The Wizard Heir (16 page)

“How do I know you're telling the truth?” Seph
could tell Leicester didn't want to believe her.

“I'm the boy's guardian. I can show you papers,
if you like.” She dug in her briefcase, pulled out a wad of papers and
handed them to Leicester. He scanned them unhappily and handed them back.

But Houghton's my guardian. Isn't he?

“Look,” the woman said. “We're counting
on your discretion. Seph's father doesn't care about whatever it is you're
doing up here. But his tolerance does not extend to his own son. The boy has
been badly beaten, starved, and tortured. If this comes out, it would be
natural for the Council to assume that you were targeting his son for a reason.
A political reason.”

“And why should we allow you to leave here,
carrying tales?” Leicester asked. He took a step toward her, reaching out to
take her wrist. She stepped back, deftly avoiding his hand.

“I'm expected back with Joseph tonight,” she
said calmly. “How would you propose to explain our disappearance?”

Leicester looked bereft, like his birthday had been
canceled. Clearly, he was trying to devise some alternative to letting Seph go.
But it was also obvious that the woman's threats had been effective. He
wouldn't want the Council involved, wouldn't want to draw any unnecessary
attention to the Havens. He had to weigh the potential risk of releasing Seph
against the damage of certain exposure.

Finally, he shrugged, not at all gracious in defeat.
“Very well. Wait in the outer office a moment. I need to speak to Joseph
in private.”

She didn't want to go. Seph could tell. And he didn't
want her to go, either. But she went, looking back over her shoulder as if it
might be the last time she saw him.

Leicester pointed at Seph and muttered the
countercharm. Seph stirred in his chair and tried unsuccessfully to get to his
feet. The headmaster grasped him by the front of his sweatshirt and dragged him
upright so their faces were inches apart.

“So, Joseph, you're going back to your father. I
hope you'll have a wonderful reunion. Just remember one thing—if even a whisper
of what's going on here reaches any member of the Council, whether it's
traceable back to you or not, I will make it my mission in life to track down
every member of your miserable family and every friend you ever had down to the
most ephemeral romantic fling, and I will kill them in the most
excruciating way possible. And when I'm done with them, I will come after you,
and we will resume where we left off.”

Seph looked back at him and said, “Can I go
now?” And thought, You come after me and I'll be ready next time.

Leicester let go of him and took a step back. Keeping
his back straight, feeling Leicester's hostile glare on the back of his neck,
Seph limped into the outer office, where Linda Downey was waiting. Though he
towered over her, she slid her hand under his elbow to support him. Magic
flowed into him, powerful stuff that made his head spin, though somehow
different from what he was used to.

Leicester and the alumni had followed him out. He
seemed to be trying to place Linda within his scheme of things. “I assume
that you are Ravenstock's latest … lover?”

“Assistant,” she said, steering Seph toward
the door.

Seph looked back at Leicester, burning an image for
later use. Somehow, I'll make you pay, he thought. For Sam, whoever he was and
might have been. For Trevor. And for Jason, most of all.

He shuffled painfully to the door, with Linda's hand
at his elbow, and then out the door and to the stairs. They managed to navigate
the stairs, and hobbled out the front door.

The BMW waited in the parking lot. Linda opened the
passenger door for Seph, helped him in, closed it behind him, and climbed in
behind the wheel. Though she seemed calm, her hand was shaking and it took two
tries to fit the key into the ignition.

Seph pressed himself back into the seat. Linda Downey
drove fast and aggressively, ramming through the gears, jouncing down the dirt
road at a reckless speed, reminding Seph of each and every injury. He looked
over at her. There were spots of high color on her cheeks, and her eyes were
alternately revealed and concealed in the shifting light under the trees. This
was his father's girlfriend?

Seph tried to get comfortable, still unable to believe
that he was finally leaving the Havens. “So we're heading for
Portland?” He could hardly force the words between his swollen lips. His
tongue explored a jagged spot where a tooth had broken off.

She nodded. “It's the fastest way out of Maine.
But first we need to find you a doctor.” She looked over at him, biting
her lip. “The nearest hospital is probably in Portland.”

Linda's scrutiny made Seph uncomfortable. “I'm
all right. Really. It looks worse than it is. I'd rather not have to answer any
questions.”

“Seph, I'm so sorry. I had no idea what was going
on.” Her voice broke. “And when we received your e-mail, I …”

“Who is Ravenstock?”

“Never mind him. He's no one you're related
to.”

He wasn't surprised, somehow, but he was a little
disappointed. He erased Ravenstock from his mental file, the place where he
kept the clues to who he was. “Weren't you taking a chance in there?”

“I didn't have much choice. I had to hope you
looked like someone on the Council.”

“Thank you … for coming … when you did,” he
said. “They were going to kill me. Or worse.”

She glanced over at him. “Why?”

“I think he likes it. Hurting people, I
mean.” Leicester's threat was fresh in his mind. He wasn't going to say
much until he found out who and what she was.

Linda cleared her throat. “I don't really know
how much you know … about the magical guilds.” She looked straight ahead,
as if embarrassed. As if she were about to deliver “The Talk.”

“I know all about it,” he said, rechecking
the rearview mirror for the fifteenth time. “Weir, Anaweir, wizards and
spells. If that's what you mean.”

He'd surprised her. “Who told you? Was it
Leicester?”

He shook his head. “My foster mother told me a
little. The rest, I learned here.” He thought of Jason, and his breath
came ragged when he drew it in. He closed his eyes, trying to remember how it
had felt when he'd smashed into Leicester. Wishing he'd managed to get off a
charm.

“Are you sure you're all right?”

“I'm fine,” Seph said. “Perfect.”
He looked sideways at her. “So you're a wizard?”

She shook her head. “No. Enchanter.” She
delivered the word quickly, as if unsure of his reaction.

An enchanter! Jason had been fascinated by enchanters, but said he'd never met one. Seph
remembered something Jason had said, and before he could think, he had blurted
it out. “Is it true an enchanter can bewitch any wizard, no matter how
powerful?” Then he clapped his mouth shut. Not a question to be asking
someone he'd just met.

“Well. I suppose that depends on the enchanter,
and the wizard, and how careful he or she is about being bewitched. Of course,
as a general rule, wizards are more powerful than enchanters. But if I come on
a wizard unawares …” She let go of the wheel and flexed her fingers like a
cat unsheathing its claws.

“But who are you? Do you really work for
Sloane's?”

“No. They work for me. What I said in there was
true. I'm your guardian.”

Something told him she wasn't being completely honest.
It was as if she were translucent, and every so often the light would shine
through, illuminating her, revealing shards of the truth, like gold glittering
in the sand.

“Did … do you know my parents?” He wasn't
sure what tense to use.

“I knew them. Years ago,” she said.

Another lie. He sat up straighter. Linda Downey knew
the truth about him, he was sure of it. He would find a way to get it from her,
no matter how awful it was.

“If you're my guardian, how come I've never heard
of you?”

“I became your guardian after your parents died.
I … I travel a lot and I wanted something stable for you. So Genevieve LeClerc
agreed to foster you.”

“But who were my parents?” Seph persisted.
“What were their names? Where did they live? How did they die? Do I have
other family?” It was a cascade of questions, the questions of a lifetime.

She ran her tongue over her lips. “Surely
Genevieve told you all that. Your father … was a software engineer. There was a
fire.”

“Don't give me that fairy tale. I'm just a
made-up person. My birth record is a fake. There is no news story about a fire.
No Social Security death records. I'm not stupid.”

“No one ever said you were.” She kept her
eyes on the road, as if it would be dangerous to look at him. “The truth
is, I can't tell you what you want to know. So don't ask me any more.” Her
tone was sharp, her knuckles white against the steering wheel. There was a
brief, strained silence. Then she went on.

“I placed you with Genevieve when you were a
baby, because I knew she would take good care of you. You liked it there,
didn't you?” The question came in a rush, a plea for reassurance.

“I liked it there.” Seph looked out the
window. “I loved Genevieve.”

“I guess I haven't done so well the past two
years. You see … my nephew was in trouble, and … well … I got distracted.
There's been a lot going on. Houghton assured me that you were doing well.
Until he called me about the e-mail.” Her voice trailed away.

“Where are we headed, anyway?”

“A town called Trinity. It's in Ohio, on Lake
Erie. A college town.”

“Trinity, Ohio.” Jason had mentioned that
name. An image surfaced. Barns and silos. From the forest primeval to the
Midwestern farm. He tried not to make a face. It hurt to make a face.

Anywhere is better than where I came from, he told himself. Just then he wanted to burrow into
the Midwest, to pull the farmland of Ohio over himself like a blanket.

“Why Trinity?” he asked. “Is there
another school there?”

“My sister lives there. Plus, it was designated
as a sanctuary after the tournament at Raven's Ghyll.”

Right. Jason had said something about a sanctuary,
“in Ohio, of all places.”

“Why a sanctuary?”

“There's a lot going on,” she said again, as
if that explained anything.

“Are there any wizards in Trinity?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes, I know of at least two, and
there are probably more. Why do you ask?”

“I need more training.”

She nodded. “I suppose your lack of training is
my fault. Genevieve was…was wonderful, but not very approving of wizards.”
She nodded again, as if confirming some unspoken thought. “Yes, I imagine
we can find someone in Trinity to train you.”

“Good.” He leaned back and closed his eyes,
but he could still feel the pressure of her gaze.

“If you feel up to it, why don't you tell me what
happened at the Havens.”

He kept his eyes closed. “I really don't feel up
to it.”

She fell silent. She had secrets, so did he. Gregory
Leicester's threat lingered in the back of his mind. It might be that the only
person to tell this story to would be the Dragon. Someone powerful enough to
put it to use.

Linda Downey had saved his life, and for that he was
grateful. If she wanted more than that, she'd have to earn his trust.

Late that evening, Gregory Leicester sat at the end of
the dock, leaning against the cold metal of the boatlift. Not even the
loveliness of the spring evening could soothe him. He was drinking Courvoisier
again, and more than usual.

The boy had made a fool of him. First he'd broken into
his office and sent the e-mails. Then he had actually dared to attack him. And
he'd walked away with hardly a scratch. Not a good lesson for the alumni who
were there to see it.

He consoled himself with the anticipation of the
summer to come. There would be a meeting of the Council the next week. He
wondered if he could use the information about Ravenstock's bastard to direct
his vote on the constitutional issue.

Once the other students were gone, he'd need time to
work with the alumni. In truth, he could do without the distraction of trying
to break the boy, and then train him. Even with the loss of his two latest
prospects, he had fifteen wizards linked to him. That should be plenty,
assuming the Dragon and the others could be kept in the dark a little longer.

He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, feeling
better. The cell phone at his belt buzzed and he considered ignoring it. But
the number had been given only to a chosen few. So he pulled it from its clip.
“Leicester.”

It was Claude D'Orsay His voice was tight with
excitement, unusual for the reserved Master of the Games. “You have a
student by the name of Joseph McCauley.” It wasn't a question.

Joseph McCauley again. “What about him?”
Leicester drained his glass.

“I'm coming to Maine tomorrow. Confine him until
I arrive.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you know who the boy is?”

Oh, that. Leicester
snorted. “I heard about it today. He's Jeremy Ravenstock's bastard.
Apparently, Ravenstock's trying to keep it a secret. Not very successfully, I'm
afraid.”

“Ravenstock? Not unless Ravenstock is the Dragon,
which is absurd. We both know the Dragon's true identity. We think the boy's
his son.”

For a long moment, Leicester could say nothing at all.
“Are you sure?”

“We found his name in some files at the Dragon's
hideout in London when we raided it a few months ago. We searched all of our
databases, Social Security records, and so on, but it took a while to find him.
The boy was born in Canada. The birth certificate is a phony. His parents never
existed. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to hide who he really is.”

It had definitely not been a good day for Gregory
Leicester, and now the cognac was no longer working. Joseph McCauley's face was
before him again, and he saw the resemblance immediately. It was unmistakable.
The imprint of the devil was clearly on his offspring. It confirmed both the
father as the Dragon and the son as his blood. “He's gone, Claude,”
he whispered, unable to believe it himself.