The Wizard Heir (The Heir Chronicles #2)

The Wizard Heir (The Heir Chronicles #2) Page 51

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.”

Chapter Sixteen

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.