The Inquisitor's Apprentice

And then Wolf was upon them. He forced Morgaunt’s head around so that the two men were staring into each other’s eyes. Then he unleashed a power colder and more terrible than any magic Sacha had ever seen before. Sacha saw the exact moment at which Morgaunt admitted defeat. One instant Morgaunt was in possession of the fireman’s body. The next he was gone, and the fireman was crumpling to the floor with a dazed look on his face.

For a minute Wolf stood over the body, blazing with magic like an avenging angel. Then he seemed to fade and shrink right before Sacha’s eyes until he was only his everyday self again, as dull and gray as dishwater.

He knelt over Sacha. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You shouldn’t have seen that yet. I knew you weren’t ready, but I didn’t have a choice. are you all right?”

Behind Wolf, Sacha could see the other rescuers gathering up Edison and Antonio and the fireman. Someone seemed to have placed some kind of protective spell on the theater; there were no more falling rafters, and the flames had a glossy, distant look, as though they were burning behind glass.

“Say something, Sacha.”

“Morgaunt — he told me — he said I’m — like you.” He couldn’t even make himself say the word “Mage.”

“Do you believe him?”

“I can’t do magic!” Sacha protested. “I’ve never done magic!”

“Haven’t you?” Wolf’s voice was gentle, but it cut through Sacha’s words, silencing him. He thought of how Shen had shown up just when he needed her. Of how the Rag and Bone Man had saved him again and again. Of the times he’d felt the city move and ripple around him. Had those things only happened to him? Or had he somehow done them?

“Fine! I just won’t do it anymore! I can—”

“No, you can’t. You don’t have a choice. I learned that the hard way when I was your age. The only choice you have is whether you control the magic or the magic controls you.”

“You could have told me!” Suddenly Sacha felt bitter and ill-used. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because I knew you weren’t ready to hear it. And I was afraid that your being able to see magic would make it even harder for you. I was right, too. Look at you.”

“I’ll be all right,” Sacha muttered.

Wolf looked at him gravely, started to speak, and then stopped himself. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Wolf reached out a hand to help Sacha up — but Sacha flinched away from it and buried his head in his hands. Wolf stood over him for a moment, waiting for Sacha to look up. Then he sighed and walked away.

When Sacha finally raised his head, Lily and Payton were there. They helped him to his feet, and the three of them followed the rescue party through the flames.

Somehow they made it out of the burning building — straight into a street carnival. Sacha had known there was a crowd outside, but he’d had no idea just how big it was. More people were arriving every second. Hucksters were selling hot dogs and roasted peanuts. Some enterprising fellow had even stationed himself by the gate to the hotel grounds with a sign that read ADMISSION TO THE BURNING RUINS 1 °CENTS. The fire might have begun as a tragedy, but it was rapidly turning into melodrama. The death of the elephant hotel had become a genuine Coney Island event.

A squad of Inquisitors led the rescue party down the steps and cleared their way through the crowd. Flashbulbs popped and flared. Reporters shouted questions from every side. The next thing Sacha knew, he and Lily and Antonio were shaking the mayor’s hand and being ushered past a gauntlet of newspaper reporters into the terrifying presence of James Pierpont Morgaunt.

“Congratulations,” Morgaunt drawled. “You’ve saved the day.”

He reached for Sacha’s hand, and flashbulbs sparkled in his diamond cuff links like dying stars. Morgaunt’s grip was alarmingly strong. Sacha tried to pull his hand back, but he only managed to flutter his fingers in Morgaunt’s grasp like a butterfly caught in a collector’s net.

Morgaunt’s steely eyes bored into him. “You’ve played the part of a hero,” he said in a voice so level and forthright that only Sacha could possibly have caught the hidden meaning behind his words.

But to Sacha the innuendo was unmistakable. Morgaunt was enjoying himself. He was daring Sacha to accuse him, just as he’d dared Wolf before. He liked knowing that Sacha knew what he was and couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

“I–I just did my job,” Sacha stammered. He tried again to get his hand back, but he might as well have tried to pull it out of a bear trap.

The faintest hint of a smile glinted behind Morgaunt’s eyes. “Inquisitor Wolf is lucky to have such a loyal apprentice.”

“Th-thank you, sir.”

Morgaunt’s smile broadened. “Pentacle Industries could use a fellow like you. Someone who has the guts to take risks and isn’t always looking over his shoulder, afraid of his own shadow.”

Looking over his shoulder? Afraid of his own shadow? Morgaunt’s choice of words couldn’t possibly be a coincidence.

“I’m not interested,” Sacha snapped, starting to lose his temper.

“I bet I could make you change your mind,” Morgaunt said with a wicked gleam of laughter in his eyes. “Shall I try?”

Good God, what did that mean? Sacha thought of his family and his mouth went dry with terror.

Morgaunt let go of Sacha’s hand, releasing it so abruptly that Sacha almost fell over backward.

“Don’t look so worried, Mr. Kessler. If you insist on being a policeman, I suppose I’ll just have to resign myself to it. For now, anyway.”

CHAPTER THIRTY. Beginnings

HANUKKAH was Sacha’s favorite holiday, even though according to Grandpa Kessler it wasn’t a real holiday at all. Actually, that was probably why Sacha liked it. No one took it too seriously, and the grownups all played along good-humoredly while the kids got to enjoy candy and presents just like their Irish and German and Italian friends.

Even the blessing of the candles — the real part of the holiday — wasn’t entirely serious, since Uncle Mordechai always offered a tongue-in-cheek translation into Yiddish.

“Baruch atah adonai eloheynu melech ha-olam asher kid’shanu b’mitzvohtav vitsivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah,” Rabbi Kessler intoned.

“Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who loved us so much that he gave us twice as many rules to follow as the goyim. Enough with the mitzvahs! We lit the candles! Can we eat already?”

“Baruch atah adonai eloheynu melech ha-olam sheh-asah nissim l'avoteynu ba-yamim ha-heym bazman hazeh.”

“Blessed are You, O Lord, et cetera, et cetera. Okay, so You worked miracles back in Israel a few thousand years ago. But lately … not so much. Not that we’re complaining! But it is the season for miracles, and we could use a few!”

Everyone laughed at Mordechai’s antics. But as Sacha looked around at his family and savored the comfortable warmth of the little kitchen, he honestly couldn’t think of a single miracle they needed.

Life was good on Hester Street. Sacha still had his job — which was a miracle of miracles, considering all the lies he’d told. Mr. Kessler was still pigheadedly putting Sacha’s apprentice pay into the bank instead of spending it. But just knowing the money was there meant that for the first time in Sacha’s life there were no nagging worries about whether the family could pay the rent or afford to call a doctor if someone got sick.