Page 26 of Wildfire

That was all he said, and a full-body shudder worked its way up from the base of Hermes’s spine before he rushed to tell the others.

Rooms on Fire

Hermes didn’t come back by the end of the office hour, so Wilder pulled out his grading.

Despite the lack of Helen, he found that he couldn’t focus on the work. Maybe it was the fact that he no longer felt safe on campus, especially not when everyone had put it in his head that he might be the next target.

It was hard to imagine. Wilder had never seen himself as a victim of anything, and it was hard to start. On the other hand, given the fact that someone was actively murdering people like him, right there at Banneker, by the time he got it into his thick skull he’d probably already be dead. So whether or not he thought someone wanted to kill him, he needed to accept it as a possibility and be careful.

Maybe being alone was a bad idea, in fact.

He shoved his papers into his bag and headed for the door.

Ward was on campus all the time lately. He’d probably be around, and if he was, he wouldn’t mind Wilder sitting in his office and quietly grading papers. Probably.

He’d generally put up with all of Wilder’s eccentricities, and rarely complained. In retrospect, Wilder realized how much he’d taken the man for granted, and while it would be hard to say it aloud, it was simple enough to admit to himself, in the privacy of his own head.

He locked the office door on his way out and turned to head down the hall toward Ward’s office.

That was when he noticed that the classroom across the hallway was sitting open. Since his own time at Banneker, when they’d started having trouble with vandalism, all classrooms not in use were to be kept locked. That particular classroom was only in use on Saturdays this term, so he knew for a fact that there wasn’t a class using it.

Maybe the cleaning staff had just forgotten to relock it when they had finished inside. Maybe he should ask Dean Woods to talk to them about being extra careful, since there was worry about a madman killing students.

Just as he was about to knock on the doorframe, the thought made him pause.

No doubt Dean Woods, a frighteningly efficient woman, had already done just that. So there was no way that the school’s excellent, well-paid cleaning staff would have turned around and left a door open.

Suddenly, the cracked door and yawning darkness within held a host of monsters the likes of which hadn’t existed since his father convinced him there were no monsters under his bed.

Because thereweremonsters under his bed. Worse monsters than he’d ever conceived of in his childhood, in fact. There was someone going around murdering mages, one after another, most of them barely more than children.

Instead of sticking his head into the room and asking if anyone was there, Wilder reached out with a foot and pushed the door open. “Is someone using the room?”

He half expected someone to jump out at him, or call that they were just picking up something left behind on Saturday. He’d have hopped right out of his shoes, as tense as he was, but it would be okay. Those things would be fine.

Everything would be...

The door, instead of opening all the way, thudded against something, and sprung back into its previous position, almost closed. Something padded, or cushioned, since it hadn’t made that telltale banging of wood hitting wood or metal.

Wilder pulled out his phone and stared at it.

The police?

What, so they could show up and either mock him or spend another day questioning him over and over about the same damn things, and still not find the bad guy?

Dean Woods?

He had her number, of course, but he could just see how she would react if it was nothing, and the door was banging against someone’s abandoned bag or coat.

There was always Ward, but Wilder didn’t think he was any more prepared to deal with a murderer than Wilder himself. Yes, yes, the man was an incredible hero who’d siphoned the magic off a powerful artifact and saved the whole city. He was impressive and brave. But a flesh-and-blood murderer wasn’t the same as an overloaded magical artifact, and getting Ward killed alongside himself didn’t seem like a thing he should do to his only friend.

Hermes had been joking. Messing with him. He couldn’t actually summon the man with his name—even if it were possible to do, it was some kind of spell, and Wilder didn’t know it. Plus he didn’t think he could make his voice any deeper than it was, not with his heart in his throat and his pulse rushing in his ears.

“Hermes,” he said, and it came out a hoarse whisper, not at all the resonant, commanding tone he was going for. He cleared his throat and tried again, with no more success. “Hermes!” In fact, this time it came out with a squeak at the end.

It was no use. He’d have to go in himself. Go in and find...

He took a step closer to the door. The light switch was right next to it. He could reach in and turn the lights on before trying to open the door, and—

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