The Sorcerer Heir

by Cinda Williams Chima

  After school, she’d snuck into the woodshop at the Anchorage and spent several hours working. It was kind of aimless—she had three different projects, and she didn’t make a whole lot of progress on any one of them, but to be honest, it was more about the work than anything else. It wasn’t like she was going to be selling guitars any time soon. And she could only play one guitar at a time.

  Once she got herself sweaty and totally gritty, she shook the wood chips out of her hair and walked over to the fancy grocery around the corner. There was a little café there, and it was the last place anyone would expect to find Emma, which was the whole point.

  Leesha had been calling and leaving messages for Jonah for two days, hoping to persuade him to meet with the task force. He never responded. She’d asked Emma to bring it up with him after class, but Jonah wasn’t in class, and he wasn’t answering his phone. He was like a ghost lately, more absent than present since the attack. It was like he knew, with that spooky sixth sense of his, what she wanted to talk to him about.

  There was no hope of persuading him to come, anyway. Why would he? And yet, she couldn’t help thinking that sooner or later the whole thing would blow up, and everything and everyone she cared about would be destroyed. Maybe it would’ve happened already if the magical guilds could agree on anything. They were so busy having at each other that they wouldn’t recognize the truth if they stumbled over it.

  And now Emma didn’t want to return to Trinity, and it didn’t feel right to be at the Anchorage, so she was hanging out in no-man’s land, waiting for who knows what.

  What she should do is try to find her mother. Only she didn’t know where to start. She woke her screen, and searched on Gwyneth Hart. Nothing. She tried Gwen Hart. Nothing. Which was what she’d found the last time she tried it. And that about summed up what she knew about finding a person.

  Kenzie. He knew how to find things online. Maybe by now, he’d had a chance to look over Tyler’s notebook. And while she was there, she could ask him for wisdom about Jonah.

  When Kenzie’s phone went to voice mail, she was all out of ideas. “Hi, Kenzie,” she said. “I wondered if you had a chance to look over that notebook I gave you. I’m here in town, and thought I could pick it up if you’re done with it. And I had a couple things I wanted to ask you about. I’ll be here for maybe another hour.”

  A few minutes later, Emma’s phone pinged. A text from Kenzie.

  I’ll give it to Jonah to give back to you.

  But I wanted to see you, too, she texted back.

  This time, there was a long delay before he replied.

  Not possible. My agoraphobia is flaring up.

  Your what?

  What don’t you understand about no?

  No, I understand. Agorawhatever, I don’t.

  Then, no.

  Are you all right?”

  No response.

  I’m coming up there. I want to see for myself how you are.

  A moment later, her phone rang. “I don’t need you to check on me,” Kenzie spat. “I’m in a damned nursing home, wired up to a dozen monitors. I can’t take a dump without somebody weighing and measuring it. If you want to know how I am, just look at the data.”

  “Please,” Emma said. “Let me come up.”

  “To do what? Change my nappy?”

  “I’m just...I’m your friend,” Emma said, her voice hitching. “I just want to—”

  “It’s time to start letting go of me.”

  “I’ll call someone,” Emma said. “I’ll call Gabriel. Or Natalie. They can—”

  “No!” Kenzie sounded a little panicked. “Don’t. Please don’t call anyone. If you want to help, don’t call anyone.”

  “But I want to—”

  “You want to hand off the responsibility. You want to make yourself feel better. If you call Nat or Gabriel, they’ll move me to Safe Passage. I’m not going to do that to Jonah.”

  “Wh-what do you mean, Safe Passage? What does Jonah have to do with it?”

  Kenzie said nothing for a long moment. Then said, “Harry, hang up the phone.” Emma heard the soft click as Harry complied.

  This time of night, Steel Wool reminded Jonah of a sleeping patient—lights out on the outside, shades closed, dim lights burning on the inside. All of the essential functions continued unseen, under the skin of its walls.

  Jonah didn’t call first. He didn’t intend to give Kenzie the chance to say no. If his brother was sleeping comfortably, he wouldn’t wake him.

  When he eased open the door to Kenzie’s room, it was dark, save for the light from the cinema display on his desk. Kenzie was in bed, lying on his side, covers kicked off, wearing only his pajama pants.

  Jonah could hear his brother’s labored breathing. He could feel Kenzie’s pain clear across the room. He ghosted forward, his heart thudding in his throat, until he was at Kenzie’s bedside, looking down at him. His fine brown hair was plastered to his head, and his face glistened with sweat. His headphones lay next to him on the bed.

  Kenzie didn’t open his eyes, but he said, “Emma ratted on me, didn’t she?”

  “She totally did,” Jonah said, sitting on the side of the bed. He put his hand on Kenzie’s shoulder, and his brother’s fear and desperation rocketed through him.

  Kenzie twitched. “And here...I thought...we had an understanding.”

  “If you want to blame someone, blame me,” Jonah said.

  “That’s my Jonah,” Kenzie rasped. “Always takes the blame for everything. Have I ever told you that you have a martyr complex?”

  “Incessantly,” Jonah said. He stroked Kenzie’s hair away from his forehead, realizing that the magic that had always burned over-brightly within Kenzie was nearly out.

  “See?” Kenzie said, holding up a trembling hand. “No sparks. I’m much easier to be with when I’m dying.”

  Jonah bit back a protest, a denial. That would be condescending. They’d always been honest with each other, at least.

  “How long have you been this way?”

  “Couple days.” Kenzie licked his cracked lips.

  “Was it the blood magic?” Jonah asked. “Is this some kind of a reaction or—?”

  “I think I just have a hell of a hangover,” Kenzie said.

  Why didn’t you tell me? Jonah wanted to ask, but he bit back the words, because he knew the answer to that question.

  “You don’t have your music on?”

  Kenzie shook his head. “It just doesn’t cut it anymore. I thought I’d turn it off for a while, and then when I turn it back on, it’ll feel like relief.”

  “Can I get you something else? Do you still have a PRN order for pain meds?”

  “I’m maxed out for this building,” Kenzie said, leaving unspoken the truth they both knew—that Gabriel didn’t want to risk overdosing anyone before Jonah did his thing.

  “Where does it hurt?” Jonah asked.

  Kenzie held up his hand, extending his middle finger. “That’s the only part that doesn’t hurt,” he said.

  “Well, then,” Jonah said, shedding his jacket. “We’ll just have to use the nuclear option.”

  “What’s the nuclear option?” Kenzie asked suspiciously as Jonah removed his boots, setting them neatly at the side of the bed. Lifting up the covers, he slid in next to Kenzie.

  “Wh-what—no!!” Kenzie cried. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “This is the nuclear option,” Jonah said.

  “I told you,” Kenzie said, scooting to the far side of the bed. “I’m not doing Safe Passage. I am not going to let you—”

  “I’m not going to kill you, bro,” Jonah said. “Not unless you keep whining. Turn around, so we’re like spoons. I promise not to nibble your ear.”

  “Get out of my bed, Jonah,” Kenzie spluttered. “You know how
open-minded I am, but—this is really kinky. People will talk.”

  Jonah resorted to pleading. “Please, Kenzie. Let me try this. If it doesn’t work, we’ll never speak of it again.”

  “Just...be careful,” Kenzie said. “No kissing, all right? I don’t want to have your guilt over my death on my conscience.” Still grumbling, he turned onto his side, and Jonah pulled him up against his body. Gingerly, he wrapped his arms around his brother, pretending not to notice that he was skin and bones. Breathing out slowly, trying to relax, Jonah thought, Let me help somebody for once. Whatever gift I have, let me use it to help my brother.

  It helped that Jonah had seen it work before with Emma and with Mose. It took a little time, but gradually, Kenzie’s rigid body relaxed, his hands unclenched as the pain dulled, faded, until it was just a faint ache.

  “Better?” Jonah whispered, though he already knew that it was.

  “Fishing for praise? That’s not like you.” Kenzie paused, and the snark drained right out of him. “Yes. It’s much better. Thank you. Too bad you can’t bottle that. You’d be totally rich.” He was silent for so long that Jonah thought he might have drifted off to sleep. “Can you return something to Emma?”

  “You have something of hers?”

  “She leant me a notebook,” he said. “Full of songs. Remember? That night we were jamming and you interrupted us?”

  “Oh. Right. And now you want to give it back?”

  “Yeah,” Kenzie said. “It’s over there, lying next to the computer.”

  “Okay,” Jonah said. “Any message for Emma?”

  “There’s a note in the binder,” Kenzie whispered. “I’ve annotated the pages.” After another long pause, he said, “Sing to me?”

  “Sing what?”

  “One of our songs. Singer’s choice.”

  And so Jonah sang.

  Emma had finished a second peppermint drink and a large cinnamon roll by the time Jonah texted her back.

  He’s doing better. I’m going to stay with him a while longer. Thank you.

  Emma was desperate for more information, but knew there would be none, so she had no excuse to hang around.

  There’s no point in worrying about something you can’t do anything about. That was one of Sonny Lee’s favorite sayings. It didn’t work for Emma Greenwood anymore.

  You are in way over your head, she thought.

  Emma pulled on her coat and gathered up her things, then threaded her way to the front of the store and out onto the street. She was so distracted that it took her a moment to collect her thoughts and remember where she’d left her car. Oh. Right. Parking lot on Fourth. Only suppertime, but it was already dark. A light snow was falling, sparkling like glitter in the lights from the restaurants and clubs.

  As she walked, the crowds thinned. She turned off the sidewalk, into the parking lot where she’d left her car. There were only a few cars in the lot—all coated in snow, so maybe they’d been there all day. Emma took her usual look-around before she went to unlock the door of the Element. That’s when she noticed the black SUV parked, lights out, motor running, on the far side of the lot. The kind of car that crowds other cars off the road.

  Every street instinct she had screamed Bad news! Fumbling for her keys, she dropped them in the snow. She groped for them as she heard car doors slamming across the parking lot. She tried to jam her key into the lock and missed, scraping metal on metal. She looked up to find four wizards closing in on her from all sides.

  Time slowed to a crawl as Emma scanned the deserted street. Even if there had been people there, she wasn’t sure how much protection they would be against wizards.

  She knew she wouldn’t be able to get the door open and slide inside before they were on her. Planting her back against the driver’s door, she flipped her key chain case up into her hand. The one with the pepper spray and the built-in siren. As she flipped off the safety, one of the wizards jetted flame at her, engulfing her hand, setting her glove on fire.

  Screaming, Emma dropped the charred mess of a key chain and ripped at her glove, sucking at her fingers, which felt like they were still on fire. When her mouth caught fire, too, she realized that her hands were soaked in pepper spray. Turning, she plowed into the nearest wizard, swearing like a roadie, thrusting her pepper-sprayed fingers into his eyes.

  Howling, he let go of her, and she almost got away, but slipped on the snowy pavement and nearly fell, and by the time she got back on her feet there were three sets of hands on her, pinning her arms. She felt power pouring into her like hot metal, heard wizards mumbling all around her, while she kicked and bit and screamed and struggled.

  One of them managed to wrestle a hood over her head, then picked her up and shoved her into the backseat of the car. She could smell the leather seats through the hood, so strong she knew it was a new car. Pushing off with her feet, she tried to scramble to the door on the other side, but there was yet another body in the way. She threw out her elbow, aiming blindly, and somebody gripped her arm. Another wizard, judging by the sting.

  “Stop it, Emma,” he said. “This is a waste of time. Don’t you know when to give up?”

  It was Rowan DeVries—she recognized his voice. That surprised her enough that she stopped struggling.

  “Don’t you ever surrender?” he demanded, alive and well and sounding pissed.

  “No,” Emma said finally, wrenching her arm away. “I don’t surrender. So why don’t you just leave me alone?”

  “I will,” he said, “after we talk.”

  “Can’t you get it through your head that I don’t want to talk to you? Anyway, everybody says you’re dead. Where have you been?”

  “I’ve had some serious health problems,” Rowan said. “Maybe you heard? In my line of business, if you can’t defend yourself, it’s best to go into hiding.”

  The other wizards climbed in, too, doors slamming all around.

  “What’s with the posse?” Emma said.

  “Associates,” Rowan said. “Don’t worry, they’ll keep their distance unless they believe I’m in danger.”

  “From me?”

  “I don’t know,” Rowan replied. “You tell me.”

  “You were right,” one of the thugs said. “Conjury doesn’t seem to work on her.”

  “Hmmm,” Rowan said. “Use of direct magic does, though. Interesting.” He shifted on the seat as he leaned forward. “Let’s go,” he said. The car clumped over the curb, and down to street level.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Not far,” Rowan said. “Your boyfriend’s not the only one who can have a top-secret hideout.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Coconspirator?”

  “He’s not that either. Anyway, why should I talk to you?”

  “I don’t want you to,” he said. “Not right now.” And then he wouldn’t say anything else.

  It wasn’t far. In fact, Emma suspected they took the long way around to make it seem farther. The car rolled to a stop, and she heard a clatter and bang, like steel doors slamming open, then the hum of machinery—maybe a second set of doors. The car eased forward, and the street sounds disappeared, so she knew they were inside a building.

  Once the doors were shut she could hear nothing from the outside at all. The car rolled to a stop, the engine cut off, and automatic door locks clicked all around.

  “All right, Emma,” Rowan said. “You can uncover your eyes.”

  As she pulled the hood off, the rest of them piled out of the car. Emma scrambled out after them, blinking in the dim light. They were parked against one wall of an industrial building with a poured concrete floor, like a garage.

  “This way.” Rowan led them toward the other end of the building, walking with a bit of a limp. A set of doors opened into an office and living area. Here, the wide oak floorboards and
battered brick walls said that the building was vintage, probably turn of the last century.

  It was warmer in here than in the outer warehouse. Computer equipment was everywhere, video displays and keyboards, like it was some kind of command post. Emma thought of the mini armory in Jonah’s room.

  Rowan stripped off his jacket and hung it on a hook by the door, then turned to face her. He stuck out his hand. “May I take your coat?”

  “I’ll keep it on,” Emma said. “It’s cold in here, and I won’t be staying long, anyway.” She’d put her street face on, and hoped she looked more confident than she was. He’s not going to hurt me, she told herself. He wants something from me.

  Rowan shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He looked different—thinner than before, almost hollow-cheeked, purple smudges under his eyes. He wore blue jeans and a sweatshirt, which somehow made him look younger despite his worn-out appearance. She noticed a new scar, still pink and puffy, that ran down the side of his neck and under his collar.

  “This your hideout?” Emma asked.

  “One of them.”

  “It’s not nearly as nice as your old place,” she started to say, when she heard the faint clamor of a lift bridge alarm. She looked up, startled, and met Rowan’s eyes. She didn’t say it—she didn’t have to. They were within shouting distance of the Anchorage. Was this really a hideout or the launch point for an ambush?

  “In here.” Rowan led her through another set of doors, into an inner office. He closed and locked the door behind them, then circled the room, hand extended, murmuring charms. When he pointed in Emma’s direction, she flinched—she couldn’t help it.

  He snorted in disgust. “I’m just making sure we’re not overheard,” he said. “Anyway, why are you worried, if conjury doesn’t work on you?”

  She displayed her hand, which was already blistering up between her thumb and forefinger and was throbbing like crazy. “Is there someplace I can run this under cold water?”