s ear.

“The prisoners are all bewitched by those miserable creatures,” said Jimmy, shaking his head. “It’s an old practice I never approved of. The baka keep ’em dreaming—horrible dreams, I’d guess. I don’t even know why we bother with bars. I never saw a prisoner move as much as a finger.”

The sight of the hideous thing clinging to his teacher like a parasite revolted Max. When Jimmy opened the door, Max hurried inside and flung the small creature away. It gave a squeal and spread its arms to flap like a heavy, crippled bat up toward a ledge some ten feet up the rock face. Once there, it settled onto its haunches and hissed at Max through small, sharp teeth. Max ignored it and shook Miss Boon gently. She blinked several times.

“Where am I?” she asked, gazing about the cell.

“The Hollows,” said Max. “You have to help me—there’s no time to lose.”

With Jimmy’s help, Max and Miss Boon went from cell to cell until Ms. Richter, Cooper, Bob, and a dozen other faculty members were released from their delusional state. While the released prisoners recovered their senses, Jimmy and Max continued to free the others. Coming upon one of the last cells, Max gasped as he looked upon Mr. Morrow.

The traitorous Humanities instructor sat unblinking in his chair while a baka clung to the white, tangled beard that had grown during his imprisonment. Conflicting emotions surged through Max as he gazed at the man who was responsible for so many crimes the previous year. Arriving beside Max, Cooper took the keys from Max’s hands and unlocked the cell.

“We should leave him,” muttered Max, recognizing that Astaroth might still be imprisoned if not for the treachery of the broken man before him.

“No,” said Cooper, stepping inside the cell. “That would be murder.”

The Agent led the bent, confused Mr. Morrow from his cell. The old man clung to Cooper like a child. His eyes widened when he saw Max.

“Thank God,” muttered Mr. Morrow. “Thank God no harm came to you. . . .”

Max ignored him and spoke to Bob instead.

“Can you take Mr. Morrow and the others to the Sanctuary?” asked Max, despite the murderous glint in Bob’s eye as the ogre glared at Mr. Morrow. Upon hearing the request, Bob stood to his full height and looked down his chest at Max.

“Bob will fight.”

“No!”
pleaded Max. “We need Mystics, not muscle. If those ships land . . .”

Bob frowned as he considered Max’s words. With a slow, reluctant nod, he herded the older, non-Mystic prisoners up the steps. Max turned to Jimmy.

“I need you to do one more thing,” he said.

“Another quest?” asked Jimmy hopefully.

“Another quest,” said Max, shouldering David’s pack. “We need you to call out for Connor Lynch. He’s hiding somewhere on campus, and we need to get him in the Sanctuary. He isn’t safe out here.”

“On the double!” said Jimmy with a snappy salute, waddling up the stairs after the others.

“We have to hurry,” said Max, leading Ms. Richter, Miss Boon, and Agent Cooper up the stairs as fast as their wobbly legs could carry them.

As they reached the ground floor of the Manse, they could hear the keening wail of the spirit that lurked in the waters off Rowan’s beach. The four hurried through the deserted Manse and out the front doors, which had been left open to the rising storm.

Outside, a cold rain fell in stinging fits while moaning gusts rushed in from the ocean. Max shouted to Ms. Richter, but his voice was lost in the howling wind and he merely pointed toward the sea. Together, the four ran over the lawns toward the bluff where the Promethean Scholars stood in a line against the horizon. As they arrived, Max heard the sound of distant drums, followed by a sudden roar that might have been the crashing sea or the call of a thousand voices.

Looking past the chanting Scholars, Max gazed in horror upon the tossing ocean. Hundreds of tall-masted galleons stretched as far as he could see, some whole, others wracked and broken as though summoned from a long slumber in the deep. They lay at anchor offshore, their torches sputtering in the wind, while deep drums boomed and a thousand landing boats were rowed toward shore by vyes and goblins, ogres and men. The Promethean Scholars cast their spells, raising great breakers from the waves and churning the sea in an effort to capsize the approaching boats.

“Don’t interfere,” warned Vilyak, eyeing Ms. Richter. He stopped and gave the Scholars a shout of encouragement as one of the Enemy’s landing vessels was dashed against Brigit’s Vigil by a great black wave.

Vilyak’s enthusiasm moved others to cheers, but not Max. He watched in silence, noting that wherever a boat was sunk, three more arrived to take its place, cleaving the broken spars and rowing swiftly past those who flailed in the sea and sank beneath the water. Overhead, the sky rumbled, slow and ominous. Hints of lightning flashed from deep within the thick, pluming thunderheads, and Max felt the air grow still.

There was a sudden, searing flash of light, and the world seemed to go silent. Max was thrown backward, landing on the ground with a jarring thud. As the ringing in his ears subsided, the storm’s Jovian roar returned.

Rising to his feet, Max stared mutely at the scorched remains of the Promethean Scholars. Their bodies had been broken and scattered like rag dolls about the perimeter of a smoldering crater. The power that had sent such a bolt was unimaginable. Speechless, Max wrenched his gaze away from the carnage and looked out over the sea.

Astaroth was there.

Even from the shore, Max could see the white face at the prow of the hulking black flagship. The Demon’s hands were outstretched, beseeching a sky whose churning elements responded to his call. The maelstrom above gathered mass and energy, assuming enormous proportions until it seemed a colossus, capable of swallowing the world.

“My God,” muttered a terror-stricken Mystic, gaping at the storm’s slow majesty. “We can’t possibly fight this. . . .”

Others apparently agreed. Max watched them go, hurrying away toward the Sanctuary like frightened creatures scurrying to their burrow. The Red Branch and several other senior Agents remained, however—Max saw one pass a blade to Cooper. Another movement caught Max’s eye: Miss Boon was snatching up whatever remains of the Scholars’ books she could find before the wind whisked them from the bluff. Above the pandemonium, Max heard Ms. Richter and Vilyak locked in a heated argument.

“But you can’t use it,” yelled Ms. Richter. “You’ve
never
been able to use it!”

“It belongs to the Director!” protested Vilyak, covering the Founder’s Ring with his other hand.

“There won’t
be
a Director, Yuri!”

The statement seemed to have a profound effect on Commander Vilyak. He looked out again at the approaching armada, its progress now steady and uncontested. Snatching the ring from his finger, he practically flung it at Ms. Richter, then fled through the cold rain toward the Sanctuary.

Cooper’s face twisted into a derisive scowl and for a moment, Max thought the Red Branch might pursue their cowardly commander. Instead, they turned their backs on Vilyak, following Cooper to the stone stairs that led down to the beach, where they would meet the first of the attackers. Max went to follow, but Cooper stopped him.

“Remember your oath, Max. Leave this fight to us.”

Ms. Richter hurried over.

“Cooper,” she said. “Call them off those stairs this instant—it’s suicide.” She turned to Max, her voice taut with command. “Where is David Menlo?” she demanded. “We need him
here
.”

“David’s been badly hurt, Director,” said Max. “He can’t help us.”

Ms. Richter blinked and gazed up at the monstrous storm. Max feared that she, too, would be consumed with terror, but instead the Director’s features became very still. She slipped the Founder’s Ring upon her finger and beckoned gently to Miss Boon.

“Hazel,” she commanded, “leave those be and take my hand.” The young Mystics instructor abandoned the clutch of precious pages and did as she was told. Max watched the two women walk to the cliff ’s edge. The Founder’s Ring burned as bright as a living jewel. Ms. Richter raised it against the advancing ships.

Max felt the earth shudder once, then again. Sea spray whipped against his face as he marveled at the scene below.

The ocean was surging toward the beach as though the craggy bluff itself had taken a slow, deep breath. The inrush of water built momentum quickly, obliterating the
Kestrel
’s dock against the stone steps. Crashing against the cliffs, the water rose in a churning, gurgling mass. When it reached the height of the cliffs, however, the water did not spill over but instead rose higher, solid as the very earth. Max watched it climb, a trembling wall of seawater in which rock and boats and corpses were eerily suspended, mortared into place by some unseen force.

The Founder’s Ring blazed brighter, and Ms. Richter sent the lethal wall of water roaring back toward the Enemy.

Max watched, breathless, as the crashing seawall snapped boats and backs alike. Even the distant galleons pitched precariously on the waves, and Max found himself cheering wildly as several of the massive ships finally succumbed, toppling onto their sides and spilling hundreds into the murderous sea.

“You’re doing it, Ms. Richter!” cried Max. “You’re beating them!”

The Red Branch echoed Max’s cheers and even the storm seemed to weaken, shedding some of its awful force and scale. Through the rain, Max squinted and searched the sea, hopeful that the white face had been swept clear from its deck.

But it was not to be.

Astaroth stood, unmoving, at the prow of the flagship. The Demon’s voice carried on the wind until it seemed he whispered in Max’s ear.

“I see you. And I am coming.”

A gale came howling in off the ocean, so abrupt and powerful that all gave way before it.

Max pressed himself flat and clung to the wet earth, scrabbling for a hold as the wind screamed above him. Ms. Richter and Miss Boon were blasted off their feet, their connection lost as the women were sent tumbling like scattered leaves.

The storm thundered again and unnatural flashes of light danced from cloud to cloud like witch fire. Max saw Ms. Richter regain her feet and march with grim determination back toward the cliff.

The Director had almost reached her destination when the air grew hushed once again. A sense of dread consumed Max. There was an incandescent flash and a crack of thunder so piercing it shattered Maggie’s windows.

Opening his eyes, Max registered the outcome with dull shock: Ms. Richter lay motionless within a pit of earth and fire.