The Sorcerer Heir

by Cinda Williams Chima

  “I play a little guitar,” Emma said, then dared to add, “and piano.”

  “Well, then,” Aunt Millie said. “Perhaps we can have a recital after dinner.”

  “Well, I—”

  Leesha took Emma’s elbow, tugging her away. “We’ll see, Aunt Millie.”

  They walked down a marble-floored hallway, trimmed in pink and purple. It resembled a bubblegum cathedral.

  “Look, I’m sorry about my aunt,” Leesha said, her cheeks still flaming. “She has no filter.”

  “At least you always know what she’s thinking,” Emma said. “I’m a little tired of secrets, to tell you the truth.”

  Leesha rolled her eyes. “You’ve heard the expression TMI? Sometimes you don’t need to know.” But she said it in the way you talk about a vintage guitar that’s always going out of tune, but you love it anyway.

  “Maybe I should get a look at the kitchen and see what kind of food is on hand,” Emma said, to change the subject. “I was thinking I should plan on making dinner mostly, since it’s going to be hard for me to make breakfast or lunch. If it’s all right, I’ll make a list, and you can look it over.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Leesha said casually. “Barbara’s off on the weekends, so we’ll order takeout.”

  “Who’s Barbara?”

  “The cook and housekeeper.”

  “But I thought you—”

  “We’re looking for more of a companion than a cook,” Leesha said. “It will take all three of us to keep an eye on Aunt Millie.”

  Emma mulled this over, trying to decide whether she’d been offered charity in the guise of a job. Beggars can’t be choosers, she thought.

  Leesha’s house was so big that Emma guessed they never had to see each other if they didn’t want to. Emma practically had a wing to herself. It even had its own small kitchen area and a private entrance.

  “When the house was first built, this was meant to be a guest suite or servants’ quarters,” Leesha said.

  Am I a servant or a guest? Emma thought, but didn’t say aloud.

  She and Leesha carried in the rest of her things, which didn’t take long. She arranged her meager wardrobe in the closet and put Tyler’s notebook on the empty bookshelf by its lonely self.

  “What’s that?” Leesha pointed.

  “Oh. My father wrote out tablature—guitar music and lyrics—for a lot of old blues songs and ballads,” Emma said, realizing that she hadn’t really looked at it since she’d brought it back from Tyler’s. She’d been so busy learning the Fault Tolerant playlist that she’d nearly forgotten about it.

  “So he was a musician, too?” Leesha said, running a polished fingernail over the binding.

  “Yes,” Emma said. “He was.” The room got a little gloomier, as if a cloud had passed over the sun.

  Now it was Leesha’s turn to change the subject. “So you decided to commute to the Anchorage for school after all?”

  “If the weather’s too nasty, I just won’t go,” Emma said, pulling stacks of T-shirts out of her duffel and layering them into the dresser drawer. “But I need to stay there for school. With my track record, it won’t help to be changing schools again.” Unpacking her backpack, she plunked her math textbook onto the desk. “I wouldn’t mind dropping this class, though,” she muttered. “Which reminds me. I’ve got homework to do for tomorrow.”

  “Oh!” Leesha said. “I’m sorry if I put you behind with—”

  “Don’t worry,” Emma said. “You’re not the problem. I mean, I could work on it all night and I still won’t figure it out.”

  As far as Emma was concerned, the conversation was over, but Leesha made no move to leave. Instead, she sat down on the edge of the bed. “I was hoping I could ask you some questions about savants.”

  “Oh,” Emma said, embarrassed. “I probably know the least of anybody.”

  “Don’t assume that,” Leesha said. “Most gifted just don’t know much about Thorn Hill. It’s like the whole thing was buried. I lived in the UK at the time it happened, but still. I heard nothing about it until I came here.”

  “What do you want to know?” Emma said.

  “Okay. A preschool class from Trinity was kidnapped in downtown Cleveland. The kids say it was zombies. So, I’m wondering...if you’ve ever heard anything about zombies at the Anchorage. You know—corpses up and running around. The walking dead, like that.”

  “Zombies?”

  “Just bear with me,” Leesha said, picking at the bedspread. “I have reason to think they’re telling the truth.”

  “You think the poison turned us into zombies? That’s what people are saying?” Emma’s voice was rising, and she struggled to bring it back under control.

  “That’s what some people are saying. There’s two versions. Some of the kids said that the zombies were led by a boy dressed in black with a sword. Others said the boy with the sword was fighting the zombies and protecting the kids.”

  Emma glared at Leesha long enough to suggest just how crazy that was. “Okay, now, remember, I haven’t been there that long. But I’ve never seen any zombies at the Anchorage. I’ve just seen a lot of kids who were badly hurt by whatever happened at Thorn Hill. And some that could pass for normal at any regular school. And some who are really, really gifted in different ways.”

  “You don’t have to convince me,” Leesha said, backtracking. “I’ve heard the band, remember? I’ve met Jonah Kinlock and Natalie Diaz. Still, as soon as the kidnapping happened, some of the gifted here in Trinity were ready to blame it on the Anchorage—because it happened close by.”

  “Is that why they blew up one of the buildings?”

  Leesha’s eyes widened. “I heard about that on the news. Are you sure it was someone from here?” she asked, leaning forward, hands on knees.

  She sure isn’t afraid of the truth, Emma thought, with grudging admiration. “We can’t prove it. But that’s what we suspect.”

  “See?” Leesha rolled her eyes. “Both sides are doing it. Jumping to conclusions. Somehow, we have to break that cycle.”

  Giving up on putting clothes away, Emma leaned her hips back against the dresser, arms folded, lips pressed together to keep herself from saying something like, When did I turn into we?

  “So. Leaving off zombies, is there anything else you want to know?”

  Leesha seemed to be casting about for a less tricky subject. “You’re a savant. If you were originally a sorcerer, then...what’s your gift now?”

  “Music, I guess,” Emma said. “And woodworking. It’s the only thing I know, the only thing I’ve ever been good at. Any other magical thing I had going on must’ve been turned off.”

  “What if you could choose what gifts you had?” Leesha said, a wistful look in her eyes. “What would you pick?”

  “I’d still pick music,” Emma said. “No point in thinking about anything else.” She hesitated. She wasn’t used to prying in other people’s business. “What gift would you choose?”

  “I’d like to be able to go back in time and change the past,” Leesha said. “So if you mess up, you can fix it.” Just for a moment, the shutters opened, revealing pain and guilt.

  “If you used to live in the UK, then how did you end up here?” Emma asked, thinking she should change the subject.

  “Back in the day, the wizard houses used these brutal tournaments between warriors to allocate power. Warriors died in droves, and the few warriors left were in hiding. Word got out that there was a warrior hidden in Trinity. I came here to find him.”

  “Jack Swift?”

  Leesha nodded. “He was, like, a junior in high school, and this was all news to him. So. I betrayed him to some people who planned to auction him off to the highest bidder.”

  “What?” Emma stared at Leesha. “But—but—but—”

  “Full disclosur
e: I am a terrible person. I guess I should have told you before you moved in here.”

  Emma figured it was safest not to say anything.

  “I didn’t learn my lesson,” Leesha said. “After running around Europe for a while, I got involved in another nasty scheme. I came back here, and that’s when I fell in love with Jason Haley. He was a wizard, another banged-up survivor—we had a lot in common.” She cleared her throat. “It was the best thing that ever happened to me. But I was in a bind, and I betrayed him. And when he found out, he dumped me. Which he totally should have.” Leesha looked up at Emma, and cleared her throat. “Then he was killed in the Battle of Trinity. That was a big battle between wizards and a coalition of the other guilds two years ago.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Emma said, wishing she knew what to say. She wasn’t used to these heart-to-hearts. The only conversations she had were the practical kind that got you from A to B.

  “I never got to say I’m sorry. Not really.” Leesha touched a pendant that hung from a chain around her neck. “Words can hurt,” she said, “but sometimes it’s the words you never got to say that hurt the most.”

  “Well,” Emma said, “there’s nothing you can do to change the past.”

  “You’re right,” Leesha said. “But there might be something I can do about the future. More and more, I’m thinking that what happened at Thorn Hill needs to be talked about. That it’s still affecting us now. That it might be destroying whatever hopes we have of peace. It’s kind of like when they whitewash history in school, and so you make the same mistakes all over again.”

  “What do you care about savants?” Emma hunched her shoulders, trying to recall when she’d begun feeling like a part of that group. “I mean, nobody else around here seems to.”

  “I don’t care about savants,” Leesha said. “Not savants in particular. I just don’t think I can stand any more bloodshed. See, I’ve already survived one magical battle. The boy I loved gave his life to end it. That was supposed to be his legacy—permanent peace among the Weirguilds.” She sucked in a quick, shuddery breath. “Well, guess what? It’s two years later, and we’re going down that same road again unless somebody does something. And if we go to war again, it’ll mean that Jason died for nothing. I won’t have it. I just won’t.”

  Ever since Halloween, Emma had been both longing for and dreading the next practice session with Fault Tolerant. Now that it was here, she was ricocheting between anticipation and worry.

  It wouldn’t be on neutral ground. Most bands practice at the drummer’s house or wherever the drum kit lives. In this case, it lived in Oxbow, in the practice room that Natalie had claimed as her own. Just downstairs from where Emma’s apartment still stood vacant. Downstairs from Jonah Kinlock’s suite.

  And yet, despite everything, Emma’s return to that practice room on the ground floor produced a stomach swoop of nostalgia. Though Emma hadn’t even been a part of the band for all that long, this was her musical home in Cleveland—the only place she’d recaptured even a sliver of what she had in Memphis. It was one thing to be in a classroom with Jonah, where he made himself as invisible as an enchanter could be. But music—good music—was by its nature an intimate act. And intimacy with Jonah Kinlock was dangerous in every way.

  “I’m doing this for me,” she told herself, several times, on her way from her last class to Oxbow. Self-interest—wasn’t that what Jonah had said? They’d scheduled their practice right after school, so Emma could get home in time to help with dinner. That was the excuse she offered, anyway.

  When she walked into the practice room, Natalie was crouched next to her drum kit, fussing with her bass pedal. Rudy was set up already. He’d draped his long body over a couch in the corner, oblivious to his surroundings, cocooned within the music coming through his headphones.

  Alison’s appearance came as something of a shock. It hadn’t been that long since Emma had seen her, but she looked pounds thinner, her hair hanging in lank strands, purple shadows under her eyes.

  She recalled what Natalie had said about fading. Was that what was happening to Alison? If so, didn’t anyone else notice? Or was there nothing to be done?

  Alison was at full strength when it came to one thing: attitude. She did a deliberate double-take when Emma thunked down her guitar case.

  “Well, well. Look who’s here. Thought you’d ditched us for sure.”

  “I might have,” Emma said, kneeling next to her guitar and flicking open the catches with her thumbs. “Lord knows I tried, but I couldn’t find a better band to be in.”

  A thin smile broke onto Alison’s face, like the way the sun pokes through cloud. “All right, then,” she said, nodding. “Glad we got that cleared up.”

  “Did Jonah send you the new stuff?” Natalie asked, as usual all business. Or maybe just eager to get past an awkward moment.

  If he had, Emma hadn’t opened it. She shook her head. “I haven’t seen it.”

  “Jonah and Kenzie have been on a songwriting spree,” Natalie said. “They’ve been writing some of their best stuff ever.” She paused, a shadow flickering over her face. “I’ll have him run through some of it when he gets here.”

  They say you call the devil by naming him. And so, here he was, shouldering through the door, carrying a guitar in either hand. He was using the same strategy as he did in class: last to arrive and first to leave. He’d wait until the scene was blocked, every other player in position before he took his place at his mark. He seemed to think he could come and go unnoticed that way, but Emma noticed. Jonah was like a splinter in your finger—there was no way not to notice him.

  His cheeks were pinked up from the cold—it was nearly Thanksgiving after all. He wore a heavy barn coat, a muffler, jeans, and boots.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said, setting the guitars down. He unwound the muffler and shed the coat, tossing them over the back of a chair. He stripped off his heavy outdoor gloves, switching them out for a pair of his trademark gloves. His heavy cotton sweater covered up the landscape of his body, making it just a bit less distracting. His jeans, though. His jeans...

  Emma didn’t do drugs, but if there were a drug that would stop her wanting Jonah Kinlock, she’d gladly take it. At least he was careful never to make eye contact with Emma, as if knowing the touch of his eyes might cause her pain.

  “I was telling Emma about your new material,” Natalie said. “She can’t wait to hear it.” Which was putting words in Emma’s mouth, even though they were true.

  “I sent the files to everyone,” Jonah said, lifting out the DragonFly and cradling it in his arms. “I was hoping you’d all get a chance to check them out and see if they’re worth practice time.”

  “Just finished,” Rudy said, having emerged from his fog of music to join the rest of them. “I’m on board. Let’s do it.”

  “I think ‘Untouchable’ is the strongest of the new work, Jonah,” Natalie said. “Why don’t you run through it once so Emma can hear it, and we can begin putting this thing together.”

  Jonah shifted his weight from foot to foot, his long fingers caressing the frets, his other hand flat against the strings to keep them from sounding. “Maybe she could just listen to the MP3 file first? And then we could—”

  “Oh, don’t be a baby, Kinlock,” Alison said, swinging her guitar into position. “You don’t have to go it alone. I’ve been working on the bass line, and I’m sure Nat has worked out the percussion three different ways.”

  “Alison’s right. We’re all going to sit here until you do,” Natalie added. “I’ve got”—she looked at her tablet—“two hours before I have to be in clinic.”

  Jonah must’ve known he was outnumbered. With a sigh, he flipped the guitar strap over his shoulder and looped it over the pin. “Open G,” he said to Alison and Emma. He plugged into the amp, checked the tuning, and, then, with a rush of chords, he began to sing.


  Imagine what it’s like to be (untouchable)

  Better not take a chance on me (untouchable)

  I’m the bad boy your mama told you about

  I’m dangerous, without a doubt

  Even coming off a ten-year drought

  Untouchable.

  By the end of the first stanza, Alison had added in a simple bass line and Natalie was working her brushes. Emma didn’t even try on this first round. She felt flattened by the music and the message.

  I’m the rose with hidden thorns (untouchable)

  Don’t tell me that you haven’t been warned (untouchable)

  I’m pretty poison under the skin,

  The bite of the apple that’s a mortal sin

  In a game of love you’ll never win

  Untouchable.

  My reputation’s fairly earned (untouchable)

  If you play with fire, you will get burned (untouchable)

  Stay out of the kitchen if you can’t take the heat,

  My kisses are deadly as they are sweet,

  I’m a runaway bus on a dead-end street

  Untouchable.

  Fools rush in, that’s what they say (untouchable)

  But angels fall, too, most every day (untouchable)

  I’m the snake in the garden, the siren on the reef

  I have the face of a saint and the heart of a thief

  I’ll promise you love, and bring you nothing but grief

  Untouchable.

  Hearing Jonah sing this was like watching him slice himself open and show off his insides. Why would he do that? Why would he write such a song?

  And then Emma answered her own question. Because good music always tells the truth, no matter how much it hurts.

  Emma couldn’t be the only one who felt the bite of the blade, but everyone else seemed to take it in stride. Did they know? Did they all know about Jonah?

  Of course they did. They were there when it happened. They’d allowed Jonah to keep the secrets that were most important to him. She knew she shouldn’t resent that, but she still did. They must have known she was falling for him. They must have.