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nowhere he felt a slight breeze touch the back of his neck.
    He heard a soft whispering echoing oddly from behind him. Goosebumps rippled on his flesh and a chill gripped his spine.

Chapter 11
    D orian turned and looked down the corridor to where the hallway turned toward the Tower of Summoning Magic.
    He saw a closed door recessed into the wall. Strangely, the shadows seemed to grow deeper there, making that short stretch of hallway seem gloomier. Even the light cast by candles didn’t appear to illuminate as brightly there as in other parts.
    Intrigued, Dorian narrowed his eyes and peered harder.
    He hadn’t really noticed the spot while walking with Lowadar, but now that the great archmage was gone, the anomaly seemed as obvious as Helene’s disapproval of him.
    He saw the
AHN-qua, EN-tee
and
SEV-ef
runes—enchantment, bind, and movement—burned into the heavy door like brands on the hide of a farmer’s livestock.
    He ignored Helene, who babbled on about meal times and homework requirements in a bored voice.
    He walked down the hall toward the closed door. Sweat broke out on his forehead. The slight breeze in the passage suddenly cooled him enough to cause a shiver.
    He realized he was breathing faster than needed.
    Upon closer inspection, he could see that the keyhole below the heavy, black iron handle was filled with dull gray lead into which the
YOU-et
rune of protection had been inscribed.
    The handle itself was an ugly piece of construction depicting the sinewy body of a snake with its own tail clamped in its jaws.
    He swallowed and turned back to Helene, who was still talking, “… Your baggage has already been placed in your room, so—”
    “What’s that door?” he blurted out.
    “What?” Helene snapped, obviously peeved at being interrupted.
    “That door there,” Dorian said and pointed.
    Helene followed the gesture and a rather wicked smile slid into place across her face.
    “Oh that?” She asked innocently. “That’s Athadora Darkspell’s old chambers.”
    Instantly, Dorian remembered the wanted poster he’d seen outside of Maverick’s shop.
    “The professor thrown out for practicing dark magic?” he asked.
    “The darkest,” Helene agreed, pleased at the boy’s discomfort.
“Necromancy
. She talked to the dead, commanded them. They found an altar dedicated to Vecna when they searched her personal quarters.”
    “Vecna?” Dorian swallowed hard against a sudden lump in his throat. “A professor at Aldwyns worshiped Vecna?”
    “They say several students disappeared when she was here. They think she was responsible.”
    Dorian remembered the twisted, screaming visage of the specter on the battlements. He grew cold and felt as if icy fingers clutched his lungs, squeezing the air from them.
    He tried to speak but his throat was so constricted that no sound came out. He coughed and managed to talk, using all his will. “May … maybe she’s come back,” he stammered.
    “What?” Helene laughed.
    “Athadora,” he explained. “She was a necromancer right? Now there are suddenly ghosts—”
    “Don’t be stupid,” the elf girl snapped. “When—I mean, if—she comes back to Aldwyns, she’ll be cunning enough not to advertise her return with a parade of ghosts.”
    The girl tilted her head back for a moment, revealing a long, smooth stretch of neck. Dorian stared at her in surprise, suddenly captivated by her fey beauty in a way he hadn’t been before.
    Then she began laughing—laughing at him.
    “You’re so stupid,” she giggled. “You’re going to make a
great
wizard.”
    She broke into peals of musical laughter all over again and Dorian felt his cheeks grow hot.
    He pushed past her and into his room, slamming the door hard behind him.
    He stopped cold inside the room, stunned to find a monster seated at a desk and looking up at him.

Chapter 12
    A n orc had snuck into his room.
    Dorian stepped backward, unaware he was moving, and ran up against the heavy wood of