The Enchanter Heir (12 page)

Too bad they didn’t give out grades for those kinds of lessons.

Now and then she looked back at the boy in the corner by the door. He still sat alone. So did she. So much for making friends her own age.

When the band took a break, one of the guitarists—a girl—walked back to Boy Blue and sat down at his table. He didn’t shoo
her
away. Instead, they leaned in close, talking.

So that’s how it is, Emma thought. He’s with the band. She thought of going back to the bar and using her second ticket, but was afraid she’d lose her table. Some of the pool players had been eyeing it for a while. She could give up and head home, but she’d been looking forward to hearing the rest of the set. Anyway, going home was too much like giving up.

Raised voices caught her attention. Turning, she saw that Boy Blue was now surrounded by members of the band, who were all waving their hands and hissing at one another. When the lead guitarist returned, they marched back onstage, leaving Boy Blue alone again.

He looked up, found Emma staring at him, and looked away.

What just happened? Emma thought as Fault Tolerant launched into their second set.

“Hey! Labrat!”

Emma twisted around, and saw that some of the gifted who’d been playing pool had formed a half circle around her table. Two were carrying pool cues.

They didn’t look much older than Emma, but none of them were wearing wristbands, and from the looks of things, they’d been taking full advantage of their legal status. They all carried beers, and they walked like people who’ve had a few already.

Emma blinked at them. “What’d you call me?”

“Labrat,” a preppy-looking boy said, breathing beer into her face. “Or would you prefer mutant?” He had the pudgy kind of baby face that turns into jowls later on.

Emma knew better than to mix it up with a drunk. “I don’t want trouble,” she said. “Came to hear the band. Just move on, now.” She pulled out her phone, looking for nonexistent messages. Wondering what people had used for cover before cell phones.

“Time to move on,” the boy persisted, thunking his beer down. “You’ve been squatting there all night.”

“Come on, Graham,” another boy said, leering at Emma. “Let her stay. Get a few drinks into her and maybe she’ll show us her scaly tail.”

“Eww,” a tall blond girl said. “Shut up, Cam. That’s disgusting.”

“Sometimes you wanna walk on the wild side, know what I mean?” Cam elbowed the girl. “Hey, Brooke! How about a threesome?”

Brooke pretend-slapped him.

A girl with long, sun-tipped brown hair had hung back by the pool table. Now she joined the group surrounding Emma. “Quit being jerks. If there’s no place to sit, pay the tab and we’ll go down the street.”

“We’re off the clock,” Graham said. “I wanna play some more pool. Anyway, the labrat was just leaving.”

“You’re drunk, and you’re drawing attention to yourselves, which is exactly what Rowan told us not to do,” the girl said. “And we are never—ever—off the clock.”

“We won’t hurt her feelings, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Cam said, nodding toward Emma. “I don’t think she understands what we’re saying, anyway.”

“Come on, Rachel,” Graham said, a note of entreaty in his voice. “Loosen up a little. Your big brother isn’t here. Uh . . . you’re not going to tell on us, are you?” He put his hand on her shoulder, brow furrowed, looking a little panicked now.

“Not as long as you do what I say,” Rachel retorted. Just then, her phone buzzed. “I’m going to take this call. Meantime, take care of the tab and we’ll go.”

The wizards watched Rachel walk away, then turned on Emma.

“See that?” Cam said. “You got us in trouble.”

“Don’t worry,” Brooke said, sweeping back her mane of hair. “If Rowan gives us trouble, he’ll have my mother to deal with.”

Graham waved his cue under Emma’s nose. “Come on, labrat. Fair’s fair. You shouldn’t sit over here if you’re not playing pool.” He brightened. “I know! Let’s play for the tab.”

The rest of them snorted with laughter.

“Do you know what that means?” Graham leaned down, hands on his knees, so he was eye level with Emma, speaking slowly. “If I win, you pay for our drinks, and give up your table. That’s fair.” When Emma said nothing, he added, “How about it, labrat?”

A new voice intruded into the conversation. “How about you leave her alone?”

It was Boy Blue. He stood next to Emma, so close she could breathe in the scent of leather. So close she could have reached out and touched the rivets on his jeans. She resisted the temptation to do just that.

The wizards stared at him, at first too hazy with drink to conjure a response.

“Who’re you?” Graham said finally. “Her labrat boyfriend?”

“You think
he’s
a labrat?” Brooke said, wrinkling her forehead in confusion. “But he’s really hot.”

“Eww,” Graham said. “Now
you’re
being disgusting.” They all laughed, but some of the confidence had leaked out of them. They resembled a herd of sheep with a wolf in their midst.

“I can take care of myself,” Emma said to Boy Blue. “Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried about
you
,” Boy Blue said. “I’m worried about
them
.”

Graham cleared his throat. “We’re not talking to
you
,” he said. “We’re talking to
her
.” He jabbed Emma with his pool cue.

Boy Blue struck like a snake, faster than Emma’s eye could follow. He ripped Graham’s weapon away from him, broke it like a matchstick, and dropped the pieces onto the floor.

Graham stared at him, openmouthed. “What the—that cue cost five hundred dollars!” he shouted.

“Really?” Boy Blue said. “Then you ought to be more careful about where you stick it.”

Emma was thinking, Five hundred dollars? For a pool cue? That can’t be right.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” Graham snarled. His friends muttered agreement. A crowd was gathering, spoiling for a fight. And Boy Blue seemed more than willing to give them one.

Emma didn’t mean to let that happen. Not on her account. She shoved back her chair and stood, facing Graham, hands on hips. “You want to play pool?” she said. “You’re on.”

Chapter Twelve
Sharks

Everyone turned and stared at her. The band played on, the bass thudding through the floorboards like a pulse.

Graham looked from Boy Blue to Emma. “You’ve got to be kidding,” he said, smirking. “All right, let’s do it.”

Boy Blue put his gloved hand on Emma’s shoulder, sending a thrill of electricity through her. “You don’t have to do this. I picked this fight. Let me finish it.”

Emma glared up at him. “What—you can pick a fight, but I can’t?”

For a moment, he was at a loss for words. “Well, yeah,” he said. “Pretty much.”

Emma turned back toward Graham. “What’s the action?” she said, rubbing her fingers together. “You really want to play for the tab?”

“’Xactly,” Graham said, taking in his mainliner posse with a sweep of his arm. “The tab. For all of us.” His eyes flicked to Boy Blue, then back to her. “And the cost of the cue.” Emma frowned, pretending to think it over. Which she really should have been doing, considering she had $15.97 in her pocket.

Boy Blue leaned in toward her, his warm breath stirring her hair, raising gooseflesh on her neck. “Listen,” he said. “Their tab’ll run into big money. They’ve been drinking all night. And we’re
not
paying for the cue.”

We? Emma thought.

“What’s the matter?” Graham said. “No confidence in your girlfriend here?”

Someone began a soft chant. “Tails and SCALES! Tails and SCALES!”

Emma frowned. “You know what? He’s right. That
doesn’t
seem fair. I don’t really have a tab.” She thought a moment. “How about this? If I win, you forget about the cue and buy a round for the room.”

“A round for the room?” Graham scanned the crowd, as if taking a count. “I don’t know. I mean, now I’ll be playing with an unfamiliar cue.” He pretended reluctance when she could tell he was hot for the match.

“What’s the matter?” she said, shoving her hands into her back pockets, looking up at the ceiling. “You scared?”

Graham stiffened and looked back at Emma, appraising her. He must not have been impressed with what he saw, because a cocky smile broke across his face. “You’re on, labrat.”

“Did you all hear that?” Emma said in a carrying voice. “If I win, this fine young man buys a round for the room. If you want to lay any side bets, do it now.”

All of a sudden everyone in the room was interested in the play, though nobody seemed eager to bet on Emma.

While money changed hands Emma strode to the cue rack and looked over the selection. Mostly Sterlings, handful of Furys. Pulling one down, she sighted along the length and swore under her breath. Warped. As were the next two. In the end, she chose a Sterling maple-shafted stick that wasn’t quite as crooked as a dog’s hind leg.

She crossed to Graham’s chosen table, leaned her cue against it, and tied her hair back. “What’s your game?” she said.

Graham blinked at her. “Huh?”

“You know—eight ball, nine ball, straight pool, one pocket, or snooker?”

“Um—eight ball?” he said, doubt creeping into his voice.

“Fair enough,” Emma said, scooping up a triangular rack. “You got any local rules I should know about?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you got your Alabama eight ball, crazy eight, last pocket, misery, Missouri, one and fifteen in the sides, rotation eight ball, and like that.”

Graham squinted at her, licking his lips. “I just wanna play pool. You gonna talk or play?”

“Fine,” Emma said. “We’ll keep it simple—classic eight ball. One game only. If you scratch on the break, you lose. Your challenge, your game, my break. Rack ’em up.” She thrust the rack at Graham.

While Graham fussed with the rack, Emma walked around the table. The cloth was in bad shape, torn here and there from heavy use. She’d watched the play on that table earlier and noted that it wasn’t exactly level.

By the time Graham stepped back, Emma had found her shot. She hit a soft break, but still put three balls in the pocket. Methodically, she ran out the table while Graham watched with growing horror. When she’d cleared the table except for the money ball, she pointed her cue at the farthest pocket. “All right,” she said, “Eight ball in the upper right corner.” And she nailed it clean.

Cheers erupted all around—from people who hadn’t bet on Graham. Patrons, even mainliners, slapped her on the back. Others bellied up to the bar to place their orders.

Graham swore violently. “You . . . you cheated,” he said. Emma cocked her head. “Didn’t your mama ever tell you to watch yourself in a pool hall? You never know when you’re going to run into a shark.”

Graham extended a trembling hand toward Emma, fingers spread like he was about to hex her or something. He opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, Boy Blue had his arms twisted behind his back so he screamed in pain.

“I don’t think you want to do that here,” Boy Blue murmured. “Anyway, nobody likes a sore loser. I suggest you pay up and leave.” Releasing Graham, he gave him a push toward the bar.

Emma stuck out her hand to Boy Blue. “I’m Emma,” she said. “Thanks for the help.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he gripped her hand. “I’m Jonah,” he said. “I guess you didn’t need my help.”

Emma let go of Jonah’s hand, trying to think of something to say. “What was that name they kept calling us? Labrats?”

“Labrats?” He stared at her, as if confused. “I assumed you were from—” He stopped. Then shrugged. And lied . . . Emma knew he did. “I have no idea.”

Emma gestured toward her hard-won table. “Would you like to sit?”

“Sit?”

“Sit. With me.”

For a moment, he balanced on the balls of his feet, trapped between yes and no. Then the door to the club slammed open, and cold air swirled around them. Jonah’s head came up, and he breathed in sharply, like a predator who’s caught the scent of prey. “No,” he said. “I can’t. I have to—” He swiveled toward the door, suddenly in a hurry. “I have to go.”

And, just like that, he was out the door.

Sorry, Tyler, Emma thought, watching him disappear. I guess I’m just not that good at making friends.

Chapter Thirteen
Monster to Monster

Where, exactly, did you think that was going, Kinlock? Jonah thought as he exited the club. Were you hoping to work your way up from a handshake to a chaperoned slow dance?

And yet—it was such a small and simple pleasure—to talk to someone who didn’t know that the thing he was best at was killing. Leaving the pool-shark girl behind was like ripping off a scab and watching himself bleed.

Focus, he thought, breathing in the night air. No, it hadn’t been his imagination. A shade had just passed by, heading toward Superior.

Jonah didn’t like that. He didn’t like it at all. Especially since he was unarmed. You can go into a club with a gun, but just try to get in with a six-foot sword.

It was nearly nine o’clock on a Tuesday, but the bars were jumping in the Warehouse District. Across the river, in Heritage Park and around the aquarium, he could see emergency lights flashing. Maybe an accident of some kind.

He hoped it wasn’t something worse. He ghosted along, following the scent, jogging left on Superior. He lost the trail momentarily, then realized the shade must have cut through the courthouse gardens and down the steps to the river. It might be on the hunt, hoping to find easy prey along the lonely route through the Flats.

He descended through the courthouse grounds, then walked west, along the river, past industrial buildings and high fences topped with barbed wire. Just as he was passing the old B&O terminal, a bell began to clamor. A bridge alarm, signaling street traffic that the bridge was opening for river traffic.

Once past the terminal, Jonah looked downriver, where several rusting lift bridges spanned the crooked river as it snaked its way to the lake.

It was the Carter Road Lift Bridge, just to his left. The barricades were down, lights flashing. As he watched, the bridge deck began to rise into the sky.