The Dragon Heir

by Cinda Williams Chima

  Seph straightened, as always, quick to defend his father. “Look, Leesha’s just not a priority for him. There’s not much she can do, not with the boundary up. She can’t use attack charms here.”

  “You don’t know her like we do,” Ellen said, scowling.

  “I know her well enough,” Seph said, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “We met in a club in Toronto. She slipped wizard flame in my drink.”

  “What?” Madison stared at Seph, suddenly more interested in the subject of Leesha. “I didn’t know that.”

  “She seems really scared,” Jason said.

  Everyone turned to look at him.

  “What? Don’t tell me you believe her.” Jack made an irritated sound. “Are you crazy?”

  “She says both Wizard Houses are after her,” Jason said, leaning against the brickwork around the fireplace. “And that they’ll kill her if she leaves the sanctuary.”

  “When did you have this little talk?” Jack rolled his eyes. “I mean, she just got here, and you’re already best friends?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Jason replied, looking mulish. “I ran into her by the desserts.”

  “You don’t just run into Leesha Middleton,” Fitch said. “I’ve found that out.”

  “Whatever.” Jason flipped his hand, dismissing the subject, and turned to Seph. “I’m hoping your dad’ll take me back to Britain with him. Maybe you could say something?”

  Seph shrugged. “I guess. I’ve barely had a chance to talk to him. I’ll probably see him tomorrow.”

  Jason pushed away from the wall. “Well, I’m going. I’m meeting some people.”

  “Hope it’s not Leesha,” Seph called after him, grinning. Jason batted the comment away with a rude gesture and disappeared around the corner.

  “I think I’ll go, too,” Madison said. Will and Fitch seemed comfortable enough, but these days she always felt edgy among Seph’s gifted friends—afraid the hex magic might suddenly surface and give her away.

  It’ll be better in the fall, she thought. He’ll be safe away at school. He’ll be away from this whole magical battle/siege mentality.

  He’ll be far away from me, she thought, and it felt like something was stuck in her throat that she couldn’t swallow down.

  “I’ll walk you home,” Seph said, standing and helping her to her feet, not giving her a chance to decline.

  When they arrived back at the inn, the parking lot was nearly full. It hadn’t been easy to get the night off for Jack’s party, and Madison hated to give up the tips.

  They circled around to the less-traveled side entrance. Seph followed her onto the porch. “Mind if I come in for a while?” he asked, looking down at her. His eyes darkened to a deep blue green.

  Seph had a way of watching her with those witchy eyes that made her stumble over words and into walls. He could suck all her breath away and set her heart hammering without so much as touching her. It was dangerous to be alone with Seph McCauley—not because of what he might do, but because of how she might react.

  “Well . . .” She hesitated. “For a little while,” she whispered, her resistance evaporating. She was weak, that was all there was to it. “We can go sit in the parlor,” she added primly. The parlor was a safely public place.

  “The parlor?” Seph raised an eyebrow. “I thought maybe we ...”

  “Come on,” she said. “We’ll have to be quiet or Rachel will kick us out.”

  Shaking his head, Seph followed Madison through the kitchen with its hulking commercial range and loaded pantry, crossed the center hall, and entered the parlor. The room was furnished with marble-topped Victorian tables and curved-back chairs, and lined with bookshelves. A cheerful fire burned on the hearth, and bottles of wine, a tea service, and trays of cookies were set out on the sideboard for guests of the inn. Rachel’s presence making itself felt.

  They settled into the chairs, side by side, like two nineteenth-century sweethearts in the presence of a chaperone. Seph covered her hand with his on the delicate armrest, brushing his thumb over her tingling skin. The hex magic within her uncoiled, alerted by his presence, and rippled into her extremities. Her pulse began to hammer and she slid a glance at him. How could he not notice?

  “Whoa,” he said, massaging his temples with his other hand. “I was fine earlier, but now I’m getting the mother of all headaches.”

  “Maybe you’ll be less busy this summer,” she suggested, withdrawing her hand as soon as she could and tugging at her shawl. “With ...with the boundary and all, I mean.”

  He stared moodily into the flames. “I don’t know. I can’t see things changing, unless they get worse.”

  “You should try and relax a little. Have a little fun before you go away to school.”

  Seph cleared his throat. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”

  “About what?”

  He took a deep breath, as if anticipating the battle ahead. “I’ve decided to put off Northwestern for awhile.”

  “What?” She twisted in her seat. “Why?” Like she had to ask.

  “What with everything going on and all. I just think it would be better if I stayed here.”

  “Who talked you into that? Nick? Your father?”

  He shifted his shoulders unhappily. “I decided on my own.”

  “I’ll just bet you did.” The words tumbled out, hard and furious.

  “We could see each other more. I thought you’d be happy.” He looked over at her, then away. “Guess not.”

  Madison hadn’t meant it to turn into a fight. Why couldn’t she talk to people about things without getting all raggedy mad? “I don’t see you now, and you’re right in town.”

  “Do you even want to see me?” He paused, and when she didn’t reply, he continued. “Ever since Second Sister, you’ve been ...different.” His voice broke with frustration. “It’s like ...you’re scared of me. You flinch when I touch you. It makes it really hard, okay?”

  Typical. Seph McCauley chose to confront the elephant in the parlor when she’d just as soon walk around it.

  Seph barreled on. “I know you can’t forget what happened last summer. At Second Sister. But it’s been six months. If you’d just talk about it, I think it would help.”

  He’d given her this tiny opening, an excuse for her crazy behavior, and she seized on it. “I’m trying to forget,” she said. “But I can’t. Those people getting burned up and ripped apart. And I know Leicester was . . . evil, but when you and Jason ...”

  “That’s not who I am, Maddie. Leicester tortured me for months.” He held up his maimed hand. “He did this to me. He killed Jason’s father, and I thought he’d killed mine.

  “I’m not saying you were wrong. Killing him, I mean.” Maddie stared down at her lap. “It’s my problem, not yours.” That part was the truth, anyway.

  “But it is my problem. Sometimes . . . the way you look at me, I think it’s going to be all right. And then . . . I never know, from day to day, where I stand. If I’ve been staying away from you, it’s because it’s too hard.” He reached out and touched her hand. “I miss you.”

  “I’m just . . . it’s hard for me, too.” She kept her gaze downcast, afraid to meet his eyes. “I need some space, okay? Can you just . . . give me some time?”

  “I don’t know how much time we have. I don’t know what’s going to happen.” When she said nothing, Seph went on. “It would be easier for me to go away, and then I wouldn’t have to see you all the time. But I have to stay. If we lose this war, we lose everything.”

  “I don’t see why winning the war is up to you.”

  “It’s not all up to me. But I have to help.” He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, the lashes dark against his bloodless skin. “I’m sorry, Maddie,” he whispered. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately. I don’t feel so well.”

  She pulled her hand free. It was happening again. His undiluted presence was having its usual effect. She could feel power rising inside h
er, coalescing under her breastbone. She was leaking magic, despite all her efforts to contain it. Like she had any idea how.

  She tried naming colors in alpha order, a trick from when she was little. Azure. Blue. Citrine. Dark Green. Eggplant. Fuchsia. But it was no good. Her skin flamed and her hands and arms tingled and burned. She knew what that meant.

  “Seph, listen, I better . . .” The telephone rang, somewhere close by. She heard running footsteps, Rachel’s business voice, “The Legends. Rachel Booker.”

  Moments later, Rachel appeared in the doorway to the parlor, extending the phone toward Madison. “It’s for you. Your mama.”

  Madison couldn’t very well refuse to speak to her mother, with Rachel standing right there. So she took the phone reluctantly. “Mama?”

  Carlene’s voice reverberated in her ear amid a cloud of static. “Madison? What’s wrong with the phone?”

  Madison struggled to control the power that threatened to pour out of her body. The static cleared.

  “Oh, Madison, honey, thank God. I’ve been trying to reach you for days. I don’t know what to do.” Her mother’s voice was thick with tears and several beers, if Madison was any judge. And she was.

  Madison sighed. “I’m kind of busy, Mama. What’s going on?”

  “They’ve took the kids.”

  “What do you mean? Who?”

  “Grace and John Robert. The county.”

  “The county’s took . . . taken Grace and J.R.? Why?”

  “You remember Sheila Ann White? She married Tom Harper but they’re separated now. She works at the bank and sometimes fills in at Charley’s.”

  Madison struggled to keep her voice in check, pulling patience from some unknown source. “What does Sheila Ann White Harper have to do with Grace and John Robert?”

  “I worked a double shift on Friday. She promised to watch the kids when she got off at the bank. But they called her into work at Charley’s and she forgot completely.”

  “Why didn’t you call off when Sheila Ann didn’t show?”

  “Well, see, I was already at work. She was coming to watch them for second shift.”

  “You left them home alone all day while you worked a double?” Madison’s voice rose.

  “Gracie is ten years old,” Carlene said defensively. “She can watch John Robert in the daytime.”

  I’ll bet the county doesn’t agree, Madison thought. “Didn’t Grace call you when Sheila Ann didn’t come?”

  “Well, we don’t exactly have phone service right now. I got behind in my payments again.”

  Madison sighed. “How did the county hear about it?”

  Long pause. “The shed caught fire.”

  No. It was happening again, and she wasn’t even there to be blamed. “How did the shed catch fire? Are things catching fire again? Did . . . did somebody set it?”

  “I don’t know. Brice Roper spotted the smoke and drove up there.”

  “Brice Roper?” Her insides twisted, knotted up. Suddenly, she was back at school, facing down Brice and his leering, jeering friends. “Right. I bet he just happened to see it. Probably sneaking around up there.”

  Another pause. “Well. He and his daddy took the kids into Coal Grove and turned them over to the county. I about went crazy when I came home and found them gone.”

  Madison looked up to find Seph watching her. She closed her eyes, wishing him gone. He didn’t need to hear this.

  She lowered her voice further. “When did all this happen?”

  “A week ago.”

  “A week ago!” Static crashed in her ear again and she held the phone at arm’s length, took a deep breath, let it out, brought it back to her ear. “Mama, where are they?” Madison pictured Grace and John Robert locked up in some kind of home for wayward kids. Grace would be having a fit. J.R. would cry.

  “They’re in foster care. There’s a hearing scheduled. I have Ray McCartney representing me. But, the thing is, he don’t think they’ll give the kids back to me.”

  “Why not?”

  “This ain’t the first time the county’s been out.” Carlene rushed on, so Madison couldn’t get a word in. “You know they’ve been hassling us ever since Min died. Ray wants you to come back for the hearing. He says they might let the kids go if the county knows you’ll be here to watch them.”

  “When’s the hearing?”

  “Next Thursday.”

  “Mama! I’m in school! Spring semester is just starting.”

  Carlene ignored this. “I’ve been trying to call you, but you never answer your phone. And I have to drive to town to call. Or use the phone at the Ropers.”

  Madison felt a rush of guilt, remembering how often she’d ignored the phone. She hadn’t even listened to the messages.

  “Listen. I’ll come for the hearing, but it’ll be Wednesday before I can get there.”

  “Thanks, honey. I know things’ll be fine once you’re here.” In the space of a few minutes, Carlene’s voice had gone from breathless panic to breezy confidence.

  Madison clicked off and stood clutching the receiver. During the course of the conversation, a weight had descended. A yoke of responsibility, familiar from the time she was small. The burden of making sure everything turned out all right.

  Seph was still there. He stood, a little shakily, using the back of the chair for support. “What happened?” he asked.

  “I have to go home. Family crisis.”

  “Can I help?”

  “No.” She didn’t really want to discuss her sad-assed family.

  Seph reached for her, she took a step back, and he dropped his hands. “Look, I’ll talk to my father. I think he’s planning to stay for a few more weeks, anyway. If he can help with the boundary, I’ll go with you.”

  Madison’s heart lurched in gratitude. She could really use a friend. It had been so long since she’d had someone on her side. Then she thought of Seph in Coal Grove, meeting Carlene and the rest. Seph, who’d been born to money and raised in Toronto and gone to school in Switzerland and spoke French like a native.

  No. Seph was her friend—more than a friend. Maybe they couldn’t be together, but she still didn’t want to look into his eyes and find embarrassment or pity.

  Besides, he seemed to be in charge of saving everybody else.

  “Thanks. I mean it, but I’d better handle this on my own.”

  Seph cleared his throat. “It might not be a good idea for you to leave the sanctuary by yourself.”

  Madison’s mind was already racing, cataloging all the things she had to do. Now it stumbled. “What? Why not?”

  “It’s just a bad time. Everyone’s trying to gain an advantage—D’Orsay, the Roses. Someone might have remembered what happened at Second Sister, and be looking for you.”

  So his concern for her had to do with wizards. Always wizards. Madison thrust her face into his. “Listen. I. Have. To. Go. I have no choice, understand?”

  He raised his hands, capitulating. “When will you be back?”

  “Not this semester, anyway. If I had to take a guess, I’d say I’ll be lucky to be back in the fall.”

  Seph frowned down at her. “You’re not serious. You’ve been working so hard to get to art school. And now you want to drop out of high school?”

  She turned away, rounding her shoulders against his questions. “Don’t worry. I’ll think of something. I’ll know more after I get down there.”

  “I wish you’d let me help.”

  She shivered, feeling sparks arcing over the chasm between them. Feeling totally alone. Maybe Seph couldn’t leave. But she could. It would give her time to work this out. He wasn’t the only one having a hard time.

  “Maddie? Are you okay?” The dark brows came together in a frown. “You’re shaking.”

  “Look, it’s late,” she said, backing away, putting her hands behind her back and nodding toward the door. “You’d better go. I need to pack.”

  He hesitated, as if he would say something else. Then
he shook his head, turned, and was gone. She didn’t even hear the front door open and close.

  As soon as Seph was out of sight, Madison raced up three flights of stairs to the third floor, taking them two at a time. She shouldered open the door to her room and thumbed the light switch. The bulb in the overhead fixture fizzed, then exploded in a shower of glass.

  Crossing to the window in the dark, she ripped open the curtains, her fingers leaving smoldering holes in the cloth. She flung open the wardrobe and snatched off the sheets draping the painting that stood inside.

  Throwing back her head and closing her eyes, she extended her hands and sent power through her fingers like a breath long held and finally released. It streaked through the air and buried itself in the canvas, smelling like burnt coffee grounds. The paint blistered and ran into muddy swirls.

  She backed away until the bed hit the backs of her knees. She slumped back onto the mattress, resting her feet on the bedframe, her elbows on her knees.

  The painting reorganized itself, bleak, but recognizable and horribly animated. It was Second Sister all over again, Seph thrusting her behind him as Leicester and the alumni sent flame spiraling across the conference room. Only this time it struck Seph dead on, flinging him against the wall like a broken marionette.

  It changed again—Seph laid out in St. Catherine’s, pale and still, candles at his hands and feet, mourners filing past, pointing and whispering when Madison entered the church.

  Buried in paint was the evidence of a dozen such attacks, an unrelenting series of scenes of Seph dying in every way imaginable.

  Seph stirred the alien magic beneath her skin, woke it up like some monster of the deep. When she let it trickle out, Seph grew pale and tired, he developed raging headaches and his appetite dwindled. When she held it back, Seph visibly improved. But it built and built inside her until she had to release it or explode. There’d been several near misses until she’d discovered she could dissipate it into art—horrible art, but better than any other alternative. She’d tried to paint over it, to obliterate the sequence of awful images, but they continued to surface, like oil on polluted water.

  It was a secret she had to keep from Seph—from every-one. There was no way Hastings or Linda or Nick Snowbeard would allow her to stay if they knew. They’d have no idea how to fix it, and Seph was too important to risk. She should have left long ago.