Free Wolf Island by Darren Shan Page A

unremarkable teenager. I’m not too bothered. I find most of their conversation pretty boring — weapons,
     planes, helicopters, war, battle tactics. I’m happy to be excluded.
    I spend my spare time experimenting, testing my powers. I don’t know how much I’m capable of doing on this world, in the absence
     of magical energy. I want to find out what my limits are, so as not to exceed them and leave myself exposed.
    I’m pretty good at moving objects. Size doesn’t seem to matter — I can slide a heavy oak wardrobe across the floor as easily
     as a telephone. I spend a couple of hours moving things around. I’m pretty beat by the end, and not back to full health until
     the next morning. It’s reassuring that I can recharge, but worrying that it takes so long once I’ve been drained.
    Other maneuvers are more demanding. I can heighten my senses — to eavesdrop on a conversation, or view a scene from a few
     miles away — but that takes a lot of effort and quickly eats into my resources. I can’t change shape, but I can make myself
     partially invisible for a very short time. I can create fire and freeze objects, but again those demand a lot of me. I can
     shoot off several bolts of magical energy, but I’m good for nothing for hours afterwards.
    There are all sorts of compensating spells that I could make use of if I knew them. But I refused to dabble in magic when
     I lived with Dervish and I didn’t need spells in the Demonata universe — if a spell was required there, Beranabus took care
     of it. He wasn’t interested in training Kernel or me, just in using us to bully and kill demons.
    I wish I’d demanded more of Beranabus and Dervish. Mages can do a lot with a few subtle spells. As a magician I could do even
     more. I get Meera to teach me some simple incantations, but we don’t have time to cover much ground.
    I worry about my uncle constantly. What’s he doing? Where is he? Time moves differently in the other universe, usually faster
     or slower than here. Years might have passed for him, or only minutes. Is he alive or dead? I’ve no way of knowing. Beranabus
     taught me how to open windows, so I could go and find them. But I couldn’t guarantee how long that would take.
    I have to remain here until our mission’s over. I’m the reason the others are involved, the one who vowed to track down Prae
     Athim and uncover the truth. I can’t cut out early. That would be the selfish act of a child, which I’m not. I’m a Disciple.
     We see things through to the end. No matter how scared and alone we feel.
    Four days pass. Everyone’s impatient for news, but Timas refuses to provide us with partial updates. On the few occasions
     that Shark barges into Antoine’s office and demands answers, the reply is always the same. “I’ll summon you promptly when
     I’ve concluded my investigations.”
    Timas finally reaches that conclusion shortly before dawn on the fifth day. Shark hammers on our door, waking us all, then
     sticks his head in and shouts, “The office! Now!”
    Five minutes later we’re all huddled around Timas and his computers. We’re bleary-eyed, hair all over the place, typical early
     morning messes. Except Timas. As far as I know, he’s worked almost nonstop since I last saw him, sleeping only two or three
     hours a night. But he looks as perky as an actor in a TV commercial.
    “I’ve found them,” he says without any preliminaries. “They’re on an island. It has no official name, but the Lambs nicknamed
     it Wolf Island. Prae Athim purchased it through a fifth-generation contact several years ago.”
    “What’s a fifth-generation contact?” I ask.
    “A contact of a contact of a contact of a contact of a contact,” Timas intones. “She conducts most of her business that way,
     making it almost impossible to trace anything back to her personally.
Almost,
” he repeats with a justifiably smug smile.
    “Where’s the island?” Shark grunts.
    Timas passes him a