around them. Followed by the stink of conjury as wizards crowded into the room.
They both scrambled to their feet. Greenwood swore, and took off running, back toward the living room. To fetch his gun? To find Emma? To escape?
Jonah reached over his shoulder and drew his sword, feeling blood trickling down as the wound in his side ripped wider.
Wizard flame jetted in every direction, a chaotic laser light show against a Rolling Stones sound track. Greenwood screamed as the flame caught him in the doorway, and he fell, writhing, to the floor.
Jonah lunged toward Greenwood, putting himself in the line of fire. Fortunately, his layers of clothing offered some protection, but where the torrents of flame found bare skin, it was blisteringly painful. Fragarach clattered to the floor as he raised his arms to protect his face.
At least it distracted him from the wound in his side. He scarcely noticed that now.
“Don’t
Now the flames died away and a chorus of voices shouted conjury . . . immobilization charms, Jonah guessed.
Jonah knew he should cut his losses and leave, but then Greenwood would end up dead, and that door would be closed. Not to mention that he’d left Emma tied up in the basement.
He sorted through his goals: Keep Greenwood alive until he could question him. Keep Emma alive. Find out why these wizards were here, what they knew, how they knew it. Stay alive himself long enough to get all that done. And escape.
Yes. Pretending to be immobilized was the way to go. Was he supposed to collapse or freeze? Since it was easier to move from a standing position, Jonah froze in his tracks just inside the conservatory and stared straight ahead.
It was a surreal scene, lit by the moonlight that cascaded through the glass, the light shivering with the movement of the trees overhead, the room full of jittery young wizards. Well, six were young, two a little older. The younger ones looked familiar, but Jonah couldn’t fathom where he’d seen them before.
Finally, blessedly, somebody killed the pounding sound track.
Why were they here? Had they known Jonah would be here? Were they (a) trying to keep Greenwood from telling what he knew? Or (b) here as reinforcements, to protect him?
Based on Greenwood’s reaction to their arrival, Jonah guessed (a).
The two older wizards dragged an apparently immobilized Greenwood back into the conservatory between them.
A young woman began issuing orders—a tall girl, with shoulder-length brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. “Cameron, Brooke—secure the rest of the house. If you find anybody else, bring them back here immobilized but unharmed. Look for compounding equipment, paperwork, computers, any records that might help us.”
Cameron? Brooke? Jonah took a second look. Yes, it was them, the young wizards who’d been at Club Catastrophe. They moped out of the room, looking over their shoulders as if they were worried that they would miss the big reveal.
Graham was there, too. He’d scooped up Fragarach, struggling to lift the heavy sword to waist level.
And the one in charge was Rachel, the wizard who’d ordered them to back off on their harassment of Emma at the club.
This is like a replay of Worst Days of My Life, Jonah thought. And now, to top it off, Cameron and Brooke would find Emma in the basement, helpless to escape, because of Jonah.
“All right, then,” Rachel said, joining the group around Greenwood. “Somerset, Hardesty, search him.”
The wizards patted Greenwood down in a businesslike manner, turning up nothing but a capo and some flat picks. “Disable the immobilization charm, but keep hold of his arms,” Rachel said. “He’s more dangerous than you think.”
Somerset pointed at Greenwood, muttering a charm. The sorcerer just stood there, impassive, a wizard on each arm, his eyes as flat and opaque as old pennies, perspiration glistening on his forehead. His clothing was charred, and the right side of his face had blistered up.
Rachel faced off with him. “Tyler Greenwood,” she said, smiling grimly. “Finally. I was beginning to wonder if you really existed.”
“My name is Boykin,” Greenwood said, “I guess you have to keep looking.”
Rachel tilted her head toward Jonah. “Who is this . . . your bodyguard?” she asked.
Greenwood didn’t even look at Jonah. “I got no idea who that is,” he said. “He just showed up. We hadn’t made it to introductions.”
“We heard gunshots. What was that about?”
“I was shooting at
“Where’s the gun?”
Greenwood shrugged. “I don’t know where it got to.”
“Hey! I recognize him,” Graham said, pointing Fragarach at Jonah. “He broke my Viking cue—the one with the Predator shaft.”
“What are you talking about?” Rachel snapped.
“Remember? I got into it with him at that bar in the Warehouse District,” Graham said, with a hint of swagger.
Rachel scowled. “This is
Graham didn’t get the hint. He turned, swinging the massive sword, thrusting and parrying invisible opponents, setting Jonah’s teeth on edge. “I think I should get to keep the sword. You know, in payment for the cue.”
“Rowan will decide what to do with the sword,” Rachel said. “And when he hears about all this, you’d better hope he’s in a good mood. Getting thrown out of the syndicate is the least bad thing that can happen to you.”
Graham’s expression clouded. “D-does Rowan really need to know about this? I mean—”
“Would you just shut up?” Rachel turned back to Greenwood while Jonah, fuzzy-headed from pain and blood loss, struggled to recall who Rowan was. Then it came to him. Rowan DeVries, the wizard he’d seen with Wylie and Longbranch in London. Head of the Black Rose.
“Look,” Greenwood said, “if you want drugs, I don’t have any. I don’t have much money, and what I do have is in the bank. There’s nothing here worth stealing. But if you drive me to the ATM, I’ll get you some money.”
He’s trying to get them out of the house, Jonah thought.
Because of Emma.
“We’re not after money,” Rachel said. “You know what we want—information about Thorn Hill.”
“Thorn Hill?” Greenwood shook his head, drawing his eyebrows together. “What is that?”
“We’ve already been to Brazil,” Rachel said, ignoring the question. “There’s nothing there. After it was abandoned, the property burned to the ground, except for the buildings around the mines. There must have been records, notes, lab books, something.”
“Brazil? I’ve never been there. The only records you’ll find around here are vinyl albums and old sheet music and bills I need to pay.”
“Everyone’s dead, except for you,” Rachel said. “Why is that? How come you’re the only one that survived? Or are there others we don’t know about?”
Greenwood said nothing.
The young wizard reached out and brushed her fingers against Greenwood’s neck. The sorcerer went rigid, arching backward. His pain surged through Jonah like an electrical shock, but Greenwood didn’t make a sound.
Empathic connection—the gift, and the curse of enchanters everywhere. The gift of perceiving the pain and emotions of others. The curse of sharing them, whether you wanted to or not.
“What was your connection to the Black Rose, back then?” Rachel demanded. “How did you know my father?
He didn’t keep very good records because, you see, he didn’t plan on dying.”
“Tell me what you want to hear, and I’ll go ahead and make something up,” Greenwood said. “What makes
