“And,” said Max, blocking her path, “seeing as he’s a guest and not a meal, I’d like you to sniff him. Now.”
Max ignored his father’s groan and focused on Mum, who recoiled in apparent shock and embarrassment. She glanced in panic at Mr. McDaniels and then at Max before laughing indulgently.
“Your son, Max, is quite the teaser,” she said, wagging her finger. “He forgets that Mum is a reformed hag. Surely some primitive sniffing ritual is unnecessary and unseemly, don’t you think?”
“It is necessary, Mum, and you’ll do it or I’ll go get an instructor.”
Mum laughed off Max’s demand with polite indifference.
“Would you like a tour of the kitchens, sir?” she inquired sweetly. “There’s quite a feast in store for dinner this evening.”
“Mum!” snapped Max. “You sniff him right now or I’ll go get David.”
Mum shrieked and shot a glance at Max.
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would,” insisted Max. “I can have him here in two minutes.”
“Oh, these silly games we play.” She rolled her half-lidded eyes at Mr. McDaniels. “If your son and I weren’t dating, I’d never put up with it—”
“Mum!”
“Fine!” she roared, reaching past Max to seize Mr. McDaniels’s wrist in her meaty hand. His father gave a startled yelp and practically climbed the wall behind him.
“He’s moving too much!” she snarled over her shoulder. “I can’t work like this!”
“It’s okay, Dad,” Max assured him. “It’ll be over in a second.”
Shutting his eyes, Scott McDaniels stopped struggling and let the plump, ferocious-looking creature squeeze and pinch at his arm before running her quivering nostrils along its length.
“Done!” she bawled, flinging his arm aside. “And it’s a crying shame, too!” The hag looked Mr. McDaniels over from head to toe and shook her head sadly, before stalking out and slamming the door behind her.
“Oh my God,” muttered Mr. McDaniels, thick beads of sweat running down his forehead.
“That’s the hardest part,” Max promised. “Now that she’s sniffed you, you’re okay.”
Mr. McDaniels did not answer but merely glanced down at the enormous flannel shirt he was wearing, its sleeves cut in half so their length would accommodate him.
“Who does this belong to?” asked Mr. McDaniels slowly.
“Bob. He’s our other chef…. We should go meet him, too.”
“I need to lie back down,” Mr. McDaniels muttered, peeling back the covers and crawling beneath them. “I’ll meet Bob later.”
There was another quiet knock. Annoyed, Max walked over and wrenched the door open.
“Mum—” snapped Max.
Cooper stood outside.
“The Director would like to see you,” he said softly.
Max stared at the man’s scars and the scattered patches of light blond hair visible now that Cooper had removed his cap. Glancing back at his father, Max saw he was lying still with the washcloth flung once more over his eyes.
“I don’t know if I should leave him here alone…,” said Max.
Cooper nodded, in apparent understanding.
“I’ll watch over him,” the Agent volunteered, clearing his throat and glancing down at Max. “Or I can get another…”
“No,” said Max, looking hard at Cooper. “No, I’d rather it be you.”
Cooper’s granite features softened. He bowed his head and quietly shut the door, standing outside as Max left the guest wing and made for Ms. Richter’s office.
David was already waiting when he got there, along with Nigel. The dagger Mr. Lukens had given Max lay on the Director’s desk.
“How is your father?” asked Ms. Richter, motioning for Max to take a seat.
“He’s doing okay,” said Max quietly. His face began to turn red. “How is that man? The man I hit…”
“Three broken ribs,” said Nigel. “Fortunately, he was wearing Nanomail…. I should consider myself lucky that it was him on the receiving end and not me.”
“I’m sorry,” said Max, looking away.
“You need to control that temper of yours, Max,” said Ms. Richter, examining the dagger. “But by all accounts, we were very fortunate last evening, broken ribs aside. Max, do you know anything about this dagger?”
Max shook his head.
“It’s a replica of a famous dagger—the Topkapi Dagger, given as a gift to the shah of Persia. It was lucky for us that Nigel recognized it,” explained Ms. Richter.
Max listened carefully, positive that he had heard the word “Topkapi” before. He turned in his seat and looked at the Director’s digital map, which was activated and glowing on the opposite wall. The map showed the city of Istanbul; number codes indicating individual missions formed a wide perimeter around a particular section of the city.
“Topkapi Palace,” he breathed. “That’s where you said the missing Potentials might be.”
“That’s right,” said Ms. Richter, glancing at David. “It was a trap. Mr. Lukens is in the service of the Enemy. Apparently he couldn’t resist a little gibe that he believed would go unnoticed until it was too late.”
“Where is he?” asked Max.
“He escaped,” she said. “Others came to his aid and we might have endangered your father had we pressed the issue.”
“Is Mr. Lukens a vye?” asked Max.
“No, Max,” said Ms. Richter. “He is not a vye; he is merely a man in the service of the Enemy. Just one of many, I am sorry to say. The Enemy’s promises are very tempting….”
Ms. Richter placed the dagger back within its case and snapped it shut.
“Mr. Lukens’s arrogance saved many lives,” she said softly. “But our little victory has disturbing implications. The Enemy knew precisely when and where our people would strike.”
Her eyes locked onto Max’s.
“I have already informed David. Neither of you is to spend any time alone with a member of this school’s faculty or senior staff—with the exception of myself, Nigel, or Miss Awolowo. If anything suspicious occurs, you are to activate your security watch immediately. You are to keep this watch on your person at all times. Is that understood?”
Max frowned.
“What about my Amplification lessons with Miss Boon?” he asked.
Ms. Richter nodded.
“They are to continue—Cooper or I will also be in attendance. Now, I know you have midterms this week. I suggest the two of you get some studying accomplished while Mr. McDaniels is resting.”
David got up and went to the door, but Max lingered to ask a question.
“Ms. Richter, what’s going to happen to my dad?” he asked quietly.
The Director was gazing out the window, massaging her hands. She turned and smiled at Max.
“He is most welcome to stay here, of course. Rowan will be his home.”
Max almost knocked the portraits off the wall as he ran back to his father’s room, bursting with the best news he’d had in months.
A week later, however, his joy was forgotten as Max rubbed his temples and stared at the last question in his exam booklet. It stared back in small black letters:
50. Prioritize the following strategic components according to their importance in the scenario described above.
——Position
——Resources
——Initiative
——Flexibility
——Information
Max sighed and glanced out the window; a number of older students were throwing Frisbees that bucked in the lingering gusts from the previous day’s storm. The early-afternoon sun coaxed radiant hues from the grounds, as Rowan’s campus had blossomed quickly with spring. Max looked longingly at clean stretches of emerald lawn and walkways bustling with daffodils and tulips, Peruvian lilies and Spanish bluebells. The Kestrel bobbed on a brilliant cobalt sea.
Cynthia was the only other student left in the classroom. Mr. Watanabe had already begun to grade the midterms; his pen shot across the pages like a typewriter carriage.
“One minute left,” muttered Mr. Watanabe.
The instructor smiled at Max and turned back to the completed exams. Cynthia rifled through the pages of her test with a revolted expression on her face. With a few despondent slashes of his pencil, Max randomly assigned numbers to the blank spaces before surrendering his exam.
Connor and David were waiting on Old Tom’s steps, chatting in the bright sunlight.