The Sorcerer Heir (Heir Chronicles) (17 page)

“Was he the type who would do that?”

“I would have said no,” Emma said slowly. Tyler had wanted her to stay there, he’d seemed happy to have this second chance to be a father. During their brief time together, she’d genuinely come to like him, and she’d thought the feeling was mutual. “But then, I don’t really know. I just met him back in the summer, and he was dead by October.”

“Are they all about poisonings?”

Emma shook her head. “Here’s one that’s more up Tyler’s alley—it’s a blues song called ‘Stagger Lee.’”

Stagger Lee was a bully man, and everybody knowed

When they saw Stagger Lee coming to give Stagger Lee the road.

Oh, that man, bad man, Stagger Lee.

Stagger Lee started out, he gave his wife his hand,

Good-bye, darlin’, I’m going to kill a man.

Oh, that man, bad man, Stagger Lee.

“So,” Kenzie said, when she’d finished, “are they all about murder or good love gone bad?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, just about
every
song is about love gone bad,” Emma said. “Every popular song, that is. Even the unpopular ones.”

“Why do you suppose that is?” Kenzie said. “Doesn’t true love ever win out?”

Emma shrugged. “Guess that’s why they call it the blues. Here’s another one that’s not on Tyler’s usual playlist. It’s a variation on a traditional ballad.” Propping the binder against Kenzie’s knee, she began to sing.

“Oh, Polly, Pretty Polly, come go along with me

Polly, Pretty Polly, come go along with me

Before we get married some pleasures to see.”

“Oh, Willie, Little Willie, I’m afraid of your ways

Willie, Little Willie, I’m afraid of your ways

The way you’ve been rambling you’ll lead me astray.”

“Oh, Polly, Pretty Polly, your guess is about right

Polly, Pretty Polly, your guess is about right

I dug on your grave the biggest part of last night.”

Emma stopped singing when she noticed that Kenzie was in the throes of a silent laughter convulsion.

“Hey! Stop that!” Emma said, her voice edged with exasperation. “Have a little respect.”

Kenzie could scarcely speak, incapacitated with mirth. “His name is ‘Little Willie’? Or is that just Polly’s nickname for him? Does that go to motive?”

And then Emma was laughing, too. “Cut them some slack, okay?” she said, when she could manage it. “This is a
traditional
ballad.”

“Well, no wonder he’s got the blues,” Kenzie gasped. “Not only is he a jerk and a murderer, but—he has serious self-esteem problems.”

“Well, she’s not so bright either.” When Kenzie looked puzzled, she rushed on, “Come on, now, you have to admit, that was a boneheaded move—to go off with him like that.”

“She was in love, all right? People who are in love sometimes do foolish things.”

“She was
not
in love,” Emma said. “He broke her heart once, so why should she give him a second chance?”

After a brief silence, Kenzie said, “Don’t you believe in second chances?”

The room seemed a little colder, a little darker, as if a shadow had passed over the sun.

“Sonny Lee always said, ‘Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.’”

“Mmm,”
Kenzie said. He closed his eyes, as if thinking. “All of the songs you’ve shared so far are about murder. Did your father leave you a whole collection of murder ballads?”

“No, of course not!” Emma said, without thinking much about it. Then she thought about it. “I mean, I don’t think he did.” Scooping up the notebook, she began flipping through it. “There’s all kinds of songs in here—the songs, lyrics, and tablature.” She slowed down when she got to the
No Lies
section. “Except here. In this one place. The special collection. There’s all kinds of songs in different genres, but what they have in common is...they all seem to be about murder.” She half whispered that last part, suddenly reminded of the terrible burden of secrets she was carrying around. Had Tyler intended it to be a jab about her mother? He’d once told her that she made poisons for a syndicate of assassins known as the Black Rose, run by Rowan DeVries’s father.

And yet...he’d also defended her mother, said she had no choice but to work for the powerful wizards. Was this what he meant when he said he was a coward?

Just then, there was a knock at the door and Kenzie’s computer awoke, displaying a view of the corridor outside.

It was Jonah, head down, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. Emma’s heart did its usual Jonah Kinlock shimmy.

“Harry, open the door,” Kenzie said, as Emma said, “It’s getting late, I’d better go.”

The door opened, and there he was, in blue jeans, sweatshirt, leather jacket on top, cheeks pinked up from the cold.

“Oh!” Jonah said, his eyes flicking from her to Kenzie. “Sorry I didn’t call. I didn’t know you had company.” He took a step back, toward the door.

“I’d better go,” Emma said, right as Kenzie said, “Harry, lock the door.”

E
mma shot to her feet, nearly banging her head on the IV pole next to Kenzie’s bed. She stood there like
she
was the guilty person, her guitar dangling from one hand. Jonah breathed in her scent, breathing out with regret. The last thing he wanted to do was break up this jam session or whatever it was. Kenzie was lit up, more animated than he’d
been in a long while. The fact that he was awake, completely dressed, and out of bed at his desk at this hour spoke volumes.

Emma and Kenzie looked like musical coconspirators of the very best kind.

“I was just going,” Emma said, turning, squatting, and settling the SG back into its case.

“Don’t leave on my account,” Jonah said. “I’ll come back another time if my being here makes you uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s not that,” Emma said. “It’s just that I’ve got to drive back to Trinity, and then get up early, and—”

“You don’t have to drive back, you know,” Kenzie said. When they both turned to look at him, he added, “Just trying to help. Like in the movies, where the magical disabled brother helps the main characters see that they were right for each other all along.”

Jonah glared at his brother. There was a sarcasm price to be paid for a healthier Kenzie Kinlock. “Look, I can tell there’s no talking to you tonight. I have a killer headache. If it’s all right, I’ll just help myself to some drugs and go on home.”

Jonah went into Kenzie’s bathroom and examined himself in the mirror. He looked like hell. He sluiced water over his face and was rummaging in the medicine cabinet when he heard Emma say in a whisper, “Drugs? I didn’t think he—?”

“Ibuprofen,” Kenzie said. “If it’s really bad, he might do a cocktail of naproxen, ibuprofen, and acetaminophen.”

Emma snorted with laughter.

“He has a high pain threshold. I’ve seen him come in here covered in contusions, with wounds and broken bones, and he’s like, ‘Could you give me
three
ibuprofen this time?’”

“Wounds?” Emma said, her voice low and strained. “Broken bones? What are you talking about?”

“Ow!” Jonah banged his head on the door of the medicine cabinet.

Kenzie made no attempt to lower his voice. “You don’t know? Jonah has a secret life. See, he’s a paranormal assassin, called a shadeslayer, and he hunts the undead for an organization known as Nightshade. Ask him. He’ll tell you all about it.”

“Kenzie! Shut up!” Jonah charged back out of the bathroom to confront his brother.

“Shhh.”
Kenzie flapped his hands in a shushing gesture. “Don’t shout. Fragile people are trying to sleep all around us, you know.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Jonah said, desperate to dam up the flood of revelations. “Why are you talking like that?”

Please, Kenzie, Jonah thought. Please, please, please back off from this. His life wasn’t much, but it was all he had, this small safe space, walled in by secrets.

“Emma despises lies,” Kenzie said. “I think it’s time to tell her the truth, don’t you?” He turned back to Emma. “See, the thing about Thorn Hill is that when people die they—”

“Kenzie!” Jonah pulled out his cell phone, pointing it at his brother like a weapon. “I think you’re reacting to that new medication. You want me to call Natalie? She could give you something to calm you down and help you sleep.”

“I don’t need help sleeping,” Kenzie snapped. “I’ve been sleeping too much lately. I don’t want to spend what’s left of my life sleeping. Either you tell Emma, or I will. If people would just talk to each other, maybe we could get at the truth.”

Jonah and Kenzie glared at each other, the tension in the room thick enough to slice for a sandwich.

“You guys work it out,” Emma said, looking as if she couldn’t get out of there fast enough. “You let me know what you decide. Meanwhile, Kenzie, I’ll leave the notebook with you. Let me know what you come up with.” Sliding on her jacket, and scooping up her guitar, she headed for the door. “Good night, Kinlocks.”

Jonah heard the
click
as his brother unlocked the door.

“Natalie’s in on it, too,” Kenzie called after her. “And Rudy. And Alison. It’s a worldwide network. They’re like vigilante heroes, fighting demons, and nobody knows.”

Not heroes, Jonah thought, as Emma walked out the door. We’re anything but heroes.

“Go after her,” Kenzie growled. “Tell her the truth. My work is done here. I’m going to bed.”

For a moment, Jonah wavered, shifting from foot to foot. Then he charged out the door after her.

Emma was halfway to the elevator. When she heard Jonah coming, she spun to face him, her guitar a barrier between them.

Jonah became acutely aware that he and Emma were, effectively, alone. Even here, in a public hallway, their aloneness crouched like a feral beast, ready to spring.

Emma must have felt it, too, because she backed up another step. “I’m sorry I kept your brother up so late,” she said. “He’s been a lot of help to me already. He’s—he’s just such a genius with music.”

“I know,” Jonah said.

“He looks great,” Emma said. “Like a different person. When I got here he was using his keyboard!”

Jonah blinked at her. “He was? But—”

“And me, I’m thinking, whatever this new medicine is, it’s working.” Emma swallowed hard. “But, then, at the end there, what was that all about?”

All at once, it seemed like too much of a betrayal to continue to pretend that his brother was delirious, hallucinating, not in his right mind. Lying when he was telling the truth. Maybe Kenzie was right—maybe secrets were more the problem than a solution. Maybe Kenzie was the only clearheaded person in the room.

And yet—he couldn’t suppress a twinge of fear that if he told the truth, he’d never see Emma again. Never hear her music again. Their musical connection was the closest he’d ever come to slaking his thirst for a human touch.

“Kenzie isn’t confused,” Jonah said before he thought too much on it. “I shouldn’t have said that. He’s telling the truth. He always does, whether I like it or not.”

“He’s telling the truth?” Emma said. “What do you mean? About what?”

“My secret life.” And then, in a rush, he added, “I can’t really talk about it, okay? That’s why it’s secret.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed. “Does it have to do with why my father died? Or what happened on Halloween?”

Jonah considered this, then shook his head. “No, not...not directly, anyway.”

“You shouldn’t have to study on it that long if you’re telling the truth.” Her eyes narrowed. “Is what you’re doing illegal? Is the Anchorage a cover for a—a criminal enterprise?”

“I told you. I can’t talk about it. Whether it’s illegal or not is a matter of perspective. That’s all I can say.”

“Hmph,” Emma said, sending a clear message:
I don’t trust you.
“Well, you keep your secrets, I’ll keep mine. Like I said, I’ve got to go now.”

“I’ll walk you to your car,” Jonah said.

Emma shook her head. “No, thank you,” she said. “I think I’m safer on my own.”

As Jonah watched her walk away, he couldn’t help thinking she was probably right.

“
W
e know they’re out there,” Alison said, her voice low and frustrated. “It’s like I can smell them.”

“Really?” Jonah said. “I used to be able to smell them, and now I can’t.”

“So you say.” Alison slumped down in her chair, resting her boots on the table, arms folded across her chest. She studied Jonah through narrowed eyes. “Why aren’t they hitting on you? What’s wrong with you?”

“Let up on Jonah, Al,” Natalie said. “He doesn’t work for you. You sound like he’s your streetwalker and you’re his pimp.”

“Well, if he’s not going to riff shades anymore, then he has to pitch in somehow,” Alison said.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Charlie said, gazing up at the ceiling. “Seems like Jonah’s earned a rest, based on his lifetime kill count. And when you look at his shiv-to-kill ratio, I think you’ll find that—”

“Shut up, Charlie,” Alison said, flushing. Charlie was referring to an old point of competition between them: the magical daggers known as shivs were complicated and time-consuming to make, and so it was important to make them count when it came to riffs. It was a number that Alison tracked closely. Or used to.

It was yet another debriefing after yet another unsuccessful hunt for Lilith. Finding and killing the leader of the shades had become a kind of obsession for Gabriel. He’d pulled in slayers from around the world to play this cat and mouse game with his ex. Meanwhile, it seemed shades everywhere else could do as they pleased. So much for protecting the public.

Jonah’s role as bait had pulled him back into the fold of operations. Maybe not a full-fledged role—he suspected that there were meetings he was not invited to. But he attended the debriefings at least, where their failure to find Lilith was somehow Jonah’s fault. At least Alison seemed to think so.

Gabriel had been watching this exchange, his lashless brown eyes flicking from one person to another. Now they fastened on Jonah. “What do you think, Jonah? Do we need to change strategies?”

Jonah covered his surprise. Gabriel hadn’t been interested in Jonah’s opinion on anything lately. But he was ready with an answer. He’d been working on a plan for several days.

“If you mean would I like to stop walking around downtown all night, the answer is yes,” Jonah said. “I’m on a first-name basis with every mugger, sex worker, and homeless person in the city of Cleveland. I’ve met every police officer on the night shift, too—did you know there’s a curfew for under-eighteens?” Jonah lifted an eyebrow.

“We all appreciate the effort you’ve put forth,” Gabriel said, dismissing it with a flick of his hand. “Any theory as to why Lilith hasn’t made contact?”

“Two things come to mind,” Jonah said. “First, we need to quit treating shades like they’re stupid. Brendan Wu was always a smart kid—that’s why he and Kenzie got along so well. He’s just as smart now as he was then. He’s the
same
person.” Jonah paused to make sure Gabriel felt the hit. “Only now he can change appearances whenever he wants by commandeering another body. If you saw him, you’d never recognize him as Brendan or as a hosted shade. They’re not going to have bones poking through flesh the way they have in the past—a lot of their hosts are in good condition. They credit blood magic. So when you go trailing me through the Flats, they’ll see you coming. Why would they show up when they know it’s a trap?”

“It seems like you know an awful lot about shades,” Alison said, running a hand through her limp hair.

“What’s the second thing?” Gabriel asked.

“You’re the one they really want to talk to,” Jonah said. “Not me. Oh, they’ll want me there to serve as go-between, but it’s not worth it for them to take the risk if you’re not part of the conversation. The bottom line is, nobody’s coming if you’re not there, too.”

“You expect
Gabriel
to serve as bait?” Mike said.

“Only if you want to catch Lilith,” Jonah said, shrugging. “Otherwise, any warm body will do.”

“That’s too dangerous,” Natalie said. “How do we know it isn’t a trap? They may be out to kill him, not have a conversation.”

“That may be,” Jonah said. “We just have to be smarter than them. It’s not like Gabriel can just walk around in the Flats all night either, hoping to get noticed. We’re going to have to plan a meeting on their turf.” He kept his eyes on Gabriel as he said this, watching for a tell. “It’s your call, Gabriel,” he said. “But you asked for my opinion.”

Gabriel picked up his cell phone, put it down again. Something he did when he was nervous.

“So—the idea is, we’ll follow you,” Mike said.

Jonah shook his head. “Like I said, they’ll spot you. We have to set up a place ahead of time, a place that can be protected.”

“And we’ll be there waiting,” Alison said, with a wicked smile.

Jonah nodded. “You’ll be there waiting. And so, probably, will some of Lilith’s people. But—here’s the thing. If it collapses into a brawl, anything can happen. That puts Gabriel at risk, and it may not even result in a kill. So my idea is that you set up a perimeter, a kind of no-man’s land, around the meeting place. No shades, no slayers inside the perimeter. Just Gabriel, Lilith, and me.”

At this, panic flickered across Gabriel’s face, chased by guilt and anger. Jonah wouldn’t have seen it if he hadn’t been watching him closely, if he couldn’t sense his emotions across the distance between them.

“I told you, Jonah,” Gabriel said. “I can’t imagine that a meeting with this person—whoever she is—would serve any purpose. I want this put to rest. Now.” His voice shook.

“That’s the idea,” Jonah said. “As soon as we’re all together, I’ll make the kill. You know that’s what I’m good at.” He extended his gloved hands and smiled into Gabriel’s eyes, mustering all of the persuasive power at his command.

Alison’s voice broke in. “Why do
you
get to make the kill? I thought you were out of operations. All of a sudden you’ve grown a spine?”

“Do you think I
want
this?” Jonah looked around the circle, his gaze lingering on every face. “I tried to retire, remember? But it has to be me. I have to be at the meeting, to serve as go-between, since I’m the only one who can communicate with them. If we try and bring anyone else, we’ll spook them. Or Lilith will insist on bringing her army, and it turns into a melee.” He paused. “Do you want this to be over or not?”

“Maybe the rest of us should retire,” Alison muttered. “It’s always down to Jonah anyway.”

“Alison.” Gabriel tilted his head forward, looking at her. She subsided back into her chair.

“Or,” Jonah said, shrugging, “Gabriel can always handle the riff himself if he prefers.” He wasn’t entirely successful at keeping the snark out of his voice.

Gabriel locked eyes with Jonah for what seemed to be a long time. Somehow, it was like crossing swords in a sparring match. His gaze dropped to Jonah’s hands. Stayed there. “Even if we wanted to arrange a meeting, how could we if they won’t make contact?”

This was the tricky part. Jonah couldn’t very well tell Gabriel he’d known how to contact Lilith all along.

“Maybe Jonah can walk around with a sandwich board, announcing the place and time,” Alison said, unsmiling. “Just kidding,” she added when Gabriel glared at her.

“I’ll go hunting on my own,” Jonah said. “I’ll find someone who can pass the word along.”

“Do you have a meeting place in mind?” Charlie asked. “Somewhere near here?”

“Are you familiar with the old railroad terminal?” Jonah asked. “It’s that stone-and-brick building close by the Carter Road Bridge.”

Heads nodded all around.

“Nobody’s using it right now,” Jonah said. “It’s boarded up. It’s kind of creepy inside, but it’s more or less on neutral ground.”

Gabriel sighed, seeming resigned to the plan. “Let’s do it,” he said to Jonah. “Set it up.”

When the meeting broke up, Alison fled the room like an uncaged bird through an open door. Jonah still managed to intercept her.

“What?” she growled, when he appeared in front of her.

“I...just wanted to say I’m sorry,” Jonah said. “I feel like we’re always at cross-purposes, and we shouldn’t be. Whatever I do, I seem to get in your way.”

“Don’t waste the enchanter bit on me,” Alison said, flicking her hand as if swatting a fly. “I am so over all of that.”

This was going all wrong. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean—”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the smooth talker?” Alison laughed hoarsely. “That’s pretty pathetic, to tell the truth.”

Now Jonah looked at Alison. Really looked.

Like everyone else at the Anchorage, except maybe for Natalie, Jonah had developed the blinders that allowed him to dance on. That prevented him from seeing the gradual decline of everyone around him; that allowed him to pretend that they weren’t all heading for the same tragic end. The band played on as the ship sank beneath them. Distracted by the magic of music, they would keep dancing until the waves closed over their heads.

Now he noticed that Alison’s eyes were dull, her hair lank, her arms wrapped in gauze. That likely meant that her skin was blistering. That sometimes happened, but usually only toward the end.

She was skin and bones, wiry muscle and anger. But anger only takes you so far.

She’s fading, Jonah thought, before his inner censor could intercept the thought. She’s dying. And his heart broke, just a little.
I’m sorry, Alison. None of my gifts have done anybody any good.

“Look,” Jonah said, “we have so much history between us. We’ve been friends since—since before Thorn Hill. Nobody else knows me as well as you do.”

“That’s exactly right.” Alison’s smile twisted. “I knew everything about you, and I loved you anyway. Just as you were: the beautiful boy with the deadly touch, the assassin who carries his wounds on the inside. I was willing to take a chance on you. But you—you weren’t willing to take a chance on me.”

“It’s not a matter of taking a chance on you. It’s a matter of risk I’m not willing to take. I’m just trying to get through life without killing anyone else. And not lose all my friends in the process.”

“Too late,” Alison said. “You’re a damn good singer and a decent guitarist, and you write kick-ass lyrics. I’m glad to have you in my band. Otherwise, there is absolutely nothing between us.” And she walked away.