SWNOVELS Chapter Chapter Thirty-Five
They found Nick thirty-six hours later, wandering dazedly just outside the northeast gate.
“You alright?” Duchaine leaned over, placing two heavy hands on Nick’s shoulders. In a different tone he said, “His eyes are glazed, pupils dilated. Someone’s given him a potion.”
“Take him up to Amberly,” a different, familiar, voice said.
Duchaine led Nick back along the path toward the gateway. “You gave us quite a scare, you know. We’ve had search parties out for the last thirty-two hours.”
“Why?” Nick said drunkenly. “Afraid I’d turned to the dark side?”
“Were you with the Mirrorman?” the other voice asked. This one was stern, impatient, Dean-ish. “If Agravaine had you, you need to tell us right now. Where did he have you? Come on, talk to us.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Hogwash!” Dean Delacort spat. “That’s not going to cut it anymore, son—”
“Why don’t you let me handle this?” Duchaine said gently. He stood before Nick at the gateway. “Nick. What is the last thing you remember?”
“I was . . . walking back to the school Saturday night, after our session at the Department. And then . . . I think I ran into Richard. But that’s it. I can’t remember anything else.”
“The boy is obviously lying, Agabus,” Dean Delacort hissed. “I’m going to administer mandrake and perform hypnosis. We’re getting answers. We don’t have time to listen to any more of his lies.”
“I know how to make the Project work,” Nick said.
All was quiet for thirty seconds. Duchaine bore his gaze into Nick’s eyes. “Are you speaking the truth?”
“There is a way to make it work. I can do it. But I need sleep.” He hesitated before adding, “I might forget though, if someone tries to mess with my head.”
Duchaine nodded. “No hypnosis, Damien.”
“The boy is a student at my school—” Delacort began.
“He is a warlock first,” Duchaine growled. “And he is under my protection. No hypnosis. Come on, Nick, let’s get you to Miss Lamborghini so she can do some pranic healing on you.”
The idea of having Miss Lamborghini run her hands over Nick’s chakras, and exchanging energy with the woman did not sit well him. He had things to do. And he did not have time to waste listening to Lamborghini’s remonstrations and risk having her read his emotions through his aura.
“I just need to sleep,” he said, lids drooping. “Please, Duchaine. Just let me sleep. I need a couple days to recharge, and then we can complete the Project. Please?”
Duchaine scratched his beard. “Well, the troll king has reappeared, so he should be dealing with the troll hordes issue. That should buy us some time, I think. A couple few days, maybe.”
“The troll king is back?” Nick added, doing a pretty good job of feigning surprise, he thought. “Where was he?”
“Don’t know,” Duchaine said. “A patrolling Mage officer spotted the troll king running through the forest out near the foot of Whiteface Mountain. So, think you’ll feel up to working by Thursday night?”
That would cut it close; the timing might interrupt his Plan. But he couldn’t risk Duchaine becoming suspicious by asking for even more time. Nick nodded.
“Absolutely,” he said. “And I’ll try to recall what happened. Right now I need sleep.”
“I understand,” Duchaine said. “You get some sleep. Go to your classes tomorrow morning, like normal. Recharge yourself—eat a big breakfast, lots of pancakes and syrup. We’ll reconvene at the Department on Wednesday. Any tips about the Project?”
“Yeah,” Nick said. “We’ll need an electromagnetic oscillograph.”
To his credit, Duchaine only frowned a little bit; that is, his eyebrows touched the skies but his brow did not furrow like that of a Klingon.
Following an uncomfortable reunion with his bunkmates, Bruno and Richard, where he fielded a variety of questions with vague non-answers, Nick found himself alone on his bed; the other two boys had to start their day, get to their classes. Let them have one more normal day. He fed, cleaned his litter, and then petted Severus for a long time. Then he laid back on his wonderfully flat mattress, feeling that old familiar spring poking at his back. Nick drew a small black-covered book out from where he’d tucked it away in his pants. The front cover sported what Nick recognized as the caduceus, the world’s oldest magical symbol. Etched in red letters along the grimoire’s thin, cracked spine were the title words Infernal Devices, written by a medieval Hermetic witch named Cassandra Clary.
The answer to the riddle of the W.A.N.D. Project, as he would have to explain to Duchaine at some point, was recorded under a heading called The Wizard’s Staff. There someone had drawn the caduceus in its separate parts: the staff, the open wings, and the twining snakes, representing the three aspects of the legendary Hermes Trimegistus, most ancient of wizards.
Pictured separate from its components, the staff looked remarkably like a wand.
Once the copy of Infernal Devices was tucked safely away, Nick ingested the concoction of African dreamroot and then silently cried himself to sleep with thoughts of his parents and the mess they’d created, and with ruminations on what he was about to do.
He woke with a start and sat up. Ah yes, the dreamroot had worked; he recalled his dream. In it he was walking up to a porch, pillars on either side. He saw a street sign in his memory of the dream: 21st Street. Philicity then. With only slight difficulty he conjured up the recollection of the house number: 13.
So, he had an address. But what was there, at 13 21st Street?