The Wizard Heir (30 page)

Jason, Seph thought. Jason, Trevor, Jason's father,
and me. How many tortured, how many lives destroyed? The alumni, once students
like him, made into monsters. He pushed harder, trying to squeeze the life out
of Leicester, to press him like a grape.

The alumni poured into the room and dragged him back,
beating him to the floor with their charms until he lay helpless on the cold
stones. They gripped him by the hair, raised his head, and poured a thick,
sweet liquid down his throat. It must be Weirsbane, he thought, recognizing it
from Mercedes's array of potions. Disables the Weirstone. He coughed, spat, and
rolled his head from side to side, but they managed to get most of it down.

“Why won't you let me kill him?” he
whispered. “What's wrong with you?”

He heard Leicester's voice issuing orders. They lifted
him, carried him out of the study. Down a narrow stairway, around turns, with
scarcely room to manipulate his uncooperative body. The air cooled, smelling of
damp stone. Lights flared ahead of them, driving away the dark. They passed
through an arched doorway into a small, rough chamber. Now the air smelled of
damp and yeast and fermentation. Barrels lined the wall.

It was an old winery. That was it.

They laid him on a table, immobilized him, and
disappeared. He lay flat on his back, squinting into the glare of a bare
lightbulb in a metal cage. The Weirsbane was taking effect. His thoughts moped
about, colliding randomly, to little purpose.

Madison. Where was Madison Moss? No one had mentioned
her. Was she dead? Held captive? Or had she escaped? If she'd escaped, where
could she go? How big was Second Sister? Would there be places to hide?

Come back to me, Witch Boy. Or I'll come after you.

He willed her to stay away.

Leicester said the Dragon was his father. And said
there was proof. If it was true, why had he never claimed him?

He heard a sound, the door opening and closing,
footsteps. Leicester appeared within his field of vision and leaned over him.
The headmaster's left hand was wrapped in gauze midway up to his forearm. Above
the wrapping, the skin was angry red and blistered. Seph's work.

The gray eyes had changed, too. They were no longer
flat, opaque, metallic. Now they burned with hate.

He set a leather bag on the table next to Seph.
Brushed Seph's hair back from his forehead, an intimate gesture that made
Seph's skin crawl.

“Now,” the headmaster said. “We'll
talk.”

Old
Stories

Being at home was unbearable, Jack thought. The house
on Jefferson Street had turned into a dismal place, where people snapped at
each other and blame hung in the air, unassigned.

It had been three days since Seph and Madison
disappeared. That first day, Coast Guard helicopters had searched until dark,
but could find no sign of the raft. The search resumed on subsequent days, in
wider and wider circles from the point at which they'd disappeared. It was hard
to remain optimistic as the hours dragged by.

After the storm passed, Jack tried the engine again,
and it worked fine, the radio too. When he radioed the Coast Guard, he'd had to
tell them that Seph and Madison had gone over the side during the storm, a few
miles offshore. He and Ellen had been interrogated and tested for drugs and
alcohol by law enforcement staff, who seemed to suspect that the accident had a
more mundane explanation than the one they offered.

The Coast Guard referred to the storm itself as a
“squall line.” At least it had shown up on radar. Everyone agreed that
Lake Erie in autumn could be treacherous. But no other boats had been trapped
by the storm. Only theirs.

If the Coast Guard and the police were bad, Linda and
Hastings questioned them even more relentlessly. They used Snowbeard's
apartment over the garage as a command post. Linda sat, still and focused, her
face pale as porcelain. Hastings paced back and forth like a tiger in a cage.

“It's Leicester. You know it is,” Linda
said. Jack had never seen his aunt so desolate. She looked … extinguished.

Hastings shook his head. “No wizard is strong
enough to control the weather.” He turned to Jack. “Is it possible
that it was a natural storm and Seph just panicked, thinking it was
wizardry?”

Jack looked at Ellen, raised his eyebrows. She
shrugged and looked away. “Anything's possible on Lake Erie,” he
said. “But I've been sailing for years, and I've never seen anything like
this. We were literally flying backward through the water under no canvas at
all. As soon as Seph and Madison jumped, it stopped.”

Ellen leaned against the counter. “What I'm
wondering is, if it's Leicester, why did he want Seph back so much? I mean,
first, the thing at the park, and then …” Her voice trailed off and she
looked a little confused.

“What thing at the park?” Jack asked.

Ellen frowned. “I don't know. There was something
that had to do with Seph and Leicester and the park … and I kind of forgot
it.” She pressed her fingertips to her forehead as if she could rearrange
thoughts from the outside. “Wizards attacked Seph at the Vermilion
River,” she said haltingly. “They said they were going to take him
back to the Havens.” She looked up, wide-eyed. “I killed one.”

“And you forgot?” Linda demanded.

Ellen looked totally lost. “I don't know, I
…”

Hastings swore softly, pounding his fist into his open
palm. “Seph. He must have used mind magic on you. Leicester said something
to him at the Legends about the park. Seph told Leicester to stay away from
him. Leicester blew him off and Seph tried to jump him.”

Ellen shook her head, muttering to herself. Jack took
her hand and pressed it between his two.

“If we find Leicester, we'll find Seph,”
Linda said.

“Where else should we look?” Hastings said,
crackling with power and impatience. “We know they're not in Maine.
Leicester and his apprentices are gone and the school is locked up. He's not at
his place in Cornwall and they're not at Raven's Ghyll. That's three places
they're not.”

“We'll see him at the conference in ten
days,” Jack said dryly.

The subcommittee had met and the selections had been
made. Ellen Stephenson and Jack Swift would represent the Warrior Guild; Linda
Downey, the enchanters; Blaise Highbourne, the seers; and Mercedes Foster, the
sorcerers. There were others Jack didn't know. The meetings would be held over a
weekend at Second Sister.

“Something bothers me,” Jack continued.
“Leicester and D'Orsay approved each and every one of us to come. You said
as much.”

“So it seems.” Hastings said.

“Why would they do that?” Jack demanded as
though it was somehow Hastings's fault. “They hate us. Ellen and I started
this whole thing, when we refused to kill each other in the tournament.”

“Well, in your case, they probably didn't have
much choice.”

Jack snorted. “What about Aunt Linda?” He
gestured toward her with his chin. “She's caused them a lot of trouble
already. You think they couldn't find another enchanter to nominate? Someone
easier to handle?”

“So what are you thinking?”

“They let us choose our own representatives to
the meeting because they're bringing all their enemies together in one
place,” Jack said. “It's a trap.”

Linda nodded. “Probably. But either way, they
have us. If we stay away, they win. If we go …”

“If we go, we'll find out what they're
planning,” Hastings said bluntly. “The trick will be to do that and
survive.”

Jack tried again. “If each guild has one vote,
then we really only need one representative from a guild. I could go, and Ellen
could stay here.”

“What?” Ellen sat up straight, bracing her
hands on her knees. “Why? Don't you think I can handle it?”

“You said you didn't want to sit down and
negotiate with a bunch of wizards,” Jack pointed out. “At least if
there's an attack of some kind, I can use wizardry. Maybe that would be some
protection.”

Ellen rose gracefully to her full height. Her T-shirt
and jeans didn't show it off, but Jack knew she was in fighting condition.
They'd fought a match three days ago, and he was still feeling it.

Ellen's cheeks were flaming. “If you think I'm
going to stay here in Trinity while you go off to put your neck in a noose,
you're crazy. Who was flat on his back at the point of my sword last summer,
tell me that?” Ellen almost never brought that up. Except once or twice a
week.

Jack turned to his aunt, hoping for an ally. “Do
you have to be the one to go, Aunt Linda? Aren't there lots of enchanters
to choose from?”

“I have to go, Jack, trust me.” She looked
as if she would say more, but then caught herself, and said quietly,
“We're the ones who started this, and we have to finish it. Besides, would
you have me send someone else into a trap?”

Ellen rolled her eyes. “You notice he always
wants to leave the women at home?”

Now Jack stood up and faced her. “I would like to
keep two people I care about out of danger,” he said bluntly.
“It's not my fault that they both happen to be women.”

Jack and Ellen stood, toe to toe and eye to eye, power
spiraling around them. Then Jack reached out and put a hand on the back of
Ellen's head and pulled her into his arms. They stood holding each other for a
long time.

The following evening, Linda went to the new house
after the contractors had gone. They'd finished most of the exterior work and
had shifted to the inside. Rolls of paper and cans of paint were stacked in the
utility room. Seph had selected most of it.

She climbed the stairs to the second floor and went
into Seph's room. It already had a hollow, abandoned feeling. All the dreams
she'd had were ending in this nightmare. She had been a fool to think she could
protect him, sanctuary or no. She'd been greedy, and this was the result.

If only Seph had never gone to the Havens. If only
she'd allowed him to leave the Sanctuary, to hide somewhere else. She pictured
him and Madison huddled in the raft, flying through the darkness.

Linda sat on the floor in a corner of the room,
wrapped her arms around her knees, and wept as the light faded.

After a time, she looked up, suddenly aware that she
was no longer alone. Leander Hastings stood in the doorway, his face shrouded
in shadow.

“So here you are,” he said.

He crossed the room until he stood over her. He put
out his hand and dropped something into her lap. It was a plastic bag
containing two pictures, some wadded up cloth, and a lock of hair, dark, with a
little curl to it. Hair that could have belonged to Leander Hastings, but
didn't.

She looked at the pictures first. They had come off a
computer printer. It was Seph in a filthy green shirt and blue jeans, looking
warily at the camera. In one view she could see that his hands were tied behind
his back. She pulled the cloth from the bag. It was the shirt he was wearing in
the photograph, smeared with blood and dirt.

She looked up at Hastings, waited for him to explain.

“Gregory Leicester contacted me. He's holding
Seph. He wants to meet and make a deal.” His voice. Something in his
voice. But Linda's thoughts were already swirling madly.

Seph was alive! Panic and hope and fear flooded
through her by turns. And then, Why did Leicester contact Hastings?

Hastings squatted so that his face was almost on a
level with hers. Close. She pressed herself back against the wall, but could
put no more distance between them.

“Now here's the strange part. He told me he was
holding my son.” He paused. “And I was confused, because I don't have
a son.”

Linda looked away.

He already knows the truth. As soon as he'd heard it, he must have known. All the
man had ever needed was a clue. She was cornered, literally, in every way, her
back against the wall. She knew it was no use dissembling. “I'm sorry,
Lee.”

“You disappeared. I searched for you for more
than a year. I nearly went crazy. Then all of a sudden, last year, as from the
grave, you call me. All business, as if the past never happened. Could I help
your warrior nephew Jack and save him from the wizards.” He made an
irritated sound. “I guess you knew where I was all the time.”

She spoke hesitantly. “Well, you have to admit,
you cut a rather wide path.”

The wizard sat down on the floor and leaned against
the wall next to Linda. He looked sideways at her. “You never told your
family about the baby? Not even Becka?”

She shook her head. “No one knows. Except Nick.
Genevieve LeClerc helped me. I knew her from some of the networks. I stayed
with her until I delivered. She was a godsend,” Linda said. “She was
great with Seph.”

“So you just went off and left him with this
woman?” He intended it to be cruel, and it was.

“Seph needed the kind of stability I couldn't
provide. I couldn't risk anyone connecting him with us. It was the right thing
to do,” she added defensively.

“He should have been with his parents. You made
that choice for both of us. That wasn't fair. And it wasn't fair to Seph.”

“Can't you see that this is the proof that I was
right? Someone's discovered his parentage, and now he's paying for it.”
Tears slid down her face. “I gave up everything to keep him safe. First
you. Then him.” She was unable to speak for a moment.

Finally, fiercely scrubbing the tears away with the
back of her hand, Linda asked, “What does Leicester want?”

“He wants me to travel to New York tomorrow, and
come alone. He'll contact me there, and tell me the terms.” He massaged
his forehead as if it hurt. “You know he thinks I'm the Dragon. He has for
a long time. I've let him think it.”

“What if he finds out you're not?”

Hastings shrugged. “I don't know.”

“Let me go meet Leicester,” Linda said
quickly. “Let me talk to him. You know it's a trap.”

“What makes you think you would be an acceptable
substitute?” He shook his head. “He doesn't see you as a political
figure. Leicester just ends up with two hostages instead of one. The message
was addressed to me, Linda. If I don't show tomorrow, Leicester says he'll mail
me another piece of our son, something that won't grow back.”

Linda buried her face in her hands.

Hastings stroked her back, soothing her.
“Besides, I've done nothing for the boy in sixteen years. I want Seph to
know who his father is.”