The Enchanter Heir

We’re not sure how she came to be there.”

“She liked to go out and smoke on the side porch at night,”

Jonah said. Liberty was fourteen, and always had something snarky to say. Therefore, she and Kenzie got along famously.

Her death would hit him hard.

“Do we know what happened?” Jonah asked.

“No,” Gabriel said, too quickly. “We’ll have to wait for the results of the investigation.” He turned away from Jonah and walked back into the building.

But Jonah knew Gabriel too well. Slowly turning, he scanned the brick wall of the building that faced the alley.

Scrawled in white paint across the brick was the legend good Labrat = Dead Labrat. And Save The Children—Kill A Labrat. And Pedophiles. zombies. Labrat . . . with the first two words crossed out. Also the nonspecific Get Out of Town. Some of the tagging was signed The Exterminators. For the next hour, Jonah boomeranged from Safe Harbor to Steel Wool, escorting the students who could walk, carry ing some, propelling wheelchairs and equipment over the rough pavement. The plan was to house Safe Harbor residents in Steel Wool temporarily until repairs could be made. It wasn’t ideal. Steel Wool was a dormitory that had emptied out as the student population dwindled. Unlike Safe Harbor, it wasn’t tailored to meet the needs of physically challenged residents.

While he worked, Jonah kept his eyes and ears open. Especially to the conversations between Gabriel and police and fire officials.

“I understand protocol, Stan,” he heard Gabriel say to the fire officer in charge, “but trust me when I tell you that we can best meet the needs of these children right here. They are emotionally fragile, and an unfamiliar environment might be enough to cause a massive decompensation. Nobody wants that. Anyone who’s medically stable should stay here.”

The police detective in charge of the crime scene kicked a bit of rubble away. “We’re treating it as arson—some kind of explosive device. Has there been any friction with the neighbors? Any trouble prior to now?”

“No,” Gabriel said, “I don’t know of any town-gown troubles. Our school is small, and for the most part, our students keep to themselves. About the only place they interact with the locals is through our community music programs and the volunteers who provide services. Most are too young to go to the clubs in the district.” He shook his head. “I’m guessing it was a hate crime . . . people fear and hate what they don’t understand. Or possibly someone with a grudge against me. And no, I don’t know who that would be.”

“We’ll figure it out,” the detective said.

No, you won’t, Jonah thought. Not unless you’re open to a magical explanation. “Thanks for being here, Paul,” Gabriel said. “I know you’ll want to interview some more students. Let’s work together to make that as quick and painless as possible.”

Paul put a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. “I’m sorry this had to happen, Gabriel. These kids have enough on their plate as it is.”

“Ah, Jonah, there you are,” Gabriel said, noticing Jonah’s approach. “Paul, I’d like you to meet Jonah Kinlock, my assistant. Jonah, this is Paul Whipple from homicide.”

Jonah acknowledged the introduction with a curt nod. “I’m just curious, Detective,” he said. “How will you go about investigating this incident?”

“We’ll interview witnesses,” Whipple said. “We’ll look for people who have grudges against faculty or students. We’ll compare it with similar crimes in the area, see if there’s a pattern. And, of course, forensics and the arson squad will go over the property with a fine-tooth comb, collecting evidence.” He paused. “Why do you ask? Is there something you think we’re overlooking?”

“Jonah’s younger brother lives at Safe Harbor,” Gabriel put in, before Jonah could open his mouth. “Naturally, he’s concerned. I think we’re about done here, Jonah. Why don’t you go see about Kenzie.”

Jonah knew when he was being dismissed. But he wasn’t leaving without putting a word in. “Is Detective Whipple aware of the possible connection to the Carter Road Lift Bridge incident?”

“Don’t you think that’s kind of a long shot, Jonah?” Gabriel said, with a warning look.

“We’re interested in everything, even long shots,”

Whipple said. “What do you mean?”

“Some parents of the Trinity Montessori children have suggested that students from the Anchorage might have been connected to the kidnapping,” Jonah said. “Because, you know, we’re close by. Some have had ugly things to say about us . . . that we shouldn’t be here.” He shrugged. “I know it sounds far-fetched, but I thought you should know about it.” Whipple scribbled some notes. “I may be able to get this information from the team investigating the kidnapping, but is there a contact person at the school that you know of ?”

“What do you think?” Jonah asked Gabriel, pretending not to notice his headmaster’s scowl. “Mercedes Foster? She’s been the liaison between the parents and the police, right?” Gabriel nodded grudgingly. “She would be a good choice,” he said. “Though it’s hard to believe that people in Trinity would come all the way over here to menace our students. Or would know how to go about putting together an explosive device.”

“Trinity may be a small town, but it’s extremely diverse,”

Jonah said. “You might be surprised.” He met Gabriel’s eyes, a look that said, If you want a rubber stamp, Gabriel, look somewhere else. “Now, if we’re done here, I’ll go see about Kenzie.”

Chapter Forty-one

Fire

The scene at the Steel Wool Factory was one of wellcontrolled chaos, with a desk set up in the reception area, staffed by three caregivers, including Natalie.

Emma stopped at the desk. “I came over to help, but I have something Jonah sent over for Kenzie.” She held up the phone, the earbuds dangling.

A harried Natalie pointed over her shoulder. “Kenzie’s still in intake, room four. See if you can calm him down. If you finish there, come back here and we’ll tell you what to do.”

I don’t know how to calm people down, Emma thought. I’m more likely to get people stirred up. How likely was Jonah’s brother, Kenzie, to respond to a stranger?

But she’d come to help, so she had to try.

The video screens next to each room had been reprogrammed to display numbers 1 through 4, along with the name of the patient inside. Light flared from the doorway of room 4, as if somebody had a strobe light going. She peeked around the doorframe.

The room was nearly empty, except for a thick pallet on the floor. A boy huddled on the mattress, wearing a thick robe made of what looked like terry cloth and wrapped in multiple blankets. A pile of additional blankets lay on the floor next to him. The blankets must have been flame-resistant . . . because the boy was on fire.

Emma stared, fascinated. Flames flickered over his skin, giving him an oddly blurred appearance. The fire was nearly transparent save for occasional flare-ups, but she could feel the heat from where she stood. Sparks arced away from the boy, leaving scorch marks on the mattered wooden floor.

How was it even possible that he was still alive? An aide wearing scrubs stood ten feet away from him, as close as she dared come. She held a bottle of dark brown liquid and a medication spoon. “Kenzie,” she coaxed, “you’ll feel better if you can just get this down.”

He didn’t respond. He trembled uncontrollably, his teeth chattering as if from cold when it seemed like he should have been overheated.

Emma edged into the room. She could see the resemblance between Jonah and his brother. Kenzie shared Jonah’s beautiful blue eyes and fine features, though his hair was a deep reddish brown while Jonah’s was almost black. He appeared thinner than Jonah, though it was hard to tell, muffled up as he was, and his complexion had the pallor of the chronically ill. And yet there was an ethereal beauty about him, like a watercolor compared to Jonah’s rich pigments.

Before you know it, these Kinlock boys will have you writing poetry, Emma thought.

The aide noticed Emma, frozen in the doorway. “Don’t come in!” she cried. “He’s extremely reactive right now. He doesn’t need any more stimulation.” Her voice carried the impatient edge that came with fear.

“I have something for him. His brother sent it over.” She held up the phone.

“Jonah sent it?” The aide’s expression softened and she crossed to where Emma stood. “He’s so thoughtful,” she said.

“I just wish—” She shook her head. “I just don’t see a happy ending to this.”

“I’m Emma Greenwood,” Emma said, extending her hand to the woman. “What’s your name?”

“Martha Witcraft,” the aide said. She seemed eager to talk. “I work at the dispensary. Teaching yoga. His regular nurse got called away to Metro to consult with the staff in the emergency department.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m out of my league. I haven’t worked with Kenzie before, so I don’t know a lot. According to the consult, Kenzie’s seizures are strongly tied to his emotional states. The explosion was close to his suite . . . in fact, it woke him up. I think it’s brought back memories of Thorn Hill. Sort of like posttraumatic stress disorder. I think they thought . . . well, you know . . . meditation is helpful for people with PTSD. That’s why I’m here, but it’s not working out too well. The regular healers are too busy with the other casualties.”

“What’s that medicine you’re trying to give him?”

“I don’t know what it’s called,” she said. “It suppresses magic. They use it to dampen down his seizures. I’m supposed to give him a tablespoon. But I’ve got no clue how to get it into him when I can’t get near him.” It was obvious she was trying to help, but she was scared to death. 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">