“I’m sorry,” he said.
“That’s all right,” she said, her voice softening. “Have you taken the time to read up on the Cattle Raid or its hero, Cúchulain?”
Max shook his head. “No, Miss Boon, I haven’t had time.” He reached for a piece of cornbread.
“Listen to me, Max,” said Miss Boon, placing an icy hand on Max’s arm. He looked directly at her, her young features so serious and strange with their mismatched eyes. “That vision was tailored to you. It’s very important that you understand everything you can about its history and symbols. Cúchulain was a great hero and champion—people called him the Hound of Ulster for the way he guarded their kingdom, but he had to make some awful choices along the way. It would be best if you knew them, Max.”
Max stared at her; his mind flashed with thoughts of his recurring dream of the monstrous wolfhound. He decided against sharing this with Miss Boon; her gaze and grip were too intense for his comfort.
Just then, Mr. Vincenti rejoined them from the hallway. His voice rose well above the many conversations.
“We have a change of plans. I need everyone to place their utensils on their plates and follow me. Quickly.”
“But, Mr. Vincenti,” said Connor, “you have to come see what Omar can do with his—”
“Right now, Mr. Lynch!” thundered Mr. Vincenti, who circled around the table physically hoisting the confused children from their seats. Without a word, Miss Boon rose swiftly and started pulling the children’s chairs away from the table, herding them out the door and down the hallway.
Their hostess was standing by the doorway looking frightened. “Be careful, Joseph. Be careful, Hazel,” she whispered, dimming the house’s lights. Other First Years hurried out from the other dining rooms, accompanied by their advisors. A dozen limousines were parked in the street, their doors open and engines running as the hostess locked the door behind them.
Max crowded into the second limousine. Mr. Vincenti slammed the back door shut, and the car raced down the street toward Rowan’s gates. The street looked abandoned; all the shops and stores were dark. As they passed the church, Max thought he saw a pair of dark figures melt off its lawn to disappear behind a hedge. A few seconds later, he was thrown to the side as the limousine made a sharp turn and screeched through the gate. They wound through the trees and along the sea before coming to a jarring halt near the fountain. Max’s heart froze as he heard the familiar awful wailing coming from the direction of the Kestrel.
Mr. Vincenti opened the door and ushered the children out as Nolan galloped from around the Manse seated astride YaYa. There was nothing old or broken about her now, Max noted. Steam billowed from the ki-rin’s nostrils, her massive head craning from side to side to scan the grounds with eyes that glowed white in the darkness. And Max had never seen the normally cheery Nolan so grim. The groundskeeper shouted over the distant keening sound.
“Joseph, get the children inside. You and Hazel are to take up your assigned positions along the perimeter—Director’s orders.”
The Manse was a frenzy of shouts and slamming doors. Max, David, and Connor sprinted past a pair of Sixth Years who stood guard at the entrance to their hallway. The older students ordered them to lock themselves in their rooms and to be quiet. When Max and David turned to close their door, they saw Connor blocking their doorway.
“I’m coming in with you two!” he hissed. “My roommates are wankers!”
Connor hurried inside and Max shut the door, making double sure it was locked tight.
The minutes and hours ticked by at a crawl. Unable to concentrate, Max tossed his sketchbook aside as David and Connor played cards downstairs. Hearing muffled sounds from the hallway, Max got up from his bed to investigate. Connor and David stood on the stairs to the lower level, wrapped in blankets and looking frightened, as Max listened at the door. Hearing footsteps and whispers outside, Max turned to them and put his finger to his lips. Holding his breath, he silently turned the knob and peeked out into the hallway.
A small group of First and Second Years were pressed against the window at the end of the hall. Max beckoned to David and Connor, and the three of them joined the group. Rolf stepped aside to let Max peer out the window; he leaned forward to press his forehead against the cold glass.
Lanterns bobbed about the dark grounds in pairs as the faculty combed the orchard, lawns, and gardens. Away in the woods, Max saw more lanterns peeking from among the trees. He whispered to a Second Year standing next to him.
“Have you guys seen anything?”
The Second Year shook his head and motioned for quiet. Suddenly, someone at the end gasped, “Something’s happening!”
Max was smooshed against the window as the crowd surged forward. Below, the lanterns bobbed wildly, rapidly converging at a point near the orchard’s edge. A huge plume of flame erupted at the spot. Max and the other boys gave out a yell.
Something monstrous and wolf-shaped was illuminated by the sudden burst of light. It took several hunched, uneven steps on its hind legs before dropping to all fours and racing across the lawn toward the forest and the road.
“Get back in your rooms!”
Max whirled to see the two Sixth Years hurrying angrily down the hall. The boys scattered to their rooms in a sudden flurry of shuffling feet and slamming doors. Max and David ran down the steps to their bedroom’s lower level. Connor flew in a moment later, locking the door behind him, his eyes wide.
“Did you guys see it? I saw it!”
“I’m not ever leaving this room,” whispered David.
The three sat in silence for several minutes. Max shivered, replaying the image of the terrifying shape lowering itself to the grass and galloping across the grounds. He looked up at the sky dome, watching Scorpio twinkle into view.
“What do you think that was?” he asked softly.
“I don’t know,” said David, rubbing his temples. “I don’t want to know.”
“Maybe it was a werewolf,” volunteered Connor. “Like in the movies.”
“That didn’t look like any werewolf I ever saw in the movies,” quavered Max. “It was a lot worse. And it looked bigger….”
A loud knock on the door woke Max from his sleep. Blinking, he looked around the room. Connor was asleep on one of the couches. David was huddled near the fireplace, a shapeless lump underneath his blanket. There were three more knocks, quick and decisive. Max lurched to his feet and climbed the stairs, halting at the door.
“Who is it?” he ventured, his voice slow and wary.
“It’s Joseph Vincenti, Max. The danger has passed. Ms. Richter would like everyone to come to the orchard. It’s chilly, so bring a jacket or a robe.”
Mr. Vincenti moved down the hall, rapping on the next door. Within a few minutes, Max had woken Connor and David. The three boys shuffled sleepily with the other Apprentices out the back doors to the orchard, where the sky was a pale wash of blue in anticipation of the sunrise.
Ms. Richter stood near the first row of trees, flanked by the faculty and a dozen other adults. The hushed conversations ceased immediately as Ms. Richter’s voice filled the morning air.
“Students, we have had a loss. Another golden apple graces this orchard—all too prematurely, I’m afraid.”
Max watched as several older students began whispering and scanning over the faculty with worried expressions. The Director shook her head.
“No,” she said. “Our loss did not occur on this campus. We lost a member of our Recruiting staff: Miss Isabelle May, whom many of you undoubtedly met during your tests for admittance here.”