The Warrior Heir (27 page)

She kept talking as she examined him, her fingers full of power, sending off tiny electrical shocks as they touched his skin. He flinched and gritted his teeth. "Now, don't tense up, Jack. That's better. I understand this is your first trip to London? I hope your mother and aunt have been showing you around?"

Jack nodded, then gasped as she ran her hot hands over the muscles in his back. "Ah … we've seen a lot in a short time," he managed to say. "I'm really enjoying it." He didn't remember his previous sessions with Longbranch as being quite so
physical.

"As you should," said the doctor. "Land of your ancestors, I believe? Have you been to the Tower? Thrilling, really. All those stories of torture and murder." Dr. Longbranch kept up a constant stream of conversation, asking questions about their stay in London as she checked Jack's blood pressure and pressed her strange stethoscope against his chest. She had him jump down from the table and walk across the room and back, watching him, arms folded, as he did so. The exam took longer than usual, but he told himself that perhaps it was because he had come such a long way to see the her. She'd never shown nearly so much interest in him before. Finally, the doctor stepped back and looked him up and down approvingly. "You're in great shape,Jack. Tell me, when did you stop taking your medicine?"

She snapped out the question, and it took Jack by surprise, like a quick blade under the ribs, as Nick would say. It took him a moment to respond. "I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered.

Linda spoke up. "Jack and Becka have always been very good about following instructions, Jessamine." Her face had lost its color.

"Is that so, Linda? I was thinking Jack here looks like someone who likes to break the rules. Have you ever heard of the White Rose?" Another quick blade, but this time Jack was better prepared for it. He considered a moment, then said, "Wasn't that a battle emblem in the War of the Roses? York carried the white rose, Lancaster the red."

"Very good!" She moved to the side of the examination table and ran her fingertips lightly across his shoulder. He tensed as the current went through him. She didn't seem to be making any attempt to blunt its effects. "You've been studying your history. There's a great deal of history in this part of the world. Much more than most people realize. And your family has been in the thick of it, did you know that?" Now she was stroking him, petting him like a dog. "I think it's time you became better acquainted with it. I know some people who can teach you.” The change in her voice warned him, and he was prepared for the charm when it came. She spoke it quickly, tightening her fingers on the back of his neck, a simple immobilization charm. He spoke the counter charm under his breath before she could complete it. Then he stilled himself, looking as immobile as he could. He didn't have to pretend to be frightened.

"Jessamine, what the hell are you doing?" Linda's voice was sharp.

"I must tell you, this is a wonderful surprise," Jessamine said. "I thought it would take months to get him into fighting condition, and now I find you've done it for me."

"Listen to me," Linda said urgently, persuasively. "I don't know what you're thinking, but he's just a boy. The only reason he's alive today is because he's been hidden. As soon as the Red Rose finds out about him, he'll be a target."

Jessamine laughed. "He doesn't look like a boy to me. He has gained six inches in height and forty-five pounds since my last exam, and it's all muscle. He's breathtaking." Her voice hardened. "You do remember our bargain, don't you? It's time to give him up, Linda. We need to begin his training. We really haven't any choice. I would have come after him in Trinity had you not arranged to bring him to me here. The Red Rose has called a tournament for Midsummer's Day." She paused. "It appears they will put forward a champion."

"That's impossible!" Linda exclaimed. "How could they have managed that? You would have known about it before now."

"We are working on locating and eliminating their player," Dr. Longbranch said coldly. "But we cannot exclude the possibility that we will fail. If we cannot answer the challenge, we will forfeit. And that will not happen." She smiled. "If we succeed in taking their player, the Red Rose will forfeit. And even if the tournament goes forward, perhaps Jack will win. I must admit, I'm optimistic now that I've seen him in the flesh."

"He can't possibly be prepared for a tournament by Midsummer's Day," Linda persisted. "He doesn't know anything about fighting."

The doctor tapped her long nails against his shoulder. "He was born to this, Linda. He'll figure it out. My trainers can bring out the killer in anyone. I just hope they don't damage this beautiful body too much." She must have seen some reaction to that in Jack's face, because she cupped her hand under his chin and turned his face to look at her. "Don't be frightened, my mongrel. I know you'll catch on fast." She eyed him speculatively. "They say a mixed breed is often stronger than its parents. I wonder if he'll pass down the warrior stone to his offspring. An interesting question."

She went on, as if thinking aloud, "Perhaps if he survives the tournament, we'll breed him. Would you like that, Jack?" she asked, as if she were offering him a treat for rolling over. Jack was mortified. He felt the blood rush to his face, and then she said, "Look, he's blushing." As if he were a cute puppy.

Jack looked at his aunt, sending her a desperate message.
Let's get out of here.

"That's enough, Jessamine," Linda warned. She nodded slightly to Jack, and he slid his hips to the edge of the table.

Dr. Longbranch was speaking rapidly now, all business, focusing on Linda. "Here is the story. Unfortunately, Jack either slipped or jumped into the Thames from Westminster Bridge shortly after his appointment with me. You saw him fall. There will be several other witnesses. I recollect that he seemed preoccupied, depressed when I examined him. The body will never be found. You will convince your sister of this. Do you understand me?"

It was clear that Jessamine had little interest in whether the story stuck or not. "Actually, I had rather hoped Becka might come to the appointment with Jack. We've found that the presence of family members can be very motivating during training. Well, no matter. I have some people here who will take him north and work with him intensively until the tournament. Then there's the matter of locating a suitable blade."

Linda nodded at Jack over Dr. Longbranch's shoulder, an almost imperceptible movement. Jack pressed his fingers against the surgeon's collarbone and released power into her, knocking her to the floor.

Jack shoved his feet into his shoes and yanked his vest on over his head. He jumped from the table, and the two of them raced back down the hallway toward the reception area. They burst into the elegant waiting room to find the receptionist gone and two bulky-looking men leafing through magazines. Jack's escorts, apparently.Wizards, certainly. The two men looked up as if surprised, and Jack said, "I left my sword outside," and he and Linda walked swiftly past them and out the door into the corridor. Jack hoped the wizards would go back to see what had happened to the doctor, which might buy them some time.

But when they opened the accordion doors to the elevator, the car wasn't there. They could hear it toiling somewhere far below. He knew his simple charm wouldn't keep Dr. Longbranch down for long.

"The stairs!” Jack exclaimed. Jessamine's office was on the ninth floor. They took the stairs, two at a time, careening across the narrow landings, flinging themselves around corners. Jack was acutely conscious of the sound of the elevator laboring in the shaft next to the stairwell.

They reached the ground floor just in time to see Dr. Longbranch and the wizards of the White Rose exiting the elevator. Jack and Linda charged for the front door, which burst into flames in front of them. Throwing their arms over their faces, they plunged into the flames and through them, and out into the fresh air.

They were on Victoria Street, just off Parliament Square. "Head for the river!" Linda hissed. The sidewalk was packed with tourists and government workers out for their lunch hour. When Jack looked back, the doorway was still in flames, but none of the Anaweir seemed to notice. Some looked curiously at Jack, who was pulling his sweatshirt on over his vest. They melted into the crowds taking photographs of Big Ben and the Westminster Bridge. Westminster Bridge! The site of the accident Dr. Longbranch had planned for him.

They kept moving with the crowds toward the water. Should they cross the river? Hide in a building? Only, Jack didn't know the area and was afraid of being trapped. He was leaning in to ask Linda what she thought when something hit him hard in the chest, sending him flying to the pavement. He sat up in time to see the two wizards from the waiting room running toward them. They had aimed at Linda, and Jack had stepped into the way at the last minute. Once again, his vest had turned the blow.

Linda helped Jack to his feet and they ran a zigzag across the square, keeping close together. The wizards fired only when they thought they had a clear shot at Linda. It seemed they meant to take Jack alive. The two groups caused a kind of ripple as they moved through the crowd. There were no weapons in evidence, so there was no panic, but people had to scramble to get out of the way of the pursued and pursuers. Someone shouted at them as they passed, "Watch where you're going, you bloody idiots!"

They were on Broad Sanctuary Street. This gave Jack an idea. "Does Westminster Abbey count as a church?" The Abbey was still some distance away.

"What are you talking about?"

"Does it count as a church?"

"Good idea," Linda said.

"Never mind. Let's go in here.” A smaller church stood in front of the abbey itself. An elaborate maypole dance was in progress in the churchyard. Young girls and ladies in medieval gowns were weaving broad ribbons into an intricate pattern around the pole. Jack and Linda ducked under the ribbons and sprinted for the door of the church. Just as they reached the threshold, something struck Jack on the shoulder where his vest didn't protect him, almost spinning him around. It stung badly, but he managed to stumble into the sanctuary.

It was cool and quiet inside. Tourists clustered around the stained-glass windows and the marble memorials in the side aisles. Jack and Linda dropped into the nearest pew, glancing behind to see if anyone had followed them in. No one had.

Jack's shoulder was beginning to throb, but when he pulled his sweatshirt away, he could see neither a bruise nor a mark where the skin had been wounded.

A woman in a sensible skirt and sweater approached them. "Welcome to St. Margaret's. There will be a tour beginning in ten minutes up by the east window." She gestured at an elaborate stained glass window at one end of the nave.

"Can we just sit here for a few minutes?" Aunt Linda asked. "We're in need of a little prayer."

The woman smiled and moved away. And Jack did say a few prayers once he'd caught his breath. Linda sat bolt upright, hands braced against the seat of the pew, eyes closed. Jack wasn't sure if she was praying or not.

He wondered how many wizards were waiting outside. Enough to cover all the exits?
Maybe I'll just stay here.
Didn't fugitives in medieval times take sanctuary in churches in order to avoid the law? There was something familiar about the vaulted ceilings, the worn stone floor, the quality of the light. As if he'd been here before.

As they sat, his shoulder stiffened, became more and more painful, and drew his attention like the bite of a poisonous insect. When it was too much to ignore, he nudged Aunt Linda. "I think something hit me, outside the church. Maybe you should take a look."

She lifted his shirt away and touched his arm with the tips of her fingers. The area was bright red now; swollen, and hot to the touch.

"Damn!" Linda released a long breath. "It must have been a wizard's graffe," she said. "It's a kind of magical dagger."

"But it didn't break the skin," Jack pointed out.

"It doesn't have to. It's really an enchantment. Very clever on their part, actually. Only a skilled wizard can treat it. They know we can't stay in here."

"I thought … I thought magic wouldn't work in a church."

"The damage is already done. Your body's just responding to it."

"What happens if it isn't treated?" This was another one of those questions that Jack had to ask, although he was sure he wouldn't like the answer.

"You'll die." They sat in silence for a few minutes. Linda bowed her head, dropping her clasped hands between her knees. Her shoulders shook, and he realized she was crying.

"Don't worry," he said, awkwardly patting her arm. "It's okay. I'll think of something."

At this, Linda straightened, swiping away tears with the heel of her hand. "No, Jack," she replied. "I will." She pulled out her cell phone and slid to the far end of the pew and started punching in numbers.

Jack's shoulder reverberated with pain, a cold flame that spread into his neck. He couldn't seem to get comfortable. He tried speaking a few healing and soothing charms, but nothing seemed to make any difference. He'd read somewhere that wizards are unable to heal themselves. Let alone mongrels, as Dr. Longbranch put it.

The  shadows at the front of the nave organized themselves into a half dozen medieval ghost warriors who solemnly processed down the aisle to Jack's pew, their helmets under their arms. They knelt in the aisle next to him, a semicircle of men who appeared to have come straight from battle. They ranged in age from about thirteen to middle age.

Their leader was a red-bearded man in a bloodstained tunic, embroidered over with red roses. The hilt of his sword protruded over his shoulder. "Did we not tell ye to stay away, lad? Did we not warn you?"

Jack licked his lips and looked about. No one else seemed to notice the invasion of Weirlind. "I had to come."

The warrior looked back at his companions. "He had to come," he repeated, lifting his hands in exasperation.

"He had to come,"
the Weirlind whispered, their voices like the wind through icy branches.