The Heir Chronicles Omnibus

by Cinda Williams Chima

  He sat back on his heels. “Go get Dr. Leicester,” he said to Bruce Hays, who was still hovering by the door.

  Hays hesitated. “You shouldn’t stay in here alone with . . .” He didn’t finish.

  Martin shook his head impatiently. “Just get him.”

  Bruce shrugged and left, bolting the door behind him.

  “How could you?” Martin asked, staring down at Seph’s face. “He was your son.”

  Hastings said nothing.

  They heard a fumbling at the door, someone in a hurry. It swung open and Gregory Leicester stalked in, followed by Bruce Hays, Warren Barber, and Peter Conroy. Hastings sat up and waited, hands on his knees.

  Without looking at Hastings, Leicester knelt next to Seph’s cot and ran his fingers over him, felt for a pulse, lifted his eyelids, touched the blueblack fingerprints at the base of his neck. He shook his head, his face a mask of anger.

  “Not so tender after all, are we, Hastings?” The wizard spat the words out, and stood.

  “I thought he was restrained,” Warren Barber said, his voice rising. “I thought he couldn’t do anything.”

  “It’s not that hard to kill a boy,” Hastings said, as if from experience. “Restrained or not.”

  “I would have expected you would find it hard to kill this boy,” Leicester said. “I guess I was wrong.” There was a grudging admiration in the flat gray eyes. “Now your Achilles heel is gone, much good it will do you now. But why come all this way to kill your son, when we would have done it for you?”

  Hastings shook his head. “No. I came to ransom him, remember? And you reneged on the deal. He was frightened of what lay ahead of him. He asked me to save him from it and I did.” He met Leicester’s eyes without remorse. “I spoke a few words over him, but could we get him a priest?”

  Leicester shook his head. “His immortal soul is your problem, Hastings, since you saw fit to free it.”

  “Then let me take care of the body, at least,” Hastings countered.

  Leicester hesitated, shaken by the loss of his hostage. Martin wondered if the headmaster would decide that now was the time to kill Hastings, before the conference started. No matter how powerful Hastings was, he knew they could do it, all of them together, the way Leicester used them before.

  But no. Dr. Leicester had other plans. He looked at Hastings, but spoke to the others in the room. “Hastings has proven himself to be dangerous, despite his restraints. Now that the boy is dead, I think we’d better chain him to the wall. Bruce and I will see to it. Warren, you and Martin and Peter take the body, weight it down, and throw it in the lake. We don’t want it resurfacing while our guests are here.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Second Sister

  Warren Barber wished Leicester had assigned someone else to the task of disposing of Joseph’s body. Perhaps Leicester didn’t trust Hall or Conroy not to do something foolish and sentimental. Like what? Saying a Rosary over the corpse? The kid was dead, after all.

  They’d carried the body down the path, through the woods past the grove to the far side of the island, where a low cliff descended directly into deep water. It was as far as possible from the dock and winery complex. Although the body wasn’t heavy, it made a long and awkward package, difficult to maneuver through the undergrowth and over the uneven terrain. They were hot, sweaty, and exhausted when they finally set their burden down at the edge of the cliff.

  Now what to use for weight. They’d brought a coil of rope along but couldn’t find anything suitable at the top of the cliff. Then Warren remembered the concrete blocks that had been used in the restoration work. “Go get a couple of those cinder blocks from the back of the winery,” he ordered the other two. “One for his head and one for his feet. I’ll keep an eye on Joseph, here.”

  “Why do we have to go?” Conroy whined, smacking at a mosquito.

  Hall stood over the corpse like he was ready to pick a fight. “We’ll stay with Seph. You go.” He’d been sullen and uncooperative all the way across the island. Warren hadn’t forgotten that Hall had pulled a knife on him at Christmas when Warren had gotten into it with McCauley.

  Warren sighed and rolled his eyes. “Look, idiots, he’s not going anywhere. We’ll all go. We can get something cold to drink while we’re down there.” They dragged Seph’s body into the underbrush next to the cliff face, and headed back toward the winery building.

  They returned forty-five minutes later, each carrying a block. Cutting two lengths of rope, they threaded them through the concrete and tied them securely. But when they went to retrieve the body, it was gone. Warren searched the underbrush in all directions, just to make sure.

  “D-do you think some kind of animal dragged him away?” Peter asked. Sweat rolled down his fat face, and he took a puff from his inhaler.

  “How the hell should I know?” Warren said peevishly. “Do I look like Tarzan?”

  “I don’t think there’s anything that big around here.” Martin had this earnest look on his face, like they were discussing some remotely interesting topic. “Coyotes and eagles and ospreys, maybe.”

  For a moment, the only sound was the wind in the trees and Peter’s wheezing. Then Warren said, “Look, not a word about any of this to Leicester. I’m not catching hell for losing a corpse. The story is, we threw McCauley in the lake. Understand?”

  Hall and Conroy nodded, wide-eyed.

  Seph came awake with a start, aware only of someone hovering over him. He swung out awkwardly with his fist, and his wrist was captured in a tight grip. “You’ll be sorry if you punch me with that hand,” Jason told him. When Seph relaxed, he released him. “About time you rejoined the living.”

  Seph lay in a muddle of blankets on a dirt floor. At first he thought he was still in the cellar, since the walls and ceiling of the room were made of stone. But light trickled in from an unseen source around a corner, and cool, moist air brushed his face. He sat up.

  He was in a cave that had been made over into living quarters. Cans and boxes of food were stacked against the wall, and a Coleman stove stood in one corner. Clothing was piled on top of a wooden crate, out of the dirt. Three large kerosene lamps lined the perimeter. Books and more boxes were heaped to the rear.

  “Nearly as posh as your old room at the Havens,” Seph said.

  Next to him, in contrast with the rest of the mess, was a neatly rolled bedroll, with a Cincinnati baseball cap on top.

  “Good morning, Witch Boy.”

  He turned so quickly, he slammed his elbow against the wall of the cave.

  “Madison!”

  She was dressed in a man’s shirt and blue jeans rolled at the bottoms. Her hair was caught back in a rubber band, and a red bandana was knotted at her neck. That was all he had time to see, and then she threw her arms around him. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again, or I’ll have your hide off in little bits,” she said.

  “Scare you?” He gripped her shoulders, holding her out for inspection. “Scare you? You disappeared. What happened to you? Where’ve you been?”

  “What happened to your hand?” She pulled his gauze-wrapped hand closer for inspection. “You treat me like I’m helpless, but you ...”

  He heard Jason’s voice from behind him. “Will you two stop flirting? You’re making me feel like three’s a crowd. Not that I don’t approve. If you’re going to wash ashore on an island, best to bring a woman along.”

  Maddie gave him the eye. “For . . . ?”

  Seph rubbed his elbow. “I’m serious. How did you and Jason find each other?”

  Maddie sat back and wrapped her arms around her knees. “After you left me in that hiding place, a half dozen witch men started poking around, so I had to sneak away. I saw them grab you, but there was nothing I could do against all of them.

  Jason sprawled onto a pile of blankets. “I found your friend here creeping up on the castle after I left you last night. And wasn’t I surprised to find out she could see unnoticeable me. I figured out who s
he was, based on Hastings’s description. So I invited her to be my guest in the villa, here.” He rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t easy to convince her. What were you thinking, Seph, taking up with a vampire who sucks magic from innocent wizards?”

  “I don’t trouble the innocent,” Madison drawled. “Keep your magic to yourself and we’ll get along.”

  “Where are we?” Seph whispered. He felt stiff and sore all over, and he was all scraped up, as if he’d been dragged through brambles. “What happened?”

  Jason grinned. “The portal stone worked like, well, like a charm. Just like back in the cove. Cold blooded, really, a father killing his own son. If I didn’t know better, I’d’ve been crying, myself. Leicester was so pissed. You keep slipping out of his hands, one way and another. Dying and such. Leicester sent the guys to throw your body in the lake. I intercepted them.”

  Seph looked up, alarmed. “You what?”

  “I thought I might have to fish you out of the water, but they left you alone while they went to get drinks.”

  “When Leicester hears about it, he’ll know something’s up.”

  “Trust me. He won’t hear about it. Leicester ain’t that forgiving of screwups.” Jason grinned, stretching out his thin body. “I don’t know why I can’t be the kind of hero who gets to live in the castle. It’s always the basement or the cave for me.”

  “But where are we?” Seph asked again.

  “We’re on the north side of the island, in a cave on the cliff face. Before the Civil War, they hid slaves here who were escaping to Canada. Then bootleg liquor during Prohibition. Now us. Take a look if you want.” Jason gestured toward the doorway.

  Seph rose shakily to his feet, hobbled to the entrance, and peered out. The opening looked straight out over the lake, toward Canada, he supposed. Far below, waves crashed against the rocks. There was a sheer cliff on either side. It was a dull, gray day, and the air was full of the smell of rain.

  “How’d you get down here?”

  “There’s sort of a path,” Jason said. He and Maddie had joined him at the entrance.

  “If it’s such a historical spot, aren’t you afraid someone else will find it?” Seph asked.

  Jason shook his head. “It was described in an old manuscript at the Great Lakes Museum. I stole it.” He leaned against the rock face. “Listen. There’s a boat coming from Trinity bringing reps to the conference today. That means it’s going back later this afternoon.”

  Seph shrugged. “So?”

  “We’re going to make you unnoticeable and put you on it, and then you’re out of here.”

  “Why me?”

  “I promised Hastings.”

  “What about Maddie?”

  “Well.” Jason scratched his head. “We can’t make Maddie unnoticeable. So I don’t know how we could sneak her on board, right in front of the winery.”

  Seph looked from Jason to Maddie. “You think I’m going to go and leave her here? It’s my fault she’s here in the first place.”

  “I jumped in the raft after you.” Maddie touched his arm. “I made a choice.”

  “Drowning in the lake is one thing. Gregory Leicester is another. You didn’t sign on for that.”

  “And you did?” Tendrils of hair had been ripped free by the wind and were spiraling about her face.

  Jason held up both hands. “Seph. In my book, saving somebody is better than saving nobody. They all think you’re dead. Just like me. Believe me, it’s very freeing. You can go wherever you want. No worries about Leicester and the others hunting you down.”

  “No.”

  “This could be a massacre. If you leave now, you can avoid it. Later, you can take your revenge. They won’t be expecting it. They won’t know what hit them.”

  Seph scowled. “I don’t want to take revenge for a massacre. I want to stop one.”

  Jason stared out at the horizon. “Easier said than done.”

  “Couldn’t we meet the boat when it arrives and warn them?” Maddie suggested. “Then we all leave together.”

  “What’s to keep Leicester from conjuring up another little storm?” Jason said. “He could bring the boat back here, or torch it, or send it to the bottom of the lake. Very tidy.”

  “Well.” Maddie thought a moment. “Then let’s call them and tell them to stay away.”

  “My cell phone doesn’t work. I haven’t seen any land lines on the island, not even in the winery.” Jason fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette, and sent a stream of smoke into the wind. “Tell you true, I don’t know if we can stop him. We have to split him from the alumni somehow. As long as he’s linked up with them, he’ll win any contest involving magic. We’d have to outsmart him.”

  “So we outsmart him. I’m not leaving,” Seph said.

  “Hastings is going to be pissed.”

  “Then let him.” The man finds out he’s my father and begins ordering me around, Seph thought. He fingered the dyrne sefa around his neck. “We can at least get Hastings . . . get my father out, can’t we?”

  Jason shook his head. “If we try and bust him out, they’ll know we’re here for sure. If they start looking, they’ll find us.”

  Maddie removed the elastic from her hair, combed her hair with her hands, and reapplied it. “You mean to tell me you and Mr. Hastings showed up here without any kind of a plan?”

  Jason stubbed his cigarette out on the wall of the cave and flicked the butt into a coffee can. “This is the plan, I’m sorry to say.” He turned to Seph. “Your father made a conscious decision to come after you. Knowing he was unlikely to make it out alive.”

  Seph recalled Hastings’s speech in the cellar. It definitely had elements of deathbed advice. “You mean he’s just giving up?”

  “I think he sees you as a kind of legacy. So even if he goes, well . . .” Jason cleared his throat and looked away.

  “You saw that thing they put around his neck. It’s called a gefyllan de sefa, created during the wizard wars as a counter to High Magic.”

  “What is it?” Seph asked. “Hastings said it drains magic.”

  “It means heart killer—it disables a wizard’s stone. Once it’s on, only the wizard who placed it can take it off. It will kill a wizard in about five days.”

  It does look like a castle, Linda thought, looking up at the building. The walk from the dock to the winery was lined with chrysanthemums and asters in containers. Someone had gone to considerable trouble to make the place attractive, even though it was the end of the season.

  Just inside the front door was a massive foyer. A young wizard stationed at a desk had keys for everyone. He introduced himself as Martin Hall, explaining that he was the viniculturist for the winery. In fact, the place was full of polite young wizards: the small, nervous man who played the grand piano in the foyer, the one who showed her to her room. She had the feeling Seph would have recognized them all.

  She asked Martin Hall if Dr. Leicester had arrived. After a moment of polite confusion, he said yes, indeed he had. So Leicester had been there for some time. That might mean Seph was somewhere on the property. If he was still alive.

  But where was Hastings? She’d not heard a word since he’d left to meet Leicester.

  “Could you tell Dr. Leicester I would like to meet with him this evening, before the conference begins?” She handed Martin a business card. “He’ll know the name.”

  Her room was furnished with antiques and reproductions, a four-poster bed with velvet curtains all around. The window overlooked the lake, although given the weather and the late hour, she couldn’t see much. But when she opened the window, she could hear the sound of water breaking on the rocks somewhere far below.

  She set up the laptop and spread the papers from her briefcase over the desk, including the two constitutions that had been put forward at the council meeting at the Legends: their own and the one introduced by Leicester and D’Orsay.

  Her thoughts spiraled away from the task at hand. Leicester probably wouldn’t make
a deal. Why should he? He held all the cards.

  There was a tap on the door. It was Martin Hall. “Dr. Leicester wonders if now would be a convenient time to meet.”

  Well. Leicester was certainly eager. “Now is fine,” Linda said. She picked up her portfolio and followed Martin down the stairs and into the back hallway. They took a couple of turns and then Martin ushered her into a walnut-paneled library.

  “Dr. Leicester will join you shortly.” Martin bowed himself out.

  Linda looked around the room. Bookshelves lined the walls, and there was a desk with computer equipment to one side. Someone had built a fire in the stone fireplace, and expensive rugs lay scattered on the floors. The scene looked familiar.

  She dug in the portfolio and pulled out the photographs of Seph that Leicester had sent to Hastings. Yes. They’d been taken here, in the library. So Seph had been here recently, perhaps just a day or two ago. She studied the pictures. He stood near the door, looking vulnerable and cold, his hair wet and plastered against his head.

  “Welcome to Second Sister.” Linda jumped when she heard the voice behind her. She swung around to see Gregory Leicester framed in the doorway, wearing a sweater and jeans, deck shoes and no socks. He made no attempt to hide the fact that he was very much at home. Instinctively, she moved out toward the center of the room, where there was more room to maneuver, less chance of being trapped against the wall. He moved to the sideboard, chose a bottle, uncorked it with a practiced hand, and poured two glasses. He handed one to Linda.

  “Try this. It’s a Sauvignon blanc. Something new for us.”

  She sipped at it. “A little sweet for me.” This is your son’s kidnapper, she thought. This is the torturer of children.

  “I’ll have Martin pour something drier tomorrow night,” Leicester said. He paused. “I was glad to hear you were coming.”

  “I expect you would be, since you engineered it,” she said. She turned the wineglass in her hands. “Where is Seph?”