The Dragon Heir

by Cinda Williams Chima

  If she’d wanted to kill him, she could have taken his head off with that blade. She’d hit him with the flat of it, so she was trying to take him alive. That was good to know.

  He flung out a charm, but before he could finish he had to pitch himself backward as the blade slashed past his midsection, slicing through his shirt and the top layer of skin. Damn, she was good. He didn’t even know he’d been cut until the blood came.

  Smoke boiled into the corridor, stinging his eyes. He drew a breath, coughing, spinning out flame like an out-of-control firework to keep Stephenson at a distance. She easily parried his scattered attack with her sword, then advanced toward him.

  “Your friends are burning to death in there!” Warren gasped, nodding toward the main storeroom. “Make a choice!” He turned and zigzagged down the hallway. Bursting through the exit door, he stopped long enough to barricade it with another web.

  Warren ran down the alley, then cut between several rows of warehouses and descended into the Flats along the river. He tried to support his injured arm, gritting his teeth when he jostled it. He threaded his way around the great concrete feet of a lift bridge, then slowed to a brisk walk, following the river, trying to blend in with the late nighters headed to the bars. Those that were still sober cut a wide circle around him, furtively checking out his blood-matted hair and clothing. It was all he could do to resist the urge to pitch them over the side into the water. He was several blocks from the warehouse before he heard sirens.

  Good luck, he thought.

  Warren was pissed. His arm hurt like hell. Apparently, everyone in Trinity knew he held the Covenant. Just a few more thousand people to jump into the hunt.

  Worse, Leesha had been his go-between. Killing her might bring him some small satisfaction, but now he needed someone else to serve as his proxy. But who?

  The only thing that cheered him was the notion that he’d left Jack Swift, Joseph McCauley, and Leesha Middleton in the burning building. With any luck, Stephenson would go down, too.

  In the end, it wasn’t a difficult choice, just a frustrating one. Ellen gave up on Barber and groped her way back through the smoke. The door into the other room was scorching hot. She stood to one side, extended Waymaker, and cut through the door, releasing a blast of heat and smoke.

  The doorway was woven over with a labyrinth of translucent cords. Barber’s work. The interior of the room was an inferno. Ellen’s entire front was immediately roasted. The skin tightened on her face and hands. No, she thought. Oh, no.

  “Seph! Jack!”

  A faint answering call came from somewhere beyond the web.

  Ellen swung her blade and slashed through the cords. It took four strong strokes to hack out an opening she could get through. She bulled her way forward, pushing through a wall of smoke and flame.

  “Where are you?” she shouted, and flinched when the reply came almost from under her feet. She nearly stumbled over a pile of bleeding bodies. The razorweb had done its work. Jack, Seph, and Leesha were cut in dozens of places, coughing and choking as they breathed in smoke. Leesha flailed about, struggling to get free, which only increased the damage done by the web to all three prisoners.

  “Lay still, Leesha, or I’ll leave you here to fry,” Ellen said.

  Leesh blinked up at her in surprise, and then, to Ellen’s amazement, obeyed.

  Ellen tried to ignore the heat and flames rushing toward them. She gripped Waymaker’s hilt with both hands and slid the tip into the razorweb, delicately slicing through the strands without pulling on the net. She focused on freeing Jack, who practically reverberated with impatience.

  Finally, Jack shook free of the last tendrils of razorwire and erupted to his feet. Seizing Shadowslayer, he helped Ellen cut Seph and Leesha loose. Seph pushed himself upright and extended his bleeding hands, pushing back the wall of flame that threatened to engulf them. It grew increasingly difficult to breathe. Leesha, especially, kept coughing and choking and ripping at her throat.

  When Seph and Leesha were free, Jack hauled them to their feet. Leesha fell again when he released her, so he slid his arms under her and slung her over his shoulder.

  That girl will do anything to get next to Jack, Ellen thought crossly.

  Holding hands to keep from losing each other in the oily smoke, they groped their way to the back of the room, out the door, and into the fresh air.

  Seph looked back at the burning warehouse. By now, flames had broken through the roof and were shooting into the air. Usually so calm in times of crisis, he seemed jumpy and agitated. “Go on,” Seph said, pulling his hood over his head. “Get as far away as you can. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “Seph! Wait!” Ellen made a grab for him, but he sidestepped her and disappeared into the burning building.

  Shaking her head, Ellen drew in lungfuls of cool air, but Leesha was still choking. Jack carried her to the far side of the parking lot and laid her down on the asphalt. “Take it easy, will you?” he said. “Relax. We’re out.”

  Leesha gasped something that sounded like, “Barber!” and “Get it off!” She tore open her neckline to expose a gold collar biting into her flesh. The skin around it was mottled purple and red, covered with angry blisters.

  “What the . . . ?” Jack tried to take hold of the collar with his hands, but yanked them back, swearing. “It’s blazing hot!”

  “Barber did this?” Ellen asked.

  Leesha nodded. Tears ran down her face and her entire body shook with silent sobs. Ellen and Jack gripped her arms and pulled her upright, hoping to find a clasp, an opening, something, but no luck. It was solid and seamless all the way around.

  Ellen pulled out her belt dagger and tried to slide the point under the collar, but it was already too tight.

  Jack tried some countercharms from his repertoire, but they had no apparent effect.

  “Remember when Leicester used a torc on Leander Hastings?” Ellen muttered. “The collar could only be removed by the wizard who placed it.”

  And that would be Warren Barber.

  By now Leesha’s face was blue and her struggles were growing weaker, less organized. She’s going to die, Ellen thought, feeling totally helpless.

  “Hey! What do you kids think you’re doing?” A burly firefighter confronted them in full regalia, his features scrunched down with suspicion. “Nobody’s supposed to be back here.” Beyond him, a half dozen firefighters poured from the alley, dragging giant hoses and equipment into the lot.

  Ellen slid Waymaker back into its baldric, smothering the flames that ran along the blade. Shadowslayer was slung over Jack’s back, but the hilt stuck up over his shoulder. That’d be tough to explain if the firefighter noticed it. She moved in closer to Jack. He had some wizardry. Maybe he could . . .

  “You can’t stay back here,” the firefighter growled. “What with the onshore breeze and all these old warehouses, there’s a good chance the fire will spread to the whole block.” He pointed them toward the cross street. “Get back behind the police line.”

  Then he squinted at them suspiciously. “What happened to you? You’re all cut up and covered in soot. Were you kids in the building?”

  “We saw the smoke,” Ellen said. “And, um, we came to see the fire.” She was a terrible liar.

  But the firefighter was distracted by Leesha. “What’s wrong with her?”

  Jack knelt next to her, furiously tearing off pieces of his shirt. He wrapped the cloth around his hands and tried again to get a grip on the collar. Leesha didn’t seem to be breathing any more.

  “Our friend got hurt,” Ellen said, not knowing what else to say. “She’s not breathing.”

  Jack drew his belt dagger and leaned over Leesha, eyes squinted, mouth tight with determination. Oh, God, Ellen thought. He’s going to try to do a tracheotomy. Like on TV. Two years ago this boy couldn’t splint his own broken leg on the battlefield, and now he’s doing surgery.

  “Hey!” the fireman said when he saw the blade. “What are you
doing?”

  “What’s up?” Seph materialized out of the smoke like a wraith, blood and sweat streaking through the soot on his face.

  Jack looked up, a little wild-eyed. “Barber put a torc on Leesha. It’s strangling her.”

  Strangled, more like, Ellen thought. Past tense. It was weird that she had time to think all that. It was like events had slowed down to a crawl. The firefighter was yelling something in the background, calling for police backup, maybe.

  Seph dropped to his knees next to Leesha, wrapped his hands around the torc as if oblivious to the heat, and shut his eyes. Jack stepped between Seph and Leesha and the firefighter to prevent interference.

  It’s no good, Seph, Ellen thought. Only the wizard who placed it can remove it.

  Power rippled around Seph. He tilted his head back, concentrating, muttering charms. Sweat rolled down his face, though the night was growing chilly. He swallowed once, twice, the long column of his throat jumping. Then the metal dissolved from under his hands and Leesha was free.

  A second passed. Leesha took a rasping breath.

  “What the hell?” the firefighter said, leaning sideways to peer around Jack.

  Seph remained on his knees, his hands resting on his thighs, trembling like he’d caught a chill. Then he looked up at the firefighter. “She’s breathing again, but maybe she should have some oxygen?”

  Firefighters swarmed around Leesha, unpacking equipment.

  The battalion leader stepped around Jack and clutched Seph’s sweatshirt in his fist, dragging him to his feet. “I want to know what happened to her and what you just did.”

  Seph put his hand on the firefighter’s shoulder and the Commander flinched. “Nothing happened, Commander,” Seph said softly, looking him in the eye. “Her necklace melted from the heat and burned her neck. That’s all.”

  The commander blinked at him and nodded, slowly. “Right. Well. We’ll want to get your names. As witnesses.”

  “You won’t need that,” Seph said, his hand still on the man’s arm. “It’ll be fine.”

  “Okay,” the commander said.

  “Commander!” Another firefighter loped up the alley. “I think we can cancel the third hook and ladder.” He hesitated. “I ... I can’t explain it, but it looks like the fire is out.”

  “What?”

  The other man shrugged. “There’s still lots of smoke and a few hot spots, but the fire is basically . . . out.”

  The fire was contained within the skin of the building, so they couldn’t see for themselves, but the heat seemed to be diminishing rather than growing.

  “Come on,” the battalion leader said. “Let’s go take a closer look.” He turned back to Ellen and the others.

  “You three—get out of here. We’ll transport the girl to the burn unit at Metro Hospital.”

  But Leesha was already fighting off the oxygen and struggling to sit up. “I’m fine,” she hissed. “What are you all making such a fuss about?” She put several firefighters down on their butts and struggled to her feet. “Leave me alone, will you?”

  Wizards were resilient, Ellen had to admit. And stubborn.

  The paramedic tried to reason with his uncooperative patient. “Uh, miss, you have second and third degree burns that need treatment,” he said.

  “They’ll be okay. I’ll just use a concealer for a while.” She also declined pain medication and a tranquilizer. “I’m leaving with my friends, understand? I’ll sign any form you want.” She looked up at Ellen and the rest. “Let’s go.”

  Despite her bravado, Ellen could tell that Leesha was shaken. She staggered along beside them until Jack and Ellen ignored her protests and each took an arm, supporting her. She kept touching her neck as if to convince herself the torc was gone, then peered over at Seph like he was some newly discovered wonder of the world.

  “Why didn’t you tell us about the torc?” Ellen asked, catching Leesha for about the fourteenth time when she stumbled.

  Leesha’s voice was low and raspy, and it sounded like it hurt to speak. “I knew . . . there was nothing you could do . . . to take it off.” She took a deep breath, as if she were still short on air. “As long as I was in the sanctuary, he couldn’t use it against me. But I knew once you knew about it, I’d be too high risk. You’d kick me out.”

  “How did he ever get it on you, anyway?” Ellen asked.

  Leesha rolled her eyes. “Don’t ask.”

  “What did you think was going to happen tonight?” Jack asked. “Why did you agree to meet him outside the sanctuary? He almost killed you.”

  “I just hoped somebody would kill him,” Leesha said, brushing her fingertips over the ring of blistered flesh where the torc had been. “Me or you, it didn’t matter. I couldn’t stand it anymore.”

  “Well, the torc is off, but he’s still out there somewhere,” Jack said. “Unfortunately, we don’t know any more than we did before about what happened to Jason and where the Covenant is.”

  Leesha shrugged and stared at the ground, her lower lip trembling. Ellen found herself actually feeling sorry for her.

  Seph spoke for the first time. “I don’t think you should go back to your aunt’s.” He left it at that, but everyone knew what he meant. Barber was still at large and the wall wasn’t up yet.

  Leesha swallowed, wincing. “But, if I can’t stay at Aunt Milli’s . . .”

  “We’ll ask Nick,” Jack said. “He’ll find a place. And somebody should look at your neck, anyway.”

  Seph said nothing more. He just strode along, head down, hands thrust into the front pocket of his sweatshirt, lost in his own thoughts. But Ellen had her own questions that needed answering.

  “So what’d you do?” she asked Seph as they threaded their way past emergency vehicles on their way back to the car.

  “What do you mean?”

  “With the fire. Wizard fire is impossible to put out.”

  He shrugged slightly, still looking straight ahead.

  “How’d you get the torc off?” she persisted.

  Still he said nothing. Refused to look at her.

  “Seph.”

  When he finally spoke, his voice was low and ragged. “I didn’t want the whole neighborhood to burn because of us, okay? I didn’t want anyone else . . . anyone to be caught in it.” His voice broke and he swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.

  Ellen put her hand on his arm, and almost yanked it away. He was still totally hot with power. “Seph. Look at me.”

  Seph finally looked up and met her stare. “What?” he demanded. When she said nothing, Seph added, “Look, there was a fire—in Toronto. A friend of mine died.” His green eyes were unnaturally bright, his pupils pinpricks, his face deathly pale. He looked away.

  He’s using flame again, Ellen thought, even though he’d promised he wouldn’t—except in extraordinary circumstances. She couldn’t fault him—he’d put out the fire and saved Leesha’s life.

  But it seemed those extraordinary circumstances were coming along more and more often.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Life as Art

  Two weeks went by, and Grace and J.R. didn’t go riding at the Ropers again. Madison ran into Brice once or twice in town, and he pretended not to see her. She tried to look at the bright side: at least he wasn’t trying to romance her any more.

  Grace was hopeful of being invited back at first, and then angry, and that kind of petered down to being disappointed—her usual state. Madison took Grace and J.R. fishing at the reservoir. She helped them bake dog biscuits for Hamlet and Ophelia and played long games of Monopoly that slid over from one day to the next. But it was hard to compete with Arabian horses and miles of trails. And Madison hesitated to take them to town for fear she might run into Warren Barber. Was he still hanging around, looking for Jason, or had he climbed back into whatever hole he’d come from?

  Jason was surprisingly patient with Grace and J.R. He taught them how to play blackjack and 5-card stud and Texas hold ’em. As
he got to feeling better, he went down to Booker Creek with them to look for salamanders and tadpoles. He found an old fish tank in the cellar, set it up, and got the pump working. They populated it with striped shiners, rainbow darters, silverjaw minnows, and ones Madison didn’t know that Jason made up names for, like slack-jawed sidewinders and malaclusive bottom feeders.

  John Robert thought everything Jason said was hilarious and smart, and even Grace made excuses to go out to the barn to show him something or see if he needed a snack or a book to read.

  Jason didn’t risk going into town, either, but he walked all over the mountain with Maddie, hauling canvases and easels and supplies and taking photographs with the camera Madison had borrowed from Sara.

  Madison knew it was wrong to keep his presence a secret from Carlene, but she was so in the habit of working around her mother that secrecy came naturally to her. She couldn’t quite figure out why Jason was still there—whether he hoped he’d eventually convince her to come north, or if he was there as bodyguard or spy.

  She’d expect him to be totally antsy, stuck up on the mountain with nothing to do, but he actually seemed content, more relaxed than she’d ever seen him. It was as if he’d managed to set down the armloads of pain he carried around all the time—temporarily, at least.

  The Booker Mountain effect at work, no doubt.

  Jason was a constant reminder of everything and everyone Madison had left behind in Trinity. She thought of going down into town and calling Seph, just to get the news and hear his voice. But then he’d ask about Jason and she didn’t think she could pull it off, lying to him. Besides, she’d moved beyond the razor edge of grief into long-term mourning, and she was afraid any conversation between them would reopen those wounds. So she wrote long letters and sent e-mails and kept Jason’s secret.

  One afternoon, Madison came in from the barn to find Carlene sitting at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette and tapping the ashes into an empty Pepsi can. Her mother had on her waitress uniform, a shirtwaist dress with CARLENE embroidered over the pocket that looked like one of those retro uniforms, but wasn’t.