The Sorcerer Heir (Heir Chronicles) (10 page)

“Gabriel will never agree,” Jonah said. “Don’t expect us to sign on. There’s been too much bloodshed already.”

Says the deadliest assassin in Nightshade.

“Well, you’re catching up quick. Your kills aren’t exactly kind. A few more attacks like the one on Halloween, and maybe you’ll get the war you want.”

Jonah read genuine confusion in Brendan.
What are you talking about? I don’t know anything about Halloween.

He doesn’t know, Jonah thought. Maybe Lilith’s keeping secrets, too.

“No? Well, maybe you’d better have a talk with Lilith, then, and get caught up. She told me flat-out she was going to keep killing mainliners and casting suspicion on us until we give in and join you.”

Brendan shifted in his seat.
If somebody gets killed, it’s not necessarily our fault. We can’t take responsibility for all shades everywhere. Word is spreading about the benefits of blood magic. We’re seeing a lot of freelancers joining in.

“Well, we’ll get the blame, whether we like it or not, as the only visible representatives of our unlucky little tribe. On Halloween, the killers left the same clues behind as you do: nightshade flowers.”

It must be mainliners, killing one another and trying to blame us for it.

“Really?” Jonah said dryly. “That’s a shame, but it doesn’t seem like you have much room to complain.” Their eyes met, and held. “I’ll tell you one thing—killing Madison Moss’s little sister was a major tactical mistake, even if you have no problem with it otherwise.”

More confusion from Brendan.
Who’s Madison Moss?

Jonah blinked at him. Of course, Brendan wouldn’t know—how could he? He’d died at least a year before Madison Moss came on the scene. Besides, Gabriel shared very little about the mainline guilds with students at the Anchorage.

Knowledge is power. In the wrong hands, knowledge means trouble.

Even those who died at Thorn Hill—like Lilith—would have limited knowledge of what had happened to the mainline guilds in the past ten years, since Jonah was the only one whose gift of empathy allied him to communicate with shades.

And Jonah never did much talking during a riff.

He guessed that, as they became more and more at home in their borrowed bodies, they would have more options.

Brendan was still looking at him expectantly.

“Madison Moss is the power source for mainliners,” Jonah said.

Power source?
Brendan blinked.
What do you mean?

Jonah cast about for a simple explanation. “Originally, she was an elicitor—someone who draws magic. Two years ago, she absorbed the Dragonheart stone, which powers Weirstones everywhere. So now they call her the Dragon. She’s leading the mainliners, or trying to. It’s like herding cats.”

Mmm.
Brendan seemed lost in thought.
Let me—let me talk to Lilith about it.
He got to his feet. He did it gracefully, capably. Clearly, he was mastering the use of his borrowed body.

“Could we set up a meeting?” Jonah asked. “The three of us? After you’ve talked to her, I mean?”

Brendan grinned.
Why is it I feel like we
’d
be walking into a trap? I’ll be back in touch. It’s easier now that I can move about in polite society.
He took a step toward the door, then turned back toward Jonah, digging into the inside pocket of his coat.

Wary of weapons, Jonah faded back, raising both hands in defense.

Brendan held out a bottle to Jonah—an elaborate glass bottle, stoppered with silver, the kind that might hold expensive perfume. It glowed, illuminating Brendan’s face. Jonah took it, weighing it in his hand. It was relatively light, but it appeared to be full of a red pearlescent substance that swirled and swam as Jonah tilted the bottle.

“What is this?” Jonah asked, though he already knew.

Blood magic,
Brendan said softly.

Jonah tried to hand it back to him, but Brendan put his hands behind his back.

“I don’t want this,” Jonah said.

It’s for Kenzie, not for you,
Brendan said.
Can I trust you to give it to him?

“You can trust me to throw it in the lake,” Jonah said contemptuously. “Or smash it on the street. We want nothing to do with that.”

We?
Brendan cocked his head.
Have you talked it over with Kenzie?

Jonah just stared at Brendan.

I thought not. You’re used to making decisions for him, aren’t you? You ought to ask him about it at least.

That one hit home.

Well, keep it or smash it or whatever you want to do with it,
Brendan said.
I hope it will do somebody some good. I mean, the donors are already dead, after all. Oh, and by the way—unlike you, we’re not focused on killing fellow savants. But let the slayers tagging after you know that we will defend ourselves. And our bodies can be replaced.
Threading his way between the tables without a hint of a shamble, Brendan walked out the door.

Jonah was tempted to follow him, but he recalled what Brendan had said about arrogance. Lilith might have spies stationed all around. He’d have to be patient, something he wasn’t very good at.

He rolled the bottle between his hands, watching the layers shift, combine, and separate with an awful fascination. Was it possible? Could this really help his brother? What if it did? What then?

Jonah deferred any decision, sliding the bottle into his jacket pocket. He texted the others.
We’re done for the night.

He exited the club, and headed back toward Oxbow. The others were waiting in the mailroom, away from spying eyes on the street.

“Well?” Charlie said. “Who was that guy you were talking to?”

“That was Brendan Wu,” Jonah said wearily. “Formerly a student at the Anchorage. Now a hosted shade. Serving as a kind of emissary for Lilith.”

“That was
Brendan
?” Alison looked astounded. “But he looked—he looked—”

“Normal. I know,” Jonah said. “No stink of decay either. I could smell magic on him, though.”

“Are you—are you
sure
that was Brendan?” Thérèse said. “I mean, I’ve only seen him a few times, but he looked—”

“It was Brendan,” Jonah said.

“Then we should have followed him,” Mike said. “Maybe he’d have led us back to Lilith.”

Jonah shook his head. “They’re not stupid. They know it’s a trap. Brendan said to tell you that they didn’t want to kill savants, but they would defend themselves.”

Mike asked the obvious question. “If he knew it was a trap, then why’d he show up?”

“He wants something from us,” Jonah said.

“What?” Alison asked.

“Lilith wants to talk to Gabriel.”

“Who won’t agree to meet with her,” Alison predicted.

“He must have said
something
,” Charlie said. “You two talked long enough.”

Jonah shook his head, feeling a twinge of guilt. You’re just like Gabriel, he thought. Keeping secrets.

“Well,” Thérèse said brightly. “Try again tomorrow night?”

“I don’t see much point,” Jonah said. “Lilith isn’t going to show up to any party we’re planning.”

“So you’re giving
up
?” Alison’s face was all thunderclouds.

“I’m saying I’m going to try and come up with a smarter plan,” Jonah said. “I’ll let you know when I do.”

Jonah walked back to Oxbow alone. He was just unlocking the door to his room when he got a text from Natalie.
Call me. Emma’s leaving the Anchorage.

J
onah was tempted to take the coward’s way out: leave the guitar outside of Emma’s room, ring the bell, and run. But that would only leave mute testimony to his guilt—and convince her that she needed to leave for sure.

He put his ear to the door, hoping to get another hit of her musical magic, but heard nothing, not even breathing.

Jonah typed his code into the display on the wall in the hallway, then stood and waited for the scanner to verify. As he waited, he repeated his personal oath to himself.

You will not use your gift to convince her of your innocence. You will only use it to convince her to stay.

No response. Not that he guessed she would open the door to him, but he should be able to detect a rush of emotion that would tell him she was inside.

She was not.

Where else would she be? In the end, it wasn’t hard to figure out. She’d be packing up the workshop, her second home.

After a moment’s debate, he took the guitar with him, wanting to put it directly into her hands.

As soon as he entered the woodshop building, he heard the whine of a saw. Following the sound, he found Emma bent over the band saw, guiding a thin plate of pale wood through the machine, cutting the graceful curves that would become the back of a guitar. The sound rose to a shrill scream as the blade encountered resistance, then died as the wood submitted.

As Jonah watched, Emma reached up, adjusting a setting, lips tight against flying wood chips, safety glasses pinning her hair to her head.

The shop had been cleaned up since he’d last been there, Emma’s hand tools and fittings put away and her wood stacked neatly against the wall, a small sign mounted on the wall above,
PROPERTY OF EMMA LEE, DO NOT THROW AWAY
.

It was the first time he’d seen her in the weeks since Halloween, and now she was leaving.

He ghosted closer, wanting to breathe in her scent. And there it was: a mingling of sweat and sawdust and whatever it was she put into her hair. She’d stripped off her flannel shirt. Underneath, she wore one of those old-fashioned ribbed undershirts that exposed her muscular arms and capable hands. Sweat glistened on her face, dampened her hair, and ran into the hollow of her throat. When the saw stopped, he heard her humming the tune of some old blues song under her breath.

It was like all of his other senses were conspiring to taunt him with what he could never, ever touch. His own palms sweated inside his gloves. His heart thumped painfully, high in his throat.

That’s what happens when you let a little hope leak in, Jonah thought. It’s even harder when you have to come down.

And then she saw him, and the humming stopped abruptly. She crossed the room in three long strides, grabbing up a wicked-looking knife along the way. She held it, point down, close to her side.

Her eyes roamed over Jonah, from his gloved hands, to his lips, to his leather jacket and his jeans. Her reaction to him—the mingling of fear and fascination—was familiar. She knew.

“So,” Jonah said. “Who told you about my...condition? Natalie?”

She shook her head. “Gabriel.” She paused. “You should have told me yourself.”

“I should have told you a lot of things,” Jonah said. “But I was brought up to keep secrets.” Swinging the guitar case up, he set it on the workbench between them. “I want to return this.”

Emma looked from Jonah to the guitar and back again. “Where did you get that?”

“I took it from your basement, the night your father was killed.”

Emma rocked back on her heels. “Are you here to confess? If so, you’re a little late.”

“I’m here to tell the truth,” Jonah said, “as far as I know it.”

Emma brushed sawdust from her hair and stripped off the safety glasses, dropping them onto the workbench. “It’s a waste of time. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”

“I understand you’re leaving,” Jonah said. “I’m hoping you’ll change your mind.”

“You’re the reason I’m leaving,” Emma said. “So I guess you’re not exactly the person to persuade me to stay.”

“Give me ten minutes,” Jonah said, allowing a bit of enchantment to honey his voice. “Then I’ll go.”

She straightened, resting her free hand on the workbench. “Clock is running.”

“Don’t stay because I ask you to,” Jonah said. “Do it for selfish reasons.”

“Such as—?”

“If you stay, you’ll have a place to live and to work, and you can graduate from high school. You can keep building guitars and save up money so you can open your own shop.”

“I have a place to stay,” Emma blurted out, then pressed her lips together like she was sorry she’d said it.

“Where?”

“I’d rather you didn’t know,” Emma said. “Please do take it personally.”

“What about school? You know the program here has worked well for you.” He paused. “Everyone here wants you to succeed. Are you planning to quit, or do you want to go through the same old, same old over again?”

That hit a nerve. Jonah felt Emma’s anger drain away, displaced by a rush of despair.

She had a comeback though. “All those other schools have a big advantage—
you’re not there
. Maybe I can’t prove what you did, but I’m not going to look at you every day and wonder what you’re gonna do next.”

“Then I’ll leave,” Jonah said. “I’ll leave school and move out of Oxbow. Tomorrow.”

“Right,” Emma said, snorting. “You know you can’t leave Kenzie. And you can’t take him with you.”

“I won’t go far,” Jonah said. “I’ll see Kenzie every day. But you’ll never see me, I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Emma snapped.

“You can always leave if I break that promise.”

“Do you think that makes me feel safe, the idea you’ll be creeping around campus, that you might be right around the next corner?”

“I can’t leave Kenzie,” Jonah said. “My point is, do what’s in
your
best interest. That’s all I’m saying.”

“How do you know that leaving isn’t in my best interest?”

“I can’t predict the future, but I’m guessing it’s not. I’ll do whatever I can to make it work for you.”

“You’ve made your point,” Emma said. Her tears spilled over, leaving tracks through the dust on her face. “Now, I’m really busy here.” Her voice trembled.

“Don’t you want to ask me any questions?” Jonah said.

“I do,” Emma said. “Why are you still here?”

“You say you hate a liar,” Jonah said. “I’m here to tell the truth. It’s a limited-time offer. Once it’s over, I go straight back to lying.”

Their eyes met across the workbench, emotion reverberating between them as if they were connected by a steel-wound string tuned to a high pitch.

Finally, Emma gave in, curiosity overwhelming bitterness. Leaning forward a little, hands fisted, she asked, “Fine. We’ll start with an easy one. Did you kill my father?”

“Maybe. I don’t really know. It was a melee, everyone fighting with each other.”

“Who’s everyone?”

“Me, Tyler, you, a half dozen wizards.”

“Why were you there?”

“I hoped your father might know something about Thorn Hill—who was behind it, what kind of poison was used.”

“Tyler?”
Once the dam broke, the questions came, one after another. “Why would Tyler know about that?”

“I don’t know that he did,” Jonah said. “We were looking for people who were at Thorn Hill but who left before the massacre, and we found Tyler. See, the problem is, everyone there died, except for the kids, and we were too young to know what was going on. Gabriel thinks it must’ve been sorcerers who made the poison, since wizards are no good at that kind of thing.”

Emma flinched a little at that, shifting her eyes away.

She feels guilty for some reason, Jonah thought. Why? Does she know something I don’t?

“Gabriel’s always said that if we knew exactly what was used, we might be able to help the savant survivors.”

“So Gabriel sent you?”

“No. It was me. Just me.”

“How did you find Tyler after all these years?”

“Should I start from the beginning?” Pushing his luck, he eased himself onto a stool.

“I think you’d better.” Emma leaned back against the workbench, still holding the knife, as if Jonah might attack at any moment. As if a knife would do any good. “All I remember is bits and pieces.”

Which bits? Which pieces? Jonah wondered. “We did some research online,” he said.

“Who’s we?”

Jonah didn’t want to implicate Kenzie in any of this, especially since Kenzie and Emma were friends. “Me,” he repeated. “Just me.”

“You mean you and Kenzie. I thought you were going to tell me the truth.”

Jonah sighed. “Me and Kenzie. But it was my idea. And he didn’t know what I was going to do with the information. We searched some work records from Thorn Hill, and found out that Tyler had been there not long before the massacre, but didn’t show up on any survivor or casualty lists.”

“He came there to take me home,” Emma said, her voice low and tight. “That’s why he came and went so quick.”

“Well,” Jonah said. “Anyway. We had him as Greenwood, and that’s how we were able to tie him to Sonny Lee. Once we found out that his business had relocated to this area, we—”

Emma held up a hand to stop him. “How did you find that out?”

“Um.” Jonah struggled to remember. It had been a late night, and Kenzie had done most of the heavy lifting. “We found a Web page. We assumed it was Tyler’s business, since Sonny Lee was dead. I sent an e-mail.”

Emma’s eyes widened in horror. “That was
my
Web site. Tyler stayed safe for all these years until I led you right to him.” Her shoulders slumped. “Probably the wizards, too. It was all my fault.” Now her guilt washed over Jonah in waves.

This was going all wrong. This was supposed to be Jonah’s confession. Not Emma’s. “It’s not your fault,” he said sharply. “Why would you think somebody would be looking for Tyler?”

“Tyler told me,” Emma said. “He seemed worried that somebody would track me up there. He told me that Sonny Lee didn’t want any contact between us, that it would be too dangerous. Maybe it was just an excuse for why he hadn’t visited, but I believed him. I had put up the Web page before all this happened, but I didn’t have an address on it or anything...” She blotted at her eyes with the backs of her hands. “But then, when I got that e-mail...”

Jonah recalled Tyler’s high-tech security system, the fact that he kept a gun at hand, even in his own home. “Maybe Tyler was worried for reasons that had nothing to do with Thorn Hill,” he said gently. “There are lots of ways to make enemies.”

Emma’s face was gray as ash. She wasn’t buying it.

She’s got secrets of her own, Jonah thought. Maybe he could distract her by continuing his litany of sins. “Since he’d changed his name and all, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t talk to me willingly. So I broke into your house through a basement window. I was wearing a ski mask, because I didn’t want to have to kill anyone. I found you in your workshop and tied you up.” He paused. “Does any of this sound familiar?”

She shook her head. “Keep talking.”

“I went upstairs. Tyler never heard me—he was practicing. Making a lot of noise. When he saw me, he pulled a gun. He was marching me into the conservatory when the wizards broke in.”

Jonah told the story matter-of-factly, trying hard not to sell anything to Emma.

Emma seemed to be struggling to focus back on the conversation. “You didn’t come to kill the wizards? Or Tyler?”

“No. I...ah...was there for information.”

“So...what did the wizards want?”

“Same as me,” Jonah said. “They seemed to think that Tyler might know something about how Thorn Hill went down, what poison was used. He said he was just a musician, that he didn’t know anything about that.”

“He
was
a musician,” Emma said. “Why
would
he know anything? So this whole thing was a case of mistaken identity.”

“Maybe. Anyway. They began...they tried to force us to talk.” Emma didn’t need to know they’d tortured Tyler. “When that didn’t work, they called Rowan DeVries. They planned to take us somewhere else to question us more thoroughly.”

“Who’s ‘they’? Who was there?”

“Do you remember the night we first met? Club Catastrophe? The pool-playing wizards? It was mostly them. Including Rowan’s sister. Rachel DeVries. Eight wizards in all.”

“Why did they care what poison was used?”

Jonah shrugged. “You’ll have to ask them.”

“They’re dead.”

“Ask DeVries.”

“He’s nearly dead.”

Jonah had nothing to say to that, so he didn’t try. “Anyway, that’s when you showed up with the gun.”

Emma frowned. “Me?”

“I guess I hadn’t done that good of a job tying you up.” Jonah rubbed his chin. “You told them to let Tyler go or you’d shoot them. The wizards stalled, knowing help was on the way. Tyler knew it, too, so he made a break for it, trying to give you a chance to escape. You shot one of the wizards.”

“Rowan said one of the wizards had been shot,” Emma whispered. “I did that?”

Jonah nodded. “Then it was chaos. You fell and hit your head. The fight went on, and...and at the end, the only people alive were you and me.”