Coralis examined the envelope without touching it. Bloodstains had caused the brown smudges, some of which were not entirely dry. He glared at the rapidly shrinking dot of the falcon as he sped away. A pigeon would make a better mail carrier, but pigeons are unstable and messy—totally paranoid, dim-witted, and completely lacking in social skills and bathroom etiquette. As for owls—he grimaced at the thought. Never again would he use the conniving, untrustworthy beasts. People often mistook the impassive look on their faces as a look of wisdom. The truth was quite the opposite. No good ever came from entrusting an owl with secrets.

Finally, and with great reluctance, he picked up the envelope. A child’s scrawl haphazardly addressed the letter to:

His frown deepened. Ridges of concern creased his forehead like waves on a stormy sea. He felt an energy pulse from within the envelope—familiar, yet not.

There was no return address, not even a stamp. And Randall had disappeared, not that he would have offered any intelligent answers. Perhaps someday, when he got tired of eating raw rodent gizzards, he would come back to the castle for good. But until that day, Coralis was content to let him suffer. If there was one thing that was not in short supply, it was time.

He pierced the envelope with a sharp fingernail and cautiously opened it, removing the single sheet of paper within. Then he stared for some time at the penciled note, seeing it but not actually believing it.

“Why, that impudent little … ” His face reddened and his hands shook as anger boiled to the surface.

His wand won’t work! “Of course it won’t work, you impatient toad!” he shouted to the skies.

“What’s that?” Gretchen had been watching from the garden, shielding her eyes from the blinding sun. In all her time at the castle, she had witnessed only one other letter being delivered. Several years ago, the largest raven she had ever seen brought news of the death of another Wand Master. It was an unfortunate accident. As the Grand Wand Master, Coralis was responsible for monitoring the ranks of the Wandmakers’ Guild and for making sure it flourished. As their numbers continued to dwindle, he’d had no choice but to write The Wandmaker’s Guidebook in hopes of finding worthy recruits.

“Bahtzen bizzle!” He swore and shook the letter, ranting in angry circles before disappearing from sight. He was still yelling as he emerged from the castle, walking swiftly toward her. “Look at this!”

“Please try to calm yourself.” She spoke in a reassuring voice, flexing her vocal cords so that a soft hum fluttered in the background. The technique was known among inner Wandmaker circles simply as “Voice,” and Gretchen was one of the best with it. When applied correctly, Voice could stop a charging water buffalo in its tracks—as well as soothe a raging Wand Master.