Callum wasn’t sure that was true, but he was too exhausted to argue.
“You never should have come to the tomb, Callum — you know that, right? You should have left things to me to handle. If Joseph had actually been able to do what he planned — who knows what he might have done to you.” Alastair shuddered.
“I know,” Call said. If his soul had moved into Constantine’s body, maybe all the memories he had of being Callum would have been gone, which, when he let himself think about it too much, seemed like it might be a fate much, much worse than death.
But the farther they flew, the more exhausted he felt. He remembered the way Aaron had been after using chaos magic on Automotones.
I’m just going to shut my eyes for a moment, he told himself.
When Call woke, it was because there were arms around him and he was moving. Being carried, he realized, over the rocks outside the Magisterium. He cracked an eye and looked around.
Morning light stung his eyes. He guessed it was probably around breakfast time. Master North and Master Rockmaple were behind him, watching from their places astride massive air elementals. They looked dour and stern. Havoc, Tamara, Aaron, and Jasper were following Master Rufus down a path to a gate set into the wall of the Magisterium. Alastair was following them, and he was carrying Call the way he hadn’t since Call was very young, with Call’s head against his shoulder.
The backpack. Call grabbed for it, and realized his dad was carrying that, too, slung over one shoulder. He breathed a sigh of relief.
“Do you want me to put you down?” asked Alastair in a low voice.
Call didn’t say anything. Part of him wanted to be set down on his own imperfect feet. Another part thought this was probably the last time his dad would ever carry him.
The stones had given way to a grassy patch beside the Magisterium. They were in front of two doors that had been hammered out of copper. The hammering had been done in a way that left swirls and coils in the metal that looked like flames.
Above the door were the words: HE WHO LOVES NOTHING UNDERSTANDS NOTHING.
Call took a deep breath. “Yeah,” he said.
His dad set him down on his feet and the usual pain shot up his leg. Alastair handed him his backpack and Call slung it over one shoulder.
“I’ve never seen this door before,” Tamara said.
“This is the Assembly entrance to the Magisterium,” said Master Rufus. “It never crossed my mind that any of you would have occasion to use it.”
Over the time he’d been at the Magisterium, Call had cycled through many feelings about it. He’d started out being afraid, then it had come to seem like home, then it had been a refuge from his father, and now, again, it was a place he wasn’t sure he could trust.
Maybe Alastair had been right after all. Right about everything.
Master Rufus tapped his wristband against the doors, and they opened. The corridor inside didn’t look like any of the other Magisterium corridors, with the usual rock walls and packed dirt floors. This corridor was made of polished copper, and each few steps along the way took Call past a symbol for an element — air and metal, fire and water, earth and chaos — with words in Latin running underneath.
Rufus reached a point on the wall that looked exactly like every other point along the wall. He tapped his bracelet again, and this time a door-size piece of metal slid back to expose a room beyond. It was a bare room made of rock, with a long stone bench that ran around the walls.
“You’ll wait in here,” he said. “Master North and Master Rockmaple will return shortly to escort you to the meeting room. The Assembly is gathering now to determine what to do with you.”