The Enchanter Heir

head-on?”

“We can’t afford to draw attention to ourselves. Not right now.”

“If not now, when?” Jonah exploded, his frustration and exhaustion getting the better of him again. “What the hell

kind of evidence do you need? Wizards kidnapped Jeanette, they tortured her, and then they murdered her. Now they’re trying to track down survivors from the Thorn Hill Massacre so they can figure out how to do it again!”

“Was the word ‘massacre’ mentioned?” Gabriel said quietly. “I think you’re jumping to conclusions.”

“What do you need, a signed confession?”

“Jonah,” Gabriel said. “If mainliners are dying, if the clues left with the bodies point directly at us, that means that someone knows enough about us to frame us. How long do you think it will take others to make that connection? Or for the framer to lead them to it?”

“They’re not blaming it on us! They seem to be blaming it on this Madison Moss.”

“They’re not blaming it on us yet,” Gabriel said. “If we Sconfront them, they will. You don’t remember what it was like, but I do. When I established the Anchorage, mainliners viewed the survivors of Thorn Hill like . . . like mad dogs. Like dangerous mutants who should be slaughtered before they hurt someone.”

Gabriel’s words eerily echoed what Longbranch had said about the “labrats,” as she called them. It would have been cleaner to have dealt with them at the time.

“So we don’t go after the Black Rose directly,” Jonah persisted. “If there are sorcerers out there who created those poisons, we find them. They could help us figure out how to treat the effects. Maybe they’d be eager to help.”

“That’s a waste of time,” Gabriel said. “Do you really think that the Black Rose would leave their collaborators alive to tell tales?”

“Looks like Longbranch, DeVries, and the others don’t think it’s a waste of time,” Jonah persisted. “Maybe they know something we don’t.”

Gabriel just kept shaking his head.

Jonah jackknifed to his feet. “They murdered Jeanette.

Now we’re just going to sit here and do nothing until they come after us?”

“Jonah,” Gabriel commanded, “Sit down. You’re out of control.”

Jonah didn’t sit.

“Anyway, we’re not doing nothing,” Gabriel said, an edge in his voice. “We’re going to upgrade our security and extend our eyes and ears.”

“So we’re going to hide in our bunkers like we’re guilty?”

Jonah demanded.

Gabriel surged to his feet, “I know you’re tired, and we’re all grieving for Jeanette, but I expect you to stay on task and on mission and to recognize no when you hear it.

“Now,” Gabriel said, turning away. “I mean to do every thing in my power to avoid another Thorn Hill. We have no reason to think they’ll come here, if we don’t draw their attention. If what you said is true, and they don’t view us as much of a threat.”

Why not? Jonah thought. Why aren’t we more of a threat? “If they’re planning a massacre, you can bet we’re not the targets, or at least we shouldn’t be,” Jonah said. “After all—if they wait a while, we’ll die off on our own.”

He strode to the door and yanked it open, then turned to fire a parting shot. “You know what I think? I think you’re scared they’ll come after you. I think you’ve lost your nerve.” And he slammed out of the office.

Chapter Six

Kenzie

Safe Harbor—the skilled care unit at the Anchorage—was homey in a warehouse kind of way, with exposed bricks and beams and battered wooden floors polished to a warm shine. Next to each of the “residences” was a brass nameplate. Permanent. Those who lived at Safe Harbor rarely ever moved to a different building.

“Safe Harbor,” Kenzie liked to say. “Where nobody gets out alive.”

Jonah came in through the back door—the one with the disabled alarm. He climbed the stairs to the second floor, only to find Kenzie’s room empty. Jonah swore softly. He’d hoped to find his brother at home. The tablet display outside his door said, I’m in the gym. Rescue me.

So it was back down the stairs, toward the skylighted gymnasium. Residents at Safe Harbor generally used the specialized gym located in their own building, since it was too hard to transport them to the main gym.

Jonah heard raised voices, clear down the hall.

“Kenzie, could you just give it a try.” The therapist sounded pissed. “We need to loosen up those tight muscles.”

“Let’s not and say we did,” Kenzie said. “I’ll never tell.”

“You know as well as I do that we need to stretch outthose legs. Now. Let me know if you feel any pain, all right?”

When Jonah walked into the gym, he found Kenzie strapped into a chairlike device designed to stretch out his arms and legs. The therapist stood beside Kenzie, coaching him as she manipulated the levers. “Extend, then release. Extend, release. Keep breathing.”

“That’s one I’m good at,” Kenzie gasped. “Breathing.” His red-brown hair was plastered down with sweat, so they must have been working out for a while.

The therapist knelt beside the machine, adjusting the weight setting.

Kenzie spotted Jonah. “Jonah! Thank God you’re here! They’ve got me on the rack again!”

“It looks good on you, Kenzie,” Jonah said, brushing the damp hair off his brother’s forehead. “Let’s tighten up those screws a little, shall we? That will no doubt loosen your tongue.” Kenzie rolled his eyes. It was an old joke between them.

“We’ll be another fifteen minutes,” the therapist said briskly, without looking up. “Shall I call you in when we’re finished?”

Jonah knew most of the therapists, but he didn’t know this one. She seemed unimpressed with Kinlock humor.

“I’ll take over,” Jonah said. “I’m an old hand at torture, and Kenzie’s my favorite victim.”

Now she did look up. “Oh!” she said, and stood so quickly she nearly bumped her head on the equipment. S“I’m Jonah Kinlock. Kenzie’s brother.”

“I—I’m Miranda,” the therapist said, her cheeks pinking up. “They told me about you. I’m . . . um . . . filling in for Julie. And . . . ah . . . I’m sorry if I—”

“I’ve been away,” Jonah said, to put her out of her misery. “Has the treatment plan changed?” He touched the screen next to the machine and Kenzie’s chart came up. He scanned the progress notes. “Same PT and OT. What’s this mean, ‘minimal stimulation therapy’?”

Miranda shifted from one foot to the other. “It’s something they’re discussing . . . a new treatment to dampen drug-resistant seizures and hyperkinesis.”

“Hmm. How does that sound, Kenzie?”

“Horrifying.”

“My thoughts exactly. Do you have plans for him after this session?” Jonah asked. “Or can we go to the spa?”

“The spa?” Miranda said uncertainly. “Well. He has group at seven.”

“He’ll be back in plenty of time,” Jonah said.

“This is the life,” Kenzie said, biting into a Cadbury’s Screme Egg, then squinting at it. “What’s this green stuff in here anyway?”

“Guts,” Jonah said. “They already had their Halloween candy on display at Cadbury World. I guess it’s the