The Enchanter Heir

next big chocolate holiday.”

“Crunchy spider?” Kenzie said, offering a pouch of candy. “Or would you prefer a deadhead?”

“I’ll stick with the truffles,” Jonah said, popping one into his mouth. “I’m too squeamish for the rest.”

“Squeamish? You, who fight the zombielike walking dead on a daily basis?”

“That’s exactly why I’m squeamish,” Jonah replied. “I don’t like to bring my work home.”

The spa was a little-used oasis on the roof of Safe Harbor, including an all-weather pool, sauna, massage therapy area (by appointment), and the hot tub the Kinlock brothers were presently sharing—Jonah in his boxers and leather gloves, Kenzie wearing nothing but the waterproof earbuds Jonah had brought back from the UK. They’d spent the last hour eating chocolate and reminiscing about Jeanette.

While Kenzie ate, Jonah studied him, looking for signs of deterioration or improvement. His brother was thin—all bones and brilliant eyes and a mop of red-brown hair. He burned so much energy that his caloric intake could never seem to keep up.

Kenzie looked up and caught him staring. “This is the best invention ever,” he said, tapping his earbud. “Who is this?”

“Manygoats,” Jonah said. “Navajo punk band. Hot in the UK right now.”

“You know, leather and boxers is a good look for you,” Kenzie said. “Classic, yet just a big dodgy—”

Jonah splashed him.

“Hey!” Kenzie said, snatching his chocolate out of danger. “Respect the candy.” He stretched out his legs, allowing the churning water to support them. His body seemed relaxed, free of the electric, hyperkinetic movements that had plagued him all day long. It had taken the full hour to get to this point. “Let’s build a fort up here, and stay forever. Remember when we used to build forts?”

“We never built forts,” Jonah said, leaning his head back Sand looking up at the stars. Steam rose up all around them, eddying in the wind off the lake.

“We built forts,” Kenzie insisted. “In the jungles of Brazil. You saved me from a tiger.”

“There are no tigers in Brazil, bro.”

“A jaguar, then.”

Jonah rolled his eyes.

“Anaconda? ”

“You just keep thinking, Kenzie,” Jonah said. “I haven’t saved anybody from anything so far.”

“We did our best,” Kenzie said, “if you’re talking about Jeanette.”

“You did your best,” Jonah said. “But apparently my best is not good enough,” Jonah said. “And it’s not just Jeanette. It’s a whole lot of things.”

“You’re protecting the public,” Kenzie suggested.

“Am I? It feels more like murder to me. Anyway, what do I care about the general public? They have no idea they’re being protected.” Sitting up a little, he sipped from his steaming mug of drinkable chocolate. “More?” He waggled the thermos.

“I’m good,” Kenzie said.

For a while, they said nothing, each lost in his own thoughts.

“I’m going to write a symphony for Jeanette,” Kenzie said finally.

“Good idea.” Jonah nodded. “Will you be wanting lyrics?”

“Maybe. But it seems like we should do something more than write a song.”

Jonah blotted condensation from his face with his fore arm. “I riffed Longbranch and Wylie. They’re the ones who kidnapped her.”

“That’s not enough,” Kenzie said.

“What—you want me to kill more people? Got anybodyin mind?”

Kenzie rolled his eyes. “I do, but that’s me. Her death has to mean something. It has to make a difference. I keep thinking . . . what would Jeanette want? And I think what she would want is for us to fix this.” He waved his hand, spraying droplets over the roof.

“Fix what?”

“You know, save the children of Thorn Hill. This cannot stand. We need a plan.” He looked up at Jonah, his eyes bright with tears.

“I know,” Jonah said, squeezing Kenzie’s shoulder. “We need a plan.”

“To Jeanette,” Kenzie said, raising his mug in a toast.

“To Jeanette,” Jonah echoed, clanking mugs with his brother. “She would love the fact that you’re toasting her with Cadbury’s.”

Chapter Seven

Motherless Child

Emma was glad she’d decided to drive herself to Ohio. Twelve hours is a long way to drive, but it’s also a long time to ride in a van with the father that you just found out about a few hours ago. Though maybe it would’ve been a good time to ask questions, since he’d be trapped in there with her.

She was bone-weary and itchy-eyed by the time she reached Cleveland. It didn’t help that she couldn’t sleep.

Cleveland Heights was a mingle of twisty streets lined with older homes on tiny lots, commercial streets with stores, bars, and restaurants, and broad boulevards bordered by mansions in brick and stone. She parked in a garage on Coventry Road and called Tyler from a nearby coffee shop.

She half expected he wouldn’t answer, that he’d have disappeared on her again, but he answered on the first ring. “Boykin.”

“I’m here,” she said simply. “In Grinder’s Coffee on Coventry Road. Can you meet me?”

“Be a few minutes,” he said, and clicked off.

She knew him as soon as he walked in. He reminded her of Sonny Lee—though Tyler was taller, and lighter-skinned, with that smudgy glow that some people have, like there’s a light on inside.

He came straight at her and stood awkwardly next to the table. “Emma? I’m Tyler. I’m going to get some coffee. You want anything?”

Yeah, Emma thought. I want to know where the hell you’ve been all this time. But she shook her head.

Tyler returned to the table with a large coffee, a big slab of cake, and two forks.

“I just had a feeling you wanted some cake,” he said, settling into the chair across from her and handing her one of the forks.

If you knew anything about me, Emma thought, you’d know I don’t like carrot cake.

She studied him across the table. He was handsome, with Cherokee cheekbones, as Sonny Lee called them. Yet he seemed timeworn, too, like he’d lived a hundred years in forty. Emma brushed her fingers over her own face, wondering if one day she’d look the same.

“I’ve seen you before,” she said. “Haven’t I?”

He nodded. “When you were real little, of course,” he said. “And I brought you back from Brazil.”

“You were a lot younger,” Emma said. “I remember dragging this old suitcase around. You carried me on your shoulders sometimes.”

“I think you’ve changed more than me,” he said. “Guess you think people just stay the same when you’re not looking at them.”

“How’d you recognize me?” she asked.

“You favor your mama,” Tyler said. “And Sonny Lee sent pictures, now and then. Though not lately.”

“He said you were dead.”

Tyler chewed his lower lip, as if embarrassed not to be. “Not yet.”

“He knew exactly where you were all this time?” Emma’s voice trembled. “And he never told me?” Hurt and betrayal washed over her once again.

“That was the deal between him and me,” Tyler said. “He insisted that there be no contact.”