The Enchanter Heir

“You’ve been watching too many episodes of CSI,” a man shouted from the audience. “The students at the Anchorage are not criminals. They’re differently gifted.”

By now, a half-dozen spectators were on their feet, shouting, demanding the floor.

Jonah looked over at Gabriel, who sat calmly, apparently scrolling through messages on his phone.

“Hey! All of you . . . shut up!” The voice echoed through the nave.

The shouting died instantly.

Ellen glared around the room, fists on hips. Jack stood beside her.

“Ellen and I are here to remind you that this is a meeting, not a brawl,” Jack said.

Ellen nodded. “So the next person that talks out of turn is going to get pitched right out of the window.”

“So now you’re using thugs to stifle dissent?” Morrison shouted. Ellen vaulted over the pew in front of her and strode toward Morrison. For a moment, Jonah thought he was going to see wizards fly, but Morrison sat down quickly and Ellen returned to her seat.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Vigilante Justice

Shooting a grateful look at the warriors, Moss said, “We need to give Mercedes and Leesha time to do their jobs. I know emotions are running high, and I assure you we’ll follow the evidence wherever it leads. If anyone has information that might help us, contact Leesha or Mercedes. They’ll keep in close touch with the police and the preschool administration and let us know of any . . . um . . . developments.” She paused. “Let’s move on. Is there an update on the cataloging of the Hoard?” She looked at Linda Downey and Leander Hastings.

Linda stood, but before she could speak, someone else did, in a carrying voice that rang through the church from the rear.

“Perhaps you should distribute the weapons to those of us in the guilds who need them for their own protection.” It was a woman’s voice, cold and cutting.

Jonah turned to look.

Three wizards stalked down the aisle—an angular woman with cropped, reddish-brown hair, a whippet-like man with an early-morning five o’clock shadow, and a young man with sun-streaked chestnut hair.

Rowan DeVries.

Jonah sat bolt upright, his heart accelerating. Then, just as quickly, he slumped down, concealing himself behind those in the rows ahead.

“What is it, Jonah?” Gabriel asked, putting a hand on his arm.

“That’s Rowan DeVries. Remember? He’s the wizard that was there when Jeanette was murdered.” And, oh, by the way, I killed his sister. “I don’t know the other two.”

“That’s Nancy Hackleford and Granville Burroughs,” Gabriel said. “They’re known to be longtime associates of the Black Rose. They’re not on council.”

Moss and McCauley exchanged glances, then waited until the trio had made their way to the table and stood behind the only empty seat. “Burroughs? Hackleford?” Moss said. “It’s been a while. And Rowan? Glad you could be here.”

“Sorry I’m late,” DeVries said. “I was delayed by a death in the family.” His amber eyes rested on Moss. “But maybe you already knew that.”

Moss shook her head, eyes widening in surprise. “No! How would I—”

“My sister Rachel was murdered, along with seven other wizards,” DeVries said.

“Including my daughter, Brooke,” Hackleford said. “She was just seventeen.”

Everyone started talking at once, their voices rising higher and higher, but they didn’t drown out the voice in Jonah’s head. You know what it’s like to lose a sister. He will never, ever stop hunting you.

Finally, Moss slammed the gavel down. “Hang on! Let’s hear what he has to say!”

The din diminished.

“Unless you’d rather we took a brief recess so that we can talk in private,” Moss added.

“No,” DeVries said. “We want everyone on the council to hear this.”

“All right.” Moss sat back, giving the wizards the floor. “Tell us what happened.”

“I’m still waiting for an answer to my question,” Hackleford said. “Will you distribute weapons from the Hoard to those in the guilds who need them for their own protection?”

“As you know, the council voted that proposition down,” Moss said.

“A council packed with representatives from the underguilds who have been conspiring against wizards for years,” Hackleford said bitterly.

“A reasonable response to a thousand years of oppression,” Hastings countered.

“With the guilds at peace,” Moss said, “it seems likely that handing out weapons might be more of a hindrance than a help.”

“So you think we are at peace?” Burroughs laughed bitterly. “Spoken like somebody living far from the war zone. Most of the sefas in the Hoard were made to be used by wizards, so it’s no inconvenience to the underguilds that they are locked up.” His gaze flicked from face to face, stopping on Hastings’s. “How many, Hastings? How many of us are going to have to die before you take this seriously?”

“They don’t care about children,” Morrison shouted from the audience. “Why should they care about wizards?”

Ellen stood again, and glared around the sanctuary. A warning.

Hastings scowled, drawing dark brows together. “We do take it seriously,” he said. “But why should we believe that more weapons would be helpful when we don’t know who did the killing and how they managed to overpower eight wizards?”

“So if it’s wizards, you don’t care?” Hackleford snapped.

“I didn’t say that,” Hastings replied. “What I meant was, if it’s wizard on wizard, or wizard on Anawizard Weir, that game has been played for a thousand years.”

“Not like this,” DeVries said. The young wizard’s eyes darkened to bronze. “Not to this degree. Not at this pace.”

“You’re wrong,” Downey said. “You just never noticed until wizards began dying.”

DeVries turned toward her. “It’s been only a few weeks since Longbranch and Wylie died in London . . . right after I visited them. And yet nothing was done.”

“They were murdered?” Mercedes said. “I hadn’t heard that.”

“The medical examiner could not determine a cause of death,” DeVries said. “Nor could the healers we called in. There wasn’t a mark on either of them. This time eight wizards died, and there wasn’t a mark on five of them.” He paused. “Well, some of them appeared to have been scorched by wizard flame, none of them seriously. We think it may have been friendly fire.”

“Friendly fire?” McCauley repeated. “What about the others?”

“One was shot to death. The others were hacked to pieces.

Including my sister Rachel.” DeVries turned his head and looked straight at Jonah. After a flare of momentary panic, Jonah realized that he was actually looking at Jack and Ellen, behind him. At the swords propped against the pews.

McCauley followed DeVries’s gaze and scowled. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said to DeVries. “Where were they when they were killed?”

“We can’t tell you that,” DeVries said flatly. “Let’s just say they were engaged in investigative work of their own.”

McCauley and Moss exchanged incredulous looks.

“What do you mean, investigative work?” Moss asked.

“Wizards have been dying for months now,” DeVries said. “And nothing has been done about it. Do you blame us for looking for the killers on our own?”

“These eight that died . . . they were all wizards?” Hastings asked. “Nobody else?”

DeVries hesitated for a heartbeat, then said, “Just wizards.”

One sorcerer, and one savant, Jonah added silently. Like always, they didn’t count.

“All right, then,” McCauley said, like somebody who’s decided to just get it over with. “Based on your own investigation, do you have a theory about the identity of the assassins?”

The three wizards looked at one another. DeVries nodded to Burroughs, who spoke. “We believe that this council is a sham intended to distract us while this—this witch murders us one by one.” He glared at Moss.

“You think I did it?” Moss blurted, looking stunned.

“Who else?” Hackleford snapped. “Who else has the power to suck the magic right out of a person? Who else is immune to wizardry? Who else has powers we don’t even understand? Who else is under the control of the most murderous wizard who ever lived?” He looked pointedly at Hastings.

“Oh, come on,” Ellen said, breaking her own rule about interrupting. “Don’t exaggerate. Think of all the competition he’s had over the past thousand years.”

“You think I hacked two wizards to death, too?” Moss had gone pale, so her freckles stood out against her creamy skin. “With what? My fingernails?”

“We think you had help,” DeVries said, nodding toward Jack and Ellen. “We think you brought a team of assassins with you.”

“I don’t ‘suck the magic’ out of a person,” Moss said. “I just . . . disconnect. And why would I go around murdering people? I just want to be left alone.”

“Where were you last Friday night?” DeVries demanded. “Me? I was in Chicago,” Moss said, flushing.

“Prove it.”

“That’s enough!” McCauley said. “Maddie isn’t on trial here. If you think she’s guilty of something, where’s your evidence? Where’s your proof ? When Moss sucks the juice out of a person, it doesn’t kill them.”

“I don’t suck juice out of anybody,” Moss shouted. “That’s disgusting.”

“Maybe we haven’t seen the full range of her capabilities,” Hackleford said.

“Listen,” Downey said. “Mercedes here is something of an expert on poisons and toxins.” She pointed at the sorcerer. 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">