The Heir Chronicles: Books I-III

  Leander Hastings stepped past Jack and nudged Hansford with his foot. Jack had no doubt that Hansford was dead, and it was hard to believe Sowicky could have survived his landing, either. Then Hastings knelt beside Jack. “Are you all right?” His face was grim, fierce.

  “I’m okay,” Jack said hoarsely. He rolled onto his side. Now he was facing the dead wizard, blood and tissue on the ground.

  “Good. We don’t have much time.” Hastings took a quick look about the parking lot, then extended his hands over the wizard at his feet. He murmured a few words, and power leaped from his fingers. The body shimmered, then seemed to disassemble before Jack’s eyes, dissolving and seeping into the pavement. Jack shut his eyes, shivering. After a moment, he heard Hastings walking away from him to see to the other trader.

  Jack felt like staying where he was, but he used his skinned and battered hands to push himself into a sitting position. There was no sign of Hansford, no blood staining the concrete. It was as if he’d dreamed it. He struggled to his feet. The borders of the parking lot had the smudged appearance that denoted a wizard’s wall. The world beyond was indistinct. Hastings was walking back toward him, having disposed of the other body.

  “What . . . what did you do with them?” Jack stammered.

  “They’re fifty feet down. That should be deep enough.” He was hard, cold, implacable, frightening; but when he turned to Jack, his expression softened.

  Hastings took his elbow gently and turned him, then closed his hands over the cuffs on his wrists. Jack felt the tingle of power against his forearms, and his hands were free. He rotated his shoulders, gasping with pain as he did so. Hastings placed his hands on them, power trickled in, and the pain eased. He heard the wizard’s voice behind him, unexpectedly kind. “It’s all right, Jack. You’re safe for now.” For some reason, this gesture brought tears to his eyes, and he found himself trembling. The hands remained, soothing him.

  “Leesha Middleton’s still in there, I think. She’s working for Dr. Longbranch. But she’s a trader. She knows who you are.” Jack knew he was babbling, but he couldn’t seem to help it.

  “It’s all right. She’s likely gone by now. She’s going to have more than me to worry about when Jessamine finds out what she’s been up to.”

  Jack realized he was hearing a repetitive thud, like something hitting the school’s double doors from the inside. Jack twisted and looked back at Hastings, and saw a smile ghost across the wizard’s face.

  “I thought you would never come out of there. I didn’t want to start anything inside, with all those people.” He gestured at the doors. “I put up a barrier, to keep them from mixing in. I suppose I should let them out before the police arrive. Are you ready to deal with them?” When Jack nodded, Hastings said, “Just pretend you’re in shock and let me do the talking. People will expect you to be incoherent anyway.” From somewhere, not far away, Jack could hear the sound of sirens.

  Hastings swept away the wizard wall, and suddenly the sirens were much louder. He gestured toward the school building, spoke a charm. The double doors burst open, and Will Childers came flying through them, obviously surprised when they suddenly gave way to his shoulder. He just managed to avoid landing flat on his face. Becka and Linda were right behind him.

  Becka let out a cry when she saw Jack; then led him over to the steps and made him sit down. She and Linda sat on either side of him, each cradling one of his bloody hands, smearing their clothes, but they didn’t seem to notice.

  Hastings stood on the sidewalk, staring at Linda. Her gaze kept sliding to the wizard, then away when he caught her at it, a kind of thrust and parry between them. Jack remembered what Nick had said. They haven’t seen each other for years.

  Fitch had appeared out of nowhere. He and Will stood slightly to one side, saying nothing, still watchful, waiting for someone to explain.

  Three police cars skidded screaming into the lot. Uniformed officers poured from the cars, guns drawn.

  “They ran that way,” Hastings said, pointing to the athletic fields at the rear of the school. “Two men wearing jeans and sweatshirts. One blond, the other dark haired. They may be armed.”

  More police cars arrived, and officers poured past them, swarming across the athletic field and into the neighborhood beyond. A crowd of the curious was growing, students and teachers who had left the school, as well as new arrivals for the afternoon exams. Two policemen herded them into the teacher’s parking lot, behind a yellow tape barrier. Every officer in Trinity must be out here, Jack thought. The police force just wasn’t that large.

  He allowed Becka and Linda to fuss over him, trying not to make eye contact with anyone.

  “Are you all right, Jack?”

  Jack looked up to see a bulky, sandy-haired man with a mustache. It was Will’s uncle, Ross Childers.

  “Just bruised. And skinned, I guess.”

  “I’d like to ask you some questions that might help us catch them, and then we’ll have you looked after.” He glanced at Becka. She rested her hand on Jack’s shoulder, as if for protection. “Did you know those men, Jack?”

  He shook his head. “I never saw them before today.”

  Truth.

  “Any reason anyone would be out to get you? Are you in any kind of trouble?”

  He shook his head again. Lie.

  “Becka? You come into an inheritance or something? Make any new enemies down at the courthouse?”

  She considered before she answered, “No inheritance. Can’t think of anyone in particular.”

  “Exactly how’d you get away, son?” he asked.

  Someone spoke over his shoulder, answering the question for him. It was Hastings. “Will Childers told me there was some kind of standoff in the office. I came up the hallway and saw what was happening. So I went out the side door and circled around front, hoping to surprise them, which I did. Jack managed to get away in the confusion, and they ran.” All of which was true, except for that last part.

  “That right, Will?” Ross fixed his gray eyes on his nephew. Will nodded, glancing at Hastings.

  Becka stood and embraced Hastings. “Mr. Hastings, I can’t tell you how grateful I am,” she said. “If it hadn’t been for you, I don’t know what would have happened.”

  Linda smiled tentatively at Hastings, and extended her hand to the wizard. “Thank you, Lee.” He took it, looking down at her. It was like watching a small-scale electrical storm between two people.

  In the days that followed, a story of sorts emerged. The kidnappers had abandoned their getaway van in the school parking lot. It had been stolen that afternoon from a mall in Cleveland. There were a series of heated meetings involving Becka, the police, and Penworthy. Why hadn’t the principal asked for better identification from the bogus policemen? Why hadn’t he called Becka when the subject of searching Jack’s locker had come up in the first place? Penworthy could explain none of it. Jack actually felt sorry for the little man. Whatever his faults, the principal had no defense against wizardry.

  Leesha Middleton never returned to school. There was some concern that she might have run afoul of the kidnappers, but then they heard that her parents transferred her to a private school in Boston, where she would be safer.

  The police continued to question Jack. Once Jack had the story line, he stuck with it, but he could tell things weren’t quite adding up as far as Will’s uncle was concerned. Becka the lawyer would sit in on these question-and-answer sessions, and every now and then would put her arm around Jack and murmur, “He’s the victim, Ross, remember?”

  For his part, Jack wished he shared Hastings’s ability to deflect questions.

  His aunt was hard to pin down as well. Each witness remembered Linda’s offer to swap herself for Jack a little differently. Someone even remembered her speaking of the Trade, and the kidnappers saying something about “enchanters,” but she just looked bewildered when Ross brought it up.

  “Ross, how should I know what they were talking about? I h
ave no idea what I said. I was just trying to persuade them to let Jack go.”

  The story created quite a splash in the local media, and was even picked up by some national outlets. Camera crews from the Cleveland stations camped out in front of their house for a few days, but for some reason none of the video they shot ever turned out. Linda persuaded Becka and Jack to make themselves strictly unavailable to reporters, in hopes that the story would die down quickly. It would be a disaster if news of the attack reached Jessamine Longbranch.

  Somehow, Jack made it through the rest of exam week. Each day Hastings or Nick drove him to and from school and camped in the hallway outside his exams. Will and Fitch and Ellen came to Jack’s house nearly every night to study. There was always a wizard within shouting distance.

  Jack felt as though he were in prison. He’d always traveled freely all over town on his bike and on foot; more recently he’d been driving. Now he couldn’t make a move without an escort. All the while knowing that if the Red Rose couldn’t get to him, they would go after the people he cared about.

  Will and Fitch and Ellen were the only friends Jack wanted to see, the only ones who didn’t ask him a hundred questions, who didn’t have any hidden agendas. But he knew that by spending time with them, he was putting them in danger.

  It was impossible to get a moment alone with Ellen. This was the only time they would likely have, and it was running out.

  Jack’s lessons with Hastings were suspended; so Jack could now spend hours sharpening his wizardry skills with Nick. He had been shaken by the traders’ ability to immobilize him so easily. Now he focused on defenses against spell-casting.

  “The key to defense against wizardry is to stay alert,” Nick advised him. “The spoken charm is like any other weapon. Take a dagger, for instance. If your enemy catches you unawares, he can slip it between your ribs before you have time to react. If a wizard casts a charm, you must speak the counter-charm before his takes effect. Failing that, you must interrupt the incantation. Otherwise, you may not ever get the chance. Fortunately, it is much easier to stop a spell than to cast one.” That was good news to Jack, whose powers of wizardry were limited. He spent hours reviewing charms and counter-charms.

  On the evening of the last day of exams, Jack was sprawled on his bed reading science fiction, seeking escape, glad to be done with studying for a while. There was a light knock on his door. It was Becka. “Can I talk to you a minute?” When he nodded, she came in and sat down on the bed beside him.

  “Jack, I was just wondering”—she twisted her hands in her lap, turned the opal ring that had belonged to her grandmother—“is there anything you’d like to talk about?”

  Jack put his finger in the book he was reading to mark his place and sat up straighter. “What do you mean?”

  “What I mean to say is, you seem different, somehow. Like you’re stressed. You’ve always been . . . temperamental, but lately you fly off the handle at things that didn’t used to bother you. All of a sudden, you’re working out all the time.” She reached out a hand and gently touched his bicep. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but you’ve never been interested in bodybuilding before....” Her voice trailed off. “And . . . now this episode at school.”

  She swallowed. “I know your father and I have always been busy with a thousand things, but you’ve always been so low maintenance. You’ve seemed to thrive, despite the divorce. But now . . .”

  “Come on, Mom,” Jack said uncomfortably. “It’s not like you’ve neglected me.”

  “I know I have a rather . . . strong personality.” Becka slid a look at him. “But I want you to know you can tell me anything at all.”

  “Okay,” Jack said cautiously. “Anything at all. I’ll remember that.”

  “So, is there anything you’d like to tell me now?” Becka looked up from studying her hands.

  Jack sighed, because he had both arms around a great big lie that he couldn’t let go of. Could never let go of. He started with a truth. “I love you, Mom,” he said. And ended with a lie. “I’m sure everything’s fine now.”

  Some instinct was pricking at her, and she was unconvinced. She gave him a look that said so. “You know, Jack, I’m afraid. I almost lost you when you were a baby. That would have broken my heart, because I would have always imagined what might have been, the boy you would have grown to be. But—if I lost you now, it would be much worse. Because now I know how very special you are.” And she smiled sadly, kissed him, and left the room.

  Linda was beginning to agree with Jack: England couldn’t be much riskier than staying in Trinity. Although it was common knowledge they were going, Linda didn’t want anyone to know exactly when or how. The kidnapping attempt was a blessing in disguise, because it enabled her to convince Becka to go along with her plans. They finally decided they would leave a week earlier than scheduled, and fly from Pittsburgh rather than Cleveland.

  The Chaucerian Society was preparing for its trip abroad as well. Ten members were going, with Will’s parents as chaperones. Fitch was busy checking books out of the library and searching online, studying every aspect of British history and culture. His enthusiasm was infectious. Even Jack was becoming more excited about his own summer plans.

  Hastings and Linda encountered each other often during this period, when Jack’s teacher was picking him up or dropping him off, or stopped by for a visit. They were always polite and courteous to each other, but Jack sensed a frisson of energy in the air when they were together, like heat lightning on a stifling day. Hastings seemed uncharacteristically unsure of himself. Jack sometimes noticed him standing, watching her intently, one hand wrapped around the other forearm, as if working a problem.

  When the time came for Jack to pack for his trip, he couldn’t bring himself to leave Shadowslayer behind. He put the blade in its case and then in a large carry-on duffle bag, placing a simple charm on it so no one would open it up. Jack was beginning to see how his gifts could smooth the way for him, particularly when it came to dealing with Anaweir.

  He sorted through his other magical weapons. Jack hadn’t looked at Blaise’s mirror since the night Nick had returned it to him. Now he unwound it from its leather wrapping and turned it over and over in his hands. Finally, he peered into the cloudy glass.

  It cleared to reveal the nave of a medieval church. Candles guttered in the corners, making little headway against the dark. A body lay on a rude pallet on the floor, covered by a rough blanket. It was surrounded by a solemn guard of warriors. Two women knelt next to the body, heads bowed, praying, their soft voices the only sound in the stillness. Demons lurked in the shadows, circling the bier, advancing and receding, the women’s prayers keeping them at bay.

  Jack squinted, trying to make out who the players were. Surely this scene was from the past. Yet, the women seemed to be wearing modern clothes. The image faded, replaced by the reflection of his own face.

  Obscure, as always, Jack thought. Totally useless. Still, he slid Blaise’s mirror into his carry-on. He could use all the help he could get.

  Nick would maintain the fiction that the house was occupied for two weeks after they left, then join them in Oxford. He seemed unenthusiastic about visiting Britain. “It’s too noisy over there,” the old wizard explained to Jack. “You’ll see what I mean when you get there. Besides, the food is bad. The British have never mastered the dessert course.”

  “I wish you were coming with us,” Jack admitted. “I feel like I need a caretaker more than ever.”

  “Just remember who you are, Jack,” the old man said. “The world will try to change you into someone else. Don’t let them. That’s the best advice anyone can give you.”

  Jack didn’t share the change in schedule with anyone, not even Will and Fitch and Ellen. But he invited them over for dinner the night before their real departure. All the suitcases were packed and hidden away, everything ready for the morning. They ate out on the side porch. Aunt Linda kept everybody laughing with her cutti
ng imitations of various Trinity personalities. Usually Becka tried to rein in her irreverent sister, but tonight she laughed along with everyone else. Nicodemus Snowbeard told a very old, very romantic story about kings and queens, misapprehensions, and unrequited love. The hero Leander Hastings was a special guest, and he and Becka got into such a heated discussion about medieval art that the others had to beg them to call a truce.

  “Fine,” Becka said, tilting up her chin and lifting her glass. “I will desist, though I will not give. I would like to propose a toast to Will Childers, Harmon Fitch, and Leander Hastings, brave men all, who helped to save my son’s life.”

  Hastings raised his glass, smiled at Becka, and some awareness fluttered at the edges of Jack’s consciousness. “Perhaps we’ll meet in England, then,” the wizard said.

  As dusk fell, Snowbeard lit the lanterns on the porch railing, and the fireflies flared in the shadows under the trees.

  There seemed to be a little magic in everyone that night. The air was thick with it. Jack sat back in a wicker chair against the house, quietly alert to it all. Linda and Hastings shared the glider, a little space between them, talking. Will and Fitch tossed a ball back and forth in the yard, the white sphere barely visible in the dimming light. Jack had the melancholy feeling that something important was changing or passing away, that they might never be together again, in just this way.

  Ellen sat down in the chair opposite him. She wore a long flowing skirt and a sleeveless white sweater. Jack could not remember seeing her in anything but pants before. Since the weather had warmed, her skin had taken on a rich golden color from working in the garden. Gardening seemed to agree with her, because she was looking very . . . fit, Jack thought.

  “I like your mom,” Ellen said wistfully.

  Jack glanced over to where Becka was now deep in a conversation with Hastings and Linda. “She can be kind of intense at times,” he said.