The Wizard Heir

  Seph looked up, alarmed. “You what?”

  “I thought I might have to fish you out of the water, but they left you alone while they went to get drinks.”

  “When Leicester hears about it, he’ll know something’s up.”

  “Trust me. He won’t hear about it. Leicester ain’t that forgiving of screwups.” Jason grinned, stretching out his thin body. “I don’t know why I can’t be the kind of hero who gets to live in the castle. It’s always the basement or the cave for me.”

  “But where are we?” Seph asked again.

  “We’re on the north side of the island, in a cave on the cliff face. Before the Civil War, they hid slaves here who were escaping to Canada. Then bootleg liquor during Prohibition. Now us. Take a look if you want.” Jason gestured toward the doorway.

  Seph rose shakily to his feet, hobbled to the entrance, and peered out. The opening looked straight out over the lake, toward Canada, he supposed. Far below, waves crashed against the rocks. There was a sheer cliff on either side. It was a dull, gray day, and the air was full of the smell of rain.

  “How’d you get down here?”

  “There’s sort of a path,” Jason said. He and Maddie had joined him at the entrance.

  “If it’s such a historical spot, aren’t you afraid someone else will find it?” Seph asked.

  Jason shook his head. “It was described in an old manuscript at the Great Lakes Museum. I stole it.” He leaned against the rock face. “Listen. There’s a boat coming from Trinity bringing reps to the conference today. That means it’s going back later this afternoon.”

  Seph shrugged. “So?”

  “We’re going to make you unnoticeable and put you on it, and then you’re out of here.”

  “Why me?”

  “I promised Hastings.”

  “What about Maddie?”

  “Well.” Jason scratched his head. “We can’t make Maddie unnoticeable. So I don’t know how we could sneak her on board, right in front of the winery.”

  Seph looked from Jason to Maddie. “You think I’m going to go and leave her here? It’s my fault she’s here in the first place.”

  “I jumped in the raft after you.” Maddie touched his arm. “I made a choice.”

  “Drowning in the lake is one thing. Gregory Leicester is another. You didn’t sign on for that.”

  “And you did?” Tendrils of hair had been ripped free by the wind and were spiraling about her face.

  Jason held up both hands. “Seph. In my book, saving somebody is better than saving nobody. They all think you’re dead. Just like me. Believe me, it’s very freeing. You can go wherever you want. No worries about Leicester and the others hunting you down.”

  “No.”

  “This could be a massacre. If you leave now, you can avoid it. Later, you can take your revenge. They won’t be expecting it. They won’t know what hit them.”

  Seph scowled. “I don’t want to take revenge for a massacre. I want to stop one.”

  Jason stared out at the horizon. “Easier said than done.”

  “Couldn’t we meet the boat when it arrives and warn them?” Maddie suggested. “Then we all leave together.”

  “What’s to keep Leicester from conjuring up another little storm?” Jason said. “He could bring the boat back here, or torch it, or send it to the bottom of the lake. Very tidy.”

  “Well.” Maddie thought a moment. “Then let’s call them and tell them to stay away.”

  “My cell phone doesn’t work. I haven’t seen any land lines on the island, not even in the winery.” Jason fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette, and sent a stream of smoke into the wind. “Tell you true, I don’t know if we can stop him. We have to split him from the alumni somehow. As long as he’s linked up with them, he’ll win any contest involving magic. We’d have to outsmart him.”

  “So we outsmart him. I’m not leaving,” Seph said.

  “Hastings is going to be pissed.”

  “Then let him.” The man finds out he’s my father and begins ordering me around, Seph thought. He fingered the dyrne sefa around his neck. “We can at least get Hastings . . . get my father out, can’t we?”

  Jason shook his head. “If we try and bust him out, they’ll know we’re here for sure. If they start looking, they’ll find us.”

  Maddie removed the elastic from her hair, combed her hair with her hands, and reapplied it. “You mean to tell me you and Mr. Hastings showed up here without any kind of a plan?”

  Jason stubbed his cigarette out on the wall of the cave and flicked the butt into a coffee can. “This is the plan, I’m sorry to say.” He turned to Seph. “Your father made a conscious decision to come after you. Knowing he was unlikely to make it out alive.”

  Seph recalled Hastings’s speech in the cellar. It definitely had elements of deathbed advice. “You mean he’s just giving up?”

  “I think he sees you as a kind of legacy. So even if he goes, well . . .” Jason cleared his throat and looked away.

  “You saw that thing they put around his neck. It’s called a gefyllan de sefa, created during the wizard wars as a counter to High Magic.”

  “What is it?” Seph asked. “Hastings said it drains magic.”

  “It means heart killer—it disables a wizard’s stone. Once it’s on, only the wizard who placed it can take it off. It will kill a wizard in about five days.”

  It does look like a castle, Linda thought, looking up at the building. The walk from the dock to the winery was lined with chrysanthemums and asters in containers. Someone had gone to considerable trouble to make the place attractive, even though it was the end of the season.

  Just inside the front door was a massive foyer. A young wizard stationed at a desk had keys for everyone. He introduced himself as Martin Hall, explaining that he was the viniculturist for the winery. In fact, the place was full of polite young wizards: the small, nervous man who played the grand piano in the foyer, the one who showed her to her room. She had the feeling Seph would have recognized them all.

  She asked Martin Hall if Dr. Leicester had arrived. After a moment of polite confusion, he said yes, indeed he had. So Leicester had been there for some time. That might mean Seph was somewhere on the property. If he was still alive.

  But where was Hastings? She’d not heard a word since he’d left to meet Leicester.

  “Could you tell Dr. Leicester I would like to meet with him this evening, before the conference begins?” She handed Martin a business card. “He’ll know the name.”

  Her room was furnished with antiques and reproductions, a four-poster bed with velvet curtains all around. The window overlooked the lake, although given the weather and the late hour, she couldn’t see much. But when she opened the window, she could hear the sound of water breaking on the rocks somewhere far below.

  She set up the laptop and spread the papers from her briefcase over the desk, including the two constitutions that had been put forward at the council meeting at the Legends: their own and the one introduced by Leicester and D’Orsay.

  Her thoughts spiraled away from the task at hand. Leicester probably wouldn’t make a deal. Why should he? He held all the cards.

  There was a tap on the door. It was Martin Hall. “Dr. Leicester wonders if now would be a convenient time to meet.”

  Well. Leicester was certainly eager. “Now is fine,” Linda said. She picked up her portfolio and followed Martin down the stairs and into the back hallway. They took a couple of turns and then Martin ushered her into a walnut-paneled library.

  “Dr. Leicester will join you shortly.” Martin bowed himself out.

  Linda looked around the room. Bookshelves lined the walls, and there was a desk with computer equipment to one side. Someone had built a fire in the stone fireplace, and expensive rugs lay scattered on the floors. The scene looked familiar.

  She dug in the portfolio and pulled out the photographs of Seph that Leicester had sent to Hastings. Yes. They’d been taken here, in the library.
So Seph had been here recently, perhaps just a day or two ago. She studied the pictures. He stood near the door, looking vulnerable and cold, his hair wet and plastered against his head.

  “Welcome to Second Sister.” Linda jumped when she heard the voice behind her. She swung around to see Gregory Leicester framed in the doorway, wearing a sweater and jeans, deck shoes and no socks. He made no attempt to hide the fact that he was very much at home. Instinctively, she moved out toward the center of the room, where there was more room to maneuver, less chance of being trapped against the wall. He moved to the sideboard, chose a bottle, uncorked it with a practiced hand, and poured two glasses. He handed one to Linda.

  “Try this. It’s a Sauvignon blanc. Something new for us.”

  She sipped at it. “A little sweet for me.” This is your son’s kidnapper, she thought. This is the torturer of children.

  “I’ll have Martin pour something drier tomorrow night,” Leicester said. He paused. “I was glad to hear you were coming.”

  “I expect you would be, since you engineered it,” she said. She turned the wineglass in her hands. “Where is Seph?”

  There was a flicker in the flat-gray eyes, but he said nothing, and waited for her to go on. It was meant to intimidate, but in fact it had the opposite effect. If she’d had a gun, she would have shot him. Instead, she drained her glass and set it down.

  “You kidnapped him. You asked Hastings to meet you, said you wanted to make a deal. I want to know where he is.”

  Another flicker in the eyes. Amusement. Anticipation. And suddenly she knew what he was about to say. She didn’t want to hear it, couldn’t look him in the face to hear it, so she turned away.

  He stood just behind her, very close. She could feel his breath on her neck. “Joseph is dead,” he said softly. “Hastings killed him.”

  She spun away from him, turned to face him again.

  “You’re a liar.”

  “Not this time.” A pause. “Don’t you want to know how he did it?” “No.” “He strangled him.” An image arose of those strong hands around Seph’s throat, knuckles white, squeezing.

  “Where’s Hastings? Let him tell me himself.”

  Leicester looked steadily at her, saying nothing.

  “Show me Seph’s body,” she said. “Then I’ll believe you.” “It’s in the lake.” “Then we have nothing to talk about.” And she pushed past him into the hallway.

  *** Back in her room, Linda threw herself onto her bed and lay on her back in the dark, staring up at the thicker dark-ness that was the canopy over her head. She felt hollow and cold, like a vessel that had been emptied too many times. She had been crying all week. And now, when the truth was worse than she had ever anticipated, her eyes were dry.

  Could she believe Leicester when he said that Seph was dead at Hastings’s hands? There was no question that Hastings was capable of killing. But could he take the life of his own son? Perhaps. To save him from Leicester.

  She didn’t want to think about the second possibility. The possibility that Hastings wanted to make sure that Linda didn’t make a deal of her own.

  Either way, Leicester was a fool. He had played right into Hastings’s hands. He should have kept her guessing and hoping, right through the conference. Because now she had nothing left to lose.

  Madison came up on her knees when Seph entered the cave, but slumped back against the wall when she saw who it was. “Oh, it’s you. I didn’t expect you back so soon.” Shivering, she wrapped her blanket more closely around her shoulders. It was cold in the cave, and she didn’t have a jacket. “What did your father say?”

  “I didn’t see him.” He dropped onto the floor of the cave, sliding his hips backward until he was leaning against the wall opposite Madison. It was pouring down rain. He was soaked through, water draining off his hair and down his neck.

  Jason emerged from the shadows at the back of the cave and handed Seph a towel. “What happened?”

  “I couldn’t get in. They’ve spun a web clear around the winery, enclosing the grounds. If we breach it, they’ll know we’re here.”

  Jason swore softly. “If they find out we’re here, there won’t be a hole deep enough to hide in on this rock.”

  Seph pushed wet hair out of his face. “But why would they put up a wall? Who are they keeping out, if they don’t know we’re here?”

  “They must be trying to keep everybody in,” Madison suggested, digging glumly through Jason’s sparse food supplies.

  “Meanwhile, we don’t have a clue what’s going on inside. And my father will be dead in four days.”

  Jason sat down in the doorway to the cave and lit a cigarette. “Hastings thinks Leicester will wait and see what happens at the conference sessions tomorrow. They may first try to get their way through their usual tactics: bullying and subtle mind magic. The entire Wizard Council will be here, supposedly to make sure everything’s on the up and up. So they may be in on the plot. Whatever it is.”

  “Did you and Hastings have a plan for the conference?”

  Jason gazed out at the lake. “My plan was to lurk in the conference hall. When the badness goes down, I’ll distract everyone with a glamour and kill Leicester and D’Orsay.”

  “That sounds more like suicide than a plan. You told me yourself there was no way to beat him as long as he’s linked up with the alumni.”

  “Well, it’s the best I can do, all right?” Jason took a drag on the cigarette, released a stream of smoke. “I’ll scare the hell out of them, anyway.”

  Seph realized that, all along he’d been counting on Jason or Hastings to come up with a plan, a way out of this mess. Some way that he could help without assuming responsibility for its success or failure.

  But Hastings was chained in the winery, his power dwindling away. Since Seph’s summer with Snowbeard, he’d surpassed Jason’s skills in wizardry, both in native power and the learned use of charms. Jason’s glamours were more than convincing, but it was just smoke and mirrors. They posed no physical threat. All Leicester had to do was identify the source and destroy him.

  More and more, it looked like Leicester would win, unless Seph could come up with a way to stop him. Their only hope was to take them by surprise, and now, that wasn’t going to happen.

  “We’re not going to be able to sneak into the conference unnoticed,” Seph said. “We can’t get through Barber’s Weirweb without their knowing.”

  “I can.”

  Seph and Jason both swiveled to look at Madison. She had opened a box of canned goods and was rooting through the contents.

  “What are you talking about?” Seph said.

  “I can go through the Weirweb. I can help you.” She came up with a can of soup, popped the top, and handed it to Seph. “Here, Witch Boy. Heat this up.”

  Seph heated the soup between his hands and handed it back to her.

  “I don’t like it,” Jason said. “It’s not just a matter of magical power. If they get hold of you . . .”

  “Then I won’t let them get hold of me.” She sipped the hot soup. “It’s better than your plan.”

  “She has a point,” Seph said.

  “What?” Jason demanded. “Do you really want her to walk in there alone?”

  Seph shook his head. “Look. Everyone I care about is here on this island. I’m guessing there’s going to be a bloodbath if we don’t do something. If the worst happens, we can’t hide out in this cave forever. Sooner or later we’ll be caught. We have talent here and the element of surprise. We’ve got to think of a way to make it work against them.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The Interguild Council

  Jack surveyed the conference room critically. It was a large, three-storied hall with a gallery that ran along three sides on the second level. A long, polished table stood in the center of the room, surrounded by chairs. Other chairs lined the walls. The table had flat monitors set into the surface at each seat, with pullout keyboards underneath. At one end of the room was
a fireplace so massive, a tall man could walk straight into it. At the other end, someone had laid out coffee, juices, and pastry.

  Jack hadn’t had the chance to talk to Aunt Linda since their arrival. He’d tried her room, but either she wasn’t in, or wasn’t answering her door. She’d been closeted up with Nick all morning.

  Jack glanced down at the nearest monitor. It said, “Jackson Swift, Warrior Guild.” He circled the table, noting names and guilds, verifying what he’d learned the night before. The subcommittee had chosen two representatives from each guild. The Soothsayers were represented by Blaise Highbourne of Trinity and Aaron Bryan, of Staffordshire, England. The sorcerers were Mercedes Foster of Trinity and Kip McKenzie, from Scotland. The warriors, of course, were Jack and Ellen. In addition to Linda, the other enchanter was a tall, black woman— Akana Moon—whom Jack had met the night before.

  Two representatives for each of the five guilds, except wizards. There were four of those: Leicester, D’Orsay, Ravenstock, and Nick. Plus the entire Wizard Council, present as observers. Members of the other guilds were invited as well, but none had dared show. Memories of the Trade still lingered among the members of the so-called “servant” guilds.

  Wizards, Jack thought sourly. Just what we need less of. And only one that he knew could be trusted.

  Ellen laid a hand on his arm. “They still only get one vote, Jack.”

  He wished Hastings were there. He wished he knew where Hastings was. And Seph and Madison. He wanted to be optimistic, for Ellen’s sake if nothing else. She was still beating herself up about the attack at the park.

  “Do you think they’re here somewhere?” Ellen said, as if she could read his mind. “Seph and Madison?”

  “Who knows?” Jack took the loss of his passengers very personally. He’d take the place apart if he thought he could find them.

  A tall, bald man in a bulky gray sweater and black jeans emerged from a side door and took his place at the head of the table. Jack studied him with interest, knowing this must be the infamous Gregory Leicester. Seph’s former headmaster. The wizard looked around the table, smiling, lingering for a long moment on Linda. She lifted her head and met his gaze directly. He flinched a little at whatever was in her eyes.