The Enchanter Heir

“Even savants who don’t have symptoms at first often develop them later on, as they age. Savants who’ve never been in treatment come to us in their teens, when they begin to have problems. That was what happened with me. I lived with my aunt until I was twelve, then I went to the Anchorage.” Natalie paused and, when Emma said nothing, asked, “Were you under treatment?”

“Treatment?” Emma figured it was safe to just repeat the last word Natalie said.

“Are you on meds that might have interacted with something else you took? Maybe street drugs of some kind?”

Emma’s ironwood spine stiffened. “I’m not using any street drugs, and I’m not having any symptoms, and everything was basically just fine until my grandfather died. Since then, things have gone downhill real fast.”

Natalie glanced at the door, then leaned in again, speaking low and fast, “Don’t worry. The wizards don’t know you’re a savant, because they can’t read stones. They can’t even tell for sure that you’re gifted.”

Emma stared at her. “What? What’s that you keep calling me?”

“A savant. See, that’s why I’m here. I have experience treating savants.”

“I’m just lost,” Emma said wearily. “Tyler told me about the—the magical guilds, but he never mentioned— what you call it—savants.”

Natalie frowned, as if puzzled. “You were at Thorn Hill, right?”

How does she know that? “I guess I was, yes,” Emma admitted. “For a while. I guess I left before the . . . before the massacre.”

“You did? But . . . you have a savant stone.”

“I can’t help that,” Emma said wearily. Wishing there was at least one question she could answer.

“Do you mind?” Gripping Emma’s wrist, Natalie pulled Emma’s right sleeve up to expose her wrist and forearm. Then sat back, looking confused. “Huh. You don’t have the tattoo,” she said.

“The tattoo?”

“All of us have these.” Natalie extended her arm, displaying an inked design of flowers.

Something tugged at Emma’s memory, something from childhood. “I think I remember seeing those when I was a kid,” she said. “Everyone had one but me.” She’d been envious of the others with the flower tattoos.

“Everyone at Thorn Hill had them,” Natalie said. “But you don’t.”

“You were at Thorn Hill, too?”

Natalie nodded. “I know this is a really bad time, to be finding all this out. But—I’m warning you—the wizards are in a hurry to talk to you. I don’t think I can keep them away much longer.” She used the word wizard like a curse.

Apprehension settled over Emma’s heart, pressing all of the air out of her lungs. “My father’s dead, isn’t he?”

Natalie hesitated. “I don’t know for sure, but if he was with you, he may be. The wizards said that you were the only survivor.”

“Survivor of what?”

“Damned if I know,” Natalie growled. “I was hoping you might tell me, because they aren’t talking.”

“But . . . what do they care? What’s their interest?”

“Apparently, wizards were among the dead, and you’re the only witness.” Natalie leaned in close, spoke in a low voice. “Is there any other family? Anyone else I can call? Somebody who might help you?”

“No,” Emma whispered, a great well of misery churning in her middle. “I have nobody.”

Just then she heard footsteps, rapidly approaching. They both stared at the door. Natalie leaned close, speaking into Emma’s ear. “Listen to me,” she said. “I’ll try and buy you some time. Don’t be afraid to tell them you don’t remember anything, if that’s the case. If they think you don’t know anything, they might let you go.”

Emma clutched at Natalie’s arm. “Are you saying I’m a prisoner?”

Natalie hesitated. “From what I’ve seen and heard, I believe you may be.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

Can’t We All Just Get Along?

The Weir sanctuary of Trinity glittered in the slanting autumn sunlight like a postcard of a New England town. But the flaming russets and golds of the trees on the square did nothing to improve Jonah’s mood. He and Gabriel had been arguing all the way from downtown.

“If you could hear them, you would stop it,” Jonah said. “Well, then, it’s a blessing that we can’t,” Gabriel said bluntly. “Why do you think I pulled you out of operations? Because I didn’t want to put you through this.”

“But you’ll put them through it.”

“I understand that we have a kinship with everyone who was at Thorn Hill. I recognize that none of this is their fault. But what do you expect me to do? They’ve declared war on us.”

“We made the first move,” Jonah said.

“So we should allow them to keep murdering the gifted and leaving the bodies on our doorstep?”

“We could talk to them.”

“There’s no point. It would only make this more difficult. I don’t want any communication with Lilith, do you understand? None whatsoever.” Gabriel circled the square once and pulled into the angle parking that lined the main street. “The good news is that the downtown area is finally cleared of shades again. You should be happy about that.” He pushed his door open and got out, seeming eager to leave this topic behind.

What Gabriel said made sense, as it always did. But something was wrong. The emotional messages Jonah was getting were definitely mixed.

“Don’t you think they’ll be back?” he said, making no move to get out of the car.

“I’m hoping Lilith will return,” Gabriel said. “I believe she’s the driving force behind this. If we can just eliminate her—”

“Never mind,” Jonah said. He was close to being petulant, but he didn’t care.

Gabriel sighed. “Losing Mose was hard on all of us, Jonah. You especially. Every time we lose a student, I feel like we’ve failed.”

This was the place where Jonah was supposed to say, It’s not your fault, Gabriel, everyone knows you’re doing the best that you can.

Instead, he said, “Tell me again why we have to be here? Are they actually voting on this motion today?”

Gabriel shook his head. “Mercedes has put it on the agenda for discussion. One thing I’ve learned in my years in the business is that personal connection is always more effective. Engagement prevents all manner of rumors from getting started. If you can just be your usual charming self, Jonah, I know it will go a long way toward allaying any fears.” After a long pause, he said, “We’d better go. I don’t want to walk in late.”

Jonah slid out of the car.

“Promise me you won’t get into any more fights with mainliners,” Gabriel said as they crossed the square.

“That wasn’t a fight.”

“What do you call it, then?”

“Sparring.”

“Still. When mainliners see that you are good with a sword, it makes them think. It makes them wonder how you developed that skill. They may remember there was a boy at the bridge.”

“Saving their children’s lives.”

“They may not see it that way.”

“So my job is to be pretty, and charming, but not too capable?”

“Your job is to be judicious about which capabilities you share with others,” Gabriel said, leading the way up a flight of stone steps to the door of a church.

The sanctuary was already half filled, so Gabriel and Jonah filed up the side aisle toward the front and