The Warrior Heir (The Heir Chronicles #1)

The Warrior Heir (The Heir Chronicles #1) Page 36

Will and Fitch and Ellen were the only friends Jack wanted to see, the only ones who didn't ask him a hundred questions, who didn't have any hidden agendas. But he knew that by spending time with them, he was putting them in danger.

It was impossible to get a moment alone with Ellen. This was the only time they would likely have, and it was running out.

Jack's lessons with Hastings were suspended; so Jack could now spend hours sharpening his wizardry skills with Nick. He had been shaken by the traders' ability to immobilize him so easily. Now he focused on defenses against spell-casting.

“The key to defense against wizardry is to stay alert,” Nick advised him. “The spoken charm is like any other weapon. Take a dagger, for instance. If your enemy catches you unawares, he can slip it between your ribs before you have time to react. If a wizard casts a charm, you must speak the counter-charm before his takes effect. Failing that, you must interrupt the incantation. Otherwise, you may not ever get the chance. Fortunately, it is much easier to stop a spell than to cast one.” That was good news to Jack, whose powers of wizardry were limited. He spent hours reviewing charms and counter-charms.

On the evening of the last day of exams, Jack was sprawled on his bed reading science fiction, seeking escape, glad to be done with studying for a while. There was a light knock on his door. It was Becka. “Can I talk to you a minute?” When he nodded, she came in and sat down on the bed beside him.

“Jack, I was just wondering”—she twisted her hands in her lap, turned the opal ring that had belonged to her grandmother—“is there anything you'd like to talk about?”

Jack put his finger in the book he was reading to mark his place and sat up straighter. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean to say is, you seem different, somehow. Like you're stressed.You've always been … temperamental, but lately you fly off the handle at things that didn't used to bother you. All of a sudden, you're working out all the time.” She reached out a hand and gently touched his bicep. “Not that there's anything wrong with that, but you've never been interested in bodybuilding before. …” Her voice trailed off. “And … now this episode at school.”

She swallowed. “I know your father and I have always been busy with a thousand things, but you've always been so low maintenance. You've seemed to thrive, despite the divorce. But now …”

“Come on, Mom,” Jack said uncomfortably. “It's not like you've neglected me.”

“I know I have a rather … strong personality.” Becka slid a look at him. “But I want you to know you can tell me anything at all.”

“Okay,” Jack said cautiously. “Anything at all. I'll remember that.”

“So, is there anything you'd like to tell me now?” Becka looked up from studying her hands.

Jack sighed, because he had both arms around a great big lie that he couldn't let go of. Could never let go of. He started with a truth. “I love you, Mom,” he said. And ended with a lie. “I'm sure everything's fine now.”

Some instinct was pricking at her, and she was unconvinced. She gave him a look that said so. “You know, Jack, I'm afraid. I almost lost you when you were a baby. That would have broken my heart, because I would have always imagined what might have been, the boy you would have grown to be. But—if I lost you now, it would be much worse. Because now I know how very special you are.” And she smiled sadly, kissed him, and left the room.

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.