“I see.” Leicester sighed, and stared out to sea again for a moment, then turned to face the trio in the doorway. “So, Joseph. It appears you have made a mistake.”
Seph remembered Jason's advice. Be stupid and be scared. He tried to play stupid. “Already?” He lifted his shoulders slightly. “I just got out of bed.”
Leicester's hand came up and forward. The blow came so quickly, Seph had no time to react. A fistlike concussion of air struck him full in the face and threw him back against the door, his feet literally leaving the ground. His head slammed hard against the doorframe before he slid to the floor. His right eye swam with tears and he tasted blood in his mouth where his lip was cut. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and it came away covered in blood.
He looked up to see that Leicester hadn't moved from his position by the window. Warren and Bruce had split off to either side, out of the target area.
Leicester thrust his hand toward him again. The next blow caught Seph just under the ribcage, throwing him back into the wall and driving all the breath out of him. He rolled over, trying to scramble out of the way, but the third hit him square in the back. Each felt like a sledgehammer against flesh and bone. Seph doubled up on the floor, making as small a target as possible. After two more blows, he wondered if Leicester intended to beat him to death.
He struggled to pull the air back into his lungs. It hurt to breathe, and he suspected his ribs might be broken. Leicester crossed the space between them and spoke to Seph on the floor from his terrible height.
“Who do you think I am? A high school principal?” he spat the words out derisively. “Did you think you were going to get a bloody detention?” His voice grew louder with each sentence.
Despite the pain, Seph managed to push himself into a half-sitting position, leaning against the wall. He shook his head, trying to clear it, flinging blood in a small arc. His lip was swelling, and the entire right side of his face felt numb, which was probably a blessing. His legs tingled, and he wondered if his spinal cord had been bruised by the blow to his back. “Why can't you just let me go?” he whispered.
“No one leaves the Havens until I'm ready. You should know that by now.”
Seph knew he should just keep quiet, but he couldn't help himself. “Jason Haley left,” he said.
“Ah, yes. Jason Haley has indeed left the Havens.” Havens smiled. “Did you think I'd let him out alive?”
It was one of those times when the body seems to act without the counsel or approval of the conscious mind. Seph McCauley bunched his quivering legs under him and launched himself at Gregory Leicester. He hit him hard, in the midsection. It was very much like hitting a concrete wall, but Seph was able to land at least two good punches before Leicester pinned his arms to his side with one massive arm and wrapped the other around his neck, cutting off his air supply. He increased the pressure until black spots appeared before Seph's eyes, then relaxed it enough to keep Seph from passing out completely.
As soon as Seph had enough air to do so, he launched into one of the attack charms he and Jason had memorized in the library. But he was cut off mid sentence by blinding pain like a current that flamed through his body and left him limp and trembling when it was finally over.
“Don't be a fool,” said Leicester.
But Seph was reckless with anger. “You'd better kill me,” he gasped, “because if you don't, I swear I'll kill you.”
Leicester was speaking into his ear. “Why would I kill you, Joseph, when I have so many other options?” He laughed softly. "You think you've had dreams? I can give you a nightmare that will last a week. Why, I can give you a nightmare that will last the rest of your life. We call it going insane.
“Now, the question is whether we need to keep you around in case someone responds to your message. I think not. You won't be in any condition to talk to them anyway. You threatened to kill yourself, Joseph, and I think you're going to succeed. You'll cease to exist as far as Sloane's is concerned. Think of it. We'll have you all to ourselves. A wizard's lifetime. No more paperwork, no pesky correspondence going back and forth.” He touched Seph's damaged face, running his thumb down his chinline. “No need to keep you pretty in case someone conies to call.”
Leicester tightened his grip and spoke a charm. The flames raked through Seph again, and he screamed, all of his muscles seizing with the pain of it. He couldn't say how long it went on, but Leicester suddenly released his hold on him, and Seph dropped to the floor like a rag doll, whimpering, desperately sucking in air.
“At last, perhaps, you begin to understand. You see how restrained I've been. Now the gloves come off. I won't make the same mistake I made with Jason. You're going to beg for the chance to give me what I want. I promise to take my time. We'll learn so much, you and I, about your capabilities. You've been a tough little bastard. Now we'll find out just how tough you are.”
Seph lay with his face against the varnished hardwood, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his heart pounding in his ears. His skin was slick with sweat, and he was shivering. He could think of only one way out of his predicament. He had to find a way to make Leicester kill him.
Gradually, he became aware of a commotion in the outer suite of offices. Raised voices, like an argument. Seph turned his head slightly so he could see. Leicester turned toward the door. Peter Conroy slipped into the office and spoke, quietly and urgently, to Leicester. Leicester listened, with his eyes on Seph. He nodded, said a few words, and Conroy left again.
Leicester lifted an upholstered chair like it weighed nothing and set it in front of the door. Then he slid his hands under Seph's arms and hauled him into it. Seph bit his lip to keep from crying out. He tried to retreat into the chair, to curl himself around his many hurts like an injured animal. But the headmaster gripped his chin hard and lifted his head so Seph had no choice but to look him in the eyes.
“It appears there's been a response to your message. Sloane's has sent someone to inquire after you.” Leicester dropped his hot hands onto Seph's shoulders. Power roared into him again, different from before, power that drove the strength from his muscles and bones, leaving him totally conscious but helpless—too weak to hold up his head. An immobilization charm. He couldn't speak or move a muscle.
Leicester arranged Seph's body in the chair, making no attempt to be gentle. He raked Seph's curls back out of his eyes and looked down at him, apparently satisfied. “Now you can listen while I send her away.” He paused. “And when I return, I promise I will make you wish you'd never been born.” Then he was gone, the three alumni following him.
So Sloane's had sent a woman. Seph had hoped they would send someone he knew, Denis Houghton, even. He didn't know any female associates of the firm. Seph swallowed down his despair. These wizards could outfox or overpower any lawyer. He didn't want to have to hear it.
The group outside must have moved closer to the door, or perhaps Leicester engineered it so, because suddenly the voices came through clearly. First a woman's voice. "We received his message at our offices
Sunday night. I'm not leaving without talking to him."
“I'm afraid that won't be possible just now,” Leicester replied.
“What do you mean?” the woman demanded.
“Joseph has disappeared. No one has seen him since supper last night. He left this in his room.” There was a brief silence, as if the woman were reading something.
“This doesn't sound like him. How do you know he wrote it?”
“It was in his room, Miss …”
“Downey,” the woman said.
“Are you a relative?” Leicester asked, like a coroner seeking the next of kin.
“I am the boy's legal guardian,” the woman said. “That's all you need to know. I fail to understand how you could lose my ward overnight.”
“One of the boats is missing,” Leicester said. “He might have taken it out last night.”
“I find that hard to believe,” the woman replied. “Seph has never been fond of the ocean.”
There was something oddly compelling about her voice. It was like a song that you can't let go of. Seph was struck by the use of his private name, her confidence in her knowledge of him. She claimed to be his guardian. But Denis Houghton was his guardian. Downey? He'd never even heard her name before.
“Why haven't you called the police?” she demanded. “Why didn't you call us before now?”
“We've only just discovered he was missing,” Leicester said. “We're conducting a search ourselves. It wasn't unusual for him to disappear for hours at a time. He liked to walk alone in the woods.” He was already speaking in the past tense.
“First you imply he's gone boating in the dark, now you tell me he's been walking in the woods all night. Do your students never stay in their beds?”
The woman was persistent, but it wouldn't matter. She couldn't force them to produce him if they claimed he was missing. And Seph knew he would never be found.
“Why don't you come down to the cafeteria and have some coffee,” Leicester said. “The search parties will be reporting back here. As soon as there's any news—”
“Seph said you wouldn't allow him to call us. He said you were holding him prisoner here.”
Seph could almost see Leicester shrugging his shoulders. “I don't know where he gets these ideas,” the headmaster said. “Frankly, Miss Downey, we've done our best to work with Joseph. You can tell by the note he left that he's unstable. In fact, we've come to believe that he's psychotic. Yet we were told none of this when we admitted him.”
“You make it sound like he's been a problem since September,” she said. Papers rustled. “I have all his progress reports here, and they suggest nothing of the kind.”
Soon enough, the dance would be over. They would maneuver the woman out of the office and down to the cafeteria. Then they could tuck him somewhere out of the way, and his chance would be gone. He'd sacrificed so much, perhaps everything, to get Sloane's to send someone to rescue him.