The Sorcerer Heir (Heir Chronicles) (24 page)

E
mma had finished a second peppermint drink and a large cinnamon roll by the time Jonah texted her back.

He’s doing better. I’m going to stay with him a while longer. Thank you.

Emma was desperate for more information, but knew there would be none, so she had no excuse to hang around.

There’s no point in worrying about something you can’t do anything about
. That was one of Sonny Lee’s favorite sayings. It didn’t work for Emma Greenwood anymore.

You are in way over your head, she thought.

Emma pulled on her coat and gathered up her things, then threaded her way to the front of the store and out onto the street. She was so distracted that it took her a moment to collect her thoughts and remember where she’d left her car. Oh. Right. Parking lot on Fourth. Only suppertime, but it was already dark. A light snow was falling, sparkling like glitter in the lights from the restaurants and clubs.

As she walked, the crowds thinned. She turned off the sidewalk, into the parking lot where she’d left her car. There were only a few cars in the lot—all coated in snow, so maybe they’d been there all day. Emma took her usual look-around before she went to unlock the door of the Element. That’s when she noticed the black SUV parked, lights out, motor running, on the far side of the lot. The kind of car that crowds other cars off the road.

Every street instinct she had screamed
Bad news!
Fumbling for her keys, she dropped them in the snow. She groped for them as she heard car doors slamming across the parking lot. She tried to jam her key into the lock and missed, scraping metal on metal. She looked up to find four wizards closing in on her from all sides.

Time slowed to a crawl as Emma scanned the deserted street. Even if there had been people there, she wasn’t sure how much protection they would be against wizards.

She knew she wouldn’t be able to get the door open and slide inside before they were on her. Planting her back against the driver’s door, she flipped her key chain case up into her hand. The one with the pepper spray and the built-in siren. As she flipped off the safety, one of the wizards jetted flame at her, engulfing her hand, setting her glove on fire.

Screaming, Emma dropped the charred mess of a key chain and ripped at her glove, sucking at her fingers, which felt like they were still on fire. When her mouth caught fire, too, she realized that her hands were soaked in pepper spray. Turning, she plowed into the nearest wizard, swearing like a roadie, thrusting her pepper-sprayed fingers into his eyes.

Howling, he let go of her, and she almost got away, but slipped on the snowy pavement and nearly fell, and by the time she got back on her feet there were three sets of hands on her, pinning her arms. She felt power pouring into her like hot metal, heard wizards mumbling all around her, while she kicked and bit and screamed and struggled.

One of them managed to wrestle a hood over her head, then picked her up and shoved her into the backseat of the car. She could smell the leather seats through the hood, so strong she knew it was a new car. Pushing off with her feet, she tried to scramble to the door on the other side, but there was yet another body in the way. She threw out her elbow, aiming blindly, and somebody gripped her arm. Another wizard, judging by the sting.

“Stop it, Emma,” he said. “This is a waste of time. Don’t you know when to give up?”

It was Rowan DeVries—she recognized his voice. That surprised her enough that she stopped struggling.

“Don’t you ever surrender?” he demanded, alive and well and sounding pissed.

“No,” Emma said finally, wrenching her arm away. “I don’t surrender. So why don’t you just leave me alone?”

“I will,” he said, “after we talk.”

“Can’t you get it through your head that I don’t want to talk to you? Anyway, everybody says you’re dead. Where have you been?”

“I’ve had some serious health problems,” Rowan said. “Maybe you heard? In my line of business, if you can’t defend yourself, it’s best to go into hiding.”

The other wizards climbed in, too, doors slamming all around.

“What’s with the posse?” Emma said.

“Associates,” Rowan said. “Don’t worry, they’ll keep their distance unless they believe I’m in danger.”

“From me?”

“I don’t know,” Rowan replied. “You tell me.”

“You were right,” one of the thugs said. “Conjury doesn’t seem to work on her.”

“Hmmm,”
Rowan said. “Use of direct magic does, though. Interesting.” He shifted on the seat as he leaned forward. “Let’s go,” he said. The car clumped over the curb, and down to street level.

“Where are we going?”

“Not far,” Rowan said. “Your boyfriend’s not the only one who can have a top-secret hideout.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Coconspirator?”

“He’s not that either. Anyway, why should I talk to you?”

“I don’t want you to,” he said. “Not right now.” And then he wouldn’t say anything else.

It
wasn’t
far. In fact, Emma suspected they took the long way around to make it seem farther. The car rolled to a stop, and she heard a clatter and bang, like steel doors slamming open, then the hum of machinery—maybe a second set of doors. The car eased forward, and the street sounds disappeared, so she knew they were inside a building.

Once the doors were shut she could hear nothing from the outside at all. The car rolled to a stop, the engine cut off, and automatic door locks clicked all around.

“All right, Emma,” Rowan said. “You can uncover your eyes.”

As she pulled the hood off, the rest of them piled out of the car. Emma scrambled out after them, blinking in the dim light. They were parked against one wall of an industrial building with a poured concrete floor, like a garage.

“This way.” Rowan led them toward the other end of the building, walking with a bit of a limp. A set of doors opened into an office and living area. Here, the wide oak floorboards and battered brick walls said that the building was vintage, probably turn of the last century.

It was warmer in here than in the outer warehouse. Computer equipment was everywhere, video displays and keyboards, like it was some kind of command post. Emma thought of the mini armory in Jonah’s room.

Rowan stripped off his jacket and hung it on a hook by the door, then turned to face her. He stuck out his hand. “May I take your coat?”

“I’ll keep it on,” Emma said. “It’s cold in here, and I won’t be staying long, anyway.” She’d put her street face on, and hoped she looked more confident than she was. He’s not going to hurt me, she told herself. He wants something from me.

Rowan shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He looked different—thinner than before, almost hollow-cheeked, purple smudges under his eyes. He wore blue jeans and a sweatshirt, which somehow made him look younger despite his worn-out appearance. She noticed a new scar, still pink and puffy, that ran down the side of his neck and under his collar.

“This your hideout?” Emma asked.

“One of them.”

“It’s not nearly as nice as your old place,” she started to say, when she heard the faint clamor of a lift bridge alarm. She looked up, startled, and met Rowan’s eyes. She didn’t say it—she didn’t have to. They were within shouting distance of the Anchorage. Was this really a hideout or the launch point for an ambush?

“In here.” Rowan led her through another set of doors, into an inner office. He closed and locked the door behind them, then circled the room, hand extended, murmuring charms. When he pointed in Emma’s direction, she flinched—she couldn’t help it.

He snorted in disgust. “I’m just making sure we’re not overheard,” he said. “Anyway, why are you worried, if conjury doesn’t work on you?”

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—
s
tay 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?”