29

Tom stepped backward in the punctured darkness, aware after a moment of blinding pain that the magician had healed his wounds. In the moment of pain, the glass sparrow had jumped out of his hand and landed safely on the carpet before the stage, where its inner light darkened and died.

The handkerchiefs fell from his hands.

'Tom?'

'Wait,' he said, and picked up the glass sparrow. No light was left in it.

'Now it is your time, apprentice,' Collins whispered.

'Why did you heal me?' Rose found his waist, her arm circled him, and they both backed in lockstep into the first row of seats.

'I want you as you came,' Collins said. 'Aura. I don't want you to have the aura of a wounded fawn. I want the original Tom Flanagan, complete in every aspect - the shining boy.'

Tom pushed Rose sideways, toward where he remembered the door was placed.

'You can see me, can't you?' Collins whispered. 'Even in the dark, boy? I can see you perfectly well.'

And he could see the magician, for he was wrapped in a dazzling, rippling band of color.

'Del was not enough. The other messenger demands you.'

'Or you,' Tom said. He held up his right hand. It was in darkness, but ribbons of light ran about it. Rose sucked in her breath, terrified.

'You've frightened our dear little Rose. She's never seen you in full dress before. Never seen your choir robes. But then, you haven't either, have you?'

'I'm as good as you are,' Tom said, knowing he was not.

The magician ripped off the wig and sent it sailing toward the stage, where first it glimmered and then dimmed like a cheap lightbulb.

'Speckle John thought so too.'

CRASH! Another deafening, destroying wingbeat.

'The owl wants to be fed.'

Tom made sure of his grip on the glass sparrow with one hand; clamped Rose's wrist with the other and gave a signaling tug; and ran.