He spoke to all three of them, but the message was intended for Seph. Ellen and Jack nodded, but Seph merely leaned back against the steps, closing his eyes. He’d had a revelation. Leander Hastings doesn’t trust me, Seph thought. That’s what this is all about.
On the first day of the council meeting, Seph set his alarm and woke up early in his aerie of a bedroom. Since the ill-fated picnic, he’d seen Linda’s bodyguards following him around and pretended not to notice. Today, he hoped to shake off his shadow by leaving the house before anyone was up.
He pulled on his shorts and T-shirt, then rooted in the back corner of his underwear drawer, retrieving a small ceramic bottle with a crystal stopper. He slid it into his pocket and padded downstairs. When he reached the second floor, he saw that Jack’s door was open and his bed was made. Seph glanced up and down the hallway, stepped inside Jack’s room, and closed the door. He crouched down next to the bed.
Jack’s sword, Shadowslayer, was underneath, in its case. Seph knew better than to touch that. Will and Fitch had helped Jack dig it out of a warrior’s grave. Fitch said he’d nearly been torched when he tried to open the case.
Seph slid his hand between the mattress and box spring and pulled out a short knife in a sheath. It was not Jack’s weapon of choice, but he’d used it the day Seph arrived in Trinity. Seph shoved it under his T-shirt, into the waist of his jeans. He liked having it there. It made him feel as if he were finally going to take action, instead of sitting and waiting for another attack.
He’d been over to the Legends Inn the week before, familiarizing himself with the layout of the place. Today he planned to find out where the wizards were meeting, and in particular, where they were sleeping.
Seph crept down the back staircase, hoping to leave the house by the back door, but he ran right into Becka, who was on her way out, dressed for court.
“Good morning, Seph. You’re up early,” she said, smiling. “Linda’s home. She and Jack are in the kitchen.” She said it loudly, too, so Seph knew Linda would be waiting for him to come around the corner. Shaking his head, he went on into the kitchen.
Linda and Jack were just finishing breakfast. They abruptly stopped talking when Seph came into the room. Linda looked pale and tired. She wore the same black business suit she’d worn the day she’d rescued Seph at the Havens. “I think you’ve grown,” she said. “Every time I go away, you grow an inch!”
“Welcome home, Aunt Linda.” Seph poured himself some coffee and brought it over to the table.
“How are my contractors doing, Seph? I’m meeting with them in a little while.”
The contractors were absolutely dazzled by Linda Downey. Dave Martin, the general contractor, was always thinking of some enhancement that he wanted to run by Seph, to see if he thought Linda would approve. They never questioned the fact that they were working for a sixteen-year-old boy. It was another one of those strange Weir-Anaweir relationships.
“They seem to be on schedule,” he said. “Dave has some changes he wants to go over with you. The revised drawings are on the dining room table.” Seph was afraid she would suggest that he go along with her to the meeting, but she didn’t. He thought it might be her day to watch him after her absence, but it wasn’t, because she retrieved the plans from the dining room and picked up her briefcase.
“Have fun today, guys. Be good, Seph.” And then she was gone.
Jack studied Seph as if he were a problem he might have to solve. Seph was very aware of the “borrowed” knife poking him in the thigh. I guess it’s Jack’s day to watch me, he thought.
“We’re going sailing today,” Jack said abruptly.
Seph’s heart sank. The Swift-Downey family had a sailboat, a day sailer they kept in the water all season. Jack had been promising to take Seph out on the lake. But it had never worked out. Until today.
“Today?” Seph cast about for an excuse. “You know, today really isn’t a very . . . I mean, I don’t really . . .”
“We won’t go very far out,” Jack said, giving him that dead-on look. “We’ll just run up and down the shoreline. Will and Fitch are coming. My mom packed a lunch. It’s all set.”
Seph was caught, and he knew it. Whose idea was this? he wondered. The plan was clearly designed to keep him away from the inn.
“Okay,” Seph said, forcing enthusiasm. “Great!”
Will and Fitch were waiting on the pier, chatting with Harold Fry, when they arrived at the harbor.
Harold nodded to Jack and Seph. “Morning, boys.” The old man watched as Jack leaped nimbly into the dinghy and stowed the gear. “When’re you going to get yourself a real boat, Jack?”
“Thats okay, Harold, this is all I can handle for now.” Jack braced the dinghy while Seph, Will, and Fitch climbed aboard.
“I’m psyched,” Fitch said as they rowed out to where Windego was anchored in the harbor. “I’ve been dropping hints about going sailing all summer.” It seemed everyone was happy about the excursion but Seph.
It was a beautiful day. The lake was a translucent bottle-green color, and only a few high clouds interrupted the endless blue of the sky as Jack fired up the motor to push the boat out of the harbor. Dozens of white sails pricked the horizon.
Once they were in open water, Seph resigned himself to the situation, working hard to crew under Jack’s direction. He remembered a little about managing the sails from the times he’d been out with Warren Barber. Jack was a smart and aggressive skipper, if Seph was any judge. Eventually Jack turned the mainsail sheet over to Seph while he managed the jib. The wind was brisk out of the west, and when they got it right, the boat flew over the water, smashing through the great, lazy fair-weather swells. He and Jack traded off, but Will and Fitch seemed inclined to sit in the spray at the bow of the boat and do as little work as possible.
They anchored off one of the less-crowded beaches east of Trinity, and went swimming. Seph left Jack’s knife carefully hidden in his clothes. The water was still cool, even in August, but it was a hot day, and after only a brief period on deck they were ready to go back in.
After a leisurely lunch and another swim, they dozed for a time on deck, the boat gently rocking in the swells, before heading back toward town. They were moving against the wind this time, and had to do some elaborate tacking. It took them much longer to return than it had to sail out.
“You’re hired, Seph,” Jack said, grinning as Seph nailed a complicated come-about. “Better than these two losers.” He nodded at Will and Fitch.
Fitch lifted his can of pop in a toast. “To the crew.”
It was late afternoon when Jack started up the motor and they threaded their way back into the harbor. A perfect day, but Seph couldn’t help wondering if the meetings at the Legends might still be going on. He’d already wasted one day out of two.
The other three had remained in their swimming gear, but he had changed back into his clothes, sticking the knife back under his waistband.
When the dinghy had drifted close enough, Jack leaped out onto the pier and secured the line. He and Seph muscled the cooler out of the boat and carried their gear up the steps to the marina parking lot.
Jack turned back toward the marina office. “I’m going to go see what kind of bait Jerry’s got,” he explained. “Maybe we can go fishing tomorrow.” He headed back down the steps.
And that will take care of tomorrow, Seph thought. Now might be his only chance to break away. As soon as Jack was out of sight, Seph said, as if he’d only just thought of it, “I just remembered, I was supposed to meet Aunt Linda over at the new house at four thirty. I’m already late. Tell Jack I had to go.” Without waiting for a response, he sprinted through the parking lot and around the corner.
The Legends Inn was about a quarter mile west of the marina, on a point of land that formed one side of the harbor. Seph wondered if Jack would guess where he had gone and come after him. He would just have to move quickly enough to stay ahead of him.
The front door of th
e inn opened into the parlor, where he’d made his date with Madison Moss. From his previous visit, Seph knew that the meeting rooms and dining rooms lay immediately beyond. He stopped at the reception desk and smiled at the girl in the high-necked Victorian blouse.
“Can you tell me if the meeting is still going on?” he asked politely.
She looked Seph up and down skeptically, disapproving of his sailing clothes. “The meetings are over for the day. They just adjourned about a half hour ago.”
“I have a message for one of the participants, name of Gregory Leicester. Can you tell me which room is his?”
“And you are?”
“Aaron Hanlon.”
She extended her hand. “I’ll give him the message.”
“I need to deliver it in person.”
“Shall I ring him for you?” She put her hand on the phone on the desk.
“That’s okay,” Seph said hastily. “If he’s not there, I’ll just slip it under his door.”
She hesitated. There was obviously a policy. Seph was beginning to think he was going to have to use more overt persuasion. But it seemed she saw little threat in Seph. “He’s in Room 210. Second floor. The elevator is over there.” She pointed.
“Thank you.”
He decided to take the stairs instead, reasoning that he was less likely to run into someone he knew. It also allowed him to delay things that much longer. He could think about murdering Gregory Leicester all the way up to coming face-to-face with the wizard. Then the image failed. Not a good omen. “Vous devez envisager le success,” Genevieve had often said to him. You must envision success.
He realized he was leaving a clear trail for anyone who wanted to track him down. More than that, he knew that murder was a mortal sin, the kind that took you straight to hell. But he had no choice. Leicester had already killed Trevor and Jason, and it seemed he still had plans for Seph. Painful plans, no doubt.
You’ve been a tough little bastard, Leicester had said. Now we’ll find out just how tough you are. Fragments of nightmares came back to him, like jagged glass beneath his skin. They’d come close to taking him at the river; they might succeed the next time.
I know where you live, Barber had said. We’ll find Linda Downey and her sister, Rebecca. We’ll find your girl. We’ll find your warrior friend. And, in the end, we’ll find you.
Seph paused in the stairwell and readied his weapons.
His right hand found the knife under his T-shirt, and he slipped it out into his hand. He pulled the bottle from his pocket, yanked the stopper, and daubed the blade liberally with the contents. Mercedes Foster had warned him that it was more potent than the venom of any snake, and undetectable by Anaweir medicine. Carefully, he slid the knife back into its sheath. Returning the bottle to his pocket, he groped for the portal at his neck. He knew better than to engage Leicester directly. He would wait, unnoticed, like a viper in the grass, for the headmaster to come within reach of his sting.
Unnoticeable Seph emerged from the stairwell and walked quickly down the hall toward the end, where he knew 210 must be.
“Seph! Seph McCauley, is that you?”
He spun around, clutching for the knife, his breath catching in his throat. His first thought was that the always reliable unnoticeable charm hadn’t worked.
But no. It was Madison Moss in a long skirt and sleeveless cotton sweater and little strappy sandals, her exuberant hair gathered into a net studded with rhinestones. His heart stuttered at the sight of her. She bore down on him, as beautiful and dangerous as a summer storm over the lake. It seemed that Madison was as impervious to unnoticeable charms as to other forms of wizardry.
“Where have you been?” she hissed. “I’ve left messages, I’ve stopped by your house . . .”
He raised his hands as if he could hold her off. “Madison, we can’t. This isn’t a good time.”
“Well, I guess there is no good time. I thought we were friends. If this is about what happened at the river, I think I have the right to make my own choices.”
She kept coming forward, and he backed away until she had him penned in a little alcove at the end of the hall. Desperate to stop the flow of words, he gripped her wrist and pulled her toward him, pressing his hand over her mouth. “Listen, some of those people we saw at the river are right here at the inn. They’d like nothing better than to finish what they started.”
Madison broke away from him and looked up and down the hallway. Then she moved closer to him and lowered her voice. “Then why are you here?” Her voice tremored a bit.
A question that Seph could not answer. He gripped her elbows. “They won’t notice me. I’ll be fine unless you give me away.”
She blinked at him. “You expect me to believe you’re invisible? Right.” But she sounded a little unsure of herself.
Then he heard footsteps. He looked over Madison’s shoulder and saw someone tall and angular striding toward them down the hall, like an avenging spirit.
It was Leander Hastings.
Seph nodded toward Hastings. “He’s looking for me. Please don’t say anything.” And he faded back into the alcove.
Madison did not turn around. She advanced to the window and pretended to look out, resting her hands on the sill. Hastings came on, scanning the room numbers to either side. He paused when he came to 210, turned aside, put his ear to the door, and knocked. There was no response. He straightened and stood, watching Madison for a moment.
“Excuse me.” She winced when he spoke, then turned toward him, gripping her skirts on either side. “Have you seen a young man about your age, tall and thin, dark curly hair?” Hastings lodged himself in the entrance to the alcove, effectively preventing escape.
“No, sir, I haven’t.” She looked up at him, eyes bright, color high. “If he’s a guest at the inn, you could check at the front desk.” Her eyes flicked quickly toward Seph, as if to verify that he was still there. Then back to Hastings.
“He’s not a guest, though I have reason to believe he might have come up here. He passed by the front desk not ten minutes ago.” Hastings leaned against the doorframe, frowning.
Madison shrugged. “Haven’t seen him. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
Hasting didn’t move. He searched the alcove with his eyes, then looked back at Madison. She glanced again at Seph. He shook his head, putting his finger to his lips. Hastings reached into his trouser pocket, drew out a small pouch, fumbled it open, then suddenly flung its contents toward Seph. It was a light, glittery powder, and it coalesced around Seph like a halo. Hastings groped into the middle of it, his fingers closing on the chain around Seph’s neck. The links dissolved under the wizard’s touch, and the dyrne sefa fell free.
Unnoticeable Seph was noticeable once again.
“So.” Hastings retrieved the dyrne sefa and put it into his pocket. Then dropped a heavy hand onto Seph’s shoulder, spun him around, and slammed him up against the wall. “I noticed at Becka’s that you were wearing a heartstone. You’ve obviously learned how to use it.” His eyes were cold and green as the ice that forms on the deepest lakes in Canada. “Who are you looking for, Seph?” the wizard said. “Perhaps I can help you.”
It was hard to speak and hard not to, with all that wizard pressure on him.
“Tell me,” Hastings said softly. “Are you still looking for the Dragon?” His hand pressed lightly against Seph’s windpipe, vibrating with power. Even the slight pressure made it difficult to breathe.
“I’m . . . I’m looking for Gregory Leicester,” Seph whispered faintly.
“You’re looking for your master, then? Have something to tell him, do you?”
“You ...leave ...him ...alone, do you hear me?”
In the heat of the moment, Seph had nearly forgotten Madison. Now Hastings and Seph both turned to look at her. Seph blinked to clear his vision and Hastings even loosened his grip slightly.
She grabbed Seph’s arm. Power slid through Seph like hot metal through flesh,
from Hastings to Madison, scouring Seph’s brain of coherent thought. Seph fell, breaking the connection between them, landing awkwardly on his side.
Swearing softly, Maddie knelt next to Seph, cradling his head in her arms. Seph wanted to reassure her, but he could find no words. All he could do was gape at her.
She was angry. That was the first thing he noticed. But if the glitter powder revealed Seph’s power like an aura, it layered her in shadow. It feathered her arms as she moved, shrouded her glittering hair, rendering her insubstantial as a spirit, a negative image to Seph’s positive.
Hastings sat slumped against the wall, breathing hard, similarly incapacitated. He squinted at Madison and shook his head. “An elicitor,” he whispered. “You must be. I didn’t think they really existed.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if you hurt him again, I’ll . . .” She extended her hands toward Hasting, who drew back hastily, as if afraid of being burnt, still staring at Madison in wonder.
“Well, well. What am I interrupting, here?”
Like coconspirators, they looked up as one. Gregory Leicester stood in the entry to the alcove, holding an ice bucket that dripped condensation. He looked from Seph and Madison to Hastings, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
“We were just talking about you, Gregory,” Leander Hastings said, sounding somehow collected in spite of his position on the floor. He looked from Leicester to Seph as if trying to discern the links between them.
“Perhaps you would care to come in and have a drink, Leander,” Leicester offered. “I was about to have one myself. You could celebrate your victory today.”
“It wasn’t my victory,” Hastings said, rising to his feet. “There is considerable support for the new constitution on the council.”
“But you spoke eloquently on its behalf. Though why you want to empower hedge prophets, enchanters, and warriors, I haven’t a clue.” He might have said slime, vermin, and scum of the earth.
“I don’t know what you think you’re giving up. Other than the ability to push people around.”
The Heir Chronicles: Books I-III Page 59
