The Wizard Heir

by Cinda Williams Chima

  Two people were sitting at the table, which had been pulled into the shadows in one of the corners. The one closest to Seph was Hastings. He couldn’t tell who the other person was, so he propped up on his elbows, peering through the gloom. Somehow it still seemed awkward to claim the relationship with Hastings, to call him anything other than his name, so he said, “Hastings?” out loud.

  “He lives,” the other one said, laughing softly. The voice and the laugh were familiar, and Seph knew he was either dead or dreaming, because he was never going to hear that voice again. The owner of the voice rose and crossed the room to him and stood silhouetted against the light, looking down at him.

  “Hey, Clueless,” he whispered, the light catching the gold at his right ear. “You been working out or what? I think you’ve grown.”

  Impossible. It was impossible. “Jason?” Seph said it louder than he intended, and Jason Haley put his finger to his lips.

  “Careful. Don’t want to draw the alumni to this reunion. They’d spoil it for sure.” He grinned crookedly. Jason’s hair had grown out somewhat, still ragged where it had been spiked. There was just a suggestion of bleach at the tips. Wherever he’d been since leaving the Havens, he’d been unable to maintain his usual style. He was wearing faded jeans and a sweatshirt. He seemed thinner than Seph remembered, although somehow more alive, as if the flesh had been pared away to let the spirit burn brighter.

  “Leicester said you were dead,” Seph whispered, as seemed appropriate in speaking to a ghost.

  “As far as he knows, I am.” Jason sat down on the edge of the cot. Seph pushed himself into a sitting position and embraced Jason.

  Jason patted his back awkwardly. “Hey, anybody ever tell you that you look like your old man?”

  “What happened? How did you get away?” Seph released Jason and leaned back against the wall, waiting for an explanation that would convince him it was true.

  Jason gazed out into space. “To say I got away would be stretching a bit. They got me at the Weirweb. They’d changed the configuration of the barrier, so my counter-charms didn’t work.” He paused, apparently editing, picking and choosing what he shared with Seph. “Leicester must’ve decided that a drowning was easiest to explain. So when they were done ...ah ... talking to me, they took me to the cove.”

  Seph shuddered. Ever since his dream about the boathouse, the experience of drowning was never far away.

  Jason went on, speaking in short, economical phrases. “Fortunately, Leicester didn’t disable me. Guess he wanted to see me kick and struggle. They held me under water. I fought them for a while, and then I used the dyrne sefa to step away. I looked good and dead, but didn’t even suck in any seawater. They ‘found’ the body, called my stepmother with the bad news, and shipped me out the next day in a body bag.”

  “We never heard anything,” Seph said quietly. “You just disappeared. I thought you got away, until Leicester told me.”

  “I split at the airport, scared a few people when I unzipped.” He grinned. “Had to wipe a few minds clean on that one. Then I went home to square things there, keep the family from calling the Havens when my body didn’t show up.” He shook his head. “Thank God for the Anaweir. You never have to explain anything to them if you don’t want to.

  “I called Sloane’s, but they said you’d left school, that you were with your guardian. I thought they’d killed you.

  “Then I looked up this hacker friend of mine from high school. The Dragon was posting messages on the Web at the time—secrets, coded messages, that kind of thing. I asked my friend to track it down, get a location on the machine the stuff was coming from.”

  Jason grinned. The next thing I know, your father here tracked me down. He put his wizard hands around my throat, wanting to know who I’m working for, and why I’m so damned interested in the Dragon.”

  Hastings shrugged, a slight smile on his face. Even after a night’s sleep, he still looked pale and tired. The torc around his neck was nearly black, like a piece of silver exposed to the elements.

  “Of course, I’d heard of Leander Hastings. Everyone has. It wasn’t easy convincing him not to kill me. I told him all about the Havens, what Gregory and the gang were up to, showed him the portal and how it worked. Naturally, he was real interested once he was persuaded I wasn’t on the other side.”

  “That’s why you knew about the alumni,” Seph said, looking at Hastings. “And you weren’t surprised when I showed you the portal stone at the Legends.”

  Hastings nodded. “I assumed you were working for Leicester until I found out Jason had been helping you. After our conversation at the Legends, I asked Jason about you and confirmed that you were telling the truth.”

  “And you let me keep thinking Jason was dead?” Seph shook his head in disbelief.

  Hastings hesitated. “It’s important that Leicester and the alumni not find out that Jason is alive.”

  “Now, let’s see what the old bastard did to you,” Jason said, changing the subject. Reluctantly, Seph extended his right hand. Jason examined it gently, turning it over, being careful of the injured fingers. “He gave you a witch’s hand, Seph,” he said softly.

  “Witch’s hand? What are you talking about?” Seph pulled his hand back.

  “Three middle fingers, all the same length. Old Magic. Witch’s hand,” Jason said solemnly.

  Just then, they heard the rattle of the bolt on the door sliding back, and Jason went unnoticeable as it opened. It was Martin Hall and Bruce Hays.

  Martin was carrying a breakfast tray. He set it down on the table. “How was the wine?” he asked Hastings.

  “Perfect,” the wizard replied, indicating the empty bottle by the door. “My compliments.”

  Martin looked pleased. He took off his glasses, polished them on his shirt, returned them to his face. “Not too much berry?”

  “Perfect,” Hastings said again.

  “Enjoy your breakfast,” Martin said. “I’ll bring another bottle tonight. The other guests will be arriving tomorrow night, so I’ll be pretty busy after that,” he said, almost apologetically. The alumni left, and they heard the bolt slide back into place. They sat quietly for a moment, to be sure they were gone, and then Jason reappeared.

  Seph and Hastings ate at the table, while Jason sat on one of the cots. Jason didn’t eat much before he set his plate on the floor. He rose, pacing back and forth like a tiger in a cage.

  “So what are you doing here?” Seph asked, pushing his plate away. He was finding that eating with his left hand was awkward. He had eaten his muffin without butter because he didn’t think he could handle the knife, and he didn’t want to ask for help. “How did you get in here? Are you just visiting the prisoners, or what?”

  Jason stopped pacing. There was another exchange of glances with Hastings.

  “Your father and I have been working together,” Jason said. Seph felt a twinge of jealousy that Jason had this shared experience with his father. “When they brought him here, I hitched a ride.” He hesitated, looking at Hastings again, as if for permission to go on.

  Hastings nodded. “Although we don’t know exactly what the plan is, Jason and I are going to do what we can to ruin it. The first thing we’re going to do is get you out of here.” He gestured, indicating their surroundings.

  “What do you mean?” Seph looked from one to the other.

  “We don’t want them searching the island for you. It’s just too small,” Jason said. “So the thing is, we’ll have to kill you.”

  Martin noticed something different as soon as he entered the cellar. It was emptier, somehow, and deadly quiet. Before he stepped farther into the room, he waited until his eyes adjusted to the dim light along the borders of the chamber. He finally made out two recumbent forms on the cots. No one rose to greet him, however.

  He carried the lunch tray to the table and set it on the floor so he could remove the breakfast dishes. Bruce Hays remained by the door. He didn’t like playing waiter, but M
artin didn’t mind. In fact, he considered it a privilege to serve the Dragon. He transferred lunch to the table and the breakfast dishes to the tray.

  “It’s lunchtime!” he cried. He’d brought soup and he didn’t want it to get cold.

  Hastings spoke without moving. “I don’t care for any,” he said quietly.

  “What about Seph?” Martin gestured at the other cot.

  “He won’t need any, either.” Hastings paused. “Not anymore. The boy is dead.”

  Martin stood frozen for a moment. “What are you talking about?” he demanded. Bruce Hays warily took a step into the room, as if anticipating an attack. Martin crossed to Seph’s cot. Seph lay on his back, his face waxy and pale against the sheets, hair tumbled dark against the pillow, his bandaged hands folded, a still life. Martin shoved his fingers under Seph’s chin, feeling for a pulse. There was none, and he was cold to the touch. Even in the dim light, Martin could see the bruising at the base of his neck.

  Martin could scarcely speak. He’d liked Seph, he’d always liked him. And he’d enjoyed Leander Hastings, someone with power and a knowledge of and appreciation for good wine. Now all was ruined.

  He sat back on his heels. “Go get Dr. Leicester,” he said to Bruce Hays, who was still hovering by the door.

  Hays hesitated. “You shouldn’t stay in here alone with . . .” He didn’t finish.

  Martin shook his head impatiently. “Just get him.”

  Bruce shrugged and left, bolting the door behind him.

  “How could you?” Martin asked, staring down at Seph’s face. “He was your son.”

  Hastings said nothing.

  They heard a fumbling at the door, someone in a hurry. It swung open and Gregory Leicester stalked in, followed by Bruce Hays, Warren Barber, and Peter Conroy. Hastings sat up and waited, hands on his knees.

  Without looking at Hastings, Leicester knelt next to Seph’s cot and ran his fingers over him, felt for a pulse, lifted his eyelids, touched the blueblack fingerprints at the base of his neck. He shook his head, his face a mask of anger.

  “Not so tender after all, are we, Hastings?” The wizard spat the words out, and stood.

  “I thought he was restrained,” Warren Barber said, his voice rising. “I thought he couldn’t do anything.”

  “It’s not that hard to kill a boy,” Hastings said, as if from experience. “Restrained or not.”

  “I would have expected you would find it hard to kill this boy,” Leicester said. “I guess I was wrong.” There was a grudging admiration in the flat gray eyes. “Now your Achilles heel is gone, much good it will do you now. But why come all this way to kill your son, when we would have done it for you?”

  Hastings shook his head. “No. I came to ransom him, remember? And you reneged on the deal. He was frightened of what lay ahead of him. He asked me to save him from it and I did.” He met Leicester’s eyes without remorse. “I spoke a few words over him, but could we get him a priest?”

  Leicester shook his head. “His immortal soul is your problem, Hastings, since you saw fit to free it.”

  “Then let me take care of the body, at least,” Hastings countered.

  Leicester hesitated, shaken by the loss of his hostage. Martin wondered if the headmaster would decide that now was the time to kill Hastings, before the conference started. No matter how powerful Hastings was, he knew they could do it, all of them together, the way Leicester used them before.

  But no. Dr. Leicester had other plans. He looked at Hastings, but spoke to the others in the room. “Hastings has proven himself to be dangerous, despite his restraints. Now that the boy is dead, I think we’d better chain him to the wall. Bruce and I will see to it. Warren, you and Martin and Peter take the body, weight it down, and throw it in the lake. We don’t want it resurfacing while our guests are here.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Second Sister

  Warren Barber wished Leicester had assigned someone else to the task of disposing of Joseph’s body. Perhaps Leicester didn’t trust Hall or Conroy not to do something foolish and sentimental. Like what? Saying a Rosary over the corpse? The kid was dead, after all.

  They’d carried the body down the path, through the woods past the grove to the far side of the island, where a low cliff descended directly into deep water. It was as far as possible from the dock and winery complex. Although the body wasn’t heavy, it made a long and awkward package, difficult to maneuver through the undergrowth and over the uneven terrain. They were hot, sweaty, and exhausted when they finally set their burden down at the edge of the cliff.

  Now what to use for weight. They’d brought a coil of rope along but couldn’t find anything suitable at the top of the cliff. Then Warren remembered the concrete blocks that had been used in the restoration work. “Go get a couple of those cinder blocks from the back of the winery,” he ordered the other two. “One for his head and one for his feet. I’ll keep an eye on Joseph, here.”

  “Why do we have to go?” Conroy whined, smacking at a mosquito.

  Hall stood over the corpse like he was ready to pick a fight. “We’ll stay with Seph. You go.” He’d been sullen and uncooperative all the way across the island. Warren hadn’t forgotten that Hall had pulled a knife on him at Christmas when Warren had gotten into it with McCauley.

  Warren sighed and rolled his eyes. “Look, idiots, he’s not going anywhere. We’ll all go. We can get something cold to drink while we’re down there.” They dragged Seph’s body into the underbrush next to the cliff face, and headed back toward the winery building.

  They returned forty-five minutes later, each carrying a block. Cutting two lengths of rope, they threaded them through the concrete and tied them securely. But when they went to retrieve the body, it was gone. Warren searched the underbrush in all directions, just to make sure.

  “D-do you think some kind of animal dragged him away?” Peter asked. Sweat rolled down his fat face, and he took a puff from his inhaler.

  “How the hell should I know?” Warren said peevishly. “Do I look like Tarzan?”

  “I don’t think there’s anything that big around here.” Martin had this earnest look on his face, like they were discussing some remotely interesting topic. “Coyotes and eagles and ospreys, maybe.”

  For a moment, the only sound was the wind in the trees and Peter’s wheezing. Then Warren said, “Look, not a word about any of this to Leicester. I’m not catching hell for losing a corpse. The story is, we threw McCauley in the lake. Understand?”

  Hall and Conroy nodded, wide-eyed.

  Seph came awake with a start, aware only of someone hovering over him. He swung out awkwardly with his fist, and his wrist was captured in a tight grip. “You’ll be sorry if you punch me with that hand,” Jason told him. When Seph relaxed, he released him. “About time you rejoined the living.”

  Seph lay in a muddle of blankets on a dirt floor. At first he thought he was still in the cellar, since the walls and ceiling of the room were made of stone. But light trickled in from an unseen source around a corner, and cool, moist air brushed his face. He sat up.

  He was in a cave that had been made over into living quarters. Cans and boxes of food were stacked against the wall, and a Coleman stove stood in one corner. Clothing was piled on top of a wooden crate, out of the dirt. Three large kerosene lamps lined the perimeter. Books and more boxes were heaped to the rear.

  “Nearly as posh as your old room at the Havens,” Seph said.

  Next to him, in contrast with the rest of the mess, was a neatly rolled bedroll, with a Cincinnati baseball cap on top.

  “Good morning, Witch Boy.”

  He turned so quickly, he slammed his elbow against the wall of the cave.

  “Madison!”

  She was dressed in a man’s shirt and blue jeans rolled at the bottoms. Her hair was caught back in a rubber band, and a red bandana was knotted at her neck. That was all he had time to see, and then she threw her arms around him. “Don’t you ever scare me like th
at again, or I’ll have your hide off in little bits,” she said.

  “Scare you?” He gripped her shoulders, holding her out for inspection. “Scare you? You disappeared. What happened to you? Where’ve you been?”

  “What happened to your hand?” She pulled his gauze-wrapped hand closer for inspection. “You treat me like I’m helpless, but you ...”

  He heard Jason’s voice from behind him. “Will you two stop flirting? You’re making me feel like three’s a crowd. Not that I don’t approve. If you’re going to wash ashore on an island, best to bring a woman along.”

  Maddie gave him the eye. “For . . . ?”

  Seph rubbed his elbow. “I’m serious. How did you and Jason find each other?”

  Maddie sat back and wrapped her arms around her knees. “After you left me in that hiding place, a half dozen witch men started poking around, so I had to sneak away. I saw them grab you, but there was nothing I could do against all of them.

  Jason sprawled onto a pile of blankets. “I found your friend here creeping up on the castle after I left you last night. And wasn’t I surprised to find out she could see unnoticeable me. I figured out who she was, based on Hastings’s description. So I invited her to be my guest in the villa, here.” He rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t easy to convince her. What were you thinking, Seph, taking up with a vampire who sucks magic from innocent wizards?”

  “I don’t trouble the innocent,” Madison drawled. “Keep your magic to yourself and we’ll get along.”

  “Where are we?” Seph whispered. He felt stiff and sore all over, and he was all scraped up, as if he’d been dragged through brambles. “What happened?”

  Jason grinned. “The portal stone worked like, well, like a charm. Just like back in the cove. Cold blooded, really, a father killing his own son. If I didn’t know better, I’d’ve been crying, myself. Leicester was so pissed. You keep slipping out of his hands, one way and another. Dying and such. Leicester sent the guys to throw your body in the lake. I intercepted them.”