The Enchanter Heir

Page 25

“What’s your pleasure, Kinlock?” Jack asked. “Me or Ellen?” He leaned in closer and said in a loud stage whisper, “I’ll give you fair warning. She’s ruthless. And she cheats.” The crowd hooted and catcalled.
Jonah tilted his head, pretending to be thinking. Finally, he shook his head. “I can’t decide. Can I play both of you?” Jack and Ellen looked at each other. “Um. Sure, if you’re up for it,” Ellen said, shrugging, “since no one else seems eager to play. Which one of us do you want to play first?”
“No. I meant both of you at once,” Jonah said. “I don’t think I’ll have time to play you separately.”
As the crowd exploded into laughter, Jonah removed his sweatshirt, revealing a tight-fitting T-shirt. This resulted in some oohing and aahing from the crowd. Leesha Middleton, for one, seemed delighted with this turn of events. “You choose first,” Ellen said generously, gesturing toward a dozen rebated weapons set out on a blanket. Jonah chose an English rapier, which was closest to the sword he was used to wielding.
“You’re sure you want that one?” Ellen asked. “A heavier sword will wear you out quicker. And it may slow you down.” Jonah tried a few thrusts and parries. It might be heavier than the others, but it felt featherlight in his hand after Fragarach.
“I’m good with it,” Jonah said. “Unless you want it.” He extended it toward her, hilt first.
Ellen shook her head. She and Jack chose rapiers as well. “Can we ditch the piste?” Jonah asked, nudging the fencing strip with his toe. “And play the whole field?” Jack and Ellen looked at each other. Jonah didn’t have to read minds to know what they were thinking. Two on one, it would be to Jonah’s advantage to narrow the field so that only one of them could come at him at a time. They probably thought he was a fool—or unschooled at best.
“If that’s what you want,” Jack said. He and Ellen rolled up the fencing strip and set it to one side.
The two warriors faced off with Jonah. “Do you want to just spar a little bit, get used to your weapon?” Ellen asked.
Jonah shook his head. “Let’s do it,” he said. “First blood, right?”
And the lopsided duel began.
Jonah soon realized that he’d been overconfident, taking on both warriors at once. He was accustomed to wielding his sword against shades and untried shadeslayer packs. While his ability to read intentions and his uncanny speed and agility gave him an edge, these two were better trained at swordplay. They were considerably more experienced than he was at fighting against somebody who fought back.
They probably practice together constantly, Jonah thought, leaping backward, arching his back to avoid Ellen’s questing sword, then spinning to avoid a flank attack from Jack. Jack’s momentum carried him past Jonah, but he nimbly evaded Jonah’s quick thrust.
Jonah was all over the field, which was, of course, the reason he’d asked for that change in the rules. It was too easy to get trapped on a narrow strip. This way, he could use his superior speed. At one point he literally leaped over the warriors’ heads, landing on the other side.
“Do you have wings or what?” Jack grumbled.
“He’s just like you,” Ellen said, dabbing at a scratch on her cheek. “He won’t stand still.”
Despite the grumbling, Jonah could tell that the two warriors were having the time of their lives, taking a simple pleasure in the physical game. It was infectious—Jonah couldn’t help joining in. Gradually, they developed a strategy to counter Jonah’s strengths, scissoring in on him, trading off in order to tire him out. When Jack finally nailed him with a thrust to the left torso, Jonah was just as glad to concede rather than fight on.
Besides, he’d looked up to see Gabriel standing at one end of the bleachers. Scowling. It seemed that public sparring didn’t fit in with Jonah’s new role as diplomat.
The warriors, on the other hand, were practically giddy with joy. Not so much about the win, but about the play— the dance. Fighting was art to them, so different from Jonah’s methodical butchery.
“Want to go three rounds?” Ellen asked, blotting sweat from her face with her sleeve. “Best two out of three?”
“You could play us one-on-one now,” Jack suggested, grinning. “Or maybe find a partner.” He scanned the crowd again for likely prospects.
“No, thank you,” Jonah said, rolling his eyes. “I think I’ll quit while I’m only one bout behind.”
The crowd began to disperse, realizing that the fighting was over for the day. Soon it was just the three of them, clustered together, and Gabriel, at a distance, clearly waiting for Jonah to break away.
Ellen handed Jonah a bottle of water, which he drained at one go. She began gathering up gear, loading it into the back of an old Jeep, but Jack’s sharp blue eyes were still fixed on Jonah. “You’re gifted, I can tell that, but you’re not exactly . . . readable,” he said. “You’re not a warrior, are you?” At least Jack hadn’t guessed enchanter right out of the gate. Jonah shook his head. “Nope. Not a warrior.”
When Jonah didn’t elaborate, Jack tried again. “Where did you learn to fight? You have some great skills.”
“I got most of my training at school. And, you know, by doing.”
“Where do you go to school?” Jack asked.
“The Anchorage,” Jonah said, lifting his chin, waiting for the inevitable reaction.
“The Anchorage!” Jack repeated, startlement crossing his face. He followed with the typical quick look-over. “But you . . . does that mean you—”
“I’m a Thorn Hill survivor,” Jonah said. “I’m what we call a savant.” He paused for a heartbeat, then added lightly, “Should I have disclosed that up front?”
Ellen had come up next to Jack and heard that last exchange. “Not to us,” she said. “Jack’s kind of a mongrel himself, and, let me tell you, he’s not above using it to his advantage in a fight.”
“Mongrel?” Jonah said. “What do you mean?” But neither one of them heard, intent on each other as they were.
“One time,” Jack muttered. “Just that one time. When you were trying to kill me.”
“If I were trying to kill you, Jack, you’d be dead,” Ellen said sweetly.
“Hey!” Jonah shouted, louder than he intended. The two warriors swiveled to look at him. “What do you mean, mongrel?” he repeated.
“Jack’s kind of a hybrid,” Ellen said. “He was born a wizard, but had a warrior stone implanted. Which means he’s a little bit nasty, but still has some redeeming qualities.” She brushed her fingers over Jack’s ripped pectorals. “Is—is that common?” Jonah said, frustrated at his own ignorance.
“No,” Jack said. “It’s . . . unusual. Unique, you might say.
I’m the only one.”
“It’s also a long story,” Ellen said. “Listen, we have a sparring field set up in one of the city parks, and we work out several times a week. You could come join us. If you wanted to.” She held out her phone. “Give me your cell number and I’ll text you when something’s happening.”
Jonah hesitated, weighing Ellen’s phone on his palm. A half hour ago, he’d wanted nothing more than to retreat into the safety of the Anchorage. But this might be an opportunity to learn more about the mainliners. Maybe even things Gabriel didn’t want him to know.
The truth was . . . he liked the two warriors. He couldn’t help himself.
“Please say yes,” Ellen urged. “I’m tired of fighting the same-old same-old.” She shot a glance at Jack. “In the interest of full disclosure, I should tell you that some of the warriors we play are dead, but if you’re okay with that—”
“I’m okay with that,” Jonah said, entering his cell number into Ellen’s phone. “Actually, dead people are kind of my thing.”
Chapter Nineteen
Kinlocks on the Case
Late that night, Jonah went to see his brother. He often went to see Kenzie after the bars were closed and most of the stragglers had straggled off the street. When day-shift therapies were less likely to interfere.
The air was crisp and cold, and Jonah was glad he’d worn a hoodie under his leather jacket. Close to his destination, he stopped in at an all-night pizzeria he knew. He ordered a large deluxe pie with extra cheese and hoped it would stay warm until he got to Safe Harbor.
As usual, Kenzie heard him coming long before Jonah knocked.
“Hey, bro,” Kenzie said. “Come on in.”
When Jonah opened the door, Kenzie was sitting up in his wheelchair next to the window, his hands fluttering in his lap like panicked birds. He wore a red concert T-shirt, the only spot of color in the otherwise white-and-beige room.
Jonah set the pizza box on the broad window ledge. “I was afraid you might be in bed already.”
“Nah. Just trying to outlast the white coats, as always,”
Kenzie said.
Jonah looked around the room. “So they’re actually doing the minimal stimulation thing?”
“Yeah. They’re trying to do me in—killing me with boredom. And all because I keep driving off my tutors.”
“Well, if you’d stop setting things on fire,” Jonah said.
“They seem to find it off-putting.”
“Wimps,” Kenzie said.
Jonah plucked at Kenzie’s brilliant T-shirt. “This your idea?”
Kenzie nodded. “Can we go out?”
“It’s cold out,” Jonah warned him, shedding his leather jacket.
“I don’t care. I’m tired of being in a sensory-controlled environment. I really need some sensory input.”
“Maybe after you eat.”
Kenzie scowled. “There’s no maybe. Only yes or no.”