Max’s face reddened in the dark; he felt very stupid.
“She…she was so curious about my vision; she kept asking me about it and asking me not to tell anyone. She assigned my punishment for fighting with Alex. She made me go down to the water where the vyes were waiting.”
“Ah, I see,” said Ms. Richter, nodding sympathetically. “I expect Hazel wanted to keep your conversations secret because she knew I would not approve; she was pursuing a branch of analysis that I had discouraged. And the whole school knew about your punishment.”
It looked as though the Director was trying very hard to control her emotions.
“It was Mr. Morrow,” she said at last. “He was the traitor among us.”
Max sat in stunned silence. His mind swam with thoughts of the gravel-voiced lessons, the rivulets of pipe smoke, and the little cottage beyond the dunes.
“It can’t be Mr. Morrow,” Max snapped. “He didn’t think you were doing enough to catch the traitor! How can it be him?”
“He said those things because he realized full well that Bob would report your conversation back to me,” she replied. “And in some ways, I think he was speaking the truth. Deep down, I believe he wanted the traitor to be identified and apprehended.”
“But why would he do it?” pleaded Max. “Are you absolutely sure it’s him?”
“We’re sure,” said Ms. Richter, reaching over and patting his hand. “He was very sick and lonely. And he was never quite the same after his wife died. Apparently, the Enemy claimed to have his son—a son Mr. Morrow thought was lost over thirty years ago. In addition, the Enemy promised him long life free from the pain and pills that had come to dominate his existence. I think the prospect of many healthy years reunited with his son gnawed at his mind until he succumbed at last.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Max. “I don’t believe that Mr. Morrow would sacrifice so many kids just to see his son again. He’s not that selfish!”
“I don’t think he believed he was sacrificing them, Max. The Enemy insisted that the Potentials were a bargaining chip—a brutal but necessary lever that would force his stubborn Director to consider their overtures of peace. It is no secret that Mr. Morrow never supported my appointment as Director. I think he very much wanted to believe that I was the one endangering lives and that he acted on behalf of the greater good.”
“But how did he even do it? How did he help the Enemy find the Potentials?”
“That matter is still under inquiry. However, I believe that he found a way to exploit Isabelle May. When her apple turned to gold, interception of Potentials ceased, leading many to deduce that she was the traitor. I think her death gnawed at Mr. Morrow—his health deteriorated soon after.”
Max shivered, and Ms. Richter placed her jacket over him.
“But the Enemy also knew about the raid at Topkapi Palace!” he exclaimed suddenly. “Why would Mr. Morrow have told them that? Why would he endanger all those Agents?”
“Because once the Enemy had ensnared him, once he had committed to this course of treachery, it was a simple matter to manipulate and twist him further. The Enemy cautioned that the Potentials were protected by powerful spells that would harm them if they were taken by force. And thus, ironically, to keep them ‘safe,’ Mr. Morrow had been obliged to warn the Enemy of our movements. All in all, it was a neat little plan that could have resulted in considerable losses. Fortunately, Mr. Lukens’s private joke tipped us off that an ambush was planned and that a traitor was still in our midst. This would explain why Mr. Lukens has disappeared—that man probably has more to fear from the Enemy than from us.”
“How is my father?” asked Max quietly.
“At first, he was inconsolable,” said Ms. Richter. “And angry. He is overjoyed at the turn of events and very anxious to see you. Though that will have to wait a few days, until your arm has healed a bit more.”
Max was consumed by a sudden urge to leave the porch and burrow somewhere deep in the woods. “I wish none of this had ever happened,” he said. “I wish I’d never seen that tapestry.”
Ms. Richter smiled sympathetically. Her eyes shone like disks of polished silver.
“Did you know that there are eleven dewdrop faeries out on the lawn right now?” she asked.
Max stood and squinted into the dark, leaning against the porch railing.
“I can’t see them,” he said.
“Ah,” she said, standing next to him. “There’s one just below us.”
Ms. Richter pointed her finger directly at the ground below. She muttered a word and a small bulb of golden light grew into being. Within the enveloping light was a tiny girl with the fluttering wings of a dragonfly, dressed in a silken nightgown. She held a small basket and flitted to and from the blades of grass like a hummingbird.
“They collect the evening dew to feed their families,” she said. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”
“Yes.” Max was entranced by the delicate little form swooping below him. “Why couldn’t I see her before?”
“You’re still very young,” said Ms. Richter. “You don’t expect to see them and consequently you can’t. By the time you leave Rowan, you’ll see a whole world of magic that you didn’t know existed. But it’s not just echoes of Old Magic that makes this world such a wonderful place. There are mountains and rivers, plains and meadows, oceans and tides. Architecture and orchestras, discovery and achievement—humans striving for mastery in one thing or another for thousands of years. These are the great things.
“But there are the little things, too,” she said, smiling. “For me, there are my morning walks in the gardens. My kettle telling me the water is hot. The fierce love in Mum and Bob’s bickering…. There’s a pair for you! Two beings that started on very dark paths yet have been won over by all that is so very good. These are the things I fight for, Max. These are the things for which I am willing to face and endure the less pleasant realities of this world.”
Max sat and thought about her words. The dewdrop faerie’s light dimmed as she skimmed away over the grass toward a lone tree in the dark field.
It was hard to see Cooper in the fading daylight as Max climbed out of the plane. The dark-clad Agent stood motionless on the private runway with his hands clasped in front of him. He opened the limousine’s door and ushered Max inside.
“It is good to see you, Max,” said the Agent quietly. “I’m glad you are well.”
Max thanked him but did not otherwise speak during the ride; instead he looked out the window and waited patiently to see his father.
The sky was nearly dark when they reached Rowan. The town’s shops were closing; the wall of trees bordering the campus was tall and black. At the gate, Cooper rolled down the window as the car was surrounded by grim-looking strangers. They peered inside at Max and Cooper, scanning their faces with a red light before they were permitted to pass. Max turned and watched the gate close behind them as the car continued on the winding road that would take them to the Manse.
“Who are they?” asked Max.
“Extra security,” muttered Cooper. “Rowan’s been a busy place. Lots of defensive measures going in. Until those are ready, we’ve got extra manpower.”
Max looked up and saw the fountain illuminated with waves of watery light. Beyond was the Manse, its windows bright and its walls thick with ivy and flowers. He stepped out and listened to the distant surf, his eyes following the walks across the lawns and flower beds to Old Tom and Maggie. Beyond was the dock where he and Alex had been snatched away.
The door to the Manse opened suddenly. Miss Awolowo came swooping down the steps to engulf Max in a fierce hug. He was nearly crushed in a swirl of indigo robes, clicking beads, and gleaming bands of heavy gold. The woman shook with warm, joyous laughter as she held Max by the shoulders and looked him over.