sat heavily in his chair. Azure climbed onto his shoulder and began preening his dreadlocks.
Amadi took the seat in front of his desk. “There’s no sign that either death was murder. But in light of what happened to Nora Finn, I believe something is awry. So I will ask you again: Magister, where have you been for the past hour?”
“I speak the truth when I say that I was talking to gargoyles,” Shannon said numbly.
The murderer had struck faster than he had thought possible. More terrifying, Shannon had issued orders to all wizards supervising cacographers that their charges were not to leave Starhaven. How could the murderer have induced the boys to disobey and escape their teachers?
The murderer had said he could wield dreams as others might wield a net. The monster must somehow be using dreams to compel the boys to stray out of Starhaven’s protective walls. “Creator forgive me!” he whispered to himself. This changed everything.
Amadi began to ask a question about the two poor boys.
He stopped her and withdrew the severed clay arm from his robes. The thing was beginning to lose its shape. Nevertheless, he laid it on the table.
While Amadi stared at the arm, he described Nora Finn’s private library and his fight with the murderer.
Amadi stared at him with a neutral expression. “Magister, you expect me to believe this?”
His tone grew more urgent. “Go to the Gimhurst Tower; see Nora’s private library for yourself.”
“According to your tale, the deconstructing spellbooks will have destroyed everything in the private library—even your attacker’s weapon. And you said the creature ran off with Finn’s research journal. There would be nothing to find.”
Shannon had not thought of this. “But the arm.”
Looking at the limb, Amadi took a long breath. “I have never heard of anything, living or magical, that changes from flesh to clay. Perhaps such a transformation was possible on the ancient continent. Perhaps a deity could achieve such a thing with a godspell.”
Shannon felt his hands go cold. Godspells were immensely powerful and ornate texts written by deities. They were also exceedingly rare.
Amadi was studying Shannon’s face. “Magister, do you believe you con-fronted a god last night? Surely other authors would have detected the presence of a deity in Starhaven.”
She was right. “Perhaps not a god, but a godspell,” he said quickly. “Amadi, you must believe me. There are forces acting here beyond anything we’ve known before.”
She paused and then asked her next question in a softer tone: “Magister, have you ever had visions not related to quaternary thoughts?”
He blinked. “No, of course not. You think I’m mad?”
“Tell me about your relationship to the druid Deirdre.”
“Druid?” he asked in confusion. “Deirdre? Nothing, nothing. She asked for an interview with Nicodemus, and to help the convocation I agreed to—” He stopped. “You think I’m mad and it has something to do with the druid?”
Amadi shook her head. “With the boy. He has a…power about him. Why didn’t you tell me of his relationship to prophecy during our first interview?”
“Because there is no proven relationship.”
Amadi tilted her head to one side. “It seems the boy unknowingly draws spellwrights—you, possibly the druid—to his cause. Consider that his peers are dying of misspells. Perhaps he is responsible for…what you perceived.”
“What are you implying?”
“Think of the boy’s scar—a Braid broken by an Inconjunct. The counter-prophecy predicts that the Storm Petrel will ‘untie the Halcyon’s weavings’ and that he will ‘break the braids the Halcyon ties between the human kingdoms.’”
Shannon stood and began to pace. “Amadi, you question my sanity while believing that a mere cacographic apprentice is the Anti-Halcyon? That’s madness. How can you believe that a crippled boy is the Storm Petrel? The champion of the demon-worshipers?”
“I look for theories that can explain the recent deaths. This theory is the only one that can explain them all.”
Shannon shook his head vehemently. “But I’ve spoken to the provost. He agrees that Nicodemus’s scars were most likely the result of a fanatical mother who branded him.”
“I’ve since talked to Provost Montserrat. He believes we should reevaluate Nicodemus.”
Shannon felt nauseated. “You think Nicodemus killed the other cacographers?”
She shook her head. “Nicodemus was lecturing neophytes when the young ones died. Besides, there is no evidence that either boy was murdered. As I said, the counter-prophecies teach us that turmoil shall follow wherever the Storm Petrel flies. If I am right, Nicodemus is unaware of his true nature but is driving these horrible events by some unknown power.”
Shannon stopped pacing. Things would become chaotic indeed if