The Sorcerer Heir (Heir Chronicles)

by Cinda Williams Chima

  She displayed her hand, which was already blistering up between her thumb and forefinger and was throbbing like crazy. “Is there someplace I can run this under cold water?”

  He grimaced. “Sorry about that.” Showing her into a small bathroom off the office, he stood in the doorway until she said, “Do you mind?” and shut the door in his face. She soaped up her hands and washed off the pepper spray, then held her burned hand under the cold tap until she got some relief. She looked around the room. No windows. No weapons. Pulling out her cell phone, she scanned the screen. No signal.

  All out of ideas, she dried her hands, flushed the toilet for show, and returned to the main office, where Rowan was waiting. He gestured toward a grouping of chairs. “Sit.”

  Emma saw no point in standing, so she sat, board-straight, feet planted.

  He sat across from her, so close their knees were nearly touching, his tawny eyes fixed on her. “How’s the hand?”

  “Terrific,” she said. “Whatever you have to say, hurry it up. I need to get home and put some ointment on it.”

  “You’re not giving the orders.”

  “I’m not giving orders,” Emma said. “I’m stating a fact.”

  He sighed. “I’ll stipulate that neither one of us wants to be here. But I’m trying to help you.”

  “ ‘I’m a wizard, and I’m here to help’?” Emma snorted. “I don’t think so. Let’s see—the first time we met, you threatened to torture me.”

  “That was Burroughs,” Rowan said.

  “Maybe you felt bad about it, but you were still going to stand by and let somebody torture me,” Emma amended. “Then the next time I saw you, you tried to kidnap me.”

  Rowan rubbed the back of his neck, like it hurt. “The first time I saw you, somebody murdered my sister. The last time I saw you, somebody tried to murder me. There’s a pattern there, I think. You should’ve listened to me then. It’s even more important that you listen to me now.”

  “Important to you, maybe?”

  He shook his head. “Important to you.”

  “What do you care about me?”

  “I don’t,” he said. “I just want you to make an informed decision. Jonah Kinlock is going down, and I’d hate to see you go down with him.”

  That got her back up. “What? You think he’s a bad influence on me? Maybe I’m a bad influence on him.” This was nothing to joke about, and yet, Emma couldn’t stand the notion that she was some kind of welfare project for this rich wizard.

  “I hope for your sake that’s not true,” Rowan said. “I don’t think it is.” He pushed back his sweater sleeves, anchoring them above his elbows. His hands were elegant, unmarked, the nails clipped short and buffed to a shine.

  Emma always noticed people’s hands. You could tell a lot about a person by looking at their hands. What, if anything, they did for a living. How much they cared about appearances. Whether they liked to wear a lot of bling.

  Jonah, of course, kept his hands hidden.

  As if overhearing her thoughts, Rowan said, “I can’t figure out why you’re teaming up with the person who murdered your father and tried to murder me.” He paused for a beat. “Although now that I know more about you, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised.” He dangled that out there, waiting for Emma to grab at it.

  She didn’t. “I’m not teaming up with him—I’m not a team kind of person. And I don’t know for a fact that he murdered my father.”

  Rowan’s lips tightened. “Emma, I heard you at McCauley’s that night. I heard both of you. So don’t tell me you don’t know what really happened.”

  “Look,” she said, “I just want to be left alone. If y’all want to kill each other, up to you.”

  Rowan rubbed the back of his neck like it hurt. “Face facts. Kinlock is making a fool of you. That’s what enchanters do, Emma. That’s what they’re designed for.”

  Tyler’s words came back to her. Enchanters—stay away from them. They can talk you into almost anything.

  Was she being a fool? Was Jonah Kinlock so charming that she’d lost her head? Was that why she kept making excuses for him?

  “I hear you’ve moved to Trinity,” he said, abruptly changing the subject.

  “Who told you that?”

  He smiled faintly. “If you’ve spent any time in Trinity, you know feelings are running high. Yet you’re still going to school with the labrats.”

  “Did you really bring me here to tell me things I already know?” Emma shoved one hand through her hair. “All my life, I’ve been stepping on toes. To begin with, I’m biracial. Then I’m a girl who thinks she can play the guitar. Now I’m a labrat—or at least I’m hanging with them.”

  “You’d be better off if you keep your distance from them,” Rowan said. “You don’t want to be here when the bad goes down.”

  Emma snorted. “Did you hear that on TV? Maybe you think I was better off at your place, being held prisoner?”

  “You were safer there, at least.”

  “Funny, I didn’t feel safe.”

  “I’m not going to argue that point with you. There are different levels of risk.”

  “So. Why haven’t you talked to the police?” Emma said, hoping Rowan would volunteer something. “I know they’re in a hurry to talk to you.”

  Rowan shook his head. “I have no interest in talking to the police. I’m a wizard. I don’t answer to them. But you do.” He pulled out his phone, turning it in his long fingers. “I haven’t exactly been idle these past weeks,” he said. “I know a lot more about you than I did before. It’s amazing how much information is available in public records.” He paused. “The Memphis police are still looking for you. Did you know that?”

  “They got nothing better to do?” Emma said, shrugging. “The crime business must be slow down in Memphis these days.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. You’re a ‘person of interest’ in a murder.”

  Emma’s mouth went cotton-dry, but she tried to pretend that it didn’t matter, one way or another. “Really? Whose?”

  “Your grandfather’s.”

  “Sonny Lee was murdered?” Her voice came out in a high squeak. “For sure?”

  Rowan rolled his eyes. “Please.”

  “No,” Emma whispered. “Sonny Lee—he fell. In his shop.” She’d accused Jonah of killing him, but she’d never quite believed it.

  “They don’t know whether you’re an accomplice or a victim.”

  “Kind of like you?”

  “No,” Rowan said. “Not at all like me. I’m the heir to a well-to-do family, the innocent victim of a crime.”

  “Your father was an assassin,” Emma said.

  Rowan raised an eyebrow. “He was a businessman. Like me. My record is spotless. You, on the other hand—you have a criminal record.”

  “You call that a record?” Emma snorted.

  “It’ll do,” Rowan said.

  “It’s all juvie stuff: curfew violations, truancy, underage possession—that doesn’t mean I was drinking, mind you; I just go a lot of places where they serve alcohol.”

  “Breaking and entering?” Rowan raised an eyebrow.

  “Girl told me I could spend the night at her place. By the next morning, she’d forgot all about it. Never bunk with a drunk.”

  “That goes without saying, don’t you think?” Rowan said, wrinkling his nose like he smelled something bad. Like finding a place to sleep had never been a problem he’d had to shake hands with. “Receiving stolen property?”

  “That was just a mix-up. I bought a guitar from a dude who was down and out, and it turned out it didn’t technically belong to him. I should’ve known by the price it was too good to be true.” Emma shut her mouth to keep more words from spilling out. She couldn’t seem to stop offering excuses. “Where’d you get that information? That should not be on m
y record, because those charges were dismissed.”

  Rowan did the flicker-eye thing. “Maybe your grand father was too strict, and that kept getting in your way. Maybe you were arguing, and you pushed him. If I were the police, and I looked at your record and the fact you ran off, I’d think maybe you and your grandfather had an argument about curfew, and—”

  “Curfew? Sonny Lee?” Emma snorted. “Nobody who knew him would believe that.” But somebody who didn’t know him? She could see how they might.

  “Maybe he decided to keep a tighter rein on you, and you didn’t like it. You were arguing, and you pushed him. You didn’t mean to hurt him, but—”

  “Your making stuff up doesn’t make it true,” Emma said. “I would never, ever hurt Sonny Lee. Why are you even interested in what happened in Memphis?” The back of her neck prickled. Something wasn’t right.

  “I need your help,” Rowan said. “I want the truth about what happened the night my sister was murdered.”

  Her ironwood spine hardened. “You mean the night my father was murdered? Do you think I’m covering for my father’s murderer?”

  “Maybe,” Rowan said. “There are several possible scenarios. Maybe you were collateral damage, someone who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or maybe you were actually involved in his murder. You and your father weren’t all that close—you only moved in with him because your grandfather was dead. You just couldn’t tolerate a parent telling you what to do. It could have been a setup—a robbery gone wrong. Maybe you’re in love with the charming Jonah Kinlock, and you want to protect him.”

  “You know what?” Emma said. “Every time I start feeling bad for you, you make me regret it.”

  Rowan ignored this. “Which brings us to the Halloween murders. There are several possible scenarios about what happened then. I just can’t decide which is the truth.” He looked at Emma, clearly waiting for her to ask the question.

  “Several scenarios,” Emma repeated. “Like what?”

  “Burroughs and Hackleford are pitching the story that Seph McCauley and Madison Moss are behind the murders. They want me to support that view—to identify them or their friends as the killers.”

  Emma snorted. “Madison Moss killed her own sister?”

  “Coldhearted, huh? But perhaps she got caught in the crossfire. Or saw more than she should have. Or maybe she was helping Big Sis and it went wrong—a tragic accident.”

  “And they did the murders in McCauley’s backyard?” Emma shook her head. “Who would believe that?”

  “Wizards,” Rowan said. “Hackleford and Burroughs aren’t that concerned about whether it’s true, as long as it serves their purpose: to get other wizards to align with us against the Trinity dictatorship.”

  “Don’t dictatorships usually run better than that?” Emma said, thinking of the hearing.

  “The underguilds are dysfunctional by nature,” Rowan said. “But I agree with you that Grace Moss’s death makes that scenario implausible. I, for one, don’t believe it.”

  “But you’re going to go along with it, anyway?” Emma’s voice trembled.

  Rowan shook his head. “Hackleford and Burroughs want to start a war with the underguilds, even if they have to lie to do it. They want to use the murders to unite the Wizard Guild. That was never my goal. Now I’ve lost Rachel, and I have to live with that. I want to stop the murders, and bring the murderers to justice. Then I’m done.”

  He’s telling the truth, Emma thought. About that, anyway.

  He leaned forward, looking into her eyes, and went right back to lying. “Here’s what I think. A more believable possibility is that you lured me out to the gazebo. Then you and Jonah Kinlock attacked me and tried to kill me.”

  “Wh-wh-what?” Emma had heard of people spluttering, but had never actually done it herself. “I never—I didn’t even know you were at the party until you showed up in the gazebo.”

  “Do you expect me to believe that?”

  “Whatever you believe, it’s the truth,” Emma said. “If I’d known you were there, you think I’d wander off by myself?”

  “Yes, if the goal was to set me up.”

  “I hoped you’d attack me and try to drag me off?” Emma rolled her eyes. “If I was that stupid, I’d shoot myself. Nobody will ever believe that story.”

  “You think not? All the evidence points to you, from what I’ve seen. After all, my blood was all over your shoes and jacket.”

  “You know damn well why your blood was all over my clothes,” Emma said. “You attacked me, and I broke your nose, and you bled like a stuck pig.”

  “I’m sorry,” Rowan said. “I don’t remember it that way. And if it comes to a judge deciding between the two of us, who do you think he’ll believe? A teenage runaway who’s a suspect in her grandfather’s murder? People might question whether one teenage girl could be the perpetrator of so many killings, but Jonah’s involvement gives the theory a bit more...credibility.” He looked at her dead-on. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you, Emma. Just me. No Burroughs, no Hackleford. I hoped if I could get you away from Kinlock, you might be able to think clearly enough to see that he’s been using you.”

  Emma planted her feet and stood, hands on hips. “You listen to me, DeVries. I am not the kind of girl who gets used. I learned that lesson a long time ago. This is business. We’re in a band together, that’s all.”

  “Is it?” Rowan raised an eyebrow. “I watched you and Kinlock onstage. It’s like, get a room. And later, when you were dancing, you heated up the place. I’ve seen the way you look at him.” He steepled his hands. “I’ve heard about enchanters, which is what he apparently was before the accident. I’m sure the sex is amazing, but you can’t let that—”

  “Now I’m done,” Emma said, her cheeks heating up as the blood rushed in. “Just keep right on with your nasty fantasies, but I’m not gonna play.” She strode to the door and pounded on it until the heel of her hand stung.

  “I’m sorry,” Rowan said, still in his chair. “Forgive me. That was out of line.”

  Emma kept pounding.

  “Please,” Rowan said. “Come sit down. There’s not much more, and you’re not going anywhere until I get it said. Then you can go.”

  Emma turned, put her back to the door, and folded her arms. “I’m listening.”

  Rowan blew out a long, disgusted breath. “The point is, when Jonah showed up, I realized it was just a bit too convenient. And then, when I found out about the other dead, it just confirmed it.”

  “Confirmed what?”

  “The identify of the person responsible for the Weir murders.”

  “Jonah?” Emma nearly choked on his name. “You think Jonah’s been running around the world killing mainliners?” She tried to tamp down the flame of suspicion that had been smoldering since Halloween. That now once again flared brighter.

  “It’s unlikely that he is responsible for all the killings,” Rowan said. “From a logistical point of view, that’s simply impossible. I suspect that the conspiracy centers on the Anchorage, and Gabriel Mandrake is the ringleader.”

  “What possible reason would Gabriel Mandrake have to be killing mainliners?”

  “You’ll have to ask him,” Rowan said. “But maybe it’s not so surprising. Mandrake was one of the founders of Thorn Hill. The purpose of Thorn Hill was to destroy wizards.”

  “Says you. Jonah was right when he told me not to believe anything a wizard says.” Frustration boiled up inside her. “I just can’t figure out why you’re doing this. What did I ever do to you?”

  “What did you ever do to me?” Rowan extended his hand, ticking off on his fingers. “You were there when my sister was murdered, and yet you claim that you don’t remember a thing. The next thing I know, you’re living at the Anchorage with the murderer. In fact, you’re in a band with him. A band that played
at the scene of another set of murders. You tell me you’re not stupid. Well, I’m not either.”

  “You always leave out the part where you threatened to torture me unless I told the right story,” Emma growled.

  “Not my idea,” Rowan said. He leaned back, lacing his fingers across his chest. “There is another option,” he said. “Don’t you want to hear the third scenario?”

  Emma’s head was spinning, so it took her a minute for that to sink in. “What do you mean? What other scenario?”

  “Jonah acted alone. You and I were talking in the gazebo, and Jonah attacked us. You ran—”

  “I ran, and I didn’t say anything to anyone? I just left you for dead?” Emma shook her head. “No. I wouldn’t do that.”

  “You’re frightened of Jonah Kinlock, Gabriel Mandrake, and the others. You’ve realized just how deadly he is, and you were afraid of what they’d do if you gave him away.”

  “You act like there’s all these different stories, and it’s just a matter of picking the one that we agree on,” Emma said. “But only one of them is the truth. Which one is it? Who attacked you? What did you see that night?”

  “I don’t really know the truth about your involvement—whether you were an innocent bystander or a coconspirator. But I can tell you what I remember.” He kept looking at her, as if she might decide she didn’t care to know after all.

  “I’m waiting.”

  “As you know, I left the gazebo ahead of you both, but I hung around outside, because I was worried about you. When I saw you leave, I gave you a few minutes, then began walking back up the hill toward the house. I heard running feet, and then someone grabbed hold of my jacket collar and slashed my throat.” He fingered the fresh scar. “I twisted away, but I stumbled, and he came after me. I tried using an immobilization charm, and then a killing charm, but it had no effect that I could see. I scrambled away on all fours, but when he caught up with me, I rolled onto my back, and saw that it was Kinlock.”

  Emma’s heart quivered. “You’re positive it was him?”

  “Yes.” He said it without hesitating. Maybe Emma wasn’t a good judge, but she’d have said he was telling the truth.