The Dragon Heir (28 page)

“Losing your head,”
Ellen snapped back. “That's irreversible.” Waymaker sang in a
broad arc, showering sparks over the wizard party. Longbranch jumped back,
nearly falling.

“New rules, Dr.
Longbranch,” Jack said. “The sanctuary's closed until further
notice.”

“By whose order?” Wylie
demanded. The wizard's voice had a dry, hissing quality, like air escaping from
a tire, and his scarred face was twisted up in a scowl.

“The sanctuary
board,” Jack replied.

“Rubbish,” Wylie
said. “Wizards are slaughtering each other all over the world. We haven't
time to deal with the servant guilds.” He made as if to brush past. Jack
thrust the wizard back with a concussion of air, landing him flat on his back.

Jack extended Shadowslayer,
pressing the point into Wylie's neck until blood trickled down. The other
wizards stirred disapprovingly, muttering among themselves. Wylie stared at the
blade, his eyes wide and kind of crossed.

“Next time I go
deeper,” Jack said, lifting Shadowslayer away from Wylie and stepping
back. He shivered. What was happening to him? He remembered a time when the
notion of drawing blood seemed unthinkable.

Longbranch glanced down at
Wylie as if she didn't mind seeing him butt-down on the turf, then looked up at
Jack. “You've
always been so delightfully physical, Jack.” She said this like he was
some kind of volatile barbarian curiosity. “Now. We demand to speak with
the wizard in charge about this new policy.”

A new voice said, “That
would be me.”

Heads turned.

Seph McCauley hadn't dressed
the part (he wore a black T-shirt and jeans), but Jack had to admit he had a
certain presence about him that made you take him seriously. More and more, he
reminded Jack of Hastings. It went beyond his looks—it was the aura of power he had, or maybe the
intensity that seemed barely contained within his skin.

“You're in charge?” Longbranch studied Seph with narrowed
eyes.

“Well.” Seph
shrugged modestly. “Of security, anyway.”

“So it's true. This place
is actually being run by upstart adolescents.”

Seph half smiled. “If it
was a matter of age, they'd have picked the oldest person.”

Wylie struggled to his feet,
brushing at his clothes, giving Jack a poisonous look that said he'd be sorry
some day.

But not today. Jack had
received so many of those looks from wizards he'd just have to put it on
account.

Nick Snowbeard was there. Just
like that. He'd always had the amazing ability to appear out of thin air. It
wasn't that he moved quicker than light. It was like you just hadn't noticed
him up until then.

“Jessamine. Geoffrey.
Please,” the old wizard said. “Stop wasting our time and tell us what
the devil you want.”

Longbranch looked toward the
center of town, where the bell tower of St. Catherine's poked up above the
trees. Then back at Nick. “These young warriors are denying
us entrance.”

Nick nodded. “That's
their job. Per orders of the board and Seph as master of security.”

“You can't do that,”
Wylie snarled. “We have as much right to enter as anyone.”

“What's up?” Heads
swiveled again. Jason Haley walked out of the trees.

“So,” D'Orsay said
softly, but loud enough for Jack to hear. “You are here.” The
blond boy next to him tapped D'Orsay on the arm and pointed at Jason,
whispering something to the Master of Games.

“Well, well. Jason
Haley,” Wylie said, looking Jason over like you might an old girlfriend
you maybe shouldn't have broken up with. “I haven't seen you since Second
Sister.”

“Right,” Jason said.
“When Seph and I saved your butts.” He turned, and stumbled back a
step, pretending to spot D'Orsay for the first time. “D'Orsay! And little
D'Orsay! So far from home? What gives?” He smiled, crocodile-like.

D'Orsay inclined his head and
said, “Mr. Haley,” eyes glittering, looking just as predatory.

Jason looked from Longbranch
and Wylie to D'Orsay and back again. “Whoa, this can't be right. You're
with them?” He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead, as if
checking for fever. “Hold on, is this a dream?”

“If you will not admit
us, we will require a meeting,” Longbranch said, trying her best to ignore
Jason.

“We-ell, forgive and
forget, right?” Jason grinned.

“…with whomever is
in a position to negotiate,” Longbranch continued doggedly.

“Hey, D'Orsays, I'd watch
my back, if I was you,” Jason went on. “Lock my doors, change the password,
hire a taster, all that. That's the great thing about wizards, you never know
from day to day who's with you or what.”

“All right, Jess,”
Nick said. He seemed to be fighting off a smile. “We'll admit you for
a meeting.” He looked at Seph. “What do you suggest?”

“No more than three
wizards,” Seph said, looking over the players. "No sefas!'

“Surely Devereaux can
come along,” D'Orsay said. “He's just a boy, after all, and I hate to
leave him on his own.”

Seph hesitated, then nodded.
“All right. Jack, Ellen, maybe we should bring up a few more warriors to
fortify the gate.”

Jason noticed that Longbranch
and Wylie kept sneaking looks at him all the way to the pavilion. You could
almost see the wheels turning, which was weird, because most wizards had no
difficulty smiling to your face while they reached around and stabbed you in
the back.

D'Orsay kept Devereaux close
by his side, as if Jason might attack him, given the slightest opening. Jason
smiled at the two of them in his most non-reassuring way.

They arranged themselves
around a redwood picnic table.

“So,” Nick said,
steepling his gnarled fingers on the tabletop. “What's this all
about?”

Longbranch brushed a redwood
splinter from her palm. “The wizard world is in chaos. Assassinations,
robberies, pitched battles. Some of the hoards have been broken into and
weapons stolen. It's every wizard for herself. The rule of law has been
forgotten. Yet when we come to the sanctuary, we find it closed to us.”

Seph   cleared   his  
throat,  the   corners   of his   mouth twitching. “Um. Are you saying you're here as …
refugees?”

“We're saying we all need
to work together to restore order to the guilds,” Wylie put in smoothly.

“The need to restore
peace has already brought former enemies together,” D'Orsay said
virtuously, gesturing toward Wylie and Longbranch. “We are hoping that you
will agree to join with us, also.”

Next thing you know, they'll
break into a chorus of “Kumbaya,” Jason thought, drumming his fingers
on the table.

“And then what
happens?” Jason asked.

Wylie straightened his
sleeves, playing for time. “What do you mean?”

“Who's in charge?”

“I'm sure we can come to
a … satisfactory shared governance arrangement,” Longbranch said, arching
her dark brows.

“Did you have something
specific in mind when you say we should work together?” Nick asked.

The three wizards looked at
each other. Of course they did.

D'Orsay spoke for the first
time. “We know that Haley broke into Raven's Ghyll and stole some important
magical artifacts—sefas that
have been in our family for generations.” D'Orsay looked at Jason as if he
might break down and confess.

“Artifacts that by rights
belong to all of us,” Wylie put in. “We have reason to believe that
they are here in the sanctuary.”

“So what's the
point?” Nick asked, his legendary patience dwindling. “What do you
want?”

“We want what was taken
from the ghyll,” Longbranch said. “We want the Dragonheart.”

It was like she'd dropped a
bomb in the middle of the table. Everyone sat frozen, studying each other.

“The Dragonheart,”
Seph said, slowly and deliberately. “And that is …”

“It's the weapon of the
age,” Wylie snapped. “Incredibly powerful.”

“Really?” Jason
leaned forward. “Who told you that?”

“We have the book that
you dropped in the ghyll when you attacked my son,” D'Orsay said, patting
little Devereaux on the shoulder.

“It was more like he
jumped me,” Jason said.

“While you were trespassing.”
Devereaux half rose from his seat. “You're a thief, is what you
are.”

“Devereaux, now is not
the time,” D'Orsay murmured, pulling his son down into his chair.
Devereaux jerked his arm free, scowling.

D'Orsay pretended not to
notice. “The journal very clearly says that anyone who controls the
Dragonheart will rule the guilds. Or destroy them.”

“We'll use it to restore
order,” Longbranch said. “And ensure a lasting peace.”

“Restore order,”
Nick said thoughtfully. “A tricky business, to be sure.”

“Don't try to deny that
it's here,” Longbranch said, cheeks flushed, as if she were overheated.
“We can feel its presence. Surely you realize that things can't go on as
they have. And, once things are stabilized, everyone at this table will have a
role to play.” Her gaze swept over them all.

Yeah, Jason thought. I'll be
playing the cadaver. One among many.

“If we had a
weapon,” Seph said, “why would we share it with you?”

Wylie smiled. “Powerful sefas
must be handled with delicacy and skill. Otherwise it is riskier to use
them than to let them be. We're willing to take that risk for you.”

“Generous,” Nick
murmured. “Do you have any idea how to use the Dragonheart? Or will it be
a stab in the dark?”

“Not a worry,”
D'Orsay said, with breezy confidence. “The text provided detailed and
explicit instructions.”

“I don't remember seeing
that,” Jason said. He'd had just a quick look, but the Dragonheart hadn't
even been mentioned until the last page, when the dragon was dead and her
servant dying.

“You must have overlooked
it,” D'Orsay said, while Longbranch and Wylie eyed him suspiciously.

“So,” Wylie said.
“I think you can see that it's in your best interest to cooperate.
Otherwise, we can make life most uncomfortable.”

“If we were to hand you
an incredibly powerful weapon,” Nick said, “it seems to me you could
go way beyond uncomfortable.”

Longbranch's eyes glittered
with irritation. “Let me be plain. Give us the Dragonheart, and you will
rule the guilds alongside us. Refuse, and we will destroy this town and
everything and everyone in it. Down to the smallest child and family pet.”

So much for
“Kumbaya,” Jason thought.

Nick stood abruptly, a signal
that the meeting was at an end. “We let you come in and speak your piece.
Now I'll speak mine.” He paused, looking around the table. “Be careful
who you threaten, or you may find yourself on the receiving end of a power you
cannot even imagine.”

“What are you
saying?” Wylie blustered. “You don't even…”

Seph unfolded to his full
height, a deadly snake uncoiling. “What we're saying is: if you attack the
sanctuary, we will use the Dragonheart. It'll be the last mistake you'll
ever make.”

Longbranch rose and signaled
to Wylie. “If it comes to war, nobody within the walls survives.” She
shot a venomous look at Will and Fitch, standing at the periphery. “And
that includes your family and your Anaweir friends.”

Nick raised his hand
impatiently to stop the flow of ultimatums. “Jason. Could you show our
visitors to the gate?”

Jason nodded and stood.
“Be my pleasure.”

They walked back toward the
gate, Jason and Longbranch side by side and Wylie, D'Orsay, and Devereaux out
ahead. Longbranch slowed her pace to put more distance between them.

They were scarcely out of
earshot of the others when Longbranch turned on Jason. “You seem like a
rather clever young man,” she said. “And yet, you were sent to do the
risky job at Raven's Ghyll while McCauley and Snowbeard and Hastings give the
orders.”

Jason looked straight ahead.
“I … um…volunteered.”

“Why?”

“I have my reasons.”

She put her hand on his arm
and he felt the bite of power. He swung around and they stood, facing each
other, shrouded in a circle of trees.

“The stone belongs to
you, by rights,” Longbranch said. “You brought
it out of the ghyll. You should be the one who benefits from it.”

Jason said nothing. The stone
was never far from his thoughts, and it was even more intoxicating now that it
was within reach.

Encouraged by his silence,
Longbranch pressed on. “What do you want? You could rise in the hierarchy,
if that suits you. Or, you could avoid politics and live like a king with a
retinue of enchanters, sorcerers, and Anaweir to serve you. We can offer you
unlimited access to whatever makes you happy.”

“Whatever makes me
happy?”

“Yes,” Longbranch
whispered, leaning close. “What is it you want?”

“D'Orsay.”

Longbranch blinked at him,
momentarily speechless. “What?”

“I want D'Orsay. That's
why I volunteered to go to the ghyll.” Jason smiled crookedly. “But,
then, you've been trying to get at him for months without success. I got closer
than you ever did, and I got out alive. So I've got no reason to think you can
deliver.”

Longbranch glanced at Wylie
and D'Orsay, then looked back at Jason and smiled. This time it was sincere.
“Don't worry about that. You get me the Dragonheart, and I can deliver
D'Orsay.”

Leesha knew the footprint of
the apartment by heart. She'd paced it out a thousand times, from the door that
led to the outside and freedom, through the efficient kitchen, past the sitting
area, and into the tiny bedroom beyond. Every room lined with bookcases. Every
bookcase full of books.

She slept on a futon on the
third floor, in the workroom with its racks of scrolls and bins of mysterious
gunk and bottles of stinky potions. The worktables were piled with manuscripts,
blueprints, unidentified magical objects, and odd machines.

The old man had told her what
was off-limits, and, after two weeks, she knew better than to touch any of it.
She sucked her blistered fingers absently, picked up nonforbidden objects and
set them down again. The high point of the day was when Jack's mother, Becka,
came out of the house, got into her car, and drove away.

She even missed Aunt Milli.
Although living with her could be terrifying in its own way, her aunt had
always given Leesha the gift of time and attention she'd had from no one else.

Still, she knew in her heart
that there were far worse things than being hidden away in Nick Snowbeard's
thoroughly warded apartment over the garage.

Barber was out there
somewhere. At least, now, with the wall up, he couldn't pass freely in and out
of town. Hopefully, he thought she was dead. Even here, in the heart of the
sanctuary, she found herself flinching at small noises and waking in the middle
of the night in a cold sweat.

Every time she thought of
Jason, it made her sick to her stomach, which meant she felt nauseous nearly
all the time. A memory came back to her—the
sun glittering down through snowy pine trees, the tiny ruffled owl, Jason's
brilliant blue eyes and his eagerness to show her something new.

“It would be cool if we
could just be together,” he'd said, in a way that didn't try to claim
anything more from her than her company.

How could she have given him
to Barber? Why couldn't there be do-overs in life?

She wasn't used to guilt. She
was used to being a player. She was used to having options, always planning her
next move. She could look for other allies—Longbranch
and Wylie, for instance. She could go back to D'Orsay. The Dragonheart could be
her ticket into their good graces.

She could feel its constant
pull, night and day, a tether to her Weirstone. It was like the stone had woken
up, and its burgeoning power pulsed throughout the sanctuary.

Finding it wasn't the problem, even though it was no doubt heavily
warded. Her problem was, she was immobilized, weighed down by loss. She
didn't care to be a player any more.

As if her thoughts had called
the devil, she heard a noise in the garage. Then the slow, measured sound of
feet on the stairs. A key rattled in the lock and the door flew back.

It was Snowbeard. The old man
stood in the doorway, parcels in his hands, his smile turning to puzzlement.
“Are you well, Alicia?”

She swallowed down her fear.
“How do you think I am?” she whispered.

“Ah.” He shuffled
forward, dropping the keys into a dish by the door and setting a bakery bag and
a tin of tea on the table. “Were you not able to amuse yourself?”

Which made her feel like it
was her fault she was bored. “Amuse myself? How?”

Snowbeard put the kettle on,
reached a plate down from the cupboard over the sink, and arranged some
sinful-looking brownies on it. “Did you try any of the books I left
you?”

She shook her head, her eyes
on the brownies. “I couldn't concentrate.”

“A shame. They are some
of my favorites. I was hoping we could discuss them this evening.” He
gestured toward the table. “Please. Sit. We'll have supper in a little
while, but I believe we should eat dessert first. Would you like tea, coffee,
soda?”

Somehow she said,
“Tea,” and moved to the table and sat.

She bit into a brownie. She
was glad she had a wizard's metabolism. The old man brought killer sweets home
every day.

When the kettle shrilled, he
brought it to the table and poured, then sat down himself.

Leesha blew on her tea and
reached for another brownie. “I can't stand it,” she said. “Not
knowing what's going on, I mean.”

“Well, let's see. We met
with Wylie, Longbranch, and D'Orsay today,” Snowbeard said.

Leesha choked on her tea,
splattering it on the table.

Snowbeard pretended not to
notice.

Leesha dabbed at the
tablecloth with her napkin. “All of them together?”

The old man nodded. “It
seems they've found common ground.”

They all hated Alicia
Middleton, for one. “What did they…what did they say?”

“They requested
permission to enter the sanctuary.”

Leesha gripped her teacup.
“And you said…?”

“We declined.”

“Did they say why they
wanted in?”

“They want the
Dragonheart.”

“The Dra…what's
that?”

Snowbeard shook his head,
looking disappointed. “Please.”

She bristled. “I don't
care what anyone says, I never…” Her voice trailed off as the old man's
eyes nailed her to the chair. She swallowed hard. “So now what?”

He shrugged and rested his
wrinkled hands on the table. “They've threatened to destroy us all.”

“What'd you say?”
Leesha asked, fascinated in spite of herself.

“Basically, we told them
to come and try.” Snowbeard grinned, and actually looked kind of boyish.

“Wow, you're…um…confident.”

Snowbeard rubbed the side of
his nose. “We have weapons they've never dreamed of.”

“What are you going to do
about me?” Leesha watched the old man, hoping he'd give away his
intentions. They would kill her. She knew they would. She had no idea why she
was alive, even now, unless they were waiting for Hastings. She'd helped with
the wall, but that wouldn't matter when you weighed things out. She'd kidnapped
Will and Fitch, betrayed Jason, and failed to deliver Barber.

Of course, they didn't exactly
know about Jason.

“The existence of the
Dragonheart and its presence in the sanctuary is common knowledge, it seems.
Therefore, you have no information that can harm us. So. You have a choice, my
dear. You can leave the sanctuary and go where you will.”

“You'd let me go?”
Leesha burst out.

Snowbeard smiled blandly.
“With the stipulation that you never return.”

Leesha turned this over like
she might a precious stone, looking for flaws. “My enemies will murder
me,” she said. “Barber and Dr. Longbranch.”

“I think you may find
that they are…otherwise occupied … in the short term, at least. It might be a
good time to disappear.”

Leesha nodded. “Okay. You
said I had a choice. What's my other option?”

“You can stay here, as
you have been.”

She indicated the tiny
apartment with a sweep of her arm. “I'll die of boredom if I stay here any
longer.” Die of guilt, more like. She needed something to do, something to distract her
from thinking about Jason.

Snowbeard s mouth twitched.
“Don't worry. If you stay we will find something for you to
do.”

“Why would you let me
stay?” Leesha was genuinely curious.

“Well,” Snowbeard
said, “given your history, there's something to be said for having you
where we can see you. And wizards, especially, are in short supply.” He
paused. “Before you make your decision, there's something you should know.
Jason came back two nights ago.”

For a moment, Leesha thought
she was going to faint for real (she'd faked fainting dozens of times.) All the
blood left her head and traveled wherever blood goes when you've had a shock.

If she hadn't been sitting
down, she would have collapsed. “J-J-Jason's back? He's alive? He's
okay?” She practically screamed it.

“Well, yes, to all
three.”

“I can't believe
it!” Impulsively, Leesha hugged the old man (not the kind of thing she
normally did), then drew back and eyed him suspiciously. "You wouldn't lie
to me, would your

“No. I wouldn't.”
Snowbeard studied her shrewdly. “Though Jason did have a rather nasty
encounter with Warren Barber.”

There was a long pause. He knows,
Leesha thought. The geezer knows. But she was too happy to care.
“Well. Did Jason…say anything about me?”

“I think you two will
need to talk between yourselves,” Snowbeard said.

Even that prospect failed to
dampen her spirits. In the end, it might do her little good that Jason was still
alive, yet it totally cheered her.

In the back of her mind, a
voice crowed, Do-over.

Maybe.

“Should you decide to
stay, I should point out that you can't change your mind later,” Snowbeard
said. “Once they lay siege to the city, it will be difficult to get
out.”

It was ludicrous, the notion
that they'd soon be under siege. She felt the gathering presence of hundreds of
wizards, like a noose tightening around the town. Yet, she was strangely
reluctant to leave, like those idiots who elect to ride out the hurricane in a
trailer park.

There was a power in this
town, like some great thrumming heart that drew you into its rhythm until you
matched it, beat for beat. To turn away from it was like walking away from the
hearth and out into a winter's cold.

It was the Dragonheart. It
must be. But maybe there was more to it than that. And if she stayed, maybe she
could find a way to win Jason back.

“What are you going to do
about the Anaweir?” she found herself asking.

“God knows,”
Snowbeard said, rolling his eyes. “Do you have any suggestions?”

Well, she thought, at least
the Anaweir were malleable. Perhaps they could all be sent to Cedar Point for a
few weeks on holiday. Or loaded onto boats and ferried across the lake. Good
thing the college wasn't…

She looked up abruptly.
“What are you doing to me?” she demanded.

“Doing to you? What do
you mean?”

She and Snowbeard both reached
for the last brownie and their hands collided. The old man broke it in two,
and gave her half.

“You're spelling me or
something. Using Persuasion. You've got me worrying about the fricking Anaweir
when I should be thinking about saving my own skin.”

“My dear, I assure you, if
you are worrying about the Anaweir, you are doing it on your own.” He rose
and carried the plate to the sink, then turned and leaned back against the
drainboard. “I am a very old man, Alicia, and have made many mistakes over
a very long life, some of them unforgiveable. I have to believe that people can
change. That people deserve a second chance.”

“I could really stay
here?” Leesha asked humbly.

“So I said. Would you
like to?” There was all knowledge, yet no hint of judgment, in the old
man's face.

“I would like to,”
she said simply. And said to herself, “Fool.”