The Dragon Heir (20 page)

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.”

“Where's Mr. Roper?”
Grace asked.

“He's up at his mother's
old studio,” Madison said. “He decided to stay a while.”

“Mr. Roper says I can
come back and ride Abby whenever I want,” Grace announced, daintily
blotting her lips with her napkin.

“I think Mr. Roper's changed
his mind,” Madison said.

Grace dropped her fork onto
her plate with a clatter, thunderclouds gathering on her face. “Why, what
did you say to him?”

Madison hesitated, then
decided to go with the truth. “Mr. Roper's daddy wants Booker Mountain. I
said no. He's kind of mad about it.”

“Where would we live if
he took the mountain?” J.R. asked around his last bite of cake.

“That's one of the
problems,” Madison said. “That's why I said no.”

“We could move someplace
else,” Grace suggested.

“I don't think that's
going to happen,” Madison said.

On the way up the mountain,
Grace commented that Brice Roper was kind of a jerk, but he had nice horses.
Madison told her that there was no such thing as a free ride.

Leesha felt like the outside
man in a crime-scene stakeout. She'd sat in her car in the far corner of St.
Catherine's parking lot all morning, watching the custodians patch a hole in
the asphalt. The new blacktop steamed and reeked in the noon sun. There was
little traffic in and out of the church at midday on a Monday.

She'd been in the church a
half-dozen times herself. Had spoken to the frumpy woman in the church office,
to the priest, and the nerdy altar boy after Mass. Had enticed them to the
garden, where at least she could use Persuasion. They'd shared all their
pathetic secrets, but it was clear they knew nothing about magical artifacts.
She'd searched the sanctuary, but turned up nothing. If the Dragonheart was
there, it was hidden securely behind magical wards.

Churches were like saunas.
They made you sweat and flooded all your magical pores. It was a relief to be
outside.

Leesha's new plan was
admittedly sketchy. She'd wait until one of the Weir showed up, then follow them into
the church and see where that led her. If the church surveillance turned up
nothing, she'd have to contemplate more direct action to find the location of
the Dragonheart.

Maybe she was wasting her
time. Jason could have taken the Dragonheart with him when he left. Maybe Jason
was dead, and Barber already had what he wanted.

Jason.

She'd had no choice, she told
herself. Barber wasn't playing around. The beating he'd given her was just an
introductory offer. D'Orsay had tried to kill Barber and failed. She couldn't
run away because Barber would use the torc to kill her, if she left the
sanctuary. As long as she wore the torc, Barber knew just where to find her.
And only he could take it off.

No choice. She'd be dead by
now if she hadn't given Jason up. She stared glumly out at a world that seemed
gray and colorless without him in it. She wished Barber would contact her, just
so she'd know.

A battered old Jeep pulled
into the lot and a familiar figure vaulted out, not bothering with the door. It
was that awful Ellen Stephenson, who'd hooked up with Jack after Leesha broke
up with him. Who'd slimed her with hot fudge at Corcoran s that one time. Who'd
turned out to be the Red Rose Warrior and conspired with Jack to destroy the
Covenant at Raven's Ghyll.

Definitely a person of
interest.

But Ellen didn't go into the
church. Instead, she cut across the parking lot and headed into the woods
between the churchyard and the lake. Strange.

Leesha slid out of the car and
crossed the lot, trailing after Ellen.

Ellen followed a wood-chip
path that snaked north, toward the lakeshore. The warrior walked fast, and what
with her long legs, Leesha had to move at a trot to keep up. The path was
narrow, and briars caught at her clothing and tore at her hair while Ellen put
more and more distance between them. Leesha crashed along behind, giving up on
trying to move silently through the forest. If she'd planned on hiking, she'd
have worn flats. As it was, she'd probably catch poison ivy.

Eventually the path emerged
into a small clearing, studded with stickers and small bushes. No sign of
Ellen. Leesha pivoted to scan the meadow, then froze as something cold touched
the back of her neck.

“You looking for
me?”

Leesha turned to see Ellen on
the other end of a very long sword that pressed into the base of Leesha's
collarbone.

“Hey!” she said,
taking a step back. “Careful. Do you know how hard it is to get blood out
of silk?”

“Won't be a problem if
you're dead,” Ellen replied, then looked up, over Leesha's head, and
smiled. Not reassuring. Leesha carefully turned, and there was Jack, packing
his own big sword and wearing a nasty expression.

“Oh!” Leesha said.
“Well. Excuse me. I didn't mean to intrude on your woodland
rendezvous.”

“You're not
intruding,” Jack said. “In fact, you're the guest of honor.”

Leesha felt the first pricklings
of panic, but tried to keep it off her face.

“I was thinking of
hunting renegade wizards.” Ellen shrugged. “You up for it,
Jack?”

“I'm game.” Leesha
couldn't help noticing that he had a surprisingly wicked smile. And he used to
be so nice.

“We want to know what
happened to Jason,” Ellen said. “And what part you played in
it.”

“I have no idea what
you're talking about. I haven't seen Jason for days.”

“Jason's
disappeared,” Jack said.

“Well, that's a shame.
But why ask me about it?”

Jack glared at her. “You
two have been hanging out.”

“Have not.”

Ellen's blade pressed into her
throat again.

“OK, fine. I hang out
with a lot of people.” She conjured up her most patronizing expression.
“I mean, it's nice of you warriors to be worried about Jason and all, but
I think he can take care of himself.”

“Jason's our
friend,” Ellen said. “And we're wondering who you're working
for.”

“What makes you think I'm
working for someone?”

“You're a trader. Traders
are always in it for the cash.” Ellen looked down her long nose at Leesha.
“Still, it's hard to believe anyone our age would be such a mercenary.”

That's what she was. A
mercenary. She'd sold Jason out. No matter how many times she told herself
she'd had no choice. Still. It wouldn't do Jason any good if she got kicked out
of the sanctuary, and Barber ended her pathetic life.

Leesha drew herself up to her
full height, which, to be honest, wasn't that impressive. The warriors still
towered over her. “I don't answer to you. Now, why don't you run along and
hone your weapons or rattle your swords or whatever warriors do in their spare
time.”

“Whoa,” Ellen said.
“Good thing we're here in the sanctuary,
where attack magic doesn't work. Otherwise, I'd be wetting myself.”
Sliding her giant sword into its case, she reached for Leesha.

From force of habit, Leesha
spoke her immobilization charm, knowing as she did so it was useless. And it
was. Crap.

Ellen gripped her wrists,
bending her arms painfully behind her back. Jack lifted the tip of his sword so
it rested at the base of her throat.

Jack smiled. “One thing
you can say for magical swords. Even in the absence of magic, they retain a
certain functionality.”

Which couldn't be argued with,
really.

“So what's up,
Leesha?” Jack said. “Why are you still here?”

“You wouldn't hurt
me,” Leesha said. Which ordinarily would be true. Jack was so the heroic
type. Unless he was angry. Angry warriors could lose control. Who knew Jack and
Jason were so tight?

Then there was Ellen, who was
twisting her arms, practically yanking them out of their sockets. Ellen
wouldn't hesitate to hurt her. She still held a grudge about Leesha and Jack.

No attack magic. It was
unfair.

She couldn't help Jason.
Wherever he was, he was beyond reach. And if Jack and Ellen knew she'd played a
role in his betrayal…But she could give up Warren Barber. She hated Warren
Barber's guts. And all his other parts.

Besides, traders were not
known for giving their lives for their employers.

“Okay,” she said.
“Ease up. What would you like to know?”

In answer, Ellen pushed Leesha
down to her knees in the tall weeds, still keeping hold of her wrists.
“Tell us about Jason,” she said.

“I'm not sure what
happened to him, but I can tell you that Warren Barber was involved.” That
was perfectly true.

“Warren Barber?”
Jack looked totally blindsided. “I thought he was dead or something.”

Leesha shook her head.
“Nope. Unfortunately.”

“Why would he go after
Jason?” Ellen asked from behind.

Leesha knew she should choose
her words carefully, but it was hard to think. “Barber knew that Jason
stole some things from Raven's Ghyll. He wanted to get them back.”

“How did he … What gave
him that idea?” Ellen demanded, releasing Leesha and circling around in
front.

Because Leesha had told him,
of course. “D'Orsay must've told him,” Leesha said, rubbing her arms
and rotating her shoulders.

Jack squatted in front of
Leesha. “Why does D'Orsay think it was Jason that snuck into the
ghyll?”

“I guess Jason ran into
D'Orsay's son on his way out,” Leesha said.

Jack and Ellen looked at each
other, then back at Leesha. “What was it that Jason supposedly
stole?” Ellen asked.

“Magical stuff.”

“So Barber's working for
D'Orsay?”

“He's working for
himself.” She took a breath. “He has the Covenant, you know. The one
that makes D'Orsay king for life.”

“What?” Jack swore
under his breath. “Barber has it?”

Ellen sat back on her heels.
“How'd he get it?”

“He took it from Second
Sister in all the confusion.”

Jack squinted at her
suspiciously. “What good does it do him? Does he really want to answer to Claude D'Orsay?”

“I think he sees himself
as more of an equal partner.”

“So why haven't they
consecrated the agreement, then?” Ellen asked.

Leesha shrugged. “I don't
know. But Barber wanted to find Jason.”

“How do you know all
this?” Jack asked.

“He wanted me to help,
but I refused, of course.”

“Bright.” Ellen
swept her hair off her forehead.

“He might've found out
Jason was leaving the sanctuary and intercepted him. So if Jason was carrying
the stuff, Barber has it. If not, he probably knows where it is by now. He can
be very persuasive.” Leesha resisted the temptation to touch her collar.

“Any idea where Barber
is?” Ellen asked.

“Nope.” Leesha
stood, brushing at her clothes. “Don't say thanks or anything.”

Jack seized her by one arm,
and Ellen by the other. “Where are you staying, Leesha?” Ellen asked.

“You know where. With my
Aunt Milli. At Shrewsbury Commons. Why?”

“Let's go get your
stuff.”

“Why? What do you
mean?” Jack and Ellen said nothing, but began manhandling her back toward
the parking lot. “Oh, no. I'm not leaving the sanctuary. I can't, not
after what I've already told you. Barber will kill me.”

“Just make sure you're
far away from here when he does it,” Jack suggested.

“Look, you can't kick me
out of the sanctuary. It's open to everybody.”

“We're changing the
rules,” Ellen said. “Too much riffraff coming in and ruining the
small-town ambience.”

Leesha tried to dig her heels
in, but the two warriors simply picked her up and carried her. It was
humiliating. Leesha kicked and squirmed and swore. “I won't forget this.
You'll be sorry.” She tried releasing Persuasion into them, but they
dropped her to the ground, then picked her up again when she was done.

In no time they were back at
the parking lot and maneuvering her toward the Jeep.

“Okay, fine!! You
win!” Leesha said, in a voice that made heads turn across
the street. She wrenched free of their grip and slumped against the side of the
Jeep, breathing hard and scared to death. If she betrayed Barber, she'd be dead
in a heartbeat. But she had no choice. Again.

“All right,” she
said. “You let me stay in the sanctuary and I promise I'll give you
Barber.”