The Enchanter Heir

something to talk about once we’re gone.”

The Kinlocks stared at each other for a long moment. Gradually, Kenzie’s flames dwindled and died, leaving his usual faint tremor behind.

Abruptly, Jonah rose, crossed to the closet, and pulled out Kenzie’s jacket. “Let’s go out,” he said. “Let’s do it,” Kenzie said. “Are we gonna find ourselves some wimmin?”

“It’s three in the morning,” Jonah said. “We probably want to avoid any ‘wimmen’ still walking around at this hour. And the usual rules apply. You have to promise to wear the headphones and let me know if you feel the fireworks coming on so I can toss you in the river.”

Jonah pulled on his leather gloves and wrestled Kenzie into his coat. “Here.” He handed a knit cap to his brother. When Kenzie made a face, Jonah was unsympathetic. “It’s been a while since you’ve been out. It’s cold out now.” He put on his own jacket while Kenzie navigated to the door.

“Hang on a sec. I’ll make sure the coast is clear.” Jonah scanned the empty corridor. “We’re good.” He pushed Kenzie out into the hallway, shutting the door behind them. They rolled down the corridor to the back stairway.

“Okay . . . arms inside the chair.” Jonah picked Kenzie up, chair and all, and carried him down the stairs.

Out on the street, they threaded their way through the dwindling crowds in the Warehouse District, headed for the river. The cold air revived Jonah somewhat, freshening his memory of events on the east side and reminding him that Lilith was hunting him. That shades seemed to be hanging out, more and more, in the area around the Anchorage.

Now that they were outside, Kenzie used the motor function on his wheelchair, laughing as he bumped over the brick pavement. Jonah took hold of the handles again as they descended the steep slope on St. Clair, rattled across the Rapid tracks, and turned onto the walkway at Settlers Landing.

They followed the walkway along the river, their breath pluming out in the cold air. Kenzie was in a festive mood, singing rock and roll at the top of his lungs.

“Hey now, keep it down!” Jonah warned. “You sound like you’ve had a few too many. You don’t want to draw the local constabulary.”

Unfazed, Kenzie said, “I wrote a love song . . . Wanna hear?”

Without waiting for an answer, Kenzie adopted a hangdog expression and began to sing, in a twanging country voice.

I ain’t pretty, that is true, I know you take me for a fool, A love story in a comic book cover, Ain’t never going to be your lover.

Ain’t hard to resist, Ain’t never been kissed.

If I build you castles out of words, And gardens out of nouns and verbs, Would poetry your heart ensnare? Would you let me see your derriere?

Think of how fun it would be to have done it.

Some people say I aim too high, You’ll never let me touch your thigh, If your thigh’s too high, how about your ankle?

If you wear leather, I’ll wear manacles.

Strap me down and I’ll be fine.

Fulfill my adolescent dream,

Let’s take friendship to extremes.

I promise you plenty of courting and sparking, If you’ll consent to take me parking.

I mean, literally . . . sparking. You’ll have to drive.

Kenzie tilted his head down. “What works best— ‘derriere’ or ‘underwear’?”

Jonah snorted with laughter. “Um. I don’t know how to choose between them.”

“What do you think, otherwise?”

“It may not have broad market appeal.”

“I’m targeting the audience for Helen Keller jokes,” Kenzie said. “Now listen. I’ve got several possible endings. Tell me which one you like best.

I’m so outta luck Ain’t never been—

“Maybe not,” Jonah said. “They won’t play it on the radio.” Undeterred, Kenzie sang:

It’s real disturbin’

That I’m still a virgin.

“You just keep thinking, Kenzie,” Jonah said, shaking his head as they passed beneath the Detroit-Superior Bridge. Jonah gazed up at its elaborate undercarriage, then stiffened, catching the scent of free magic.

Was this another ambush? Jonah suddenly realized how vulnerable they were, all alone on the riverbank. “Hey,” he murmured, resting a hand on Kenzie’s shoulder. “Would you mind parking under the bridge a few minutes while I check something out?”

“You’re not saving the world again, are you?” Kenzie asked, his eyes glittering in the lights from the parking lot. He swung the chair around, taking shelter next to one of the bridge pillars.

When he was a member of Nightshade, Jonah’s course of action would’ve been clear: search and destroy. Now what? Should he call Alison? Gabriel? Or simply walk away?

Peering out from under the bridge, he saw movement on the slope down to Lockwood, dozens of free shades funneling between the buildings. And beyond, a line of savants, bristling with shivs, driving the shades toward the river.

Gabriel must’ve issued an “all-hands” for this riff. To anyone watching, it would have looked like a battle in which only one side showed up.

As the shades crossed into the park, another group of shadehunters rose up from hiding places along the riverbank, trapping the shades between the two groups of slayers. Both sides waded in, brandishing shivs. Shades screamed as shivs connected—a heartrending, desolate sound that only Jonah could hear.

Escaping free shades swarmed up from the killing ground, fleeing straight toward the bridge. Thunk! Weapons sounded overhead—an unfamiliar thwacking sound. When the missiles hit home, the shades screamed and dissolved into a shower of glittering phosphorescence that dissipated in the wind from the lake. Each time it was like a bolt fired into Jonah’s soul.

Jonah crouched, and leaped high, catching hold of the archway atop the pillars with the tips of his fingers. He flipped up onto the pillar, then onto the subway railing. He pulled himself up and onto the bridge.

Alison, Charlie, and Mike were lined up along the rail, firing down at the fleeing shades with weapons that seemed to be a marriage between an air rifle and a crossbow, each reloading smoothly from a quiver of hiltless shivs. There seemed to be no shortage of shivs for this operation. And still, from below, the screaming.

This must be the new plan—Gabriel’s more efficient alternative to Jonah.

“Stop it!” Jonah shouted, shoving Mike’s weapon aside. “Can’t you hear them screaming?”

The shadehunter pivoted, aiming his gun at Jonah. Then slowly lowered his weapon. “No,” he said. “I can’t.”

“With you out of Nightshade, this is the only option we have.” Alison cocked her weapon and reloaded, fired and reloaded, never taking her eyes off the target. “Speaking of . . . what the hell are you doing here?”

Alison seemed to have gotten over her dismay at Jonah’s departure from Nightshade.

“If you’ll recall, I live up the hill,” Jonah said. He paused, then added, “What’s going on?”

“We’re doing a sweep,” Charlie said, turning back to his task. “Clearing the warehouse district and the Flats of free shades to improve security.”

“There’s got to be a better way,” Jonah said, shuddering.

“Actually, we think it’s working pretty well,” Mike said, sliding another shiv into place.

“We were hoping that Lilith would show,” Alison said. “Would you recognize her if you saw her?”

“Why?” Jonah asked warily.

“Gabriel wants her dead.” She mopped at her forehead with her sleeve. “He’s offering a bonus to the slayer who takes her down.”