The Dragon Heir (30 page)

The radio in Min's old pickup
only got three stations. You could listen to whatever you wanted as long as it
was country and western or classic rock and roll. Madison turned up the volume
and sang along, making up the words she didn't know.

She rolled down the windows,
and her hair whipped around her shoulders. Now spring peepers and the low growl
of thunder competed with the radio. The taste of the air said it would rain
before morning.

As the hills crowded in on
both sides, even the most powerful stations began to break up. So she switched
off the radio and practiced her lines.

“I'm Madison Moss. I go
to the Art Institute of Chicago.” And then her stomach did that little
flip again—half fear, half joy.

Sara   had   found   the  
money   through   a   scholarship program for disadvantaged students. Who
would've thought that living on nothing but dreams all her life would
pay off? But Sara said it wasn't just based on need.

“The scholarship
committee loved your work, Maddie,” Sara had said. “They said you had
a unique perspective that appeals to those who like both primitive and
high-concept art. They can't wait to meet you.”

That part made her nervous.
What if they saw her wild mane of hair and thrift-shop clothes, and heard the
way she talked and decided they'd made a mistake? What if they treated her like
some kind of awkward, backwoodsy charity case?

Never mind. The work was what
was important. She'd find a way to survive the committee. And attend the
Chicago Art Institute in the fall on scholarship.

Her portfolio rode alongside
her in the passenger seat. Sara had been a bit bewildered by some of the more
exotic images. But she thought they would play well in Chicago.

Chicago. Madison had never
been there. There would be libraries and museums and theaters. She could sit in
cafes and talk about books and art and music. Things nobody ever talked about
in Coal Grove. Every day she'd see thousands of people who knew nothing about
her. Who hadn't already made up their minds about Madison Moss.

She could hardly wait.

She was scared to death.

One dream could lead to
another. Maybe she could still convince Seph to attend Northwestern. If it was
too late for fall, he could come as a transfer student in the spring. It could
work. He was at home anywhere. Plus he was comfortable in cities. He had a way
of organizing the world around him so it fit him like a skin. Knowing that she
had one friend would make all the difference. Knowing it was Seph…

She was ambushed by the image
of his face: his gray-green eyes, like smoke layered on still water, hiding
secrets. His rangy frame filling a doorway. His smile: so worldly-wise, yet not
full of himself. The way he switched into French when English just wouldn't do.

His kisses.

She had to stomp on the brake
and wrench the wheel around to make the turn-off to Booker Mountain.

You're hopeless. Just like
Carlene. Seph will never come to Chicago. Not on your account. Not while the
fate of the world hangs in the balance. And who knew what would happen if he
did? She let go of the wheel and examined her hands. Since the day she'd
touched the Dragonheart, there had been no sign of the hex magic she'd absorbed
at Second Sister. Was it really and truly gone, or was it just that she'd been
away from Seph?

Falling in love was like
falling off a cliff. It felt pretty much like flying until you hit the ground.

The road plunged back into
dense forest and rippled through several hairpin turns, crossing Booker Creek
on the stone bridges her great-grandfather had built.

The first big splats of rain
hit the roof of the pickup as she pulled into the yard. It was pitch dark by
now and Carlene hadn't even turned on the porch light.

Madison pushed open the
driver's door and slid to the ground. She grabbed a bag of groceries from the
seat, slung her backpack over her shoulder, and shoved her portfolio under her
arm, meaning to make one trip to the house before the deluge.

By the time she made it up the
steps, it was pouring. She hesitated under the imperfect shelter of the porch
roof, thinking
Hamlet and Ophelia might come to greet her. But no enthusiastic wet dogs came
splashing onto the porch. No Grace or John Robert, either.

Guess they know enough to stay
in out of the rain.

As soon as she shouldered open
the front door, she could hear the television going in the front room. She set
her portfolio and backpack down next to the door.

“Mama?” she said.
“Grace? J.R.? I have the best news. Just wait till you hear.”

“Hi, honey,” Carlene
said from the other room. “I'm watching my shows.”

Madison put the eggs, milk,
juice, lunchmeat, and cheese into the refrigerator to join a jar of Miracle
Whip, moldy bacon, four bottles of beer, and a pitcher of Kool-Aid.

She threw out the bacon.

It was dark in the living
room, too. Carlene was slumped in a corner of the couch, her face illuminated
by the changing images on the television screen.

Madison switched on the table
lamp. “You sitting here in the dark, Mama?”

“Hmmm?” Carlene
blinked up at her. “I guess so.” She looked kind of sleepy and out of
it.

“Where are the
kids?”

Carlene shrugged and looked
around, as if she hadn't missed them. “Oh. Right. They went to the
Ropers.”

“To the Ropers!”
Dreams of Chicago evaporated. Madison stared at Carlene. “What for?”

“I guess they went
riding.”

Madison looked out through the
streaming windows. “Well, they're not riding now. It's pouring down rain.
When did they go?”

“This morning.” A
crease appeared between Carlene's penciled brows. “I think.”

Madison was tempted to grab
her mother's shoulders and shake her. But something stopped her. Carlene seemed
almost…spelled.

“Mama.” She sat down
next to Carlene and took her hands. “How did they happen to go riding at
the Ropers?”

“Brice Roper come by.
With another boy. Never saw him before.” Her mind seemed to drift.

“What did the other boy
look like?”

“He had long hair paler'n
John Robert's.”

Min's words came back to her
from long ago.

I see four pretty men
coming. Two will claim your heart in different ways. Two are deceivers. Two
will come to your door, one dark, one fair. All of these men have magic…

But they have no power that
you don't give away.

Madison stood, put her
shoulders back, and took a deep breath. Crossing to the hearth, she dug her
father's gun out of the wood box and stuffed it into her backpack. Snatching up
her keys, she returned to the living room.

“You stay here,
Mama,” she said, though Carlene wasn't making any move to go anywhere.

Carlene nodded absently,
already lost in the flickering screen.

Maddie's truck with its nearly
bald tires slipped and slid on the rain-slick road. It seemed to take forever
to get to the turn-off. She swung into the Ropers' drive between the fancy
brick pillars, and the house and barn came into sight through the smeared
windshield. Brice's fancy sports car was parked in the middle of the drive in
front of the house. She pulled next to Brice's car, banged open the truck door,
and jumped
to the ground. Turning, she thrust her hand into the backpack and closed it on
Jordan Moss's pistol.

She climbed the broad steps
onto the porch and would have pounded on the massive walnut door, but it swung
open under her fist.

The house yawned empty before
her, seeming to echo with her footsteps. She walked across shining hardwood,
through the foyer and into the hall, looking into richly furnished rooms on
either side. At the back of the house, a fire blazed on the hearth in the
two-story family room, providing the only light. To the right, a doorway led
into what must be the dining room.

A body lay in the doorway,
booted feet sticking out into the kitchen. The boots were familiar—expensive black leather.

Stifling a scream, Madison
stumbled toward Brice Roper's body.

“I wouldn't get too
close,” a voice said behind her. “It's kind of messy. Not my best
work.”

She swung around. Her keys
clattered as they hit the stone-tile floor.

He stood between her and the
hall like a candle in the dark, glittery bright with power, steaming as he
drove the rain from his clothing. He was dressed all in black, but his hair was
so pale as to seem translucent.

It was Warren Barber.

He smiled. “You're not
easy to find.”

Though her heart was pounding,
she managed to speak in a clear, steady voice. “Where are they?”

“What? No tears for poor
Brice?”

“I want to know what
you've done with my brother and sister.”

“You know, Madison, you
really had him going. What'd you tell him—that
you were a witch?”

Madison said nothing.

“But you're not a witch,
are you? You're something else entirely.” He paused, inviting her to
speak, but she still said nothing. “Anyway, he was sure convinced. Poor
Brice was so happy to have a little more firepower on his side. He hated your
guts, you know. You should thank me.”

Thoughts stumbled through her
mind. How had he found her? How much did he know? Could she make him try and
spell her?

“What do you want?”
she asked.

“I need your help,
Madison.” He seemed to like saying her name, as if he owned it. “I
need you to do something for me.”

“You're out of your
mind.”

Barber laughed. “We'll
see. I think you're going to do whatever I ask.”

Maybe he knew less than she
thought. He seemed almost too confident. Maybe if she charged him, he'd send
power into her.

His pale eyes glittered with
malice. “I haven't forgotten what you did on Second Sister.” He took
a step toward her. “Big mistake. No one comes after me with a knife. I
should teach you a lesson.” He raised his hands, raising Madison's hopes,
then dropped them again, smiling. “But I'm willing to forgive and
forget.”

He knows. He's just toying
with me.

She pulled the gun free,
gripped it with both hands like her father had taught her, and pointed it at
Warren Barber.

Barber stopped smiling when he
saw the gun.

“I said—tell me where my brother and sister are.”

Barber went very still for a
long moment, then said, “I'm losing patience, Madison. Now put that down
before someone gets hurt.” He took a step toward her.

“I'm warning you,”
Madison said. “I'm a deadeye shot.” Which was true. Her daddy had
taught her to shoot. Only she was a failure as a hunter because she'd never
been able to shoot anything living. Barber might be the first.

Barber's eyes, with their pale
centers and fringe of white lashes, were cold and unblinking as any snake's.
“All right. You're all business, huh? I have something to show you.”
He patted his jacket pocket. “May I?”

Grudgingly, Madison nodded.

He thrust his fingers into his
pocket, came up with something glittering. He extended it toward Madison.

She gestured with the gun.
“Toss it on the table,” she said.

Barber tossed, underhand. Two
objects clunked onto the battered formica. Madison put the table between her
and the wizard and looked down.

It was like somebody had
reached into her chest, grabbed hold of her heart, and squeezed.

One of the objects was a
beat-up Swiss Army knife with the initials JR carved crudely into the
cover. The other was a gold locket engraved with roses on a lightweight gold
chain.

The knife had belonged to
their father. John Robert carried it with him everywhere and slept with it
under his pillow. Min had left the locket to Grace. Madison had fastened the
clasp a thousand times when Grace couldn't manage, had carefully removed it and
set it on the dresser when Grace fell asleep with a book. She wore it every day
of her life.

Madison looked up at Barber.
It took a couple of tries to get her voice going.

“Where are they?”
This time, she couldn't keep the quaver out of her voice.

“No one will ever find
them if you shoot me.”

She braced herself, aimed
lower. “I don't need to shoot you in the head,” she said.

“And if I bleed to
death?” He raised an eyebrow. “Come on, Madison, you're not a killer.
Besides, I can probably block the shot. Put down the gun, and we'll talk.”

“If you've hurt them,
I'll…”

“You're the only one who
can prevent that. Cooperate, and I'll let them go. If not…” He shrugged.
“That'd be a shame.”

“How do I know they're
still alive?”

Barber waved away her question
impatiently. “They're my leverage. It'd be stupid to kill them. Unless you
disappoint me. When our business is done, I'll let them go. See? Nobody gets
hurt. Now put down the gun before I lose patience.”

Grace and John Robert.
Defiant, strong-willed Grace and innocent John Robert in the hands of this
monster. What did he want from her that he'd gone after them?

Carefully, she set the gun on
the table, took a step back, and stood, arms at her side, staring daggers at Warren
Barber.

“Good,” Barber said.
He nodded toward the kitchen table. “Please. Sit down.”

Madison walked woodenly to the
table and sat. She tried to look everywhere but at Brice's body and the blood
splattered over the floor. Barber was right. She wasn't a killer.

Barber crossed to the
refrigerator and rummaged inside. “You hungry?”

“No.” Madison's
stomach lurched, threatening to reject what little it had inside it.

Barber pulled out two bottles
of pop and a plate of cold pizza and carried them back to the table.

“Conflict always makes me
hungry, know what I mean?” He set a bottle of pop in front of her.