The Dragon Heir

by Cinda Williams Chima

  Jason turned and dug in his backpack, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He looked up to find Madison glaring at him. “What?”

  “You think I’m going to let you light up in a barn?”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  She snatched the cigarettes away from him. “Matter of fact, this entire mountain is smoke free where you’re concerned.”

  “Huh?” But Madison had that mulish look on her face again. “Look, I’ll smoke in the yard. I’ll smoke in the woods. I’ll smoke in the fricking outhouse. Whatever you want.” He extended his hand.

  She stuck the cigarettes in her jeans pocket. “If you think I’m going to let you poison yourself after all the yick I went through to save your life, you are a crazy man.” She made a face and wiped her hands on her shirt.

  “Fine,” he said. “I’ll smoke twice as much after I leave.” He paused. “So. Are you coming back with me?”

  Madison stood and began to pace, flinging her hands out as she talked. “I can’t just pack up and leave. Judge Ragland released Grace and J.R. on condition that I’m here to watch them. If I leave, the county will take custody again.”

  Jason sighed. He’d known this wouldn’t be easy. And if Madison was conspiring with someone, it was a tough call whether it was better to bring her back into the sanctuary where they could watch her, or to keep her at a distance. The ban on attack magic didn’t seem to work in her case. But he still didn’t understand how she could put a hex in a painting, if she wasn’t gifted.

  If she was working for the Roses, though, wouldn’t she be hot to come back to Trinity so she could get her hands on the Dragonheart?

  Realizing she was waiting for a response, he said, “So what are you going to do?” It was no use to try and force Madison into anything. Wizardry would do no good on her, and in his present condition he couldn’t very well carry her kicking and screaming to the car.

  If he had a car.

  “Look,” Madison said, “If I don’t get this portfolio done, I’ll lose the whole semester. And the kids are depending on me. I can’t go tearing back to Trinity because of a break-in. Seems like I’d be heading for trouble instead of away from it.” Madison waited, twisting a lock of hair between her thumb and forefinger. When Jason didn’t respond, she said, “How is Seph doing?”

  “Cranky as hell. He misses you.”

  “I thought he’d be feeling better . . . with me out of the way.”

  Jason stared at her. He’d decided a long time ago that girls had this totally warped world view. This just confirmed it. “He’s crazy about you, Madison. Why would he be feeling better?”

  “I told him he should get out of Trinity. I warned him. I told him it was going to end up bad.”

  By now Jason’s paranoia was in overdrive. Did she know it was going to end up bad because she had inside information?

  “He won’t leave, Maddie. They don’t have anyone else.”

  She stared down at her hands. “I am coming back. When I get things settled here. In the meantime, I’ll lay low.”

  Right. Like she could lose herself in the teeming crowds of Coal Grove, Jason thought.

  “Seph won’t be happy.” The argument was wearing him out. The cold pain in his chest had returned. Was he ever going to be back to normal?

  “When you get back, you tell Seph to stop worrying about me and take better care of himself,” Madison said.

  “I’m not going back to Trinity,” Jason said, without thinking. Damn! He was an idiot, trying to play this complicated game with his head still swimming from the effects of the poison.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Back to England.” He paused, then brandished the only weapon he had. The one he would never use. “So. No one needs to know about Grace. And no one needs to know I’m here.” He met Madison’s blue eyes straight on. He needed time to recover, and he didn’t want them sending someone down to interrogate him in the meantime.

  Her eyes narrowed and her mouth tightened into an angry line. “Fine! It’s your funeral.”

  “Exactly,” he said, smiling a little, trying to defuse the tension.

  “What am I supposed to tell Seph? He’s expecting to hear from you.”

  “If he asks, tell him I never showed.”

  Madison’s eyes went wide with shock. “If he asks? Jason! He’ll think you either ran off or something happened to you.”

  Jason beat back a wave of guilt, knowing Seph deserved to know about Barber, at least. But Jason would be staying a while, in case Barber came back.

  Right. Last time, a ten-year-old saved your butt.

  “Trinity would be safer for you, you know,” Madison said, as if reading his mind.

  “Safer for me, but not for you?” He paused, and when she couldn’t come up with an answer, added, “Anyway, I’m not looking for a hideout.”

  She stood. “Still. You better lay low. In case Barber’s looking for you.”

  “He’d better worry about me looking for him!” he called after her.

  When the door closed behind her, he settled gratefully back against the pillows. He wasn’t afraid of Warren Barber. He just needed to rest a bit and get back in shape.

  If Madison were involved in some kind of conspiracy, he couldn’t very well leave Seph at her mercy. But Seph would never believe anything bad about Madison without evidence. Since he had to hang around Coal Grove for a while, maybe he could find out for sure whose side Madison Moss was on, and who she was hanging with, and who this Brice Roper was.

  Perhaps if he just closed his eyes . . .

  Madison threaded the pickup between the twin brick pillars that marked the entrance to Bry-Son Farms. Pristine white fencing marched away in both directions, marking the boundary of the Roper property. She navigated the long drive, past the Greek Revival mansion and around back to the horse barn.

  A body would never know this whole thing was built on the backs of coal miners.

  The horse barn was freshly painted red. Four dapple-gray Arabians with velvety black noses poked their heads over the paddock gate. In the pasture beyond, crocus and snowdrops poked up between patches of snow.

  This is a farm out of a romance novel, she thought. I’ll bet the horses don’t even crap in their stalls.

  As she turned toward the house, she saw three riders emerge from the woods at the far end of the pasture. Grace rode a high-stepping, fine-boned bay mare. Brice came along behind on a big-boned black gelding and John Robert on a small dapple gray. When Grace saw Madison, she applied her heels to the horse’s sides and came flying across the pasture, her hair streaming out like a banner, reining to a hard stop just in front of Madison.

  “Grace!” Madison said, waving away the dust that boiled up around the horse’s feet. “Don’t be a show-off.”

  Grace’s cheeks were flushed with excitement. “Maddie! This is Abby. Well, that’s her barn name, anyway. Her registered name is Barbary’s Abby Ann. She’s so sweet. Brice says he’s never seen her take to anyone the way she . . .”

  “Where have you been?”

  Grace blinked at her. “Why, we rode up to the old furnace.”

  “That’s on our property. You had no business taking him up on the mountain.” She tilted her head toward Brice.

  Brice reined in next to Grace. He’d been setting his pace to John Robert’s. “It’s my fault. I asked her to show me the waterfall.”

  “Like you haven’t snuck up there on your own before now.”

  “Why do you always have to be so mean?” Grace stage whispered to Madison.

  Brice just rolled his eyes and swung gracefully down to the ground.

  Grace dismounted, too, then stood uncertainly, clutching the reins.

  “You can go on up to the house,” Brice said. “Mike’ll look after the horses.”

  Grace didn’t move. “Mr. Ragland always said you should take care of your own horse.”

  “I won’t tell anybody.” Brice lifted John Robert out of his saddle and set
him on the ground.

  “I could’ve got down myself!” John Robert protested.

  Brice patted him on the shoulder. “You and Grace go ask Sylvia for some lemonade and cake. Madison and I will be up in a little while.”

  “No,” Madison said quickly. “We can’t stay. I have a lot to do, and I’ve wasted most of the day already.”

  “Oh, come on,” Brice said impatiently, gripping her arm. “Don’t rush off. Sylvia made a seven-layer chocolate cake. It’ll break her heart if there’s only me to eat it. Besides, I want to show you something.”

  “Let go of me!” Madison ripped her arm free. “When are you going to learn to keep your hands to yourself?”

  Brice shook his head in disbelief. “What’s with you, anyway?” he demanded, as if she were being totally unreasonable. Meanwhile, Grace and J.R. stood there awkwardly.

  “Chocolate cake, Maddie?” J.R. said wistfully.

  “This won’t take long,” Brice said. “I promise, okay?”

  “Fine,” Madison said. “Let’s get this over with.” Why couldn’t she make Brice Roper sick, instead of Seph? It was only fair. After all, Brice made her sick.

  Brice led her along the fence line on the far side of the pasture. Someone had laid a cobblestone path and planted lemon thyme between the stones. The path angled into the woods, into the chill of the shade. They followed a small stream, some minor tributary of Booker Creek.

  They finally broke out of the woods and into a small clearing overlooking the river below. It was centered by a small cedar-and-stone cottage. Though it appeared to be fairly new, it had an abandoned look. The surrounding meadow was thigh-high in winter-charred thistle, blackberry, and tree seedlings.

  The view was breathtaking. Far below, the river wound between steep banks. The hills rolled away to the south and east, smoky blue and green and gray where the snow had worn away.

  “What is this?” Madison whispered, knowing there must be a story.

  “This was my mother’s studio.” Brice led her around the building. The whole front was glass, embracing the crinkled land beyond.

  Brice opened the front door with a key. The front room was a soaring space, with thick beams bracing the roof far above, skylights between. There was a kitchen and dining area at the rear of the house and a spiral staircase to what must be sleeping quarters above.

  Like the meadow, it had a neglected look. The furniture was covered with canvas drop cloths, and dust glittered in the sunlight that poured through the skylights.

  “You know my mother’s an artist, too,” Brice said. “After my parents divorced, she moved to New York City.”

  Naturally, he assumed Madison knew the story about the nasty divorce, the new young wife. Which naturally, she did. The Ropers were the royalty of Coalton County.

  “My stepmother doesn’t come up here.” He was cool, matter-of-fact, with no element of judgment in his voice or expression.

  Unlike Madison. She’d spent her whole life judging people against her personal set of standards. She was great at holding grudges. She should get a prize.

  She stood at the window, looking down over the valley. “Very pretty,” she admitted. “But why’d you bring me here?”

  “I thought maybe you’d want to use it.”

  She swung around. “For what?”

  “For painting. Grace says you’ve been painting like a fiend.”

  “Why would I want to come here? I can paint at home.” Why was Grace telling Brice Roper anything?

  He shrugged. “It’s a great space, and it’s going to waste.”

  “Just because you’ve got something doesn’t mean I want it.”

  He stepped closer and stood, looking down at her. She tried to step back but came up against the window. “We could deed it over to you.”

  “I have a house. What do I need with two?”

  “You don’t need a rundown ruin on top of Booker Mountain,” Brice said. “Mr. McCartney says you’ll own the mountain in a few months. You know my father wants to buy it. He’ll give you a good price for it. A great price, in fact. You’ll be rich.”

  “Wow. Sounds like a dream come true,” Madison said.

  Encouraged, Brice pressed on. “So you can stay. Or you can get out of this dump of a town entirely. You can go to art school. Wherever you want. And after you graduate, we could help set you up. My mother knows people. She has gallery connections in New York and Chicago.”

  “So. How would you get the coal out of Booker Mountain?”

  He blinked up at her, surprised at the change of subject. “Carlene let my father drill some test holes. The seams are close to the surface, so he’d probably take the top of the mountain off.”

  Mountain topping, they called it. “And drop it into Booker Creek?”

  He nodded. “Most likely. Then they’d follow up with some augur mining to get at the lower seams. They really won’t know until they get in there.”

  “You sound like an expert.”

  “Yeah, right,” he said, with surprising bitterness.

  “And your dad and Carlene worked this all out together?”

  “Well, I guess they talked about it.” A hint of uncertainty crept in. “Just preliminary, you know.”

  “And then they handed you the job of talking me into it?”

  Brice cleared his throat. “Well, it seemed like a win-win for everybody.”

  “A win-win.” Madison stuck her hands into her jeans pockets and rocked back on her heels. “Answer me this,” she said. “Did Carlene know you were going to set the shed on fire?”

  She’d surprised him. He’d underestimated her. And so, for a moment, the truth showed plain on his face.

  “I don’t believe this,” she whispered, shaking her head as if she could somehow say no to betrayal.

  Brice recovered, regained his smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Your daddy wanted to buy Booker Mountain, and Carlene wanted to sell. Only problem was, she didn’t own it. So they figured that if it looked like the kids were in danger, the county would take custody. And if the county took custody, then I’d have to come home. And if I came home, then you could work on me and persuade me to sell. I bet you can be very persuasive. I bet no one ever says no.”

  “Maddie.”

  “So Daddy offered Carlene some kind of cut. And you set fire to the shed and hung out until Grace and John Robert tried to put it out and then took them down to town. Now tell me. What would you have done if one of the kids had been hurt?”

  “Maddie, listen . . .”

  “Don’t you call me Maddie. My friends call me Maddie. Your problem is, you think everyone else is an idiot. Don’t you think I had plans for this summer? You sit down here with your fake farm and your ‘Sylvia will be heartbroken’ when Sylvia probably wouldn’t care if you took her seven-layer cake and nailed it to the barn door.”

  Brice looked like he’d just taken a severe blow to the head. “What? What’s Sylvia got to ...”

  “Because Sylvia has a life, aside from being your housekeeper. And I have a life that doesn’t involve sucking up to you. So if you think you’re ever going to get your hands on Booker Mountain, you better think again.”

  That got his attention.

  “You’re nobody.” He looked at her as if she was something he’d scraped off his shoe. “Fifth generation inbred trash. But when I ask you out, you have the nerve to say no. Like you’re too good for me, when you’ve been with every other guy at the high school.” He snorted.

  Correction: she’d been asked out by practically every other guy at the high school. And said no. But that didn’t stop them from talking.

  “The only reason you still have that mountain is because nobody ever wanted it before,” he went on. “Carlene’s totally pathetic, but at least she understands the way things work.”

  “You leave my mother out of this,” Madison said, which was pretty stupid when you thought about it. “I’d rather be who I am than who
you are, ripping the tops off of mountains, poisoning streams, crapping all over the land and never cleaning up your own mess, bowing and scraping to your daddy, who’d run over a kitten on his way to the bank.”

  “You’d better watch your mouth. I’m warning you.” Brice swelled up with power like a kind of magical toad disguised as a male model.

  Her mouth had gotten away from her again. Not that Brice didn’t deserve it, but the last thing she wanted was to have him try wizardry on her and raise more questions. She stared out the window, fighting for control.

  “Are we done here?” She turned toward the door. “We’d better get back to the house.”

  Brice was on her in three quick strides. He grabbed hold of her upper arms, stinging fingers biting into her flesh. “We’re not done here. We’re going to settle this.”

  He clumsily slammed power into her. It was meant to cause pain—meant to be a quick, convincing jab, but it was a far cry from the elegant delivery she was used to. Then his smile slid away, his eyes widened, and he reared back, struggling to free himself. Finally, drained dry, he crumpled to the floor and lay, face up, arms flung out in front of him like he was trying to grab onto something he couldn’t reach.

  Madison leaned over him. “There’s something else you don’t know about me. I’m not afraid of wizards.” She turned and walked out of the studio, leaving him lying on the floor.

  So much for hiding out, she thought as she made her way back down the path. So much for laying low. It would be nice if, for once, you could think something and not say it out loud. Who else did Brice know and who might he be talking to?

  When she arrived at the house, Grace and John Robert were sitting at the dining room table, stuffing down big slabs of chocolate layer cake and tall glasses of lemonade garnished with mint sprigs, lemon slices, and with lemon sugar on the rims. Like poor folk invited up to the big house.

  John Robert’s face was smeared with frosting and enthusiasm. “Try this cake, Maddie. It’s awesome!”

  “I’m sure it is.” Madison avoided looking at Sylvia, who was hovering nearby. “But, you know, I can’t eat chocolate cake and lemonade together. Makes the lemonade taste sour and the cake too sweet. Finish up now, J.R. We have to go.”