The Sorcerer Heir (Heir Chronicles) (13 page)

E
ver since Halloween, Emma had been both longing for and dreading the next practice session with Fault Tolerant. Now that it was here, she was ricocheting between anticipation and worry.

It wouldn’t be on neutral ground. Most bands practice at the drummer’s house or wherever the drum kit lives. In this case, it lived in Oxbow, in the practice room that Natalie had claimed as her own. Just downstairs from where Emma’s apartment still stood vacant. Downstairs from Jonah Kinlock’s suite.

And yet, despite everything, Emma’s return to that practice room on the ground floor produced a stomach swoop of nostalgia. Though Emma hadn’t even been a part of the band for all that long, this was her musical home in Cleveland—the only place she’d recaptured even a sliver of what she had in Memphis. It was one thing to be in a classroom with Jonah, where he made himself as invisible as an enchanter could be. But music—good music—was by its nature an intimate act. And intimacy with Jonah Kinlock was dangerous in every way.

“I’m doing this for me,” she told herself, several times, on her way from her last class to Oxbow. Self-interest—wasn’t that what Jonah had said? They’d scheduled their practice right after school, so Emma could get home in time to help with dinner. That was the excuse she offered, anyway.

When she walked into the practice room, Natalie was crouched next to her drum kit, fussing with her bass pedal. Rudy was set up already. He’d draped his long body over a couch in the corner, oblivious to his surroundings, cocooned within the music coming through his headphones.

Alison’s appearance came as something of a shock. It hadn’t been that long since Emma had seen her, but she looked pounds thinner, her hair hanging in lank strands, purple shadows under her eyes.

She recalled what Natalie had said about fading. Was that what was happening to Alison? If so, didn’t anyone else notice? Or was there nothing to be done?

Alison was at full strength when it came to one thing: attitude. She did a deliberate double-take when Emma thunked down her guitar case.

“Well, well. Look who’s here. Thought you’d ditched us for sure.”

“I might have,” Emma said, kneeling next to her guitar and flicking open the catches with her thumbs. “Lord knows I tried, but I couldn’t find a better band to be in.”

A thin smile broke onto Alison’s face, like the way the sun pokes through cloud. “All right, then,” she said, nodding. “Glad we got that cleared up.”

“Did Jonah send you the new stuff?” Natalie asked, as usual all business. Or maybe just eager to get past an awkward moment.

If he had, Emma hadn’t opened it. She shook her head. “I haven’t seen it.”

“Jonah and Kenzie have been on a songwriting spree,” Natalie said. “They’ve been writing some of their best stuff ever.” She paused, a shadow flickering over her face. “I’ll have him run through some of it when he gets here.”

They say you call the devil by naming him. And so, here he was, shouldering through the door, carrying a guitar in either hand. He was using the same strategy as he did in class: last to arrive and first to leave. He’d wait until the scene was blocked, every other player in position before he took his place at his mark. He seemed to think he could come and go unnoticed that way, but Emma noticed. Jonah was like a splinter in your finger—there was no way not to notice him.

His cheeks were pinked up from the cold—it was nearly Thanksgiving after all. He wore a heavy barn coat, a muffler, jeans, and boots.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, setting the guitars down. He unwound the muffler and shed the coat, tossing them over the back of a chair. He stripped off his heavy outdoor gloves, switching them out for a pair of his trademark gloves. His heavy cotton sweater covered up the landscape of his body, making it just a bit less distracting. His jeans, though. His jeans...

Emma didn’t do drugs, but if there were a drug that would stop her wanting Jonah Kinlock, she’d gladly take it. At least he was careful never to make eye contact with Emma, as if knowing the touch of his eyes might cause her pain.

“I was telling Emma about your new material,” Natalie said. “She can’t wait to hear it.” Which was putting words in Emma’s mouth, even though they were true.

“I sent the files to everyone,” Jonah said, lifting out the DragonFly and cradling it in his arms. “I was hoping you’d all get a chance to check them out and see if they’re worth practice time.”

“Just finished,” Rudy said, having emerged from his fog of music to join the rest of them. “I’m on board. Let’s do it.”

“I think ‘Untouchable’ is the strongest of the new work, Jonah,” Natalie said. “Why don’t you run through it once so Emma can hear it, and we can begin putting this thing together.”

Jonah shifted his weight from foot to foot, his long fingers caressing the frets, his other hand flat against the strings to keep them from sounding. “Maybe she could just listen to the MP3 file first? And then we could—”

“Oh, don’t be a baby, Kinlock,” Alison said, swinging her guitar into position. “You don’t have to go it alone. I’ve been working on the bass line, and I’m sure Nat has worked out the percussion three different ways.”

“Alison’s right. We’re all going to sit here until you do,” Natalie added. “I’ve got”—she looked at her tablet—“two hours before I have to be in clinic.”

Jonah must’ve known he was outnumbered. With a sigh, he flipped the guitar strap over his shoulder and looped it over the pin. “Open G,” he said to Alison and Emma. He plugged into the amp, checked the tuning, and, then, with a rush of chords, he began to sing.

Imagine what it’s like to be (untouchable)

Better not take a chance on me (untouchable)

I’m the bad boy your mama told you about

I’m dangerous, without a doubt

Even coming off a ten-year drought

Untouchable.

By the end of the first stanza, Alison had added in a simple bass line and Natalie was working her brushes. Emma didn’t even try on this first round. She felt flattened by the music and the message.

I’m the rose with hidden thorns (untouchable)

Don’t tell me that you haven’t been warned (untouchable)

I’m pretty poison under the skin,

The bite of the apple that’s a mortal sin

In a game of love you’ll never win

Untouchable.

My reputation’s fairly earned (untouchable)

If you play with fire, you will get burned (untouchable)

Stay out of the kitchen if you can’t take the heat,

My kisses are deadly as they are sweet,

I’m a runaway bus on a dead-end street

Untouchable.

Fools rush in, that’s what they say (untouchable)

But angels fall, too, most every day (untouchable)

I’m the snake in the garden, the siren on the reef

I have the face of a saint and the heart of a thief

I’ll promise you love, and bring you nothing but grief

Untouchable.

Hearing Jonah sing this was like watching him slice himself open and show off his insides. Why would he do that? Why would he write such a song?

And then Emma answered her own question. Because good music always tells the truth, no matter how much it hurts.

Emma couldn’t be the only one who felt the bite of the blade, but everyone else seemed to take it in stride. Did they know? Did they all know about Jonah?

Of course they did. They were there when it happened. They’d allowed Jonah to keep the secrets that were most important to him. She knew she shouldn’t resent that, but she still did. They must have known she was falling for him. They must have.

Emma forced herself back to the present, to the critique that was already in progress.

“The third stanza is weakest, I think, when it comes to lyrics,” Alison said. “ ‘Stay out of the kitchen if you can’t take the heat’? That’s lame.”

“Since when are you a lyricist, Shaw?” Rudy scoffed. “I think it’s genius. Anyway, you’re not the one who has to sing it.”

“I’m not a lyricist, but I do recognize lame when I hear it. And I don’t want to hear it when I’m up on stage.”

Jonah didn’t seem offended. “Originally it was ‘Keep away from the flame if you can’t stand the heat,’ but I had the reference to fire in the line before, so...”

“Better a soft repeat than lame,” Alison said.

“How about ‘Keep clear of me if you can’t stand the heat’?” Rudy suggested.

They continued to argue back and forth, polishing and revising, until Emma said abruptly, “Run through it again, and I’ll join in this time.”

At first, Emma simply pulled licks out of Jonah’s chords, but she gradually worked up a countervailing melody line for the lead guitar. She set her feet and faced off with him, blazing away with the Strat, forcing him back, back, back, twining in and around his guitar work, pinning him down until he had little room to maneuver in. Finally, Jonah found his musical footing and stood his ground. He used his voice, his very best weapon, to push back while Rudy did his best to layer in a harmony.

By the time it was over, Emma was dripping with sweat, and Jonah was, too.

“Whoa,” Rudy said, stepping back from his Roland. “Talk about hot! You incinerated it.”

“Yeah, well,” Emma said, voice shaking. “It needed incinerating.”

Jonah just stood, his guitar loose in his hands, his eyes fixed on Emma.

“Let’s go over some of the older material before I have to leave,” Natalie said, quickly.

“No, I’m done for the day,” Emma said. And she was—mentally and physically exhausted. “I’ve got it down. I’ll get in some practice on my own.”

C
orcoran’s was a diner near downtown Trinity, clearly popular with the locals. Midafternoon on a Saturday, it was swarming with teens wearing Trinity sweatshirts, and kids still in soccer shin guards. In one corner, a table of old men hunched over spread-out newspapers and empty plates.

Leesha had asked Emma to meet her there after yet another study session at the library. Leesha was coming from yet
another
meeting.

Leesha ordered a sandwich, and Emma ordered a hot fudge sundae. It had been a good long time since she’d had one.

When she finished her sundae, she dropped her spoon in the empty dish with a satisfying clatter. “Sometimes you forget just how good a sundae is until you have one, and then you think of all those times you could’ve had one and didn’t.” Emma reached for the bill, but Leesha covered it with her own hand.

“My treat, remember?” Leesha dropped her credit card on top of the bill and said, “Emma, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.” From her expression, she wasn’t looking forward to it. “The council has set up a new task force to investigate the mainliner murders.”

“How many task forces do you all need?” Emma said.

“Madison Moss is spearheading this one,” Leesha said. “They’ve been holding a series of hearings, and they want you to come and tell them what you know. Especially about the Halloween party.”

“I’ve already talked to the cops,” Emma said. “I’ve made a statement, answered their questions. They seem satisfied with that.” Well, she didn’t know that for a fact, but at least they hadn’t called her back in.

“The task force will ask different questions,” Leesha said. She cleared her throat. “Chief Childers is an excellent detective, and he already knows about the magical guilds, but—”

“He does?” Emma remembered wondering whether the police in Trinity knew that their little town was seething with magic and magical people.

Leesha nodded. “He really helped us out a lot two years ago during the Battle of Trinity. Still, he just doesn’t know what questions he should be asking.”

The back of Emma’s neck prickled. She thought of her encounter with Madison Moss at Grace’s memorial service. She didn’t care to repeat it. “It sounds like a witch hunt to me,” she said. “It doesn’t seem right to have Madison running an investigation of her sister’s murder.”

“Oh, she’s not
on
the task force,” Leesha said. “The council chose the members, and Maddie chose the chair—Mercedes Foster.” Leesha paused, then rushed on with the sales pitch. “Mercedes is tough and fair, and she’ll be looking for the truth, wherever that leads. She has a connection with savants through Natalie, and she’s not afraid of anything. The fact that Madison chose her tells me that she really does want a thorough, unbiased investigation.”

“What if I say no?”

“You could,” Leesha said, drawing out the word, her smoky eyes troubled, “but I hope you’ll at least consider it. And I hope you’ll encourage some of the other savants to testify as well.”

“Who? Jonah?”

“Well, him and anyone else who might know something. The committee isn’t perfect, but I think it’s the best chance to dig out the truth. It’s the only group that’s working with all the information.”

No, they’re not, Emma thought. They are
not
working with all the information.

“Tell me this,” she said. “Are there any savants on the task force?”

“Savants?” Leesha’s cheeks pinked up. “Um, not that I know of.”

“What? You think there might be some secret savants on there?”

“Well, no.” From Leesha’s expression, she knew she’d messed up but couldn’t figure out a way to backtrack.

Emma stood. “Get back to me when there’s a savant on the committee.” She tried to force a smile, to prove there were no hard feelings, but wasn’t sure if it actually made it onto her face. “See you back at home.”

But the ordeal wasn’t over yet. As soon as she got out on the street, Emma’s phone sounded. She looked down at the screen.
Private
. She answered.

“H-hello?”

“Ms. Lee?” It was a man’s voice. Familiar.

“Um. Yes. That’s me.”

“This is Ross Childers. Trinity PD.”

“Oh. Hi.” Spooky how he was calling her just when she thought she was out of the woods.

“Are you here in town?” Childers sounded surprised, and Emma had the feeling he knew the answer to that already. He must’ve had some way of locating her phone.

“I’m living here now,” Emma said. “Up on Lake Street. I’m downtown, heading home.”

“Is that so? Well, then, could you stop by the police station? It’s right on your way. I promise I won’t take too much of your time.”

Ross Childers’s office was about as neat as his car was messy. His computer system looked to be state-of-the-art, and he had photographs of the town posted on his walls, along with some framed training certificates and award plaques. He was on the phone when she arrived, but he waved her to a seat across the desk from him while he finished up.

After he put the phone down, he walked around the desk to shake her hand. “How
are
you, Ms. Lee?”

“Emma,” she said, thinking, At least he hasn’t figured out who I really am.

“Emma,” he said. “Would you like anything? Some water or coffee?”

“No, sir,” Emma said. “I just came from Corcoran’s.”

“Corcoran’s, huh?” Childers patted his midsection. “I gotta stay out of that place or I won’t pass my physical. Have you tried their peanut banana bowl?”

“No, sir.” She hesitated, then said, “To tell you the truth, that sounds awful.”

Childers pretended to be shocked, then said, “More for me, then, huh?” He went back around his desk and sat down. “I didn’t know you’d moved here to town. That’s a nice area up there by the lake.”

“I’m staying with Leesha Middleton and her aunt,” Emma said. “I’m helping out with Aunt Millie.”

“Ah, Millisandra Middleton,” Childers said. “I used to cut her grass when I was a kid. She’s a great lady. I’m sorry to hear that she’s in bad health.”

“She’s doing all right,” Emma said. She looked down at her hands.

“So. How come you moved here? You get tired of the big-city life?” The question sounded casual, but Emma knew better.

“I’m still going to school in Cleveland,” Emma said. “I just—I like it here, and Leesha offered me a job.”

“It’s not because you didn’t feel safe there?” The chief’s face was open, kind, and just a bit worried.

“Why wouldn’t I feel safe there?” Emma snapped.

“Nobody’s pressuring you?”

“Nobody but you.”

“Okay,” he said, smiling ruefully. “I deserved that. But it’d be no wonder if you felt skittish after what happened.” He sighed. “I’ve been doing some research into the history of the Anchorage. That was a real shame, what happened in Brazil.”

“Yes, sir, it was.”

“I guess I heard about it at the time, but I didn’t connect it to here. That’s a great thing Mr. Mandrake is doing, setting up the school and all. I understand that a lot of the survivors are in poor health? Some have special needs?”

“Some do,” Emma said. “I’m fine, though.” Why did she think she had to keep repeating that?

“Good to hear,” Childers said. He paused, chewing on his lip, as if he wasn’t sure how to ask the next question. “I’ve been talking to people here in town, and some of them seem to think that some of the students might—might have serious problems. They seem worried that they had something to do with—”

“If you have questions about my school or any of the students there, you really need to talk to Mr. Mandrake,” Emma said. She made as if to get up. “Is that it? Because I—”

“I’m sorry,” Childers said, raising both hands. “You are absolutely right. I am talking to the wrong person. I’ll get hold of Mr. Mandrake.” As if eager to change the subject, he hit his keyboard and his screen lit up. He turned it toward Emma. “I wanted to let you know that we got some of the forensics back. The blood on your shoes matches the blood on your jacket, and they both seem to match with Rowan DeVries.”

“I could’ve told you that up front,” Emma said, crossing and uncrossing her legs.

“I wondered if you remembered anything else that might be of help to us.”

“No, sir. Nothing comes to mind.”

“Have you talked to Kinlock at all since Halloween?”

“Well, yeah, I’ve talked to him. I see him at school, and, you know, at practices. We haven’t talked about the killings, if that’s what you mean. You said not to discuss it with anyone. Besides, I think we’d both like to forget about it.”

“What about DeVries? Have you had any contact with him?”

“No, sir. Like I said, I don’t really know him.” And then, because she thought she should ask, “Does that mean he’s better? Has he been able to talk? Has he—has he said anything about what happened?”

“No, he hasn’t,” Childers said heavily. “The thing is, he’s disappeared.”

“Disappeared? How could that be?” Emma leaned forward, planting both hands on his desk. “I thought he was in the intensive care.”

The detective was watching her closely, taking in her reaction. “He
was
improving,” Childers said. “He’d moved out of the ICU, and his vital signs were good. He was down to one IV, but he still seemed confused, too groggy for questioning. Then, this morning, he was gone without a word to anybody.”

Emma thought of Burroughs. Of Hackleford. And, finally, of Jonah. She cleared her throat. “You don’t—you don’t think something could have happened to him, do you? I mean, whoever attacked him might want to keep him from talking.”

And then she thought, That was stupid; of course he’s already thought of that. It’s probably why he’d brought her in.

“It’s possible,” Childers said. “It seems farfetched that somebody could kidnap him and sneak him out of the hospital without anyone seeing him. If you were the killer, and if you didn’t want him talking, it would be a lot easier to just finish the job you started.”

“Oh,” Emma said. “I guess so.”

“So right now, we’re treating it like he left AMA. Against medical advice. Maybe he’ll get in touch when he’s ready. But if he tries to contact you, it’s important that you let us know.”

“Sure,” Emma said, nodding. “Okay.”

She thought maybe they were done, but Childers just kept looking at her, his forehead furrowed.

“What?” she said, getting prickly again.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” he said, flipping a pen, catching it. He drew a breath, released it slowly. “I can tell that you’re not used to trusting the police to help you. But something’s going on, something you don’t feel comfortable talking about. If there’s anything you think we should know that would help us look out for you, I hope you’ll tell me. We can’t do our best job if we don’t have all the information.”

He believes me, Emma thought, amazed and touched. Even if he doesn’t think I’ve told him everything, he is worried about me. But would he believe me if he knew I was a runaway from Memphis?

It’s just hard to get out of the habit of looking out for myself.

Emma stood. “Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate that.”