The Dragon Heir (The Heir Chronicles #3)

The Dragon Heir (The Heir Chronicles #3) Page 7

Madison hunched her shoulders like she could disappear into her coat. “They're not coming here. They wouldn't.”

“They're fighting other places,” Ellen pointed out. “Kidnapping sorcerers to help in the war. Stockpiling weapons.”

True. But. Madison jerked her head at the motley army. “If the Roses do come—which they won't—what are you going to do? Do you really think you'll be able to hold them off with this sorry lot?” As soon as she said it, she regretted it. Her mother, Carlene, always said Madison's manners were two steps behind her wicked tongue.

Like Carlene was an example for anyone.

“Well,” Jack said. He and Ellen exchanged glances again. “We have to try.”

“Maybe you should buy some assault rifles, then,” Madison suggested sarcastically. “And rocket-propelled grenades.”

“Assault rifles don't work against wizards, unless you take them by surprise,” Ellen said. She'd been raised by wizards, outside of the usual teen social circles, so sarcasm often went right by her. “Their shields can totally turn non-magical attacks. But a warrior can take a wizard in a magical battle on a level playing field.”

“Well, I think it's a waste of…” Sensing a presence, she swung around. The buckskin-clad warrior was right behind her, rudely eavesdropping on the conversation. “Did you want something?”

He swept off his hat and managed a creditable little bow. “My name's Jeremiah Brooks, ma'am,” he said. “I don't believe we've been introduced.”

Madison squinted up at him. He was very tall and smelled of sweat, leather, and gunpowder.

“I'm Maddie Moss.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma'am. If I may say so, you just might be the prettiest girl in town.” Jeremiah Brooks smiled, a long, slow, droop-lidded smile.

“Jeremiah lived near here in the 1780s,” Jack explained. “He was kidnapped by the Roses and died at Raven's Ghyll in 1792.”

“Is that so, Mr. Brooks?” Madison asked, for lack of anything else to say. Of course it was so. Mr. Jeremiah Brooks was a ghost. She was being hit on by somebody who'd been dead for more than 200 years. These sorts of things were a dime a dozen in Trinity, Ohio.

Brooks dismissed his death with a wave of his hand. “Miz Moss, if you'd care to go dancing with me tonight, you'll see there's some life left in me yet.”

“I don't date dead people,” Madison said, glaring at the ghost warrior. “That's where I draw the line.” These ghosts were just a little too substantial as far as she was concerned. They ate, drank, fought… and danced, apparently. Except for their odd mode of dress and the weapons they carried, you couldn't tell them from live people.

Jack grinned. “Better watch yourself, Brooks. Maddie's going out with my cousin. The most powerful wizard I know.”

Brooks paled under his stubble of beard. “I'm sorry, ma'am. No offense meant. You didn't seem like the kind to … I had no way of knowing that…”

“We're not going out.” Madison scowled at Jack, who shrugged and raised his eyebrows at Ellen.

Madison tried again. “I mean, we're just…friends. Good friends. To be honest, I've barely seen him lately.” You're running on at the mouth. Stop it.

Brooks lifted an eyebrow. “Well, watch yourself, Miz Moss. I don't know that you can be friends with a wizard. They've been known to take advantage of young ladies. If you take my meaning.”

Madison gave him a look, then turned to Jack and Ellen. “Anyway. We were supposed to meet an hour ago. You haven't seen him, have you?”

Jack shook his head. “I don't see him anymore, either. He and Nick are totally caught up with maintaining the boundary.”

While the warriors played their war games, the wizards of Trinity had established an invisible barrier to suppress attack magic within the sanctuary. The maintenance of it seemed to demand a huge amount of energy. And time.

“I still don't get why we need a special boundary now, when we never did before,” Madison said.

“Well, the ban on attack magic is written into the Covenant, but I guess now nobody knows whether it's in force or not,” Jack said, “or when D'Orsay might consecrate his new Covenant. Things are kind of up in the air.”

Madison stamped her feet, finding that her fancy boots were not much protection against the cold. “Well, I was supposed to help him with an art project, but he didn't show.”

Jack and Ellen shifted their feet in the beaten-down snow, obviously eager to get back to their scrimmage. “If we see Seph, we'll tell him you're looking for him,” Ellen offered.

Madison jammed her hands in her pockets, trying to warm them. “It's getting late anyway. I need to get to work. See you.”

The clatter of fighting resumed before she made it out of the clearing.

Now she had only an hour before her shift started. She'd try Seph's Aunt Becka's, then move on to the waterfront. If he wasn't at either of those places, she'd have to go on to work.

Nothing could have happened to him. He'd just gotten hung up. Like usual. He had to be safe within the sanctuary. There was a boundary up, after all. No attack magic.

All the while knowing that, within the sanctuary at least, the biggest threat to Seph McCauley was Madison Moss and the magic that leaked from her fingers.

A memory surfaced, the battle at the inn at Second Sister, a scene painted in lurid orange hues. Gregory Leicester smiled, extending his wizard hands, launching flaming death at Seph. Maddie had stepped between them, catching the full force of the attack. She'd reeled in the magic while the wizard struggled on the end of her line like a bluegill at Jackson Lake. Leicester had fallen, along with all of his captive wizards.

She'd been left contaminated. The bitter taste of hex magic lingered on the back of her tongue and seeped out through her pores, a virulent and deadly poison made just for Seph.

After their return from Second Sister, he'd complained of headaches, stomach pains, fatigue. He broke out in welts and rashes, and grew thin and pale and hollow-eyed, as if he had some wasting disease.

At first Madison thought it was the aftermath of the ordeal on the island. She assumed time would heal him, but he only got worse. His hands shook and his changeable eyes went cloudy and dull and twice he fainted at school.

Seph's parents took him to England for Christmas and he seemed to improve, but took ill again when he came back to Trinity. His mother, Linda, fussed over him and called in the healer Mercedes Foster, who prescribed fresh air and sunshine and good food and potions and amulets that did no good. When Mercedes finally put him to bed, Madison spent long hours sitting with him, reading to him, holding his hand. She guessed she wasn't much of a nurse, because he only seemed to grow weaker.

Then Madison went home for a week during fall break. When she came back, Seph was out of bed and feeling better. He looked like a different person, more like his old self.

But not for long. And that was when she knew.

Sometimes she wondered if she was possessed. She could feel something evil inside her react to Seph's presence, like a serpent uncoiling. Her touch was toxic. No one else seemed to make the connection, least of all Seph. And if they found out…

So she began avoiding him, avoiding his touch especially, making excuses. And dying inside every time.

Madison turned onto Jefferson Street, negotiating the icy bricks. Jefferson was lined with tall oaks and gracious “painted ladies.” That's what they called these Victorian houses iced with turrets, spindles, and wraparound porches. Jack shared an elegant green-shingled Queen Anne with his mother.

Jack's mother, Becka, and Seph's mother, Linda, were sisters in a family full of secrets. Linda was an enchanter, a master of charisma—seduction, some said. Becka was Anaweir—she wasn't magical, and she knew nothing about the magic going on all around her.

Madison paused at the foot of the driveway. Seph's car was parked next to the side entrance.

She knocked on the screen door. No answer. Pounded on the inside door. Nothing. She tried the knob, and it was unlocked.

“Anybody home?” she called, pushing the door open and poking her head into the foyer.

He was in there somewhere. She could feel his presence in the acceleration of her heartbeat, a faint vibration in her bones.

Witch boy.

She crossed the foyer and passed down the hallway to the family room at the rear. And froze in the doorway.

Seph lay sprawled on the rug in front of the hearth. His face beneath the dark curls was pale and chiseled as porcelain, save the dark smudges under his eyes. He was frowning, lips parted, as if he'd succumbed between two words. For a terrible moment, she thought he was dead, until she saw the faint rise and fall of his chest.

“Good day, Maddie.” The wizard Nick Snowbeard half-rose from his chair in the hearth corner and draped a quilt over Seph, then settled back into his seat by the fire. “It is a pleasure to see you, as always.”

She dropped to her knees next to Seph, her heart clamoring in her chest, worrying she was somehow responsible. “What happened? Is he … ?”

The old caretaker tilted his head, looking surprised. “Why, ray dear, he's sleeping, of course, though he isn't particularly happy about it.”

Madison looked at Seph, as if he might have a comment, then back at Snowbeard. Worry turned to irritation. “He's taking a nap? We were supposed to meet two hours ago.”

“The boy is exhausted. He's overextended himself, maintaining the boundary twenty-four hours a day.” The old wizard pressed his fingers between his briared eyebrows, as if he had a headache. Old Bear, the gifted called him, or sometimes, the Silver Bear. He did resemble a slightly rumpled bear rousted from his den in midwinter.

“It was a breakdown in communications,” Snowbeard went on. “Too much to do, and too few people to do it. Hastings is away, and I was … unexpectedly delayed. I had no idea he'd been on his own so long, and it's not in his nature to ask for help. But now I've relieved him, and I put him to sleep, over his protest.”