The Wizard Heir

  “If we can all take our seats, we had best get underway,” Leicester said. “We are already running a little late.” The low murmur of voices ceased.

  Jack and Ellen moved reluctantly to their seats. Linda ignored the video display and sat next to Nick. She was pale, and there were purple shadows under her eyes. Still, she looked grim and determined, and rather corporate in a pinstripe suit. Jack and Ellen sat next to Nick, and Akana Moon next to Linda.

  The seats against the wall were filling up with members of the Wizard Council. Jack noticed some familiar faces. Geoffrey Wylie, the wizard who had played Ellen in the tournament, and had tried to kidnap him in Trinity the summer before. Jessamine Longbranch, the wizard surgeon who had implanted Jack’s stone, saving his life in order to sacrifice him in the Game. Others he didn’t know.

  Ellen’s hand crept over and covered his under the table. She had insisted on coming, though she had good reason to be wary of wizards. She’d spent most of her life under their control. If she could deal with it, he could, too. And, to be honest, he was glad to have her strength at his right hand.

  The joint council participants were each introduced, and Leicester read out the agenda. There were only two items, the two different constitutional proposals: one that Hastings had pushed through the Wizard Council, and one that Leicester and D’Orsay had favored. Leicester asked for approval of the agenda and Nick raised his hand.

  “First, I move that we select a chairperson and a scribe,” the old wizard suggested. The bear’s head mounted on his staff gleamed softly.

  They’d tried to take his staff away from him at the door of the conference room. He’d said he would have to sit in the hallway, then, because he was an old man of 465 years and needed its support. The alumnus at the door was no match for him, and Nick retained his staff.

  Leicester shrugged. He had automatically assumed the role of chair. “Perhaps one of our council observers would be willing?” He looked at the wizards in the gallery.

  “I move that the chair be a non-wizard,” Nick said quickly. “I think it would help reassure some of our Anawizard participants that this is a fair process.”

  “I second the motion,” said Aaron Bryan, the seer, without waiting for an invitation. Nick had done considerable networking the night before.

  “Which motion?” Leicester looked confused.

  “It’s one motion,” Nick explained, “In several parts.”

  Immediately, Jack could sense an almost physical pressure from the wizards in the spectator seats. The Anawizard Weir looked around uneasily. Wizards were not accustomed to democracy. It made them edgy.

  “There is a motion on the floor,” Leicester said. “Is there discussion?”

  “It’s a good idea,” said Jeremy Ravenstock, one of the wizard representatives. “And it might make all of us more comfortable.” He frowned at Leicester and scanned the gallery. So far, Jack noticed, wizards were doing most of the talking.

  There was no further discussion. The Interguild Council took a vote, and the motion carried. Even the wizards voted for it.

  Leicester sighed. “Are there any nominations or volunteers for chairperson?”

  Blaise Highbourne rose to his feet, his trademark silver cuffs and neckpiece glittering in the light from the wall sconces. “I nominate Linda Downey.”

  “An enchanter?” Leicester raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”

  “I second the nomination.” The enchanter Akana Moon didn’t rise from her chair. She looked nervous, and her voice shook, but she said it just the same.

  “We don’t even know if the girl is willing to serve,” Leicester said. “After all, it’s a lot to ask of a . . .”

  “I’ll do it,” Linda said. “As long as the ground rules are understood. I promise to be impartial as chair of the meeting. But I want to make it clear that I will participate as an advocate on those issues I feel strongly about.”

  “Of course,” said Leicester, amused. “All in favor?” The motion carried. “It’s settled then. The enchanter is chair.”

  “My name is Linda Downey,” Linda said in a clear voice. “Make a note of it, Dr. Leicester.”

  Leicester looked up, startled, his smile fading. Linda turned to the rest of the participants. “Are there any volunteers for scribe?” There was another long pause during which no one volunteered. None of the wizards wanted to be secretary, and none of the Anawizard representatives dared to. “Jack, you’re good at keyboarding. Help me out here.”

  “Okay.” Jack slid the tray out from under the table, glad to be doing something he had some skill at.

  Linda nodded. “Thanks, Jack. Now, let’s take another look at our agenda. Are there any changes in the items?” There were none. “Well, I have something to add,” she said “Before we vote on the constitutions that are before us, I suggest that we discuss the issue that drove this constitutional effort in the first place: that of wizard aggression against the Anawizard Weir.”

  There was a shocked silence. Then Claude D’Orsay rose to his feet. “I don’t think that would be constructive, Linda Downey,” he said pointedly. “Our time is limited, and, after all, we have come together here as peacemakers. Why bring up old issues that are bound to cause hard feelings?”

  “Some of the issues are very new,” Linda said evenly. “Some of them are downright current.” She spat out the word. “Those of us who are not students of history are condemned to repeat it.”

  The magical pressure from the sidelines was increasing. Linda staggered a bit, as if from a physical blow. She inclined her head and said something to Nick. He stood and put his arm around her, steadying her, and his staff flared up brightly.

  After a moment, Linda was able to speak. “If the council observers cannot resist intruding on the proceed-ings, we will have to clear the room.”

  “This is a joke,” the wizard Geoffrey Wylie snarled from his seat against the wall.

  “I did not recognize you, Mr. Wylie,” Linda said coldly. “You are an observer and not a participant in this process. Speak again, and you’re out of here. Think again, and you’re out of here.”

  The Anawizard Weir stared at Linda with a mixture of admiration and astonishment. Jack suspected the wizards in the room were already regretting their choice of the enchanter as chair.

  The observers settled, still fuming, but the pressure dissipated a little.

  “Is there a motion to add this issue to the agenda?” Linda asked, looking around the room.

  “I so move,” said Akana Moon, who seemed to have found her courage. She defiantly turned her eyes toward the Wizard Council.

  “I second,” said Jack. Ah, well, he thought. We may all end up dead, but we’re sticking it to them in the meantime. He was worried about his aunt, though. It almost seemed as if she were trying to pick a fight.

  The motion carried.

  Gregory Leicester spoke up. “In the interest of time, I suggest that we table this truth-finding enterprise until after we consider the constitutional issues.”

  “Is that a motion, Dr. Leicester?” Linda asked.

  Leicester sizzled with irritation. He put the suggestion forward in the form of a motion, seconded by D’Orsay. It was voted down.

  “If you’d like to make a motion, Dr. Leicester, we can also allocate time for a discussion of attacks by members of the other guilds against wizards,” Linda offered sweetly.

  “That will take two minutes,” Jack muttered to Ellen.

  Leicester shook his head, drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

  “The issue is, wizard aggression against the other Weir. Is there anyone who has something to share on this topic?” Linda gazed around the table.

  Jack rose to his feet. “I’m Jackson Swift, a warrior. Actually, I should have been a wizard, but Dr. Longbranch here fraudulently planted a warrior stone in me.” He pointed toward Jessamine Longbranch, then Geoffrey Wylie. “Mr. Wylie tried to kidnap me, to keep me from playing in the Game. And then Dr. Longbranch tri
ed to kill me when I wouldn’t play for her.”

  “You ungrateful mixed-blood mongrel! You wouldn’t even be alive today if it weren’t for me.” Longbranch combed crimson-painted nails through her mane of pitch-black hair. She looked like she would have said more, but stopped herself, sliding a look at Linda Downey.

  “Warriors are bred for the tournaments,” D’Orsay said coldly. “That is their purpose. It makes good use of their natural talents. I don’t know what all this whining is about.”

  “Precisely why we need to have this dialogue,” said Linda Downey. “Anyone else?”

  Almost everyone had a story, and grew more and more confident in the telling as the morning wore on. Jack was amazed at how Aunt Linda worked the group, without seeming to. She encouraged a little more detail here, asked a question there, headed off a challenge by the wizards in the room.

  She’s done this before, Jack thought. It comes naturally to her. The group was coalescing into a righteously angry body with a common grievance. One that might take a chance on a new beginning.

  Finally, Ellen Stephenson stood and cleared her throat. “I have something to say.” Her hand crept to her side, groping for a weapon that wasn’t there.

  “Go on, Ellen,” Linda said.

  Ellen lifted her chin, drew herself up, and faced Geoffrey Wylie, who did not look happy at this development. “I am Ellen Stephenson, a warrior. Wizards kidnapped me from my parents when I was a baby so I could be trained for the tournaments. They stole my childhood and turned me into a killer.” She looked at Jack, and he nodded encouragingly.

  “When I refused to kill my friend Jack, they attacked me on the tournament field and tried to murder me.” She looked over at D’Orsay. “Some of you know all about it, because some of you were directly involved,” she said softly. She sat down. The other Weir nodded and whispered among themselves.

  “Are there any questions for Ellen Stephenson?” Linda asked.

  “I have a question,” Claude D’Orsay said. “Why doesn’t this girl hire a therapist instead of wasting the committee’s time complaining about her difficult childhood?”

  The conference participants rumbled with anger.

  “I have a story, too,” Linda said, ignoring D’Orsay. She gazed around the room, pausing until she had everyone’s attention. “There are actually many stories I could tell, but I would like to tell you about my son.”

  Madison hesitated at the edge of the trees, scanning the grounds of the winery. No one was around. Naturally, Leicester and the others would be focused on the proceedings in the conference room. Besides, it was a cold, dismal rainy day. A good day to be inside.

  “Do you see it?” Seph whispered. “It goes all around the clearing.” He extended a hand, then drew it back as if he were afraid of touching something.

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “You know who you’re looking for?”

  She nodded. “The blond guy from the picnic with the back-combed hair.”

  “Right. He’ll be someplace quiet, watching the barrier. Now, remember, you don’t want to let him get hold of you. You want a power release. Don’t let him think he can get to you without it.”

  “We’ve been over all this,” Maddie muttered. You volunteered for this, she reminded herself. But now, she just wanted to get it over with. She was scared she would let Seph and Jason down. Along with everyone else.

  Seph gripped her arm as if he thought she might charge off before he’d had his say. His dark brows were drawn together in a frown, and his eyes changed in the light, from green to blue to gold. Yet not a trickle of power came through his fingers. She’d never met a witch with that much control.

  But then, Seph McCauley didn’t need any magic to slide the bones right out of her body. She took a deep breath and tried to focus on what he was saying.

  “If he does get hold of you, fight like hell. Make him think he has to use power to keep you from getting away.”

  “Got it.”

  “He’ll probably recognize you from the park. So you know what your story is?”

  “Are you going to talk me to death or what? I’m freezing out here.” Her teeth were chattering.

  “Sorry.” He let go of her arm, looking embarrassed. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  She went to turn away, but he pulled her toward him and kissed her on the forehead. “For luck,” he said.

  She crossed the yard, hoping that she was the kind of girl whose luck could be improved by kisses. She entered the unlocked back door, shaking the excess water from her hair. She stood in the deserted kitchen, surrounded by the debris from meal preparation left for later cleanup. She scanned the room for weapons, pulled a large carving knife from a butcher block, and held it close to her side.

  Where would Warren Barber be? Would he need to be someplace near the wall? She prayed he wouldn’t be hanging out in the conference room where the meeting was taking place.

  She ghosted through the rooms on the ground floor, skirting the great hall. No Barber. Her breath came faster, and her pulse quickened. Time was wasting. She decided to try the garden. Maybe he didn’t know enough to come in out of the rain.

  As soon as she stepped onto the stone patio, she heard someone talking. Crooning, as one might to a small child or a pet. She walked toward the sound, down a crushed-stone pathway, between clipped boxwood hedges and beds crammed with ragged mums, through an arbor intertwined with wisteria.

  And there was Warren Barber, like some kind of grotesque gardener mime, tending to his invisible wizard wall. Making little adjustments and repairs, straightening tangles, twining new additions into place. He must be powerful, Madison thought. It was still raining, a cold drizzle, but he lit up the entire corner of the garden. His clothes were dry, even steaming a little. He was using some kind of charm to keep the wet away.

  He was concentrating so hard that she’d almost reached him when he looked up and noticed her. “Well, well,” he said. “What’s this?”

  “What have you done with Seph?” Madison tried to look scared and determined at the same time. Which wasn’t difficult, since that was how she was feeling anyway.

  Barber looked her up and down and smiled, revealing crooked teeth. His blue eyes were so pale as to be almost colorless, the lashes invisible. “I remember you. You were at the river with McCauley.”

  “Where is he?” she demanded, her voice tremoring a little.

  “How the hell did you get here?” Barber asked.

  “I . . . I came in the raft with him.”

  “Well, now,” Barber said, advancing toward her, hands extended. “Here’s how it works. You be nice to me, and maybe I’ll tell you where he is.”

  Madison brought the butcher knife from behind her back. “You tell me where he is and I won’t use this.”

  Barber’s eyes widened at the sight of the blade. Then he grinned. “Not the way to win me over, sweetheart.” He extended his hands toward her and spoke a charm.

  Seph and Jason crouched in the trees, their eyes focused on the wizard wall.

  “I hope she’s okay,” Jason muttered, for perhaps the third time. “Maybe one of us should have gone with her. I mean, Barber’s a nasty son of a . . .”

  “She knows what she’s doing.” Seph checked his watch. Almost noon. Madison had been gone half an hour, and the wall was still up. But then, it would take time for her to find Barber and get the plan underway. But what if she’d run into someone else along the way, or several someones?

  “What could be taking so long?” Jason swiped rainwater from his face. “What if she can’t find him?”

  “If she can’t find him, she’ll keep looking.” Seph looked at his watch again. Noon. Where could she be? Maybe they should go after her.

  Seph looked back at the winery building. Blinked and looked again. The Weirweb was wavering, fading, dissolving into wisps of mist that broke and swirled against the building. For a moment it linge
red like a vapor on the stones. And then it was gone.

  Seph and Jason grinned at each other like idiots.

  “I knew she could do it,” Jason said happily.

  “Let’s go.” They pushed to their feet and loped across the grounds, squelching in the wet leaves. They ducked into the entrance that Madison had used.

  Madison met them in the kitchen, effervescent with relief. “He’s out in the garden.” She pointed with a large knife, slicing the air with it like a scimitar.

  Barber lay flat on his back on the crushed stone path, totally drained, soaking wet and furious. He would have been steaming had he been able to muster the power to do so. When he saw Seph and Jason, his eyes widened in amazement and alarm.

  “Back from the dead,” Jason said, grinning. “Boo!”

  “How long will this last, d’you think?” Seph asked, looking down at Barber dispassionately.

  Madison shrugged. “You’re the witch. I have no idea.”

  “We’d better make sure he stays quiet,” Seph said.

  Seph knelt beside Barber, placed his hands on his collarbone, and spilled the immobilization charm into him. Barber twitched once, and was still.

  Seph looked up to find Madison staring at him, blue eyes standing out against her paler face. “What did you ...?”

  “Don’t worry. He’s just in for a long sleep.” Seph and Jason dragged Barber’s unresisting body into the bushes, where it was less likely to be found at an inopportune moment.

  Seph turned to Madison. “Now. Jason and I are going to make ourselves unnoticeable, sneak into the hall, and see what’s going on. There’s a little corridor that leads from the butler’s pantry to the hall. Hide in there until we come get you.”

  Madison frowned and fingered her hair, which was beginning to dry into long waves. “I don’t like it. I think we should stay together.”