While he was glancing down the page, Bran’s finger absently brushed against a large black box printed in the bottom corner. Suddenly, the paragraph that Bran had been reading fizzled and disappeared. It caused him to jump, but just as quickly as it had disappeared, a new article was in its place. In a second, all the letters and photographs had changed, as if the paper had scanned forward automatically.
"So
that’s
how you turn the pages," Bran realized, touching the black box in the corner. Again, the words fizzled away, and were replaced by the next set. It held him in awe simply watching the words change like the switching of a channel, the whole newspaper held in less than a millimeter of paper.
As he jumped through the pages with a newfound interest, he saw lists of things beyond his imagination, so simple to the outside world that they were casually placed in a newspaper. He saw coupons for vials of dirt from various places in the world for Netora mages to use to teleport, and discounts on magic stamps that sent letters gliding to their destinations. There were advertisements for books similar to those Bran had seen in the back of the bookstore—different editions with tear-out cards for ordering—and promotions for a new computer program called Magebinder, which promised to cut any mage’s research time in half. It was another world to Bran, so strange and different from what he knew inside of Dunce. It was the same feeling as in the back of the bookstore: as if he had been living abroad and the paper was speaking of the homeland he had been away from for years.
He finally looked up, almost dizzy from all he had read. His eyes went wandering over the edge of the roof, and inadvertently happened to rest on a vehicle parked at the end of the street. It was a black van, the same type he had seen earlier, behind them on the way to the park.
It seemed to be just sitting there for no reason, which was odd, because he hadn’t noticed a van there before, and he knew the neighbors didn’t own it. Such a creepy feeling passed over him that he momentarily forgot about the newspaper in his hands. He could see nothing, but it felt like there were people behind the dark windows, watching him.
All of a sudden he heard the front door burst open below him.
"Bran!" came the voice of Sewey. "Where are you? Telephone!"
"The phone?" Bran said, breaking his gaze from the van and hurrying to his feet. He never got calls. He folded the newspaper up and hid it again as he climbed down. Sewey was standing at the door. The wire on the handset stretched all the way back to the kitchen.
"Where the rot were you?" Sewey hissed, holding the receiver against his shoulder.
"On the roof," Bran said.
"The roof?" Sewey snorted. "How foolish. Well, it’s for you."
Bran hesitated. "Is it Great-Aunt Cornelia?"
"No, she’s in the asylum now," he said. "It’s some girl."
"Odd," Bran said. He held the phone against him to drown out the noise as he hurried to the kitchen, and then he placed it to his ear.
"Hello," he said.
There was silence, so long that he thought whoever it was had hung up. But then he heard someone take a deep breath, almost as if they were as surprised as he was.
"Bran," a girl’s voice said, "are you by yourself?"
He didn’t recognize her as anyone he knew, but deep inside he felt he had heard the voice before, somewhere. He hesitated at her strange question, glancing at the kitchen door where Sewey was pretending to dust things with his hand.
"Somewhat," he replied hesitantly. "Who’s this?"
"You don’t know who I am," the girl said. "What’s important is that I know who
you
are."
He thought she sounded a little nervous. It instantly put him on his guard, and thinking it might just be a prank call, he smiled slightly and decided to play along with her game.
"Just knowing my name isn’t going to get my attention," he replied. "I’m sure everyone in town knows it by now."
"But everyone else doesn’t know," she hissed, "that you’re a
mage.
"
In an instant, Bran’s smile disappeared. His heart almost stopped at those words. He glanced in Sewey’s direction to see if he had heard, but he was gone, and Bran lowered his voice.
"What did you say?" he whispered, hoping he had heard her wrong.
"I know who you are, Bran," she said. "If I was out to get you, all I’d have to do is call the police right now and tell them everything."
"I’m listening," Bran said quickly, and he really was. He pressed the phone harder to his ear.
"Bran, you’re in a lot of danger right now—danger you don’t even know of," the girl said, her voice filled with a strange edge of fear. "Your magic is just a part of it."
"How did you see me do it?" Bran asked, keeping his voice low. "Were you at the park?"
"I didn’t see you do anything," she said. "I
know
you can. I know who you really are."
The words seemed to resonate inside of him, making his heart beat faster.
Who he really was?
Did she really know the answers?
"I can’t say it over the phone," she said. "I need you to meet me, tonight."
"Tonight?" Bran said with alarm. "I can’t get away from here, they’d know I was gone."
"Can’t you get out through a window?" she asked.
"I live in an attic," Bran said. "If I go through that window, I’ll fall two stories."
She let out a breath, and he could tell she was thinking hard. He was at a loss as to why she was so desperate to talk to him that night, but after what she had said, every nerve within him was on edge. Somehow,
someone
had found out his secret; if she knew, who else did?
"Where can you meet me?" she asked, almost desperately. "What about at your house—when will everyone be gone?"
"I can’t tell you that!" Bran hissed, instantly wary. "What do you mean, when will they be gone? I don’t know who you are."
"Bran, they’re going to get you!" she burst. At this, every trace of anger disappeared in him. There was a strong desperation in her voice that couldn’t have been faked. She was afraid of something, he could feel it.
"You have to meet me somewhere," the girl pleaded. "Can you make it to the bank where Sewey works?"
Bran blinked. "How do you know Sewey works there?"
In a second, he was alert again. This girl, how did she know all this about him? Why was she trying so hard to get him to come away in the middle of the night? Bran was struck with a thought—what if she was from the burglar and trying to lure him somewhere? It sent a warning through his flesh, and the words she had said were wiped away.
"Listen, whoever you are," he said angrily, before she could reply. "I’m not going anywhere tonight. If you want to come here, you can, but it’ll be during the day and they’ll all be here."
"Never mind," she broke in. "Just be ready tonight. Go down the alley across the street; turn right, and then left, then down to the first door on the right."
"What?" Bran asked, blinking. "What do you mean by that?"
"You’ll want to remember it," she assured him. "I’ll see you tonight."
"Wait a minute!" Bran said, but he heard a click on the other side, and the line went dead.
"What?" he said, louder. "Hello? Are you there?"
His words were met with silence. She was gone, and he slammed the phone down, and didn’t believe her for another minute.
Adi stayed at the park for a few more hours, trying not to appear as shaken as she really was. The instant she had a chance to leave, she rushed to her car and drove off with her thoughts whirling around her like a tornado. If she had been anywhere other than
Dunce, things would have been so much easier, but if
anyone
found out about Bran, there was no telling what they’d do. What if he told on her? Then it would be over for everyone hidden in Dunce. There were so many loose ends, so many people who knew—
too many
people who knew she was a mage.
She turned, driving nowhere in particular, and looked up to the clouds, which promised rain. She sighed; she didn’t know anything about Bran.
No one
knew anything about Bran.
That means I can’t meet his real parents…
she thought grimly.
But maybe there was another mage related to him.
She decided she would have to look his name up in the Mages Database on her computer, and took a quick glance in the backseat. Her laptop bag was still there.
She parked in the deserted lot of the library. Inside was quiet, with very few people among the shelves. A librarian waved as she came in. Everyone probably thought she was coming in for some volunteer work, but Adi was on a mission and hurried upstairs to the study area. She swept the room with her eyes to make sure no one was watching, and started her computer up. Swiftly, she reached into a hidden pocket in her bag and pulled out a single disc, pushing it in.
It took her a few minutes to pull up the database, with two different passwords for safety, but finally she was in. She scrolled down the names. The program was simple and updated annually, listing nearly each and every mage’s name and record, living or dead. The database wasn’t released to the public, but she had pulled some strings to get permissions from the Mages Council—and even then, only because she was in the Special Services and Operations Division.
She set the records to sort by alphabetical listing and started down the list. The screen lit up her face as her fingers moved across the keyboard, scrolling all the way to H-A-M-B:
"Hambart, Trisha." She slid her finger down the list. "Hambort, Dr. Jay. Hambribe, Minny."
She came to the next one: hambriC, emry . Her finger stopped. The record stood out on the screen because it was in red, and she had never seen a name in the records in that color before. She didn’t know what it meant, but it certainly made it look important.
That’s strange,
she thought. If this woman was related to Bran, he would be very surprised to know that there was, or had been, someone in the world who shared his last name.
When she clicked, it seemed to take quite a while to load. Adi wondered what could be holding it up, but then a window popped up in front of everything that read:
Restricted Access
Please enter your special access ID to view record
"Hmmm," Adi said, but she put in another password anyway, confused as she was. She had never had that happen to her before with the database. She didn’t know what could possibly make it so encrypted.
Her thoughts were left hanging, though, because the moment the record appeared on the screen, she saw something she had never, ever expected to read.
Her eyes darted down the screen rapidly, her heartbeat quickening as she read the words. All the suspicions she had about Bran were destroyed in an instant—and were replaced with raw fear.
"It can’t be…" she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. She brought her hand up to her forehead, her face going pale.
"The Farfield Curse…" she gasped, and cold, icy fear took a grip on her heart.
Part II
Chapter 13
Burglars on Third Street
Bran opened his eyes, but he was not in his room anymore. He was falling through the sky like a stone, but around him, there was only darkness.
There was nothing under his feet, nothing over his head, and no walls around him. It was a dark, icy prison, his body racing downward and upward and in all directions at once. Fear crawled through him. He felt eyes upon him, coming from all directions. The motion began to slow, then speed up, then slow again, confusing him; he had no track of time before he felt his back touch with something solid and his fall came to a stop.
He stared up into the blackness, unable to move, unable to do anything. His breath echoed around him as if he were in a large, metal box. He heard something: a terrible, evil laugh.
I can see you, Bran Hambric.
The voice echoed from a man: from somewhere, from nowhere, from everywhere. Swirling black shapes danced around Bran, moving like a whirlpool of watery, smoky shadows.
You will bring me to life.
Bran was so paralyzed he couldn’t shout, and the shapes began to slow. As their pace went down they seemed to fade into the background. And suddenly, he saw the face.
The face was of a man, standing above him: milky white and smooth, with black circles framing piercing, dark blue eyes. It was sickening, the man looking as if he had just come out of his grave, his skin tight against his skull. What little hair he did have was mostly hidden by the black cowl.
"Who are you, Bran?" the man asked. "
Who are you?
"
His shout echoed like in a long, dark hall, the force of it slinging Bran backward, as if the words had sent a blast of wind at him. It threw him off his feet like a thousand pounds of water against his chest, like the truck from the park, throwing him across the street. Bran hit the ground on his back and slid, falling with a shout, the marble surface breaking underneath him.
And the voice came again, now in a whisper:
I can see you…
The words echoed, though the man was gone.
Bran Hambric, you will bring me to life.
Bran pulled away, wrenching within the powers that held him like webs, spinning themselves, tightening.
"Who are you, Bran?" the voice echoed. Bran shouted wordlessly, fighting the bonds to break free—and all of a sudden he rolled over, and found himself back in his bed, in his room.
He bolted up, his eyes wide with fright and his forehead damp with sweat. He gasped for breath, terror still in his heart, his fearful gaze flying over the room, along the boxes, the crates, the old furniture. He thought he saw a movement behind a box, then another, and his eyes darted to the other end of the room, but nothing was there. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand as the dream cleared itself from his head like the last echoes of a dying man’s voice. He fell back against the wall and glanced at the clock: 2:14 a.m.