The Enchanter Heir thc-4 Read online

  “You never considered taking me to a hospital?”

  “No.”

  You said you wanted the truth, Emma thought. “Where are we, anyway?” she asked, looking around.

  “This is my house,” Rowan said. “In Bratenahl.”

  “What’s Bratenahl?”

  “It’s a neighborhood. A village, I guess. Up on the lake.”

  “Pretty fancy house you’ve got.”

  “It was my father’s.”

  “Who are Hackleford and Burroughs?” Emma asked.

  Rowan’s face armored up—even more than it already was. “They’re longtime colleagues of my father’s. After my father died, the organization splintered. Hackleford and Burroughs are very much interested in using the current crisis to rebuild the organization and their own power.” He took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Whether or not your father was involved in the murders, we should be allies. The same killers murdered your father and my sister.”

  “Great,” Emma said. “We’re allies. Then let’s go back to my original question. Am I a prisoner?”

  “Don’t you see?” Rowan said, as if exasperated. “It’s for your own protection. We’re dealing with ruthless killers.

  What do you suppose they’ll do when they find out you’re still alive?”

  “And if I decide to take my chances?” Emma said, thinking of Burroughs. “Can I leave anytime I want?”

  “Would you stop pushing me?” His voice shook. “My sister is dead. Now I’m in the middle of a power struggle with people who want to seize control of the organization my father built. If you knew anything about wizards, you’d know it’s cutthroat. And you’d better hope I win. Believe it or not, right now I’m the best friend you have.” Emma dredged up courage from some unknown source.

  “Well, guess what? My father is dead. Or so I’m told. I didn’t see any killing and I haven’t seen any bodies. All I have to go on is the word of a bunch of strangers who are holding me prisoner. If what you’re saying is true, then prove it. You say all these people are dead. Show me the bodies.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s been a week,” Rowan said. “We already disposed of them.”

  This didn’t sound like the bodies of the victims were buried. It sounded more like they’d been put out with the trash. “What do you mean, you disposed of them? How?”

  “We burned them,” Rowan said. “Cremated them, if you like, with wizard flame, which leaves nothing behind.”

  “My father, too?” He nodded. “You had no right!”, Emma’s voice trembled.

  Rowan’s lips tightened. “We couldn’t very well keep them around, and we didn’t want any kind of inquest.”

  “It sounds like that’s just what you did want,” Emma said, her voice low and furious. “An inquest. Then you’d know more than you do now, which is nothing.”

  “We’ll talk again,” Rowan said, standing up. “In the meantime, try and get some rest. And don’t worry. Our security here is very good. We’re surrounded by a fifteenfoot-high wall. So nobody will be getting in or out without our knowing it.”

  Sonny Lee always said, don’t ask questions that you don’t want to hear the answer to. But Emma could never resist going after the truth, no matter how hurtful. Maybe it was because she’d been lied to so much.

  “So where am I at the end of all this?” she demanded. “After you’ve squeezed every last bit of truth out of me. Are you going to turn me loose then?”

  “I’ve got to go,” he said, crossing the room to the door. “Are you going to answer my question?”

  Rowan turned in the doorway. “No, I’m not. You said that if I can’t tell the truth, to say nothing at all.”

  And then he was gone.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Anaweir

  To the west, the sun descended toward the lake, gilding the edges of the clouds and sending long fingers of crimson and orange and gold over the surface toward them. The woods along the shoreline blazed with color. The clouds looked different, now, than they had just a few weeks ago. They were no longer fluffy puffs, but broad, flat slices layered together.

  Winter was coming to Cleveland. It would take some getting used to for a Memphis girl, assuming that she lived long enough to see it.

  It was Emma who had suggested the walk, hoping it would take them away from prying eyes and ears. Natalie had backed her up, saying a little exercise would speed her recovery.

  The DeVries home was probably four times the size of Tyler’s house in Cleveland Heights. It was built of stone, set on a large piece of property. The back side of the house was pocked with terraces, balconies, and patios showcasing the view of the lake. A stone path wound its way from the back door to a small pavilion at the edge of a cliff. The landward side of the property was circled by a tall stone wall topped with a strand of electrified wire. Security guards were housed in a separate building, and patrolled the property continually. “Now, what was it you wanted to talk about?” Natalie asked, leaning toward Emma.

  Emma glanced back at the two guards who followed behind them. For their protection, Rowan said. The aura that framed them marked them as gifted.

  Natalie looked back at them, too.

  “Let’s walk out a little further,” Emma said.

  As they picked their way down the stone path, Emma cast about for something safe to talk about.

  “Which guild do you belong to?” she asked the healer, pulling up her hood to keep her hair from snaking around her face.

  “I was born into the Sorcerers’ Guild. And now I’m a sorcerer savant.”

  There was that word again—savant. The thing Natalie claimed Emma was. “You mean you can choose a different guild?” Emma asked, surprised.

  “It was hardly a choice.” By now, they’d reached the pavilion at the edge of the cliff. Here, the rush of the wind and the crash of the waves on the rocks below drowned out their conversation, making it, they hoped, difficult to overhear. Natalie scooped up a rock and hurled it out over the water. It landed with a distant splash. “Whatever the Wizard Guild put into the water supply changed us forever. We have powers no one else has. For instance, I can see injuries and disorders through a person’s skin. My friend Charlie has a gift for foreign languages. But it comes at a price. Many of us have serious health problems.”

  Emma frowned. “You know what: this is the third different story I’ve heard about what happened at Thorn Hill. Tyler said it was an accident—likely contamination from the mines. Rowan claimed that terrorists compounding poisons contaminated the water supply.”

  “Is that what he said?” Natalie snorted. “I guess it would be hard to admit that you poisoned thousands of people, including children too young to be terrorists.”

  “But, why would they do that?” Emma asked, stuffing her hands into her pockets.

  Natalie shrugged. “I guess they felt threatened by the notion of the other guilds getting out from under their control. They assumed Thorn Hill must be the center of a conspiracy against wizards.” She kicked at some leaves lying in her way. “It’s always about them, you know. They’re the center of the magical universe.”

  No wonder she hates wizards, Emma thought, remembering what Rowan had said about the other guilds conspiring against them. “But you lived through it?”

  Natalie nodded. “All of the adults died, but some of the children survived. I guess we had more ability to repair the damage.” She shoved her hands into her pockets. “We survived, but we were changed. I guess you could call us magical mutants.”

  “Like—like . . .” Emma blushed, embarrassed. “Like in the comics?”

  But Natalie laughed. “Sort of. They nailed the discrimination thing. We prefer the term ‘savants.’ You know, someone with a unique and narrowly focused talent or gift.” Moving away from the pavilion, they picked their way along the edge of the cliff. Far below, Lake Erie thrashed against the rocks, foam scabbing the shoreline. The wave
s rapidly lost color as the light fled.

  “See, that’s what I don’t get,” Natalie said. “You said you left before the disaster. And yet, you have a savant stone.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “I can read your stone. Trust me, I’ve treated hundreds of savants at the Anchorage. I know what they look like.”

  By now they’d reached another small terrace bounded by a low wall that ran along the edge of the cliff. Beyond were jagged rocks intermittently drenched in waves. Natalie boosted herself onto the wall and turned, so her feet dangled over the lake below. Emma sat down on the wall next to her, keeping her feet on the landward side.

  “Was anyone ever charged with the crime?” she asked. “The poisoning, I mean.”

  Natalie snorted. “The Wizard Council ran things at that time. No way they were going to investigate themselves. Anyway, all the adult witnesses were dead, so it was hard to figure out who to blame.”

  “But—but the police—”

  “Because the poison killed by damaging Weirstones, it’s not toxic to the Anaweir. So involving the police wouldn’t really help, and it would raise questions that nobody wanted to answer. We were foreign guests in Brazil, remember.

  “There wasn’t a lot of pressure to solve the crime, anyway, not from the mainline guilds. Most guildlings viewed the people at Thorn Hill either as radicals or starry-eyed fools. The consensus was that we got what we deserved, and that we should be put out of our misery.”

  “But . . . you weren’t.”

  “Some of us were, actually,” Natalie said, her voice catching. After a moment, she continued. “Then Gabriel Mandrake came along.”

  “Gabriel Mandrake? Who’s that?”

  “He’s the founder of the Anchorage, the school I attend. And the major donor to the foundation that supports us. He’s a sorcerer who didn’t view us as throwaways. In fact—” Natalie seemed to catch herself again. “Sorry. I don’t mean to go on and on. The bottom line is, technically, we’re no longer mainliners—members of the original guilds. I guess you could say that our abilities are highly variable and focused. No two of us are alike. For instance, I’m a healer. Most sorcerers are skilled at making magical tools and compounding powerful potions, and remedies. I have a special gift for diagnosis and healing through touch.

  “There’s a cost, though. Savants seem to decline, over time. We call it fading. Quite a few of us have died in the past ten years, and some of the survivors are in really bad health. That’s why I asked you if you were having symptoms. A lot of us depend on drugs to keep us alive.”

  “But I’m not magical,” Emma protested. “To tell the truth, I’m a mess. I’m not gifted in any way. It seems like I have more disabilities than abilities. I’m always in trouble at school. I just can’t seem to concentrate.”

  “Hmm,” Natalie said, nodding as if this confirmed something. “Isn’t there anything—even one thing—you’re especially good at? Maybe something you never really considered to be magical?”

  “Well. I’m a luthier. I’m good at building guitars. Like my grandfather.”

  A grin broke across Natalie’s face. “Really? You build guitars? Do you play?” Emma shrugged, kicking her feet against the wall. “I play a little.”

  “I play drums,” Natalie said, as if happy to have established that natural connection between musicians. “I’m in a band. Maybe you’ve heard of it. Fault Tolerant?”

  Emma gaped at her. “That’s why you look familiar! I saw you! I saw you play at Club Catastrophe. You were the drummer.”

  They slapped hands. “That is so cool,” Natalie said. “Like this is fate or something. See, music is really big at school, because of Gabriel’s interest in it, and because it seems to work well as a therapy for some of the students who can’t be reached any other way.” She paused. “These guitars you build—I’d love to see one.”

  “I’ve sold a couple,” Emma said. “There are two more back at my house.”

  “Are they . . . magical in any way?”

  “Magical?” Emma snorted. “How can a guitar be magical?” A memory surfaced, of afternoons in the back of Sonny Lee’s shop. Blues players, young and old, shaking their heads, smitten with what her grandfather could do with maple and mahogany. Sonny Lee’s guitars could make a bad player sound good, and a good player make magic.

  But Emma had the feeling that Natalie was talking about something more than this.

  She looked up to find Natalie studying her, her lower lip caught behind her teeth. “You know, I don’t know what your plans are, but the Anchorage would be a good fit for you. And Gabriel has pledged to accept all survivors.”

  “Why does he do it?” Emma said. “Is he some kind of saint?”

  Natalie laughed. “Oh, no. He’s a music promoter, so you know he’s no saint. He helped found Thorn Hill . . . he still owns the land in Brazil, so I guess he feels a commitment to us. Much of the money that supports the foundation comes from gemstone mines on the property.”

  Emma looked for the guards who had been tailing them. Seeing that they’d stopped moving, they had taken up a position at the far end of the terrace. She could see the glow of their cigarettes through the gathering darkness.

  She fingered the ring of blisters around her neck, left by Burroughs’s fingers. It was now or never.

  She leaned in close to Natalie. “Speaking of plans, I need your help. I need to get out of here.”

  Natalie nodded, still staring out at the lake. “Go on.”

  “They mean to keep me here until they’ve wrung all the information out of me that they can get, then they’re going to kill me.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Natalie said, a bitter edge to her voice.

  “When you leave here, could you notify the police?”

  For what seemed like forever, Natalie didn’t answer. Then she said, “I doubt that would do any good. Anyway, what makes you think they’ll let me leave?”

  Emma stared at her. “What? Of course they will! They have to.”

  “No. They don’t,” Natalie said. “Why would they? You’re a very important property. They see you as the break they’ve been looking for. Oh, Gabriel will kick up a fuss, but they’ll stand their ground. They have to. They’ll say I left here to return to the Anchorage, and something must have happened to me on the way. End of story.”

  “So you help them out and in return they murder you?”

  “That’s wizards,” Natalie said.

  “Well, then, we both have to escape,” Emma said.

  “Easier said than done.” Natalie stared out at the nowblack waters of the lake, the only side of the property that wasn’t fenced in. “Can you swim?”

  Emma shook her head. “Not a lick. Not many chances to learn in downtown Memphis. You?”

  Natalie shook her head. “Me neither. Listen, I’ll tell them I need something from the Anchorage. A medicine or a treatment. Maybe they’ll let me go. Or at least send a message.”

  “But . . . what good would that do?” Emma asked. “If the police can’t help, then—”

  “I think I know somebody who can.”

  When they walked back to the house, Rowan was waiting for them on the terrace. Emma had the feeling he’d been watching them for some time.

  “You’re looking well,” he said to Emma, standing aside so they could enter through the French doors. “Are you nearly back to normal?”

  “Yes. Pretty much,” Emma said, without thinking. “I’m glad to hear it.” He put his hand on her arm, and she flinched away. His eyes narrowed. “Perhaps, tonight, we can talk more about what you remember about the night of the murders.”

  Was there a threat implicit in these words? Emma wasn’t sure.

  As soon as they passed into the hall, Emma stopped short. Natalie’s small suitcase and backpack were sitting by the door, with all the rest of her belongings. Natalie saw it at the same time. They both swiveled to stare at Rowan.

  “Since you’re doing so well, I don’t
see any reason to take up any more of Natalie’s time,” Rowan said. “We’ll keep working on the memory loss on our own.” He gripped Natalie’s arm. “Let’s load up the car, and I’ll drive you back to the Anchorage.”

  Natalie’s eyes widened. She looked from Rowan to Emma, then tried to pull away, shaking her head. “I—I . . . maybe I should stay a little longer,” she said. “As long as Emma’s still taking medication, I don’t—”

  “I know you must be getting behind in your classes,” Rowan said. “It’s great that you were able to spend so much time here, but I think we can manage on our own now. If Emma takes a turn for the worse, I’ll call.”

  Natalie licked her lips. “Look, you don’t need to drive me back. I’ll just call one of my friends from school. I know he’ll be glad to—”

  “No need for anyone to drive here and back. I’m heading downtown anyway.” Rowan paused, as if waiting for further protest. Natalie said nothing, but stood, face pale, fists clenched, looking desperate to escape.

  Natalie’s words came back to Emma. They’ll say I left here to return to the Anchorage, and something must have happened to me on the way.

  And something would happen.

  Emma faced Rowan. “What do you plan to do to her?” Rowan scowled. “What makes you think I’m planning to do something to her?”

  “Are you or aren’t you?”

  “Can you just give it a rest?” Rowan said, his body rigid with anger. “If you’re asking me to trust you, the answer is no,” Emma said, folding her arms. “If you don’t mean her any harm, then let her get home any way she wants.”

  “Look, I need to make sure she doesn’t tell anyone about you,” he said. “That’s all.”

  “So you’re going to kill her.”

  “No. I’m not.” Turning, he struck like a snake, gripping both of Natalie’s hands. He spoke a charm, and she froze in place, staring blankly into the distance.

  “Natalie!” Emma cried. Putting her fingers under the healer’s chin, she lifted her head. Natalie stared glassy-eyed at Emma. “What did you do?”

  “I just immobilized her, all right?” Rowan said. “And now I’m going to wipe her memory. And then I’m going to take her back to the Anchorage.” He paused. “The only way this works is if she doesn’t remember anything. Otherwise, I can’t let her go. Do you understand, Emma?”