Brooks dismissed his death with a wave of his hand. “Miz Moss, if you’d care to go dancing with me tonight, you’ll see there’s some life left in me yet.”
“I don’t date dead people,” Madison said, glaring at the ghost warrior. “That’s where I draw the line.” These ghosts were just a little too substantial as far as she was concerned. They ate, drank, fought . . . and danced, apparently. Except for their odd mode of dress and the weapons they carried, you couldn’t tell them from live people.
Jack grinned. “Better watch yourself, Brooks. Maddie’s going out with my cousin. The most powerful wizard I know.”
Brooks paled under his stubble of beard. “I’m sorry, ma’am. No offense meant. You didn’t seem like the kind to ... I had no way of knowing that ...”
“We’re not going out.” Madison scowled at Jack, who shrugged and raised his eyebrows at Ellen.
Madison tried again. “I mean, we’re just ...friends. Good friends. To be honest, I’ve barely seen him lately.” You’re running on at the mouth. Stop it.
Brooks lifted an eyebrow. “Well, watch yourself, Miz Moss. I don’t know that you can be friends with a wizard. They’ve been known to take advantage of young ladies. If you take my meaning.”
Madison gave him a look, then turned to Jack and Ellen. “Anyway.We were supposed to meet an hour ago. You haven’t seen him, have you?”
Jack shook his head. “I don’t see him anymore, either. He and Nick are totally caught up with maintaining the boundary.”
While the warriors played their war games, the wizards of Trinity had established an invisible barrier to suppress attack magic within the sanctuary. The maintenance of it seemed to demand a huge amount of energy. And time.
“I still don’t get why we need a special boundary now, when we never did before,” Madison said.
“Well, the ban on attack magic is written into the Covenant, but I guess now nobody knows whether it’s in force or not,” Jack said, “or when D’Orsay might consecrate his new Covenant. Things are kind of up in the air.”
Madison stamped her feet, finding that her fancy boots were not much protection against the cold. “Well, I was supposed to help him with an art project, but he didn’t show.”
Jack and Ellen shifted their feet in the beaten-down snow, obviously eager to get back to their scrimmage. “If we see Seph, we’ll tell him you’re looking for him,” Ellen offered.
Madison jammed her hands in her pockets, trying to warm them. “It’s getting late anyway. I need to get to work. See you.”
The clatter of fighting resumed before she made it out of the clearing.
Now she had only an hour before her shift started. She’d try Seph’s Aunt Becka’s, then move on to the waterfront. If he wasn’t at either of those places, she’d have to go on to work.
Nothing could have happened to him. He’d just gotten hung up. Like usual. He had to be safe within the sanctuary. There was a boundary up, after all. No attack magic.
All the while knowing that, within the sanctuary at least, the biggest threat to Seph McCauley was Madison Moss and the magic that leaked from her fingers.
A memory surfaced, the battle at the inn at Second Sister, a scene painted in lurid orange hues. Gregory Leicester smiled, extending his wizard hands, launching flaming death at Seph. Maddie had stepped between them, catching the full force of the attack. She’d reeled in the magic while the wizard struggled on the end of her line like a bluegill at Jackson Lake. Leicester had fallen, along with all of his captive wizards.
She’d been left contaminated. The bitter taste of hex magic lingered on the back of her tongue and seeped out through her pores, a virulent and deadly poison made just for Seph.
After their return from Second Sister, he’d complained of headaches, stomach pains, fatigue. He broke out in welts and rashes, and grew thin and pale and hollow-eyed, as if he had some wasting disease.
At first Madison thought it was the aftermath of the ordeal on the island. She assumed time would heal him, but he only got worse. His hands shook and his changeable eyes went cloudy and dull and twice he fainted at school.
Seph’s parents took him to England for Christmas and he seemed to improve, but took ill again when he came back to Trinity. His mother, Linda, fussed over him and called in the healer Mercedes Foster, who prescribed fresh air and sunshine and good food and potions and amulets that did no good. When Mercedes finally put him to bed, Madison spent long hours sitting with him, reading to him, holding his hand. She guessed she wasn’t much of a nurse, because he only seemed to grow weaker.
Then Madison went home for a long weekend. When she came back, Seph was out of bed and feeling better. He looked like a different person, more like his old self.
But not for long. And that was when she knew.
Sometimes she wondered if she was possessed. She could feel something evil inside her react to Seph’s presence, like a serpent uncoiling. Her touch was toxic. No one else seemed to make the connection, least of all Seph. And if they found out ...
So she began avoiding him, avoiding his touch especially, making excuses. And dying inside every time.
Madison turned onto Jefferson Street, negotiating the icy bricks. Jefferson was lined with tall oaks and gracious “painted ladies.” That’s what they called these Victorian houses iced with turrets, spindles, and wraparound porches.
Jack shared an elegant green-shingled Queen Anne with his mother.
Jack’s mother, Becka, and Seph’s mother, Linda, were sisters in a family full of secrets. Linda was an enchanter, a master of charisma—seduction, some said. Becka was Anaweir—she wasn’t magical, and she knew nothing about the magic going on all around her.
Madison paused at the foot of the driveway. Seph’s car was parked next to the side entrance.
She knocked on the screen door. No answer. Pounded on the inside door. Nothing. She tried the knob, and it was unlocked.
“Anybody home?” she called, pushing the door open and poking her head into the foyer.
He was in there somewhere. She could feel his presence in the acceleration of her heartbeat, a faint vibration in her bones.
Witch boy.
She crossed the foyer and passed down the hallway to the family room at the rear. And froze in the doorway.
Seph lay sprawled on the rug in front of the hearth. His face beneath the dark curls was pale and chiseled as porcelain, save the dark smudges under his eyes. He was frowning, lips parted, as if he’d succumbed between two words. For a terrible moment, she thought he was dead, until she saw the faint rise and fall of his chest.
“Good day, Maddie.” The wizard Nick Snowbeard half-rose from his chair in the hearth corner and draped a quilt over Seph, then settled back into his seat by the fire. “It is a pleasure to see you, as always.”
She dropped to her knees next to Seph, her heart clamoring in her chest, worrying she was somehow responsible. “What happened? Is he ...?”
The old caretaker tilted his head, looking surprised. “Why, my dear, he’s sleeping, of course, though he isn’t particularly happy about it.”
Madison looked at Seph, as if he might have a comment, then back at Snowbeard. Worry turned to irritation. “He’s taking a nap? We were supposed to meet two hours ago.”
“The boy is exhausted. He’s overextended himself, maintaining the boundary twenty-four hours a day.” The old wizard pressed his fingers between his briared eyebrows, as if he had a headache. Old Bear, the gifted called him, or sometimes, the Silver Bear. He did resemble a slightly rumpled bear rousted from his den in midwinter.
“It was a breakdown in communications,” Snowbeard went on. “Too much to do, and too few people to do it. Hastings is away, and I was . . . unexpectedly delayed. I had no idea he’d been on his own so long, and it’s not in his nature to ask for help. But now I’ve relieved him, and I put him to sleep, over his protest.”
Madison leaned forward, clutching her skirts in her fists. “He’s always falli
ng asleep in school. Plus, he missed a lot of school back in the fall, when he was so sick.” And whose fault was that? “I didn’t think you were allowed to work somebody to death like this. I guess there aren’t any child labor laws for wizards.”
Snowbeard lifted a teacup from the side table and took a long swallow. He set it back on the saucer with trembling hands, china clattering against china. “My dear, I am . . . sorry. Although he is young, he is the most powerful wizard we have at our disposal, aside from his father and me. Iris is willing, but she just isn’t strong enough to manage the boundary for long. It’s incredibly draining. There are others who are not particularly trustworthy. Most wizards have sided with the Roses or D’Orsay. Many of the Dragon partisans don’t consider the sanctuary to be a priority, now that the war’s broken out.”
“But you do.”
“I think we need a place of safety, yes, or we’ll be ground to dust between the stones of wizard ambition. Have you noticed that the town is full of gifted refugees?”
Of course she’d noticed. These were well-educated people, people with money, gifted artists who moved into shops around the square. The Wizard Houses considered them rebels for their refusal to support the war. And the more non-wizard Weir crowded in, the more Trinity seemed like a target. Which didn’t fit in with Madison’s plans at all.
She sat next to Seph with her back against the hearth, conscious of maintaining some small space between them. The snow from her boots melted into puddles on the hardwood floor. “I wish you wouldn’t let all those people in here.”
“You can hardly blame them for seeking sanctuary,” Nick said. “Wizards are snatching up the non-wizard Weir all over the world, recruiting them for the war effort. They need sorcerers to build weaponry, warriors to wield it, seers to look into the future and plan strategy, enchanters for espionage purposes.”
He sighed. “This can only spell disaster. For centuries, wizards haven’t dared to openly war on each other, for fear of breaking the Covenant and rousing the dragon that sleeps in Raven’s Ghyll. I suppose wizards don’t believe in dragons—or the Covenant—anymore.” The old man’s voice trailed off.
Madison struggled to keep the skepticism off her face. Dragons. Right. There were plenty of real-life monsters to fight.
Madison looked down at Seph. His face was a work of art that required intensive study. She was glad to be able to do it when he wasn’t looking back with those green eyes that missed nothing. She resisted the temptation to trace his cheekbones and strong nose with her forefinger. If Seph had some kind of reaction in front of Nick, it would be all over for sure.
She’d met Seph for the first time on the Lake Erie beach. He’d been hanging around her for days, watching her in that entitled, rich boy, wizardly way. Like he could crook a finger and she’d come running. She’d had enough of that from Brice Roper back home.
But Brice was simple—beneath that handsome surface he was about an inch deep. There was a complexity in Seph that fascinated her. His eyes were like the green, shaded pools of Booker Creek that changed with the light. Though he was young, his face already bore traces of history and loss. She’d sketched him repeatedly, trying to capture his intensity and power with line and color.
When Seph saw her drawings, when he realized she saw the magic in him, he’d thought she was working for the Roses. He’d used Persuasion on her, the power sizzling through his fingers. She’d drawn in his magic, rich and sweet, and he’d fallen, stunned, to the sand. For days afterward, she’d felt giddy, like she’d drunk from some magical cup of joy.
So different from now. She shuddered.
Nick cleared his throat. She looked up from her reverie to find the old man watching her. Min always said Madison’s face was transparent as glass.
She stumbled into speech. “I was supposed to help him with an art project that’s due tomorrow. He’s way behind on all his work, and he won’t have enough credits for graduation, if he doesn’t pass his courses. He . . .” Her voice trailed off. Nick was staring into the distance, his weathered face drawn down into long lines of guilt and sorrow.
“What about when he goes away to school?” she said softly. It will be better when he goes away, she told herself. You won’t have to see him every day.
“To be truthful, my dear, I’m not sure he should leave the sanctuary at all. It might put him in danger.”
“But why would they go after him? He’s just seventeen!”
“Wizard politics,” Nick replied. “He’s a target, by virtue of who he is. This is not the kind of conflict in which it is possible to remain neutral. Most wizards hate his father for supporting the other guilds against the Wizard Houses. And now that they know that Linda is one of the masterminds of the rebellion . . .” Nick shrugged. “They’ve been recruiting him furiously, you know. The Roses. D’Orsay. Making all sorts of offers I’m not supposed to know about.”
“Do they really think he would . . . go over to the dark side?” Madison’s cheeks burned as the blood rushed to her face.
“Based on usual wizard practice, they assume it’s a matter of price, or leverage.” Nick rubbed the side of his nose with his forefinger. “He’s made an impression. D’Orsay and Leicester would have won at Second Sister, had it not been for Seph and Jason . . . and you, my dear,” he finished, delicately.
At Second Sister, she’d seen wizards casting spells and conjuring images of dragons, and doing murder with magic. She’d seen Seph flinging flame from his fingertips, battling for his life. Had seen the greedy Wizard Houses circling when they realized how powerful he was.
She’d finally understood the stakes. And now she saw nothing ahead but catastrophe. She was no good for Seph. He was no good for her. Madison had to get away from this magical business. She had to. She reached up and fingered Min’s opal, hanging from a chain around her neck. “Do not mess with magic,” Min had said. “It’s meant nothing but trouble for our family.”
The old wizard cleared his throat. “You know, Madison, given your gifts, you could have a role to play.”
“No!” Madison was suffocating, her lungs clamping down on each breath. “This is not my fight. I’m not a member of any of your guilds or Houses or . . . or anything.” She folded her arms across her chest, tucking her hands away. “There’s no magic in me.” She closed her mouth firmly on the lie.
“We don’t really understand what happened when Leicester and his linked wizards flamed you. Did the power just . . . dissipate, or . . .”
“It really doesn’t matter, does it? The point is, I don’t want to be part of this.”
She’d come to Trinity to shake off the taint of magic. And yet it seemed to coalesce about her wherever she went.
“My dear Madison,” Nick said, and paused, clearly unused to this sort of persuasion. “We could use your help. We wouldn’t ask you to do anything you aren’t comfortable with. Hastings and I could work with you to . . .” His voice trailed off when he saw Madison’s expression.
“I want to be the first in my family to go to college. By the end of this semester, I’ll have a year of credits. But, it’s all I can do to get my schoolwork done and get in my hours at the Legends.”
She glanced at her watch and groaned. “I have to go. I’m late already, and I need this job.” Shifting up onto her knees, she unfastened her portfolio and pulled out a matted charcoal sketch, the one from Magic Hands. It was Trinity Square at dusk, snow sifting down through the great trees, puddles of lamplight and shadow on the snow-covered grass.
It was not what Seph wanted from her, but it was something. A small offering that represented a dream she had, once.
“When Seph wakes up, could you give this to him? Tell him it’s from me.”
She stood, zipped up her coat, and stashed her portfolio back under her arm. On the way down the driveway, she kicked the brick wall that lined the garden.
Chapter Three
Banished from the Sceptred Isle
Jason preferred the snows of
Cumbria to the winter rains of London. It was only a brief splash across a cobbled street from the cab to the pub, but he still got drenched to the skin. He ducked beneath a wooden sign bearing the legend, THE PENNY WHISTLE and into a gloomy interior that smelled of tobacco, malt, and decades of fried fish. It was an old place, with brick floors and a tin ceiling. Tom the bartender claimed the building dated from the 1600s.
Nodding to Tom and holding up two fingers, Jason passed through the pub and into a private room in the back. Tom never carded him. The drinking age for wizards was kind of flexible. Like in medieval days.
The fireplace in the back room shared a chimney with the hearth in the front. With a gesture, Jason kindled the heavy logs on the grate and sat at the table nearest the hearth. He set his backpack on the floor between his feet, feeling jumpy as a terrorist with a bomb hidden under his chair.
Totally aware of the hot proximity of the stone.
A few minutes later, Tom set two pints of dark ale in front of Jason.
“Thanks, Tom.” Closing his eyes, concentrating, Jason forced the water from his clothing.
“You’re steaming.”
Jason opened his eyes to find Tom gone and Hastings standing over him. He must have fallen asleep. He’d not really slept since hiking out of the ghyll, save a few accidental minutes on the train.
Hastings could ghost around like a demon. Sometimes it seemed the wizard could walk through walls. Rubbing his gritty eyes, Jason looked around. The door to the outer bar was shut, and the borders of the room had the smudgy look of magical barriers. They were secure.
Hastings sat down across from him and studied him from under heavy black brows. It was spooky how much Hastings and Seph favored each other, with their thick, curling hair, high cheekbones, prominent noses and green eyes (though Seph’s eyes tended to change color hour to hour and day to day, no doubt courtesy of his enchanter mom).
“These both for me?” Hastings asked wryly, inclining his head toward the pints on the table.
“One’s for you.” Jason shoved one glass in Hasting’s direction and reached for the other.
The Heir Chronicles: Books I-III Page 74
