The Sorcerer Heir (Heir Chronicles) (3 page)

“We listened to your first set together, and then she said she was going out to make sure the pumpkin lamps were still lit,” Madison said. “That was a while ago. I told her to come right back....” She trailed off, reading Emma’s face. “Is something wrong?”

“I just—it’s nothing,” Emma said.

“Grace is your little sister?” Rudy said.

Madison nodded. “She’s twelve, going on eighteen,” Madison said. She extended her hand out in front of her, palm down. “About this tall, with light brown hair. She was wearing a black cat costume.”

“Want us to spread out and look for her?” Rudy asked, always eager for action.

Madison wavered, then shook her head. “Seph and I will check the house again before we all fly into a panic. Grace will never forgive me if I send out a posse.” She turned to her Anaweir companion. “Will, could you keep looking around outside?”

Will nodded. “Got it.”

“Did you try her cell phone?” Rudy asked.

Madison’s lips tightened. “Where I come from, we don’t give cell phones to twelve-year-old kids.” She turned back toward the house, but just then they heard shouting from the direction of the woods, and two figures stumbling up the slope toward them.

“That’s Leesha and Fitch,” Will said. “I’ll go see what’s up.” He vaulted over the wall at the edge of the terrace without missing a step, and quickly closed the distance between them.

Emma watched with growing foreboding as the three spoke briefly, and then all turned and ran toward the house. Seph and Madison walked forward to meet them, but Emma hung back with her bandmates, not sure she wanted to hear what they had to say.

She heard it anyway. “There’s been an attack,” Fitch said. “Like—like a stabbing. Or a shooting. We’re not sure. But there’s at least three bodies in the woods between here and the lake.” He stole a quick look at Madison.

Madison went sheet-white, her blue eyes brilliant against her pale skin. “Who?” she demanded, balling her fists and taking a step toward him. “Who’s dead?”

“Hang on,” Leesha said. “We’re not entirely sure of anything.”

“I called 911,” Fitch said, “and help should be here any minute. Let’s wait until they get here.”

“Who. Is. It?” Madison repeated, light flaming up under her skin, shining through, her hair snaking around her head.

“I’m a healer,” Natalie said, coming to her feet. “Is there anyone—is there anything I can do until EMS gets here?”

Leesha just stared back at her, speechless, tears streaming down her face.

Madison Moss took off running, hair flying, her pirate skirts bunched into her fists, with Seph McCauley right on her heels, pleading with her to wait, to slow down, to at least not go out there on her own. The race ended just inside the edge of the trees. Seph circled Madison with his arms and pulled her back against his body, the magic flaring up within her underlighting the trees, flickering out into the darkness.

Emma and the others, drawn like moths to a flame, came up behind them, huddling silently, waiting.

Slowly then, Seph and Madison walked forward, and Madison dropped to her knees in the leaf litter next to a darker shape among the others. Emma’s heart plummeted to her toes. She tasted metal on the back of her tongue, the taste of blood and despair. She could not bear to look, and yet she could not tear her eyes away.

Then Madison Moss began to scream. It seemed to go on and on and on, the thread of Seph McCauley’s wizard voice running through it, their bodies merging into one shadow as he pulled her into his arms.

E
mma should have left before the police arrived. But it’s hard to think clearly when you’re trying to not think at all. So, instead, she huddled on the terrace with Alison and Rudy while a fleet of emergency vehicles lined up in the driveway, spilling onto the street. After a while, Natalie returned, close-faced and tight-lipped and grim.

Once the police arrived, they herded everyone into the house and onto the terrace. A nervous-looking young officer commandeered Jonah’s voice mike. “Nobody leaves, all right? Everyone stays put until we’ve secured the crime scene, searched the area, and interviewed all potential witnesses,” she barked. “Don’t talk amongst yourselves either, or we’ll have to split you up. We want clean accounts from everyone. One of you might’ve seen something that will help us.”

Not me, Emma thought. I didn’t see anything. I don’t know anything.

Sometime during the initial confusion, Hastings and Downey had returned. Seph and his parents managed to talk Madison back to the house. The mainliners took over the kitchen, forming an impermeable barrier to outsiders.

The police established a command post in the parlor. They used yellow police tape to cordon off an area around the scene. They marked out access routes onto the grounds, and set up huge spotlights that all but turned night into day. When they funneled out into the woods, the officers proceeded cautiously, shining powerful flashlights into every dark crevice and shadow.

Trapped inside the law-enforcement bubble, Emma began packing up her equipment, hoping for a quick getaway. As if eager for something to do, Rudy and Natalie followed suit, breaking down the equipment and casing everything up. Alison just sat on the floor in a corner, arms wrapped around her knees, head tipped back, eyes closed as if pretending she were someplace else.

Emma ran her fingers over the head of Jonah’s Stratocaster, standing abandoned in its stand. He must be guilty, she thought. He must have been involved in the murders. Why else would he leave it behind? She settled it lovingly into its case, slid the strap into its compartment, closed the lid, and buckled the catches. Familiar. Automatic. Soothing.

All around them, the mainliners clustered in small groups, remarkably silent. Some stood along the edge of the terrace, watching the police deploy through the woods. Others whispered together, shooting wary looks toward the band.

“Does anybody else have the feeling that whatever goodwill might’ve resulted from the show is gone now?” Rudy said, nodding toward the clusters of partygoers.

“They can’t think
we’re
responsible,” Natalie muttered.

“Yes, they can,” Rudy said, rubbing his eyes. “In fact, I think we can count on it. I’ll bet nobody ever got murdered in Trinity until we came along. I’ll bet nobody even jaywalked before now.”

A ripple of excitement out in the woods caught Emma’s attention. People shouting, the crackle of radios, a rush of EMS personnel down the cordoned path. Soon, Emma could hear the
thwock-thwock-thwock
of a helicopter. Turning, she saw that a massive yellow chopper was setting down in the park at the end of the block.

“Looks like they’ve found somebody else,” Natalie whispered, her body as rigid as a dog on point. “Somebody who must be still alive, else they wouldn’t have sent Life Flight.”

She’s a healer to the bone, Emma thought. She can’t stand hanging back when someone is hurting.

Natalie positioned herself right beside the route they would have to take. Emma eased up beside her. Moments later, a quartet of paramedics loped up the path toward them, carrying a litter. Even Alison roused herself and joined them, looking on as the medical team swept by, one of them holding a bag of fluids high above his head.

It was Rowan DeVries, his face bloodless, lips pale, lashes dark against his skin. The thermal blanket over him was already soaked through with blood. He looked dead, but, as Natalie said, he must be still alive or why the rush?

Natalie gazed at him fixedly, her dark brows drawn together. She even brushed her fingers over his bare arm as he passed by. The nearest paramedic glared at her and shook his head.

“Hey!” she called after them. “Hang on a minute!” They didn’t break stride.

“What’s up, Natalie?” came a voice behind them. They both turned. It took Emma a moment to remember the woman’s name. It was the healer-sorcerer, Mercedes Foster.

“He’s got a serious bleed, right upper quadrant,” Natalie said, without a scrap of doubt. “Blood vessel, artery, something. If they don’t operate immediately, he’ll bleed out. But there’s no way they’re going to listen to me.”

Mercedes nodded. “Got it. And if I don’t get some Weirsbane into him, the hospital is going to have a lot of questions we don’t have answers to.” She charged after the paramedics, her thin legs pumping like pistons, her clothes flapping around her limbs like a scarecrow’s. “Rowan!” she bellowed. “Wait! I’m coming with you. That’s my son!”

Somehow, the sorcerer talked her way onto the helicopter.

Natalie was on the phone with Gabriel, and Emma half-listened to her side of the conversation. “I know, I know...I don’t know...Alison and Rudy and Emma are here with me....Jonah? He sent a text after the first set. Said he wasn’t feeling well and was heading back...No, I haven’t heard from him since. They’ve searched the house and grounds, and he’s not here. I’ve texted him several times and even called him, but his phone just goes to voice mail....All right. See you soon.” Natalie clicked off and returned her phone to her pocket. “Gabriel’s on his way. He’s bringing his lawyer.”

“I hope Jonah’s okay,” Rudy murmured.

“Just sit down and shut up,” Alison hissed. She opened her mouth as if to say something else, but changed her mind.

Emma tucked her hands under her arms, trying to warm them. “I wish we could leave,” she muttered, teeth chattering. “I really, really want to get out of here.”

And go where? She did not want to go back to the Anchorage, where she no longer knew whom to trust. She did not want to talk to the police. If they asked who she was and where she came from, it wouldn’t take long to connect her to Memphis.

Still, three people had been confirmed as dead. Two wizards, attendees at the party. And Madison Moss’s little sister. The black cat. Grace.

What was it they said on the cop shows? Jonah Kinlock had means, motive, and opportunity to kill those three people. If Emma had sounded the alarm about Jonah Kinlock sooner, maybe it wouldn’t have happened.

And yet, a voice in Emma’s head kept saying,
No
. She’d seen something deadly in Jonah Kinlock from the beginning. He
was
dangerous—but he wasn’t indiscriminate. He was like a weapon that was exceedingly accurate. She could totally imagine him cutting down wizards. Including Rowan DeVries. But she could not picture him killing a child. Especially one so close to his brother’s age.

Emma thought of the scowling young girl in the black cat costume with the blown-out knees. The way she thrust her face up into the music like a cat soaking up sun. The bitten-down nails, and the dreamy way she gazed at Jonah. Why would somebody hurt a girl like that? Could Grace have stumbled on something she shouldn’t have?

Beyond the stone wall, flashlights bobbed like fireflies in the dark, clustering together, then exploding apart, silvering the trunks and branches of the trees. Police cars lined both sides of the street, carrying emblems from surrounding communities. The Trinity police force had called in reinforcements.

Would they fingerprint witnesses? Run background checks on them? Panic flared up in her again. Emma turned, scanning the crowd of people waiting until she spotted Fitch and Leesha sitting together at the edge of the terrace.

“I’ll be right back.” Crossing the stone terrace to where they stood, Emma said, “Hey.”

They swiveled to face her. Fitch had his arm around Leesha, and her lashes were clumped up with tears.

Emma groped for words. “I don’t mean to bother you.”

Leesha blotted at her eyes with the back of her hand.

After a moment’s hesitation, Fitch said, “It’s just—this brings back a lot of memories for us.” He looked at Leesha, as if she might want to say something, but she said nothing. “There was a battle here two years ago,” he went on, “between the wizard guild and the other guilds. A number of people close to us were killed.”

He knows about the guilds, Emma thought, even though he’s not a member. Even though she was gifted, she’d only learned about them a few months ago, when she came to live with Tyler. Sometimes she felt like the only person in the dark.

Fitch was still looking at her expectantly, and Emma lost her courage. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I’ll leave you be,” she said, and went to turn away, but Fitch said, “Wait!”

Emma turned back toward them.

“Can we help you with something?” Fitch asked.

“Well...” Emma looked over her shoulder, to see if anyone was close enough to hear, then turned back to face them. “I really don’t want to talk to the police. And, you know, since I didn’t actually see anything, I was hoping you could just keep me out of it.”

“I’m sorry,” Fitch said, shifting his weight. “I think it’s too late for that. We already talked to them—you know, briefly. Your name was mentioned.”

“Damn.” Emma lifted her aching shoulders, then dropped them again.

Leesha and Fitch looked at each other. “Are you in trouble?” Fitch asked softly.

Why, yes, Emma thought of saying. My entire family—my daddy and grandfather—have died in the past six months, and now I’m an orphan and I don’t want the county to take custody of me.

But they had their own troubles. She wouldn’t pile on more.

“Oh, no,” Emma lied. “I just—I just don’t want to get involved.”

Leesha twisted a lock of hair around her finger. “But what if something you saw or heard might help catch the killer?”

Emma fisted her hands. “I don’t know how that could be when I didn’t see or hear anything.”

“Okay, okay,” Fitch said, raising his own hands, palms out. “Just tell them that. You’ll be fine.”

Leesha kept gazing at Emma, but her expression was less accusatory and suspicious than it was...sympathetic. The wizard dug her phone from her tiny pocketbook. “What’s your cell number?” she asked briskly, ready to key it in. “I’ll call you, so you’ll have my number.”

“Why?” Emma asked warily. “Why do I want your number?”

“So we can exchange fashion tips,” Leesha snapped. Then rubbed the back of her neck like it hurt. “Sorry. Snarkiness is a habit I’m trying to break.” She looked up at Emma, her smoky eyes haunted. “Sometimes,” she said, “you just need somebody to call. I’m not saying I’m that person, but at least you’ll have the number in case.” She paused. “Or if you’d rather I didn’t have your number, just take mine.”

Emma surrendered her number.

“Ms. Lee?” The voice came from behind her, startling Emma so much that she nearly fell over the low wall edging the terrace. But that was good. Otherwise, she might not have responded to the unfamiliar name at all.

She spun around to see a stocky, sandy-haired man, hands stuffed into his pants pockets, wearing a battered leather jacket and open-collared dress shirt. Despite the casual look, Emma had been on the street long enough to recognize the law.

“Emma Lee?” The officer stuck out his hand, and Emma reluctantly shook it. “I’m Ross Childers, chief of police and head of the Investigative Bureau here in Trinity.” He flipped open a leather case to display an authentic-looking badge.

“You’re the
chie
f
?” Emma blurted out.

Ross Childers shrugged. “Small department. Anyway, I like to keep my hand in. I wonder if we could sit in my car a few minutes, so I could ask you some questions about what happened here tonight.”

Emma broadened her stance, as if trying to take root. “Couldn’t you just ask me here?”

Childers rubbed his chin. “I’m just old enough to want to sit down whenever I can,” he said. “Anyway, my laptop’s in the car.”

Emma did not want to get into the police car, but couldn’t think of a reason to say no, so she followed Chief Childers around the side of the house and down the stone walkway to where police cars were lined up in the drive. The ambulances had gone.

Childers yanked open the passenger door of an unmarked car, and invited Emma in with a gesture. She settled into the seat, feeling boxed in by equipment—a bulky radio, a loaded center console. Emma immediately banged her elbow on a laptop on a swivel mount. “Ow!”

“Sorry,” Childers said, peering into the interior of the car, an apologetic expression on his face. Fast food wrappers and receipts from ATMs were scattered across the floor mats. “This thing is a mess. I didn’t expect to have guests.” Stripping off his jacket, he tossed it into the back and slid into the driver’s seat. Leaning down, he scooped up the trash, stuffing it into a plastic bag on the inside of his door. He kept fussing, tidying up, like he really was embarrassed.

Emma drew in a shaky breath, and memories flooded back. Police cars always smelled the same: a kind of sweaty, underbelly smell. Police cars were where bad things happen to people like her.