Elemental Heir (Ridley Kayne Chronicles Book 3)

by Rachel Morgan

  When she was done with the shower and the conjurations that cleaned and dried her clothes, her nausea and lightheadedness were gone. She left the bathroom, glancing across the hall at the opposite room. She wasn’t intentionally snooping, but the door was ajar and she couldn’t help catching a glimpse of the room beyond. She stopped as she caught sight of a Wallace Academy blazer. The room must have been Serena’s.

  Though she knew she shouldn’t, Ridley pushed the door open a little wider and looked inside. Her eyes traveled across the room’s contents: A dresser covered in makeup and hair products. Candles in varying shades of blue and purple arranged among the books on a shelf. Trophies from dance competitions lining the top shelf. The school blazer hanging on the closet door. A black jacket draped over—

  Surprise surged through Ridley’s chest. She knew that black jacket with the popular cartoon demon-cat embroidered on the back. It was Shen’s. Unless, of course, Serena owned the exact same one. But given that it didn’t fit in with the rest of the girly items in this room, and that Shen had admitted before disappearing that he’d been in love with Serena, the jacket was very likely his.

  Where are you, Shen? Ridley thought, gently pulling the door back to its original position. Shen had accidentally killed an elemental man outside Ridley’s home. Then he’d tried to kill Lawrence Madson and Archer—succeeding in the case of Lawrence. He’d been convinced they were both part of the Shadow Society and were at least partly responsible for Serena’s death. Ridley had insisted he was wrong about Archer. A sick feeling that had nothing to do with arxium twisted her gut. Turned out she was the fool, not Shen.

  She left Serena’s bedroom behind and found Archer and Mrs. Adams in the living room. As expected for an apartment in the heart of the Opal Quarter, it looked like it came straight from an interior design showroom. But it also looked a little more lived in than the Davenports’ penthouse home. There were far more framed photographs—Serena’s face was everywhere—plus a couple of dirty coffee mugs, a wrinkled blanket on one of the couches, and a half-finished plate of fresh fruit on the coffee table.

  Archer looked up, his expression brightening when he saw Ridley in the doorway. She quickly averted her eyes, hating the way her stomach flipped over when he looked at her like that, as if she were suddenly the only important thing in the room. Her body clearly hadn’t received the memo yet that she and Archer were no longer a thing.

  “Feeling better?” Mrs. Adams asked.

  Ridley thought of saying something about the jacket. Or saying something about Shen, at least, since she didn’t want to admit to looking into Serena’s room. She wanted to let Mrs. Adams know the two of them shared a connection. One of Ridley’s best friends had loved Mrs. Adams’ daughter. But she wasn’t sure if Mrs. Adams even knew about her daughter’s relationship with a guy who lived in what could almost be considered a slum in comparison to the Opal Quarter. And even if she was aware of it, bringing up anything that had to do with Serena would probably only cause her pain.

  “Yes, thank you,” Ridley answered, stepping into the room. “Um … are you two getting along any better than when I went to shower?” Her eyes moved to Archer’s ear, and she could just make out the edge of a small patch of gauze stuck behind it. “I see you managed to remove Archer’s AI1 without leaving any major wounds, so that’s a positive sign.”

  “Archer and I had a long chat. He told me quite the story.”

  Ridley sat opposite Archer, tucking one leg beneath her. “Is that the story about how his family’s part of the Shadow Society, but he’s apparently turned his back on everything they believe and has been helping elementals for months now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Just checking we were both given the same story.”

  “You don’t believe him?”

  Ridley looked at Archer, holding his gaze this time. “I want to. I just don’t know if that’s wise.”

  Mrs. Adams nodded. “I know what you mean. He told me a similar story several weeks ago when he’d just returned to Lumina City. Not the Shadow Society part, but that he knew about elementals, and that his time overseas had changed him. I wasn’t sure I believed him and I—I didn’t want to talk about Serena.” Her voice hitched slightly before she continued. “It didn’t matter to me that Archer Davenport suddenly cared about her death and wanted to pass on his condolences.”

  “But you did tell me,” Archer said, “before pushing me out the front door and slamming it closed, that if I was ever desperate and in need of somewhere to hide, I could come here. You said you wished,” he added in a quieter tone, “that Serena had had somewhere to hide when she was trying to get away from them.”

  Mrs. Adams inhaled deeply. She looked at Ridley. “I did say that. And now … well, him being part of the Shadow Society for so long was a fact that was bound to only make me hate him more. So the fact that he told me anyway makes me think it’s probably the truth.”

  “Or he told you because I already know, so I probably would have told you by now if he hadn’t.”

  Mrs. Adams appraised Ridley with a slight tilt of her head. “You are a skeptical one, aren’t you. Did he break your heart? Is that why you think it unwise to trust anything he has to say now?”

  “Uh, should I perhaps leave the room so you two can continue talking about me as if I’m not here?” Archer asked.

  “Yes,” Ridley said, but she was answering Mrs. Adams, not Archer. “That is what happened.”

  Mrs. Adams nodded. “Smart. I’d probably feel the same way if I were you.”

  “Good. Anyway … so …” Ridley looked at Archer again. “Both your amulets are gone? And your commscreen?”

  He nodded. “Put them all into a brown paper bag, opened a window, and sent the bag flying as far as possible on a conjuration.”

  “Magic? How daring.”

  “Mrs. A said she didn’t mind.”

  Mrs. Adams frowned. “I did say that, but I think I might object to being called Mrs. A.”

  “Sorry.” Archer smiled apologetically. “Too familiar?”

  “Too … old.”

  “Old?”

  “Um, anyway,” Ridley interrupted. “I can use my own magic again, so we can leave any time. Like now, before Archer becomes too annoying and you throw us out. We should probably—”

  The sound of something falling in one of the other rooms cut through Ridley’s words. She paused, lips parted, her eyes darting to Mrs. Adams. She had also frozen.

  “Does someone else live here?” Archer asked quietly.

  Mrs. Adams shook her head, rising silently from the couch. She padded over to a bookshelf, extended her hand toward a book with a wide spine, and slid it from the shelf. She flipped the book open. It had no pages, only a compartment with a small black object Ridley couldn’t properly see but was fairly certain was a gun. Mrs. Adams slipped her hand around it.

  Beside Ridley, Archer sucked in a quick breath and said, “Saoirse?”

  16

  Ridley’s gaze shot toward the doorway she’d walked through barely a few minutes before just as Archer said Saoirse’s name. A slight figure was standing there. Wrapped in her favorite rainbow sweater, her gray-streaked auburn hair scraped back into a tight ponytail, it was most certainly Saoirse.

  Ridley let out a heavy breath as she stood, her hammering pulse still pumping adrenaline through her system. “Saoirse, what are you—you can’t just do that! You almost gave us heart failure. Mrs. Adams was about to … I don’t know, shoot you or something.” Even as the words left her mouth, she remembered appearing in Meera’s bedroom in much the same fashion. And in Lilah’s bedroom not long before that. In fact, Ridley had entered a great many homes in exactly the way Saoirse had just appeared. With a twinge of both guilt and annoyance, she forced the reminder away.

  “I wasn’t very well about to knock on the front door when I had no idea what kind of situation you were in,” Saoirse said, crossing the room. A bag hung from one shoulder, and she didn’t r
emove it as she pulled Ridley into a brief hug. “You might have been a prisoner in here. Would have been silly to announce my arrival in that case.”

  “I’m guessing I can put this away?” Mrs. Adams said, holding up the book. It was closed now, hiding the weapon that lay within it.

  “Yes,” Archer answered, standing. “Mrs. Adams, this Saoirse. Elemental, as you’ve no doubt gathered. Saoirse, this is …” He looked at Mrs. Adams. “I’m sorry, I don’t actually know your first name.”

  “Blair.” Mrs. Adams slid the book back onto the shelf before moving toward Saoirse, her hand extended. “Blair Adams.” The two women shook hands. It struck Ridley that they probably weren’t too far apart in age, but Mrs. Adams looked decades younger with her perfectly dyed hair and expertly applied makeup.

  “Sorry for intruding,” Saoirse said. “But we’ve all been very worried about Ridley.”

  “We?” Ridley echoed. “Who else … I mean, where did you just come from? Have you seen—my dad?” She stumbled over that last bit, and Saoirse must have noticed because her eyes filled with sympathy.

  “You have seen him,” Ridley said quietly. “You know that I know.”

  To her side, she noticed Archer looking between the two of them. “Know … what?”

  Ridley cleared her throat and turned to Mrs. Adams. “Uh, we can go now and continue all of this elsewhere. I don’t want to intrude on your hospitality any longer. But I’m very grateful for the meal and the shower and … and a safe place to hide for a bit. Thank you.”

  Mrs. Adams sighed through her nose. “No rush. This isn’t what I’d planned for my Sunday morning, but you’re all here now, so you may as well stay longer if you need to. I meant what I said when I told Archer I wished Serena had had somewhere safe to hide.” She looked around. “Anyone want some tea?”

  Archer seemed uncertain. Saoirse looked at Ridley as if Ridley held the answer. All Ridley could say was, “Um …”

  “I’ll put the kettle on anyway.” Mrs. Adams left the room. Ridley and Archer hesitantly sat down. Saoirse followed, not bothering to remove the bag from her shoulder.

  “So … magic led you here?” Ridley asked Saoirse. “To me, I mean?”

  “Yes. Sorry, before I say anything else … do we trust him?” She jerked her head toward Archer. “Nathan told me about his ties to the Shadow Society. About his father being the director.” Her brows lowered in disappointment as she focused on Archer. “I don’t know you that well, but I have to admit it was a shock to discover this.”

  “Saoirse, I’m on your side,” Archer insisted. “I swear. Before reaching the reserve, I had planned to never see my family or any other Shadow Society member ever again. It’s true that I once bought into everything my father told me—or at least, it was just easier not to question things—but I made my own mind up months ago.”

  Saoirse looked at Ridley. “You know him better than I do. What do you think?”

  Ridley sighed. “I don’t know. Everything’s become so tangled in my head. If I look back, I can see evidence to support his story, but I can also see times where things conveniently worked out in his favor. It just seems safer not to trust him.”

  “I agree.” Saoirse’s magic drifted around her hands. She pulled it together between her palms, then manipulated it with a sweep and curve of her hands and repetitive flutters of her fingers.

  “What are you doing?” Ridley asked.

  Saorise spread her arms wide, then smacked the magic together between her palms before throwing it at Archer. It hit his chest and vanished like a puff of dust. His wide eyes shot up. “What did you do to me?”

  “You can’t pull magic now. It’s basically the same effect as an AI2. I’m sorry, but I need to be sure Ridley and I have the upper hand here. You can only use your own physical strength now if you want to attack us, and our magic should help us get away from you or restrain you, should the need arise.”

  Archer looked horrified. “I would never attack either of you.”

  “Why do you know a conjuration like that?” Ridley asked, frowning.

  “People who use magic—elemental or not—aren’t always good people. I’ve learned that the hard way. Sometimes this is the easiest method of disarming someone who’s trying to hurt you.”

  “Permanently?” Archer demanded.

  “Oh, no. Sorry, I should have mentioned that. It’s not permanent. There’s another conjuration to remove the effects of the one I just did.”

  “So, what? I earn your trust back, and you’ll return me to normal?”

  “I suppose so.”

  Ridley was still frowning. This was probably the best thing to do, given that they had no way of knowing if anything coming out of Archer’s mouth was the truth. But there was still something about it that made her feel uncomfortable. There was little difference between this and the government deciding that by law, everyone would have an AI2. But this was one person deciding for another person that they shouldn’t be allowed to use magic, and that seemed a bit more like a violation of a basic human right. Or perhaps this was just Ridley’s silly heart caring more about Archer than she should. She needed to work on that.

  “Back when magic was legal,” Archer said, “I assume this kind of conjuration was illegal?”

  “Yes. But you’ve probably done plenty of illegal things in service of the Shadow Society, so illegal conjurations shouldn’t bother you.” Without giving him a chance to respond, Saoirse turned to Ridley. “What happened yesterday? After you left Nathan and your father—well, your … you know.” She looked uncomfortable. “I had the vague sense that you were somewhere in or near Lumina City, and then the feeling simply vanished. I thought something terrible may have happened to you.”

  Ridley leaned back and folded her arms over her chest. It was just hitting her again that Saoirse had known the truth all along. Throughout every conversation, every training session—even the first moment they’d met, when it had been clear Ridley believed Dad was her father—the truth had hung there between them without Ridley being aware of it. “You knew,” she said, an accusatory edge to her voice. “And you let me believe a lie.”

  Saoirse shifted her position slightly on the couch, unable to meet Ridley’s gaze now. “It wasn’t my place to say anything. I tried to convince Maverick, but he kept saying he needed more time.”

  Archer leaned forward. “I think I’ve missed something. What are you talking about?”

  “You’ve missed a lot,” Ridley snapped. “That’s what happens when you turn out to be part of the enemy organization. We stop telling you things.”

  Archer let out a frustratedhuff of breath. “I am not the enemy.”

  Ridley ignored him and faced Saoirse again. “Okay. So you didn’t tell me. Fine. I guess I understand that you didn’t feel it was your place. Though you did tell Nathan, and you must have known he wasn’t going to keep it to himself.”

  “I’m sorry about that. I was trying to explain to him that I have real hope for our plans, and I suppose I must have come across far more excited than I have in recent months, so he wanted to know what changed. I told him about you. And, Ridley—” she gripped both of Ridley’s hands in her own “—I do have real hope now. Having you with us changes everything. The rest of us could probably sit back and watch while you burn through all the arxium around Lumina City on your own.”

  Ridley shook her head as a shiver raised the hairs on her arms. “I don’t know about that.”

  “Well, if you had both your family stones you probably could. But your father’s was lost several generations ago.”

  “The stones? Why would it make a difference if I had both of them?”

  “As I understand it, the magic within them helps to focus your power. You know how when you fragment, you sort of … lose touch with time and place? You feel as though you’re everywhere at once? It’s very … instinctive. You give yourself over to the elements, and magic senses what you want and need. But when you’re wearing the stone I
gave you—at least this is how your mother explained it to me—you’re able to focus more sharply. You’re everywhere at once, and also distinctly aware of everything at once, so you’re able to direct it more easily. Essentially, it makes you even stronger than you already are.”

  “Hmm,” Ridley mused. “Is that why magic was able to warn me that we were about to be attacked? Did I have, like, a stronger connection to it because I was wearing the stone then?”

  “You already have a stronger connection than the rest of us because of who you are. You can just about have a conversation with magic if that’s what you want. You can ask it for things and it will understand you in a way it will never understand the rest of us. But yes, even more so when you’re wearing the stone, I think.”

  “But magic warned you too. It didn’t warn anyone else—at least, not that I gathered—but it did warn you. Wait, are you also one?”

  “Oh, no, I …” Saoirse stumbled over her words as she shook her head. “With much patience and meditation over many years, I’ve honed my connection to the elements. But it’s still not as easy for me as it is for you. The warning I got wasn’t very clear.”

  “Oh. So, is this why …” Ridley played absently with the ends of her hair, wondering if she should voice this part out loud. She’d wanted to ask Saoirse about it before, but it seemed too silly, like something she’d probably imagined. “The first time I fragmented, it felt to me as though magic said it … knew me. And then after I burned through that building in the wastelands, I got the sense that it was pleased with me. I thought either I’d imagined or … I don’t know, that maybe all elementals feel like magic is telling them it recognizes them.”

  “Amazing,” Saoirse murmured. “No, I don’t think magic says that to all of us. At least, I don’t remember getting that sense myself, and no one else has ever mentioned it to me. There must be something recognizable about the magic you’ve inherited. Some signature to it that’s passed along with each generation.”