‘I’m sure everything will work out for the best. You’re bound to do splendidly .’
Philomena bumped briefly against him in what passed for a hug. His father clapped him on the back. ‘Be safe,’ Ashton told him. ‘Be strong.’
Glory had joined the queue to screen hand luggage. Lucas turned back for a final look at his family. Troy Morgan was standing behind them, hands in his pockets, watching. Lucas could almost feel the force of that hard green stare.
He passed the fingerprint test and iris scan, and walked through the metal arch hung with iron bells. Arches like this were placed at all stages of the arrival and departure process, to give warning of witches who were trying to hex a bane. Glory was not far ahead, but once in the terminal, they were careful to keep out of each other’s way, even though their flight turned out to be delayed for over an hour.
It was only after Lucas had boarded the plane that he allowed himself to look for her. She was in her seat, chewing gum loudly, and absorbed in a stash of gossip magazines. A tinny beat rustled from her earphones. Her neighbour already had a long-suffering air.
Lucas settled into his seat and tried to relax. This proved impossible. Instead, he tried to collect his thoughts by going over the plans they’d made and the research they’d done. Names, faces and statistics scrolled through his head.
Wildings’ membership was a closely kept secret and MI6 had gone to considerable trouble to identify the five other students already enrolled. The eldest was Jenna White, aged seventeen, from California. Her father was an IT entrepreneur and dot-com millionaire. The photograph in the file had been taken at her school prom, and was a vision of tanned limbs, white teeth and big blue eyes. She’d joined Wildings three weeks ago, some time after the rumours of Endor infiltration emerged. Still, although a cheerleader-turned-terrorist was unlikely, it wasn’t impossible. Appearances were particularly deceptive when witchkind were involved.
Yuri Polzin certainly looked like trouble. According to his mugshot, the sixteen-year-old heir of a Russian oil tycoon had a scowling face, shaven head and stony glare. Yuri had joined Wildings at the same time as fourteen-year-old Anjuli Verma. Anjuli was an orphan, who had been brought up by her older sister, a successful Bollywood actress. The notes said she had previously been hospitalised with mental problems. The final girl was Mei-fen Zhou, the daughter of a senior official in China’s ruling party, who was the youngest student at thirteen.
It was Raphael Almagro, though, who had been the focal point of Lucas’s and Glory’s briefing. Aged sixteen, Raphael had been at Wildings for nearly eight months. His father was the Chief of Police in Cordoba, a small republic on the northern coast of South America. In the 1960s, a witchkind-backed revolutionary movement had overthrown a brutal dictatorship, and broken up the Cordoban Inquisition. The rebels were subsequently overthrown in turn by a military junta, but the Inquisition was never reinstated.
Times were changing, however. The upcoming presidential election was widely expected to be won by Senator Benito Vargas, who was riding high in the polls on an anti-witchkind, anti-corruption ticket. Vargas was on record for calling the police as criminal as the covens, and supported the use of private militias to hunt witches. No wonder Raphael’s family wanted him out of the way . . . or that WICA and its partners had marked him out as of special interest.
Wildings’ staff were almost as varied as its students. Three of them were ex-inquisitors: the head of security, the matron and the academy’s principal, Emil Lazovic. Lazovic was a Serbian national, but had worked all over the world in his former job in the diplomatic corps of the United Council of Inquisitors. Lucas found it hard to understand why former inquisitors would seek employment in such a place. Maybe they
Philomena bumped briefly against him in what passed for a hug. His father clapped him on the back. ‘Be safe,’ Ashton told him. ‘Be strong.’
Glory had joined the queue to screen hand luggage. Lucas turned back for a final look at his family. Troy Morgan was standing behind them, hands in his pockets, watching. Lucas could almost feel the force of that hard green stare.
He passed the fingerprint test and iris scan, and walked through the metal arch hung with iron bells. Arches like this were placed at all stages of the arrival and departure process, to give warning of witches who were trying to hex a bane. Glory was not far ahead, but once in the terminal, they were careful to keep out of each other’s way, even though their flight turned out to be delayed for over an hour.
It was only after Lucas had boarded the plane that he allowed himself to look for her. She was in her seat, chewing gum loudly, and absorbed in a stash of gossip magazines. A tinny beat rustled from her earphones. Her neighbour already had a long-suffering air.
Lucas settled into his seat and tried to relax. This proved impossible. Instead, he tried to collect his thoughts by going over the plans they’d made and the research they’d done. Names, faces and statistics scrolled through his head.
Wildings’ membership was a closely kept secret and MI6 had gone to considerable trouble to identify the five other students already enrolled. The eldest was Jenna White, aged seventeen, from California. Her father was an IT entrepreneur and dot-com millionaire. The photograph in the file had been taken at her school prom, and was a vision of tanned limbs, white teeth and big blue eyes. She’d joined Wildings three weeks ago, some time after the rumours of Endor infiltration emerged. Still, although a cheerleader-turned-terrorist was unlikely, it wasn’t impossible. Appearances were particularly deceptive when witchkind were involved.
Yuri Polzin certainly looked like trouble. According to his mugshot, the sixteen-year-old heir of a Russian oil tycoon had a scowling face, shaven head and stony glare. Yuri had joined Wildings at the same time as fourteen-year-old Anjuli Verma. Anjuli was an orphan, who had been brought up by her older sister, a successful Bollywood actress. The notes said she had previously been hospitalised with mental problems. The final girl was Mei-fen Zhou, the daughter of a senior official in China’s ruling party, who was the youngest student at thirteen.
It was Raphael Almagro, though, who had been the focal point of Lucas’s and Glory’s briefing. Aged sixteen, Raphael had been at Wildings for nearly eight months. His father was the Chief of Police in Cordoba, a small republic on the northern coast of South America. In the 1960s, a witchkind-backed revolutionary movement had overthrown a brutal dictatorship, and broken up the Cordoban Inquisition. The rebels were subsequently overthrown in turn by a military junta, but the Inquisition was never reinstated.
Times were changing, however. The upcoming presidential election was widely expected to be won by Senator Benito Vargas, who was riding high in the polls on an anti-witchkind, anti-corruption ticket. Vargas was on record for calling the police as criminal as the covens, and supported the use of private militias to hunt witches. No wonder Raphael’s family wanted him out of the way . . . or that WICA and its partners had marked him out as of special interest.
Wildings’ staff were almost as varied as its students. Three of them were ex-inquisitors: the head of security, the matron and the academy’s principal, Emil Lazovic. Lazovic was a Serbian national, but had worked all over the world in his former job in the diplomatic corps of the United Council of Inquisitors. Lucas found it hard to understand why former inquisitors would seek employment in such a place. Maybe they
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