The Warrior Heir (26 page)

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 cutting 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.

"Yes," Ellen said. She never required lengthy explanations. She swung her feet, her bare toes peeking out from under the skirt. "This is a nice town." She looked out at Jefferson Street, where the gas lamps were beginning to glow. The sound of children playing carried in the soft air. "I wish you weren't going to England."

"Yes, well.” Jack stared out at the street. Ellen was leaving for Wisconsin the next day, and probably wouldn't be back in the fall. "You're going away also, and I don't even know if you'll be back."

"I know," she said.

And then Becka was there. "Would you like something else to drink, Ellen?"

"No." Ellen rose to her feet. "I've got to get going. I've still got some packing to do. Thanks for having me over, Ms. Downey. Dinner was great. I hope you have a wonderful summer."

Jack walked her down the steps and into the shadows at the side of the porch.

Ellen took his hands in hers. "Good-bye, Jack. Be careful."

She released him, but Jack grabbed her wrist and pulled her back toward him. Drawing her in close, he tilted her face up and kissed her. Their first real kiss, and he didn't want it to be their last, so he kissed her again, taking his time, wondering why he'd waited so long. When finally he broke away, Ellen stayed in place, eyes closed, face turned up. As if she wanted to prolong it, too.

Resting his forehead against hers, he said, "Bye, Ellen. I'll e-mail you when I get there."

She swallowed hard, then turned away. Jack watched as she moved across the lawn, her white sweater pale against the darkness until she turned the corner.

Chapter Twelve

A Visit with Dr. Longbranch

Linda had booked rooms for herself, Jack, and Becka in a small, elegant hotel on Thurloe Place, near the Victoria and Albert Museum and Kensington Gardens. Jack's room was bright and airy, and opened out onto a garden. He threw open the garden doors and breathed deeply. Roses. He slid the bag with the sword in it under his bed, laid wards along the perimeter of the room, and collapsed, exhausted, on the bed.

From the time the plane had landed, he had been overwhelmed with a feeling of homecoming, although he'd never been to England before. From the street signs to the buses to the greenery to the architecture, everything was uncannily familiar. What was more disconcerting was the constant murmuring, a cacophony of voices of the Weirlind long dead. They were everywhere, calling from church graveyards and gardens and old buildings. "Welcome the warrior," they whispered. He had begun to understand what Nick meant by noise. He hardly felt he'd slipped into town unnoticed.

Once they were unpacked, he and Becka had lunch in the hotel dining room. Linda had other business to take care of, she'd said. Although they had traveled all night, Becka was full of plans. "Harrods is just up the street, so we'll have to go there. We can walk over to Kensington Palace, and you can see the gardens and the Serpentine, and walk along Rotten Row." She waved her fork in the air. "Then, tomorrow we'll go over to Buckingham Palace in the morning, and maybe see the Tower in the afternoon." She grinned wickedly. "I think you'll like that."

"Sounds great, Mom." After all that had happened, Jack was genuinely looking forward to being a tourist.

He and Becka toured Kensington and Knightsbridge that afternoon, and all three spent the next day seeing tourist London: Buckingham Palace and Big Ben, Trafalgar Square and the Tower.

Jack found Westminster Abbey exhausting, and not because of jet lag. They began their tour in the shrine of Edward the Confessor. A sour-looking cleric delivered a rather long, boring speech about the history of the church, while ghost warriors drifted above his head and shoulders, gesturing urgently to Jack. Their voices echoed against stone like a tuneless choir. They trailed him through the Lady Chapel, where were buried the three great female adversaries of Tudor times: Elizabeth I, Mary Tudor, and Mary, Queen of Scots, PARTNERS BOTH IN THRONE AND GRAVE, HERE REST WE TWO SISTERS, ELIZABETH AND MARY, IN THE HOPE OF THE RESURRECTION.

Jack paused at the tombs of Henry the VII and Elizabeth of York. Their marriage had ended the War of the Roses. Officially, at least. Here the Weirlind became almost frantic. A gaunt ghost soldier seized Jack by the arm. His gray flesh was nearly translucent. A great gash beneath his chin stretched from ear to ear.

"Beware, Warrior!" he intoned, reminiscent of Caesar's ghost. "Beware the Ghyll!"

Jack allowed Becka and Linda to get a little ahead of him, then spun around and hissed, "Will you leave me in peace?"

"Beware, Warrior!" the ghost repeated. "They'll pin a rose on your breast, the White of York or the Red of Lancaster, and send ye out to the butcher's field!"

"Look, I have no intention of fighting anybody," Jack retorted, then clamped his mouth shut. An overweight couple in matching Bermuda shorts and tank tops was staring at him. One of them raised a digital camera and snapped his picture.

"Jack, will you come on?" Becka stood framed in the entrance of the Lady Chapel, tapping her foot impatiently. "You've been totally distracted today!"

"Sorry." Jack followed her toward the front of the sanctuary. "After lunch, do you think we could go someplace where there aren't so many ghosts?"

"Beware!" the ghost called after him. If he'd had a chain, he would have rattled it.

For the next several days, they immersed themselves in London. They went to the theater, ate in pubs and Indian restaurants, and took the train to Kew Gardens. There was a full-day tour to Bath and Salisbury Cathedral and Stonehenge. Stonehenge turned out to be another spot that spoke to Jack.

Jack shopped for a gift for Ellen, a British football club jersey. Manchester United or Chelsea? He bought both. He labored over a postcard for an hour. Wrote "Hope you're having fun!" and scratched it out. Finally sketched out a brief list of sights they'd seen and ended with, "Miss you. Wish you were here." He posted it to her Trinity address, hoping her parents would forward it. He e-mailed her from an Internet café, but got no response.

Becka had scheduled an appointment for Jack with Jessamine Longbranch on their last day in London. Both Linda and Jack were trying not to think about it, but it came quickly nonetheless. The night before the appointment, they had dinner at a Thai restaurant in Knightsbridge. Lost in worry, Linda and Jack had little to say. Finally, over dessert, Linda convinced Becka to take a tour to the William Morris Gallery while Linda took Jack to his appointment. It was sorcery, plain and simple. But they both felt better with Becka out of danger.

The next morning Jack and Linda took the underground to St. James Park. Longbranch's offices were in Westminster, near Parliament Square. All the way there, Linda second-guessed their decision to keep the appointment, even after they'd exited the train and left the stale air of the underground station behind. Linda was sure Dr. Longbranch would contact Becka to reschedule if they didn't show. The next time it might be Becka and Jack alone.

The building was ancient, and the elevator was only a little less so, but Dr. Longbranch's offices were elegantly appointed, with expensive fabrics and antique furniture. The receptionist offered them tea, which they declined. They were the only ones in the waiting room. Soon, a nurse led them to an exam room. It was really more of an office, without the cold medical feel Jack was used to in American clinics. The nurse weighed him in his sock feet, then directed Jack to take off his shirt and sit up on the exam table. Jack removed both shirt and vest and set them next to him on the table.

He glanced down at himself. The star-shaped surgical scar gleamed faintly over his breastbone. He realized he must look pretty pale. His chest had not seen the sun all summer. Linda seemed even more unsettled, seeing the changes in him, the muscles that stood out along his arms and across his chest. She paced nervously.

Finally, Jessamine Longbranch swept into the room. She was dressed in silk trousers and an elegant sweater, a pristine white lab coat over top, that unusual stethoscope draped around her neck. She was carrying a folder, his file, he assumed. It struck Jack that she didn't look any older, but then he remembered that wizards don't show their age like other people.

She stopped just in front of Jack and looked him up and down, holding the folder close to her chest. "Well, Jackson," she said, drawing out his name. "I do believe you've grown." Something in the way she said it made him feel even more self-conscious than before. She glanced at Linda. "Becka couldn't come? That's too bad."