The Enchanter Heir

He lost more than I did that night, Emma thought. For me, Tyler was a link to the past and a hope for the future. But anyone could tell that Rowan really loved his sister.

“She didn’t describe the killer to you?”

Rowan shook his head. “It seems she didn’t plan on being dead when I got there.”

“You sent eight people to question one man?”

“Most of them were young. New recruits. Like me, Rachel assumed the job was routine, and brought them along so they could gain some experience. But it’s also possible that they were anticipating trouble. Anyone who can murder that many wizards is exceedingly dangerous.”

“But you weren’t there?”

“If I had been there, Rachel would have survived. Or I would be dead,” Rowan said bluntly.

“And so . . . your sister and the others drew assassins to my house, and my father ended up dead?” Emma made no effort to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“Either that or your father lured my sister and the others into a trap,” Rowan snapped back.

“And ended up dead himself. That’s a real good plan, to host a murder with his own daughter as witness.”

“If he was involved, I’m sure he didn’t mean for it to turn out the way it did,” Rowan said. “This is the first time the murderers have left any witnesses. I don’t think they meant to.”

So, Emma realized, she herself was supposed to be dead, along with the others. If any of what Rowan was saying was even true.

“How did I get here?”

“At first, we thought you were dead, too,” Rowan said. “You didn’t seem to be breathing. And yet, you were still warm, and you had a faint pulse. We brought you back here, hoping you’d recover. When you didn’t show any signs of improvement, we called in that labrat healer.”

“You never considered taking me to a hospital?”

“No.”

You said you wanted the truth, Emma thought. “Where are we, anyway?” she asked, looking around.

“This is my house,” Rowan said. “In Bratenahl.”

“What’s Bratenahl?”

“It’s a neighborhood. A village, I guess. Up on the lake.”

“Pretty fancy house you’ve got.”

“It was my father’s.”

“Who are Hackleford and Burroughs?” Emma asked.

Rowan’s face armored up—even more than it already was. “They’re longtime colleagues of my father’s. After my father died, the organization splintered. Hackleford and Burroughs are very much interested in using the current crisis to rebuild the organization and their own power.” He took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Whether or not your father was involved in the murders, we should be allies. The same killers murdered your father and my sister.”

“Great,” Emma said. “We’re allies. Then let’s go back to my original question. Am I a prisoner?”

“Don’t you see?” Rowan said, as if exasperated. “It’s for your own protection. We’re dealing with ruthless killers.

What do you suppose they’ll do when they find out you’re still alive?”

“And if I decide to take my chances?” Emma said, thinking of Burroughs. “Can I leave anytime I want?”

“Would you stop pushing me?” His voice shook. “My sister is dead. Now I’m in the middle of a power struggle with people who want to seize control of the organization my father built. If you knew anything about wizards, you’d know it’s cutthroat. And you’d better hope I win. Believe it or not, right now I’m the best friend you have.” Emma dredged up courage from some unknown source.

“Well, guess what? My father is dead. Or so I’m told. I didn’t see any killing and I haven’t seen any bodies. All I have to go on is the word of a bunch of strangers who are holding me prisoner. If what you’re saying is true, then prove it. You say all these people are dead. Show me the bodies.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s been a week,” Rowan said. “We already disposed of them.”

This didn’t sound like the bodies of the victims were buried. It sounded more like they’d been put out with the trash. “What do you mean, you disposed of them? How?”

“We burned them,” Rowan said. “Cremated them, if you like, with wizard flame, which leaves nothing behind.”

“My father, too?” He nodded. “You had no right!”, Emma’s voice trembled.

Rowan’s lips tightened. “We couldn’t very well keep them around, and we didn’t want any kind of inquest.”

“It sounds like that’s just what you did want,” Emma said, her voice low and furious. “An inquest. Then you’d know more than you do now, which is nothing.”

“We’ll talk again,” Rowan said, standing up. “In the meantime, try and get some rest. And don’t worry. Our security here is very good. We’re surrounded by a fifteenfoot-high wall. So nobody will be getting in or out without our knowing it.”

Sonny Lee always said, don’t ask questions that you don’t want to hear the answer to. But Emma could never resist going after the truth, no matter how hurtful. Maybe it was because she’d been lied to so much.

“So where am I at the end of all this?” she demanded. “After you’ve squeezed every last bit of truth out of me. Are you going to turn me loose then?”

“I’ve got to go,” he said, crossing the room to the door. “Are you going to answer my question?”

Rowan turned in the doorway. “No, I’m not. You said that if I can’t tell the truth, to say nothing at all.”

And then he was gone.

Chapter Thirty-one

Anaweir

To the west, the sun descended toward the lake, gilding the edges of the clouds and sending long fingers of crimson and orange and gold over the surface toward them. The woods along the shoreline blazed with color. The clouds looked different, now, than they had just a few weeks ago. They were no longer fluffy puffs, but broad, flat slices layered together.

Winter was coming to Cleveland. It would take some getting used to for a Memphis girl, assuming that she lived long enough to see it.

It was Emma who had suggested the walk, hoping it would take them away from prying eyes and ears. Natalie had backed her up, saying a little exercise would speed her recovery.

The DeVries home was probably four times the size of Tyler’s house in Cleveland Heights. It was built of stone, set on a large piece of property. The back side of the house was pocked with terraces, balconies, and patios showcasing the view of the lake. A stone path wound its way from the back door to a small pavilion at the edge of a cliff. The landward side of the property was circled by a tall stone wall topped with a strand of electrified wire. Security guards were housed in a separate building, and patrolled the property continually. “Now, what was it you wanted to talk about?” Natalie asked, leaning toward Emma.

Emma glanced back at the two guards who followed behind them. For their protection, Rowan said. The aura that framed them marked them as gifted.

Natalie looked back at them, too.

“Let’s walk out a little further,” Emma said.

As they picked their way down the stone path, Emma cast about for something safe to talk about.

“Which guild do you belong to?” she asked the healer, pulling up her hood to keep her hair from snaking around her face.

“I was born into the Sorcerers’ Guild. And now I’m a sorcerer savant.”

There was that word again—savant. The thing Natalie claimed Emma was. “You mean you can choose a different guild?” Emma asked, surprised.

“It was hardly a choice.” By now, they’d reached the pavilion at the edge of the cliff. Here, the rush of the wind and the crash of the waves on the rocks below drowned out their conversation, making it, they hoped, difficult to overhear. Natalie scooped up a rock and hurled it out over the water. It landed with a distant splash. “Whatever the Wizard Guild put into the water supply changed us forever. We have powers no one else has. For instance, I can see injuries and disorders through a person’s skin. My friend Charlie has a gift for foreign languages. But it comes at a price. Many of us have serious health problems.”

Emma frowned. “You know what: this is the third different story I’ve heard about what happened at Thorn Hill. Tyler said it was an accident—likely contamination from the mines. Rowan claimed that terrorists compounding poisons contaminated the water supply.”

“Is that what he said?” Natalie snorted. “I guess it would be hard to admit that you poisoned thousands of people, including children too young to be terrorists.”

“But, why would they do that?” Emma asked, stuffing her hands into her pockets.

Natalie shrugged. “I guess they felt threatened by the notion of the other guilds getting out from under their control. They assumed Thorn Hill must be the center of a conspiracy against wizards.” She kicked at some leaves lying in her way. “It’s always about them, you know. They’re the center of the magical universe.”

No wonder she hates wizards, Emma thought, remembering what Rowan had said about the other guilds conspiring against them. “But you lived through it?”

Natalie nodded. “All of the adults died, but some of the children survived. I guess we had more ability to repair the damage.” She shoved her hands into her pockets. “We survived, but we were changed. I guess you could call us magical mutants.”

“Like—like . . .” Emma blushed, embarrassed. “Like in the comics?”

But Natalie laughed. “Sort of. They nailed the discrimination thing. We prefer the term ‘savants.’ You know, someone with a unique and narrowly focused talent or gift.” Moving away from the pavilion, they picked their way along the edge of the cliff. Far below, Lake Erie thrashed against the rocks, foam scabbing the shoreline. The waves rapidly lost color as the light fled.