He could hear Tamara and Aaron’s steady breathing coming from their rooms. For a moment, he wondered if he should just go back to bed. He still didn’t know the tunnels very well and remembered all the warnings about getting lost. They weren’t supposed to be out of their rooms this late without permission from their Master, either, so he was risking getting in trouble.

Taking a quick breath, he pushed all doubts out of his mind. He knew the way to Master Rufus’s office during the day. He just had to figure out the boats.

The hall outside the common room was lit by the dim glow of rocks and had fallen utterly, eerily silent. The quiet was punctuated only by distant drips of sediment falling from stalactite to stalagmite.

“Okay,” Call muttered. “Here goes nothing.”

He started down the path he knew led toward the river. His footsteps beat a pattern, step-shuffle, in the quiet.

The room the river ran through was even more dimly lit than the hall. The water was a dark, heaving rush of shadow. Carefully, Call picked his way along the rocky path to where one of the boats was tied up at the river’s edge. He tried to brace himself, but his bad leg wobbled; he had to get down on his knees to crawl into the boat.

Part of Master Rockmaple’s lecture on elementals had covered those that could be found in the water. According to him, they were often easily persuaded by a small amount of power to do a mage’s bidding. The only problem was that Master Rockmaple had talked theory but hadn’t explained any technique. Call had no idea how to do this.

The boat rocked under his knees. Mimicking Master Rufus, he leaned over the edge and whispered, “Okay, I feel really stupid doing this. But, uh, maybe you could help me out. I’m trying to get downstream and I don’t know how to — look, could you try to keep the boat from knocking into walls and spinning around? Please?”

The elementals, wherever they were and whatever they were doing, didn’t offer any response.

Luckily, the current already ran in the direction he was going. Leaning out, he pushed off the riverbank with the heel of his hand, sending the boat wobbling toward the center of the river. He felt a moment of heady success, before realizing he had no way to stop the boat.

Recognizing there wasn’t much he could do, he slumped against the seat at the stern and resigned himself to worrying about that on the other end. Water lapped against the side of the boat, and every so often, a fish would rise, pale and glowing, to dart across the surface before disappearing into the depths again.

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem that he’d done the right thing when whispering to the elementals. The boat turned through the water, making Call dizzy. At one point, he had to shove off a stalagmite to keep the boat from running aground.

Finally, he came to a riverbank he recognized, the one near Rufus’s office. He looked around for some way to steer toward the shore. The idea of sticking his hand into the cold, black water didn’t appeal to him much, but he did it anyway, paddling frantically.

The prow bumped against the shore, and Call realized he was going to have to jump out into the shallow water, since he couldn’t get the boat to press itself against a ledge like Master Rufus did. Bracing himself, he stepped over the side and sank immediately in the silt. He lost his balance, falling and banging his bad leg against the side of the boat. For a long moment, the pain took his breath away.

When he recovered, he realized his situation was even worse. The boat had drifted into the middle of the water, out of his reach.

“Come back,” he yelled to the boat. Then, realizing his mistake, he concentrated on the water itself. Even as he strained, all he was able to do was make the water swirl a little. He’d spent a month working with sand and no time at all working with the other elements.

He was soaked and soon his boat would be gone, disappearing into a tunnel and flowing deeper into the caves. Groaning, he splashed his way onto shore. His jeans were heavy and sodden, clinging to his legs. They were also cold. He was going to have to walk all the way back like that … if he could find the way back.

Pushing concerns about later out of his mind, Call headed to the heavy wood door of Master Rufus’s office. Holding his breath, he tried the knob. It swung open without even a squeak.

The small tornado was still spinning on Master Rufus’s rolltop desk. Call took a step toward it. The small lizard in the cage was on the workstation as before, flames flickering along its back. It watched Call with luminous eyes.

“Let me out,” the lizard said. It had a whispery croaking voice, but the words had been clear. Call stared at it in confusion. The wyverns hadn’t spoken during the exercise; no one had said a single thing about elementals talking. Maybe fire elementals were different.

“Let me out,” it said again. “The key! I will tell you where he keeps the key and you will let me out.”

“I’m not going to do that,” Call told the lizard, frowning. He still couldn’t quite get over the fact that it talked. Backing away from it, he moved closer to the tornado on the desktop.

“Alastair Hunt,” he whispered to the spinning sand.

Nothing happened. Maybe it wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d hoped.

Call put his hand to the side of the glass. As hard as he could, he pictured his father. He pictured his father’s beaky profile, and the familiar sound of him repairing things in the garage. He pictured his dad’s gray eyes, and the way his voice rose when he was cheering on a sports team or lowered if he was talking about dangerous things, like magicians. He pictured the way his father had always read him to sleep with a book, and how his woolly jackets smelled like pipe smoke and wood cleaner.

“Alastair Hunt,” he said again, and this time the spinning sand contracted and solidified. In seconds, he was looking at the figure of his father, his glasses pushed up on his head. He was wearing a sweatshirt and jeans and had a book open on his lap. It was as if Call had just walked in on him reading.

Abruptly, his father stood up, looking in his direction. The book slid away, vanishing from view.

“Call?” his father asked, disbelief tingeing his voice.

“Yes!” Call said excitedly. “It’s me. I got the clothes and your letter and I wanted to find some way to contact you.”

“Ah,” said his father, squinting as though he was trying to see Call better. “Well, that’s good, that’s really good. I’m glad your things made it.”

Call nodded. Something about his father’s cautious tone took the edge off the pleasure he felt at seeing him.

Call’s father pushed his glasses higher on his nose. “You look well.”

Call looked down at his clothes. “Yeah. I’m okay. It’s really not so bad here. I mean, it can be boring sometimes — and scary other times. But I’m learning stuff. I’m not such a bad mage. I mean, so far.”

“I never thought that you would be unskilled, Call.” His father stood up and seemed to move toward where Call was standing. His expression was strange, as though he was steeling himself to some difficult task. “Where are you? Does anyone know you’re speaking with me?”

Call shook his head. “I’m in Master Rufus’s office. I’m, uh, borrowing his miniature tornado.”

“His what?” Call’s father’s brows knitted in confusion, then he sighed. “Never mind — I’m glad to have a chance to remind you of what’s important. The mages aren’t what they seem. The magic they’re teaching you is dangerous. The more you learn about the magical world, the more you will be drawn into it — drawn into its old conflicts and dangerous temptations. Whatever fun you’re having —” Call’s father said the word fun like it was poisonous. “Whatever friends you’re making, don’t forget that this life isn’t the life for you. You must get away as soon as you can.”