“Yes, Mr. Lynch, it might look like a werewolf to you,” he said, his voice gravelly and low. “Bear in mind, however, that a vye is not a werewolf. The vye is larger, with a more distorted and hideous face—part wolf, part jackal, part human, with squinty eyes and a twisted snout. In human form, however, they can be most convincing. You must never speak to a vye, children! They are clever in their deceits, and their voices are wound with spells to ensnare you.”
“How would you even know if you’re speaking to one?” whispered Cynthia, shivering and scooting closer to the fire.
“There are all kinds of tricks to uncover one, but I’m a strong believer in the gut. If a vye approaches you, Miss Gilley, something will feel very, very wrong in your belly or down the spine. As they prefer to attack when your guard is down, a vye will often seek to gain your confidence first. This may give you an opportunity to identify it before…before it has you.”
A sudden cry pierced the room.
“I remember now!” exclaimed David. “I’ve seen vyes before!”
“We all did, David,” said Connor reassuringly, “from the hallway window last semester. That must have been a vye….”
“No,” said David, shaking his head. “Back in Colorado, before I came to Rowan. I was walking home through the woods when I saw someone off the path watching me. Something about him scared me and I walked faster. He started to follow and I ran as fast as I could. He started laughing; he was making fun of me for running slow.” David began coughing, and it was several seconds before he could continue. “I turned around and he was coming after me on all fours. Changing shape, catching up, and laughing the whole time.”
Max had never seen David like this before. His voice was so faint and small; he looked and sounded traumatized.
“I tripped,” he continued. “I saw another one coming at me through the woods…. I think I screamed and fainted. When I woke up, they were gone. So were the trees around me…. Everything was burned. I know it sounds crazy, but I think that it all happened.”
“I believe you,” rumbled Mr. Morrow, patting David’s shoulder. The instructor convulsed with a sudden fit of wheezing laughter. “Imagine those poor vyes’ shock when they realized—pardon the expression—that they’d bitten off more than they could chew! Thinking they’re toying with a poor helpless boy only to encounter him instead!” His laughter sputtered into hacking coughs.
“What are you talking about, Mr. Morrow?” huffed Cynthia. “David could have been killed!”
“No, Miss Gilley,” said Mr. Morrow, rubbing his hand over his white stubble. “I do not think two vyes are likely to be the downfall of our Mr. Menlo. And in any case, I do not believe the Enemy is merely out to take the lives of our unsuspecting young ones. I fear a darker purpose is at work.”
“Like what? What would the Enemy want with Potentials?” asked Connor.
Max and David glanced at each other again. Although David had deciphered the reasons behind the stolen paintings, the stolen Potentials remained a mystery.
“Our Potentials are our lifeblood,” rumbled Mr. Morrow. “If the Enemy saps our youth, our future withers. It would be devastating to kill off our Potentials, but it would be much worse should they become corrupted to the Enemy’s will. Our ranks would dwindle while theirs grew stronger. The key question is how? How are they managing to reach our Potentials before we do? For that I have no answer, but I fear the worst….”
“And what’s that?” ventured Cynthia weakly.
“Treachery!” boomed Mr. Morrow, pounding his fist into his hand. “Betrayal! Treason against humanity by one of our own! Some here scoff at the notion, but these same people can’t tell me how our Potentials are being snatched away. And they have no answers for the breach we suffered last autumn.”
“But why would Ms. Richter want to keep all of this a secret?” asked Max.
Mr. Morrow was silent; his rheumy eyes shot quickly from face to face. Suddenly, his features darkened and his jaw quivered.
“Because Richter’s nothing but a bureaucrat! A war is beginning, children! The Enemy is on the move. Only a fool wouldn’t see this rash of vyes for what they are—scouts to test our strength and will. Nothing less.”
The words came quickly; he clawed at his chair with his fingers.
“War is coming, and our Director clings to process and procedure like every lousy bureaucrat before her…. And it’s because of fear, I tell you! She’s paralyzed by the thought of a mistake—that her competency will be questioned and someone will challenge her for—”
“That is enough!”
Bob’s voice shook the cottage; the windows hummed. Max had never seen Bob raise his voice in anger. It was terrifying.
Mr. Morrow did not appear terrified, however. He appeared capable of violence. Slowly, however, the old man’s silent fury subsided to anger and then to a weary, defeated look. He nodded at Bob, coughing hard into a fistful of blanket. He gave the children an apologetic wave of his hand.
“You’re right, you’re right. You bring me soup, and I go ahead and frighten you! It’s this horrible flu talking—making me cranky—eh, Bob?”
Bob said nothing. He pulled on his coat and opened the door a crack. A gust of wind upset some papers on a nearby shelf. He watched them settle to the ground in slow spirals.
“We must go. Children, come along with Bob.”
“Yes, yes,” agreed Mr. Morrow. “You’re all very kind for looking after me. Ah! But before you leave, we should have a quick lesson.”
Mr. Morrow put down his pipe and leaned forward in his chair.
“I can’t frighten you all about vyes without giving you a bit of defense, can I? Vyes hate bright light—causes them to lose their senses for a moment. It’s a simple enough trick, but I know they don’t get to it until later. You should be able to do it with the energy already in you—no need to tap other sources or gather any.”
Mr. Morrow balled his hand and then spread his fingers, hissing, “Solas.” The room was filled with a bright burst of light, like a massive flashbulb. Little shapes swam before Max’s eyes. A moment later, the room was dim again, lit only by the fire and candles.
“You all try it. It’s a simple thing, really.”
Connor stepped forward, his hand in a tight fist.
“Solas!”
The room flickered with a bright golden light.
Mr. Morrow nodded and turned next to Cynthia, who looked doubtfully at her hand.
“Solas!”
The room filled momentarily with warm light. Connor and Cynthia seemed delighted with their new skill.
“And you, Mr. McDaniels,” murmured Mr. Morrow, dabbing at his nose.
As soon as the word left Max’s lips, the room erupted in brilliant light that subsided just as quickly.
“Last but not least, Mr. Menlo.”
David shook his head and stepped to the door.
“I can do it,” said David simply. “I hope you feel better, Mr. Morrow. I’ll visit again soon.”
Mr. Morrow nodded and offered a small, sad smile.
“I hope so, Mr. Menlo,” he said softly. “And many thanks to all of you for looking in on a poor sick thing! Forgive me if I lost my head.”
The children waved good-bye. Mr. Morrow waved back, looking very small and old. He reached for a nearby photo album.
Outside, Bob took long strides to the top of the first dune. He motioned for them to come quickly before disappearing over the crest. Max started to trot ahead but hung back when he heard Connor chiding David.
“Oh, come on, David. We all did it.”
“I already know I can,” muttered David, zipping his jacket and pulling on his gloves with his teeth.
“I know you can, too,” said Connor, laughing, “but I want to see for myself, Mr. Magic Man!”
“Me too!” added Cynthia.
“Yeah,” said Max, feeling a swell of envy. After all, Mr. Morrow said Max was lucky to have survived Mrs. Millen while David had had nothing to fear from the vyes that chased him in the woods. “It’s not fair for you to just watch all the time.”
At Max’s words, David stopped pulling on his glove. The smile melted from Max’s face. David looked at him impassively for several seconds. With a sudden nod of his head, David flexed his hand.