The Warrior Heir (The Heir Chronicles #1)

The Warrior Heir (The Heir Chronicles #1) Page 20

Linda threw some money on the table and they left the coffee shop. It was dark now, and Jack could see lights far out over the water. They drove back to Jefferson Street in silence, each occupied with private thoughts. The porch light was on when they pulled up in front of the Swift house. Aunt Linda wouldn't come in. “Tell Becka thanks for loaning you out this weekend.”

Jack climbed out of the car and pulled his duffle bag out of the backseat. The three glass bottles were tucked safely inside. Linda passed the box with the sword in it through the window. A look passed between them, sympathetic on the one side, angry and rather desperate on the other.

“Keep the phone,” Aunt Linda instructed. “I'll be in touch.”

“Sure. Fine.” If what she had said was true, then he was in deep trouble, and his aunt was the only lifeline he had. She'd dumped this load on him, and now she was going away. Jack turned to go, but she gripped his arm, pulled him close, and kissed him on the cheek.

Fortunately, Becka didn't ask many questions. She had legal briefs spread out over the kitchen table. When she saw Jack's face under the overhead light, she exclaimed, “Oh, no! Did you forget your sunscreen?” He reached up, touched his burned face, and nodded. She asked if he and Linda had found any new relatives, and Jack said, “A couple.” She asked if the road trip was boring after all, and he said, truthfully, “No.” That seemed to satisfy her.

He thought about going out to the garage to talk to Nick, but decided against it. He'd seen enough of wizards for one weekend.

Later, up in his room, Jack stowed the glass bottles in the back of his underwear drawer. He pushed the box with the sword in it under his bed.

The note with the information about his trainer was in his jeans pocket. He tore open the envelope and unfolded the paper inside.

The name on the paper was Leander Hastings. Trinity High School's new assistant principal.

Chapter Six

Dangerous Games

The next morning, Jack moved his blue bottle of medicine into the upstairs bathroom, along with a measuring spoon. “It'll be easier to remember if I take it before I brush my teeth,” he explained to Becka. After his shower, he carefully measured out a tablespoon of Longbranch's medicine and poured it down the sink. Then he carried the potion bottles in from his bedroom. He opened each in turn and swallowed down a measured teaspoon. Two of them were strong-tasting. The third was milder, almost pleasant. He carefully returned the bottles to his drawer. Then he pulled Mercedes's vest on over his head. He was already feeling vulnerable without it. He wondered if wizards might charge in on him while he had it off, when he was in the shower, say. He followed with a flannel shirt. He still looked like he'd had a bad day in the tanning salon.

The kitchen was empty, but a bowl of cereal waited at his place, along with a note: “Gone to the university. Have a good day. Take your medicine. Love, Mom.”

Jack poured milk over his cereal and sat down to eat. A moment later Will tapped at the kitchen door.

“Come on in,” said Jack. “I'm just finishing.”

Will let himself in. Jack wondered if he should lock the door now that he knew he was being hunted. He sighed.

“Is your aunt gone?” Will asked, looking around as if she might appear at any moment.

“She's gone.”

“I guess that's good,” said Will, looking a little wistful nevertheless. “Don't get me wrong. I like her, but she seems to attract trouble.”

Is it Aunt Linda or me? Jack wondered. He waited for Will to bring up the sword, or the graveyard, or the wizard, but he didn't.

Instead, he said, “Do you have your soccer gear? If we're lucky, we might have practice tonight.” Meaning, if they made the team.

“Yeah.” Jack pointed out his gym bag by the door.

“Well, we'd better get going,” said Will. “Penworthy awaits.” He hoisted his book bag to his shoulder and winced.

“You sore, too?” Jack asked.

“Yeah,” Will replied. “Must be from digging up graves.” He grinned. And that was all that was said between them.

Jack was at a loss for how to initiate his training. Was he supposed to approach Leander Hastings at school and say, “I understand you're supposed to teach me how to be a warrior and use my magic sword. What's your schedule like?” He wished Aunt Linda had remained to act as go-between. It hardly seemed real, now that she was gone and he was back in school. And Hastings was definitely intimidating.

Aside from his worries, Jack felt great. It was hard to explain. He felt clear and focused, emancipated, as if someone had swept out the old and dusty corners of his soul. He could only assume that Dr. Longbranch's medicine had a kind of sedative effect.

Once at school, worries about wizards and warriors seemed overblown and insubstantial, like a bad dream. Penworthy was at his usual post, but there was no sign of Hastings. Jack and Will had a little time to kill before the first bell, so they walked back to the athletic office to see if the soccer team roster was posted. It was, and Jack, Will, and Fitch had all made varsity. Even better, Garrett Lobeck had been bumped back to JV.

“He'll be pissed,” Jack predicted, knowing that somehow it would turn out to be his fault, and not really caring. The first practice was scheduled for that afternoon.

There was still no sign of Hastings when they walked back to their classrooms. Maybe it'd be best to wait a few days and see if the assistant principal contacted him.

After school, Jack and Will carried their gym bags into the boys' locker room to change for practice.The day was cold, so they pulled sweatpants over their shin guards and socks. Jack glanced around before he took off his flannel shirt. It was still early, and he and Will were the only ones in the locker room. Jack slid a long-sleeved T-shirt over his vest.

Will was looking on curiously. “Expecting trouble?” he asked.

“You never know,” Jack replied.

As they assembled on the practice field, the players slapped hands, grinning, happy to have made either team, given the competition. The notable exception was Garrett Lobeck, who, of course, had expected to play varsity. His friends Harkness and Leonard had made the first team. Lobeck looked like an assault waiting to happen, but for once he was heckling some other player. No doubt he was gun-shy after their previous encounter. Which was fine with Jack.

After fifteen minutes of warm-ups, Jack found he wasn't even breathing hard. I must be in better shape than I thought, he told himself. Then they started a scrimmage game between the varsity and JV teams.

The varsity team scored first, but after that the JV team managed to keep them from scoring until the five-minute quarter was called. Jack played midfielder during the second quarter. His team took possession near the JV goal, and one of the fullbacks passed the ball to Jack. Jack began to dribble it down the field, dodging effortlessly around defenders. As he approached the goal, the JV players parted before him as if they couldn't get out of his way fast enough. He took his shot from just outside the box. The goalie practically jumped out of the way, and the shot sizzled in.The varsity team cheered. Will and Fitch slapped him high fives.

Jack felt a trickle of fear, like a cold finger down his spine. There was something supernatural at work. Now that he was off Longbranch's medicine, keeping his powers under wraps was going to be easier said than done. Instinctively, he scanned the crowd. It was sparse: a few parents and assorted girlfriends. Ellen Stephenson was sitting in the bleachers, leaning forward, intent on the field. Looking everywhere but at Jack.

“Nice going, Swift,” Coach Slansky said. “You've really improved since last year.” Jack was swapped out right after the goal. He stood miserably on the sidelines. How was he going to get through the season without drawing attention to himself?

“The first thing you need to do is work on your control.” The voice was practically in his ear. Jack jumped and spun around. It was Leander Hastings, wearing a red Harvard sweatshirt and khakis, hands thrust into his pockets. He was standing close enough so that he didn't have to speak loudly to be heard. ”I can help you with that."

“Can you?” Jack spoke in the same code. “That would be great. What would you suggest?”

“Let's see.” Hastings ran his hand through his hair. “You'll have soccer practice every afternoon this week, three to five. Let's plan on Wednesday afternoon, right after your regular practice. Tell your mom you'll be home by eight.” Hastings had the manner of a man who was used to issuing commands and having them obeyed.

Jack nodded. “Will we practice here?”

“No,” the wizard replied. “I'll find a place.”

Jack hesitated. “What about … will I need to bring anything?” He might have difficulty storing Shadowslayer in his locker. Besides, he was pretty sure swords were forbidden under Trinity's zero tolerance weapons policy.

There was a trace of a smile on Hastings's face, as if he'd read Jack's thoughts. “No. Not this time.”

“Swift!” It was the coach. “You're in!”

Jack nodded to Hastings, and ran back out onto the field. Well, for better or worse, he had a plan. He would have to hope for the best. Hastings made him uneasy. Still, his aunt had chosen him, and he had to assume she knew what she was doing.

But there was that other thing she'd said. She'd told him he could trust no one. And now he was putting himself into the hands of a stranger.

When he glanced back at the sidelines, Hastings was gone.

Many of Jessamine's guests chose to come by water; not that it was necessary, but because it was reminiscent of a more elegant age. They disembarked at the Thameside docks and promenaded through the birch allee to the manor's south terrace. It was lit by torchlight, bordered by beds of white roses: Glamis Castle, Honor, Penelope, Iceberg, and Fair Bianca, among others. Old roses, hybrid teas, floribundas, and shrub roses. The blossoms appeared as white smudges in the darkness, their fragrance a subtle reminder of who held power over the guilds.