Once the door closed behind him, he strengthened his shields—physical and mental—and pushed them outward until they surrounded him like a large bubble. Next, he “tied” that bubble to a ley line. Sure he wouldn’t need to concentrate on keeping his thoughts away from others, he put his back against the wall, sank down, and gave in to his anguish. “You didn’t follow through.” Why did she have to say that? Why those words? Could she be…? A cold wave of panic swept over him and he fought to steady his trembling hands. Stop it! She’s not the Master. No one here is. I know that mind, and it’s not anyone here. She’s not satisfied with defense, part of him argued. She’ll press you to kill. First with swords, then with your mind. Isn’t this how the Master worked? It was Spring Break, he suddenly remembered. He was home from boarding school. Aunt Kate had just had a miscarriage and was in bed, with Uncle Douglas tending her.
