Max yawned. It was getting late and he still had to feed Nick. As he gathered his things and zipped up his fleece, David peeked up from reading a book on the couch.

“Are you going to the Sanctuary?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Max, stretching. “Want to come?”

“Nope. I’m going to bed. You should get an escort to go with you, though.”

David returned to his book. Sarah looked up suddenly.

“I’ll go with you, if you want. Just let me get my coat,” she said, snapping her book shut.

Lucia grinned and tossed a popcorn kernel at Cynthia, who glanced sideways from her book. Max looked at Connor, who merely raised his eyebrows.

“Uh, sure,” said Max. “Thanks, Sarah.”

Sarah smiled and left the room. Max turned to the others.

“What are all of you smiling about?” he asked, glancing from face to face.

“C’mon, Max,” scoffed Connor. “She likes you.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Max protested.

“Sure,” giggled Cynthia. “That’s why she always picks you in Games and sits next to you in every class. Believe me—she’s not trying to copy your homework!”

Max glared at her.

“Sorry,” pleaded Cynthia, laughing again and feigning interest in her reading.

Lucia put down her pen and snorted. Her English had improved tremendously, but now she spoke so rapidly that Max had trouble understanding her. He heard something about him being a baby and Sarah being beautiful and smart, but it was the word “festival” that caught his attention.

“What did you say about the festival?”

Lucia narrowed her eyes.

“I said she is too good for you and that you are very lucky to go to the Halloween festival with her!”

Max shot a terrified glance over his shoulder at the door.

“What are you talking about?” he hissed. “Sarah’s going to ask me to be her date for Halloween?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cynthia chimed in. “Sarah’s far too old-fashioned for that.”

Max exhaled.

“She’ll simply let you know that she wants you to ask her,” Cynthia added, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

“But—” Max halted in mid-sentence as Sarah reentered the room, wearing a hooded windbreaker.

“Are you ready?” she asked, walking past and waiting by the door. David rested his book on his face as Connor chuckled. Max followed her down the hall, wiping his palms hard against his fleece.

“Oh, he’s okay,” replied Max quickly. “He eats a ton, though, and he likes to attack me.”

“Really?” She laughed.

“He also gets pretty angry if I show up late,” added Max. “He’s already shredded a couple sweaters.”

“Are you late tonight?” asked Sarah, with a playful note in her voice.

Max gave a sheepish nod as they hurried up the main path through the wood.

Just then, a dark figure rose up from the nearby underbrush, shining a lantern on their faces.

Max took a step backward. It was Cooper, dressed all in black with a stocking cap pulled low. Max stood frozen, his eyes fixed on the taut, shiny scars that disfigured half the man’s face.

Sarah was furious.

“How dare you come popping out of the dark like that?” she said, her voice sharp.

Cooper said nothing; he merely gazed impassively at them.

“Well?” she demanded. “Are you going to be a gentleman and apologize for frightening us?”

“Sarah,” Max whispered, “don’t make him angry!”

Slowly, Cooper’s ruined features contorted into a sort of smirk. He doffed his stocking cap politely, revealing a head that had also been badly burnt. The scalp was left with only a few straw-colored patches of hair like ragged shoots of pale wheat. He shuttered the lantern and made his way quietly through the underbrush toward one of the shaded side paths.

Max and Sarah continued toward the Sanctuary. Max did not speak until they had shut its heavy door behind them.

“That guy seriously creeps me out.”

“Well, of course he does!” shot Sarah. “Sneaking up on students at night! I should say something to Miss Boon.”

“Yeah, but his face—”

“—gives him no right to frighten people! I’m sorry he was burned, but life goes on.”

Sarah regained her composure and lingered near the opening. Her long neck and profile made a very regal silhouette against the intertwining branches. She turned to him, her eyes as dark and glittering as a doe’s.

“You know, Max, I never thanked you for getting me out of the water that night when we were on the Kestrel.”

“Oh,” said Max. “It was no big thing. Anyway, you just saved me from the bogeyman, so we’re even!”

He tried a weak laugh while Sarah adjusted her bracelet.

“Well,” she said. “Thank you.”

Leaning forward, she gave him a soft little kiss on the cheek. Max simply stood there, registering briefly that she smelled like perfumed soap. Stepping back, Sarah smiled at him before stepping out into the clearing. He lagged behind, conscious of his reddening cheeks and thankful for the darkness.

Nick was already pacing about his stall, gnawing at the base of its small tree. Sarah helped deflect his anger; the prospect of having someone new to chase seemed sufficient to appease him. Sarah laughed as she tried to outdistance Nick, who would crouch low, flicking his tail from side to side, before suddenly bolting after her. She shrieked as he quickly closed the gap, his pelt glinting red as he streaked across the clearing. Meanwhile, Max cleaned out Nick’s stall and loaded up the wheelbarrow with his dinner.

Setting the crates near the lagoon, Max called Nick, who abandoned an opportunity to ambush Sarah and came hurtling out of the darkness. Sarah came trotting back, holding her side and panting.

“Oh, I love Nick!” she exclaimed. “He’s adorable!”

“Hmmm. See if you find this adorable,” Max said, opening a crate teeming with foot-long rats. The rats scattered in every direction and Nick was after them. His tail fluttered and his claws were a blur as he chased them down and eviscerated each with a swipe of his paws or a violent shake of his head. Sarah groaned as half a rat landed near her shoe. Nick trotted over and nuzzled it closer to her with his bloody snout.

“He likes you!” offered Max from where he crouched, sorting metal bars into small stacks. “He didn’t offer me anything the first couple of times.”

“Wonderful,” Sarah said before gagging.

After wolfing down the rats, Nick waddled over and spent the next half hour alternating between the miniature ingots and the gallons of wriggling night crawlers. The lymrill then took a flying leap into the lagoon, frightening away several herons that had been sleeping among the reeds. A few minutes later, Nick emerged from the water, looking very sleek and sleepy. Climbing up on the wheelbarrow, he collapsed on the jumble of crates, claws extended and snoring, as Max labored to push it all uphill.

Sarah peeked in on her charge, the beautifully plumed peacock, before strolling over to where Max slung the comatose lymrill over a low branch in his stall.

“Hey,” said Sarah, grabbing his hand, “let’s try something!”

Sarah pulled Max over to the feeding bin and cleared her throat.

“Food for Max McDaniels: twelve-year-old boy with a sweet tooth.”

The bin shook, its lid rattling against the latch as golden light streamed out.

“Sarah, I don’t want to eat anything that comes out of that thing!”

“Oh, hush!” said Sarah, smiling as she watched the bin. “Let’s see what it offers!”

The bin stopped rattling and the golden light subsided. Sarah flipped the latch and lifted the lid. Suddenly, three heads emerged from the bin, belonging to three very angry little imps in spattered chef ’s uniforms. They shook their fists at Sarah and Max.

“Not for students! Not for students!” they chimed as they flung small handfuls of garbage and rotten vegetables. Sarah burst into laughter and shouted apologies over her shoulder as they ran down the hall and out the door.

They closed the Sanctuary gate and continued toward the Manse. Max was conscious of the fact that her hand had a way of brushing his occasionally as they walked along. Old Tom chimed eleven o’clock, the notes rolling across the campus while they walked through autumn leaves that drifted down in shaky little spirals.

“I like this season,” said Sarah suddenly, stooping to inspect a golden maple leaf. “We don’t have anything so dramatic where I’m from. It’s like the earth is climbing into bed and getting ready to sleep.”

“Just wait until winter,” said Max.

“I can’t wait for winter! I’ve never seen snow before.”

“Really?” asked Max, incredulous. He was well acquainted with Chicago’s long, cold winter months.

“No, Max,” said Sarah sarcastically. “Nigeria gets lots of snow.”

Max said nothing and walked along, kicking aside little piles of leaves as he went. As they passed the last row of Class Trees, Sarah stopped.

“Are you planning to take anyone to the All Hallows’ Eve festival?” she asked hastily.

Max stopped, too. He cast a longing glance at the Manse.

“Er, not really,” he said. “I mean, don’t we all have to be there anyway?”

“Well, yes, I suppose…. But it might be nice to go with someone, don’t you think? I heard Rolf is taking someone…and Lucia was asked by a Second Year.”

“You’re kidding,” said Max, horrified.

“Not at all,” said Sarah. “Miss Boon said that most of the students take a date.”

“Even First Years?”

“Even First Years,” Sarah laughed, before glancing at her shoes. “I heard John Buckley might ask me.”

Max heaved a sigh of relief. John Buckley was a Second Year whom Max heard was their best Euclidean soccer player.

“That’s great, Sarah,” said Max in an upbeat tone. “He seems nice.”

“Yes, well, I’m hoping someone else will ask me first,” she said, adjusting her bracelets and looking away. Her smooth black skin looked almost blue in the moonlight filtering through the thin clouds.

“Oh, well, I hope he does,” said Max lamely. “Um, it’s getting pretty late and I need to get to bed. Thanks a lot for helping me with Nick.”

“Sure,” she said quietly. “Good night.”

Sarah hugged her windbreaker closer and jogged into the Manse, disappearing up the girls’ stairway with quick, quiet steps.

“What’s your problem?” Max sighed.

Lucia gave him a frank look before pointedly resuming her conversation with Jesse. Since he had failed to ask Sarah to the dance, many First Year girls breezed by him without so much as a word. Sarah herself was still friendly, but less talkative and outgoing than before.

Max rolled his eyes, put down his spoon, and pushed up from the table. Sarah was sitting at the other end, nibbling a piece of toast and talking with Cynthia. She put her half-eaten toast on her plate as he walked toward her.

“Sarah?” said Max, coming to a stop.

She nodded, a small smile on her face. Everyone at the table had stopped talking and watched the two intently.

“Would you go to the All Hallows’ Eve dance with me?” asked Max simply.

The table burst into a chorus of whistles and cheers. Sarah kept her cool and lifted her chin.

“Thank you for the invitation, Max. I will consider it.”

“Okay,” he mumbled, and walked back to his seat, mortified to see Julie Teller sitting several tables over, giving him the thumbs-up and giggling with her girlfriends. When Connor launched into a Sir Wesley–inspired play-by-play titled Scenario Thirty-Nine: Awkward Request for Fall Dance Companion, Max laughed along with the others before catching Connor hard in the forehead with a bit of muffin. Still snickering, Connor retreated to the kitchen to clean the butter and blueberry splotches off of his face.

“So,” said Max, turning to Lucia, “am I out of everyone’s doghouse now?”

“Maybe theirs,” she sniffed, “but not mine. If anything, that is even worse—asking a girl just to prove a point. In front of everyone, too!” She shook her head and got up from the table.

There was a sudden commotion from the kitchens, and Connor came running out through one of the swinging doors.

“Not a chance!” he cried over his shoulder, leaping back into his seat.

Mum came hurtling through the door, flinging off her hairnet.

“But you’re thumbing your nose at tradition!” she cried.

Mum burst into tears and Cynthia rose to console her. The hag buried her face in Cynthia’s fleece, waving her hands wildly to shoo away the students who were calling out to her.

“What did you do?” scolded Cynthia, glaring down at Connor.

“I didn’t do anything!” pleaded Connor. “She cornered me and told me I was the ‘lucky’ Apprentice who’d been chosen to escort her to the dance!”

Max spit out his cereal. Even Cynthia stifled a chuckle as Mum wobbled her head from side to side, her shoulders shaking violently with sobs. Suddenly, Mum looked up at Cynthia, searching her face while she rubbed red, teary eyes.

“I’m hideous, aren’t I?” croaked Mum. “I trust you, Cynthia—you’re no looker yourself. Am I truly hideous?”

“No, of course not, Mum,” said Cynthia, overlooking Mum’s insult and patting her arm. “You’re unique!”

“Uniquely hideous?” croaked Mum, fixing Cynthia with a wide-eyed look of horror.

“No,” said the entire table in unison.

“Then why won’t he take me?” she whimpered, shooting a tragic glance at Connor, who hid his face in his hands.

“For one thing,” he mumbled, “you’re, like, a hundred years older than I am.”

“Connor!” exclaimed Lucia.

“What?” he asked incredulously. “Oh, and another thing—she’s a man-eating hag! Or did you all forget?”

Mum shrieked and buried her head once more into Cynthia’s fleece. Cynthia tried to comfort her by patting her hair, but stopped abruptly and examined her fingertips.

“Connor, you should ask Mum to the dance,” Cynthia said, a note of warning in her voice.

Connor gave Max a helpless look of panic; Max widened his eyes and shrugged.

“It’s the least you can do for Mum, Connor,” said Sarah. “She cooks for us every day.”

“It’s just one night,” added Cynthia.

“And it is a tradition,” added a passing Third Year with a knowing smile.

Mum peeked out from Cynthia’s fleece and peered at Connor, who was now practically slumped under the table. She screamed and started stamping her feet, her voice escalating to a painful pitch.

“Oh, it’s a fate worse than death to take Mum! She should go alone! Or better yet, don’t go at all! Just stay at home in your cupboard and keep your hideousness to yourself!”

“Fine, I’ll take you,” muttered Connor, his voice barely audible amidst Mum’s shrieks. “I said I’ll take you to the dance!”

The shrieks stopped immediately. Mum whipped around, almost knocking Cynthia off her feet.

“Why, I’d be delighted,” she said magnanimously, issuing a low curtsy. “I’ll expect you at my cupboard at seven.”

Mum strode leisurely toward the kitchen, a girlish bounce to her step.

“Don’t forget about our date, my dear,” she called over her shoulder. “I have witnesses, you know.”

Connor moaned as Mum disappeared into the kitchen with a cackle. Soon pots and pans could be heard crashing about, Mum’s shrill singing rising above the din.

“I just got a new camera for my birthday!” said Cynthia brightly. “I’ll be sure to take lots of photos!”

“Yeah,” said Max, roughing up Connor’s hair. “Sir Wesley will be so proud that his Etiquette lessons have paid off! C’mon, Mr. Mum, we need to get to the Smithy.”

Mr. Vincenti opened the door, and Miss Boon ushered them inside a small entryway with a metal door on their left and a large elevator straight ahead. There was another keypad next to the door.

“Now,” said Mr. Vincenti as he and Miss Boon distributed the binders, “that door leads to the workshops. No reason for you to be in there until you take Devices. This elevator’s what you want—it’ll take you down to the Course’s main level. In you go.”

Max crowded into the elevator with the others; it was beautifully paneled and surprisingly spacious.

“Hold on tight,” muttered Mr. Vincenti as the doors closed gently.

Max gripped a side railing as the elevator accelerated rapidly downward. He closed his eyes against the queasiness, focusing on the whirring sound of motors and the faint smell of machine oil. When they stopped, he was sure they must be hundreds of feet below the ground.

One by one the students stepped out into a large octagonal room with a high ceiling and gleaming walls of polished red granite. On the wall opposite was another elevator bearing the Rowan seal on its brass door. Max wandered over to look at a beautiful samurai helmet brightly lit within a glass case. He turned to the large gleaming plaque above it.

“‘The Helm of Tokugawa,’” he read, “‘awarded for outstanding leadership.’” The names of past winners were inscribed below, shining with a soft golden glow. Max turned as he felt a hand on his shoulder. Miss Boon smiled down at him.

“Come,” said Miss Boon. “I’ll show you my favorite.”

They passed by a case displaying a huge, battered gauntlet and stopped at another in which a charred stone was suspended in the air.

“This is the Founders’ Stone. It was salvaged at great cost by the refugees who fled from Solas. It’s a piece of our last school—a fragment of its cornerstone. While the other awards are given to a student who exhibits one particular quality, the Founders’ Stone is awarded to that rare student who personifies many.”

“Wow,” said Max, perusing the much shorter list and widening his eyes as he came to the last name. He turned to Miss Boon.

“Ms. Richter was the last person to win it?”

“Yes,” said Miss Boon with a solemn nod. “Ms. Richter was an outstanding student and Agent before she became Director.”

Max and Miss Boon wandered over to David, who was standing alone, gazing at a golden apple floating in another case.

“‘Bram’s Apple—awarded for sacrifice,’” David murmured. “Elias Bram. He’s the one who sacrificed himself against Astaroth so the others could flee; he was the last Ascendant.”

“That’s right, David,” said Miss Boon quietly.

“Miss Boon?” asked Max. “What is an Ascendant?”

She looked down at him but sounded distracted.

“An Ascendant is very rare, Max—especially in the last millennium. Our long-departed Bram was the last we know of for certain. Ascendants had great stores of the Old Magic in them; they were very powerful.”

Max thought of his conversation with Miss Awolowo that night on the temple’s dome; she had mentioned Old Magic might be within him. He shook off the thought as Miss Boon wandered away to another case, which contained a beautiful African belt layered with cowry shells. Max and David turned as Mr. Vincenti called them over to where he was standing in the middle of the room.

“All right, now you know why our older students work so hard. They want to win some of those awards! Never won one myself—you win one of those and you’ve done something, eh, Miss Boon? Kids, don’t let Miss Boon’s modesty fool you; she won two awards during her student days at Rowan! Which ones did you win, Hazel?”

Miss Boon flushed.

“Macon’s Quill—twice,” she said.

“Yes, well, as your advisor I selfishly hope there will be some awards in store for this group,” said Mr. Vincenti. “But we didn’t bring you here to appreciate museum pieces and awards. We’re here because the Director believes your safety requires the Course.”

The fidgeting and whispers ceased.

“The Course is a training tool,” said Mr. Vincenti. “It’s designed to let you apply and build upon the skills you’ve been acquiring in the classroom.”

Mr. Vincenti walked over to the other elevator door.

“You are granted access only to those levels and settings commensurate with your skills,” he said. “As you improve, you may pass on to new scenarios and stiffer challenges.”

Rolf ’s hand shot up in the air as Mr. Vincenti pressed the elevator’s button.

“What kind of scenarios do we have?”

“The scenarios you encounter are dependent on various inputs. The most important input is the floor you choose here in the elevator. The floor indicates the difficulty level, and at Rowan, we have nine. Very few students progress beyond Level Six. Once on the appropriate floor, you can program any number of scenario variables: environment, objectives, opponents, et cetera. The possibilities are endless.”

“Cool,” muttered Connor, elbowing Max.

“After each scenario you complete, the Course will assign you a score based on your performance,” Mr. Vincenti continued. “That score is calculated from various factors: strategic approach, objectives achieved, time elapsed, and such. Scores range from zero to one hundred. Score above a seventy, and the analysts might store your performance in the archives and use you as an example in the screening rooms—”

Mr. Vincenti paused as the elevator doors abruptly opened. Several sweaty students emerged. To Max’s dismay, Cooper stepped out of the elevator after them, dressed all in black and breathing heavily.

“Ah!” said Mr. Vincenti. “As you can see, the Course is a busy place. Students, faculty, and alumni may use it at any time. How’d it go, ladies and gentlemen?”

“We all got creamed,” bemoaned a boy among a group of Third Years. “Level Three’s a killer—they got us right before we solved the Mayan puzzle. We couldn’t even use Mystics!”

“How about you, Cooper? Haven’t seen you down here in years! Good to have you back.”

Cooper nodded in greeting, quietly crossing to the other elevator that would take him back to ground level.

“He went down to Level Eight!” gasped a wide-eyed Second Year. “I asked one of the analysts—she said he got, like, a seventy-five!”

“Well, what do you expect from one of our finest Field Agents?” beamed Mr. Vincenti.

Max watched Cooper step inside the other elevator; the Agent towered over the students filling in around him. The elevator doors shut, and Mr. Vincenti cleared his throat.

“Well, that gives you a little taste!” he said. “Let’s go down to Level One.”

Mr. Vincenti held the door of the other elevator as the students filed in.

The doors closed and the elevator eased down, far more slowly and smoothly than their trip from the ground level. Sarah stood close to Max, smiling. Moments later, the doors opened onto another octagonal room, paneled in pale yellow wood. Into each wall was set a numbered green door.

“So,” said Mr. Vincenti, hopping out, “let’s say you’ve got an extra half hour on your hands and want to squeeze in a bit of practice. Once you arrive at the appropriate level, you’ve got basically two choices: to practice a scenario or review and analyze past scenarios in the screening room. Let’s start with a scenario.”

Mr. Vincenti led them to a smooth silver control panel set into the wall next to door one.

“Okay,” he said. “To register for a scenario just tap the touch screen here to get started—there we go. Now, you’ll register your identity with a retinal scan and select your variables from the options menus—or else leave them for the Course to define. The details are in your binders.”

A mischievous twinkle entered Mr. Vincenti’s eyes.

“Any brave soul care to try a scenario as an example we can use in the screening room?”

Sarah stepped forward.

“Excellent,” said Mr. Vincenti, smiling. “I hate it when I have to draft my volunteers.”

Mr. Vincenti tapped the screen again and quickly selected the variables.

“All right, Sarah,” he said. “You have only one objective on this scenario: to try and touch the opposite wall any way you can. Got it?”

Sarah nodded and swallowed nervously.

“Whenever you’re ready,” said Mr. Vincenti. “Just head on through the door.”

Max and the rest started cheering for Sarah as she opened the door and disappeared inside. The door closed solidly behind her.

“She’s brave!” breathed Cynthia. “You’d have needed a gun to get me in there!”

“I wanted to go,” whined Jesse, who was immediately beset by several doubters.

Max read the readout on the bright white screen:

“It’s awesome!” she crowed as the others greeted her with cheers and anxious questions.

“Now,” said Mr. Vincenti, smiling, “you’ll want to study up on your performances now and again and get some feedback. For that, you use the screening room. Let’s take a peek at how Miss Amankwe fared….”

Miss Boon opened a walnut-paneled door, revealing a large room with many computer monitors stationed at dark wood cubicles. Several older students, including Alex Muñoz, sat at the monitors, studying the screens intently. Alex merely glanced over at them without interest. Mr. Vincenti said a polite hello to a middle-aged woman before taking a seat at a large display. He beckoned for Sarah to take the seat next to him and activated the screen with a touch of his finger.

“Well, let’s take a look at how you did,” said Mr. Vincenti. “Everyone gather around and try to get a peek.”

Max looked over Omar’s shoulder and got a glimpse of the display. It showed a very nervous-looking Sarah at one end of a large rectangular room. The opposite wall was blinking bright green. Sarah had started crossing the room when the floor changed suddenly to a number of conveyor belts whizzing away from the blinking wall at various speeds. She was hurtled backward against the starting wall with a loud bang. She took a moment to gather herself and seemed to be gauging which conveyor belt was slowest. She started running up one positioned near a side wall. As she did so, enormous rubber balls started bouncing around the room from every direction. Time and again Sarah would approach the wall, only to be knocked off her feet and conveyed rapidly backward. Max was impressed by her perseverance, although the scenario ended without her touching the wall.

Sarah smiled as several girls cheered and hugged her.

“It does not surprise me that a girl volunteered first,” said Lucia, glancing at Jesse.

“Doesn’t surprise me that a girl failed it,” he shot back.

“Now, now,” said Mr. Vincenti. “The Course is all about personal development—it’s not a competition. Sarah did very well for a first attempt. You can see here that the Course awarded her an eleven, which may sound low but is very good for a first try. The recommendations listed below are pretty generic—they’ll be more meaningful once the Course has more of your performances to analyze.”

Several students giggled as they read the recommendations listed: AVOID BALLS, MOVE FASTER, SHARPEN TIME AWARENESS. Each recommendation was coupled with two or three activities that Sarah could follow to hone the necessary skills.

“For complex scenarios, the feedback can be pages long,” said Mr. Vincenti, standing again. “Each quarter you’ll receive a booklet profiling your performance on the Course along with some commentary and feedback from a team of analysts. Any questions?”

“When can we start doing scenarios?” asked Connor.

“Today,” said Mr. Vincenti, chuckling. “I’m a big believer of jumping in with both feet. Anyway, the system won’t let you screw things up too badly.”

David came over to Max once the students had left the room and begun gathering near the elevator.

“Pretty cool, huh?” said David. “I’ve got to go feed Maya. Want to come?”

Max shook his head immediately, eyeing one of the silver control panels.

“No,” said Max with a smile. “I think I’m going to stick around here a bit.”

“I thought you’d say that,” said David, grinning as he stepped inside the elevator.