The Enchanter Heir (The Heir Chronicles #4) 6

Jonah ducked away from the doorway to allow DeVries to stride past him. He left through the front door, closing it behind him with a soft click.

Jonah returned to his vantage point just in time to see Longbranch snatch up a vase and smash it against the doorframe, sending shards of glass flying past Jonah’s ear. “What an insufferable, smug bastard,” she snarled. “We don’t need him.”

“Yes we do,” Wylie said. “If we want to regain any real power, that is.” He motioned toward the sideboard. “I’ll have a drink, if you’re offering.”

“Pour it yourself !” Longbranch stalked to the large windows that overlooked the gardens and pulled them open. The scent of roses wafted in. “For all we know, DeVries is behind the killing. Everyone knows the Black Rose will kill anyone for a price. Maybe the council gave him a contract.”

Jonah rubbed his aching head. He’d had enough. He had no interest in hanging out, listening to bickering wizards. He knew who to blame for Jeanette’s death, and that was what

Scounted.

He yanked off his gloves with his teeth and tucked them into the waistband of his jeans, then rounded the corner and walked toward the two wizards.

Longbranch was the first to spot him. Her eyes widened at first, then narrowed speculatively. “How did you get in here?” she demanded.

Wylie spied Jonah in that same moment, his face contorted in surprise. “What the—?”

“How did you get over the security fence?” Longbranch interrupted.

“Well,” Jonah said, shrugging. “It wasn’t much of a fence.”

Longbranch rolled her eyes, as if Jonah’s presence were more an annoyance than a threat. “Why am I paying for twenty-four-hour security? I’m going to fire them all.”

“No need,” Jonah said, raking his hand through his hair. “They’re dead.”

“Ah.” Longbranch nodded. “Well, then. That’s the price of failure, I suppose. How many of you are there?”

“Just me,” Jonah said. “That’s usually enough.”

“Why, you arrogant son of a—” Wylie began.

“Shut up, Wylie,” Longbranch said. Her eyes traveled over Jonah approvingly, lingering on the sword hilt poking up over his shoulder. “Has anyone ever told you that you are a breathtaking young man?”

A thousand times, Jonah thought. A lot of good it does me.

“Are you a warrior, then?” Longbranch continued. “Or a wizard?”

Jonah shook his head. “Neither.” Wizards were unable to identify Weirstones—one of the few advantages the under guilds had.

“Hmm . . . definitely not a seer. They are so tiresome. A sorcerer—no—an enchanter, perhaps?” Lust glittered in the wizard’s eyes. “An enchanter with a sword? Like—like a gladiator. How intriguing. And versatile. Would you like a job?”

“I have a job,” Jonah said. “I’m here about Ms. Brodie.” Longbranch smiled. “Wylie, our luck may be turning. Just when we think we’re at a dead end, fate hands us this second chance.” She took a step toward Jonah. “Who was she to you?”

It was a verbal ambush. “She—she—” Jonah’s words stuck in his throat. He took a ragged breath, then regained control of himself. Get a grip, Kinlock. You ought to be used to losing the people you love by now.

“I’m not here to answer your questions,” Jonah said, back to icy calm.

Wylie thrust his hand under his sweater and produced a massive pistol, which he pointed at Jonah. “Think again,” he said, waving the thing like a movie badster.

Compensating for something? Jonah thought wearily.

Longbranch tilted her head back, studying Jonah like she was hungry and he was dinner. “Brodie wasn’t much help, even after hours of torture. In retrospect, I’m thinking that maybe she didn’t actually know anything. You, on the other hand . . . you’re much more promising.” Her cheeks were flushed, her breath coming faster. Like most wizards, she took pleasure in inflicting pain.

Jonah, on the other hand . . . not so much. He pushed back his sleeves. He had to try to come away with something, anyway. Something that would convince Gabriel to act. Easy questions first. “You’re Jessamine Longbranch, Sright?” he said. “And you’re Geoffrey Wylie?”

“Shut up,” Wylie said, motioning with the gun. “Put the sword on the floor and step back from it.”

“No,” Jonah said.

“No?” Wylie looked down at the gun in his hands, as if to make sure it was still there. Then back up at Jonah. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean I’m keeping the sword. It was a gift,” Jonah said.

Fragarach, was one of the Seven Great Blades made at Dragon’s Ghyll. Gabriel had given it to Jonah when he signed on with Nightshade. It was ensorcelled bright metal, good for killing both gifted and Anaweir, for cutting up cadavers to free the shades inside. Ideal for multitaskers like Jonah.

“Now,” Jonah said. “What did you want from Jeanette?”

“Drop the sword or I’ll shoot!” Wylie roared, his face going purple.

Jonah sighed. Fine. He needed to make an example of one of them. “So shoot me,” he said, feinting a move.

Wylie fired, but Jonah was already across the room. He disarmed the wizard before he could get off a second shot. It was as if Wylie were moving in slow motion, his eyes widening, his mouth opening, and words rolling out slowly, along with drops of spittle.

Jonah closed his bare hands around Wylie’s neck. A light touch, a gentle kind of violence, but enough. Wylie’s eyes went wide with wonder, and then his face took on a familiar, blissful expression.

He crumpled, and Jonah let him go, his still-open eyes glazed over before he hit the floor.

This was how Jonah’s interrogations tended to go, since he couldn’t deal with the blowback associated with inflicting pain. Still, killing wizards was so much more satisfying than killing shades. Especially these particular wizards.

Jonah stepped over Wylie, advancing on Longbranch. Her eyes had gone round with horror, her complexion dead-fish pale. Her mouth opened and closed, but it took some time for words to emerge. “Who are you?” she croaked. “And what are you? An enchanter with a sword and a deadly sting?”

“Me? I guess you could say I’m kind of a monster hunter.”

“M-monster hunter? I don’t understand.”

“You know how in the movies the monster turns on the

evil scientist who created him?” He shrugged. “That’s me. I’m a monster who hunts monsters.”

“Look,” she said. “I have lots of money. You want this house? You can have it. There are five cars in the garage. Choose any or all of them.” When that didn’t draw a positive reaction, she added, “I—I have a boat.”

“I’m not a thief,” Jonah said. “I’m more of an assassin, really.”

“You’re the one who’s been killing wizards!” Longbranch took a step back.

“No,” Jonah said, with a sigh. “Actually, I’m not.”

“Of course not,” Longbranch hastened to say, “but if you are, you should know that I don’t have a functional Weirstone.” She paused. “So, technically, I’m not a wizard.”

“Not a problem. If you’re not a wizard, you’re definitely wizard-ish.”

Longbranch licked her lips and said, “You mentioned— weren’t there some questions you want to ask me? Before—before you—”

“Why did you kidnap Ms. Brodie? What did you think Sshe could tell you?”

“We were hoping to get files and records from Thorn Hill. Information about the weapons they were working on.”

“Weapons? You mean like perfumes and skin creams and medicines?”

“Oh, come on,” Longbranch snapped. “Don’t be naive.”

She really believes that Thorn Hill was the center of some kind of antiwizard conspiracy, Jonah thought. “What do you need weapons for?”

“To protect ourselves.”

Why are there ever wars? Jonah thought. Everyone only needs weapons to protect themselves. Jonah noticed that the ex-wizard had moved three or four feet to the left over the course of the conversation.

“Do you have anybody else on your list? People to torture, I mean?”

Longbranch shook her head.

“That DeVries that was here—tell me about him.”

Longbranch seemed more than happy to give up her co-conspirator. “That’s Rowan DeVries, an American, of course. Very wealthy. He’s a new member of the Interguild Council, but he’s also the principal in a syndicate of assassins for hire.”

“The Black Rose?”

Longbranch looked thunderstruck. “You’ve heard of it?”

“The Black Rose has been around for a long time,” Jonah said. “Do you think Madison Moss is behind these killings?” When she hesitated, he took a step closer. “Tell me.”

“She could be. She’s certainly capable of it. Only . . .” She paused. “Why would she? She’s got all the power. Moss disabled my Weirstone, but I’m still alive—if you can call it that. If it’s her, then why are these wizards dead? If it’s

her, why doesn’t she just do everyone at once and get it over with?”

“It’s not just wizards,” Jonah reminded her. “Other mainli—guildlings are dying as well.”

Longbranch snorted. “What happens to the other guilds is no concern of mine.”

She was still moving, and now Jonah could see that she was headed toward a desk at the side of the room.

Jonah watched her inch along with part of his brain while the rest wrestled with Longbranch’s revelations. “And it’s happening all over?”

“Everywhere,” Longbranch said. “Starting about two years ago.” She’d reached her goal. Now she stood, her hips braced back against the desk, leaning on the heels of her hands. “May I ask you a question?”