“Artifacts that by rights belong to all of us,” Wylie put in. “We have reason to believe that they are here in the sanctuary.”
“So what’s the point?” Nick asked, his legendary patience dwindling. “What do you want?”
“We want what was taken from the ghyll,” Longbranch said. “We want the Dragonheart.”
It was like she’d dropped a bomb in the middle of the table. Everyone sat frozen, studying each other.
“The Dragonheart,” Seph said, slowly and deliberately. “And that is ...”
“It’s the weapon of the age,” Wylie snapped. “Incredibly powerful.”
“Really?” Jason leaned forward. “Who told you that?”
“We have the book that you dropped in the ghyll when you attacked my son,” D’Orsay said, patting little Devereaux on the shoulder.
“It was more like he jumped me,” Jason said.
“While you were trespassing.” Devereaux half rose from his seat. “You’re a thief, is what you are.”
“Devereaux, now is not the time,” D’Orsay murmured, pulling his son down into his chair. Devereaux jerked his arm free, scowling.
D’Orsay pretended not to notice. “The journal very clearly says that anyone who controls the Dragonheart will rule the guilds. Or destroy them.”
“We’ll use it to restore order,” Longbranch said. “And ensure a lasting peace.”
“Restore order,” Nick said thoughtfully. “A tricky business, to be sure.”
“Don’t try to deny that it’s here,” Longbranch said, cheeks flushed, as if she were overheated. “We can feel its presence. Surely you realize that things can’t go on as they have. And, once things are stabilized, everyone at this table will have a role to play.” Her gaze swept over them all.
Yeah, Jason thought. I’ll be playing the cadaver. One among many.
“If we had a weapon,” Seph said, “why would we share it with you?”
Wylie smiled. “Powerful sefas must be handled with delicacy and skill. Otherwise it is riskier to use them than to let them be. We’re willing to take that risk for you.”
“Generous,” Nick murmured. “Do you have any idea how to use the Dragonheart? Or will it be a stab in the dark?”
“Not a worry,” D’Orsay said, with breezy confidence. “The text provided detailed and explicit instructions.”
“I don’t remember seeing that,” Jason said. He’d had just a quick look, but the Dragonheart hadn’t even been mentioned until the last page, when the dragon was dead and her servant dying.
“You must have overlooked it,” D’Orsay said, while Longbranch and Wylie eyed him suspiciously.
“So,” Wylie said. “I think you can see that it’s in your best interest to cooperate. Otherwise, we can make life most uncomfortable.”
“If we were to hand you an incredibly powerful weapon,” Nick said, “it seems to me you could go way beyond uncomfortable.”
Longbranch’s eyes glittered with irritation. “Let me be plain. Give us the Dragonheart, and you will rule the guilds alongside us. Refuse, and we will destroy this town and everything and everyone in it. Down to the smallest child and family pet.”
So much for “Kumbaya,” Jason thought.
Nick stood abruptly, a signal that the meeting was at an end. “We let you come in and speak your piece. Now I’ll speak mine.” He paused, looking around the table. “Be careful who you threaten, or you may find yourself on the receiving end of a power you cannot even imagine.”
“What are you saying?” Wylie blustered. “You don’t even ...”
Seph unfolded to his full height, a deadly snake uncoil-ing. “What we’re saying is:if you attack the sanctuary, we will use the Dragonheart. It’ll be the last mistake you’ll ever make.”
Longbranch rose and signaled to Wylie. “If it comes to war, nobody within the walls survives.” She shot a venomous look at Will and Fitch, standing at the periphery. “And that includes your family and your Anaweir friends.”
Nick raised his hand impatiently to stop the flow of ultimatums. “Jason. Could you show our visitors to the gate?”
Jason nodded and stood. “Be my pleasure.”
They walked back toward the gate, Jason and Longbranch side by side and Wylie, D’Orsay, and Devereaux out ahead. Longbranch slowed her pace to put more distance between them.
They were scarcely out of earshot of the others when Longbranch turned on Jason. “You seem like a rather clever young man,” she said. “And yet, you were sent to do the risky job at Raven’s Ghyll while McCauley and Snowbeard and Hastings give the orders.”
Jason looked straight ahead. “I ...um ...volunteered.”
“Why?”
“I have my reasons.”
She put her hand on his arm and he felt the bite of power. He swung around and they stood, facing each other, shrouded in a circle of trees.
“The stone belongs to you, by rights,” Longbranch said.
“You brought it out of the ghyll. You should be the one who benefits from it.”
Jason said nothing. The stone was never far from his thoughts, and it was even more intoxicating now that it was within reach.
Encouraged by his silence, Longbranch pressed on. “What do you want? You could rise in the hierarchy, if that suits you. Or, you could avoid politics and live like a king with a retinue of enchanters, sorcerers, and Anaweir to serve you. We can offer you unlimited access to whatever makes you happy.”
“Whatever makes me happy?”
“Yes,” Longbranch whispered, leaning close. “What is it you want?”
“D’Orsay.”
Longbranch blinked at him, momentarily speechless. “What?”
“I want D’Orsay. That’s why I volunteered to go to the ghyll.” Jason smiled crookedly. “But, then, you’ve been trying to get at him for months without success. I got closer than you ever did, and I got out alive. So I’ve got no reason to think you can deliver.”
Longbranch glanced at Wylie and D’Orsay, then looked back at Jason and smiled. This time it was sincere. “Don’t worry about that. You get me the Dragonheart, and I can deliver D’Orsay.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Fool
Leesha knew the footprint of the apartment by heart. She’d paced it out a thousand times, from the door that led to the outside and freedom, through the efficient kitchen, past the sitting area, and into the tiny bedroom beyond. Every room lined with bookcases. Every bookcase full of books.
She slept on a futon on the third floor, in the workroom with its racks of scrolls and bins of mysterious gunk and bottles of stinky potions. The worktables were piled with manuscripts, blueprints, unidentified magical objects, and odd machines.
The old man had told her what was off-limits, and, after two weeks, she knew better than to touch any of it. She sucked her blistered fingers absently, picked up nonforbidden objects and set them down again. The high point of the day was when Jack’s mother, Becka, came out of the house, got into her car, and drove away.
She even missed Aunt Milli. Although living with her could be terrifying in its own way, her aunt had always given Leesha the gift of time and attention she’d had from no one else.
Still, she knew in her heart that there were far worse things than being hidden away in Nick Snowbeard’s thoroughly warded apartment over the garage.
Barber was out there somewhere. At least, now, with the wall up, he couldn’t pass freely in and out of town. Hopefully, he thought she was dead. Even here, in the heart of the sanctuary, she found herself flinching at small noises and waking in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.
Every time she thought of Jason, it made her sick to her stomach, which meant she felt nauseous nearly all the time. A memory came back to her—the sun glittering down through snowy pine trees, the tiny ruffled owl, Jason’s brilliant blue eyes and his eagerness to show her something new.
“It would be cool if we could just be together,” he’d said, in a way that didn’
t try to claim anything more from her than her company.
How could she have given him to Barber? Why couldn’t there be do-overs in life?
She wasn’t used to guilt. She was used to being a player. She was used to having options, always planning her next move. She could look for other allies—Longbranch and Wylie, for instance. She could go back to D’Orsay. The Dragonheart could be her ticket into their good graces.
She could feel its constant pull, night and day, a tether to her Weirstone. It was like the stone had woken up, and its burgeoning power pulsed throughout the sanctuary.
Finding it wasn’t the problem, even though it was no doubt heavily warded. Her problem was, she was immobilized, weighed down by loss. She didn’t care to be a player any more.
As if her thoughts had called the devil, she heard a noise in the garage. Then the slow, measured sound of feet on the stairs. A key rattled in the lock and the door flew back.
It was Snowbeard. The old man stood in the doorway, parcels in his hands, his smile turning to puzzlement. “Are you well, Alicia?”
She swallowed down her fear. “How do you think I am?” she whispered.
“Ah.” He shuffled forward, dropping the keys into a dish by the door and setting a bakery bag and a tin of tea on the table. “Were you not able to amuse yourself?”
Which made her feel like it was her fault she was bored. “Amuse myself? How?”
Snowbeard put the kettle on, reached a plate down from the cupboard over the sink, and arranged some sinful-looking brownies on it. “Did you try any of the books I left you?”
She shook her head, her eyes on the brownies. “I couldn’t concentrate.”
“A shame. They are some of my favorites. I was hoping we could discuss them this evening.” He gestured toward the table. “Please. Sit. We’ll have supper in a little while, but I believe we should eat dessert first. Would you like tea, coffee, soda?”
Somehow she said, “Tea,” and moved to the table and sat.
She bit into a brownie. She was glad she had a wizard’s metabolism. The old man brought killer sweets home every day.
When the kettle shrilled, he brought it to the table and poured, then sat down himself.
Leesha blew on her tea and reached for another brownie. “I can’t stand it,” she said. “Not knowing what’s going on, I mean.”
“Well, let’s see. We met with Wylie, Longbranch, and D’Orsay today,” Snowbeard said.
Leesha choked on her tea, splattering it on the table.
Snowbeard pretended not to notice.
Leesha dabbed at the tablecloth with her napkin. “All of them together?”
The old man nodded. “It seems they’ve found common ground.”
They all hated Alicia Middleton, for one. “What did they . . . what did they say?”
“They requested permission to enter the sanctuary.”
Leesha gripped her teacup. “And you said ...?”
“We declined.”
“Did they say why they wanted in?”
“They want the Dragonheart.”
“The Dra . . . what’s that?”
Snowbeard shook his head, looking disappointed. “Please.”
She bristled. “I don’t care what anyone says, I never . . .” Her voice trailed off as the old man’s eyes nailed her to the chair. She swallowed hard. “So now what?”
He shrugged and rested his wrinkled hands on the table. “They’ve threatened to destroy us all.”
“What’d you say?” Leesha asked, fascinated in spite of herself.
“Basically, we told them to come and try.” Snowbeard grinned, and actually looked kind of boyish.
“Wow, you’re . . . um . . . confident.”
Snowbeard rubbed the side of his nose. “We have weapons they’ve never dreamed of.”
“What are you going to do about me?” Leesha watched the old man, hoping he’d give away his intentions. They would kill her. She knew they would. She had no idea why she was alive, even now, unless they were waiting for Hastings. She’d helped with the wall, but that wouldn’t matter when you weighed things out. She’d kidnapped Will and Fitch, betrayed Jason, and failed to deliver Barber.
Of course, they didn’t exactly know about Jason.
“The existence of the Dragonheart and its presence in the sanctuary is common knowledge, it seems. Therefore, you have no information that can harm us. So. You have a choice, my dear. You can leave the sanctuary and go where you will.”
“You’d let me go?” Leesha burst out.
Snowbeard smiled blandly. “With the stipulation that you never return.”
Leesha turned this over like she might a precious stone, looking for flaws. “My enemies will murder me,” she said. “Barber and Dr. Longbranch.”
“I think you may find that they are . . . otherwise occupied . . . in the short term, at least. It might be a good time to disappear.”
Leesha nodded. “Okay. You said I had a choice. What’s my other option?”
“You can stay here, as you have been.”
She indicated the tiny apartment with a sweep of her arm. “I’ll die of boredom if I stay here any longer.” Die of guilt, more like. She needed something to do, something to distract her from thinking about Jason.
Snowbeard’s mouth twitched. “Don’t worry. If you stay we will find something for you to do.”
“Why would you let me stay?” Leesha was genuinely curious.
“Well,” Snowbeard said, “given your history, there’s something to be said for having you where we can see you. And wizards, especially, are in short supply.” He paused. “Before you make your decision, there’s something you should know. Jason came back two nights ago.”
For a moment, Leesha thought she was going to faint for real (she’d faked fainting dozens of times.) All the blood left her head and traveled wherever blood goes when you’ve had a shock.
If she hadn’t been sitting down, she would have collapsed. “J-J-Jason’s back? He’s alive? He’s okay?” She practically screamed it.
“Well, yes, to all three.”
“I can’t believe it!” Impulsively, Leesha hugged the old man (not the kind of thing she normally did), then drew back and eyed him suspiciously. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”
“No. I wouldn’t.” Snowbeard studied her shrewdly. “Though Jason did have a rather nasty encounter with Warren Barber.”
There was a long pause. He knows, Leesha thought. The geezer knows. But she was too happy to care. “Well. Did Jason . . . say anything about me?”
“I think you two will need to talk between yourselves,” Snowbeard said.
Even that prospect failed to dampen her spirits. In the end, it might do her little good that Jason was still alive, yet it totally cheered her.
In the back of her mind, a voice crowed, Do-over.
Maybe.
“Should you decide to stay, I should point out that you can’t change your mind later,” Snowbeard said. “Once they lay siege to the city, it will be difficult to get out.”
It was ludicrous, the notion that they’d soon be under siege. She felt the gathering presence of hundreds of wizards, like a noose tightening around the town. Yet, she was strangely reluctant to leave, like those idiots who elect to ride out the hurricane in a trailer park.
There was a power in this town, like some great thrumming heart that drew you into its rhythm until you matched it, beat for beat. To turn away from it was like walking away from the hearth and out into a winter’s cold.
It was the Dragonheart. It must be. But maybe there was more to it than that. And if she stayed, maybe she could find a way to win Jason back.
“What are you going to do about the Anaweir?” she found herself asking.
“God knows,” Snowbeard said, rolling his eyes. “Do you have any suggestions?”
Well, she thought, at least the Anaweir were malleable. Perhaps they could all be sent to Cedar Point for a few weeks on holiday. Or loaded onto
boats and ferried across the lake. Good thing the college wasn’t . . .
She looked up abruptly. “What are you doing to me?” she demanded.
“Doing to you? What do you mean?”
She and Snowbeard both reached for the last brownie and their hands collided. The old man broke it in two, and gave her half.
“You’re spelling me or something. Using Persuasion. You’ve got me worrying about the fricking Anaweir when I should be thinking about saving my own skin.”
“My dear, I assure you, if you are worrying about the Anaweir, you are doing it on your own.” He rose and carried the plate to the sink, then turned and leaned back against the drainboard. “I am a very old man, Alicia, and have made many mistakes over a very long life, some of them unforgiveable. I have to believe that people can change. That people deserve a second chance.”
“I could really stay here?” Leesha asked humbly.
“So I said. Would you like to?” There was all knowledge, yet no hint of judgment, in the old man’s face.
“I would like to,” she said simply. And said to herself, “Fool.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Sightings
Warren Barber was hungry for news, stuck on the periphery, and running out of options. After lying low for a while, he’d returned to Trinity, hoping he could get word on the outcome of the fire at the waterfront tavern. To his surprise, the town was surrounded by a forty-foot Weirwall much more elaborate than anything he’d ever built. And who was guarding the gate? Jack Swift and Ellen Stephenson, who’d somehow escaped the trap he’d put them in.
Leesha was certainly dead. No one but him could’ve taken off that collar. But Leesha dead was not necessarily a good thing. Because there was no way he’d get past the guards at the gate on his own.
He felt like a kid locked out of the circus—convinced it was all happening inside. He wandered back to the perimeter, again and again. Ripples of power emanated from the town—like someone had thrown a rock into the center of a magical pool. The whole town was juiced and he just wanted to soak in it.
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