Jason looked down at himself. The formerly unnoticeable Jason was indeed revealed. It was like being stripped naked in the middle of Main Street during a block party thrown by your worst enemies.
“Get him!” Hays shouted. “Grab him! Take him alive!” They charged toward him, baying like hounds on a scent. More wizards poured out of the woods.
“Mick!” Jason threw up a pathetic shield, braced his feet against the wall, gripped the edge of the gate, and yanked. “Open up now or you might as well forget it!”
He was surrounded by wizards, a kaleidoscope of excited faces, many flinging mind-slayer at him. Lame as it was, his shield repelled the powder. A wizard staggered and went down, a victim of friendly fire.
The gate was moving now, excruciatingly slowly, with Mick’s litany of oaths continuing on the other side, though now with a certain sense of urgency. Jason heard running feet inside the double-gated barbican, a thud of bodies against the gate, and it slammed open, spilling Jason and a handful of warriors into the no-man’s-land between the barriers.
Jason scrambled to his feet as Mick bolted past him, gleefully swinging his axe, bellowing a Gaelic battle cry. Jack and Ellen and Jeremiah followed, weapons blazing, driving the wizards back toward the outer wall. Wizard fire spewed into the air, setting the treetops ablaze.
How long before the fireworks and sounds of battle drew Anaweir past the inner barrier and into the hands of the Roses?
Weaponless, Jason sprinted after the warriors as two wizards closed in on them from behind. Jason tackled one of the wizards and disabled him by wizard’s grip, thrusting his fingers under his chin and applying power directly to that vulnerable place. Ellen leveled the other one with the flat of her blade.
“What is going on?” Jack demanded, smashing back a bolt from Hays’s fancy staff. “It looks like all hell’s broken loose.”
“Big trouble,” Jason gasped “There’s an army waiting out there. They’ve put up their own wall. They’re planning to trap people and take hostages. We’ve got to go back.”
Reluctantly, the warriors left off chasing wizards and retreated, spraying flame in their wake to discourage pursuit. Once inside the gate, Jason helped slam the locks into place while the walls shuddered under the wizards’ assault.
“Where’s Seph?” Jason gasped. “We can’t wait any longer. We’ve got to do something about the Anaweir. Right now.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
A Deal with the Devil
The radio in Min’s old pickup only got three stations. You could listen to whatever you wanted as long as it was country and western or classic rock and roll. Madison turned up the volume and sang along, making up the words she didn’t know.
She rolled down the windows, and her hair whipped around her shoulders. Now spring peepers and the low growl of thunder competed with the radio. The taste of the air said it would rain before morning.
As the hills crowded in on both sides, even the most powerful stations began to break up. So she switched off the radio and practiced her lines.
“I’m Madison Moss. I go to the Art Institute of Chicago.” And then her stomach did that little flip again—half fear, half joy.
Sara had found the money through a scholarship program for disadvantaged students. Who would’ve thought that living on nothing but dreams all her life would pay off? But Sara said it wasn’t just based on need.
“The scholarship committee loved your work, Maddie,” Sara had said. “They said you had a unique perspective that appeals to those who like both primitive and high-concept art. They can’t wait to meet you.”
That part made her nervous. What if they saw her wild mane of hair and thrift-shop clothes, and heard the way she talked and decided they’d made a mistake? What if they treated her like some kind of awkward, backwoodsy charity case?
Never mind. The work was what was important. She’d find a way to survive the committee. And attend the Chicago Art Institute in the fall on scholarship.
Her portfolio rode alongside her in the passenger seat. Sara had been a bit bewildered by some of the more exotic images. But she thought they would play well in Chicago.
Chicago. Madison had never been there. There would be libraries and museums and theaters. She could sit in cafés and talk about books and art and music. Things nobody ever talked about in Coal Grove. Every day she’d see thousands of people who knew nothing about her. Who hadn’t already made up their minds about Madison Moss.
She could hardly wait.
She was scared to death.
One dream could lead to another. Maybe she could still convince Seph to attend Northwestern. If it was too late for fall, he could come as a transfer student in the spring. It could work. He was at home anywhere. Plus he was comfortable in cities. He had a way of organizing the world around him so it fit him like a skin. Knowing that she had one friend would make all the difference. Knowing it was Seph . . .
She was ambushed by the image of his face: his gray-green eyes, like smoke layered on still water, hiding secrets. His rangy frame filling a doorway. His smile: so worldly-wise, yet not full of himself. The way he switched into French when English just wouldn’t do.
His kisses.
She had to stomp on the brake and wrench the wheel around to make the turn-off to Booker Mountain.
You’re hopeless. Just like Carlene. Seph will never come to Chicago. Not on your account. Not while the fate of the world hangs in the balance. And who knew what would happen if he did? She let go of the wheel and examined her hands. Since the day she’d touched the Dragonheart, there had been no sign of the hex magic she’d absorbed at Second Sister. Was it really and truly gone, or was it just that she’d been away from Seph?
Falling in love was like falling off a cliff. It felt pretty much like flying until you hit the ground.
The road plunged back into dense forest and rippled through several hairpin turns, crossing Booker Creek on the stone bridges her great-grandfather had built.
The first big splats of rain hit the roof of the pickup as she pulled into the yard. It was pitch dark by now and Carlene hadn’t even turned on the porch light.
Madison pushed open the driver’s door and slid to the ground. She grabbed a bag of groceries from the seat, slung her backpack over her shoulder, and shoved her portfolio under her arm, meaning to make one trip to the house before the deluge.
By the time she made it up the steps, it was pouring. She hesitated under the imperfect shelter of the porch roof, thinking Hamlet and Ophelia might come to greet her. But no enthusiastic wet dogs came splashing onto the porch. No Grace or John Robert, either.
Guess they know enough to stay in out of the rain.
As soon as she shouldered open the front door, she could hear the television going in the front room. She set her portfolio and backpack down next to the door.
“Mama?” she said. “Grace? J.R.? I have the best news. Just wait till you hear.”
“Hi, honey,” Carlene said from the other room. “I’m watching my shows.”
Madison put the eggs, milk, juice, lunchmeat, and cheese into the refrigerator to join a jar of Miracle Whip, moldy bacon, four bottles of beer, and a pitcher of Kool-Aid.
She threw out the bacon.
It was dark in the living room, too. Carlene was slumped in a corner of the couch, her face illuminated by the changing images on the television screen.
Madison switched on the table lamp. “You sitting here in the dark, Mama?”
“Hmmm?” Carlene blinked up at her. “I guess so.” She looked kind of sleepy and out of it.
“Where are the kids?”
Carlene shrugged and looked around, as if she hadn’t missed them. “Oh. Right. They went to the Ropers.”
“To the Ropers!” Dreams of Chicago evaporated. Madison stared at Carlene. “What for?”
“I guess they went riding.”
Madison looked out through the streaming windows. “Well, they’re not riding now. It’s pouring down rai
n. When did they go?”
“This morning.” A crease appeared between Carlene’s penciled brows. “I think.”
Madison was tempted to grab her mother’s shoulders and shake her. But something stopped her. Carlene seemed almost . . . spelled.
“Mama.” She sat down next to Carlene and took her hands. “How did they happen to go riding at the Ropers?”
“Brice Roper come by. With another boy. Never saw him before.” Her mind seemed to drift.
“What did the other boy look like?”
“He had long hair paler’n John Robert’s.”
Min’s words came back to her from long ago.
I see four pretty men coming. Two will claim your heart in different ways. Two are deceivers. Two will come to your door, one dark, one fair. All of these men have magic....
But they have no power that you don’t give away.
Madison stood, put her shoulders back, and took a deep breath. Crossing to the hearth, she dug her father’s gun out of the wood box and stuffed it into her backpack. Snatching up her keys, she returned to the living room.
“You stay here, Mama,” she said, though Carlene wasn’t making any move to go anywhere.
Carlene nodded absently, already lost in the flickering screen.
Maddie’s truck with its nearly bald tires slipped and slid on the rain-slick road. It seemed to take forever to get to the turn-off. She swung into the Ropers’ drive between the fancy brick pillars, and the house and barn came into sight through the smeared windshield. Brice’s fancy sports car was parked in the middle of the drive in front of the house. She pulled next to Brice’s car, banged open the truck door, and jumped to the ground. Turning, she thrust her hand into the backpack and closed it on Jordan Moss’s pistol.
She climbed the broad steps onto the porch and would have pounded on the massive walnut door, but it swung open under her fist.
The house yawned empty before her, seeming to echo with her footsteps. She walked across shining hardwood, through the foyer and into the hall, looking into richly furnished rooms on either side. At the back of the house, a fire blazed on the hearth in the two-story family room, providing the only light. To the right, a doorway led into what must be the dining room.
A body lay in the doorway, booted feet sticking out into the kitchen. The boots were familiar—expensive black leather.
Stifling a scream, Madison stumbled toward Brice Roper’s body.
“I wouldn’t get too close,” a voice said behind her. “It’s kind of messy. Not my best work.”
She swung around. Her keys clattered as they hit the stone-tile floor.
He stood between her and the hall like a candle in the dark, glittery bright with power, steaming as he drove the rain from his clothing. He was dressed all in black, but his hair was so pale as to seem translucent.
It was Warren Barber.
He smiled. “You’re not easy to find.”
Though her heart was pounding, she managed to speak in a clear, steady voice. “Where are they?”
“What? No tears for poor Brice?”
“I want to know what you’ve done with my brother and sister.”
“You know, Madison, you really had him going. What’d you tell him—that you were a witch?”
Madison said nothing.
“But you’re not a witch, are you? You’re something else entirely.” He paused, inviting her to speak, but she still said nothing. “Anyway, he was sure convinced. Poor Brice was so happy to have a little more firepower on his side. He hated your guts, you know. You should thank me.”
Thoughts stumbled through her mind. How had he found her? How much did he know? Could she make him try and spell her?
“What do you want?” she asked.
“I need your help, Madison.” He seemed to like saying her name, as if he owned it. “I need you to do something for me.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
Barber laughed. “We’ll see. I think you’re going to do whatever I ask.”
Maybe he knew less than she thought. He seemed almost too confident. Maybe if she charged him, he’d send power into her.
His pale eyes glittered with malice. “I haven’t forgotten what you did on Second Sister.” He took a step toward her. “Big mistake. No one comes after me with a knife. I should teach you a lesson.” He raised his hands, raising Madison’s hopes, then dropped them again, smiling. “But I’m willing to forgive and forget.”
He knows. He’s just toying with me.
She pulled the gun free, gripped it with both hands like her father had taught her, and pointed it at Warren Barber.
Barber stopped smiling when he saw the gun.
“I said—tell me where my brother and sister are.”
Barber went very still for a long moment, then said, “I’m losing patience, Madison. Now put that down before someone gets hurt.” He took a step toward her.
“I’m warning you,” Madison said. “I’m a deadeye shot.” Which was true. Her daddy had taught her to shoot. Only she was a failure as a hunter because she’d never been able to shoot anything living. Barber might be the first.
Barber’s eyes, with their pale centers and fringe of white lashes, were cold and unblinking as any snake’s. “All right. You’re all business, huh? I have something to show you.” He patted his jacket pocket. “May I?”
Grudgingly, Madison nodded.
He thrust his fingers into his pocket, came up with something glittering. He extended it toward Madison.
She gestured with the gun. “Toss it on the table,” she said.
Barber tossed, underhand. Two objects clunked onto the battered formica. Madison put the table between her and the wizard and looked down.
It was like somebody had reached into her chest, grabbed hold of her heart, and squeezed.
One of the objects was a beat-up Swiss Army knife with the initials JR carved crudely into the cover. The other was a gold locket engraved with roses on a lightweight gold chain.
The knife had belonged to their father. John Robert carried it with him everywhere and slept with it under his pillow. Min had left the locket to Grace. Madison had fastened the clasp a thousand times when Grace couldn’t manage, had carefully removed it and set it on the dresser when Grace fell asleep with a book. She wore it every day of her life.
Madison looked up at Barber. It took a couple of tries to get her voice going.
“Where are they?” This time, she couldn’t keep the quaver out of her voice.
“No one will ever find them if you shoot me.”
She braced herself, aimed lower. “I don’t need to shoot you in the head,” she said.
“And if I bleed to death?” He raised an eyebrow. “Come on, Madison, you’re not a killer. Besides, I can probably block the shot. Put down the gun, and we’ll talk.”
“If you’ve hurt them, I’ll . . .”
“You’re the only one who can prevent that. Cooperate, and I’ll let them go. If not . . .” He shrugged. “That’d be a shame.”
“How do I know they’re still alive?”
Barber waved away her question impatiently. “They’re my leverage. It’d be stupid to kill them. Unless you disappoint me. When our business is done, I’ll let them go. See? Nobody gets hurt. Now put down the gun before I lose patience.”
Grace and John Robert. Defiant, strong-willed Grace and innocent John Robert in the hands of this monster. What did he want from her that he’d gone after them?
Carefully, she set the gun on the table, took a step back, and stood, arms at her side, staring daggers at Warren Barber.
“Good,” Barber said. He nodded toward the kitchen table. “Please. Sit down.”
Madison walked woodenly to the table and sat. She tried to look everywhere but at Brice’s body and the blood splattered over the floor. Barber was right. She wasn’t a killer.
Barber crossed to the refrigerator and rummaged inside. “You hungry?”
“No.” Madison’s stomac
h lurched, threatening to reject what little it had inside it.
Barber pulled out two bottles of pop and a plate of cold pizza and carried them back to the table.
“Conflict always makes me hungry, know what I mean?” He set a bottle of pop in front of her.
“Do . . . do J.R. and Grace have anything to eat?” she whispered.
“You worry too much. Doesn’t do any good, and takes years off your life.” He sat down across from her, rolling the other bottle between his wizard hands. Spiderweb tattoos crawled over his forearms.
She pushed the pop back toward him. “I don’t ...”
“Drink it,” he said.
She looked into his iced-over eyes, grabbed up the bottle, took a long swig, and somehow forced it down her throat.
“That’s better,” he said, smiling. “Get used to doing what I say, and we’ll get along. Now. Here’s what you need to do. You go get the Dragonheart. Then we’ll do a trade—the Dragonheart for Grace and J.R. Fair enough?”
“Wh . . . what do you want with that?” she asked, seeing no use in denying she’d heard of it. “What are you planning to do?”
“You just focus on getting hold of it,” Warren said, taking a bite of pizza. “Let me worry about the rest.”
Thoughts and images tumbled though her mind like rocks down a slope, crashing into each other. The Dragonheart still pulsed within her like a second heart. If it was as powerful as they said, could she put that kind of power in the hands of someone like Barber?
Seph and Jason and Jack and Ellen and Nick—all were fighting against impossible odds for something they believed in. It was bad enough that she hadn’t helped them. Now Warren Barber wanted her to march into the middle of the sanctuary and betray the people who meant the most to her.
Except Grace and J.R. were in this mess because of her. Seph had warned her she couldn’t escape by running away, and she hadn’t listened. And if Barber found out that Grace was an elicitor, too . . .
All my life, I’ve been paying for Carlene’s mistakes, she thought. Grace and J.R. aren’t going to pay for mine.
“It might not be easy,” she said. “It might take a little time.”
The Dragon Heir Page 31