The Wizard Heir (27 page)

“Thank you.”

He decided to take the stairs instead, reasoning that
he was less likely to run into someone he knew. It also allowed him to delay
things that much longer. He could think about murdering Gregory Leicester all
the way up to coming face-to-face with the wizard. Then the image failed. Not a
good omen. “Vous devez envisager le success,” Genevieve had
often said to him. You must envision success.

He realized he was leaving a clear trail for anyone
who wanted to track him down. More than that, he knew that murder was a mortal
sin, the kind that took you straight to hell. But he had no choice. Leicester
had already killed Trevor and Jason, and it seemed he still had plans for Seph.
Painful plans, no doubt.

You've been a tough little bastard, Leicester had said. Now we'll find out just how
tough you are. Fragments of nightmares came back to him, like jagged glass
beneath his skin. They'd come close to taking him at the river; they might
succeed the next time.

I know where you live, Barber had said. We'll
find Linda Downey and her sister, Rebecca. We'll find your girl. We'll find
your warrior friend. And, in the end, we'll find you.

Seph paused in the stairwell and readied his weapons.

His right hand found the knife under his T-shirt, and
he slipped it out into his hand. He pulled the bottle from his pocket, yanked
the stopper, and daubed the blade liberally with the contents. Mercedes Foster
had warned him that it was more potent than the venom of any snake, and undetectable
by Anaweir medicine. Carefully, he slid the knife back into its sheath.
Returning the bottle to his pocket, he groped for the portal at his neck. He
knew better than to engage Leicester directly. He would wait, unnoticed, like a
viper in the grass, for the headmaster to come within reach of his sting.

Unnoticeable Seph emerged from the stairwell and
walked quickly down the hall toward the end, where he knew 210 must be.

“Seph! Seph McCauley, is that you?”

He spun around, clutching for the knife, his breath
catching in his throat. His first thought was that the always reliable
unnoticeable charm hadn't worked.

But no. It was Madison Moss in a long skirt and
sleeveless cotton sweater and little strappy sandals, her exuberant hair
gathered into a net studded with rhinestones. His heart stuttered at the sight
of her. She bore down on him, as beautiful and dangerous as a summer storm over
the lake. It seemed that Madison was as impervious to unnoticeable charms as to
other forms of wizardry.

“Where have you been?” she hissed.
“I've left messages, I've stopped by your house …”

He raised his hands as if he could hold her off.
“Madison, we can't. This isn't a good time.”

“Well, I guess there is no good time. I
thought we were friends. If this is about what happened at the river, I think I
have the right to make my own choices.”

She kept coming forward, and he backed away until she
had him penned in a little alcove at the end of the hall. Desperate to stop the
flow of words, he gripped her wrist and pulled her toward him, pressing his
hand over her mouth. “Listen, some of those people we saw at the river are
right here at the inn. They'd like nothing better than to finish what they
started.”

Madison broke away from him and looked up and down the
hallway. Then she moved closer to him and lowered her voice. “Then why are
you here?” Her voice tremored a bit.

A question that Seph could not answer. He gripped her
elbows. “They won't notice me. I'll be fine unless you give me away.”

She blinked at him. “You expect me to believe
you're invisible? Right.” But she sounded a little unsure of herself.

Then he heard footsteps. He looked over Madison's
shoulder and saw someone tall and angular striding toward them down the hall,
like an avenging spirit.

It was Leander Hastings.

Seph nodded toward Hastings. “He's looking for
me. Please don't say anything.” And he faded back into the alcove.

Madison did not turn around. She advanced to the
window and pretended to look out, resting her hands on the sill. Hastings came
on, scanning the room numbers to either side. He paused when he came to 210,
turned aside, put his ear to the door, and knocked. There was no response. He
straightened and stood, watching Madison for a moment.

“Excuse me.” She winced when he spoke, then
turned toward him, gripping her skirts on either side. “Have you seen a
young man about your age, tall and thin, dark curly hair?” Hastings lodged
himself in the entrance to the alcove, effectively preventing escape.

“No, sir, I haven't.” She looked up at him,
eyes bright, color high. “If he's a guest at the inn, you could check at
the front desk.” Her eyes flicked quickly toward Seph, as if to verify
that he was still there. Then back to Hastings.

“He's not a guest, though I have reason to
believe he might have come up here. He passed by the front desk not ten minutes
ago.” Hastings leaned against the doorframe, frowning.

Madison shrugged. “Haven't seen him. Now, if
you'll excuse me, I have work to do.”

Hasting didn't move. He searched the alcove with his
eyes, then looked back at Madison. She glanced again at Seph. He shook his
head, putting his finger to his lips. Hastings reached into his trouser pocket,
drew out a small pouch, fumbled it open, then suddenly flung its contents
toward Seph. It was a light, glittery powder, and it coalesced around Seph like
a halo. Hastings groped into the middle of it, his fingers closing on the chain
around Seph's neck. The links dissolved under the wizard's touch, and the dyrne
sefa fell free.

Unnoticeable Seph was noticeable once again.

“So.” Hastings retrieved the dyrne sefa and
put it into his pocket. Then dropped a heavy hand onto Seph's shoulder, spun
him around, and slammed him up against the wall. “I noticed at Becka's
that you were wearing a heartstone. You've obviously learned how to use
it.” His eyes were cold and green as the ice that forms on the deepest
lakes in Canada. “Who are you looking for, Seph?” the wizard said.
“Perhaps I can help you.”

It was hard to speak and hard not to, with all that
wizard pressure on him.

“Tell me,” Hastings said softly. “Are
you still looking for the Dragon?” His hand pressed lightly against Seph's
windpipe, vibrating with power. Even the slight pressure made it difficult to
breathe.

“I'm … I'm looking for Gregory Leicester,”
Seph whispered faintly.

“You're looking for your master, then? Have
something to tell him, do you?”

“You … leave … him … alone, do you hear me?”

In the heat of the moment, Seph had nearly forgotten
Madison. Now Hastings and Seph both turned to look at her. Seph blinked to
clear his vision and Hastings even loosened his grip slightly.

She grabbed Seph's arm. Power slid through Seph like
hot metal through flesh, from Hastings to Madison, scouring Seph's brain of
coherent thought. Seph fell, breaking the connection between them, landing
awkwardly on his side.

Swearing softly, Maddie knelt next to Seph, cradling
his head in her arms. Seph wanted to reassure her, but he could find no words.
All he could do was gape at her.

She was angry. That was the first thing he noticed.
But if the glitter powder revealed Seph's power like an aura, it layered her in
shadow. It feathered her arms as she moved, shrouded her glittering hair,
rendering her insubstantial as a spirit, a negative image to Seph's positive.

Hastings sat slumped against the wall, breathing hard,
similarly incapacitated. He squinted at Madison and shook his head. “An
elicitor,” he whispered. “You must be. I didn't think they really
existed.”

“I don't know what you're talking about, but if
you hurt him again, I'll …” She extended her hands toward Hasting, who
drew back hastily, as if afraid of being burnt, still staring at Madison in
wonder.

“Well, well. What am I interrupting, here?”

Like coconspirators, they looked up as one. Gregory
Leicester stood in the entry to the alcove, holding an ice bucket that dripped
condensation. He looked from Seph and Madison to Hastings, rubbing his chin
thoughtfully.

“We were just talking about you, Gregory,”
Leander Hastings said, sounding somehow collected in spite of his position on
the floor. He looked from Leicester to Seph as if trying to discern the links
between them.

“Perhaps you would care to come in and have a
drink, Leander,” Leicester offered. “I was about to have one myself.
You could celebrate your victory today.”

“It wasn't my victory,” Hastings said,
rising to his feet. “There is considerable support for the new
constitution on the council.”

“But you spoke eloquently on its behalf. Though
why you want to empower hedge prophets, enchanters, and warriors, I haven't a
clue.” He might have said slime, vermin, and scum of the earth.

“I don't know what you think you're giving up.
Other than the ability to push people around.”

“Then you won't join me for that drink?”
Leicester seemed to notice Seph for the first time. “Hello, Joseph. Warren
tells me he ran into you at the park the other day.”

Seph extracted himself from Maddie's embrace and
stood. “You stay away from me, and tell Barber and the others to do the
same. Or no one walks away next time.”

“And yet, here you are, lurking outside my
door.” Leicester glanced at Hastings, as if expecting him to intervene.
“Perhaps you've finally realized that you belong with us.”

“I'm never going back.”

“We'll see.” The wizard looked over Seph's
shoulder at Madison. “Aren't you going to introduce me to your
friend?”

Reverberating with anger, Madison tried to push
forward, but Seph stuck out his arm to prevent her.

“You stay away from her,” Seph said.

“Never mind. I know how to find her. Madison,
isn't it? Such an unusual name.” Leicester turned away, shifting the
bucket into the crook of his arm and fitting his key into the lock.

Seph groped for his knife, slid it free, and lunged
toward Leicester. Hastings reached around from behind and gripped his wrist,
dragging him back, wrapping the other arm around his body, increasing the
pressure and power until Seph's hand went numb and the knife thudded on the
carpet. Hastings covered it with his foot.

Hastings held Seph immobile until the oblivious
Leicester entered his room and shut the door. Hastings scooped up the knife
and, gripping the back of Seph's neck, propelled him down the hall to Room 206.
He unlocked the door and pushed him inside. Madison followed them in and pulled
the door shut behind her.

The room seemed an odd setting for Hastings: fussy
with fabrics and Victorian touches, furnished with antiques of mixed heritage.
The window opened to a view of the lake. A suitcase lay open on one of the
beds. A small table was drawn up by the window, littered with the debris of a
meeting: cups, saucers, glasses, and papers.

Hastings looked at Madison, as if wishing he could
make her disappear. Her expression and body language said she had no intention
of leaving. Seph would have liked to have seen Hastings try and evict her after
what she'd done to him in the hallway.

Instead, Hastings leaned against the door, his arms
folded across his chest. “What shall we do with you, Seph?”

“This is none of your business. Why don't you
just leave me alone?” Seph stood, feet braced apart, breathing hard. He
jerked his head toward Madison. “You should go.”

“I'm not leaving this time.” Madison sat
down on the bed, looking mulish.

Hastings ignored this exchange. “I told Linda it
was too risky to let you stay here. It seems I was right. When Jack called me,
I knew exactly where to look for you.”

“If it's a problem, just drive me to the city
limits. The alumni will be happy to take me off your hands.”

Hastings's head came up. “The alumni?”

“Leicester's wizard slaves. I'm wanted back at
school, it seems.”

Hastings squinted at him as if puzzled. Then sat down
in one of the chairs next to the table. “Tell me about school.”

“The Havens? They have five hundred spectacular
acres on the Atlantic Ocean. They win the sailing cup every year.” Seph
was being a smartass, and he knew it. “Do you have a specific
question?”

“As it happens, I know something about the
Havens,” Hastings said. “Can you explain to me how you survived a
year in that place? Can you tell me why you're not with them?”

Seph had a sudden strong desire to win the wizard
over. He was tired of worrying about the alumni; tired of keeping secrets;
tired of trying to solve his problems on his own; tired of sparring with a
powerful wizard who should be his ally. If he couldn't find the Dragon, maybe
Hastings would do. “I used the heartstone. The dyrne sefa”

Hastings pulled the talisman out of his pocket and
handed it back to Seph. “Where did you get it?”

“Another student gave it to me and taught me how
to use it. His name was Jason Haley.” Seph shoved the piece into the
pocket of his shorts. “He was my friend. He was helping me. So they killed
him.” He began pacing back and forth. “A week ago, Leicester sent
some of the alumni to kidnap me. I left the sanctuary, and they attacked me.”
He nodded at Madison. “If not for Madison, here, and Ellen, they would
have taken me.” He rubbed his temples. “I can't stand it anymore.
They tortured me for months. They murdered my friends. Why won't they leave me
alone?”

He walked to the window and rested his hands on the
sill, looking out at the water. A chair scraped on the wood floor, and then
Hastings was beside him. He grabbed Seph's chin and forced his face around so
he could look him in the eyes. It reminded him of Jason, the night he'd explained
to Seph about the Weir. After a moment, Hastings let him go and turned away.