Alex, feeling a bit overwhelmed, interrupted. “But I don’t understand why somebody else can’t do it. What about Ms. Morning?”

“As I mentioned earlier in my babbling, she’s not interested. She is highly capable and will be a tremendous help to you while I am traveling, but she is not the future leader of Artimé.”

“What about Ms. Octavia? Or Mr. Appleblossom, or Sean Ranger or any of the other adults?”

Mr. Today shook his head. “They have their own purposes and passions in life, in Artimé. They have other responsibilities’big ones, important ones. They love what they do. And besides, they are not suited for the role or I would have been working with them already.”

“And you’re saying I’m suited for the role?” Alex stared at Mr. Today.

“Perfectly.”

“How can you possibly know that?” Alex wasn’t trying to be offensive’he truly wanted to know.

“Alex, your brother, Aaron . . .” Mr. Today paused, preparing his words. “Consider this with me for a moment, and if I am wrong, I invite you to say so.” He leaned forward. “I truly believe, my dear boy, that Aaron’s power-hungry days are far from over. I think . . . I think you know that already.”

Alex lowered his head.

“Am I wrong?” Mr. Today asked in a gentle voice.

“I don’t know.” But he knew that if he had to bet his life on it, he would bet that Mr. Today was totally correct. “No, you’re right.”

“The recent battle is done. But if we are honest with ourselves’and I think we always must be if we are to prevail’we’ll admit that our battle with Quill was probably not the only one we’ll ever see. It was simply the first. Justine is dead, but Aaron Stowe is as smart and determined as you are.” He placed his hands on the desk before him and leaned toward Alex. With an urgent whisper, he said, “Don’t you see, Alex? The Marcus and Justine battle is being reborn right now, this year, this very day. It’s being reborn in you and Aaron.”

Alex’s eyes widened but he remained deathly still.

“And I’m very sorry it’s happening,” Mr. Today said. After a moment, he continued with great hope in his voice. “Be assured, my boy. Be assured! You are already doing so much better than I did. You’ve already proven yourself and your loyalty. Artimé needs you desperately. Alex, you are the one who knows Aaron best. And I hate to say this, but as long as he is alive, he is Artimé’s most powerful enemy.” Mr. Today looked into Alex’s eyes. “Quite simply, we need you.”

Alex shifted in his seat and looked away, staring instead at Mr. Today’s hands for a long moment. It was all too much. The pressure was blinding. He shook his head and said softly, “But Mr. Today, what if I don’t want to have a lifelong battle with my brother?” He lifted his gaze once again.

The mage pressed his lips together, and then slowly pushed back from his intense pose and sat in his chair once again without a word, perhaps stunned by this, the simplest question he’d never considered.

Just then, over Mr. Today’s shoulder, the university blackboard switched to Aaron’s room. Out of habit, and despite the serious conversation at hand, Alex glanced at it. Then he leaned forward and stared at it hard. A second later he stood up in alarm. “What are they doing to him?”

Mr. Today, who had turned abruptly in his chair toward the blackboards when he saw that Alex’s attention had been diverted, watched the scene. His jaw slacked in surprise. When the picture changed, Mr. Today bounded from his chair as if he were an energetic teenager and ran out of his office, across the hall, and into the kitchenette. “We’ll talk again soon,” he called out to Alex. With a grim look on his face, he stepped into the forbidden tube and disappeared.

Aaron the Streeted

Aaron Stowe, the Wanted, former assistant secretary to the High Priest Justine, former future senior governor, former future high priest of the great land of Quill, stared at the Quillitary soldiers encroaching upon him in the tiny room. And as much as he wanted to boom loudly at them, “Away from me, or the high priest will have your necks!” he knew’and worse, they knew’that he had no authority anymore.

Instead, in as big a voice as he could draw upon, which wasn’t very big at all, he said, “I demand to know what you are doing here.” Something crackled in his throat on the second syllable of “demand,” and the pitch stayed especially high for another two beats, which made two of the Quillitary soldiers snicker and repeat the words exactly as Aaron had said them.

Aaron took a step backward, feeling the heel of his shoe brush against the wall behind him. He had nowhere to go.

“Pack up his things!” the Quillitary leader ordered. “Get him out of here.”

“No,” Aaron whispered. His hands quivered, and he clenched them tight to stop it.

The soldiers pulled Aaron’s change of clothing from the dresser drawer, gathered his washcloth, towel, his few toiletries, and his books, and they stuffed everything into Aaron’s book bag. One soldier shoved the bag into Aaron’s chest as hard as he could, slamming him against the wall and knocking the wind out of him. Aaron gasped and doubled over, trying to breathe, reaching desperately to grasp the bag as it fell, and just managing to slip his fingers around the strap and hang on. Two other soldiers flanked him, grabbed him by the arms, and pulled him back to his feet. They marched him out of his dorm room, down the hall, and out the university entrance. Other students scrambled to get out of their way, and then watched guardedly as one of their own top students was ousted in disgrace.