“I don’t have any reason to believe that anything has changed,” Jonah said. “And I don’t care to risk somebody’s life to find out. I’ve killed enough people already.”
Gabriel sighed. “I wish you would let go of the notion that Nightshade is in the business of killing. Shades are remnants of savants who have died. That’s all. They are not viable as human beings.” His eyes searched Jonah’s face. “Back to Emma. We don’t know much about her, except for her relationship to Sonny Lee Greenwood. Is it too much of a coincidence that she showed up here and insinuated herself into our operation, and the next thing we know she’s having a fight with DeVries? Can you get a read on her? Is there a possibility she’s involved somehow?”
“No,” Jonah said.
Gabriel held Jonah’s gaze a moment longer, then shifted away. “Well, then. What happened tonight should convince you that we’re on the right course. If none of us is responsible for the murders tonight, then Lilith must be. She’s doing exactly what she threatened to do—continuing her killing spree while ensuring that we get the blame.”
On that count, Jonah had to admit that Gabriel was probably right.
Lilith Greaves was the charismatic shade who had organized the undead survivors of the massacre at Thorn Hill into an army; a force dedicated to taking revenge on the mainline guilds, especially wizards. Killing the gifted produced blood magic, something that strengthened the ability of shades to possess new bodies. Lilith had been trying to recruit the living members of Nightshade to her cause. “So,” Gabriel said, when Jonah didn’t respond. “Are you going to continue to defend her to me?”
“I’ve never defended her,” Jonah said. “You know I’ve riffed more shades than anyone else by a long shot. I only suggested we talk to her.” He paused, took a breath. “But now I’m beginning to see your point. We can’t win this thing as long as Lilith is killing mainliners indiscriminately. I need to do something about that.”
He couldn’t allow Lilith and her army to go on killing the Grace Mosses of the world.
“We need to do something about that,” Gabriel said. “Nightshade is a team effort, remember?”
Right, Jonah thought. But at the end of the day, I’m the one that usually does the killing.
Everyone seemed to find a way to take the blame for Grace Moss’s murder. Madison, because she’d brought her sister to Trinity against her wishes. Grace would still be alive, at least, if she’d stayed at home. Also, Madison had neglected her role as the Dragon, because she’d never wanted it in the first place, and maybe if she’d done a better job, none of this would have happened.
Seph McCauley, because it happened at his house, and he’d been the one to stir the pot by inviting a volatile mixture of guests. Bring people together, and see what happens.
Leander Hastings and Linda Downey, because they’d let him have his way about the party.
Leesha Middleton, because accepting blame was becoming a habit. All through the funeral service, Leesha felt smothered, weighed down by guilt, deafened by the voices of her accusers, even though they were only in her head.
The services were held in St. Catherine’s Church, though there was not a whiff of Catholicism about anybody in Madison’s family. Leesha had assumed that they might hold the services down in southern Ohio, where Grace was born and raised.
Maybe this church was appropriate, since it had been the scene of so much triumph and tragedy already. Down in the crypts, Jason had stored the magical objects he’d stolen from Dragon’s Ghyll. Here, in the sanctuary, Madison Moss had absorbed the Dragonheart and become the source of magic for all of the guilds. From the bell tower, she’d confronted the wizards of the Red and White Roses, and demonstrated the consequences of bad behavior.
In this churchyard, Leesha had betrayed Jason Haley to Warren Barber and lost Jason’s trust forever.
Madison’s and Grace’s mother, Carlene, and little brother, John Robert, had come up from southern Ohio, escorted by a lawyer, Ray McCartney, who seemed to be a family friend. The other attendees represented a whole range of agendas. Everyone on the Interguild Council came, of course, with the exception of Rowan DeVries, who was still hospitalized in critical condition. Apparently, the trauma surgeons had discovered and sutured a major internal bleed in the nick of time.
There’d been no word on whether he’d identified his attacker.
Nearly everyone who’d survived the party, Weir and Anaweir, were there. A few of Madison’s Art Institute friends made the trip, too.
The Terrible Trio of preschool parents—Scavuzzo, Morrison, and Hudson—occupied an entire pew, wearing mournful and self-righteous expressions. Leesha couldn’t help thinking that Madison should have made the service invitation-only. But then maybe Leesha herself wouldn’t have made Madison’s list. They’d had their ups and downs over the years.
The media were there, of course, national as well as local. A mass murder on Halloween in a small town—this was a story with legs. They camped out all over the town green, tramping through flower beds in order to get that perfect photograph.
When had Leesha begun to care about the town flower beds?
Jack, Ellen, Will, and Fitch were stationed by the doors to keep the media at bay, looking odd and uncomfortable in their somber suits. Leesha guessed that the suit Fitch was wearing was borrowed, since he swam in it. A pair of suspenders was the only thing that stood between him and disaster. He’d also gone back to blond.
Just before the service started, Leesha saw someone slip into the sanctuary, exchange a few words with Jack, and slide into the back pew. It was Emma Lee, wearing a black sweater, an ill-fitting straight skirt, and sunglasses.
Surprised, Leesha scanned the mourners again. Just as she’d thought. Nobody else from the Anchorage. Just Emma.
Carlene Moss sobbed so loudly throughout the service that a few warrior ghosts wandered in to see what was going on. John Robert held tightly to Madison’s hand, looking solemn and sad. He’d inherited his mother’s blond good looks, but maybe that was all. Though he was only seven, he seemed more grown-up than his mother did.
Leesha knew from experience that when parents don’t parent, kids grow up fast.
Carlene drew all the attention, but Madison was the one Leesha watched. The Dragon sat still, jaw set, her eyes like blue flames against her pale skin. Like all the power within her blazed out through the windows of her eyes. Her hair was pulled back into a knot at the base of her neck, and she’d set aside her usual riotous color for dead black. An old term came to mind: widow’s weeds.
Seph watched her, too, dark brows drawn together, sometimes leaning in to murmur something in her ear. Holding on to her hand as if she might fly apart otherwise.
Now and then, Leesha stole a look at Emma, who sat, stick straight, hands gripping the back of the pew in front of her, eyes narrowed as she studied everyone in the church. She seemed to be on some kind of a mission.
After the service, there was a reception at the house Jack shared with his mother, Becka, since Seph’s house was still cordoned off. Besides, the setting was too fraught, too recently the scene of tragedy.
It had been a while since Leesha had been in Jack’s house. It still resembled a library run by a second-generation hippie hoarder. It was an ecumenical and untidy clutter of books, bulging research folders, half-finished remodeling projects, folk art, and paperwork. The front parlor, which served as Becka’s office, had been cleaned out for the occasion. Leesha suspected that if she opened any closet, the contents would tumble out on her head.
The Moss family received guests in the front parlor. Madison and John Robert stood on one side of Carlene, Ray McCartney on the other, as she received condolences from the attendees.
The contrast between mother and daughter was astounding. Madison seemed likely to burn the house down at any moment, while Carlene was the most delicately beautiful mourner Leesha h
ad ever seen, as frail and dewy as a flower in the moonlight. Now and then, she dabbed her eyes with a tissue. Waterproof mascara, Leesha thought. Then hated herself for noticing.
Linda Downey and Leander Hastings held court across the center hall, in the dining room, receiving the gifted, mostly. Seph moved back and forth between.
Leesha drifted into the kitchen, where an array of food was laid out, but nothing seemed appealing. Dispiritedly, she chose three olives and two pieces of pineapple, a chocolate-covered strawberry for dessert.
“Leesha?”
Leesha spun around. It was Emma.
“Could I talk to you a minute? In private?”
“Sure,” Leesha said. “Um...let’s go in here.” Leesha led the way into the service pantry, tucked between the kitchen and the dining room. Setting her plate down on the counter, she leaned back against the warming oven. “What’s up?”
“I need a place to stay,” Emma said. “Here in Trinity, if possible. I wondered if you know of a place. I can pay rent, though not very much.”
“Aren’t you at the Anchorage?” Leesha asked.
Emma nodded.
“Isn’t that a boarding school?” Leesha said.
“It is,” Emma said. “But I’m thinking of making a change. They have schools here, don’t they?”
“Well, yes, but...are you sure you want to switch schools this far into the school year? Trinity High School is okay, but, well, maybe you’ve never lived in a small town.” Leesha couldn’t think of Trinity High School without wincing. There were still plenty of people that hadn’t forgotten her tenure there.
“I’m just...” Emma looked around, like she might find an answer taped to the wall. “I’m just trying to figure some things out. Get both sides of the story.”
“Do you have a way to get back and forth? There’s no public transportation between here and anywhere. If you want to get anywhere else, you’ll have to drive.”
“I have a car,” Emma said. “It’s old, but it’s been reliable.”
Leesha eyed Emma appraisingly. “Look, this is a college town, and it’s hard to find housing during the school year,” she said. “Especially in the fall, before anybody’s dropped out. But if you want, you can stay at my place. It’s actually my aunt’s house.”
“Oh, no,” Emma said, taking a quick step back and coming up against the cooler. “I’m not looking for a handout. I don’t want to be anybody’s project.”
“Here’s the thing,” Leesha said. “I could use some help with my aunt. Aunt Millie is a sweetheart, but she’s not playing with a full deck these days, so I hate to leave her alone for very long. She’s a wizard, though, and that makes it hard to keep help. It’s what you might call a high-risk situation.”
“I’m not sure I—?”
“She sets fire to things now and then, okay?” Leesha said, thinking that being honest wasn’t nearly as easy as everyone made out. “And blows things up.”
“On purpose?”
“Oh, no,” Leesha said. “She wouldn’t hurt a fly. It’s just...Trying to get Aunt Millie to give up conjury is like getting any older person to give up driving. She can’t resist trying some spellwork, even though the results are unpredictable. Also, her cooking is appalling.”
“I can cook some,” Emma said, hesitantly. “Mostly plain things: scrambled eggs, grits, fried potatoes, and grilled cheese. I used to cook for my grandfather sometimes. Probably not anything you all would like.”
“Who doesn’t like grilled cheese?” Leesha said. “The most important thing is whether you’d be able to deal with my aunt.”
Emma shifted her eyes away, as if debating whether to speak or not. Then she leaned in a little closer, lowering her voice. “One thing a lot of mainliners don’t know: savants are resistant to conjured magic. So, um, I guess she could set fire to me, but if she tried to change me into a frog, it wouldn’t work.”
Leesha gaped for a moment, rendered speechless by Emma’s matter-of-fact delivery. This was huge. Huge. Savants were resistant to conjury. Why would that be?
She couldn’t quite smother the voice that said, If savants are responsible for the attacks on the gifted, it might explain why they’ve been so successful.
Leesha was already learning something about savants that she didn’t know before.
She looked up at Emma, who seemed to be waiting for a response.
“That’s perfect,” Leesha said, gripping Emma’s hands. Better not seem overenthusiastic and scare her off. “I mean, it sounds good to me. If you want to give it a try. Trial basis. No obligation.” Money-back guarantee, she added silently.
Just then, Leesha became aware of raised voices in the parlor. Some kind of an argument.
“Hang on,” she said, and moved to the door so she could see what was going on.
There was a crowd in the room, including Seph, Linda, and Leander, but the voices belonged to Madison and her mother.
“No, Mama, we are not going to hold a news conference,” Madison said. “I don’t care how many reporters are camped outside.”
“Come on, now, baby; the media, they’re just trying to do their job,” Carlene pleaded. “Don’t you think it makes sense for them to get the straight story direct from us?”
“No!” Madison practically shouted. “You are not going out there and air our dirty laundry to the Star or the Squealer or whoever.”
“It’s not the Squealer,” Carlene argued. “People magazine is out there. Real journalists.”
“This is a mess,” Emma muttered over Leesha’s shoulder. “This is a sorry mess.”
Just then, Madison looked up and spotted the two of them standing there in the doorway.
“You! What are you doing here?” She strode toward them, pointing a shaking finger at Emma.
“Me? I’m—I just, you know, wanted to come to the service and pay my respects,” Emma said faintly. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Well, you don’t belong here,” Madison said, trembling, tears glittering on her cheeks. “I never should have—I’m sorry, but I just—I can’t believe that you turned up covered in blood, but you didn’t see anything. That you don’t remember anything.”
“Well, I—I talked to the cops,” Emma said. “I told them what I—”
“This is not over,” Madison said. “I’m going to stay here and get to the bottom of this. We are not going to count on the police. We are going to conduct our own investigation, hold our own hearings, and make sure whoever was responsible for this is punished.”
Emma kept her mouth shut this time, but she kept shaking her head.
“Hey, Maddie,” Seph McCauley said gently, sliding an arm around her. “Let’s go in the kitchen and get you something to eat. It’s been a long day, and you haven’t eaten a bite.”
Madison allowed Seph to lead her away. Emma watched them go, biting her lip.
“What was that all about?” Leesha murmured.
For a long moment, Emma said nothing. “I guess she’s been talking to the police. I actually stopped in at the police station before I came here, to sign a statement. Chief Childers asked me some more questions, but I told him everything the last time. They seem to think I know more about the murders than I’m letting on.”
“Hmm,” Leesha said. “Chief Childers is probably just being thorough. There’s a lot of pressure on the department, what with all the media attention.”
“There’s still some test results that need to come back, I guess.” Emma took a deep breath, releasing it in a sigh. “Look, maybe staying in Trinity isn’t such a good idea. I don’t want to make Madison any more miserable than she already is.”
“I don’t think your presence or absence will make that much of a difference to her,” Leesha said. “I think it’s more up to you—whether you can deal with that kind of reaction from some people.”
Good, Leesha thought. That will help when you meet Aunt Millie.
It was beginning to get light when Emma parked in the lot behind the Keep, but it would be another hour before the sun found its way into the canyons between the buildings downtown. About the only time Emma was up at this hour was when she’d never gone to bed. But this way maybe she wouldn’t run into anyone else. She planned to wait for Gabriel outside of his offices, state her case, and be gone before the campus was stirring.
If she’d had a choice, she’d have moved out in the middle of the night without a word to anyone. But that would close the door to the Anchorage, and she needed to keep that door open. She needed to keep in contact with the people who might answer the questions she needed to ask. Once she knew what those were.
Most of all, she needed Gabriel Mandrake to not contact the authorities in Memphis. She’d run away from there after her grandfather died to avoid going into foster care. She needed Mandrake for cover, which meant she needed his blessing.
To Emma’s surprise, the lights were on in Gabriel’s reception area, though Gabriel’s assistant, Patrick, was not yet at his desk. Emma could hear a murmur of voices from Gabriel’s inner office. He keeps early hours, Emma thought. Surprising, for a music promoter.
She sat down in one of the chairs and leafed through a magazine, but she didn’t read a word. She was trying not to listen, but the voices in Gabriel’s office got louder and louder so that pretty soon she could make out who was in there, and bits and pieces of what was being said.
Gabriel. And Alison. Maybe Alison was facing away, because Emma couldn’t hear much of what she was saying.
“And I am telling you that you will get through this, Alison,” Gabriel was saying. “As you always have done. I realize that you’re going through a difficult time, but I need you to keep moving forward. You do know how important you are to me, and to our continued survival.”
The Sorcerer Heir Page 7