“First of all, the painting will have been completed sometime close to when Astaroth was defeated. That’s when he was weak and we had the Tuatha de Danaan as allies—they had the Old Magic needed for the binding spells. I know the Enemy has taken modern paintings, too, but that’s all just a cover-up to disguise who’s stealing the art and why.”
“You’re sure?” asked Ms. Richter.
“Yes. Astaroth’s too powerful to hold in something temporary or move from one prison to another—all of that’s too risky.”
Ms. Richter nodded, stirring her coffee and watching David carefully as he continued.
“I also think it would be by a famous painter. The idea is that the Enemy would assume any prison would be hidden away. Famous paintings might be in plain sight, but they don’t change ownership often and can be guarded really well.”
“Leading candidates?” asked Ms. Richter, nodding.
“Rembrandt and Vermeer,” said David.
“Why these artists, specifically?”
David shrugged.
“Time period fits best and others had access to their paintings while they were being made,” said David. “I don’t think either artist would have even known their work was involved; one of our people—a student of theirs or someone who had access—would have played the pivotal role. Nothing in the Archives’ records says that Rembrandt or Vermeer was one of us. Personally, I think the painting is a Rembrandt, but it’s most likely any one of these four paintings.”
David got up to take a pen from the Director’s desk and scribble on a slim pad of paper nearby. Ms. Richter snatched up the paper and glanced at it.
“The good news is they haven’t been stolen,” said David.
Max tried to glimpse the names through the paper as the Director held it up but was unable to make them out in the soft light. Ms. Richter glanced at him, as though she suddenly realized that he was still there.
“Thank you, David,” she said, placing the sheet facedown on her desk. She motioned for David to be seated once again. Opening her drawer, she produced a folder Max had seen before. His pulse began to quicken.
“Now for you, Mr. McDaniels,” she said, removing the glossy photograph and flipping it around to face him. Max blinked at the picture of Ronin staring furiously back at him. “Can you explain why you still have not shared the fact that you had a conversation with this man on this very campus?”
Max had not heard from Ronin since Halloween; he had assumed enough time had elapsed that Cooper’s suspicions had been unreported or dismissed.
“I’m sorry,” said Max quietly. “I just thought—”
Her interjection was calm and even.
“You chose not to report this despite the fact that I told you this man was dangerous. You chose not to report this despite the fact that vyes infiltrated this campus several weeks prior.”
“Is he a vye?” asked Max, horrified.
Ms. Richter stood and walked to the window to open the drapes and watch snowflakes float about the outside lights like tiny moths. “No, Max, he is not a vye. Your original instincts about him were on target, nonetheless—he is dangerous. I’m sorry to say he is a graduate of Rowan—a supremely gifted one who is quite misguided. He was cast out several years ago. His name is Peter Varga.”
“But he tried to save me in Chicago and at the airport,” said Max, confused. “He did save me. Why was he cast out? What did he do that was so bad?”
The Director’s reply snapped through the air with finality.
“He made contact with the wrong people.” Her figure remained framed against a backdrop of swirling snow and frosted glass. “You had best go get some supper, Max. You are not to speak to Mr. Varga again or say anything about David’s research to anyone. I will emphasize to you that these are not polite requests I am simply making of a student; these are field orders issued by the Director of Rowan. Do you need me to explain the difference?”
“No, Director,” said Max, his face reddening.
“Good,” said Ms. Richter in a gentler voice. “Please get some dinner and some rest. David, I would appreciate it if you would remain a bit longer. Good night, Max.”
Max left the room as quickly as he could, skirting several students and hurrying down to the dining hall, where Bob had put aside a special plate for him.
The next few weeks were a whirlwind for the students at Rowan. Everyone had been brought up to date by their respective advisors. The news of missing Potentials caused quite a shock as did the distribution of security watches to every student. These watches were thin and silver with a digital screen that was to be pressed hard if danger threatened. While these developments had triggered a buzz among the students, the real shock and gossip began one evening when Cooper brought his hunched and shambling vye to the dining hall.
“We’re seeing more of these,” Cooper announced to his petrified audience. “We caught this one sniffing round the gates, so the Director thinks it best you see one now—in captivity. Some of you may think you know all about vyes from your books; I thought the same until I met one in Oslo….”
Cooper then gave a very practical and targeted explanation of how to spot and handle vyes. According to the Agent, a fair fight was not what they wanted. The vye’s objective was to catch you unaware, even trusting. The key was early detection: a vye was much less likely to attack if it thought it had been identified. In human form, their eyes were often watery, and they had a meandering, indirect way of speaking.
“They like to think they’re clever.” Cooper smirked. “Catch yourself in conversation with a vye, and it’ll be using ominous words and violent metaphors—toying with its prey. Turn the tables; introduce a riddle into the conversation. Vyes love riddles—it will almost always get distracted and try to solve it. Catch-22s are gold: say that you’re applying for a job that requires experience, but that you can’t get experience without the job. Drives them crazy—a record skipping in their heads.
“Don’t just rely on your gut to spot a vye,” Cooper cautioned. “I know that’s the going tip, but it’s wrong and risky. Some people can sense a vye in a heartbeat; something about it triggers a response in their genetic memory and they know a predator is near. Some people aren’t so lucky. Be alert and remember to check the eyes and speech patterns. Also, remember that vyes almost always work in pairs; always be wary of a second vye if one is spotted. Always! The one you see might just be distracting you. If their teeth or claws ever puncture your skin, you’ve got seventy-two hours to get the antidote or you risk contamination.”
Jason Barrett, looking very serious, asked Cooper how best to combat one.
“That depends on you and your strengths,” he mused. “I think of vyes as knife-work, but that’d be risky for students. They don’t burn easy, but they sure don’t like bright light or bitter cold. They’re quick, but not quick enough to keep pace with you if you’re much of an Amplifier. There are many ways to tangle with a vye. You’ll just have to figure out what works best for you.”
“And how are we supposed to do that?” a nervous-looking Third Year asked.
“On the Course,” Cooper hissed. “On my recommendation, vyes will be randomly inserted into your training scenarios. Effective immediately.”
15
UNEXPECTED GUESTS
Following Cooper’s dinner demonstration, there was a sharp decline in Course usage. Max had reluctantly continued his scenarios but had yet to encounter any vyes. What he did encounter was incessant teasing at the hands of other students as tales of Kettlemouth’s song flooded the campus.