The Sorcerer Heir

by Cinda Williams Chima

  Already, though, Emma could see heads appear on the near side of the pothole, fingers clutching at the pavement as they boosted themselves up and over.

  “The bridge is swinging back,” Emma said, pointing.

  And, indeed, with a screech of metal on metal, the bridge was swinging back into place. But the zombie posse would be on top of them before it reached the shore.

  “Get behind me,” Leesha said, facing the onrushing cadavers. “I’ll keep them from coming any closer.” She sent blast after blast of flame at them.

  Emma breathed in the stench of burning flesh, but Leesha’s magic just seemed to spur them forward.

  Leesha went back to blowing holes in the pavement, which at least slowed them down. They toppled in, climbed out, came on. She hardened the air into a shimmering barrier, but they crashed right through.

  “Come on, Leesha!” Fitch shouted. “Give it up. Into the river.”

  Emma backed away from the edge, worried that Fitch would just toss her in. Then a flicker of movement caught her eye, high up on the Superior Bridge.

  “Look out! Now they’re coming down from the high bridge!” she shouted.

  A tall, black-clad figure dropped to the ground just in front of them. Fitch waded in, swinging his makeshift weapon, but the newcomer sliced it off with a wicked-looking sword, leaving Fitch holding nothing but a stub of wood in his fist. The swordsman threw up a leather-clad arm to block a blow from Fitch’s spare club.

  “Stop it!” he hissed. “I’m on your side. Sort of.” He pointed at Emma. “Her side, anyway.” When Fitch kept gaping at him, he added, impatiently, “I’m Jonah Kinlock. We met on Halloween, remember?”

  It was Jonah, leather-clad as usual, but bareheaded, his hair tumbled by the wind off the lake.

  He looked around, ripped an iron bar from the bridge chassis, and thrust it at Fitch. “This will work better for you. If you’re going to swing at them, use this, and aim for their legs. They don’t feel pain, but break their legs, and they’ll stay put.”

  Fitch weighed the iron bar in his hands, stared at the place Jonah had ripped it from, then back at Jonah. Adjusting his grip on the weapon, he nodded.

  Emma stuck out her hand, palm up. “Where’s mine?”

  Jonah hesitated, then ripped off another jagged piece. Their eyes met, and Emma could see the pain in his eyes, a kind of bleak defiance on his beautiful face. “These are strictly for defense,” he said. “Let me handle this. This is what I do.”

  “Jonah!” Emma pointed to where the shades had all but surrounded Leesha. She was standing on an island, ringed by cratered pavement.

  Jonah swore. “She’s the one they want. She shouldn’t have come down here.” Planting a hand on Emma’s shoulder, he turned her back toward the river. “Stay here, wait for the bridge, and get across when you can. Don’t wait for us.”

  Moving impossibly fast, he plunged into the crowd of shades, mowing them down like a scythe through a wheat field, wielding his massive sword like a surgeon, miraculously managing to avoid beheading Leesha in the process. Bones and body parts went flying, pinging against the bridge supports, splashing into the river.

  Emma was horrified and transfixed at the same time. She was watching Jonah Kinlock doing what he did best. There was a certain macabre beauty in watching form and function wedded together. In Jonah’s case, a dance of beauty and death.

  Emma sagged against the bridge pillar, her makeshift dinner threatening to come back up. This is what I do, he’d said. This is his life, she thought. But were the walking dead his allies or enemies?

  Tearing her eyes away from Jonah Kinlock, she looked up, away from the massacre on the riverbank. And that’s when Emma saw them—something like angels emerging from some of the splintered corpses. They were shimmering, beautiful. Creatures of light.

  “Oh,” she breathed, reaching a hand out as if she could touch them.

  Jonah paid no attention to them as they fled. He had his hands full as it was. Somehow he managed to extract Leesha from the melee, giving her a hard push toward the riverbank. She was stumbling, bleeding, obviously injured. Emma ran forward, and she and Fitch each took an arm, practically carry ing her to the water’s edge.

  Emma looked back.

  It seemed that more and more of the walking dead were appearing, as if springing out of the ground, closing in on Jonah from all directions.

  “Jonah!” Fitch shouted. Emma looked up in time to see Jonah disappear under a pile of bodies. Then Fitch streaked past Emma, howling and swinging his iron bar like a Scottish warrior in mismatched plaid.

  Fitch took directions well. His weapon swept through the edge of the zombie mob at knee-level, toppling them like bowling pins. Emma followed close on his heels, unsure if she could do what needed doing but unable to stand and watch.

  Then, as if by magic, Jonah reappeared, forcing his way through the crowd, a blur of motion and glittering steel.

  “I told you to get across the river!” he shouted, herding Emma and Fitch ahead of him, just as the bridge deck finally snapped into place and pavement met pavement.

  Jonah waited until Fitch and Emma had crossed onto the bridge deck, supporting Leesha between them.

  Once they’d crossed over, Jonah slammed into the near end of the bridge. At first, Emma thought he’d somehow run into it by accident, but, no, he hit it with such force that it broke connection with the land and swung back out into the river, tethered only to the pivot on the far side. All at once, there were ten yards of rippling black water between the shades and them.

  “How did he do that?” Fitch whispered.

  Shades spilled into the gap, splashing into the river. Jonah lay on his back on the deck of the bridge, gasping.

  Emma recalled what Kenzie had said: I’ve seen him come in here covered in contusions, with wounds and broken bones, and he’s like, “Could you give me three ibuprofen this time?”

  “What is he—Superman?” Fitch whispered, looking down at Jonah. “Zombie-hunter?”

  Emma shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “But it’s time I found out.”

  The cool thing about actual superheroes, Jonah thought, is that they can just disappear after the big action scene. They aren’t accountable to the public. They answer no questions, they tell no lies, they offer no excuses.

  He’d walked back down to the old railroad bridge to leave a message for Lilith, taking a circuitous route. He’d come armed, up to and including Fragarach. He wasn’t looking for trouble, but he wasn’t stupid.

  He was heading back to Oxbow, crossing the Superior Bridge, taking his usual path along the abandoned trolley level. He’d scanned the flats below, hoping not to spot any trouble.

  That’s when he’d seen Emma and the others clustered at the edge of the river, besieged by hosted shades.

  Well, Emma, he thought, you said you wanted to know about my secret life. There you go.

  Would he even have intervened if Emma hadn’t been there? Maybe. Probably. He didn’t want the Anchorage to take the blame for more Weir murders. But now he had a situation.

  Jonah disapproved of Gabriel’s policy of secrecy, but he didn’t especially want to explain Nightshade to the wizard investigating the preschool kidnapping and an Anaweir Harvard dropout. Jonah couldn’t help wishing he had that wizard ability to wipe the mind clean. He could nudge, persuade, talk people into and out of trouble. But he didn’t think he could make Leesha and Fitch forget being attacked by zombies.

  Was this what Gabriel had been afraid of? He was such a control freak—did he fear losing control of this story, having somebody else rewrite the ending?

  Now Leesha was hurt, Emma and Fitch looked shell-shocked, and once again, Jonah had left a major mess in the Flats. When they reached the other side of the river, he pulled on his gloves again.

  Leesha was only half-conscious, b
leeding in several places, in obvious pain, snarling at everyone who tried to help her. Not a good patient. Not a good patient at all.

  Fitch had his phone in his hand. “I’ll call 911,” he said. He looked around, getting his bearings. “What do you call this—?”

  “No!” Emma and Jonah said in unison.

  Jonah stared at Emma. He was glad to have her support, but he was surprised just the same.

  “I’ll call Natalie,” she said, pulling out her own phone. “She’ll know what to do,” she told Fitch, holding the phone up to her ear.

  Jonah put his hands on Leesha’s shoulders, leaning down so he was looking into her face. The wizard’s eyes were hazy with pain, and it radiated from her like a fever.

  “I’m going to pick you up,” he said. “We can go faster that way.” Fighting down apprehension, he scooped her up. She cried out in pain as he put pressure on her battered body.

  Fitch took a step toward them, his eyes meeting Jonah’s. Jonah could read the warning and mistrust there. “Careful,” he said.

  “Fitch!” Leesha cried, looking around wildly. “Fitch! Is he—?”

  “I’m here,” he said, putting his hand on her arm. “Right here.”

  Jonah cradled Leesha close, using all of his soothing power, while keeping an iron grip around her to prevent any magical attacks. Or, God forbid, kissing. “You’re all right,” he said. “Everything is going to be all right. We’re going to go see somebody who can help.”

  Leesha relaxed, smiled dreamily, and snuggled closer, even though they were both covered in blood and gore and who knows what.

  Fitch scowled.

  Emma put her phone away. “Natalie says to meet her at Oxbow, to come to the clinic on the first floor.”

  “Let’s go,” Jonah said, and started walking, back toward the Anchorage, passing under the high-level bridge. He didn’t look back to see if the others were following—he knew that they would be.

  Jonah knew Fitch didn’t trust him, knew he must be spilling over with questions, but remarkably, the Anaweir boy bit them back and played vigilant wingman, his eyes searching the deserted streets around them, slapping his iron bar against his palm. Emma walked on Jonah’s other side, as they passed back through the park and climbed the hill. She said nothing at all.

  It was closing time, and as soon as they reached higher ground they encountered a policeman on foot patrol, keeping an eye on the action on the street as the bars closed. Fitch took a step forward, as if to complete the 911 call in person, but Jonah blocked his way.

  Fortunately, the officer was focused on Leesha. “What the hell is going on here?” he asked, looking up at Jonah. “Is she all right?”

  “Shh,” Jonah said, freeing one hand and putting his finger to his lips. “Please don’t wake her up. She’ll be better once she gets a little sleep. She should know by now that she can’t stay out this late when she works Saturday mornings. One or two drinks, and she’s done for the night.”

  “One or two drinks?” the officer said.

  “Well,” Jonah admitted, “I wasn’t exactly counting. But she is a small person, as you can see.”

  “You’re really taking her home?” the officer asked, directing the question at Emma.

  “I’m her roommate,” Emma said. “I’ll make sure she gets home all right.”

  The officer still hesitated. Obviously, he wanted to make sure Leesha was in safe hands. “You got any ID?”

  Great, Jonah thought. Now I’m going to get nabbed for curfew violation.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, smiling at the officer, charm rolling off him like a stupefying vapor. “There’s no problem here. No need for that. We just want to get her home, okay?”

  Message: we may be covered with blood and gore, but we’re not the kind of trouble you’re looking for.

  “Well, it seems to me that you kids—” The cop seemed to lose his train of thought as he basked in Jonah’s sunshine. He hitched up his uniform trousers and cleared his throat. “See that you take her right home,” the officer said. “I have kids of my own. You may think you’re indestructible, but there are bad guys who hang out around here, waiting for nice kids like you.”

  “We’ll remember that, sir,” Jonah said. “Thank you.” He watched the police officer until he turned at the corner and passed out of sight.

  Fitch couldn’t hold back any longer. “What the hell did you do to him? It was like he didn’t even notice that you’re covered in blood and—and—it reminded me of that scene in Star Wars, when Obi-Wan Kenobi—”

  “He’s an enchanter, remember?” Emma said. “At least he was to begin with. Before Thorn Hill.”

  So Fitch must know some history, Jonah thought. Even though he’s Anaweir.

  Fitch processed this as they walked along. “So, you’re saying you’re like a warrior crossed with an enchanter? Kind of like Jack is—”

  “I’m a savant,” Jonah said. “I’m not anything crossed with anything.”

  It was a few more minutes before Fitch spoke again.

  “Do you want me to carry Leesha for a while?” Fitch asked. “Aren’t you getting tired?”

  Jonah shook his head. “I’m fine.”

  “I’ll go get the car, then.” Jonah could tell Fitch’s engine was running, and he so wanted to shift into drive.

  Jonah shook his head. “This will be faster, I promise.”

  Natalie was waiting for them in the clinic. Emma must have given her part of the story, because she was prepped and ready, wearing her bedside face. But her expression dissolved into surprise and irritation when Jonah showed up with Leesha and Fitch.

  “What are they doing here?” she demanded, turning on Emma. “When you said someone was hurt, I thought you meant someone from—from the Anchorage. Not a—a—”

  “You’ve treated wizards before,” Jonah said. “You worked a whole summer in Trinity.” He laid Leesha down on a gurney, feeling filthy in the pristine environment of the clinic. “They were attacked in the Flats, not far from here.”

  “But...why did you bring her here?” Natalie asked, making angry eyes at Jonah. “This is a trauma case. Why didn’t you call 911, or take her over to Metro or Lutheran?”

  “Because we know you’ll do a better job,” Jonah said. “And you won’t tell anyone.”

  Natalie’s lips tightened. “When you say ‘anyone,’ who exactly do you mean?”

  “You know what,” Fitch said, “it’s a good thing for you I’m totally deaf, because otherwise my feelings would be hurt.”

  Natalie’s expression said I’ll deal with you later, Jonah Kinlock. Then she shifted into order-giving mode. “All three of you, wash up, over there. All the way to the elbows. On second thought, change out of those clothes. There are scrubs in the closet.”

  Jonah peeled off his jacket, wiped it off as best he could, then laid it out on the table in the linen room. Methodically, he pulled knives, shivs, daggers, and other weapons out of their hiding places. The clean weapons he dropped onto the jacket. The soiled ones he rinsed quickly in the laundry tub, toweling them off before adding them to the pile. Once he was finished, he rolled everything up in his jacket.

  He felt the pressure of Emma’s eyes as he pulled off his sweatshirt and T-shirt, stripping to the waist. He washed off as well as he could and pulled a scrub shirt over his head. This wasn’t the first time he and Natalie had been in this situation. He was used to the drill.

  Emma was the least slimed, so she was the first to return to Leesha’s bedside. Natalie slapped a pair of scissors into her hand. “Cut away her clothing so we can see what’s what.”

  Emma gingerly cut into Leesha’s jacket, all the while looking like she’d rather be anywhere else. “You—you’re not going to operate on her, are you?”

  “That shouldn’t be necessary,” Natalie said briskly. “It’s just a
flesh wound, after all.” She shot a look at Jonah. He rolled his eyes. It was an old joke between them. Anything less than a beheading was a “flesh wound.”

  Things moved quickly after that. Natalie started an IV, and she must have given Leesha something for the pain, because she relaxed under Natalie’s hands and allowed her to work her magic. One sign that Leesha was feeling better was that she started in on Fitch.

  “What were you thinking, Harvard, wading into that mob with nothing but an iron bar?” she said. “You could have been killed.”

  “I was testing a theory,” Fitch said.

  “What?”

  “It’s well known that creatures of faerie are sensitive to iron,” Fitch said. “So I thought I’d see if the same applied to the walking dead.” He paused, rubbed at a scratch on his face with the back of his hand. “Based on the data so far, I’m thinking no. Though a better research plan would’ve been to have some people with iron bars and others with—”

  “Know this,” Leesha said. “If you risk your life like that again, I will kill you.”

  Fitch considered this, brow furrowed. “Okay,” he said at last. He cleared his throat. “Did you notice that magic doesn’t seem to work on them either?”

  “That’s impossible,” Leesha snapped. “Magic works on everyone.”

  Natalie and Jonah exchanged glances. Typical wizard arrogance, Jonah thought. No wonder Lilith and her crew have found them so easy to kill.

  Jonah considered leaving. Natalie wouldn’t be happy. But now the questions would be coming, thick and fast. He couldn’t answer them if he wasn’t here, right?

  “Those—those things,” Leesha said. “That’s what attacked the Trinity Montessori kids. They were telling the truth, weren’t they, when they said they were taken by zombies.”

  I so hate being right all the time, Jonah thought. “I have no idea what happened to those kids,” he said. “I wasn’t there.”

  Leesha ignored this. She was paler than Jonah remembered, but her gray eyes were bright and focused. “What are they? Where did they come from?”

  “I hoped maybe you could tell me. I hate finishing fights that other people start.”