The Wizard Heir Read Online Free PDF Page A

around
as much as he did.
    Of the half dozen vehicles clustered in the lot, Dr.
Leicester directed Seph toward a white van with THE havens and a sailboat stenciled in gold on the door. The van
was unlocked. The headmaster took Seph's bags and tossed them easily into the
backseat. He motioned Seph to the shotgun position, and climbed in on the
driver's side.
    “We're just about an hour away from school,”
Leicester explained. “It will give us a chance to get to know each
other.”
    They pulled out of the gravel parking lot and turned
onto a two-lane highway. From the maps, Seph knew there was a small town south
of the airport. But their destination was about fifty miles north, with nothing
much in between. Why would anyone build a private school in such a remote
location? A hunting lodge or a prison, he could understand.
    “Did you come directly from St. Andrew's, or did
you spend some time at home?” Leicester asked, keeping his gaze on the
road.
    “I came from Toronto. I was at a camp there all
summer,” Seph replied. His head ached, as if metal bands were tightening
around his forehead, and he felt dizzy and disoriented. It could've been the
aftereffects of the flight, though he was usually a good flyer.
    They swept past two gas stations, a scattering of
houses, and then plunged into a thick forest of pine and aspen. He lowered the
window, hoping the fresh air would revive him, and was rewarded with the sharp
scent of evergreen.
    “You've had a long day, then.” Dr. Leicester
broke into his reverie. “I hope you were able to sleep on the plane.”
    “Yes. Some.”
    “Where are you from originally?”
    “I was born in the States, but I grew up in
Toronto.”
    “Do your parents still live in Toronto?”
    “My parents are dead.” Seph stared straight
ahead.
    “Ah. Well. We've corresponded with your guardian,
Mr. Houghton. I assume you have relatives in England, then?”
    “Mr. Houghton is just a solicitor. An attorney. I
don't know much about my family.” Nothing, in fact.
    What he'd been told of his parents was frail and
colorless, like a line drawing, an outline of a story without the flesh and
bone. His mother was a Toronto-based flight attendant; his father a software
entrepreneur. They had died in a fire in their California canyon home when Seph
was a year old. Genevieve LeClerc had been his childcare provider, and became
his foster mother. That story had been repeated to him since he was very small.
    And now he knew it was a lie.
    “I think you'll like it here, Joseph, once you
settle in,” Leicester said. “I know you've changed schools several times.
Often talented students get into difficulty when their needs are not met. Here
at the Havens we rarely lose a student. In fact, we integrate high-achieving
secondary students into our more specialized programs. We're believers in
tailoring the curriculum to the student.”
    “I see,” Seph said. “That sounds like a
good approach.”
    He couldn't help being distracted by the view. He was
a city creature. For the past half hour, he'd seen nothing but trees on either
side of a fragile strip of pavement. Not even another car on the road. “It
seems…um…isolated.”
    “You can wander for miles and never leave the
property,” Leicester said, as if that were a plus.
    Many of the crossroads were now dirt roads that
carried the names of beaches. Following a long stretch of unbroken trees, they
reached a turnoff marked with a tasteful brick-and-stone sign that said, the havens and PRIVATE PROPERTY.
    A high stone wall extended in both directions, as far
as he could see. To keep the trees from wandering, no doubt. He blinked and rubbed
his eyes. The wall had a smudged and fuzzy quality, as if shrouded in tendrils
of mist.
    Maybe he had a migraine coming on.
    They turned right, through a high wrought-iron gateway
onto an oiled dirt road.
    Along the lane, the trees stood so close Seph could
have reached out and touched them. Their leafy tops arched and