His only teacher.

The weather continued to warm. Students clustered under the pavilions between classes, eagerly exchanging summer plans. Frisbees soared over tiny patches of lawn and the school dress code was challenged on a daily basis. Seph checked the mail regularly, hoping he might at least hear something from Sloane's about arrangements for summer. Then Gregory Leicester called Seph into his office one afternoon after class.

Seph went reluctantly. He assumed an audience with Leicester could not bring good news. He was right.

The headmaster rose from his computer when Seph arrived. “Come in, Joseph,” he said. “Sit down.” He gestured toward the same table where they had sat the night of Seph's arrival. Seph perched on the edge of the seat, bracing his palms on the arms as if ready to launch. Leicester sat down across the table.

“We're concerned, Joseph,” he said. “I had hoped that your continued deterioration might convince you to cooperate, to submit to treatment.”

Seph fixed his gaze over Leicester's shoulder, looking out at the horizon. “I don't need treatment. I need training.”

Leicester shook his head, as if this notion was preposterous. “I cannot risk training a wizard who is so totally out of control. It would be like handing a flamethrower to a child. You require limits and close guidance in order to develop your powers safely.”

“Let me go, then. I'll find someone else.”

Leicester sighed. “I think it's time we change our approach. I'm going to ask your guardian to let us keep you with us this summer. I'll have more free time, then, and you won't be in class. We'll work on your issues together, Joseph. We'll do some intensive one-on-one therapy, some guided imagery. How does that sound?”

Seph could imagine what kind of images Leicester would share with him. And with the wizard present, he wouldn't be able to use the talisman.

No doubt Houghton would agree to Leicester's proposal. The lawyers would be glad they didn't have to find a summer placement.

Unless Jason got to them first. He cultivated that fading hope.

Two weeks before the end of the term, Seph decided he couldn't wait for Jason any longer, but had to try again to contact Sloane's on his own. For that, he'd need to break into Gregory Leicester's office. If any computer on campus had unrestricted access to the outside world, it would be his.

Seph began monitoring the headmaster's movements. Leicester sometimes worked in his office until late into the night. Fairly consistently, however, he walked over to the alumni building for dinner around eight. For several nights running, Seph marked his departure from the admin, building, his arrival at the Alumni House, the walk back to his office. He was always gone for at least an hour, sometimes an hour and a half. That would be long enough.

At his previous schools, Seph had been known as something of a hacker. He thought he could probably break into the school's e-mail system, depending on the service provider, operating system, and level of security. He might even be able to come in through the front door without breaking code, if Leicester was sloppy about passwords. Which he might be. This kind of attack might not be anticipated at a place like the Havens, where magic and wizardry were the weapons of choice.

He chose a Sunday night in late May. Sitting at the end of the dock, facing to the side, he could monitor activity at the admin, building. The office was illuminated and he could see Gregory Leicester at his desk overlooking the harbor.

About 7:45, Leicester threw on a jacket and cut the lights in his office. Seph left the dock and walked around to the front of the building, speaking an unnoticeable charm when he reached the shadows along the side. Leicester exited through the front door, his boots crunching on the gravel of the parking lot. He was heading for the Alumni House.

Seph turned the corner and entered the admin building. Unnoticeable, he walked past the cafeteria where students lingered over dessert and climbed the steps to the third floor. Passing through the darkened hall, he tried the door to Leicester's office. It was unlocked. He listened for a long moment and, hearing nothing, slipped inside and closed the door behind him.

Now he just wanted to be in and out as quickly as possible. He crossed to the computer and sat in the chair. He touched a key and the screen illuminated. Leicester had signed off but left the computer on. gleicester was the user name.

Seph plugged his jump drive into the USB port and ran the script he'd written earlier on the computer in his room. It crunched away, trying passwords. While he waited, he searched the desk drawers, which were nearly empty. He eyed the phone on the desk, but decided against chancing an outside call. Sloane's would be closed at this hour, anyway. He was rooting through the filing cabinets when he heard the computer cycling through its startup routine. He was in.

Seph opened the browser, then typed in the URL for a search-engine company that offered free e-mail service. In a few minutes, he had set up a new account and user name. It wouldn't fool anyone if he were caught, he realized. All Leicester would have to do was look at the mail's destination. But at least it might prevent any bounce-back mail from going to the headmaster. He logged back in under his new name, Dragon.

His fingers flew across the keys. He typed in Sloane's gateway e-mail address and accessed the firm's online address book. He selected every personal e-mail box on the list, Sloane, Smythe, Houghton, and all the rest of the associates.

MR. HOUGHTON AND COLLEAGUES: I am being held prisoner here at the Havens School in Maine. I was told that your firm had me legally committed for mental health treatment, but I have not been allowed to confirm that with you. Although I have written to you via the post numerous times, there has been no response. I am not allowed telephone or e-mail access.

I have been subjected to severe emotional abuse and mental torture since my arrival in September, which I can no longer endure. If there is no response to this e-mail within three days I will kill myself. I am perfectly serious. JOSEPH MCCAULEY

BTW: Do not reply to this e-mail. Do not call. Come in person and don't leave without seeing me.

He looked the e-mail over and was satisfied. No lawyer could fail to respond to such a message. He drew a shaky breath and hit the send button. A message came up. YOUR MESSAGE HAS BEEN SENT. It was done.

He knew he should leave, but Leicester's mail program beckoned. Perhaps he'd find some mention of Jason, or the Dragon, or the other parties to the conspiracy Jason had described. He opened the mail program and scrolled down through the inbox. Here was something: RE: RECORDS FOUND AT THE DRAGON'S LONDON HEADQUARTERS from D'Orsay.

Just then, Seph heard a door slam and footsteps approaching. The lights kindled in the outer office. Heart pounding, he exited out of the mail program and signed off, leaving the desktop as he'd found it. He jumped up and crossed to the door, flattening himself against the wall next to it.

It was Leicester, of course, back from dinner. The headmaster tossed a folder onto his desk and sat down at his workstation. Seph edged around the corner and out the door. He was halfway across the outer office when he remembered he'd left his jump drive plugged into the port of Leicester's computer. He considered retrieving it later, but decided against it. There was nothing to link it to Seph specifically. It would be less risky to leave it than to try and retrieve it, unnoticeable or not.

He walked through the suite of offices and down the stairs. A few minutes later he was on his way back to his dorm, one shadow among many in the gloom under the trees.

It was a little after 6 a.m. on Tuesday morning when they came for him. Seph was still in bed, but he was a light sleeper now, whenever he wasn't using the portal, and he woke when he heard the key turn in the lock. He had the deadbolt thrown, so it gave him time to make sure the portal stone was inside his shirt before the door flew open. It was Warren Barber and Bruce Hays.

Seph propped himself on his elbows. “What's going on?”

“Get up, Joseph,” Warren said. “You need to come with us.”

“Am I late for something?” Seph looked from one to the other for a clue. They had their stone faces on. He swung his legs around and put his feet on the floor. “Is it okay if I get dressed?”

They stepped back to allow him to get out of bed and stood waiting while he pulled his jeans on and found his shoes and yesterday's socks under his bed. Since they were wearing jackets, he pulled on a sweatshirt. Something told him they wouldn't wait for him to brush his teeth. He ran a hand through his ragged hair and said, “Okay.” They pushed him out the door ahead of them and descended the stairs, Warren and Bruce on either side, each gripping an arm. Once outside, they steered him toward the administration building.

Seph decided to try again. “What's this all about?”

“I tried to warn you, Joseph,” Warren said.

It must be the e-mail, Seph thought. Unless it was Jason. The critical question was whether Sloane's had responded or not. It occurred to him that the day could bring either a major improvement or a dramatic deterioration in his prospects.

There weren't many students on the campus at that hour, except for a few hardy souls headed for the gym. The air was soft, the sky was pale, and the light was growing. A light mist lay on the harbor. It was going to be a beautiful day. For someone.

Seph and his escorts entered the admin, building and climbed the open staircase to the third floor. They took him directly to Gregory Leicester's office and pushed him forward.

Leicester was standing at his magnificent window, his hands clasped behind him, watching the sun come up over the water. John Hughes was seated at Leicester's PC, frantically typing in commands. Hughes was one of the alumni, a stocky man in his twenties with a receding hairline. He functioned as the systems administrator for the school.

It was the e-mail, then.

Warren cleared his throat nervously. “Here's Joseph.”

Leicester did not look back at them, but turned instead to Hughes. “Well?”

Hughes half turned around in his chair and shook his head. “A number of them have already been opened. They were sent out on Sunday night. No response.” He glanced at Seph, then looked away.