“You make it sound like he’s been a problem since September,” she said. Papers rustled. “I have all his progress reports here, and they suggest nothing of the kind.”
Soon enough, the dance would be over. They would maneuver the woman out of the office and down to the cafeteria. Then they could tuck him somewhere out of the way, and his chance would be gone. He’d sacrificed so much, perhaps everything, to get Sloane’s to send someone to rescue him.
I can’t let her leave without seeing me, he told himself. He tried to move, to twitch a finger, but nothing happened. Frustration built up in him, and then something else, more familiar. He focused his attention on the door, concentrating, pushing energy into his extremities. And then it happened. A cascade of blue flame erupted from his fingertips and blew down the door between the offices with a bang like a gunshot.
There was a brief, stunned silence. “What the bloody hell was that?” the woman cried.
A clamor of voices erupted. Explanations and protests. Someone appeared in the doorway.
She was small, with short, layered hair, like silver and gold spun together. She wore a tailored black suit with a very short skirt, and had amazingly long legs for such a small person. When she moved, Seph found it impossible to look away. She seemed to shimmer, sending sparks in every direction. She looked like no lawyer Seph had ever seen.
“Thank God,” the woman said. He could tell she recognized him immediately. She shook off Leicester and came toward him, the others trailing behind her like the tail of a comet. Warren and Bruce blundered into each other in their eagerness to get near her.
It was an exquisitely awkward moment, the wizards, the woman, the briefly lost and suddenly found Seph. For his part, Gregory Leicester looked like he might just murder Seph, right then and there, regardless of witnesses and the representative from Sloane’s.
The woman’s eyes never left Seph’s face. Now that she was closer, he could see that they were deep-blue violet flecked with gold. “Dear God, what have they done to you?” Seph was desperate to reply, but all he could do was stare at her helplessly.
Gregory Leicester found his voice. “We . . . ah . . . didn’t want you to see him like this. He’s heavily medicated. He’s been uncontrollably self-destructive these past few days.” Leicester looked disconcerted, something Seph had never expected to see.
She was finally within arm’s length of Seph, but now she looked back at Leicester for the first time. “I see what you mean. He’s given himself a brutal beating. Most unusual.”
She looked upset, distressed, angry, yet she was not making as much fuss over his appearance as he might have expected. She’s not shocked, he thought. Not even surprised. Like she knows what’s up. And with that came a fragment of hope.
“Hello, Seph. I’m Linda Downey.”
Seph kept staring at her, spinning out silent pleas. Find a way to get me out of here. And then the tears washed over the great dam of his eyes and streaked down his face.
Linda Downey nodded, almost imperceptibly, as if she’d heard, and understood. She leaned in and gave him a light kiss on his forehead and whispered, so only he could hear, “Courage, Seph.” Then she turned back to Leicester and the others.
“Clearly, this placement has been nothing short of a disaster. I’m taking him back to see his regular therapist. I’m hoping he won’t require hospitalization.”
Therapist?
She gestured to Hays and Barber. “You two. Help me get him into my car.”
They stepped forward obediently. But Leicester shook his head. “The boy stays here,” he said. “As you can see, he’s in no condition to travel.”
The woman sighed and changed tactics. “Dr. Leicester, I think it’s time we were frank with each other. I do believe you all are wizards and you have this boy under a spell.”
She might as well have said the law firm of Sloane, Houghton, and Smythe believed in fairies. Seph squinted at her in disbelief. The alumni stirred and muttered, but Leicester seemed unimpressed. “So?” he said, letting the word drop between them like a gauntlet. He was making it clear that what Linda Downey knew, or didn’t know, was irrelevant.
She shook her head and regarded Leicester with a look of pity. “Do you have any idea who this boy is?”
Leicester frowned, opened his mouth, and then closed it again, looking from Linda to Seph.
“Obviously, you don’t.” She put her fingertips under Seph’s chin and tilted his face upward. “Look at him! Look at his eyes, the shape of his nose.”
Leicester studied Seph, but his scowl said he was clueless as before.
“I find it hard to believe you can’t spot it.” She cleared her throat. “Joseph McCauley is the natural child of one of your colleagues on the Council of Wizards. A delicate matter, as he is married to someone other than the boy’s mother.” She paused again. “His wife is a powerful wizard and has been unforgiving of such transgressions in the past. The boy has been kept ignorant of his background, for fear the story would come out. But Seph’s father takes a strong interest in his welfare and upbringing. Seph is his only son.”
She knows who my father is. Despite Leicester and the Alumni, despite his desperate situation, despite everything, Seph waited breathlessly for Linda Downey to say his name.
Leicester seemed to be rummaging through some kind of mental list. “Who is it?” he demanded. “Tell me. Who’s his father?”
Linda said nothing.
“You don’t mean . . . Ravenstock?” The wizard’s face transitioned from incredulity to cunning conviction. “It is, isn’t it?”
She hesitated, then said, “It’s really none of your business. But you’ll find out soon enough if you don’t unbind the boy and let him go. His father flew into Portland yesterday. You can imagine his reaction when I forwarded Seph’s message. If I don’t show up with his son in Portland by this afternoon, his father will take this place apart, stone by stone, until he finds him. No excuse will be good enough to satisfy him. And you can be sure he’ll bring the matter to the Council next week.”
Leicester clenched and unclenched his fists. “Why didn’t Ravenstock come himself, if he’s so concerned?”
Ravenstock. Joseph Ravenstock. Hey, I’m Seph Ravenstock.
Seph tried out the name in his mind.
“Considering his position, he wishes to keep the matter private. So he sent me as his representative. If he’d expected a problem, I’m sure he would have come himself.”
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Seph could tell Leicester didn’t want to believe her.
“I’m the boy’s guardian. I can show you papers, if you like.” She dug in her briefcase, pulled out a wad of papers and handed them to Leicester. He scanned them unhappily and handed them back.
But Houghton’s my guardian. Isn’t he?
“Look,” the woman said. “We’re counting on your discretion. Seph’s father doesn’t care about whatever it is you’re doing up here. But his tolerance does not extend to his own son. The boy has been badly beaten, starved, and tortured. If this comes out, it would be natural for the Council to assume that you were targeting his son for a reason. A political reason.”
“And why should we allow you to leave here, carrying tales?” Leicester asked. He took a step toward her, reaching out to take her wrist. She stepped back, deftly avoiding his hand.
“I’m expected back with Joseph tonight,” she said calmly. “How would you propose to explain our disappearance?”
Leicester looked bereft, like his birthday had been canceled. Clearly, he was trying to devise some alternative to letting Seph go. But it was also obvious that the woman’s threats had been effective. He wouldn’t want the Council involved, wouldn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention to the Havens. He had to weigh the potential risk of releasing Seph against the damage of certain exposure.
Finally, he shrugged, not at all gracious in defeat. “Very well. Wait in the outer office a moment. I need to speak to Joseph i
n private.”
She didn’t want to go. Seph could tell. And he didn’t want her to go, either. But she went, looking back over her shoulder as if it might be the last time she saw him.
Leicester pointed at Seph and muttered the counter-charm. Seph stirred in his chair and tried unsuccessfully to get to his feet. The headmaster grasped him by the front of his sweatshirt and dragged him upright so their faces were inches apart.
“So, Joseph, you’re going back to your father. I hope you’ll have a wonderful reunion. Just remember one thing—if even a whisper of what’s going on here reaches any member of the Council, whether it’s traceable back to you or not, I will make it my mission in life to track down every member of your miserable family and every friend you ever had down to the most ephemeral romantic fling, and I will kill them in the most excruciating way possible. And when I’m done with them, I will come after you, and we will resume where we left off.”
Seph looked back at him and said, “Can I go now?” And thought, You come after me and I’ll be ready next time.
Leicester let go of him and took a step back. Keeping his back straight, feeling Leicester’s hostile glare on the back of his neck, Seph limped into the outer office, where Linda Downey was waiting. Though he towered over her, she slid her hand under his elbow to support him. Magic flowed into him, powerful stuff that made his head spin, though somehow different from what he was used to.
Leicester and the alumni had followed him out. He seemed to be trying to place Linda within his scheme of things. “I assume that you are Ravenstock’s latest . . . lover?”
“Assistant,” she said, steering Seph toward the door.
Seph looked back at Leicester, burning an image for later use. Somehow, I’ll make you pay, he thought. For Sam, whoever he was and might have been. For Trevor. And for Jason, most of all.
He shuffled painfully to the door, with Linda’s hand at his elbow, and then out the door and to the stairs. They managed to navigate the stairs, and hobbled out the front door.
The BMW waited in the parking lot. Linda opened the passenger door for Seph, helped him in, closed it behind him, and climbed in behind the wheel. Though she seemed calm, her hand was shaking and it took two tries to fit the key into the ignition.
Seph pressed himself back into the seat. Linda Downey drove fast and aggressively, ramming through the gears, jouncing down the dirt road at a reckless speed, reminding Seph of each and every injury. He looked over at her. There were spots of high color on her cheeks, and her eyes were alternately revealed and concealed in the shifting light under the trees. This was his father’s girlfriend?
Seph tried to get comfortable, still unable to believe that he was finally leaving the Havens. “So we’re heading for Portland?” He could hardly force the words between his swollen lips. His tongue explored a jagged spot where a tooth had broken off.
She nodded. “It’s the fastest way out of Maine. But first we need to find you a doctor.” She looked over at him, biting her lip. “The nearest hospital is probably in Portland.”
Linda’s scrutiny made Seph uncomfortable. “I’m all right. Really. It looks worse than it is. I’d rather not have to answer any questions.”
“Seph, I’m so sorry. I had no idea what was going on.” Her voice broke. “And when we received your e-mail, I . . .”
“Who is Ravenstock?”
“Never mind him. He’s no one you’re related to.”
He wasn’t surprised, somehow, but he was a little disappointed. He erased Ravenstock from his mental file, the place where he kept the clues to who he was. “Weren’t you taking a chance in there?”
“I didn’t have much choice. I had to hope you looked like someone on the Council.”
“Thank you . . . for coming . . . when you did,” he said. “They were going to kill me. Or worse.”
She glanced over at him. “Why?”
“I think he likes it. Hurting people, I mean.” Leicester’s threat was fresh in his mind. He wasn’t going to say much until he found out who and what she was.
Linda cleared her throat. “I don’t really know how much you know . . . about the magical guilds.” She looked straight ahead, as if embarrassed. As if she were about to deliver “The Talk.”
“I know all about it,” he said, rechecking the rearview mirror for the fifteenth time. “Weir, Anaweir, wizards and spells. If that’s what you mean.”
He’d surprised her. “Who told you? Was it Leicester?”
He shook his head. “My foster mother told me a lit-tle. The rest, I learned here.” He thought of Jason, and his breath came ragged when he drew it in. He closed his eyes, trying to remember how it had felt when he’d smashed into Leicester. Wishing he’d managed to get off a charm.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine,” Seph said. “Perfect.” He looked sideways at her. “So you’re a wizard?”
She shook her head. “No. Enchanter.” She delivered the word quickly, as if unsure of his reaction.
An enchanter! Jason had been fascinated by enchanters, but said he’d never met one. Seph remembered something Jason had said, and before he could think, he had blurted it out. “Is it true an enchanter can bewitch any wizard, no matter how powerful?” Then he clapped his mouth shut. Not a question to be asking someone he’d just met.
“Well. I suppose that depends on the enchanter, and the wizard, and how careful he or she is about being bewitched. Of course, as a general rule, wizards are more powerful than enchanters. But if I come on a wizard unawares . . .” She let go of the wheel and flexed her fingers like a cat unsheathing its claws.
“But who are you? Do you really work for Sloane’s?”
“No. They work for me. What I said in there was true. I’m your guardian.”
Something told him she wasn’t being completely honest. It was as if she were translucent, and every so often the light would shine through, illuminating her, revealing shards of the truth, like gold glittering in the sand.
“Did . . . do you know my parents?” He wasn’t sure what tense to use.
“I knew them. Years ago,” she said.
Another lie. He sat up straighter. Linda Downey knew the truth about him, he was sure of it. He would find a way to get it from her, no matter how awful it was.
“If you’re my guardian, how come I’ve never heard of you?”
“I became your guardian after your parents died. I . . . I travel a lot and I wanted something stable for you. So Genevieve LeClerc agreed to foster you.”
“But who were my parents?” Seph persisted. “What were their names? Where did they live? How did they die? Do I have other family?” It was a cascade of questions, the questions of a lifetime.
She ran her tongue over her lips. “Surely Genevieve told you all that. Your father . . . was a software engineer. There was a fire.”
“Don’t give me that fairy tale. I’m just a made-up person. My birth record is a fake. There is no news story about a fire. No Social Security death records. I’m not stupid.”
“No one ever said you were.” She kept her eyes on the road, as if it would be dangerous to look at him. “The truth is, I can’t tell you what you want to know. So don’t ask me any more.” Her tone was sharp, her knuckles white against the steering wheel. There was a brief, strained silence. Then she went on.
“I placed you with Genevieve when you were a baby, because I knew she would take good care of you. You liked it there, didn’t you?” The question came in a rush, a plea for reassurance.
“I liked it there.” Seph looked out the window. “I loved Genevieve.”
“I guess I haven’t done so well the past two years. You see ...my nephew was in trouble, and ...well ... I got distracted. There’s been a lot going on. Houghton assured me that you were doing well. Until he called me about the e-mail.” Her voice trailed away.
“Where are we headed, anyway?”
“A town called Trinity. It’s in Ohio, on Lake Erie. A co
llege town.”
“Trinity, Ohio.” Jason had mentioned that name. An image surfaced. Barns and silos. From the forest primeval to the Midwestern farm. He tried not to make a face. It hurt to make a face.
Anywhere is better than where I came from, he told himself. Just then he wanted to burrow into the Midwest, to pull the farmland of Ohio over himself like a blanket.
“Why Trinity?” he asked. “Is there another school there?”
“My sister lives there. Plus, it was designated as a sanctuary after the tournament at Raven’s Ghyll.”
Right. Jason had said something about a sanctuary, “in Ohio, of all places.”
“Why a sanctuary?” “There’s a lot going on,” she said again, as if that explained anything.
“Are there any wizards in Trinity?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes, I know of at least two, and there are probably more. Why do you ask?”
“I need more training.”
She nodded. “I suppose your lack of training is my fault. Genevieve was . . . was wonderful, but not very approving of wizards.” She nodded again, as if confirming some unspoken thought. “Yes, I imagine we can find someone in Trinity to train you.”
“Good.” He leaned back and closed his eyes, but he could still feel the pressure of her gaze.
“If you feel up to it, why don’t you tell me what happened at the Havens.”
He kept his eyes closed. “I really don’t feel up to it.”
She fell silent. She had secrets, so did he. Gregory Leicester’s threat lingered in the back of his mind. It might be that the only person to tell this story to would be the Dragon. Someone powerful enough to put it to use.
Linda Downey had saved his life, and for that he was grateful. If she wanted more than that, she’d have to earn his trust.
Late that evening, Gregory Leicester sat at the end of the dock, leaning against the cold metal of the boatlift. Not even the loveliness of the spring evening could soothe him. He was drinking Courvoisier again, and more than usual.
The Heir Chronicles: Books I-III Page 49