The Heir Chronicles: Books I-III

by Cinda Williams Chima

  “I’m much better. Really.”

  Madison snorted.

  Jason groped for an argument. “Look, Maddie, if you call him, he’ll blame me for messing up and putting you in danger. One little thing he asked me to do, and I blew it. He’ll never trust me to do anything again. I’d rather you just shot me in the head.” He pressed his fingertips against his forehead for emphasis.

  She frowned. He could tell she was wavering.

  “Besides, if you call him, nothing will keep him from coming down here. Meanwhile, everything falls apart up there.”

  “Well,” she muttered, looking troubled, “we’ll see. If you take a turn for the worse . . .”

  He’d gotten to her. Jason smiled and closed his eyes and gave himself up to sleep.

  The next time, he awoke to find two huge yellow dogs crowded in bed with him, one on either side. “Hey,” he said weakly, shoving at the one with its head on the pillow breathing dog breath in his face. The dog opened its eyes and licked Jason’s face with an impossibly long black-and-pink tongue, then went back to sleep.

  Some time later, a solemn-faced little girl with straight brown hair set a tray on the floor next to him and sat down with a bump.

  “Where’s Madison?” he asked, drawing the sheet up over his bare, bandaged chest, squinting his eyes against the light that snuck between battered rafters overhead.

  “She had to go meet with her art teacher,” she said.

  This didn’t really process. What art teacher? “Who are you?”

  “I’m Grace Minerva Moss,” she said. “Maddie’s sister. I made you lunch. Grilled cheese and tomato soup,” she added, rather proudly. And, there, on the tray, was a paper plate with a slightly charred grilled cheese sandwich cut into two triangles, some saltine crackers, a mug of soup, a paper towel, and a can of root beer.

  He was lying on a mattress on the floor, surrounded by paintings on easels, some unfinished. He recognized them as Madison’s work. Heaving a pile of quilts aside, he tried to prop on his elbows but found his left arm was in a sling. So he rolled to his good side and sat up, raking his free hand through his hair. “Where am I?” he asked, when his head stopped spinning.

  “You’re in the barn. In the loft. Maddie’s studio. I had to help Maddie carry you up here. You’re real heavy, you know?” she added, accusingly.

  He groped at his neck, and his hand closed on the dyrne sefa, still on its chain. “Where’s my stuff? My clothes, I mean, and I had a backpack ....”

  Grace Minerva Moss pointed. He twisted round. His backpack was hanging on a peg on the wall. His clothes were folded in a little pile underneath. It was clean and tidy, for a barn, he guessed. His eyes traveled over the ranks of paintings.

  “Madison paints up here?”

  “Some. Plus everywhere else.”

  Grace snatched up the paper towel and dropped it on his lap. A hint. He picked up the grilled cheese sandwich and bit into it. It was gritty with carbon, but had that deliciously greasy processed-cheese taste. He was suddenly ravenous. “This is great,” he mumbled, his mouth full of bread and melted cheese. “Is anyone else home?”

  “Just my brother, J.R. And my mother. She’s still asleep.” Grace leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, “She doesn’t know you’re here.”

  Jason sucked down some soup, the comforting orangy canned stuff familiar from when he was a kid. Grace studied him, then extended her hand toward him, stopping a few inches away. “You’re all sparkly,” she said, looking puzzled. “Like Brice Roper.”

  Before he could respond, there was a scuffling below, then the sound of wood creaking. Jason stiffened, once again reaching for the dyrne sefa. A blond head poked up, as if through the floor.

  Grace tried to put herself between Jason and the intruder.

  “John Robert Moss! I told you to stay in the sandbox.”

  It was a little boy—Jason wasn’t good with kids’ ages— apparently the brother, J.R. The boy hauled himself up through the floor and turned and sat with his legs dangling through the hole. His face was smudged and dirty, and he wore blue jeans rolled to fit. “What are you doing up here? Who’s that man?” he asked, pointing at Jason.

  “Nobody,” she said furiously. “You shouldn’t be in the barn at all. You know the hay gives you welts. Go away!” Jason thought for a moment she might poke him right back down the hole like a gopher in a cartoon.

  “I want a grill-cheese sandwich,” J.R. howled, seeing the last of Jason’s disappear. J.R. did, indeed, seem to be breaking out in red blotches all over his face, whether from hay or rage, Jason didn’t know.

  “You already had lunch, and I . . .” Grace began, but stopped, frowning, head tilted. Then Jason heard it, too, the crunch of gravel as someone drove into the yard.

  “Maybe Maddie’s back,” she said doubtfully. “But she said it wouldn’t be until real late.” She stood and carefully circled around the trapdoor to the window on the far end. She peered out, then looked back at Jason. “It’s a blond-haired man, all sparkly, like you.”

  Jason didn’t need to look to know it was Warren Barber. And he didn’t need to think about it to know that a magical duel would be no contest at all, considering the shape he was in. He wished he had the Dragonheart. A machine gun. Something.

  Bam! Bam! Bam!

  Grace was still watching through the window. “He’s on the porch, pounding on the door. He looks like he’s mad.”

  Jason staggered to his feet and nearly fell. He gripped the wall for support, and wondered how he would manage the stairs. “Is there a back door? Can we get out of here without being seen from the house?”

  Grace shook her head. “There’s a ravine. It drops to Booker Creek behind here. The barn door faces the porch.” She squinted through the glass. “Mama’s come out on the porch. She won’t be happy to be woke up.” She watched a minute longer, then said, “They went in the house, him and Mama.”

  Just let him look around and leave, Jason prayed. Just let Mama keep her mouth shut and not mention Madison. Can’t I be lucky, for once?

  “You two go on, get out of here,” Jason said to the kids. “Just run as far as you can out into the woods and stay there until someone comes to get you.”

  “Is that man after you?” Grace asked. “Is he the one that hurt you?”

  “Yes. Now, go on.” Jason slumped back down onto the mattress and put his head between his knees, trying hard not to barf the grilled cheese and soup. He was going nowhere. “I’ll hide up here. It’ll be easier if it’s just me.”

  Grace folded her arms and tapped her foot in a familiar, stubborn way. Just like Maddie. “He’ll look in here for sure.”

  “Will you go, already? If you stay here, you’ll give me away,” Jason said.

  “I promised Madison I’d take care of you,” Grace said. She looked out of the window again. “He’s coming.”

  Jason swore under his breath. Even if he made himself unnoticeable, there was convalescent crap all over the place. It was very obviously a sick room, just what Warren Barber would be looking for. Barber’d be expecting an unnoticeable charm after what had happened in the woods. Maybe he’d even brought glitter powder along to ferret Jason out.

  Jason slid himself back into a corner, gripping the sefa. “Come here,” he said to Grace and J.R. “Squeeze in next to me. I can hide all of us with magic.” He tried to sound confident, but who even knew if it would work, sick as he was?

  “Magic?” Grace rolled her eyes. “There’s no such thing. I’m not stupid.” She looked from Jason to J.R., her brow furrowing in thought. “I know!” A smile broke, the first he’d seen on her. She turned to her brother. “J.R.! Get in that bed. Pretend you’re asleep.”

  With two older sisters, it seemed J.R. was used to taking orders. He slid obediently under the quilts. By now his eyes were swollen to slits and he was scratching himself vigorously.

  “Hide,” Grace said to Jason.

  Great. She thinks we’re playing hide-and-see
k. “Hand me that backpack,” he whispered. “Then keep still and maybe he won’t come up.”

  She handed him the backpack and sat down on the mattress next to J.R., waiting. Jason fumbled the zipper open and groped inside until he found the dagger he’d brought from Trinity, seemingly a century ago. Sliding the blade from its sheath, Jason gripped the knife in his good hand, crouched back in his corner, and murmured the unnoticeable charm. Maybe he’d be lucky, for once.

  “Hey,” J.R. said in a stage whisper, peeking out from under the blanket. “Where’d he go?”

  Grace clapped her hand over his mouth. “Hush!”

  Hinges screeched as the barn door opened beneath them. He could hear Barber walking back and forth below, cursing violently, kicking stuff out of the way. Jason held his breath. Then he heard the stairs creak as they took Barber’s weight.

  No. He couldn’t be lucky, not even once. He gathered his legs under him. Maybe the kids would distract Barber long enough to give him a chance. It was a magical dagger, after all. Maybe a scratch would do the trick.

  Grace gestured frantically at Jason. “You have to hide better than that! He’s going to see you.”

  Jason’s overtaxed brain struggled to make sense of it. He was unnoticeable, he was sure of it. Unless, in his debilitated state ...

  Barber’s head and shoulders appeared through the opening in the floor. He was trying to look everywhere at once, obviously anticipating an attack.

  “Hi,” Grace said promptly. “Are you Howie? I didn’t think you were coming.”

  Startled, Barber raised his hands to throw a charm, almost losing his balance and falling backward down the steps. Which would’ve been great. But he caught himself and said, “What the . . . who the hell is Howie?”

  “The new sitter. He was supposed to come today. I told Mama I could baby-sit my brother all by myself.” She pointed at J.R. “He’s sick. We’re playing hospital. Want to play?”

  “No, I don’t want to play,” Barber growled. His clothes were dirty and torn, and he was scratched and scraped up, like he’d been searching through the woods for several days. “I’m going to have a look around.” He heaved himself to his feet. “You seen any strangers around here?”

  “You mean, besides you?”

  Jeez, Jason thought, don’t antagonize him.

  Barber glared at her for a minute, then kind of relaxed, as if he figured she was too young to be an actual smart-ass. “Yeah, besides me. I’m looking for a guy about my age, about my height, too, but thinner. Dark hair streaked blonde. He wears an earring.” Barber touched his earlobe, in case she couldn’t figure it out.

  “Why are you looking for him?” Grace asked.

  “I think he might be hurt. That’s why I’m looking for him. To help him.” Barber bared his teeth in his blood-curdling smile, pale eyes glittering with malice. He apparently took Grace Minerva for an idiot. He didn’t seem to notice Jason in his corner.

  “I haven’t seen anybody. We haven’t been allowed to go anywhere since my brother got sick, ’cause it’s catching.” Grace pretended to spoon soup into the pretending-to-sleep John Robert. Her hand shook a little.

  Barber stomped around the room, peering into the rafters, shoving aside farm equipment, and inspecting spaces too small for Jason to fit in. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a pouch, and dumped something into his palm. Glitter powder.

  Barber suddenly flung the powder into the wrong corner, and it floated down, shimmering in the shafts of sunlight. Revealing no one.

  “Hey,” Grace said uncertainly, glancing at the corner Jason was hiding in. “What’s that stuff?”

  Barber ignored her, continuing to stalk around the room, flinging powder. Just a little closer, Jason thought, and I’ll have you before you have me. Maybe.

  Barber paused before one of the paintings, studying it, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. Uh-oh, Jason thought. It was the inn at Second Sister, silhouetted against the dying sun, perched on the rocks overlooking Lake Erie. Site of the ill-fated conference. Barber frowned, as if trying to remember where he’d seen it before. “Who’s the painter?” he asked.

  “Me. Be careful that glitter stuff doesn’t get in the wet paint,” Grace said. “Now sit up, Johnny, so I can give you your medicine.”

  John Robert obediently sat up, and Barber got a good look at his swollen eyes and red welts.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Barber demanded, taking three steps back.

  “It’s real catching,” Grace said, pretending to daub John Robert with a rag.

  Barber looked horrified. “Why? What’s he got?”

  “Chicken pox.” Grace shrugged. “He was vaccinated and everything. I guess it itches like crazy. Mama says I’ll probably get it, too.”

  As if on cue, J.R. sneezed wetly.

  Barber retreated hastily to the steps, then took one last narrow-eyed look around the studio. “You sure you haven’t seen anyone?”

  “Mama won’t let anyone in, since we’re contagious,” Grace said importantly. “I’m real surprised she let you in.”

  Ha, Jason thought. He’d be glad to visit the chicken pox or any other plague on Barber after what he’d done to him. Maybe Leesha’d catch it from him.

  Barber couldn’t leave fast enough. Jason heard him descending the steps, banging out through the barn door, then his car starting up. Jason waited until the sound of the engine had died away before he slumped back against the wall, trying to gather enough strength to make it back to his makeshift bed.

  “That was lucky he didn’t see you,” Grace said, glaring at Jason. “Why didn’t you hide?”

  “Well, I ...”

  “Who are you talking to, Grace?” John Robert erupted out of the quilt. “Where did that man go?”

  Jason looked from Grace to John Robert, back to Grace. He disabled the unnoticeable charm. John Robert flinched back, but Grace didn’t react.

  Ah, Jason thought. Elicitors may be rare, but they come in bunches.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Arrivals and Departures

  After the trauma of lunchtime, Jason slept most of the afternoon. He half awoke twice to the sound of car engines— Madison’s mother leaving for work, and Madison arriving back home. He woke up a third time when she switched on the light.

  “Hey,” she said softly, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “How’re you doing?”

  “I’ve been better,” he said. He managed to sit up. One of the yellow dogs was sprawled across his feet. His chest wound had been seeping and his T-shirt was stuck to it. He pulled it away from his body, gritting his teeth at the pain. “You?”

  “I’m good,” she said, fussing with the bedclothes, smoothing them down. She wore faded blue jeans and an embroidered white cotton shirt and multiple necklaces looped around her neck. Her hair was pulled back into a loose braid, exposing long, dangly earrings.

  “So, Barber was here.” She had this way of getting right to the point.

  He nodded. “Grace saved the day. She was amazing. She’s not afraid of anything.”

  Madison nodded. “She’s fearless, all right. It’s scary sometimes.”

  “You never said she was an elicitor, too.”

  Madison froze in mid-fuss, her eyes fixed on the quilt. “What are you talking about? She is not.”

  “Madison. Hello. It’s me.”

  “She’s not,” she repeated, louder.

  “Have you told her?” When Madison said nothing, he shrugged. “Guess not. She doesn’t seem to know anything about magic.”

  She finally looked up at him, her eyes darkening to a deep-water blue. “She’s not in this.”

  “Yet.”

  “Never.” Madison was like a person who presses her thumb over the hole in the dike while the water gushes through all around her. “You can’t tell anyone.”

  “Maddie, it was just dumb luck that Barber didn’t figure it out when he was here.”

  “That’s why I have to stay out of this thing. To protect her.�
�

  Then, all of a sudden, she was crying. Tears streaked down her face and Jason cast about for something, anything to say. “Um, hey, listen, Madison, I . . .”

  “It’s been hell around here, you know that?” Her voice rose and the dog stirred and opened his eyes. “Last year, somebody was setting fires all over the county, and everybody blamed it on us, saying we’re witches. Kids were teasing Grace at school. Her best friend’s mother told her to stay away from her. It got vicious. When I left, that finally died down.”

  She sniffled a little and dabbed at her eyes. “I was happy in Trinity. Then Second Sister happened. I can’t get involved with this. If they find out about Grace . . . My family—they’re all I’ve got.”

  “And now I’ve brought Barber down here,” Jason said, thinking of Leesha. “I’m really sorry.”

  “Do you think he’ll be back?”

  Jason shrugged. “He’s probably just checking everywhere close. I doubt he’ll be back, unless he finds out you live here. That would be too much of a clue.”

  “It still says Booker on the mailbox,” Madison said. “Everybody knows who lives here, though.” She paused. “So. What does Barber want? What are you doing here?”

  I came to find out if you’re working for the Roses, Jason thought of saying. Or, I came to spy on you. Or, I came to drag you back to Trinity, willing or not. Not that he was in any condition now to do that.

  So of course he said none of those things. “Barber’s looking for the Dragonheart. I guess he thinks I have it.”

  “But you don’t.” She slid a sideways glance at him, trying to act casual. “Is it ...is it still in the church?”

  “Yeah,” he said. She still wants it, he thought.

  “Any luck using it? Figuring it out?”

  He shook his head. He thought of saying, No, the thing bites me every time I try and lay a hand on it. But he didn’t say that, either. He still had hopes. “We’ve got the rest of the stuff pretty much sorted.”

  They both fell silent, checking each other out like candidates for the same job.

  “So,” he said finally. “You met with your art teacher?”