The Wizard Heir (The Heir Chronicles #2)

The Wizard Heir (The Heir Chronicles #2) Page 55

Jason patted his back awkwardly. “Hey, anybody ever tell you that you look like your old man?”

“What happened? How did you get away?” Seph released Jason and leaned back against the wall, waiting for an explanation that would convince him it was true.

Jason gazed out into space. “To say I got away would be stretching a bit. They got me at the Weirweb. They'd changed the configuration of the barrier, so my countercharms didn't work.” He paused, apparently editing, picking and choosing what he shared with Seph. “Leicester must've decided that a drowning was easiest to explain. So when they were done … ah … talking to me, they took me to the cove.”

Seph shuddered. Ever since his dream about the boathouse, the experience of drowning was never far away.

Jason went on, speaking in short, economical phrases. “Fortunately, Leicester didn't disable me. Guess he wanted to see me kick and struggle. They held me under water. I fought them for a while, and then I used the dyrne sefa to step away. I looked good and dead, but didn't even suck in any seawater. They 'found' the body, called my stepmother with the bad news, and shipped me out the next day in a body bag.”

“We never heard anything,” Seph said quietly. “You just disappeared. I thought you got away, until Leicester told me.”

“I split at the airport, scared a few people when I unzipped.” He grinned. “Had to wipe a few minds clean on that one. Then I went home to square things there, keep the family from calling the Havens when my body didn't show up.” He shook his head. "Thank God for the Anaweir. You never have to explain anything to them if you don't want to.

"I called Sloane's, but they said you'd left school, that you were with your guardian. I thought they'd killed you.

“Then I looked up this hacker friend of mine from high school. The Dragon was posting messages on the Web at the time—secrets, coded messages, that kind of thing. I asked my friend to track it down, get a location on the machine the stuff was coming from.”

Jason grinned. The next thing I know, your father here tracked me down. He put his wizard hands around my throat, wanting to know who I'm working for, and why I'm so damned interested in the Dragon."

Hastings shrugged, a slight smile on his face. Even after a night's sleep, he still looked pale and tired. The torc around his neck was nearly black, like a piece of silver exposed to the elements.

“Of course, I'd heard of Leander Hastings. Everyone has. It wasn't easy convincing him not to kill me. I told him all about the Havens, what Gregory and the gang were up to, showed him the portal and how it worked. Naturally, he was real interested once he was persuaded I wasn't on the other side.”

“That's why you knew about the alumni,” Seph said, looking at Hastings. “And you weren't surprised when I showed you the portal stone at the Legends.”

Hastings nodded. “I assumed you were working for Leicester until I found out Jason had been helping you. After our conversation at the Legends, I asked Jason about you and confirmed that you were telling the truth.”

“And you let me keep thinking Jason was dead?” Seph shook his head in disbelief.

Hastings hesitated. “It's important that Leicester and the alumni not find out that Jason is alive.”

“Now, let's see what the old bastard did to you,” Jason said, changing the subject. Reluctantly, Seph extended his right hand. Jason examined it gently, turning it over, being careful of the injured fingers. “He gave you a witch's hand, Seph,” he said softly.

“Witch's hand? What are you talking about?” Seph pulled his hand back.

“Three middle fingers, all the same length. Old Magic. Witch's hand,” Jason said solemnly.

Just then, they heard the rattle of the bolt on the door sliding back, and Jason went unnoticeable as it opened. It was Martin Hall and Bruce Hays.

Martin was carrying a breakfast tray. He set it down on the table. “How was the wine?” he asked Hastings.

“Perfect,” the wizard replied, indicating the empty bottle by the door. “My compliments.”

Martin looked pleased. He took off his glasses, polished them on his shirt, returned them to his face. “Not too much berry?”

“Perfect,” Hastings said again.

“Enjoy your breakfast,” Martin said. “I'll bring another bottle tonight. The other guests will be arriving tomorrow night, so I'll be pretty busy after that,” he said, almost apologetically. The alumni left, and they heard the bolt slide back into place. They sat quietly for a moment, to be sure they were gone, and then Jason reappeared.

Seph and Hastings ate at the table, while Jason sat on one of the cots. Jason didn't eat much before he set his plate on the floor. He rose, pacing back and forth like a tiger in a cage.

“So what are you doing here?” Seph asked, pushing his plate away. He was finding that eating with his left hand was awkward. He had eaten his muffin without butter because he didn't think he could handle the knife, and he didn't want to ask for help. “How did you get in here? Are you just visiting the prisoners, or what?”

Jason stopped pacing. There was another exchange of glances with Hastings.

“Your father and I have been working together,” Jason said. Seph felt a twinge of jealousy that Jason had this shared experience with his father. “When they brought him here, I hitched a ride.” He hesitated, looking at Hastings again, as if for permission to go on.

Hastings nodded. “Although we don't know exactly what the plan is, Jason and I are going to do what we can to ruin it. The first thing we're going to do is get you out of here.” He gestured, indicating their surroundings.

“What do you mean?” Seph looked from one to the other.

“We don't want them searching the island for you. It's just too small,” Jason said. “So the thing is, we'll have to kill you.”

Martin noticed something different as soon as he entered the cellar. It was emptier, somehow, and deadly quiet. Before he stepped farther into the room, he waited until his eyes adjusted to the dim light along the borders of the chamber. He finally made out two recumbent forms on the cots. No one rose to greet him, however.

He carried the lunch tray to the table and set it on the floor so he could remove the breakfast dishes. Bruce Hays remained by the door. He didn't like playing waiter, but Martin didn't mind. In fact, he considered it a privilege to serve the Dragon. He transferred lunch to the table and the breakfast dishes to the tray.

“It's lunchtime!” he cried. He'd brought soup and he didn't want it to get cold.

Hastings spoke without moving. “I don't care for any,” he said quietly.

“What about Seph?” Martin gestured at the other cot.

“He won't need any, either.” Hastings paused. “Not anymore. The boy is dead.”

Martin stood frozen for a moment. “What are you talking about?” he demanded. Bruce Hays warily took a step into the room, as if anticipating an attack. Martin crossed to Seph's cot. Seph lay on his back, his face waxy and pale against the sheets, hair tumbled dark against the pillow, his bandaged hands folded, a still life. Martin shoved his fingers under Seph's chin, feeling for a pulse. There was none, and he was cold to the touch. Even in the dim light, Martin could see the bruising at the base of his neck.

Martin could scarcely speak. He'd liked Seph, he'd always liked him. And he'd enjoyed Leander Hastings, someone with power and a knowledge of and appreciation for good wine. Now all was ruined.

He sat back on his heels. “Go get Dr. Leicester,” he said to Bruce Hays, who was still hovering by the door.

Hays hesitated. “You shouldn't stay in here alone with …” He didn't finish.

Martin shook his head impatiently. “Just get him.”

Bruce shrugged and left, bolting the door behind him.

“How could you?” Martin asked, staring down at Seph's face. “He was your son.”

Hastings said nothing.

They heard a fumbling at the door, someone in a hurry. It swung open and Gregory Leicester stalked in, followed by Bruce Hays, Warren Barber, and Peter Conroy. Hastings sat up and waited, hands on his knees.

Without looking at Hastings, Leicester knelt next to Seph's cot and ran his fingers over him, felt for a pulse, lifted his eyelids, touched the blueblack fingerprints at the base of his neck. He shook his head, his face a mask of anger.

“Not so tender after all, are we, Hastings?”The wizard spat the words out, and stood.

“I thought he was restrained,” Warren Barber said, his voice rising. “I thought he couldn't do anything.”

“It's not that hard to kill a boy,” Hastings said, as if from experience. “Restrained or not.”

“I would have expected you would find it hard to kill this boy,” Leicester said. “I guess I was wrong.” There was a grudging admiration in the flat gray eyes. “Now your Achilles heel is gone, much good it will do you now. But why come all this way to kill your son, when we would have done it for you?”

Hastings shook his head. “No. I came to ransom him, remember? And you reneged on the deal. He was frightened of what lay ahead of him. He asked me to save him from it and I did.” He met Leicester's eyes without remorse. “I spoke a few words over him, but could we get him a priest?”

Leicester shook his head. “His immortal soul is your problem, Hastings, since you saw fit to free it.”

“Then let me take care of the body, at least,” Hastings countered.

Leicester hesitated, shaken by the loss of his hostage. Martin wondered if the headmaster would decide that now was the time to kill Hastings, before the conference started. No matter how powerful Hastings was, he knew they could do it, all of them together, the way Leicester used them before.

But no. Dr. Leicester had other plans. He looked at Hastings, but spoke to the others in the room. “Hastings has proven himself to be dangerous, despite his restraints. Now that the boy is dead, I think we'd better chain him to the wall. Bruce and I will see to it. Warren, you and Martin and Peter take the body, weight it down, and throw it in the lake. We don't want it resurfacing while our guests are here.”