The Sorcerer Heir (Heir Chronicles) (11 page)

“And Tyler...how did he...?”

“There was a big gash in his thigh, and he’d lost a lot of blood. I don’t know if that killed him, or it was me or one of the wizards. The important part was he died trying to save you.” Jonah didn’t have many gifts to give, but he could offer that at least.

“What about Rowan’s sister? How did she die?”

“I killed her,” Jonah said. “With a sword.”

“You came to question my father with a sword.” The storm clouds began gathering again.

“He had a gun,” Jonah pointed out.

“He was in his own damn house,” Emma said. “Anyway, who brings a sword to a gunfight?”

It was Jonah’s turn to flinch. He saw so much of Tyler in Emma, even though they apparently hadn’t spent much time together. “Tyler asked me that same question.”

“So, if we were both alive at the end of the fight, then how did I end up at Rowan’s?”

Jonah felt the blood rush into his face. Honesty was a lot harder than he’d thought. “I—uh—I thought you were dead. I didn’t have time to make sure, because DeVries arrived. So I left. I didn’t realize you’d survived until Natalie told me.”

“You didn’t take the time to see if I was alive, but you took the time to steal my guitar.”

“I thought you were dead,” Jonah repeated, a little desperately. “After I heard you play, I—I just took it. I can’t explain it. I’d never heard music like that. It’s magic. You have no idea how it...anyway. That’s no excuse. I’m not a thief. I’m so sorry.”

Emma was still frowning, going over some kind of mental file. “Wasn’t there something else? When I fell in the gazebo and you came to help, it brought back a memory. It wasn’t the wizards or the fight or the gun. It was you. Unless it was a dream....”

She seemed determined to rip every secret out of him.

“There was something else,” Jonah said, swallowing hard. “After the fight, you were still alive. Groggy. Semiconscious. I picked you up to carry you out of the house. And then...we kissed.” Anguish came up in his throat like bile. “You were the only survivor, and I killed you. Or so I thought.”

Emma’s head came up, her eyes narrowed. “You kissed me? Or I kissed you?”

Jonah avoided her eyes. “Does it matter? It happened.”

“Yes,” Emma said, “it matters. And you said you would tell me the truth.” She sliced off each word precisely, as she might a piece of wood.

“You kissed me,” Jonah said, licking his lips like he could recapture the taste.

“I thought so,” Emma said, a muscle working in her jaw.

“But it wasn’t your fault. I should have anticipated that it might happen. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you.”

“You’re talking about your sister,” Emma said.

Jonah felt a stab of betrayal. “Gabriel told you that, too?”

“Guess he had to, since you didn’t.”

“It happened a long time ago. Anyway, it’s not something I like to talk about.”

“The things you don’t want to talk about would fill a library.”

“That’s the kind of life I’ve had, all right?”

“Really? Well, I had a pretty good life, up to when Sonny Lee died.” Suspicion clouded her face. “You said you connected Tyler to Sonny Lee. Are you sure you didn’t go to Memphis first? Are you sure you didn’t go see Sonny Lee in his shop last summer?”

Jonah shook his head. “I told you. I’ve never been to Memphis. By the time we started looking into this, Sonny Lee was already dead. In fact, it was his obituary that made us realize that Tyler was his son. Only it said Tyler had predeceased him.”

“That’s what Sonny Lee always told everyone. That when Tyler died, I came to live with him.” She closed her eyes, and tears leaked out at the corners. “Can you see why I can’t stand a lie? People have been lying to me all my life. Even the people I loved most in the world.”

“Sometimes people lie for good reasons,” Jonah said. “To keep you safe, or to avoid breaking your heart, or to make it possible for you to go on living.”

“And sometimes they lie to protect themselves,” Emma snapped.

“I know.” He paused. “Do you have any other questions for me?”

“Are you the one killing mainliners?”

“No,” Jonah said.

“What about the night of the Halloween party?”

“I didn’t murder anyone that night,” Jonah said, with as much confidence as he could muster. “Someone is trying to make it look like savants are responsible.”

“Who? Who would do that?”

That was a question Jonah didn’t want to answer. It would be like falling into a well that he couldn’t climb back out of.

See, we’re fighting an army of the undead. They want us to join them in a war on mainliners.

So he just shrugged. “Whoever’s been killing mainliners all along. If you use a knife or a sword, the prohibition against attack magic in the Sanctuary is no protection.”

To his relief, she didn’t press him on it.

When no more questions came, he said, “Well? Will you stay?”

Emma seemed to be debating at least, which was better than before. “Do you promise to always tell me the truth after this?”

“I can’t promise that,” Jonah said. “Remember what I said—limited-time offer.” He bit back the temptation to ask her to keep his secrets.

Emma mulled this over, the muscle in her jaw working. She sighed. Then said, “Self-interest, huh?”

“Self-interest,” Jonah said.

“Here’s what I’ll do, if Gabriel will go along with it. I’m not living in the same building with you. I’ll still move to Trinity, but I’ll stay in school here at the Anchorage and drive back and forth. I don’t think I can deal with changing schools again.”

“What about the band?” Jonah knew he was being greedy, but he couldn’t help himself. Of all the drugs to be addicted to, why did it have to be Emma’s music? And why would she ever agree to this?

And yet she did. After struggling with it for what seemed like an eternity, she said, “Fine. I’ll stay in the band if you want to try to keep that going.”

Jonah felt a spark of hope, mingled with relief. “Thank you, Emma.”

“Oh, I’m not doing it for you,” she said, her brown eyes like agates. “I’m doing it for me. We’ll see how it goes.”

E
mma perched on the edge of an overstuffed chair, breathing in the scent of vanilla and sage from the candles burning in the corners. This was like no health clinic she’d ever seen.

Not that she’d seen that many. She’d been vaccinated, of course—they wouldn’t let her into school otherwise. She’d gone to the Memphis Health Department for that. A couple of times, when her tonsils swelled up so much she could hardly breathe or swallow soup, Sonny Lee had taken her in to the health clinics. They’d all been cold and sterile-looking.

This waiting room was furnished with handloomed rugs and futons, tapestries and music posters softening the walls. Lamps with paper shades cast a whiskey glow over everything, like the lighting in some after-hours club. Music played softly in the background, a cutting-edge playlist.

It was wasted on Emma. She wouldn’t be relaxed until this thing was over with. But if it was the price she had to pay to keep out of county custody, she’d pay it.

It hadn’t taken long to pack up her possessions. Maybe she was getting good at it. She stuffed her few articles of clothing into the suitcase she’d brought from Tyler’s and loaded her backpack with her laptop. Emma had limited herself to four guitars—her two Studio Greenwoods, the ones she’d built herself; the Stratocaster (which Jonah had insisted she take), and a vintage Martin. Plus assorted sound equipment and other gear. Three acoustics, one electric, though one of the SGs had a pickup. She guessed she could get another electric out of storage if she wanted to, but the Strat always felt just right in her hands when she wanted to make a big noise. She’d put Sonny Lee’s guitars into storage, too, where they’d be safe if she had to make a quick getaway. When you’re on the run, you have to travel light.

The rest of her tools, supplies, and equipment she’d leave behind. If she couldn’t make this work, having one foot in each place, well, those things would be gone for good.

A constant stream of people went in and out of the dispensary—checking in using a screen outside. All seemed to be students.

Finally, Natalie came out of the bodywork room. “Emma,” she said, nodding briskly, her face like a blank page. “I’ll be doing your evaluation.”

“I still don’t think I need one,” Emma said, even though she knew there was no point. “I don’t think I was poisoned at all.”

“That’s easy enough to figure out,” Natalie said. “It’s this way.” She stood aside so Emma could enter the bodywork room ahead of her.

The coziness continued inside, with more music and fluffy white robes. Natalie directed Emma to change into a robe and a pair of sheepskin slippers, then she weighed and measured her, and took her blood pressure, pulse, and temperature, all like a regular clinic visit. Emma answered a bunch of questions about her health, while Natalie typed the answers into a tablet computer. She produced a silver conelike device similar to a stethoscope, pressed it to Emma’s chest, then slid it around, still watching the screen display. She frowned, chewing on her lower lip, apparently dissatisfied with whatever she was getting.

I told you I was different,
Emma thought of saying, but was afraid to speak.

Finally, Natalie set the device aside. “I’m going to try a direct scan, okay?”

Emma nodded, though she wasn’t sure what she was signing on for. Natalie dipped some cream out of a jar. It smelled like vanilla and brown sugar. She spread it over Emma’s chest, then pressed her fingers into Emma’s skin, sliding them around over the surface, eyes closed, a furrow of concentration between her brows.

Finally, Natalie wiped Emma’s skin clean with a soft terry cloth towel, and washed her own hands. “You can get dressed now,” she said, “and then we’ll talk.”

After she dressed, Emma joined Natalie in a small, cozy room that resembled a library, with its shelves of books and black walnut paneling. It looked like the kind of room you might use to deliver bad news to a person.

Natalie motioned Emma to the chair across from her. “I have to say, you do have me a little stumped,” she said. “Anybody doing a quick read on your Weirstone would say it’s a savant stone. It’s definitely not your run-of-the-mill mainliner stone. But it’s clear, and most savant stones are pretty obviously damaged.”

“When you say ‘damaged,’ what do you mean?” Emma said. The one thing she’d always been was healthy, despite her random, raggedy-assed life.

Natalie hesitated. “The truth about savants is, we’re dying. All of us, all of the so-called survivors of Thorn Hill. We all know it, whether we’re willing to admit it or not. Even though Gabriel won’t even let us bring it up, it’s true.”

“Dying?” Emma shifted her shoulders. This was the last thing she expected to hear. “But...it’s been ten years. I know a lot of you—of us—have health problems. But if you were going to die, shouldn’t it have happened by now?”

“Many of us have. There were four thousand children at Thorn Hill. About six hundred survived the massacre. The younger you were at the time of the poisoning, the more likely you were to survive. But now we’re dying, day by day and year by year. There’s a different time line for every person. Jonah, Alison, Rudy, and me—we’re among the oldest ones left. Everyone else is gone or incapacitated.”

Emma hadn’t known what would happen in the future—but at least it was a future. Now it was like somebody had dragged an eraser across it. “But how do they die? What happens to them?”

Natalie stared down at her hands. “It’s like the older we get, the more susceptible we are to the poison. All of the adults died immediately, remember? Maybe it has to do with age. Or that the damage done back then finally catches up with us. Or maybe the toxin is lodged in our bones, like a heavy metal, and gradually poisons us to death.”

“What are the symptoms? Do people go down quick or just kind of decline?”

“Before we die, some of us begin to behave erratically, lose our judgment, and grow violent. To be blunt, we lose our minds. We call it fading. You can imagine how dangerous that is among the gifted.”

Emma stared, horrified. “But...isn’t there anything—any treatment?”

“Gabriel has hired the best researchers and healers money can buy. That’s our primary focus: research and treatment. That’s why so many of us are on medications and other therapies.” Natalie smiled faintly. “The good news is you say you weren’t there to be poisoned. But if that’s the case, I’d expect you to have a mainliner stone. See, someone who builds magical guitars—or any other kind of magical tool—I’d expect that person to be a sorcerer. But your stone doesn’t read that way. And the way you play...it’s almost like there’s magic in that, too. But there’s no mainline guild for musicians.”

“Well,” Emma said, feeling puny and low-talent, magic-wise, “I might be able to build other instruments, you know, like violins or dulcimers. I’ve only ever tried to build guitars. Same with playing. Guitars are the only instrument I...” Her voice trailed off as a memory elbowed in. From Thorn Hill.

Emma sat at the piano, on a bench so high her feet couldn’t touch the floor. A breeze stirred the curtains at the windows, and she could hear children laughing outside. She wanted to be outside with them. But she stayed, and she played, and her mother listened, eyes closed, a dreamy expression on her face, her fists gradually unclenching. Emma’s music made her mother happy when nothing else could. Emma would do just about anything to make her mother happy. She was sad so much of the time.

“I do play a little piano,” Emma said. She cleared her throat. “Or I did when I was little.”

Natalie’s eyes narrowed. “Is it all right if I ask Rudy to come over?”

Mystified, Emma nodded.

Pulling out her phone, Natalie thumbed in a message. When she saw Emma looking at her, she explained, “I texted Rudy and asked him to bring over his portable keyboard.”

“Oh!” Emma said, feeling her cheeks heat. “I don’t believe I’ve touched a keyboard since I left Thorn Hill.”

Natalie rolled her eyes. “This isn’t a recital. Just an experiment.”

Emma raised both hands, palms out. “Keep in mind, I’m the person who knows the least about all this. I shouldn’t even open my mouth. But...isn’t it odd that people ended up so different, though? With such particular gifts? I mean, you can see illness through a person’s skin, and then heal them by touching them, and Rudy’s a genius at digital systems, and Jonah...Jonah...” Her voice trailed off, and she dropped her hands into her lap.

“Jonah’s touch will kill you,” Natalie said, looking Emma directly in the eyes, “and it’s so damn sweet, you’ll wish you could die all over again.”

“How do you know?” Emma demanded. “How do you know it’s such a great experience, if nobody’s ever lived to tell about it?”

“Because Jonah can’t stand to cause anybody pain,” Natalie snapped back. “Being an empath, the backwash is terribly painful.”

“Really? Well, he must be pretty miserable right now,” Emma said, “because he sure messed up with me.”

“If he’s hurt you, he knows it,” Natalie said. “He knows it better than anyone.”

“Except me,” Emma said.

“Except you,” Natalie agreed, nodding.

Eager to change the subject, Emma said, “What if people at Thorn Hill had special stones—even before they were poisoned? Me included. But because I left before the massacre, I didn’t get damaged.”

Natalie stared at Emma. “But I just don’t see how that would be,” she said, frowning. “The people at Thorn Hill were all members of the mainline guilds to begin with. For instance, my parents were both sorcerers.”

“But what I’m driving at is that it’s almost like you’ve been shaped to a purpose.”

“I’m not following,” Natalie said.

Emma cast about for a comparison. “Let’s say I take a piece of rosewood, and I want to make a fingerboard. Do I smack it with a hammer?”

“I’m guessing the answer is no,” Natalie said, rolling her eyes.

“Correct. I don’t, unless I want it to end up a pile of splinters. If I want it to be useful, I have to use the right tools, and I have to know how to shape it. If I just take a whack at it, there’s no chance it’ll turn out like I want.”

“Go on,” Natalie said.

“So if somebody whacks your Weirstone with poison, seems to me it would either destroy it completely, or you’d end up with a stone that does pretty much what it did before, only not as well.”

“But—a lot of people’s stones
were
destroyed,” Natalie said. “Thousands of people died. Those of us who survived ended up with random gifts, some that aren’t gifts at all.”

Emma was already beginning to doubt her theory. But, ironwood spine and all that, she forged on. “Still, it doesn’t seem like you’d end up with someone like you, who can see disease through a person’s skin, and heal them. Or someone like Rudy, who can create electrical circuits out of the air. Or Mose, who could see death coming ahead of time. Were there other people who had real specific gifts?”

Natalie shrugged. “I remember there was a girl who could talk plants into growing. If she’d lived on a farm, she could’ve raised three crops a year. But she died a couple of years ago. And Marlis Adams can communicate mind-to-mind with animals.”

Natalie’s cell phone sounded. She glanced down at the screen, then crossed to the door and yanked it open. Rudy was outside, a small keyboard cradled in his arms. “Delivery for a Ms. Natalie Diaz?”

Natalie flashed him a quick, grateful grin. “Can you plug in? We don’t need a stellar sound system. I just want to try something.”

When Rudy had set up, Natalie pointed Emma at the keyboard. “Play something.”

Emma edged up to the Roland like it might bite. “What do you want to hear?”

“Musician’s choice,” Natalie said.

Emma brushed her fingers over the keys. Something awakened within her, a sense of familiarity, like she was meeting up with an old friend who hadn’t changed a bit. Closing her eyes, Emma began to play.

It was a work she couldn’t have named, a complicated classical piece that buzzed through her fingers with a sense of release, like it had been dammed up inside of her for years. Layer upon layer of notes, a summer storm of music that carried her along in its wake.

At the end, she forced her fingers off the keys and sat back, sweat pouring down her spine. When she looked up at Rudy and Natalie, they stared at her with stunned faces.

“Maybe you should play all by yourself, and we’ll just listen,” Rudy muttered, looking a bit stricken. “You could have your own one-girl band.”

“Aw, honey,” Natalie said, patting his shoulder, “any band worth its salt is more than the sum of its parts. And you add a lot of sex appeal, too.”

Rudy made a face at her. “Play something else?” he urged, as if hoping Emma might be a one-trick pony.

“Everything that wants to come out of me seems to be classical,” Emma said. Finally, she improvised, playing the melody line of “I’ll Sit In.”

By the time she finished, Rudy and Nat were blotting at their eyes and clearing their throats.

“All right, then,” Natalie said, “I think we’ve identified two of your gifts: musical performance and instrument making.”

Emma had to admit, even if those were the only gifts she had, they suited her. Sonny Lee always said that the key to happiness was to find something you really love doing and get good enough to make a living at it.