The Enchanter Heir thc-4

by Cinda Williams Chima

  Gabriel rubbed at his stubble of beard and turned to Jonah. “Now,” he said. “Tell us about Jeanette.”

  Jonah kept the report short and matter-of-fact.

  “But, I still don’t get it,” Rudy said, when Jonah had finished. “Why would they kidnap Jeanette? She’s retired. She lives—lived—on that farm in Massachusetts.”

  “They were interrogating her about weapon development at Thorn Hill,” Jonah said.

  “Thorn Hill!” Gabriel’s head snapped up. “What about Thorn Hill?”

  “You know the wizard line—that Thorn Hill was a terrorist camp, and the massacre was some kind of an accident,” Jonah said. “Now they’re looking for some of that terrorist expertise. To fight back against Madison Moss, they claim.”

  “Who’s Madison Moss?” Thérèse asked.

  Jonah stared down at his hands, biting his lip to keep from speaking his mind. We should know this stuff, he thought. We’re Gabriel’s key operatives. We have to navigate this world whether we like it or not.

  “She’s the young lady who holds the Dragonheart,” Gabriel said. “The source of power for Weir magic. It gives her the ability to cut off the spigot of power. It’s completely changed the relationships among the mainline guilds.”

  “In other words, it’s reduced the power of wizards,” Jonah said. “And they don’t like that. Amazing she’s survived Sthis long.”

  “The good news is, I don’t think Ms. Moss wants to control anybody,” Gabriel said. “She is, shall we say, a reluctant despot. On the other hand, Rowan DeVries is on the Interguild Council.”

  “So the person who murdered Jeanette is on the council?” Mike snorted. “These are the good guys?”

  Try and find a good wizard, Jonah thought. Betcha can’t.

  Jonah finished relaying what he’d seen and heard in the mansion on the Thames. “Even in private, Longbranch, DeVries, and the others kept to the script, claiming that the massacre was something we did to ourselves.”

  “I’m sure some wizards actually believe that,” Gabriel murmured.

  “But if the Black Rose engineered it, and Rowan’s father, Andrew DeVries, was in charge—” Jonah began.

  “Rowan DeVries was just a little older than you when Thorn Hill happened,” Gabriel said. “Frankly, it’s unlikely that the wizards who kidnapped Jeanette were involved in the Thorn Hill disaster.”

  Here we go again, Jonah thought. Gabriel will diffuse blame and keep us from going after the real villains.

  “They mentioned the Anchorage,” Jonah said. “But they didn’t seem to think we were much of a threat, and didn’t want to tangle with you.”

  “Good,” Gabriel muttered. “At least they’re not blaming us.”

  “Well, not yet,” Jonah said. “But that could change. Now they’re finding clues with the mainliner dead: nightshade flowers, scattered over the bodies.”

  “Nightshade!” Gabriel levered out of his chair and stalked to the window as six slayers reflexively grabbed for their amulets. “My God.”

  “So someone is trying to blame it on us,” Mike said.

  “Who would do that?”

  “I don’t know,” Gabriel said, staring out through the glass. “Did the wizards connect that to us? Or mention any other clues around the bodies?”

  “No,” Jonah said. Nightshade was hiding in plain sight, just an hour away from mainliner headquarters at Trinity.

  Most mainliners had heard of the Anchorage, of course, but they didn’t know anything about the existence of Nightshade and its targets.

  I wish we didn’t know, Jonah thought, fingering his sefa.

  I wish we could just throw away these amulets and pretend that shades don’t exist.

  “How did they find Jeanette?” Gabriel asked, in a low, tight voice. “Do you know?”

  All of a sudden Gabriel cares, Jonah thought. When it seems like the Anchorage might be a target. “If they talked about it, it was before I arrived. But it couldn’t have been too hard. It’s not like she was hiding.”

  “Did you leave any witnesses? Anyone who could identify you?”

  “No. Longbranch and Wylie are dead. DeVries left before I came out of cover.” Jonah paused, then plunged on. “I should have riffed him, too.”

  Gabriel spun away from the window, visibly agitated.

  “That’s the last thing we need right now,” he snapped.

  “What are you afraid of, Gabriel?” Jonah demanded.

  “First, wizards tried to murder us. Now they pretend that it was our fault. The other mainliners treat us like—like—we Sshould be going after them.”

  Natalie rested her hand on Jonah’s shoulder. “I know you’re upset at what happened to Jeanette,” she murmured.

  “We all are.”

  “I’m more than upset,” Jonah hissed. “Upset is what happens when you lose your cell phone. You’re upset when you break a string on your favorite guitar.”

  Gabriel stood over Jonah, glowering down at him. “You agreed to the mission when you came here, remember?”

  “That was ten years ago!” Jonah retorted. “I was seven years old. Maybe we should think about changing the mission.”

  “You always have the option to leave,” Gabriel said. “I never said I wanted to leave.” Jonah tried to get his anger under control. “Anyway, I wouldn’t want to leave Kenzie behind.”

  “Then you need to follow the rules that protect us all,”

  Gabriel said flatly, returning to his seat. Pulling a bottle out of his desk drawer, he popped two pills into his mouth and swallowed them dry.

  “Gabriel,” Mike began hesitatingly, “why Jeanette? If they want to find out how the poisoning was done, shouldn’t they be talking to wizards?”

  “Wizards aren’t that good with material magic,” Gabriel said. He flipped the shiv, catching it by the hilt again. “But . . .” Alison looked lost. “You always said—”

  “Though wizards would have planned the operation, it would have been sorcerers who developed and compounded the poison,” Gabriel said.

  They all stared at him.

  “Why haven’t you told us that before?” Jonah said finally.

  “I thought it was obvious.” Gabriel shrugged. “That’s the role of sorcerers—compounding medicinals and the like.”

  “Why would sorcerers collaborate with wizards?” Alison said, grimacing like she had a bad taste in her mouth.

  “They may have been forced to do it. Perhaps they didn’t know what the intended use was.” Gabriel ran the edge of the dagger along his thumb, and blood welled up. He watched it drip onto the desk, as dispassionate as if it were someone else’s. Given the drug regimen he was on, he probably didn’t even feel the wound.

  “Shouldn’t we find the survivors ourselves, then?” Jonah said. “Before they do? Or confront the Black Rose, head-on?”

  “We can’t afford to draw attention to ourselves. Not right now.”

  “If not now, when?” Jonah exploded, his frustration and exhaustion getting the better of him again. “What the hell

  kind of evidence do you need? Wizards kidnapped Jeanette, they tortured her, and then they murdered her. Now they’re trying to track down survivors from the Thorn Hill Massacre so they can figure out how to do it again!”

  “Was the word ‘massacre’ mentioned?” Gabriel said quietly. “I think you’re jumping to conclusions.”

  “What do you need, a signed confession?”

  “Jonah,” Gabriel said. “If mainliners are dying, if the clues left with the bodies point directly at us, that means that someone knows enough about us to frame us. How long do you think it will take others to make that connection? Or for the framer to lead them to it?”

  “They’re not blaming it on us! They seem to be blaming it on this Madison Moss.”

  “They’re not blaming it on us yet,” Gabriel said. “If we Sconfront them, they will. You don’t remember what it was like, but I do. When I established the Anchorage, mainliners viewed the
survivors of Thorn Hill like . . . like mad dogs. Like dangerous mutants who should be slaughtered before they hurt someone.”

  Gabriel’s words eerily echoed what Longbranch had said about the “labrats,” as she called them. It would have been cleaner to have dealt with them at the time.

  “So we don’t go after the Black Rose directly,” Jonah persisted. “If there are sorcerers out there who created those poisons, we find them. They could help us figure out how to treat the effects. Maybe they’d be eager to help.”

  “That’s a waste of time,” Gabriel said. “Do you really think that the Black Rose would leave their collaborators alive to tell tales?”

  “Looks like Longbranch, DeVries, and the others don’t think it’s a waste of time,” Jonah persisted. “Maybe they know something we don’t.”

  Gabriel just kept shaking his head.

  Jonah jackknifed to his feet. “They murdered Jeanette.

  Now we’re just going to sit here and do nothing until they come after us?”

  “Jonah,” Gabriel commanded, “Sit down. You’re out of control.”

  Jonah didn’t sit.

  “Anyway, we’re not doing nothing,” Gabriel said, an edge in his voice. “We’re going to upgrade our security and extend our eyes and ears.”

  “So we’re going to hide in our bunkers like we’re guilty?”

  Jonah demanded.

  Gabriel surged to his feet, “I know you’re tired, and we’re all grieving for Jeanette, but I expect you to stay on task and on mission and to recognize no when you hear it.

  “Now,” Gabriel said, turning away. “I mean to do every thing in my power to avoid another Thorn Hill. We have no reason to think they’ll come here, if we don’t draw their attention. If what you said is true, and they don’t view us as much of a threat.”

  Why not? Jonah thought. Why aren’t we more of a threat? “If they’re planning a massacre, you can bet we’re not the targets, or at least we shouldn’t be,” Jonah said. “After all—if they wait a while, we’ll die off on our own.”

  He strode to the door and yanked it open, then turned to fire a parting shot. “You know what I think? I think you’re scared they’ll come after you. I think you’ve lost your nerve.” And he slammed out of the office.

  Chapter Six

  Kenzie

  Safe Harbor—the skilled care unit at the Anchorage—was homey in a warehouse kind of way, with exposed bricks and beams and battered wooden floors polished to a warm shine. Next to each of the “residences” was a brass nameplate. Permanent. Those who lived at Safe Harbor rarely ever moved to a different building.

  “Safe Harbor,” Kenzie liked to say. “Where nobody gets out alive.”

  Jonah came in through the back door—the one with the disabled alarm. He climbed the stairs to the second floor, only to find Kenzie’s room empty. Jonah swore softly. He’d hoped to find his brother at home. The tablet display outside his door said, I’m in the gym. Rescue me.

  So it was back down the stairs, toward the skylighted gymnasium. Residents at Safe Harbor generally used the specialized gym located in their own building, since it was too hard to transport them to the main gym.

  Jonah heard raised voices, clear down the hall.

  “Kenzie, could you just give it a try.” The therapist sounded pissed. “We need to loosen up those tight muscles.”

  “Let’s not and say we did,” Kenzie said. “I’ll never tell.”

  “You know as well as I do that we need to stretch outthose legs. Now. Let me know if you feel any pain, all right?”

  When Jonah walked into the gym, he found Kenzie strapped into a chairlike device designed to stretch out his arms and legs. The therapist stood beside Kenzie, coaching him as she manipulated the levers. “Extend, then release. Extend, release. Keep breathing.”

  “That’s one I’m good at,” Kenzie gasped. “Breathing.” His red-brown hair was plastered down with sweat, so they must have been working out for a while.

  The therapist knelt beside the machine, adjusting the weight setting.

  Kenzie spotted Jonah. “Jonah! Thank God you’re here! They’ve got me on the rack again!”

  “It looks good on you, Kenzie,” Jonah said, brushing the damp hair off his brother’s forehead. “Let’s tighten up those screws a little, shall we? That will no doubt loosen your tongue.” Kenzie rolled his eyes. It was an old joke between them.

  “We’ll be another fifteen minutes,” the therapist said briskly, without looking up. “Shall I call you in when we’re finished?”

  Jonah knew most of the therapists, but he didn’t know this one. She seemed unimpressed with Kinlock humor.

  “I’ll take over,” Jonah said. “I’m an old hand at torture, and Kenzie’s my favorite victim.”

  Now she did look up. “Oh!” she said, and stood so quickly she nearly bumped her head on the equipment. S“I’m Jonah Kinlock. Kenzie’s brother.”

  “I—I’m Miranda,” the therapist said, her cheeks pinking up. “They told me about you. I’m . . . um . . . filling in for Julie. And . . . ah . . . I’m sorry if I—”

  “I’ve been away,” Jonah said, to put her out of her misery. “Has the treatment plan changed?” He touched the screen next to the machine and Kenzie’s chart came up. He scanned the progress notes. “Same PT and OT. What’s this mean, ‘minimal stimulation therapy’?”

  Miranda shifted from one foot to the other. “It’s something they’re discussing . . . a new treatment to dampen drug-resistant seizures and hyperkinesis.”

  “Hmm. How does that sound, Kenzie?”

  “Horrifying.”

  “My thoughts exactly. Do you have plans for him after this session?” Jonah asked. “Or can we go to the spa?”

  “The spa?” Miranda said uncertainly. “Well. He has group at seven.”

  “He’ll be back in plenty of time,” Jonah said.

  “This is the life,” Kenzie said, biting into a Cadbury’s Screme Egg, then squinting at it. “What’s this green stuff in here anyway?”

  “Guts,” Jonah said. “They already had their Halloween candy on display at Cadbury World. I guess it’s the next big chocolate holiday.”

  “Crunchy spider?” Kenzie said, offering a pouch of candy. “Or would you prefer a deadhead?”

  “I’ll stick with the truffles,” Jonah said, popping one into his mouth. “I’m too squeamish for the rest.”

  “Squeamish? You, who fight the zombielike walking dead on a daily basis?”

  “That’s exactly why I’m squeamish,” Jonah replied. “I don’t like to bring my work home.”

  The spa was a little-used oasis on the roof of Safe Harbor, including an all-weather pool, sauna, massage therapy area (by appointment), and the hot tub the Kinlock brothers were presently sharing—Jonah in his boxers and leather gloves, Kenzie wearing nothing but the waterproof earbuds Jonah had brought back from the UK. They’d spent the last hour eating chocolate and reminiscing about Jeanette.

  While Kenzie ate, Jonah studied him, looking for signs of deterioration or improvement. His brother was thin—all bones and brilliant eyes and a mop of red-brown hair. He burned so much energy that his caloric intake could never seem to keep up.

  Kenzie looked up and caught him staring. “This is the best invention ever,” he said, tapping his earbud. “Who is this?”

  “Manygoats,” Jonah said. “Navajo punk band. Hot in the UK right now.”

  “You know, leather and boxers is a good look for you,” Kenzie said. “Classic, yet just a big dodgy—”

  Jonah splashed him.

  “Hey!” Kenzie said, snatching his chocolate out of danger. “Respect the candy.” He stretched out his legs, allowing the churning water to support them. His body seemed relaxed, free of the electric, hyperkinetic movements that had plagued him all day long. It had taken the full hour to get to this point. “Let’s build a fort up here, and stay forever. Remember when we used to build forts?”

  “We never built forts,�
� Jonah said, leaning his head back Sand looking up at the stars. Steam rose up all around them, eddying in the wind off the lake.

  “We built forts,” Kenzie insisted. “In the jungles of Brazil. You saved me from a tiger.”

  “There are no tigers in Brazil, bro.”

  “A jaguar, then.”

  Jonah rolled his eyes.

  “Anaconda? ”

  “You just keep thinking, Kenzie,” Jonah said. “I haven’t saved anybody from anything so far.”

  “We did our best,” Kenzie said, “if you’re talking about Jeanette.”

  “You did your best,” Jonah said. “But apparently my best is not good enough,” Jonah said. “And it’s not just Jeanette. It’s a whole lot of things.”

  “You’re protecting the public,” Kenzie suggested.

  “Am I? It feels more like murder to me. Anyway, what do I care about the general public? They have no idea they’re being protected.” Sitting up a little, he sipped from his steaming mug of drinkable chocolate. “More?” He waggled the thermos.

  “I’m good,” Kenzie said.

  For a while, they said nothing, each lost in his own thoughts.

  “I’m going to write a symphony for Jeanette,” Kenzie said finally.

  “Good idea.” Jonah nodded. “Will you be wanting lyrics?”

  “Maybe. But it seems like we should do something more than write a song.”

  Jonah blotted condensation from his face with his fore arm. “I riffed Longbranch and Wylie. They’re the ones who kidnapped her.”

  “That’s not enough,” Kenzie said.

  “What—you want me to kill more people? Got anybodyin mind?”

  Kenzie rolled his eyes. “I do, but that’s me. Her death has to mean something. It has to make a difference. I keep thinking . . . what would Jeanette want? And I think what she would want is for us to fix this.” He waved his hand, spraying droplets over the roof.

  “Fix what?”

  “You know, save the children of Thorn Hill. This cannot stand. We need a plan.” He looked up at Jonah, his eyes bright with tears.

  “I know,” Jonah said, squeezing Kenzie’s shoulder. “We need a plan.”