The Dragon Heir (24 page)

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 tore 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 Milh'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.

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.

Madison hadn't said a word
about Brice Roper or the shed. What good would it do? It wouldn't turn either
one of them into different people, people who agreed on anything. Madison would
own Booker Mountain in three months. It would be up to somebody else to make
the next move.

Brice had told Carlene some of
what had happened at the Ropers—Madison
was sure of that. Carlene would sneak rabbity looks at her from the corners of
her eyes as if expecting some kind of confrontation. Not that they saw much of
each other, what with Carlene's work and sleep schedules and Madison's habit of
spending her afternoons secluded in the barn. That kind of kept their
encounters to a minimum.

Madison opened the
refrigerator, scanning the meager offerings, wondering what to fix for supper.

And then Carlene asked,
“Who's that boy you got stashed in the barn?”

Madison yanked her head out of
the refrigerator and swung around, banging her elbow. “Ow! What?”

“He your boyfriend?”

“Ah…well, no,”
Madison stuttered. “He's just a friend who needed a place to stay.”

“Well, tell your friend
he can stay in the house if he wants. There's plenty of room. That's rude,
making him stay out there.” Carlene gestured toward the other chair with
her cigarette. “Sit down a minute, honey.”

Madison shut the refrigerator,
came and sat down at the table. “Okay. I'll tell him, but I think he's
leaving pretty soon.” She hesitated. “Please, Mama, don't tell
anybody he's here.”

Naturally, Carlene didn't
commit to anything. “You don't even have a crush on him?”

Madison tore the paper towel
that stood in for a napkin into careful strips. “No, I don't. What makes
you say that?”

“I'm trying to figure out
why you don't like Brice.”

“Mama, there are a
hundred reasons why I don't like Brice, beginning with the fact that he's a
self-centered, arrogant…jerk.”

“But good-looking. And
rich.” Carlene waved away self-centered and arrogant like
his other stellar qualities canceled them out.

“Maybe you should
marry him, then.”

Carlene considered this, then
shook her head. “He likes you.”

“He likes Booker
Mountain. If you owned it, he'd like you.” Careful, Madison, she
thought. Just calm down.

“If I did own it, I'd
sure consider selling it to him.”

“Where would you live,
then?”

Carlene looked around the
kitchen, with its battered linoleum  floors  and  tired flowered wallpaper,
everything glazed over with years of propane residue. “Anywhere. Anywhere but
here.” She paused. “Think what it would mean to Grace and John Robert
if they could move someplace with good schools, where they'd have friends close
by to play with.”

She stubbed out her cigarette.
“They're talking serious money, Maddie, enough to pay for college, for a
new house, for…for everything. We'd be millionaires. We could move wherever we
wanted and make a fresh start, where people don't have…attitudes.”

Booker Mountain is mine,
Madison wanted to say, though she felt like it belonged to Grace and John
Robert, too. But it wouldn't belong to any of them if they sold it away. If Min
hadn't been so stubborn, it would be gone already.

Madison imagined the
bulldozers coming in, the draglines scraping the top off her mountain, all of
Coalton County dusted black from the blasting.

“Mama, you know what
they're planning to do to the mountain,” Madison said. “Brice told
you about it. How could you ever let that happen?”

“Now, baby,” Carlene
coaxed. “Don't exaggerate. They'll fix it up, after. Besides, there's
other mountains. We could move out west somewhere, like Las Vegas. There's
mountains all over out there.”

Madison thought of the little
graveyard upslope in the hollow, the crazily tilted headstones like crooked teeth
where the frost had pushed them out of the ground. There was the cave by the
waterfall where she'd found Native American petroglyphs and never told anyone
because she was afraid somebody would sneak in and wreck it, the way people
always did. The old iron furnace by the creek, built by her great-grandfather,
one of his crazy, money-making schemes.

She felt like she was under
siege, between Brice Roper and Carlene and Children's Services and Seph and the
onrushing wizard war and the Dragonheart pulling at her asleep and awake.

“Do we have to talk about
this now?” she asked wearily.

“Madison.” Carlene
looked her in the eyes. “Do you want to wait until Grace and John Robert
are growed up? We're not the kind of people who can afford to be romantic about
things. We have to be practical.”

Practical. Coming from Carlene. “Did Mr. Roper ask you to
talk to me?” Madison demanded.

Carlene nodded. She snapped
and unsnapped her cigarette case. “I told him I would. It don't make
sense, the way you're treating him and Brice.”

“Well, If I have to
decide now, the answer is no.”

“Don't decide now,
then.” Carlene stood and picked up her pocketbook, fished inside and
pulled out a twenty. “I have to go to work. Here. Go on and take the kids
to the movies in town tonight. And don't be stubborn. Sometimes you have to
think of someone besides yourself.”

 Torches guttered in
sconces along the walls, painting the great stone hall in reds and yellows.
Prisoners processed up the aisle to the altar at the front, chains clanking,
clad in rough-spun hooded robes that bore the insignia of their Houses. The Red
Rose. The White Rose. The Silver Bear. The Dragon. In an endless line.

The executioner stood
beside the altar, holding a great staff with the Dragonheart mounted at the
tip. A clerk stood alongside, reading from a parchment, calling names,
confirming the sentences. Many of the names were familiar: Leander Hastings.
Linda Downey. Claude D'Orsay. Jessamine Longbranch. Jackson Swift. Jason Haley.
Joseph McCauley. The charge: Anarchy. Rebellion. Murder. Each of the condemned
knelt at the altar and mutely laid his head upon the stone. The executioner
raised the great staff, pointed it at the prisoner. Flames erupted from the
Dragonheart, incinerating the condemned in an instant. The stench of burned
flesh filled the hall.

The executioner's hood fell
back, revealing her own face.

“Maddie, wake up! Maddie,
you're dreaming.” Someone pulled at her arm, practically yanking it out of
its socket.

Maddie opened her eyes and
Grace's worried face came into view—solemn
gray eyes and a sprinkling of freckles, straight brown hair pulled back in a
ponytail. “You're scaring me, yelling like that.”

“Oh.” Maddie propped
on her elbows and tried to swallow away the bad taste in her mouth. She went to
sleep thinking of Seph. She woke up thinking of the Dragonheart. Now they were
invading her dreams. “Sorry. What time is it, anyway?”

“I don't know; it's
late,” Grace said, switching on the lamp. “You must've fell asleep on
the couch after supper. Did you ever take Jason anything to eat?”

Madison shook her head.
“No, I … drat!” She focused on the kitchen clock. “It's after
eight o'clock. I was going to take you and J.R. to the movies tonight.”

“Can't we still go?”
Grace begged.

“It's too late tonight,
there's just an eight o'clock showing. We'll go tomorrow, to a matinee, and
then we'll have enough money for popcorn, too. Okay?”

“Okay. I guess.”
Grace sat on the edge of the couch. “What'd you dream about, anyway?”

The Dragonheart, Madison
almost said. She massaged her forehead with the heels of her hands. Even when she
didn't focus on it, it shimmered in the periphery of her mind, stirring up the
kind of longing she associated with art. And Seph McCauley.

When she didn't answer, Grace
said, “You never used to have nightmares.”

“Maybe I was just less
noisy about it.” Madison shook her head, trying to rattle loose the images
that remained. “Thanks for waking me up, Grade,” she said, forgetting
that Grace now officially hated to be called Grade. “I'd better take Jason
something to eat.”

Madison poured iced tea into a
metal Thermos—the one her father used to
carry to the mine. She slathered leftover biscuits with butter and honey and
rolled them in a napkin, wrapped leftover fried chicken in waxed paper. She
supposed she should ask Jason to come up and eat at the house, but it didn't
matter now, anyway. He'd have to leave. Carlene couldn't keep a secret as well
as Grace and J.R. The whole town would know about Jason inside of a week.

Surely Warren Barber must've
gone back to wherever he came from. Nobody in town had mentioned seeing him. He
would stick out wherever he was, but especially in Coal Grove.

The security light created a
little oasis in the black woods. The outbuildings threw long shadows across the
grass as she crossed the yard, past the flowerbeds where Min's peonies and
bearded irises were pushing their way out of the ground. Bats fluttered like
black handkerchiefs among the trees at the edge of the clearing.

Hamlet rose and dog-stretched
in greeting, nudging his food bowl with his nose.

“This isn't for
you,” Madison said, scratching him behind the ears with her free hand.
“You already had your dinner, remember?”

Hamlet stiffened and pointed
his graying muzzle toward the woods, the hair around his collar ruffing out. He
growled and drew his lips back from his teeth, which was a surprise, because he
was stone deaf and half blind.

“Hey, Hamlet,”
Maddie said, shivering a little, peering into the trees. “What'd you spot?
A ghost? A raccoon?”

She saw several shapes moving
in the trees, and for a moment, she thought it really might be ghosts,
since they had a spooky glow about them. And then she realized what they must
be, and dropped Jason's supper in the dirt.

Four wizards stopped just
inside the cover of the trees and stood, looking toward the house. They hadn't
seen her yet, hidden as she was in the shadow of the barn.

That they were there for
mischief, she had no doubt. The fact that they were all wearing black hoods
with eyeholes cut out confirmed it. They must have left their car down the road
a way.

Her truck was parked inside
the barn, but Grace and J.R. were watching TV in the house and there was no way
she could collect them and get back to the barn and out of there without being
intercepted. She could wave the shotgun at the intruders, but that was in the
house, too.

She stood frozen, thoughts
spiraling. It might be the Roses coming after her. Seph had warned her that
might happen. Or it could be the Roses, or Barber, or practically anybody at
all, coming after Jason.