The Enchanter Heir

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.”

“Why? Are you some kind of a—a—pedophile, or—”

“No,” Tyler said. “Nothing like that. I made some bad choices, is all. He was pissed, when I handed you off to him.”

Emma recalled Sonny Lee’s letter. I’ll be straight with you: I wasn’t happy when you first came to me. “I know it was— must’ve been burdensome, having me to look after,” she said, her voice trembling in spite of herself. “But it—it seemed like we got along good. Later on, I mean.”

Tyler rubbed his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. “When I said he was pissed, I meant he was pissed at me, not you. None of it was your fault.” He hesitated, then hurried on. “If you knew the whole story, you’d—”

“Why don’t you tell me that story?” Emma said, sitting back in her chair and looking her father in the eye. “I got no plans.”

Tyler gazed at her, a muscle working in his jaw. Thinking thinking thinking. “So the old man never told you nothing, did he?”

“I didn’t even know you existed,” Emma said.

Tyler snorted. “There was no one could carry a grudge like my old man. He was the most stubborn—”

“I know enough about Sonny Lee,” Emma said. “I want to hear about you.” She paused and, when he said nothing, asked, “If you’re Sonny Lee’s son, then what’s with the name Boykin?”

“That’s a stage name. I’m a musician.”

Of course you are, Emma thought. “What’s wrong with Greenwood?”

“I don’t use that name anymore.”

“How did you meet my mother?”

Tyler did that flicker-eyed thing that people do when they’re choosing between a truth, a half-truth, or a lie. “We met at a club in New York. I was in a band, and we had a regular gig there at that time.”

“What do you play?” Emma couldn’t help asking.

“Guitar,” Tyler said. “Bass guitar, mostly, these days. I do some teaching, too. Anyway, your mama started coming to see us, and one thing led to another, and we got married.”

“What was she like?”

“Your mother?” Tyler shook his head. “She was a beautiful woman. Me, I was head over heels in love with her. After I met Gwen, there was nobody else. We had some good times, that’s for sure.” He paused. “I’ll tell you one thing— she was crazy about you.”

That thought warmed her a little. “Do you have any pictures?”

Tyler dug out his wallet, flipping it open to a photo taken in one of those coin-operated photo booths. Gwen stood in front, holding Emma, who was the best dressed of the three of them. Tyler stood behind with his arms draped around both of them, as if to pin them to the earth. Her mother’s head was cocked so she could look down into Emma’s face. SHer hair was as pale as sapwood ash, her eyes a clear gray.

The photo was crinkled and worn, like it had been pulled out and looked at thousands of times.

Emma looked up from the photo and found Tyler gazing at her. “Like I said, you remind me of her. Oh, I know your coloring’s different,” he rushed to add. “But you have that same . . . wildness about you.” He grimaced. “I don’t mean to be creepy, I just don’t know what else to call it.”

“So I should blame her for the way I am?” Emma twisted a lock of her hair, the piece that was always falling in her face.

“I don’t know that I’d use the word ‘blame,’” Tyler said. “It’s one of the things I liked about her.”

“What happened? Between you and my mother? How did she end up at Thorn Hill, and you back here?”

He paused, did the flicker-eye. “After you were born, she complained about her job, more and more, and wanted to leave it, but she was afraid to. Afraid of what Mr. DeVries might do.”

“Mr. DeVries? ”

“Her boss.”

“Because she quit her job? Was she cooking meth or what?”

He shook his head. “Mr. DeVries was somebody you’d never want to meet. A wizard.”

“A what?”

“A wizard. You know.” He took a big bite of cake.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Tyler nearly choked on his mouthful. He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “Sonny Lee never told you about the magical guilds either?”

“Maybe that was your job,” Emma retorted, unwilling to hear Sonny Lee criticized.

“Maybe it was,” Tyler said, with a sigh. “I just figured you’d know, since you’re gifted.”

“One thing I am not is gifted,” Emma said bluntly, recalling the endless round of conferences at school. “Not a single person in all my life has called me that.”

“But . . . you have an aura.”

“A what? ”

“You can see my aura, right?”

“That glow?”

He nodded.

“Lots of people glow. I asked Sonny Lee about it, once, and he acted like I was crazy, so I shut up about it.”

“Because he is . . . was . . . Anaweir. Meaning he wasn’t gifted, so he can’t see it.” Tyler paused. “You don’t have any . . . special abilities? Unusual talents?”

Getting into trouble? Emma thought, but it probably wasn’t the thing to say to your father that you’d just met. “I play a little guitar,” she said. “And I helped Sonny Lee in the shop. I’m not much of a student, but I’m real good with my hands.” I might as well lower expectations from the start, she thought.

Tyler scowled at her, brow furrowed. “If blood is true, you should be a sorcerer, like your mother and me. I just can’t get a read on your stone. It’s like it’s muddied up.”

“My stone?”

“Your Weirstone.” Tyler brought his fist to his chest. “It’s right here.”

Huh, Emma thought. Good thing I never got in a car with this one.

“You think I’m nuts,” Tyler said, with a twisted smile.

“Don’t you?”

“Oh, no,” Emma blurted, thinking, Don’t make him mad. “I’m just confused. Like—aren’t wizards and sorcerers Sthe same thing?”

Tyler shook his head. “Wizards can do fancier spells, what we call conjured magic. With charms. Sorcerers make magical things—herbs, medications, potions, magical tools, and like that. Seers predict the future, warriors are good fighters, and enchanters—stay away from them. They can talk you into anything. So . . . there are five Weirguilds in all.” He counted on his fingers. “Wizards, sorcerers, seers, warriors, and enchanters.” Right, Emma thought. Uh-huh. She slid a look at the door. Should she make a break for it?

What’s your hurry? You got no other place to go. Might as well sit here in the warm and keep him talking.

“So,” she said, settling back into her chair. “How do you know what guild you’re in? Or can you try out for different ones?”

“You don’t choose. It’s based on what kind of Weirstone you’re born with, inherited from your parents.” Again, Tyler pressed his fingers against his chest. “In my case, from my mother, your grandmother. In your case, from me and your mother.” He studied her face, then looked down at his hands. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">