The Enchanter Heir

“Me? I couldn’t be better,” she said, thrown completely off balance by this turn of events. “Why do you ask?”

Something in him relaxed, uncoiled. “I heard you scream,” he said. “I thought you might need help.”

He must have climbed down from above. Was he Rowan’s on-site cliff rescue specialist? Always on call?

As if in answer, he pulled something from a hidden pocket and held it up for her inspection. It was a harness made of webbing, connected to a light nylon line. He clipped one end of the line to his harness and tossed the other one toward her with a low, overhand throw. “Strap this on, if you can do it without falling. I’d feel better if you were anchored to something.”

Emma caught the harness with one hand, and pain rocketed through her shoulder. Black spots danced in front of her eyes.

“You are hurt,” he said, flinching as if he felt it himself. “I thought so. Hang on. I’ll come to you.” He slid the rope from his shoulder and took something else from his magic pockets that somehow turned into a grappling hook. Before she knew it, he’d anchored his line somewhere up above. He pushed off and swung toward her. He slammed into her, wrapped an arm around her, his momentum carrying the two of them to the other side.

Now they were squeezed together on a tiny ledge, and Emma couldn’t figure out where to put her body where it wasn’t pressed up against his. He must have been aware of it, too, because he averted his eyes, as if he could pretend it wasn’t happening. He buckled the harness on to her, his fingers deft and sure.

He, of course, had gloves on.

“You act like you’ve done this before,” she said.

“Once or twice.”

Up close, there was something familiar about him, something that pinged in her consciousness. It was as if he gave off a scent that went straight to that place in memory where the important things are stored.

Had she seen him at one of the meetings in the mansion above?

Which reminded her.

“Just so you know. I’m not going back up there,” she warned. “Don’t try to make me.”

“No problem,” he said. “We’ll go down. Do you swim?”

“No, I do not,” she said tartly, water streaming down the back of her neck. “I wasn’t planning on getting wet.”

He laughed, and the sound echoed around the cove, somehow lifting her spirits.

“Do I know you?” she asked, their faces inches apart.

Something flickered in his eyes—something almost like panic—then was gone. “Maybe,” he said, turning his face away again. “Do you come here often?”

She couldn’t help it: she found herself laughing. He was so charming, so self-deprecating, so . . . so . . .

“I’m Jonah Kinlock,” he said. “I’m a friend of Natalie’s. Remember . . . we met at Club Catastrophe? I was rude. You played pool . . . and kicked butt.”

“You’re Boy Blue!” Emma blurted.

“I’m who? ”

“Never mind,” Emma mumbled as the puzzle pieces fell into place. Boy Blue had come to the club with the band. Sat with the blond guitar player during the break. Natalie was with the band. “So . . . you’re Natalie’s friend?”

“She seemed to think you needed rescuing, so here I am.”

He tilted his head back and scanned the top of the cliff. His lips tightened in annoyance. “I’ll explain later. Your friends up top are on their way down. It’s best if they don’t know I was here. In fact, it’ll be really convenient if they think you drowned.”

Emma looked down at the furious waves pounding against the cliffs below. Could still happen, she thought, panic rising in her again.

“Hey.” She looked up, and the boy, Jonah, looked straight into her eyes. Rainwater trickled down his face and clung to his eyelashes. The sculpted terrain of his face invited exploration, its peaks and valleys framed by a tumble of hair, set with eyes the color of oceans under sunlight and racing clouds. He turned his head slightly, looking down at her, his eyes deepening to a smoky amethyst. His lips were just inches from hers. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest.

“Listen to me,” Jonah said, his grip tightening on her shoulders. “We’re going to jump into the water, landing as far away from the cliff as we can. That’s the trickiest part. I’m going to swim us out further, then follow the shoreline to a place we can get out. I want you to try to flatten your body in the water, relax, and just let me handle the swimming. I promise you, Emma . . . I won’t let you drown.”

She believed him.

He pulled her tightly against him. She could feel his hard muscles through two layers of clothes. “Now,” he murmured, his breath warming her ear. “By all means, scream.”

He jumped, carrying them both farther than she would’ve expected. Then they were plummeting toward the water, and Emma screamed, a screech that could have been heard in Canada.

They plunged into the waves, and the shock of the cold water almost made Emma suck in water. Then they were bulleting upward, Jonah kicking strongly, pushing them toward the surface.

Her head broke through the waves, Jonah beside her. They were a fair distance from shore, but the rough surf threatened to push them back in and smash them against the rocks.

“Lie on your back,” Jonah said, one hand pushing against her bottom, the other against her chest, until she was in the right position. He slid an arm across her chest, pressed tight against her breasts, then stroked strongly away from the cliffs.

Emma did her best to relax as waves crashed over her face. Since it was still raining, sometimes it was hard to tell when she was above water. It was better once they got into deeper water. Eventually, Jonah turned and swam parallel to the shoreline. She could hear faint shouts in the distance. “Emma!” If she craned her neck, she could see lights sweeping over the water under the cliffs where they’d landed. But they were already out of range.

Every so often, Jonah would tilt her upright in the water and ask, “Are you doing all right? Okay to keep going?” As if there was a choice.

He didn’t seem winded at all.

“You’re—you must be in really good shape,” Emma said. Jonah brushed off the compliment. “I am unusually strong,” he said. And swam on.

Emma was so relaxed that she didn’t even notice when he turned back toward shore.

“Emma,” he said into her ear. “Put your feet down.”

She did, and found a mix of slippery rocks and sand. When she stood, the water was only waist-deep.

“Careful you don’t fall. The waves are still high.” He grabbed her hand to steady her, and they waded onto a rocky beach. “I parked just up here.”

They cut between two large houses and followed what looked like a private lane until it ended on a public street. A dog started barking in a nearby house. “Walk faster, if you can,” Jonah said. “I don’t want to have to explain why we’re wandering around the village soaking wet.”

Away from the lake, the houses were more modest. Jonah’s car was parked on a side street, covered with soggy leaves, blown down by the storm.

“Get in,” he said, circling around to the driver’s side. “We can’t hang out here too much longer or some busybody is going to look out her window and call the police.”

“Wait just a minute,” Emma said, looking across the roof of the car at him. She knew better than to get into cars with strangers.

He waited, head tilted in inquiry.

“Before I get in, where are we going?”

“We’re going to Natalie’s. We both live in the dorms at a private school called the Anchorage, downtown. Maybe she told you about it?” He raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t say yes or no. “I thought maybe you could stay with her until we figure out what to do.”

“We? ”

“If you want our help, I mean. It’s up to you.” From the way he shifted his weight and constantly scanned their surroundings, she knew he was worried about being spotted, eager to get them on their way.

Emma tried to fold her arms, but it was too painful, so she let them drop to her sides. “But . . . how did you know I was here? The wizards said they wiped Natalie’s mind. They said she wouldn’t remember anything about this. I thought I was on my own.”

Jonah smiled a hard-edged, bitter smile. “There’s your first lesson,” he said. “Don’t believe anything a wizard tells you.”

Chapter Thirty-five

The Anchorage

In the end, Emma got into the car, because she was soaking wet and hurt and had no other place to go. She guessed a possible risk was better than certain disaster.

Jonah said little during the drive downtown, responding to questions with one-word answers. When Emma asked, “Don’t you want to put something over the seat so I don’t get it wet?” he said, “No.” And when she asked, “Are you a savant, too?” he said, “Yes.”

He’s probably exhausted from dragging me through the lake, she thought. But he seemed more tense than weary, and preoccupied, as if he were already planning his next move.

Emma tried not to stare at him. It’s really unfair for a boy to be that beautiful, she thought. Maybe beautiful wasn’t the word. He exuded a kind of charismatic pheromone . . . a physical and emotional heat that clouded her mind and left her breathless.

What made it worse was that he didn’t even appear to be trying. In fact, he seemed to be doing everything he could to make himself unappealing. It wasn’t working.

Get a grip, Emma, she scolded herself. She was not the kind of girl who lost her head over a pretty boy. She was too street-smart for that. And aware of just where she sat on the scale of ugly to pretty.

Maybe this dizzy, drunken feeling was an aftereffect of the concussion.

She jammed herself into the corner next to the door, but it was no use. She couldn’t escape whatever spell he was casting. The car just wasn’t big enough.