The Dragon Heir Read online

  But she didn’t. She couldn’t give up her dreams of college and Seph McCauley both. She kept hoping the magic from Second Sister would eventually peter out.

  Well, now she had no choice. Grimly, she began sorting through her belongings. There wasn’t much to pack. She’d brought little from her life in Coal Grove. And she hadn’t had the money to buy much since her arrival in Trinity.

  After some thought, she pushed the hex painting back into the wardrobe and covered it over with a drop cloth. Two drop cloths. She closed the wardrobe and locked it. She wasn’t going to take that thing to Coal Grove. She wouldn’t need it once she got back home. Seph wouldn’t be there to wake the monster.

  While she worked, she sorted through her thoughts, as well.

  She had no desire to crawl back to Coal Grove Consolidated High School for the last five months of the year. She was done with that. She’d met the curriculum requirements, and she’d taken all their arts courses. She’d hoped to get a year of college in before she had to pay for it herself. Now she’d probably lose the whole semester.

  She knew how it would be once she went home. Her old life would wrap around her like a well-used quilt.

  The whispering would begin again, stirred up by her presence. Bit by bit, they’d tear the flesh from the bones of her dreams.

  She stared out the window at the hills and hollows of the lake.

  Truth be told, she missed the hills and hollows of home, the texture of the timeworn land of her childhood. She missed the people, too, some of them. But not the limits they set for her and the assumptions they made, based on who her mama and daddy were. Not the notes that got left on her locker at school. Not the way people stuck crucifixes in her face like she was some kind of vampire—as if they knew exactly who she was and how she’d turn out.

  Maybe she was just running from one kind of trouble to another, from the strange and magical trouble in Trinity to a more familiar kind. At home, they expected too little of her. And here, they expected too much.

  Falling in love with Seph McCauley was the kind of bad move Carlene had made all her life. Her mother careened from crisis to crisis, thriving on calamity. She acted like love was something you caught, like cholera. Or a spell that took you unaware. So she couldn’t possibly be blamed for screwing everything up.

  Madison meant to be different. She meant to take hold of her life and get what she wanted and leave Coalton County behind for good.

  “It’ll happen,” she promised herself. But not just yet.

  The canopy bed with the pink satin coverlet and the leaping unicorns on the bedposts was reassuringly familiar. Aunt Millisandra had furnished the room and named it Leesha’s Room when Leesha was only three. Until recently, Leesha had stayed there at least once or twice a year. It had always been a kind of confectionary cavelike retreat.

  Only now she didn’t feel safe.

  She propped herself against the ruffled pillow shams and drew the coverlet up to her waist. Releasing a gusty sigh, she punched numbers into her cell phone.

  Barber answered on the third ring. “Yes?”

  “Well. I’m here.”

  Barber laughed. “Really? I always know right where you are, remember?”

  Leesha fingered the gold circlet Barber had fused around her neck. Jason had said attack magic wouldn’t work in the sanctuary. But maybe Barber could track her just the same.

  “Look, this isn’t working. It’s like I said. Everybody hates me.”

  Barber tsked. “Haley doesn’t hate you. You’ve never even met, right?”

  “Well.” Leesha hesitated. “I met him tonight. At a party.”

  “There you go. That’s a start. I’m sure you made a good impression.” Barber sounded hugely amused.

  “The thing is, I just don’t . . . I can’t do this anymore. You’ll have to think of something else.”

  Barber’s voice was like velvet over stone. “That’s where you’re wrong. This is your problem. You made the deal with D’Orsay. You promised we’d deliver Haley and the Dragonheart. Those papers you gave me mean nothing if we can’t consecrate the Covenant. You need to lure Haley out of the sanctuary and to a place where I can get at him. How you do it is up to you.”

  “I have money. I can pay you. Just take it off, okay?” Leesha struggled to control her voice. Begging didn’t come easy.

  “You think I have to come to you for money?” The velvet was gone. “I’m sick of you bluebloods treating me like a nobody. I know where you are and I know where your Aunt Milli lives. I better see some results or I’ll squeeze the breath right out of the both of you.” He hung up.

  The phone fell from her nerveless fingers and plopped on the satin comforter. Wrapping her arms around her pillow, Leesha buried her face in the ticking and wept.

  Chapter Eight

  Transitions

  The next morning Seph rolled out of bed late, his stomach knotted up, his head pounding. Then the events of the night before came back to him. It seemed like whenever he and Madison spent time together, it ended in a fight, resulting in him feeling beat up.

  He’d never met a girl like Maddie Moss. She was like one of those untouchable plants that closed up their leaves when you brushed against them. It had been a totally frustrating six months. Other girls had made it clear they liked him, but Seph never reciprocated. Madison was like an intoxicating flower that pricked you till you bled, but it was somehow worth it to get close. She was at war with herself, she was at war with him, and yet there were moments . . .

  And now she was going away.

  He pulled on his jeans and a shirt and descended the winding staircase, catching glimpses of the frozen lake through the windows as he navigated his way to the bottom.

  The sky was bluing up as the sun rose higher in the sky, kindling the icicles that hung from the gutters of Stone Cottage. It would be a beautiful winter day.

  His parents were in the kitchen.

  “Hey.” Seph poured himself some orange juice and dropped an English muffin into the toaster. “Who’s watching the boundary?”

  “I am,” Hastings replied. “As long as I’m here.”

  How does he do that? Seph wondered. He’s not even breaking a sweat.

  “You and I need to go over some ideas I have for monitoring magical traffic within the sanctuary,” Hastings went on.

  “We’re talking to the sanctuary board later this afternoon,” Linda added. “We’re going to discuss contingency plans in the event of an attack. We’d like you to come.” She focused in on him and frowned. “Are you all right, sweetheart? You look pale and you’ve got those dark circles under your eyes again.”

  “We were out pretty late,” Seph said.

  “Later, I’m meeting with Mercedes and Snowbeard at the church to go over the items Jason brought from the ghyll,” Hastings said. “Your insights would be valuable.”

  Seph couldn’t help feeling flattered. His father always treated him as if he were capable of great things. Which made him want to accomplish great things. Even if the pressure was hard to take sometimes.

  This was quality time with his father.

  Fishing his muffin out of the toaster, he slathered it with butter. He carried his plate to the table and Linda plunked one of her big milkshakes in front of him.

  He rolled his eyes. “Milkshakes for breakfast? Again?”

  “Drink up. You’re skin and bones. You’ve been sick more often in the past six months than you’ve been in your whole life before that.”

  When Seph hesitated, Hastings added, “Listen to your mother. You’re going to need all your strength today, I promise you.”

  Seph hated when they ganged up on him. He lifted his glass in a mock toast and took a long swallow. Peanut butter and chocolate. Kind of like a peanut butter cup in a glass.

  Linda went upstairs to shower, leaving Seph alone with his father.

  “How are things going in Britain?” Seph asked.

  Hastings shrugged. “The Roses have laid sieg
e to Raven’s Ghyll, hoping to flush D’Orsay out of his hole. There’s some question about the whereabouts of the Covenant. If D’Orsay were holding it, surely he would have acted by now to bring the guilds into line. But if he doesn’t have it, who does?”

  He paused, then, receiving no answer from Seph, changed the subject. “You’re still going out with Madison Moss.”

  It wasn’t really a question. “Yeah. Well, sort of. It’s kind of off and on.” He didn’t really want to talk about girl trouble with his father.

  “Snowbeard tells me she’s ambivalent about our mission here.”

  Seph’s defenses slammed into place. “That’s right. She’s not gifted. It’s not her fight.”

  “She’s not gifted in the traditional sense, true. But she has a talent that could be of great use to us, if . . .”

  “She’s not into it, okay? She’s got classes and she’s working a lot of hours because she has to pay for school next year.”

  “So you’re saying she could be receptive to the right offer.”

  Seph thrust back his chair, leaving long scratches in the polished wood floor. “What I’m saying is, she’s got her own problems. She’s talented, but the talent she wants to work on is painting.”

  “Painting won’t help us.” Hastings leaned back in his chair. “We don’t know a lot about elicitors, since they’re not part of the guild system. Legend has it they are descendants of Aidan Ladhra’s Dragonguard.” Hastings snorted. “That’s unlikely. But you know what happened at Second Sister.”

  Seph carried his plate and glass to the sink and dropped them in with a clatter. “I’m not listening to this.”

  “I want you to work with her, Seph.”

  He swung around to face his father. “Work with her or work on her?”

  The wizard waved a hand. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you. Even if she is not vulnerable to wizardry, you can exert an . . . influence. I want you to find out everything you can about her capabilities.”

  “And then what?”

  “Convince her to help us.”

  “Right. Just another sacrifice for the bloody cause.” Seph splashed coffee into a mug, remembering Maia, who’d died in Toronto because of him.

  “Do you have any idea how tenuous our position is? The presence of Trinity is an affront to the Roses. When they finish with Claude they’ll come after us. Or, worse, they’ll join forces with D’Orsay.”

  “No.”

  Hastings slammed his coffee mug down on the table and stood. “Given the powers arrayed against us, we cannot allow some ill-founded, unfathomable, extravagant set of principles to prevent us from seizing every advantage we can.”

  Seph stood, also, and suddenly they were standing toe to toe and face to face, energy crackling in the air between them. Seph was surprised to find that he was equal in height to his father. When had that happened?

  “Sorry,” Seph said, “but there are some things I just won’t do.”

  Hastings stared at him as if he’d morphed into something unrecognizable. Then his lips twitched into a half smile. “Very well,” he said. He sat back down at the table, and gestured at the other chair. “Please.”

  Seph didn’t sit, but leaned forward, resting the heels of his hands on the table. “Madison’s going away, anyway.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Family emergency. She’s going home.”

  “For how long?”

  Seph shrugged. “She doesn’t know. Maybe even through the summer.”

  “That’s bad for us and dangerous for her.”

  “I tried to talk her out of it. But she’s going, unless we lock her in the crypt at St. Catherine’s and slide food under the door. So how far are you willing to go?”

  Not that far, apparently, because Hastings changed the subject. “The Roses have been in touch with you, have they not?” Hastings looked him in the eyes.

  Seph hesitated, then nodded. “And D’Orsay.” He felt guilty, even though he hadn’t responded.

  “If they can’t lure you one way, they may try another,” Hastings said. “They may use her to get to you.” Hastings studied Seph, tapping the tips of his fingers together. “Well, I suppose there’s no help for it now. Keep her departure quiet if you can. Don’t tell anyone where she’s gone.”

  “How long are you going to be here?” Seph asked.

  “Not much longer, unfortunately.” The wizard’s hands moved restlessly over the table, the stone in his ring glittering in the morning sunlight. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to take on even more responsibility in the near future.”

  When Hastings didn’t go on, Seph prompted him. “Why? What’s up?”

  “Your mother and I are organizing an assault on Raven’s Ghyll.”

  Seph blinked at him. “What? I thought you ...”

  “I don’t think the Covenant is there. But given the fact that war is more and more of a certainty, the hoard may play a pivotal role. In fact, it already has.”

  Seph had heard of the legendary cache of weapons in Raven’s Ghyll. “Has anyone actually seen it? I mean, I thought maybe the hoard was just one of those rumors that turn out to be nothing.”

  “Possible, but unlikely. The D’Orsays have taken advantage of their role as Masters of the Game to collect magical weapons for centuries. As far as we know, they’re somewhere in the ghyll.” He laughed. “The Roses are convinced, anyway. The hoard is what’s keeping them from entering the ghyll. It might do the same for Trinity. At the very least, if we make it unavailable, the Roses may do our work for us and eliminate D’Orsay. And the last thing we want is for the hoard to fall into the hands of the Roses.”

  Seph felt a cold trickle of apprehension. “How are you going to do that? Break into the ghyll, I mean? How are you going to get past the Roses?” He had to ask, though he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.

  Hastings smiled wolfishly. “There are lots of ways to get in. The challenge will be getting out.”

  That wasn’t reassuring. “Jason wants to come with you.”

  “I know Jason wants to come. But he has a hard time following orders. I want him here, under Nick’s supervision, and where he can help you. We’re spread very thin, especially where wizards are concerned.”

  “You could cut him some slack,” Seph said. “He saved my life, you know, at the Havens.”

  “I know that.” Hastings rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand like he had a headache of his own. “Jason will prove most useful to us if we can find a way to channel that passion of his, so he doesn’t go up in flames and take the rest of us with him.”

  Madison found Sara Mignon in her studio on the third floor of Saddlewood Hall. Her art teacher was clad in a paint-spattered denim shirt and jeans, flinging exuberant splashes of acrylic onto a rough board the size of a small barn. Two graduate students toiled away at the bottom corners, laying in lines that Sara gleefully ignored.

  When she saw Madison, Sara jumped down from her stepladder and set her paints on the bottom step. Using her sleeve, she wiped bright yellow from the tip of her nose. Her curly hair spiraled out every which way, a rich, blue-black color that came from a bottle. She looked like no teacher Madison had ever had before.

  “Hey, Maddie. What do you think?”

  “Well, it . . . it’s fine. I like it.” Madison was still startled when her professors asked her opinion. Not that she didn’t have opinions, she just wasn’t used to anybody wanting to hear them. She had gone to schools where you called the teachers sir and ma’am. As in, Yes, sir and Yes, ma’am.

  Madison liked everything Sara did, though her teacher’s work was really different from her own. Sara’s art was tropical in its heat. Madison’s painting was cool and smoky and subdued as dusk in the hollows.

  Sara (as she insisted on being called) studied the painting critically, hands on hips. “That yellow draws the eye, doesn’t it? It might be a little too assertive.” She turned to Madison. “Are you here to talk about your capsto
ne?”

  “Well, ah . . .”

  “Let’s take a look at it, shall we?”

  The capstone projects were displayed in a sunlit studio on the third floor of the art building. Moody oils, languid watercolors, pushy acrylics. Madison’s painting was secluded in a corner, covered by a drape.

  Sara swept the cloth away and they stood, side by side. Sara studied the work while Madison stared at her toes.

  Why did I have to submit that one?

  “I like the layering you’ve done, the flames laid over the stone, the blood splattered on the floor, the arrangement of the bodies, and the way the architecture of the piece carries the eye. There’s a strong fantasy element here. Even horror.”

  Madison nodded mutely.

  “This is really different from your other work,” Sara said. “More abstract, more raw emotion, more hot shades. There’s a violence here I haven’t seen from you before. Can you tell me about it?”

  No, actually. There was a lack of censure in Sara that invited confidences, but Madison knew better than to share this particular secret.

  “It’s ...um ...from a dream I had.”

  More like a nightmare.

  “Well, it’s interesting to see you getting away from landscapes and exploring new subjects and styles. At your age, I think that’s important.” Sara redraped the painting. “So. Will you be able to help me out next Friday?”

  Madison stuffed her hands in her pockets. Saying it made it real. “I ...ah ...wanted to tell you I can’t be here for your opening next week. I—I have to drop out. I have to go home. Family emergency. I’m really sorry.” Tears welled up in her eyes and she turned away, mortified.

  Sara put a hand on her shoulder. “Nothing serious, I hope.”

  “No,” Madison said automatically. “Well, maybe. I think I can get it sorted out. But I’ll probably have to stay home from now through summer.”

  “Going back to those dreamy mountains, are you?” Sara grinned. “I’d call that a gift for an artist.”