The Enchanter Heir thc-4

by Cinda Williams Chima

  “If you’re fine the way you are, then why are you constantly stealing other people’s bodies?”

  “I didn’t say we were fine,” Lilith said. “I said we were alive. I suppose you could say we view bodies as prosthetic devices.”

  “Think of Kenzie,” Brendan said. “His body is damaged, but he uses adaptive equipment to interact with the world.”

  “Leave Kenzie out of this,” Jonah said.

  “Kenzie is in this, whether you like it or not,” Lilith said. “As are you.”

  Jonah’s skin prickled. He didn’t like their easy familiarity with details of his life. They were cutting too close to his heart. “Brendan said you have a plan,” he began, eager to change the subject.

  “Indeed. That’s why I asked him to fetch you.”

  “You brought me here on purpose?” Jonah looked around, at the circle of shades, feeling foolish. The legendary Slayer, Jonah Kinlock, had walked right into a trap.

  “Brendan said you were fond of children,” Lilith said. “Given your history as a slayer, I didn’t believe him, but here you are.”

  “Here I am,” Jonah said. “What do you want, then? Why am I still alive?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about alternatives to this road we’re going down now.”

  “I’m listening,” Jonah said.

  “We would like to partner with the Anchorage. We’re hoping you can use your persuasive skills to bring Gabriel Mandrake on board, too.”

  “If your plan involves killing mainliners, he’ll never sign on for it.”

  “Even if he doesn’t, we’re hoping you will,” Brendan said. “We know you and Gabriel don’t always see eye to eye.”

  “I still don’t know what your plan is,” Jonah said. “Or what the blood magic is for.”

  “And you won’t know until you commit to us,” Lilith said.

  “By killing children.”

  “Something you seem to be incredibly good at,” Lilith snapped. “How many of us have you killed so far? My own daughter died at Thorn Hill. I’ve been looking for her ever since. But maybe you’ve already killed her.” She paused. “Tell me, Shadeslayer,” she said softly. “What would you do if you ran into Marcie?” Jonah’s palms were sweating, his heart thudding painfully. Lilith seemed to know exactly how to find his open wounds. “I’d want to save her from . . . from this,” he said, gesturing at the assembly of decaying corpses.

  “Then we are allies,” Lilith said. “Why do you think I’m doing this? Why are these children . . .” She gestured toward the preschoolers on the bridge. “Why are they more important than my daughter, and your brother and sister?”

  “I never said they were.”

  Brendan took a step toward Jonah, extending the bottle toward him. “Then do it, Jonah. Take the gloves off. Free these children,” he said. “I’m told that being killed by you is a very pleasant experience.”

  “Why do you insist that I murder children?” Jonah asked. “Is this some kind of hazing ritual?”

  “This way there’s no turning back,” Lilith said. “We’re trying to help you, but we won’t allow you to keep killing us. All of us have a chance at a new life—except for the ones you finish off. Either join us now, with the body you have, or . . . what’s that term you use? Once you’re freed, you’ll join us anyway.”

  “No,” Jonah said.

  “Can you at least convince Gabriel to leave us be? To remain neutral in this fight? Negotiate a truce?”

  “And in the meantime, you keep on killing mainliners?” Jonah nodded toward the children. “He won’t go for that.”

  “These are mostly wizards,” Lilith said. “Why shouldn’t they give back to us, to make up for what they did?”

  “I might agree, if you went after those that did the killing,” Jonah said. “These children weren’t even born yet.”

  Lilith sighed. “It’s a shame,” she said. “You—by design— are the perfect predator: strong, quick, agile, with exceptionally acute senses and an uncanny beauty that draws people in. Someone with your gifts . . . you would be extremely valuable to the cause.”

  Something that Lilith said echoed in Jonah’s ears. By design, she’d said. What did she mean by that?

  “And your cause is taking revenge? That’s it?”

  “My cause is the survivors of Thorn Hill. The cause that Gabriel tries to claim for his own while he conspires to kill us off. Gabriel has given up, but I have not. I can’t. Just because he has failed doesn’t mean that I will. I’m a much better sorcerer than he will ever be.” Lilith laughed. “You should see your face. Poor Jonah. Gabriel likes to keep you in the dark, doesn’t he?”

  That truth vibrated through Jonah like a plucked string.

  “One thing I don’t get,” he said. “What do you have against the other guilds? Besides wizards, I mean? We were all mainliners, once.”

  Lilith snorted. “They ridiculed those of us who went to Thorn Hill, seeking a better life. Called us misfits and dreamers. When the massacre happened, they said we got what was coming to us. Do you know how many children were slaughtered, right after it happened? That was mainliners who did that. They justified it by calling them monsters.”

  “Not all guildlings are like that,” Jonah said. “Many of them contribute to the—”

  “Ah, yes,” Lilith said. “They love helping Gabriel’s kids. It makes them feel virtuous. Just don’t show them any of the ugly ones. Tell me this: Do you have any guildling friends? Ever had a mainliner over to your house?” When Jonah said nothing, she laughed. “I thought not. This life is all we have, Shadeslayer. Would you rather we simply dissipate, like a stench on the breeze? I want something better for them . . . for us.” The wind stirred her clothes and hair, so she resembled a goddess in a painting.

  Jonah’s gaze swept over Lilith’s shade army. He glanced back at the children, huddled together, whimpering on the bridge.

  He turned back toward Lilith. “No,” he said. “Can’t do it.”

  “Then we will destroy you,” Lilith said. “Whether you join us or not, you’ll be blamed for the deaths of mainliners. See what kind of justice you’ll get from them.”

  She gestured to Brendan. He opened a plastic bag and dumped the contents over the bridge deck. Jonah flung his arms up to protect his head, but there was no need. The contents floated down, all around, littering the cement like flower petals or ashes.

  Jonah had no time to investigate, though, because Lilith called out to the waiting army. “Kill the guildlings. Leave the Slayer alone unless he gets in the way. Bring their blood magic to me.” She blinked out.

  With a roar and a rattle of bones, the shades attacked.

  Jonah charged forward to meet them, his makeshift staff a bright blur in the darkness, knocking down four at a time. They fell in a jumble of bones, some of their limbs still twitching. He had to beat them up into little bits of parts before they left off trying to attack him.

  He wished he had Fragarach. A sword was much more efficient when it came to dismemberment. And he needed efficiency, because more shades kept coming, foaming over the edge of the bridge, an army of dead on the move. There was no time to finish them off, only to deprive them of their physical hosts.

  They aimed for the children. It took all of Jonah’s strength and speed to intercept them.

  “Don’t run!” he shouted desperately. “Don’t go near the edge. That’s what they want.”

  Just as he said this, a little boy broke away and ran, screaming, from a corpse that reached bony arms toward him. Jonah just managed to block his way and herd him back to the center. Then he turned and smashed the corpse into five smaller pieces that still jumped and vibrated on the asphalt.

  It was a remarkably silent battle, save for the hiss of Jonah’s staff, the whimpering of the children, and the clatter of bones. Like a deadly game of Whac-A-Mole.

  “Jonah! Behind you!” Olivia. Again.

  He just caught the flash of motion out of the corner of his eye in ti
me. He flung himself forward as a razor-sharp blade hissed past his head, all but giving him a haircut. Then flipped backward as the ax blade came down again.

  The shade pivoted and threw the ax straight at the children. There was no time for a pretty save. Jonah spun, swinging his staff, and batted the flying ax out of the air.

  Well. Maybe it was a pretty save. And now he had an edged weapon.

  In the time it took to realize that, three shades were nearly on top of him. He reacted, spinning, cutting them in half with one swing of his blade. The torsos and legs continued to twist and kick and try to get to him.

  The ax was a blur of steel, and Jonah a blur of motion. But sooner or later, he was going to mess up. Sooner or later, a child was going to fall over the edge and end up in the river. “Hey! What’s this?” someone shouted from the base of the bridge. “Did Halloween come early or what?”

  Looking down through the framework of the bridge, he saw that it was Alison, with her sword, Bloodfetcher, strapped on over the dress she’d worn to the club.

  “Alison! A little help, here?” Jonah pivoted, ax in one hand, staff in the other. He slammed into three corpses at knee level. They toppled backward and disappeared over the edge.

  A commotion erupted on the ground below as Alison drew Bloodfetcher and went to work. Jonah heard the crunch of bones and smelled the stench of burning flesh punctuated by occasional heartrending screams of free shades as she shivved them. Those were harder to bear than ever.

  Finally, blessedly, the shades stopped coming and Jonah was able to free those already on the bridge, including Brendan. He didn’t have the energy or the heart to chase the free shades down. He picked his way through heaps of bones to the edge of the road deck and looked down.

  Alison was charring the last of the creatures on the ground, jetting flame at them with two-handed sweeps of her sword. Burning corpses toppled into the river, hissing as they hit the water. The surface reflected back flame in a lurid orange. And everywhere, fleeing shades, swarming like fireflies along the riverbank.

  Taking a wider view, Jonah saw that the police activity on the bluff had slopped over the hill and down into the Flats. The cops would have heard the bridge alarm and then seen the platform rising on the closed bridge. We need to get out of here.

  “Good work!” Jonah called down. “Thanks!”

  Alison looked up at him, sword in hand, her hair a bright spot in the darkness. “Sorry!” she said. “I wasn’t able to shiv very many of them. They were coming too fast. So now we’ll have a mess of free shades to deal with.”

  “Can’t be helped,” Jonah said. “Better split. Company’s coming.” He pointed at the oncoming slurry of uniforms.

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll be down in a minute. I need to clear the rest of the bridge.”

  Alison trotted back toward Superior as Jonah knelt on the bridge deck, looking for the bottle that Brendan had dropped. But there was something else, scattered over the ground. Plant material—shredded leaves, small purple and yellow flowers, red berries.

  Nightshade.

  He didn’t have time to sweep up. So Jonah stuffed some of the wilted plant into his pocket, then scooped up the bottle, tucking it into the waist of his jeans.

  He turned back toward the children, who huddled together, shaking and crying. All except for Olivia, who had not budged from her assigned spot. He knew he should do something, calm them down somehow. But he wasn’t good with children. He always felt like he might contaminate them if he got too close.

  “Is anybody hurt?” he asked.

  They all started talking at once.

  “Listen, I want each one of you to look at your neighbor. If your neighbor is bleeding, raise your hand.”

  The crying dwindled into sniffles as they checked one another out. No hands went up.

  “Great,” Jonah said, weak with relief.

  “I want to go home,” a little boy wailed. “Soon,” Jonah said. “I need to go make sure there’s no monsters left on the bridge. While I’m gone, could you . . . could you all sit down and hold hands?” He pushed his hands down, and eight bottoms hit the deck with a thump. Eight pairs of eyes stared solemnly back at him.

  “Let’s sing a song,” Olivia said, coming up beside him. “Great,” Jonah said. By now, he was ready to adopt Olivia and name her his heir. He dropped his staff, stowed his ax, and began to climb. The children’s voices rose from the platform below, Olivia’s louder than anyone else’s.

  One bright day in the middle of the night, Two dead boys got up to fight. Back-to-back they faced each other, Drew their swords and shot each other. A deaf policeman heard the noise and ran to save the two dead boys. And if you don’t believe it’s true, go ask the blind man, he saw it, too.

  Late last night or the night before,

  Twenty-four ZOMBIES knocked on the door.

  I asked what they wanted, and this is what they said:

  “I want to chew on your toes and bite off your HEAD!”

  Not exactly soothing, Jonah thought, but . . . appropriate.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Escape from the Flats

  Jonah searched the entire infrastructure of the bridge, but found no more shades lurking up there. He’d hoped that Lilith might still be in the area, maybe watching from some unseen vantage point. But there was no sign of her.

  Even now, an army of free shades would be spreading throughout the city, looking for new hosts.

  He looked out over the canal basin and saw that, while he’d been occupied, the police had surrounded the base of the bridge, trying not to step on scattered body parts.

  Mechanics grappled with the bridge machinery, and a searchlight mounted at the top of Superior swept over the metal framework.

  On the bridge deck below, the children were still chanting, playing a clapping game.

  My boyfriend’s name is Roger, He plays for the Brooklyn Dodgers. With a cherry on his nose and nine black toes, And this is how my story goes.

  Jonah climbed down from the tower, landing lightly on the bridge deck. The children’s voices faded. They watched him, wide-eyed and silent.

  “You’re safe now,” he said. “The . . . ah . . . the zombies are gone. Now stay put until the police officers come.”

  The searchlight found him, nearly blinding him, and helicopter blades whirred overhead. Jonah pulled his hood forward to shelter his face and hugged the side of the bridge tender’s cabin to avoid drawing fire. He looked down to the foot of the tower, where black-clad SWAT officers were beginning to climb.

  A voice blared down from one of the choppers overhead. “Drop your weapons, raise your hands, and step away from the children.”

  And as soon as I’m in the clear, you’ll shoot me, Jonah thought. I’m not planning on dying tonight.

  The bridge alarm clanged again, and with a screech of metal on metal, the bridge platform began to descend in fits and starts.

  Jonah slid his body through the metal infrastructure of the lift bridge and leaped across and onto the adjacent abandoned railroad bridge. Working his way to the other side, he descended to the railbed in a series of controlled zigzag falls.

  Landing on the tracks, he sprinted across the trestle and vaulted over the chain-link fence at the end. It would not do to be caught. It would not do at all.

  Jonah trotted north, passing under the RTA bridge. He needed to get far enough away so that when he surfaced, the officers swarming the bridge wouldn’t spot him. He couldn’t keep racing through the Flats, though. That would draw unwanted attention.

  Up ahead loomed the graceful arches of the DetroitSuperior Bridge. He ran up one of its buttresses, pulling himself hand over hand, and slid over the wall onto the trolley level.

  He looked back at the lift bridge and saw that more and more police cars had been arriving at the bottom of the structure’s towers, including a SWAT armored vehicle that resembled a tank. The police were still concentrated around the road bridge, guns drawn, awaiti
ng the descent of the bridge deck.

  He had to move fast. Once they realized he’d escaped, they would have the area cordoned off in no time. He sprinted back through the trolley subway to the east end of the bridge, leaping over barricades and gaps in the concrete floor. He surfaced just before the trolley line disappeared underground for the last time. As he climbed over the railing onto the bridge, he saw that one of the police officers stationed at the intersection of Superior and West Ninth was striding toward him.

  Jonah pulled out his phone and snapped a photo of the asssortment of emergency vehicles. “What’s going on?” he asked, when the officer was close enough.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” The policeman planted a hand on Jonah’s shoulder. “Where did you come from?”

  “Well, the street was blocked, so I snuck over on the lower level,” Jonah said, taking three more quick photos. “Would you mind answering a few questions? I’m a freelancer, and I just need to get a little more info before I—”

  “Why are you carrying an ax?” Damn! He’d forgotten all about the ax he’d jammed into the waistband of his jeans. Not only that; he was splattered with blood and gore.

  “It’s cosplay,” Jonah replied, scraping up a bit of charm, touching the ax. “A costume. You’ve heard of the annual zombie walk, right? I do the slayer podcast. If I could just get your name and a quote from you, Officer—”

  “The street was blocked for a reason,” the officer roared, spinning Jonah around so he faced West Ninth. A small crowd huddled behind yellow police-line tape. “Now get back behind that line before I arrest you for disorderly conduct!”

  “Of course, Officer. Right away.” Jonah crossed the intersection, ducked under the police tape, and walked up West Ninth, losing himself in the crowds on the sidewalk. He ditched the ax in a Dumpster.

  By now, the emergency lights and helicopters were far behind him. It was unlikely anyone had followed him on that route, but still—he didn’t go directly back to school. It was just too risky. Too close to home.