The Heir Chronicles: Books I-III

by Cinda Williams Chima

  Seph could imagine what kind of images Leicester would share with him. And with the wizard present, he wouldn’t be able to use the talisman.

  No doubt Houghton would agree to Leicester’s proposal. The lawyers would be glad they didn’t have to find a summer placement.

  Unless Jason got to them first. He cultivated that fading hope.

  Two weeks before the end of the term, Seph decided he couldn’t wait for Jason any longer, but had to try again to contact Sloane’s on his own. For that, he’d need to break into Gregory Leicester’s office. If any computer on campus had unrestricted access to the outside world, it would be his.

  Seph began monitoring the headmaster’s movements. Leicester sometimes worked in his office until late into the night. Fairly consistently, however, he walked over to the alumni building for dinner around eight. For several nights running, Seph marked his departure from the admin. building, his arrival at the Alumni House, the walk back to his office. He was always gone for at least an hour, sometimes an hour and a half. That would be long enough.

  At his previous schools, Seph had been known as something of a hacker. He thought he could probably break into the school’s e-mail system, depending on the service provider, operating system, and level of security. He might even be able to come in through the front door without breaking code, if Leicester was sloppy about pass-words. Which he might be. This kind of attack might not be anticipated at a place like the Havens, where magic and wizardry were the weapons of choice.

  He chose a Sunday night in late May. Sitting at the end of the dock, facing to the side, he could monitor activity at the admin.building. The office was illuminated and he could see Gregory Leicester at his desk overlooking the harbor.

  About 7:45, Leicester threw on a jacket and cut the lights in his office. Seph left the dock and walked around to the front of the building, speaking an unnoticeable charm when he reached the shadows along the side. Leicester exited through the front door, his boots crunching on the gravel of the parking lot. He was heading for the Alumni House.

  Seph turned the corner and entered the admin building. Unnoticeable, he walked past the cafeteria where students lingered over dessert and climbed the steps to the third floor. Passing through the darkened hall, he tried the door to Leicester’s office. It was unlocked. He listened for a long moment and, hearing nothing, slipped inside and closed the door behind him.

  Now he just wanted to be in and out as quickly as possible. He crossed to the computer and sat in the chair. He touched a key and the screen illuminated. Leicester had signed off but left the computer on. gleicester was the user name.

  Seph plugged his jump drive into the USB port and ran the script he’d written earlier on the computer in his room. It crunched away, trying passwords. While he waited, he searched the desk drawers, which were nearly empty. He eyed the phone on the desk, but decided against chancing an outside call. Sloane’s would be closed at this hour, anyway. He was rooting through the filing cabinets when he heard the computer cycling through its startup routine. He was in.

  Seph opened the browser, then typed in the URL for a search-engine company that offered free e-mail service. In a few minutes, he had set up a new account and user name. It wouldn’t fool anyone if he were caught, he real-ized. All Leicester would have to do was look at the mail’s destination. But at least it might prevent any bounce-back mail from going to the headmaster. He logged back in under his new name, Dragon.

  His fingers flew across the keys. He typed in Sloane’s gateway e-mail address and accessed the firm’s online address book. He selected every personal e-mail box on the list, Sloane, Smythe, Houghton, and all the rest of the associates.

  MR. HOUGHTON AND COLLEAGUES: I am being held prisoner here at the Havens School in Maine. I was told that your firm had me legally committed for mental health treatment, but I have not been allowed to confirm that with you. Although I have written to you via the post numerous times, there has been no response. I am not allowed telephone or e-mail access.

  I have been subjected to severe emotional abuse and mental torture since my arrival in September, which

  I can no longer endure. If there is no response to this e-mail within three days I will kill myself. I am perfectly serious. JOSEPH MCCAULEY

  BTW: Do not reply to this e-mail. Do not call. Come in person and don’t leave without seeing me.

  He looked the e-mail over and was satisfied. No lawyer could fail to respond to such a message. He drew a shaky breath and hit the SEND button. A message came up. YOUR MESSAGE HAS BEEN SENT. It was done.

  He knew he should leave, but Leicester’s mail program beckoned. Perhaps he’d find some mention of Jason, or the Dragon, or the other parties to the conspiracy Jason had described. He opened the mail program and scrolled down through the inbox. Here was something: RE: RECORDS FOUND AT THE DRAGON’S LONDON HEADQUARTERS from D’Orsay.

  Just then, Seph heard a door slam and footsteps approaching. The lights kindled in the outer office. Heart pounding, he exited out of the mail program and signed off, leaving the desktop as he’d found it. He jumped up and crossed to the door, flattening himself against the wall next to it.

  It was Leicester, of course, back from dinner. The headmaster tossed a folder onto his desk and sat down at his workstation. Seph edged around the corner and out the door. He was halfway across the outer office when he remembered he’d left his jump drive plugged into the port of Leicester’s computer. He considered retrieving it later, but decided against it. There was nothing to link it to Seph specifically. It would be less risky to leave it than to try and retrieve it, unnoticeable or not.

  He walked through the suite of offices and down the stairs. A few minutes later he was on his way back to his dorm, one shadow among many in the gloom under the trees.

  It was a little after 6 a.m. on Tuesday morning when they came for him. Seph was still in bed, but he was a light sleeper now, whenever he wasn’t using the portal, and he woke when he heard the key turn in the lock. He had the deadbolt thrown, so it gave him time to make sure the portal stone was inside his shirt before the door flew open. It was Warren Barber and Bruce Hays.

  Seph propped himself on his elbows. “What’s going on?”

  “Get up, Joseph,” Warren said. “You need to come with us.”

  “Am I late for something?” Seph looked from one to the other for a clue. They had their stone faces on. He swung his legs around and put his feet on the floor. “Is it okay if I get dressed?”

  They stepped back to allow him to get out of bed and stood waiting while he pulled his jeans on and found his shoes and yesterday’s socks under his bed. Since they were wearing jackets, he pulled on a sweatshirt. Something told him they wouldn’t wait for him to brush his teeth. He ran a hand through his ragged hair and said, “Okay.” They pushed him out the door ahead of them and descended the stairs, Warren and Bruce on either side, each gripping an arm. Once outside, they steered him toward the administration building.

  Seph decided to try again. “What’s this all about?”

  “I tried to warn you, Joseph,” Warren said.

  It must be the e-mail, Seph thought. Unless it was Jason. The critical question was whether Sloane’s had responded or not. It occurred to him that the day could bring either a major improvement or a dramatic deterioration in his prospects.

  There weren’t many students on the campus at that hour, except for a few hardy souls headed for the gym. The air was soft, the sky was pale, and the light was growing. A light mist lay on the harbor. It was going to be a beautiful day. For someone.

  Seph and his escorts entered the admin. building and climbed the open staircase to the third floor. They took him directly to Gregory Leicester’s office and pushed him forward.

  Leicester was standing at his magnificent window, his hands clasped behind him, watching the sun come up over the water. John Hughes was seated at Leicester’s PC, frantically typing in commands. Hughes was one of the alumni, a stocky man in his
twenties with a receding hairline. He functioned as the systems administrator for the school.

  It was the e-mail, then.

  Warren cleared his throat nervously. “Here’s Joseph.”

  Leicester did not look back at them, but turned instead to Hughes. “Well?”

  Hughes half turned around in his chair and shook his head. “A number of them have already been opened. They were sent out on Sunday night. No response.” He glanced at Seph, then looked away.

  “I see.” Leicester sighed, and stared out to sea again for a moment, then turned to face the trio in the doorway. “So, Joseph. It appears you have made a mistake.”

  Seph remembered Jason’s advice. Be stupid and be scared. He tried to play stupid. “Already?” He lifted his shoulders slightly. “I just got out of bed.”

  Leicester’s hand came up and forward. The blow came so quickly, Seph had no time to react. A fistlike concussion of air struck him full in the face and threw him back against the door, his feet literally leaving the ground. His head slammed hard against the doorframe before he slid to the floor. His right eye swam with tears and he tasted blood in his mouth where his lip was cut. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and it came away covered in blood.

  He looked up to see that Leicester hadn’t moved from his position by the window. Warren and Bruce had split off to either side, out of the target area.

  Leicester thrust his hand toward him again. The next blow caught Seph just under the ribcage, throwing him back into the wall and driving all the breath out of him. He rolled over, trying to scramble out of the way, but the third hit him square in the back. Each felt like a sledgehammer against flesh and bone. Seph doubled up on the floor, making as small a target as possible. After two more blows, he wondered if Leicester intended to beat him to death.

  He struggled to pull the air back into his lungs. It hurt to breathe, and he suspected his ribs might be broken. Leicester crossed the space between them and spoke to Seph on the floor from his terrible height.

  “Who do you think I am? A high school principal?” he spat the words out derisively. “Did you think you were going to get a bloody detention?” His voice grew louder with each sentence.

  Despite the pain, Seph managed to push himself into a half-sitting position, leaning against the wall. He shook his head, trying to clear it, flinging blood in a small arc. His lip was swelling, and the entire right side of his face felt numb, which was probably a blessing. His legs tingled, and he wondered if his spinal cord had been bruised by the blow to his back. “Why can’t you just let me go?” he whispered.

  “No one leaves the Havens until I’m ready. You should know that by now.”

  Seph knew he should just keep quiet, but he couldn’t help himself. “Jason Haley left,” he said.

  “Ah, yes. Jason Haley has indeed left the Havens.” Leicester smiled. “Did you think I’d let him out alive?”

  It was one of those times when the body seems to act without the counsel or approval of the conscious mind. Seph McCauley bunched his quivering legs under him and launched himself at Gregory Leicester. He hit him hard, in the midsection. It was very much like hitting a concrete wall, but Seph was able to land at least two good punches before Leicester pinned his arms to his side with one massive arm and wrapped the other around his neck, cutting off his air supply. He increased the pressure until black spots appeared before Seph’s eyes, then relaxed it enough to keep Seph from passing out completely.

  As soon as Seph had enough air to do so, he launched into one of the attack charms he and Jason had memorized in the library. But he was cut off mid sentence by blinding pain like a current that flamed through his body and left him limp and trembling when it was finally over.

  “Don’t be a fool,” said Leicester.

  But Seph was reckless with anger. “You’d better kill me,” he gasped, “because if you don’t, I swear I’ll kill you.”

  Leicester was speaking into his ear. “Why would I kill you, Joseph, when I have so many other options?” He laughed softly. “You think you’ve had dreams? I can give you a nightmare that will last a week. Why, I can give you a nightmare that will last the rest of your life. We call it going insane.

  “Now, the question is whether we need to keep you around in case someone responds to your message. I think not. You won’t be in any condition to talk to them anyway. You threatened to kill yourself, Joseph, and I think you’re going to succeed. You’ll cease to exist as far as Sloane’s is concerned. Think of it. We’ll have you all to ourselves. A wizard’s lifetime. No more paperwork, no pesky correspondence going back and forth.” He touched Seph’s damaged face, running his thumb down his chinline. “No need to keep you pretty in case someone comes to call.”

  Leicester tightened his grip and spoke a charm. The flames raked through Seph again, and he screamed, all of his muscles seizing with the pain of it. He couldn’t say how long it went on, but Leicester suddenly released his hold on him, and Seph dropped to the floor like a rag doll, whimpering, desperately sucking in air.

  “At last, perhaps, you begin to understand. You see how restrained I’ve been. Now the gloves come off. I won’t make the same mistake I made with Jason. You’re going to beg for the chance to give me what I want. I promise to take my time. We’ll learn so much, you and I, about your capabilities. You’ve been a tough little bastard. Now we’ll find out just how tough you are.”

  Seph lay with his face against the varnished hardwood, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his heart pounding in his ears. His skin was slick with sweat, and he was shivering. He could think of only one way out of his predicament. He had to find a way to make Leicester kill him.

  Gradually, he became aware of a commotion in the outer suite of offices. Raised voices, like an argument. Seph turned his head slightly so he could see. Leicester turned toward the door. Peter Conroy slipped into the office and spoke, quietly and urgently, to Leicester. Leicester listened, with his eyes on Seph. He nodded, said a few words, and Conroy left again.

  Leicester lifted an upholstered chair like it weighed nothing and set it in front of the door. Then he slid his hands under Seph’s arms and hauled him into it. Seph bit his lip to keep from crying out. He tried to retreat into the chair, to curl himself around his many hurts like an injured animal. But the headmaster gripped his chin hard and lifted his head so Seph had no choice but to look him in the eyes.

  “It appears there’s been a response to your message. Sloane’s has sent someone to inquire after you.” Leicester dropped his hot hands onto Seph’s shoulders. Power roared into him again, different from before, power that drove the strength from his muscles and bones, leaving him totally conscious but helpless—too weak to hold up his head. An immobilization charm. He couldn’t speak or move a muscle.

  Leicester arranged Seph’s body in the chair, making no attempt to be gentle. He raked Seph’s curls back out of his eyes and looked down at him, apparently satisfied. “Now you can listen while I send her away.” He paused. “And when I return, I promise I will make you wish you’d never been born.” Then he was gone, the three alumni following him.

  So Sloane’s had sent a woman. Seph had hoped they would send someone he knew, Denis Houghton, even. He didn’t know any female associates of the firm. Seph swallowed down his despair. These wizards could outfox or overpower any lawyer. He didn’t want to have to hear it.

  The group outside must have moved closer to the door, or perhaps Leicester engineered it so, because suddenly the voices came through clearly. First a woman’s voice. “We received his message at our offices Sunday night. I’m not leaving without talking to him.”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible just now,” Leicester replied.

  “What do you mean?” the woman demanded.

  “Joseph has disappeared. No one has seen him since supper last night. He left this in his room.” There was a brief silence, as if the woman were reading something.

  “This doesn’t sound like him. How
do you know he wrote it?”

  “It was in his room, Miss . . .”

  “Downey,” the woman said.

  “Are you a relative?” Leicester asked, like a coroner seeking the next of kin.

  “I am the boy’s legal guardian,” the woman said. “That’s all you need to know. I fail to understand how you could lose my ward overnight.”

  “One of the boats is missing,” Leicester said. “He might have taken it out last night.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” the woman replied. “Seph has never been fond of the ocean.”

  There was something oddly compelling about her voice. It was like a song that you can’t let go of. Seph was struck by the use of his private name, her confidence in her knowledge of him. She claimed to be his guardian. But Denis Houghton was his guardian. Downey? He’d never even heard her name before.

  “Why haven’t you called the police?” she demanded. “Why didn’t you call us before now?”

  “We’ve only just discovered he was missing,” Leicester said. “We’re conducting a search ourselves. It wasn’t unusual for him to disappear for hours at a time. He liked to walk alone in the woods.” He was already speaking in the past tense.

  “First you imply he’s gone boating in the dark, now you tell me he’s been walking in the woods all night. Do your students never stay in their beds?”

  The woman was persistent, but it wouldn’t matter. She couldn’t force them to produce him if they claimed he was missing. And Seph knew he would never be found.

  “Why don’t you come down to the cafeteria and have some coffee,” Leicester said. “The search parties will be reporting back here. As soon as there’s any news—”

  “Seph said you wouldn’t allow him to call us. He said you were holding him prisoner here.”

  Seph could almost see Leicester shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know where he gets these ideas,” the headmaster said. “Frankly, Miss Downey, we’ve done our best to work with Joseph. You can tell by the note he left that he’s unstable. In fact, we’ve come to believe that he’s psychotic. Yet we were told none of this when we admitted him.”