Hunt and Power: Magic Crystals Book 3

By Stephen Hayes

The third instalment in the Magic Crystals series, following the events of 'The Seventh Sorcerer' and 'Rock Haulter'.

With great power may come great responsibility, but in the case of our heroic Chopville teens, it also comes with a great big target. As they are to discover, having the Magic Crystals does not ensure their safetyâ in fact, quite the opposite.

A dark force is gathering around Chopville, far more dangerous than Moran could have ever been. A dangerous enemy will show his murderous hand early on; a trusted ally will defect to the dark side; and John and some of his friends will be taken captive and subjected to unspeakable horrors.

And through all of it, a great mystery looms darkly over John, which he must solve in order to have any hope of staying alive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: eBookIt.com
• Release date: Apr 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9780987133946

Stephen Hayes

Proved to be 'of a cavalier attitude' to life, the author failed his entry to be an R.A.F. pilot. Armed with five GCE 'O' Levels and no real community spirit he was urged on by his father to join Manchester City Police. His father, an ex-commando, having gone through five years of hell was a great believer in 'bottle'. Our languishing hero was an easy target to prove he had plenty. He later enjoyed the years of fighting, preventing and detecting crime as the GMP motto still proclaims, by now, with total abandon and little accuracy. Identified as a naturaI he moved through the Plain Clothes Department, The Drug Squad, the CID city centre, then the CID Didsbury and finally the Regional Crime Squad before resigning, being totally disillusioned at the 'wokeism' which was affecting his black arts of criminal detection. Be in no doubt he is qualified, has credentials and experience to ably compare the charlatans posing as leaders of Greater Manchester Police with real success. Become engrossed in the alarming detail "you'll hear fat dripping off a chip".

Book preview

978-0-9871-3394-6

Prologue

Aside from school, this was probably one of the largest gatherings of teenagers our little country town had ever had. Chopville had never been much of a site for raucous parties that spilt out into the streets at 3 in the morning, after all. There were twenty-eight of us sitting in a neat circle around the room, unnaturally quiet and orderly for a group of teenagers our size. Fittingly, within our circle, we had begun to call ourselves the 'Young Army'. Anyone introduced to the group could be forgiven for struggling to memorise names and match them with faces—especially as there were a few of us who looked nearly alike. But due to the fact that I’d known some of them all my life, while the others had entered in dribs and drabs, I could tell them all apart quite easily.

I was sitting with my brother Peter and James Thomas, who was as good as a brother (he had lived next door to us all our lives), along with my sister Nicole and James’s sisters, Felicity and Jessica. Harry and Simon Maivis, a couple more of my best mates, were sitting with their girlfriends, Katie Knight and Sophie Crow, who were also joined by their friends—Serena Forgrey, Kylie Cunkourd and Erica Tyanon. With me so far? Well, past Jessica sat two of her friends, Natalie Fletcher and Lisa Pont. Then there were a couple of people who had more recently become a part of the group by way of being forced to camp with us during the week: year-nine boys Craig Hardy, David Rockson, Daniel Dasher and Liam Stammerus; and year-tens Sebastian Williams, Lena Tuck, Darcy Bolter and Jane Hammer. Then, most importantly, grouped around the entrance to the room sat the nucleus of the Young Army: Marc and Lucien Moran, Tommy Blue, Amelia Woodward and Stella Hammerson.

It was Marc and Lucien who had called on us for this meeting, for the purpose of discussing our plans for the coming weeks. These plans revolved around the Magic Crystals we had acquired; the Hero Crystal, which belonged to Marc (he was the Seventh Sorcerer, and was therefore the only person who could use their magic), the Light Crystal, which was currently in my possession, and the Sien-Leoard Crystal, reputed to be the most powerful of them all. The two most important things were to keep them away from the Hammersons (Stella’s family) and to keep Marc and Tommy safe, for we had learnt recently that the Hammersons had agendas for them both.

The Hammersons were Sorcerers, with links to the Sorcerous Crystals by way of magical chips inside their bodies. Amelia’s family were the other line of Sorcerers, but unlike the Hammersons, they had never contemplated world domination. The war of the late ‘70s and early ‘80s had almost destroyed the world; the Woodwards had won, as far as anyone can be said to win a war, but they had not destroyed their enemies entirely. The Hammersons had since been plotting to take back what they saw as rightfully theirs, constructing an underground network of bases and tunnels; recruiting an army of loyal soldiers; and arming them with agonators—small devices that could cause unendurable pain for anyone toward whom they were pointed.

Incredibly, given how dangerous the crystals had already been, and how much more dangerous they could yet become, all twenty-eight members of the Young Army had agreed to help out in whatever way they could in these plans of ours. Marc was to keep the Sien-Leoard Crystal, but not use it, and protect it by using magic from the Hero Crystal if necessary. Amelia, a Sorcerer in her own right, had offered to protect the Light Crystal, but I told her I didn’t mind the risk of hanging onto it. Marc also wanted protection for Tommy, as we had been made aware of rumours that the Hammersons sought him, but none of us could think of anything to do for him, so it was put to Marc to check in with him every day.

It was put to the rest of the Young Army to covertly keep an eye on anyone at school whom we thought might be in league with the Hammersons. We year-nines knew to keep an eye on Ather Hignat and Ugine Wilwog, both of whom we knew for a fact worked for the Hammersons. The only other task was put to Amelia and Stella, and that simply involved spying on their families. It was both more important and more difficult for Stella, since it was her family we were plotting against; and Amelia might learn something useful from her father or grandmother, since they had both been in the thick of the action during the last war.

I’ll tell you one thing I know, though, Amelia told us. When I told my dad what happened to you, Lisa, William and Carl, he was—well I dunno. He looked disturbed—scared, even. He said it was just because he’d never heard of anything like that happening, but I don’t know; he might have been lying, because it looked like more than that to me.

Sorcerers could read minds (I wasn’t sure exactly how the trick worked, but it was always enough to tell them when they were being lied to). The only way to block it, as I, James, Peter, Tommy and Amelia herself had all learned, was to be placed under the domination charm, and then fight it off. I could only assume Frederic Woodward’s mind had been protected at some point or other in the past, if Amelia couldn’t be sure if he was telling the truth. The event she was referring to now was the death and resurrection of Lisa, along with the resurrections of William Playman (my grandfather on my father's side) and Carl Thomas (James’s grandfather on his father’s side), who had both been killed during the war—nearly thirty years ago now.

We then got to discussing how we would call future meetings, as there would undoubtedly be more. Amelia had come up with a way to communicate the date, time and location of meetings; each person had had their mobile phone enchanted (or had been given one if they didn’t already have one) so that whenever there was to be a meeting, Marc (who was elected leader, with Lucien, Amelia and Stella as advisors) would use his own phone to broadcast an SMS to all enchanted phones. The phone would vibrate without ringing (even if it was turned off) with the date, time and location of the meeting showing on the screen. The phone would continue to vibrate until the person cancelled it. This way, as long as each person was careful, nobody could find out what we were up to, apart from the fact that we would all keep disappearing together. For that, Marc’s house was most convenient, because he and Lucien lived alone. That was where we were now; inside the Hidden Quarters, a password-protected circular room underground.

Once that was settled, we were sent on our way, with Lucien’s words of caution ringing in our ears: Don’t be complacent. A few days of calm must not be enough for us to forget about our enemies. They will always be there, and after thirty years of seething, they don’t mind biding their time. We can be sure they’ll make their intentions clear soon enough. We must be ready for them when they do.

Part 1: Happy Birthday

Chapter 1: The Pact

The atmosphere in the two houses was extremely gloomy. It had been a whole week (or a few hours short of a whole week, as James reminded us) since we had been at school, and having done so much more important than school in that time; and now we were faced with only the second full week of school for the whole year. None of the Playmans or Thomases were in any particular hurry to get things moving, and we trudged from house to house through the tunnel connecting the two buildings, the doors hidden in the cupboards under the stairs.

I want you to come with me, said Jessica, entering the kitchen and addressing me; I was still eating breakfast.

Come where?

Through the tunnel.

What on earth for? I asked in surprise. None of us usually required help getting through the tunnel, unless you counted the two grandmothers, who generally avoided it altogether.

So you can use your crystal as a light, she explained. I’ve stubbed my toe twice in there this morning.

The Light Crystal, whose magical function was still unknown to us, glowed more brightly than a candle, so it could be used as a torch. Hence her request.

You taking that crystal to school today? asked Peter.

Yeah, I said. They wanted me to take it everywhere with me.

You’d better not, said Mum fiercely. If the Hammersons attack you for it—

Better than having the Hammersons burst in here for it, I retorted, and I did, before we left, retrieve the Light Crystal from my bedside drawer and stuff it in my pocket. I had to wrap it in three handkerchiefs as well, because it shone so brightly that my hip appeared to glow if I didn’t.

Then, almost as though we’d quite like to be fighting for our lives again, the six of us gloomily set off for school. It was an overcast day with a fair breeze.

What—er—what’s happening this afternoon? Peter asked when we were half way to school.

Nothing, said Nicole. I don’t think. Lucien said—

No, not that, said Peter quickly. I meant with me and John. How long are we staying back today?

This just illustrated how extraordinary our last couple of weeks had been. During the week in which Marc’s father had been turning himself into a Sorcerer, Peter, James, Harry, Simon and I had (half due to circumstances unrelated to magic) scored ourselves quite a few detentions from our least favourite teacher, Mr. Hall. He taught us boys English this year, but he also taught Science and French classes, including the girls’ Science class. The previous Monday, he’d given us three lessons in a row due to the absences of our Science and French teachers, and possibly the strain of so much teaching had caused him to put half our French class into this afternoon’s detention.

Oh, I forgot about all that, said Nicole. You can’t have too many left, can you?

Three for me, I said.

Me too, said Peter. Except one goes for three hours. I’m not sure which one though. The last one I got, so probably Wednesday.

What about Harry and Simon? asked James.

Three hours every day, said Peter. For three weeks. Then they also got two each in French last week; they’d be half hour ones, and I think Simon got another one from somewhere.

Those two, sighed James.

Don’t you have some too? Jessica asked him shrewdly.

No, said James. I had my last one Friday week ago.

To assist us in keeping track of all our detentions, or possibly to embarrass us in front of the rest of the school, a notice board had been put up in the year-nine/ten locker bay, right above our lockers, showing which teachers held detentions over a week-long period, which rooms they were in, and all the students who were expected to attend. The six of us looked up at it as we arrived at our lockers.

They’ve changed it, Peter observed. Look—ours are the same, but there aren’t as many people as last week.

Indeed, this afternoon’s detention had, last time I’d seen the notice, said that about twenty-five people had detention this afternoon. Now, however, it had just eight names. Harry and Simon both had the number three next to their names, and Peter and I were right below them. Below us were just four more names from our French class. Looking across the rest of the week, I saw that people had had their detentions scattered, some of them even stretching into the following week.

Noticed, have you? said a voice, and we turned to see Harry and Simon— twins who lived across the river—enter through the doorway just to the left of our lockers.

We reckon it's because he doesn’t think he can handle so many trouble makers in the one room at once, said Simon, grinning wickedly. Shame, I was rather looking forward to it.

Lis and Nat around? asked Nicole. ’Cause I was just thinking, you boys will see those girls and the four boys in your class today, won’t you?

Not the boys, said Peter. They’re not in many of our classes.

Well tell the girls not to meet us at recess, said Nicole. Remember what Lucien said…

Right, said James. I would have objected once before, but I guess it makes sense now. You tell the other year-tens.

Movements behind us announced the arrival of Natalie, Lisa, Marc and Tommy, and James turned and asked, Did you four get that?

No, but I’m sure we’ll catch up eventually, said Tommy, only a little bitterly.

Owing to the fact that he had been shot a week earlier, and had therefore missed the camp, Tommy hadn’t been involved in our hunt for the Sien-Leoard Crystal the previous week. It was easy to understand why he felt slightly left out whenever the topic of the Magic Crystals came up. The twelve of us gathered around our lockers and stood chatting away for several minutes about nothing in particular while I, having been just reminded of what was in my pocket, kept a hand around the Light Crystal the whole time. Seeing as Lucien had told us not to be too conspicuous as a group at school, we were doing a very poor job on our first day out, something Nicole wouldn’t shut up about.

We can’t look like this! she kept hissing. My God, if anyone’s watching—

It’s not so bad, Harry said bracingly. We hung out in this group long before all this started, and the rest of them know not to hang out with us. Oh, ‘ello.

Amelia and Stella had just entered the locker bay behind Harry and Simon. Stella waved once at us before heading for her locker, but Amelia hovered nearby to listen to the rest of the conversation.

I think they know not to hang out with us, Peter continued. Lucien made that pretty plain, but if you’re still not sure, Nicole, why not dash around here now and tell them? I’m sure they’re all in here somewhere.

He was probably right; the locker bay was packed and noisy, as always. I glanced around, but couldn’t see anyone else from the so-called Young Army mixed in with the mass of students. Harry opened his locker a moment later, causing a rather large gap between the nearest students, large enough for me to get a glimpse of Mr. Hall, our least favourite teacher and the one who had given us so many detentions, prowling the locker bay. The gap was caused because when Harry had opened his locker, about seven or eight of his textbooks had gone flying through the air; his locker appeared to be cursed, sending its contents across the room whenever he opened it.

You didn’t say—you never—you should have told me that was yours, shouted Amelia over the racket, straightening up after she’d dived sideways to avoid Harry’s Maths book. She gave the locker a pointed glance, making it obvious what she was talking about.

I forgot, he said, giving his locker a hip-and-shoulder to close it. It was trembling, apparently wishing to send more books out. But can you…

I did that, she said. That was mine last year.

"What?" Harry’s jaw gaped, and Peter made a spectacle of standing on his toes to get a good look at Harry’s tonsils.

I thought of leaving a little surprise for the next person to use my old locker.

Can you fix it then? he asked. ’Cause it's been driving me mad all year.

I’ll think about it, she said slyly.

* * *

After that the morning was extremely dull; Science and French passed without any incident, apart from perhaps Mrs. Lynch giving the French class a good talking to for not completing the work she’d set for us in her absence (although I personally couldn’t remember Hall handing it out). Home group was mildly amusing, for when Harry asked Hall why he’d shortened the number of students for that afternoon’s detention, the teacher replied that he didn’t think (as Simon had suggested) that he would be capable of handling so many trouble makers in one place at one time.

We all met up at recess again; we Playmans, Thomases, Harry, Simon, Natalie, Lisa, Marc and Tommy, anyway. Thankfully none of the others joined us, although Erica had followed James into the locker bay and was whispering something to him. James was listening with an unreadable expression on his face, which was a change from the way he had been ignoring her completely a week ago. When she walked away, Peter and I stared pointedly at him, but he passed no hint of what she had said. We didn’t have time to think about it though, because a moment later Amelia had turned up, looking extremely anxious.

Er—Marc, can we have a word? she asked nervously. All us boys glanced around at each other, smirking; Amelia had the hots for Marc. Nicole, who also had a spot for him, scowled at Amelia.

Er — I guess, said Marc awkwardly, clearly thinking the same as the rest of us.

We’ll meet you at the toilet block, bro, Tommy called after him as the two of them disappeared into the mass of students.

She can’t be serious, I heard Nicole whispering furiously to Natalie as we walked towards the toilet block, our proffered recess and lunch hang-out spot, five minutes later. With the amount of danger he’s in right now and she wants to go and get him all side-tracked? Why didn’t I just…

Maybe it’s not what it looks like, said Natalie, but the tone of her voice told me that she didn’t really believe what she was saying.

As it happened, Marc returned well into recess. We’d all finished eating by that stage, and he hadn’t even started. My mind was racing, trying to imagine what he and Amelia had been doing all this time.

So, how’d it go? Harry asked in a voice that would have made me want to hit him if I’d been in Marc’s shoes.

Interesting, he said uneasily. Something rather unusual is going on.

Nah, nothing unusual about it, mate, said Simon, grinning broadly.

Would you like me to explain what I’m talking about, then? Marc asked the twins. They both fell back, clearly wondering how grossed out they were about to be, but Marc was grinning. Well, I was talking to Amelia and Stella, he went on, and my heart fell; it was about the Crystals. It must be. And Stella was telling us about something that happened with her family last night.

Oh fantastic, said Peter. They don’t know about us—about the army—do they?

Don’t say that around here, hissed Marc, staring around wildly for eavesdroppers. If anyone hears that name, they’ll certainly be onto us. That’s for our ears only.

Sorry, said Peter, abashed. But do they?

No idea, said Marc. They probably do. I mean, they know I’ve got two Crystals, so I’d say so. Anyway, Stella’s birthday’s on Sunday, right, and her family—

Is it really? asked Harry buoyantly. Why didn’t you say so? We’ll have to get her a present, Simon. Any suggestions?

Never mind that now, said James impatiently. What’s with her family, Marc?

They want to celebrate it, he said shortly.

The group went quiet, staring at one another. Stella’s family celebrate her birthday, after everything they had done to her? After all the torture and humiliation they had inflicted upon her—after I had watched them use an agonator on her in front of hundreds of people—they would suddenly turn around and do this? I doubted they’d ever celebrated her birthday before now, so what was going on? Why now? Finally Peter voiced what I was thinking.

That is extremely dodgy.

Isn’t it though, said Marc, nodding. And they’re determined to make it something big for her.

What’s in it for them? asked Peter.

That’s what we don’t know, said Marc. My guess is that they want to gain her trust and use her against the Woodwards, but I can’t help wondering if there’s more to it than that. Anyway, she made them seal a pact making it safe for us all to attend.

No way, man, said Tommy. You know they want me—

What do you mean, ‘seal a pact’? Nicole asked nervously.

It’s a magical promise that they cannot break, said Lisa promptly before Marc could open his mouth.

And if they do? asked Felicity.

They get bad luck—the worst luck—

I’m not superstitious enough to believe that, said James. They’re up to something, though; that, I'll believe.

Exactly what did the pact say? I asked Marc. My insides had chilled because although I’d never heard anyone speak about a pact before, Marc’s words sounded horribly familiar.

That they will not use their magic, or a device they’ve created with magic at the party, Marc recited.

Does that include their followers using those devices? asked James at once.

Marc froze, thinking. Finally he said, I suppose not. I’ll have to ask Stella. Anyway she was thinking about it herself. She didn’t want us anywhere near them at first, but she’s thinking that if they can’t use magic at the party then it should be safe.

Not if Hignat gets his hands on an agonator, said Harry darkly.

I don’t trust her either, said James flatly.

We know, I interrupted, but he ignored me and kept going.

She wants us in the company of her family, and the only hint of security for us is her word that they won’t use magic. She’s got rocks in her head if she thinks we’ll fall for that.

He looked around at the group, daring someone to argue with him, but most of the group seemed to be on his side.

Don’t go thinking Stella’s trying to set us up, Peter said hotly. You’ve been wrong about that several—

I think, said Marc, without raising his voice. We all fell silent instantly. That she wants us there for moral support, nothing more or less. That would mean much to her now that she’s got us—more than she’s ever had in her life—and since she’s never been allowed to have any kind of party, or had any friends to invite to such a party, she just wants our support. But that doesn’t mean her family doesn’t have plans for us; that’s what I’m worried about.

So we’ve got to choose between supporting Stella or staying alive, said James, smirking in spite of himself. Wow, I’ll be pondering that for ages to come.

Don’t be facetious, said Jessica, punching her brother in the shoulder.

Let me talk to her, said Marc finally. We’ve got double German this afternoon and we’re in the same class in that subject; Amelia’s in there too. I could convince her to make another pact with her family, to protect us.

They wouldn’t like that if it stuffs up their plans, said Simon.

Exactly, said Marc. It’s the sure way to find out if they’re up to something. Stella can always disagree to whatever they say if they don’t meet her demands on this one. They were furious about making the first pact, but they did it anyway, so she knows they’ll meet her demands if they want it enough. I reckon between me, her and Amelia, we can cover all the ways the Hammersons might try to get at us, and make sure they don’t.

I’ll reserve judgement until I know for sure that we’ll be safe, said Harry smartly.

Most people seemed to agree with that, including me, but my mind was elsewhere. At around midnight that very morning, I had awoken from a terrible dream of the Hammersons; not Stella but the other two, and there had been something about a pact in it. I was sure of it, though I’d only just remembered the dream. It was just too much of a coincidence to think that I’d been dreaming of things that were happening, possibly at that very moment. I’d had dreams about being in the company of Tankom and Hammerson in the past, but had never had an outlet to talk about them. Now, however, things were falling into place and almost making sense. Just one question remained unanswered: How?

It was almost bell time so we all got up and headed back to the locker bay. I wasn’t listening to the others’ conversation as we walked, and almost walked into several people on the way because my mind was on the dream. I’d gone to sleep the previous night thinking about the time when we had entered the Hammerson headquarters, and my thoughts had somehow slipped into actual dreams.

The headquarters itself had been quite a remarkable place. Stripped of privacy, each house of the Hammersons’ supporters was connected to the Hammerheart Highway. It meant that it was easy for Lucien to get in there, but quite as easy for any of the Hammersons to get into his and Marc’s house. That in itself was a problem if they wanted to attack him. The Hammerheart Highway was an underground tunnel that was traversed by small two-man cars that shot from one location on Earth to another at what I suspected might have been the speed of light, connecting the homes of their supporters to their various bases. At the Chopville Base, there had been sixty or seventy platforms for cars to pull up, and they could even jump over each other to get into the tunnels—something that must have been magical, considering they ran on cables.

But the magic didn’t stop there. Not that I saw a lot of the base, as the six of us had been hidden inside an enchanted backpack at the time, but we had seen the Worship Hall—the place where the Hammersons held their meetings. Lucien had said that they had one in every base in the world, and they could all link magically to the one where the Hammersons lived, which was the one we’d been inside. It was a huge place, with such security that its insides had been heated to over a million degrees centigrade. Each of us had been required to wear a Hammerheart uniform (Marc had used magic to duplicate Lucien’s), because the uniforms were enchanted to counter the heat, so that we felt quite normal when wearing them.

Though it was extremely dangerous to do what we’d done, I wouldn’t have minded doing it again, for although most of what we had learnt had been completely useless information, the trip itself had been very useful. I remembered it clearly, being in that bag with the boys; travelling through the fire place in Marc’s living room and along the tunnel; emerging into the star point in the tunnel system (Marc and Lucien’s house also had a network of tunnels under it). One of those tunnels went down into the Hammerheart Highway; Lucien had slid down it to push a button at the bottom of the slope. The car had pulled up and we’d got in, pushed some buttons, and shot off, pulling up a split second later at the Chopville Base.

Out of the car and for the stairs at the end of the platform, and we’d gone up those and along to the elevators at the end. They went from levels one to eight, and that was the point at which my pondering had slipped into one very strange and detailed dream. In the dream, I’d taken one of the elevators up to level one. I had walked along a dark, silent, doorless corridor. There had been a dead-end at the end of the corridor, but I had walked through the wall as though it wasn’t there, and found myself in a new room. There had been two doors in there, and I had gone through the one on the left and up another flight of steps before stopping in front of another door, hesitating. This was dangerous territory, I’d known. I had opened the door as quietly as I could, slipped inside, and been about to turn right, where I knew I would be a little safer, when I was distracted by the sound of voices somewhere to my left. I had crept towards them; it sounded like they were in the den, for I knew, without knowing how I knew, what that room was; not to mention who those people likely were.

I had stopped around the corner and, using the reflection in the mirror against the opposite wall, managed to get a glimpse of the people in the room. Three people had been sitting around a small table, all three of them I had recognised: Hammerson, Tankom and a man wearing a uniform with the code 2C7, whose name (I somehow knew) was Hank Cornish. Stepping back so that they wouldn’t see me in the mirror, I had listened to the conversation within the room.

Yes, H2’s fine now, Cornish had said. Yes. What about 4Y18, then?

Give her another round of P3, Hammerson had said dismissively. That should be enough—

I don’t think so, Tankom had disagreed. No, P2; she must be aware.

It didn’t make a difference, Hammerson had said impatiently.

It could have, Tankom had said stubbornly. I think P2, and that’s merciful considering what could have happened.

Would you like to tell us, then? Hammerson had asked.

When I finish it off, she had said, but not yet.

Personally, Cornish had said quietly, though I know nothing about it, I would think H2 is really by-the-by compared to H3 and H4.

You know about H3? Tankom had said, sounding furious.

Not exactly, he had said calmly. No more than you do. I’m just saying—

H3 is my business, Hammerson had cut across them both. That is mine to sort out.

So then, Cornish had said, and I had heard someone rustling papers within the room. About H4 then, how do we—

That, Tankom had said, is outlined in S4D. If you just read the memo—

Yes, about 3M78, you mean? Yes, that’s clear, but the rest of it—

H4 will be unprotected, Hammerson had said. No, I’m not worried about that either. I’m more concerned with his power. His position—

Do you think S4E is worth considering? Cornish had suggested.

Can’t now, Tankom had said. Dispose of 4SE; 3M27 is too remote.

There was another silence, then Cornish had said, So, S4D; there’s still the matter of 1H4—

I’d thought of that, Hammerson had said, sounding annoyed, and my stomach contracted. I had known I needed to move, now, before I was seen. If they found me now, I would be in more trouble than I could imagine, and yet a combination of fear, curiosity and (I supposed) that feeling you have in dreams where you can’t move when you most want to, held me in place.

Yes, Hammerson had gone on, it does provide a problem. Of course, there’s always the influential charm, or the domination charm—

The influential charm, if all else fails, Tankom had said. But if that doesn’t work, we’re one less weapon … S4D would have to be scrapped too; 1H4 would be useless, and the Woodwards would be on us again.

That’s what I thought about the domination charm in particular, Cornish had said. So, S4D is pretty much our last—

There are branches of actions depending on the result, Hammerson had said. But they’re quite vague and we should really worry about S4D just now.

H4 is a problem still, Tankom had pressed, because—

That’s an ongoing plot, Hammerson had cut in again. But we can’t brood over H4 too long; it might be a lost cause.

Okay, Cornish had said, his tone now business like. So, 1H4; should I do the honours?

I—what would be the best way to approach that issue? Hammerson had asked thoughtfully.

I’ll do it, Tankom had said harshly. You, go.

I had heard one of them get up, and footsteps. My insides had screamed at me to move, but my legs simply wouldn’t respond. Not that I had had enough time anyway; Cornish had moved into the doorway and had spotted my reflection in the mirror before he’d come around the corner. I had thought vaguely of running for it, but really couldn’t see the point as Cornish came around the corner to meet me, smiling in a coldly satisfied way.

Ah, he had said, so—come in then.

My stomach had twisted with panic; what to do? Tankom and Hammerson would have heard that, so there was no point running. I had no option but to follow Cornish into the room. Tankom had been sitting at the table, watching the two of us enter and looking quite as Cornish had; coldly satisfied at the sight of me. Hammerson, meanwhile, had been on his feet, not looking at me but gathering up the papers that had been on the table and stacking them in a filing cabinet.

Sit down, she had said curtly, gesturing to the seat in which Cornish had been sitting. I had seated myself wordlessly, my eyes flickering from Tankom to Hammerson, to Cornish and back. Cornish, after I had sat down, had turned and left the room, leaving me alone with these two evil Sorcerers.

We were just talking about the big day, Tankom had said. Next Saturday, of course.

Oh, is that what it was? I had said, remembering all the numbers and letters they had been using. What about it?

Well, she had gone on, attempting a warm smile and managing surprisingly well, we have decided to put it in your hands.

I had raised my eyebrows; this was not the sort of thing Tankom and Hammerson would normally do. Is that right? I had replied, watching her closely. What’s the catch?

Only that some of us attend, she had said, but the rest is up to you. Oh, we’ll need to find a venue; certainly not down here—

But I had known what she was really up to now, and I had sought to head her off before she could say anything else. I’m not letting you anywhere near my friends, if that’s what you’re thinking.

No? she had said, raising her eyebrows. You aren’t? I would have thought you would have wanted some of your friends there, as it’s your event. You don’t like socialising so much with—those others who’d be coming—

Like who? I had asked incredulously, wondering if she would answer, though I’d doubted I would need her too; she had almost certainly been speaking of people like Ather Hignat, and others of his type.

Oh, part-timers, those who know you, she had said. But as I say, you never socialise with them other than—

I don’t want anything, though, I had said; something I’d said a lot in recent times whenever this topic came up. This is more for you than me, I know—

No it's not, she had said kindly. If it were, we’d wait a few months. This is for you. You don’t get this often, so don’t complain.

Okay, I had said, looking sideways at Hammerson now, struck by an idea. Okay. I’ll play along, under a condition.

"It is not for you to set conditions," Hammerson had said harshly.

Tankom had shot him a warning look, and he’d shut his mouth. Feeling triumphant at that, I had said, Okay, I won’t play along then.

What is your condition? Tankom had asked.

That you two seal a pact, I had said, wondering what they would think of this, that you can’t use any of your magic within the venue.

There had been a silence as Tankom and Hammerson surveyed me, and then each other. Then Hammerson had said, I don’t know if that’s—

I don’t see a problem with it, Tankom had said quickly. If it's during the event only. We’ll sign it if you do, that you—

Okay, I had said, and I suddenly felt excited about this; they were letting me do what I wanted—far from what I would have expected.

Hammerson had sat back down at the table, and the three of us had reached out, with me putting my hands over both of theirs in the middle of the table. My hands began to tingle, to vibrate, sending force from the sky through their hands and to the floor. After about ten seconds, we had let go of each other.

Oh, Hammerson had said, as though struck by a sudden thought, and no Woodwards.

I thought you said I could bring my friends, I had said, though I wasn’t at all surprised to hear him say that and had, in fact, been wondering when they would. I put my hands under the table so that I couldn’t be forced to seal another pact.

"No Woodwards," Hammerson had growled, standing up and looking simply furious.

I’m sure Amelia Woodward can come, Tankom had said passively.

Well that’s just as well, I had said boldly, standing up also, ’Cause she’s my best friend, and she’s definitely coming…

Hammerson seemed to have lost control of the fury he’d been feeling since I walked through the door. He’d whipped an agonator from his pocket, swished it through the air, and clicked it, bringing it to rest in the spot directly between my eyes. Without pausing, he clicked it again. I had felt a sharp explosion inside me, and had at that point woken up, lying in bed and drenched in sweat.

While I had been dreaming, I had understood pretty much all that was happening, which meant that I hadn’t been reflecting on it. So when I woke up, I had no idea what any of it meant. Now, though, I had to wonder why I was aware of the pact, and the party, as though it had been me instead of Stella who had made the pact with Tankom and Hammerson…

Chapter 2: Detention with the Devil

The two periods following recess were just as boring as the two that had preceded it, although we boys received a couple of wake-up calls. Firstly, Hall announced to the class that the next Monday he would begin asking for dates on which we would perform our oral presentations. We were allowed to choose when we wanted to do them; when we were ready.

I know you’ll all be looking to put them off for as long as possible, he said, staring around pointedly. But let me assure you that you will be well placed to receive better marks if you are one of the first few; I often go easy on the first few.

That won’t be us, said Peter under his breath. He, James and I were working together, but we had yet to decide what we would talk about.

Then in History, Mrs. Worlker did a ten-minute catch-up session, due to the fact that so many people hadn’t bothered turning up for the class the previous Monday. She had taken note of the few that were there, which included all five of us, and shot questions around the room at those people relating to what we had done in that lesson. Anton was the only person who impressed her; the rest were either stupid or had been involved in the Crystal business and hadn’t paid enough attention; or, in the case of Harry and Simon, both.

When we met up at lunch time in the locker bay, we were all in a bad mood; Mrs. Worlker had given us another stack of homework to do before Wednesday’s class. This time, it was Katie and Sophie who had followed us, whispering in Harry and Simon’s ears, respectively. No guesses as to what was going on there, I thought. The twelve of us spent most of lunch time talking about Stella again; Marc hadn’t had a chance to talk to her yet, so we didn’t get any further than we had been at recess.

After lunch, however, I was forced to think about other things. We had PE, and we were to start playing proper soccer matches out on the oval. Two weeks earlier, we had divided into teams, and we would spend the next few weeks playing off. Our team consisted of all Young Army members—Peter, James, Harry, Simon, Serena, Erica, David, Craig (who was captain), Daniel, Liam and myself.

There will be two matches in progress this afternoon, Mr. Happy told the mass of students (large as ever, given that all the year-nine classes had PE at the same time). The team not playing is dismissed and can go do whatever they like—even go home, he added, and suddenly no one was interested in playing soccer anymore. On the far side of the oval will be Jim Rich’s team against Sally Hipmore’s team. On the near side of the oval will be Jordan Bolton’s team against Craig Hardy’s team. Okay people, let’s go!

Within ten minutes, we were playing ball. It ended up being a two-all draw, but it was good in that it took all our minds off more serious matters. Peter scored first with a slip around an opponent, which even I was impressed with. It was good to see that he hadn’t lost his touch over the summer (we had all played soccer during the year—all us boys except James and Daniel, anyway). Robyn Lloyd kicked the next goal from a penalty, levelling the scores, but within minutes David displayed some extremely nimble skills for a tall guy in scoring our second. Troy Menora goaled within minutes of time, but only because James, who was the goal keeper, let his guard down, clearly thinking we’d done enough to win.

The bell rang not long after the end of the game, and we all hurried back to the locker bay to get our stuff. If it weren’t for the massive sign right over our lockers, we might have forgotten that we were supposed to meet with Hall first. So grudgingly, Peter, Harry, Simon and I said goodbye to James and the others and set off for Room 12, where we were to serve our detention.

The rest of our fellow trouble makers were already waiting outside the room when we arrived. Justin Time and Tulip Naval were whispering together, and I had a feeling I knew what they were talking about. Between the two of them, they could be as difficult as me, Peter and the twins all put together—if they were on their game, anyway. I certainly hoped they were on their game today, because as far as I was concerned, Hall deserved everything coming to him for the way he’d behaved the week before. Behind them, George Tuck and Belinda Pensinger, who were clearly an item, were locked in what looked like a fierce match of tonsil hockey. I looked away, not wanting to be reminded of my own love life, or lack thereof.

Any ideas, you two? Peter asked Justin when we reached them.

He shook his head. We think we’ll be able to think of something once we get in there, he said, but it’s difficult to plan for Hall.

I knew what he meant. A few weeks ago we had been trying to plan the same thing, but none of our plans had worked, and we’d eventually gone back to spontaneity, which always seemed to be our greatest weapon. The only certainty was that we had to do something; after our history with Hall, sitting back and letting him bully us was not an option.

Just in time, here he comes, said Tulip, looking over Simon’s shoulder and down the hall.

I’m right here, bitch, laughed Justin, slapping Tulip on the back.

Indeed, Hall was coming down the hall, pushing a trolley in front of him. The trolley was loaded with paper.

Uh-oh, said Harry, staring at the trolley.

What? I asked, not catching on to what the rest of them were thinking.

Eight, said Hall, counting us as he reached us. Excellent … excellent.

You won’t be saying that once we’re through with you, said Justin under his breath, while the rest of us sniggered.

What’s that? Hall asked, scowling.

Oh, nothing, sir, said Justin brightly. Hall looked around at the rest of us, all trying to hide our smirks, and scowled.

Then he turned and unlocked the door and we all filed into the room. Hall pushed the trolley to his desk while the rest of us gathered around, waiting for our instructions.

I have tasks for each of you, he said. Now you two, he looked at Harry and Simon, your job will be to sort through these newspapers, writing page-long summaries for as many articles as you can get through. Bring each to me as you finish them, so I can correct your spelling, grammar and overall style. If it is insufficient, you will do it again. Okay?

That’s not okay, said Simon dully, staring at the mountain of newspapers Hall was indicating.

Excellent, said Hall cheerfully. Now, get to it. Just take the stack into that corner and face away from the rest of the room so that the rest of these (he indicated me and Peter in particular) don’t distract you.

You say it as though we’re objects, sir, said Peter, grinning cheekily.

That remains to be seen, said Hall darkly.

Harry and Simon looked at each other, downcast, before taking the trolley of terror with them to the corner of the room. When they got there, Harry looked around at Hall and said, Er—where do we get the paper from?

"Pensinger!" Hall snapped at Belinda.

She jumped and pulled away from George, whom she had been pashing in clear view of the room. What? she said, looking annoyed that she’d been interrupted.

I want you to go down to Room 74 and bring back a box of A4 paper, Hall answered. If the room is locked—which it shouldn’t be—go and ask for a key from the office. If anyone asks what you’re doing, tell them Mr. Hall sent you. If they try to stop you or don’t believe you, come back here and I’ll give you a note of permission. Go now.

Belinda scowled, but left the room, looking back and blowing a kiss at George as she went. The moment the door had closed, Hall rounded on George, who’d been looking awkward the whole time.

And you, Tuck, for your cheek, can sort through these.

He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a large box, which he handed to George.

What is it? George asked.

Items I have accumulated from various troublesome students over the years, Hall told him, grinning evilly. And from other places, I might add.

What do I do with them? asked George, taking the box.

Retrieve the clean items, dispose of the dirty ones. I never took notice of which was which over the years. I want a nice, clean collection when you’re finished. Anything you need, let me know, said Hall, before he turned to Justin and Tulip. Now, I don’t want you two anywhere near each other. Time, you sit over there, in that seat (he pointed to Harry’s usual seat) and Naval, you sit there (he pointed to a seat on the opposite side of the room). You will both be writing lines, 150 in fact, and you can leave when you have finished. I will tell you what to write shortly.

Not listening to the teacher, I had followed George to his seat, interested to see what was in the box. When he opened it, I saw something that made my stomach twist in revulsion. The box was full of unwrapped, twisted condoms. What had Hall said? Retrieve the clean ones? Oh God…

This is harassment, said George, looking around at Hall in disgust. You expect me to touch other guys’—

Hall just wiggled a finger at him. It’s no worse than what the rest of us had to watch you doing just now, Tuck.

Can I at least have a pair of rubber gloves? George asked.

Gloves? Hall repeated nastily. Are you a man or what? Afraid to get your fingers dirty? No, I think you’ll need good, sensitive fingers to determine the state of each one.

George was red with rage, but Hall wasn’t done with him. Anyone would think you’d never seen one of those, judging by your reaction; still got a way to go with Pensinger?

You leave her out of this! snapped George. He looked ready to punch Hall, and I would have been very happy to see it, whatever the consequences later.

It wasn’t my decision to put on that public display of affection in the middle of a detention, Tuck, said Hall silkily. Now, unless you wish to repeat the experience in your next detention, I suggest you get to work immediately.

George bit his lip, aware that he would have more detentions piled on him if he retorted. He threw Hall the dirtiest look I’d ever seen before turning back to the condoms and picking one out.

Interested in those, are you, Playman? Hall snapped. I jumped. I was still watching George, unable to take my eyes off the sickly sight that was his job for the next half-hour, but now I remembered where I was.

No, I said, tearing my gaze away and looking up at him.

That’s just as well, because I don’t have any spare boxes, said Hall. My stomach fell; if that was the only reason, he would probably make me help George. But since I’ve never seen you behaving the way Tuck was, I expect you wouldn’t even understand the function of those items. Perhaps you would do well to observe him.

My face was burning with embarrassment and rage. Normally Peter would laugh if someone (namely the twins) said something like that, but even he looked furious this time.

Both of you will write lines, said Hall, turning to the blackboard and beginning to write.

I … will … show … respect … and … adoration … to … my … teachers … at … all … times, Peter read as Hall wrote. "You’ve gotta be joking. ‘Adoration’?"

You will both write that 150 times, said Hall cruelly. Naval, Time, I have a different line for you two.

He moved across to the other side of the board and began to write. ‘I will not use knowledge gained during classes against my teachers.’

Now get going, he said to them, before turning back to me and Peter, who hadn’t moved. What are you two waiting for, someone to blow a whistle?

We looked at each other and moved towards the desks. As long as we were stuck here, we didn’t have anything better to do.

Oh no, Playman, said Hall, stopping me in my tracks. You sit there. He indicated the chair next to George. And you can sit there. He pointed Peter towards a chair right in the middle of the room, nowhere near anyone else.

It went quiet after that, and I began writing my lines. A few times, against my will, my eyes left the paper and went sideways. I felt sincerely sorry for George’s position; he looked as though he was going to be sick. Peter, Justin and Tulip were busy writing, barely looking up. Harry and Simon were merely reading, but within minutes they began reading and discussing the newspaper articles aloud for the rest of us to hear. It made things more interesting.

That will do, you two, said Hall sharply after Harry made an amusing comment that caused the room to erupt into laughter. Work quietly.

You can’t stop us, Harry said to Hall. If we go quiet, you won’t know what we’re doing. And I can assure you it won’t be what you want. At least this way you know what we’re up to.

Hall contemplated this argument for a moment before saying, Very well, that’s a good point. Just make sure you keep it serious. No funny business in the summaries.

A few minutes later, Belinda returned with a box of paper, which she dumped beside the trolley from which the twins were taking newspapers. She then made a B-line for George, but stopped dead in her tracks when she saw what he was doing. She stared at him and the box of condoms, several of which were now on the desk as they’d been deemed clean, then she rounded on Hall.

"What on earth do you think you’re doing, making him do that? she shouted. How do you think you’ll get away with this?"

"How do you think you’ll stop me? Hall asked calmly. An extra detention for you, Pensinger. Now sit in that seat beside Playman and write that (he pointed at the line he’d given Justin and Tulip) 150 times. Go on, get to it."

But Belinda didn’t move. She stared at him furiously for a moment, before turning back to George, who was silently begging her to do something. They looked at each other hopelessly until Hall’s voice interrupted their musings.

Get going, or it’ll be yet another detention for both of you. I’ll see to it that you, Pensinger, will receive an even more gruesome task than Tuck next time.

Finally they both shrugged and Belinda turned away sadly, going to sit with Peter. I felt hopeless for both of them. If I had more guts myself, I’d help George sort through the condoms, but if I didn’t have to touch them myself, I didn’t want to.

My hand automatically went to my pocket and around the Light Crystal, which I carried everywhere with me. It was a manifestation of good, and a bit of goodness was due right about now. I unfolded the hankies from around it and touched the surface with a finger. It wasn’t until this point that I’d even thought about what I was doing; my mind was still full of thoughts about where those condoms had been in past years, and I just hoped that George wouldn’t throw up before the end of the detention, because I was sure that Hall would make either him or Belinda (or me) clean it up. I just wished there was something I could do to make it easier for him…

Then I jumped. The crystal had gone warm in my hand for a moment. What had that been about? I felt it again, and it was back to normal. I quickly took my hand out of my pocket, making sure the crystal was covered by the hankies again, and continued writing my lines, sweating slightly.

Well this guy makes it sound as though he was right to say that, Harry was saying to the room at large. Which is ridiculous.

Of course it is, said Simon. But what does he know?

Well, he’s a journo—

An uneducated journo, said Simon.

Right, said Harry. Right on the money, old chap. That’s my summary of this article.

‘I will show respect and adoration to my teachers at all times.’ ‘I will show respect and adoration to my teachers at all times.’ I was getting heartily sick of writing it, but I was only up to forty-seven and I still had over one hundred to go before I would be allowed to leave. Curse that bastard of a teacher! Without thinking, I glanced across at George and his box of wonders. The pile of Hall’s happy memories on the desk had grown considerably since the last time I had looked, and I noticed that George was merely picking them up, looking at them and tossing them to the side. He appeared much more comfortable now, as if he’d settled into the work and knew exactly what he was doing.

No dirty ones left, eh? I hissed out of the side of my mouth so that Hall wouldn’t notice.

No, he whispered mysteriously. It looked worse than it really is. I bet they were all his and he’s just never had anyone to use them with.

I sniggered at the thought but broke off when I noticed that he had also snuck a few into his pockets. I looked away in disgust; as far as I was concerned, they should never be used, even if they were clean.

They did look bad, I said, remembering how they had all looked in there and wondering how it could possibly…

Then I realised! A connection had formed in my mind between the moment George had started throwing condoms aside and the moment when the Light Crystal had gone warm in my hand. I’d been thinking about what I could possibly do to help him when that had happened. Could it possibly be that the condoms had cleaned themselves through some sort of magic from the crystal? I knew nothing about what the Light Crystal did, except that it was good, so I supposed it may have been possible. I made a mental note to get on the Internet next chance I got and do some research into the Light Crystal, assuming there was any information to find.

Why are you taking them, though? I asked, my stomach twisting at the thought of second-hand condoms.

They’ve never been used, he said quietly. Might as well make use of them. Saves me going and buying them. Might as well make something good of this horrible experience.

Eww, I said. I’d never do that, all the same.

Ah come on, he said. You might need them one of these days…

Well I’d go and buy them if that was the case, I said, looking away from the long rubbery thing he was dangling in front of my eyes, acutely uncomfortable with this conversation.

You sure? Freebies, ya know, he said, pocketing another one as he tossed three more into the pile on the desk.

I didn’t answer, but bent over my lines and started writing again. I’d written three more before George said, You might end up using one anyway, if my sister wants to take a few of these.

"What?" I asked, my head snapping up.

My sister, he repeated, grinning. She’s been banging on about you ever since she got back from camp. God, the detail she went into about what she wants to do to you—

What on earth… Suddenly I realised who he was talking about. George Tuck. Lena Tuck. Why hadn’t I made the connection? I had only known Lena since about a week ago, and last Thursday, she had indicated that she had a crush on me. In fact, she had been what I considered to be abnormally overt about her feelings. It had been a little intimidating, but that wasn’t the reason why I was nervous about her.

She’s so totally hot for you, he went on.

And what am I supposed to think of that? I asked warily.

Do her a favour and screw her senseless, he said, smirking at my awkwardness. "She’s never had one, you know. We keep telling her to get her butt into gear, ‘cause she’s had so many guys after her before, but she’s finally found someone she likes and it’d