The Enchanter Heir thc-4 Read online

  “I’ll tell you one thing, McCauley,” Morrison shouted at his back. “I’m going to hold you personally responsible if anything happens to my daughter.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Interguild Play

  After listening to that exchange, Jonah just wanted to go somewhere—anywhere—to get away from mainliners. Being a diplomat was harder than he’d thought.

  He was thinking he’d go find Gabriel, but as he was descending from his vantage point in the bleachers, Jack Swift and Ellen Stephenson returned to the field and faced the stands.

  “All right,” Jack said. “Now it’s time for the audienceparticipation part of the program. If you’ve ever wanted to try your hand at swordplay, now’s your chance. No experience necessary.”

  Unable to resist, Jonah sat down again, in the far left seat in the bottom row. A minute later, Leesha Middleton plopped down next to him.

  Go away, Jonah thought, glaring into space. I know what mainliners think of us.

  When nobody spoke up, Ellen surveyed the crowd in the bleachers. “Come on, somebody step up and give it a go!

  Your pick, Jack or me.”

  “We’ll be using blunted weapons,” Jack said. “No worries.”

  The spectators avoided eye contact, staring down at the ground. After the show Jack and Ellen had put on, nobody wanted to take them on. A couple of audience members even slipped from their seats and slinked away, as if afraid they’d be called upon.

  “How about two of you against one of us?” Jack suggested. “Or we can each pair up with someone, and then you won’t be onstage by yourself.” A haze of chatter rose over the crowd as people elbowed one another and tried to get their neighbors to volunteer.

  “Are there two of you who would like to spar against each other?” Ellen persisted. “We could—you know—give pointers.”

  “Here’s your chance,” Leesha urged, leaning toward Jonah. “You can try out being a warrior.” She paused and, when he sat in stony silence, added, “You look like you want to whack something.”

  He did, actually.

  Before he could think, Jonah was up on his feet. “I’ll give it a try,” he said.

  The crowd applauded madly, thrilled to be off the hook, excited at the prospect of a new spectacle, mad with curiosity about the stranger in town.

  Jack shook his hand and clapped him on the back. “Thank you, Mr.—”

  “Kinlock,” Jonah said, resisting the temptation to add, Jonah Kinlock.

  “What’s your pleasure, Kinlock?” Jack asked. “Me or Ellen?” He leaned in closer and said in a loud stage whisper, “I’ll give you fair warning. She’s ruthless. And she cheats.” The crowd hooted and catcalled.

  Jonah tilted his head, pretending to be thinking. Finally, he shook his head. “I can’t decide. Can I play both of you?” Jack and Ellen looked at each other. “Um. Sure, if you’re up for it,” Ellen said, shrugging, “since no one else seems eager to play. Which one of us do you want to play first?”

  “No. I meant both of you at once,” Jonah said. “I don’t think I’ll have time to play you separately.”

  As the crowd exploded into laughter, Jonah removed his sweatshirt, revealing a tight-fitting T-shirt. This resulted in some oohing and aahing from the crowd. Leesha Middleton, for one, seemed delighted with this turn of events. “You choose first,” Ellen said generously, gesturing toward a dozen rebated weapons set out on a blanket. Jonah chose an English rapier, which was closest to the sword he was used to wielding.

  “You’re sure you want that one?” Ellen asked. “A heavier sword will wear you out quicker. And it may slow you down.” Jonah tried a few thrusts and parries. It might be heavier than the others, but it felt featherlight in his hand after Fragarach.

  “I’m good with it,” Jonah said. “Unless you want it.” He extended it toward her, hilt first.

  Ellen shook her head. She and Jack chose rapiers as well. “Can we ditch the piste?” Jonah asked, nudging the fencing strip with his toe. “And play the whole field?” Jack and Ellen looked at each other. Jonah didn’t have to read minds to know what they were thinking. Two on one, it would be to Jonah’s advantage to narrow the field so that only one of them could come at him at a time. They probably thought he was a fool—or unschooled at best.

  “If that’s what you want,” Jack said. He and Ellen rolled up the fencing strip and set it to one side.

  The two warriors faced off with Jonah. “Do you want to just spar a little bit, get used to your weapon?” Ellen asked.

  Jonah shook his head. “Let’s do it,” he said. “First blood, right?”

  And the lopsided duel began.

  Jonah soon realized that he’d been overconfident, taking on both warriors at once. He was accustomed to wielding his sword against shades and untried shadeslayer packs. While his ability to read intentions and his uncanny speed and agility gave him an edge, these two were better trained at swordplay. They were considerably more experienced than he was at fighting against somebody who fought back.

  They probably practice together constantly, Jonah thought, leaping backward, arching his back to avoid Ellen’s questing sword, then spinning to avoid a flank attack from Jack. Jack’s momentum carried him past Jonah, but he nimbly evaded Jonah’s quick thrust.

  Jonah was all over the field, which was, of course, the reason he’d asked for that change in the rules. It was too easy to get trapped on a narrow strip. This way, he could use his superior speed. At one point he literally leaped over the warriors’ heads, landing on the other side.

  “Do you have wings or what?” Jack grumbled.

  “He’s just like you,” Ellen said, dabbing at a scratch on her cheek. “He won’t stand still.”

  Despite the grumbling, Jonah could tell that the two warriors were having the time of their lives, taking a simple pleasure in the physical game. It was infectious—Jonah couldn’t help joining in. Gradually, they developed a strategy to counter Jonah’s strengths, scissoring in on him, trading off in order to tire him out. When Jack finally nailed him with a thrust to the left torso, Jonah was just as glad to concede rather than fight on.

  Besides, he’d looked up to see Gabriel standing at one end of the bleachers. Scowling. It seemed that public sparring didn’t fit in with Jonah’s new role as diplomat.

  The warriors, on the other hand, were practically giddy with joy. Not so much about the win, but about the play— the dance. Fighting was art to them, so different from Jonah’s methodical butchery.

  “Want to go three rounds?” Ellen asked, blotting sweat from her face with her sleeve. “Best two out of three?”

  “You could play us one-on-one now,” Jack suggested, grinning. “Or maybe find a partner.” He scanned the crowd again for likely prospects.

  “No, thank you,” Jonah said, rolling his eyes. “I think I’ll quit while I’m only one bout behind.”

  The crowd began to disperse, realizing that the fighting was over for the day. Soon it was just the three of them, clustered together, and Gabriel, at a distance, clearly waiting for Jonah to break away.

  Ellen handed Jonah a bottle of water, which he drained at one go. She began gathering up gear, loading it into the back of an old Jeep, but Jack’s sharp blue eyes were still fixed on Jonah. “You’re gifted, I can tell that, but you’re not exactly . . . readable,” he said. “You’re not a warrior, are you?” At least Jack hadn’t guessed enchanter right out of the gate. Jonah shook his head. “Nope. Not a warrior.”

  When Jonah didn’t elaborate, Jack tried again. “Where did you learn to fight? You have some great skills.”

  “I got most of my training at school. And, you know, by doing.”

  “Where do you go to school?” Jack asked.

  “The Anchorage,” Jonah said, lifting his chin, waiting for the inevitable reaction.

  “The Anchorage!” Jack repeated, startlement crossing his face. He followed with the typical quick look-over. “But you . . . does that mean you—”
r />   “I’m a Thorn Hill survivor,” Jonah said. “I’m what we call a savant.” He paused for a heartbeat, then added lightly, “Should I have disclosed that up front?”

  Ellen had come up next to Jack and heard that last exchange. “Not to us,” she said. “Jack’s kind of a mongrel himself, and, let me tell you, he’s not above using it to his advantage in a fight.”

  “Mongrel?” Jonah said. “What do you mean?” But neither one of them heard, intent on each other as they were.

  “One time,” Jack muttered. “Just that one time. When you were trying to kill me.”

  “If I were trying to kill you, Jack, you’d be dead,” Ellen said sweetly.

  “Hey!” Jonah shouted, louder than he intended. The two warriors swiveled to look at him. “What do you mean, mongrel?” he repeated.

  “Jack’s kind of a hybrid,” Ellen said. “He was born a wizard, but had a warrior stone implanted. Which means he’s a little bit nasty, but still has some redeeming qualities.” She brushed her fingers over Jack’s ripped pectorals. “Is—is that common?” Jonah said, frustrated at his own ignorance.

  “No,” Jack said. “It’s . . . unusual. Unique, you might say.

  I’m the only one.”

  “It’s also a long story,” Ellen said. “Listen, we have a sparring field set up in one of the city parks, and we work out several times a week. You could come join us. If you wanted to.” She held out her phone. “Give me your cell number and I’ll text you when something’s happening.”

  Jonah hesitated, weighing Ellen’s phone on his palm. A half hour ago, he’d wanted nothing more than to retreat into the safety of the Anchorage. But this might be an opportunity to learn more about the mainliners. Maybe even things Gabriel didn’t want him to know.

  The truth was . . . he liked the two warriors. He couldn’t help himself.

  “Please say yes,” Ellen urged. “I’m tired of fighting the same-old same-old.” She shot a glance at Jack. “In the interest of full disclosure, I should tell you that some of the warriors we play are dead, but if you’re okay with that—”

  “I’m okay with that,” Jonah said, entering his cell number into Ellen’s phone. “Actually, dead people are kind of my thing.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Kinlocks on the Case

  Late that night, Jonah went to see his brother. He often went to see Kenzie after the bars were closed and most of the stragglers had straggled off the street. When day-shift therapies were less likely to interfere.

  The air was crisp and cold, and Jonah was glad he’d worn a hoodie under his leather jacket. Close to his destination, he stopped in at an all-night pizzeria he knew. He ordered a large deluxe pie with extra cheese and hoped it would stay warm until he got to Safe Harbor.

  As usual, Kenzie heard him coming long before Jonah knocked.

  “Hey, bro,” Kenzie said. “Come on in.”

  When Jonah opened the door, Kenzie was sitting up in his wheelchair next to the window, his hands fluttering in his lap like panicked birds. He wore a red concert T-shirt, the only spot of color in the otherwise white-and-beige room.

  Jonah set the pizza box on the broad window ledge. “I was afraid you might be in bed already.”

  “Nah. Just trying to outlast the white coats, as always,”

  Kenzie said.

  Jonah looked around the room. “So they’re actually doing the minimal stimulation thing?”

  “Yeah. They’re trying to do me in—killing me with boredom. And all because I keep driving off my tutors.”

  “Well, if you’d stop setting things on fire,” Jonah said.

  “They seem to find it off-putting.”

  “Wimps,” Kenzie said.

  Jonah plucked at Kenzie’s brilliant T-shirt. “This your idea?”

  Kenzie nodded. “Can we go out?”

  “It’s cold out,” Jonah warned him, shedding his leather jacket.

  “I don’t care. I’m tired of being in a sensory-controlled environment. I really need some sensory input.”

  “Maybe after you eat.”

  Kenzie scowled. “There’s no maybe. Only yes or no.”

  “Yes or no, then.”

  “Asshole,” Kenzie said affectionately. “What’d you bring?”

  “Deluxe from Bernini’s.”

  “Did you bring me some lyrics?” Kenzie asked. “What do you think? Got any tunes for me?”

  “What do you think?” Kenzie said with breezy confidence. “I’ve got tunes that will rip your skin off.” Jonah dropped his backpack on Kenzie’s bed and unzipped it. Pulling his MP3 player from the front pocket, he plugged in Kenzie’s headphones. It took Kenzie a couple of tries to get them settled properly over his ears and find the play button.

  Jonah clenched his fists, resisting the temptation to help. “Here’s what I did with the last tab you sent me. If you like what you hear, I’ll copy the files for you,” Jonah said. It was a recording of Jonah singing, accompanying himself on the guitar.

  Kenzie nodded, closing his eyes, losing himself in the music. Gradually, the frenetic movements slowed, then stopped entirely. His flexed muscles relaxed, his head dropped back, and he smiled dreamily.

  That was how the music thing had started. Right after Thorn Hill, Kenzie had been severely psychotic—plagued with hallucinations, voices, seizures, and other kinds of brain misfires. The healers caring for him worried that the repeated seizures would damage his brain beyond repair.

  Jonah had discovered that he could calm Kenzie’s demons with music, especially when accompanied by Jonah’s voice. He wished he could embrace his brother, wished they could share the comfort of touch. But he could only touch him through his voice and his presence. He didn’t dare do more. Jonah had killed his sister with his terrible gift. He hoped he could somehow save his brother.

  He rooted around in the small refrigerator, pulled out bottles of water, twisted free the caps, and set them on the window ledge next to the pizza. He dug two plates from the cabinet. Kenzie always ate more when Jonah joined him.

  Setting his plate aside, Jonah sat down at Kenzie’s workstation, bypassed the voice-recognition software, and opened the music folder. He moved two new poems into their shared folder. Once Kenzie read them, he’d scarcely need to look at them again. He had a photographic memory.

  Jonah moved back to the window ledge, watching Kenzie, eyes closed, chewing thoughtfully. Kenzie opened his eyes and grinned at Jonah. “Good shit,” he said, cheerfully profane. Yanking off the headphones, he reached out, grabbed another piece of pizza, and devoured half of it in one bite.

  “Mose is here,” Kenzie said. “Did you know?”

  “He is?” Worry rippled through Jonah as he realized that he hadn’t seen Mose Butterfield since the gig at Club Catastrophe. “Since when?”

  “Yesterday. He’s on five, back of the building. Natalie stopped in to see me after handling his admission.”

  “I need to go see him,” Jonah said, recalling that Mose had wanted him to come over the night of the show at Club Catastrophe. One more item to add to the guilt list.

  Jonah and Kenzie sat companionably, downing pizza, licking their fingers, and chugging water until the pizza was gone.

  “Too bad,” Jonah said, pulling a long face. “No leftovers.” He stuffed the empty box into the wastebasket and cleared away the plates.

  Kenzie blotted at his lips with his napkin. “I ate too much,” he said.

  “Maybe you should wear the headphones whenever you eat,” Jonah said. “It might make it easier.”

  “How was the show?” Kenzie asked.

  Jonah relayed what had happened at the club, and afterward, in the Flats.

  “So you don’t know what this Lilith has in mind?”

  Jonah shook his head. “I’d like to know more about it, but Gabriel isn’t interested.” He paused, took a deep breath. “I have some good news. I should be around a lot more than before. I’m out of Nightshade.”

  “What?” Kenzie
yanked the headphones away from his ears. “When did that happen?”

  “A week ago.”

  Kenzie eyed him shrewdly. “Whose idea was it? Yours or Gabriel’s?”

  “Gabriel’s, I guess,” Jonah replied. “He wants me to spend more time with him. Learn the business.”

  “Which business? Music or medicine or mayhem?”

  Jonah snorted. “Anyway, I should have more time to research on my own. I’d like to find out more about Lilith. She claims she was a sorcerer who died at Thorn Hill. I’d like to verify that, somehow, and also identify anyone who either left Thorn Hill right before the massacre or was there and survived it.”

  “Adults, you mean,” Kenzie said.

  “Right,” Jonah said. “Sorcerers, especially. Gabriel thinks that someone at Thorn Hill collaborated with the Black Rose to poison the wells. It’s a long shot, but I have to start somewhere. I want to generate a short list of suspects.”

  “I thought there were no adult survivors,” Kenzie said.

  “Yeah. That’s what we’ve been told.”

  “Did you ask Gabriel?”

  “He says there aren’t any records from Thorn Hill here at school, but I’m not so sure. Would there be a way to check?”

  “I don’t have to check. There are all kinds of databases from the commune. Sorcerers are natural geeks. I used some of that info to track down Jeanette. Now, whether it will help us here, I don’t know.”

  Kenzie frowned, thinking. He swiveled back toward his keyboard and slid his headset back into place. “Harry. Search THLIS databases,” he said into the mouthpiece. He scanned the screen, then turned to Jonah. “Hmm. ‘File not found.’ It was just there a few weeks ago. Let me dig deeper. Nothing is ever totally deleted, know what I mean?”

  “What site are you accessing?” Jonah asked. “How did you get into it?”

  “The server is located somewhere here on campus. I can give you the IP address if you want, but it likely won’t do you any good. Gabriel has a kick-ass data security system. I have to keep running to stay ahead of this one.” Kenzie continued to murmur commands into the headset.