“A shame,” Emma said solemnly, and they toasted again.
“DeVries is going along with this?” Rudy said. “From what I heard, he seemed hell-bent on convicting Jonah of something.”
“Remember that thing Jonah said about starting a fight?” Emma smiled her street smile. “I don’t think he wants to get into it with me. He knows he’ll lose. And without my testimony, he’s got nothing.”
“One issue we haven’t settled is what to do about shades,” Leesha said. “It’s been totally quiet for the last six months—ever since the standoff. The Weir killings seem to have stopped for now. We don’t know if they’ll continue to pose a threat to us. And we don’t know anything about how to communicate with them. Or how to fight them, if we have to. That’s something we hope you can help us with.”
“We’ve talked about that, too,” Emma said. “Their leaders—some of them, anyway—know now that what happened at Thorn Hill was not an attack by the Wizard Guild, but that it was a...a case of domestic violence and revenge.” She stopped, released a long breath. “My mother was the one organizing shades against mainliners. I don’t know what she’s thinking or planning at this point.” She looked at Jonah for help, and he picked up the story.
“At least it’s blown up the argument that mainliners are fair game because they caused the problem in the first place,” he said. “But we really don’t know what they might do. I have no desire to make war on them. They didn’t deserve what happened to them. So for now, I’d advise watching and waiting. If the killings start up again, then we won’t have a choice but to do something about it.”
“Maybe Gabriel and Lilith are together again,” Emma murmured. “They deserve each other.”
“What about Madison?” Jonah said. “How is she feeling about all of this?”
Leesha stared down at her hands, as if working out what she was going to say. “Seph says that Madison is having a hard time. She blames herself for the violence over this past year—she feels like if she’d taken responsibility for her role as the Dragon, none of this would have happened. I don’t think that’s necessarily the case, but...” She shrugged. “Alison and Gabriel are dead, and they are the ones most directly responsible for Grace’s death. So in that regard, justice has been done.”
“I just feel bad for Alison,” Rudy said. “I wish things could have been different for her. It’s so unfair.”
“Maybe it will be,” Natalie said. “She is still out there, you know. Maybe one day we’ll come up with a way to restore free shades in a permanent, ethical way.”
“Would you be willing to be on the Board of Trustees, Leesha?” Natalie asked. “If we nominated you?”
“I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make sure this all works out,” Leesha said. “Just so you know, I won’t be available for the month of July.”
“Vacation?” Jonah asked.
Leesha smiled, stealing a look at Fitch. “I’ve never been to Cambridge, and Fitch has promised to give me an insider tour.”
After Leesha left, Jonah looked at Kenzie. Kenzie looked back, poker-faced, and then they both burst out laughing.
“Amazed,” Kenzie said, raising his glass.
“Amazed,” Jonah said, clinking with him.
“What?” Rudy said, looking back and forth between them. “Are you Kinlocks holding out on us?”
“No, actually, Gabriel was holding out on us,” Kenzie said.
“Explain,” Emma said.
“We’re talking about Gabriel’s supersecret hidden padlocked offshore accounts,” Kenzie said. “The ones he thought were safe from punks like me. And the U.S. government. I actually hacked in six months ago, and I installed some code to keep track of keystrokes, password and account changes and like that.”
“Six months ago?” Rudy said, frowning. “That would have been right before the standoff at the Keep?”
Kenzie nodded. “Remember when I said you should never piss off a hacker? Gabriel still hasn’t learned his lesson. First, he doped me up with blood magic, which rendered me even more clever and creative than usual. Then he locked me up in a technological desert.” He smirked. “I had time on my hands, a fresh grudge, and a technical challenge. So I started knocking on digital doors. At the time, I wasn’t aiming that high. My idea was to establish access to Gabriel’s assets so Jonah would have some options if I could talk him into leaving. He could parley the Kinlock catalog into a rock-and-roll empire. Or he could offshore himself—just lay on a beach somewhere—one of those places where they’ll bring you cold beverages when you put up your drink flag and never ask for an ID.” Kenzie put up both hands to forestall a protest. “I’m sorry, bro. I’ve been living vicariously through you so long it’s hard to get out of the habit.
“Much to my surprise, I discovered that Gabriel has been making money hand over fist from the properties in Brazil, and from the foundation itself. Gabriel was systematically looting foundation assets and offshoring the money. He recently mortgaged all the buildings to the max. I figure he’d already decided to cut his losses and split, maybe with Lilith. But before I could do anything about it, they did their Frankenstein thing on Jonah, and all that shit went down with the council and the Black Rose. Then I was totally incapacitated by blood-magic withdrawal. When I’d regained my senses, I muscled in again, and simply restored the funds to their rightful owner—the foundation. And now we are flush.” Kenzie rubbed his fingers together.
“To Kenzie!” they all said, and clinked glasses while he made pshaw sounds.
I can’t believe I’m leaving now, Emma thought, with so many good things happening.
It was as if Natalie read her thoughts, because she said, “I wish you’d stay here this summer, Emma. Rudy and I are going to try to get the club going again—on a small scale, anyway. We could play some gigs there, and go back to the studio and lay down some more tracks.”
“Please, Emma,” Rudy said. “Help an orphan fulfill his dream of producing an LP. Maybe you could wait and go back to Memphis in the fall, when it’s getting cold up here.”
Emma shook her head. “Don’t get me wrong, I love it here,” she said, “but I’ve just got to be in Memphis in the summertime.” She shrugged. “I guess I like it hot.” Her eyes met Jonah’s, her pulse quickened, and her stomach did that shimmy thing that was happening more and more often. But he looked away.
“What will you be doing down there?” Rudy asked. “Woodworking?”
Emma collected her thoughts. “My friend Mickey has a club down there. I told him I’d help him out this summer, see how I like it. I’m going to hang out my shingle and make some connections, and hopefully pick up some custom work and commissions that I can work on this winter. The shop stays here, because I’ll definitely be coming back in the fall for school.”
“Good,” Rudy said, looking mollified. “If the shop stays here, I know you’ll be coming back. Just don’t be romancing any other bands while you’re down there.”
“You know my heart belongs to you,” Emma said. “Anyway, Nat’s coming to visit, right? So you and Mercedes can spend some more time at Tyler’s lab?”
Natalie nodded. “We’ll be in touch about dates.”
“Kenzie, you and Jonah are still planning to come down in August, right?”
Kenzie grinned. “The Kinlock brothers make a road trip. I can’t wait. I don’t think we’ve ever had an actual vacation.”
“Just keep working hard in therapy,” Emma said. “I plan to take you into the twistiest, seediest, low-down dives in town, and they aren’t always that accessible.”
“Nothing motivates my little brother like twisty and seedy,” Jonah said.
“I guess I’d better go now,” Emma said. “I still don’t have everything in the truck, and I want to get an early start tomorrow.” She took Jonah’s arm, gripped it tight. “Walk me back to Oxbow, Jonah?”
&n
bsp; It was either rip his arm free or go along. So he went along.
Summer was finally taking hold on the city after fumbling several times. The street trees were blooming, and the bars had finally opened their patios for good.
I guess that’s progress, Emma thought wryly. She never thought she’d see Jonah Kinlock clad only in a thin T-shirt and jeans, not even in the summertime.
They threaded their way around diners on the sidewalks, hearing bits of conversation as they passed by.
“You have Sibelius loaded on your laptop?” Jonah said.
“For the tenth time: yes, I do,” Emma said. “And I have the three-ways on my calendar.” Her cheeks burned as she realized how that sounded.
Jonah pretended not to notice. “Now that school’s out, I’ll have a couple weeks to rough out some lyrics for the tunes I already have. Meanwhile, Kenzie will be working on some more melody lines. We’ll do a swap—I’ll send you what I have, and you can give it the smell test.”
“If it passes, I’ll work on the guitar line,” Emma said.
They walked a few paces more, and then Jonah returned to an old topic. “You’ll let me know if there’s any shade activity? Or if Lilith shows up in Memphis?”
“You’ll be the first to know. I really think I’m safer there than here.”
They’d gone over this before, but Jonah kept bringing it up. It was like he didn’t trust any scrap of happiness that came his way. Like he worried that it would go up in flames.
They loped up the steps of Oxbow, entered the code for the elevator, and rode up, silent as two strangers trapped together for the ride.
“You think Kenzie will be good to come in August?” Emma said as they exited on her floor.
“He really, really wants to do it,” Jonah said. “So I’m going to say yes.”
Emma caught herself. She always talked about Kenzie when she wanted to talk about Jonah, because that topic was safer. It had fewer sharp edges, and they nearly always agreed.
When they reached her door, she said, “Come in for a minute.”
“I’d better go,” Jonah said. “There’s still a lot of cleanup at—”
“I said, Come in for a minute,” Emma repeated. “It’s not an invitation; it’s an order.”
She pushed open her door and stood aside, arms folded, as he edged past her. Then closed the door behind him.
“What’s this all about?” Jonah said, shifting from one foot to the other.
“Sit down,” Emma said, and he eased down onto the edge of the couch, hands on his knees. She drew up a stool and sat opposite him. “Natalie says that the resident toxin in your hands is nearly gone. That it’s down to a trace.”
Jonah hunched his shoulders, like a kid caught out in a lie. “That’s what she says. Though I don’t know how she can tell for certain.”
“She says she’s been trying to get you to do exercises in therapy. Touch therapy. What she calls desensitization.”
Color stained Jonah’s cheeks. “I can’t believe she told you all this. That’s just wrong.”
“She told me because she thinks it’s safe for you to—to be more aggressive, but you run the other way.”
“I don’t know why she’s in such a hurry about it,” Jonah said. “I’ll get there.”
“She’s not so sure,” Emma said. “She thinks you have a—a phobia about it. A mental block.”
“It’s—it’s really hard for me, all right?” he growled. “She of all people ought to understand that.”
“I think she does understand that. But she’s afraid that if you aren’t pushed, it’ll never get better.”
“It’s just that everything I touch...everything I love...dies. Lilith said that the poison was intended to surface at will. Well, how do I know it won’t surface again, unexpectedly? How do I know I can control it? I couldn’t live with myself if—if it happens again.”
“Well, it’s hard for me to watch somebody I care about torture himself. What are you going to do—have throw-away romances with people you don’t care about?”
“No,” he said through gritted teeth. “Being an enchanter, it’s not fair to—”
“Oh, shut up, Jonah,” Emma said. “I have to admit that resisting you is something I never get really good at. It’s like playing the Dobro.”
Jonah’s head came up. “What?”
“It’s like playing the Dobro. I have to keep practicing. And if I get distracted, wham! But that doesn’t mean it can’t be done. I’m not here because I’m a natural nag. I’m terrible at it, in fact. My usual policy is, let people be. I’m here because you’re my friend, and I love you. We may not end up being anything more than friends, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let you go through life alone because you’re scared to be with somebody.”
She waited. He said nothing. She said, “I want you to try something with me. Will you?”
Jonah licked his lips. Looked up at the ceiling and sighed. Then looked at Emma, straight on, and said, “What exactly did you have in mind?”
Emma’s cheeks burned again. “I’m going to hold your hands,” she said. “Very easy, very low key. I won’t do anything without asking. Any time you want to say whoa, say whoa.” She drew up the stool until they were knee-to-knee. “Let me see your hands.”
He extended his gloved hands toward her, palms up. She cradled them in her own. They sat like that for a minute, face-to-face, Jonah’s hands resting in hers. “Now I’m going to take your gloves off, okay?”
He nodded, panic flickering in his eyes.
“Close your eyes if it makes it easier,” Emma said. He did. “See, I used to have stage fright, believe it or not,” she said as she worked his fingers free. “I was fine playing in the shop, or with one or two friends in a back room, but I would just freeze when I got up in front of people. Sonny Lee, he told me that the only cure for that was doing it. I did, and he was right, but I did my first three songs with my eyes shut.”
Jonah snorted softly, but kept his eyes closed.
“Okay,” she said. “Gloves are off. Are you all right?”
Jonah’s nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, then released it. “I’m okay,” he said faintly.
Emma could tell he was scared. His face gleamed with sweat, his T-shirt was stuck to his shoulders and arms, and he was taking quick, shallow breaths.
Gently, she pressed her thumbs into Jonah’s palms and massaged them. Then she squeezed each of his fingers in turn. His nails were clipped short, and the tips of the fingers on his left hand were callused from years of guitar work. They were experienced hands, supple, capable hands, and yet, at the same time, unweathered, having been covered in gloves for most of his life.
“You can tell a lot about a person from his hands,” she murmured. Taking one of his hands between her two, she worked it from wrist to fingertips, mapping how muscle, tendon, and bone fit together. Then she did the other hand.
Gradually, the tension left Jonah’s body. His head tilted back, exposing his long throat, and the bunched muscles in his shoulders relaxed.
“You’re doing great,” Emma whispered. “You’re doing just fine. And I’m fine, too. I’d like to try one more thing, if you’re up for it.”
“What?” he whispered.
“This,” she said, and gently pressed one of his hands to her face.
His eyes sprang open, and they were looking each other in the eye, tasting each other’s breath, their lips inches apart.
“Okay?” she said softly.
“Okay,” he said, his eyes like oceans, his voice a little hoarse, his body rigid with tension again. He moved his hand, brushing his fingertips across her cheekbones, the bridge of her nose, sandpapering over her lips. Finally, he cupped both hands under her chin so that he held her face in his hands. He studied her intently, as if looking for any sign or symptom of damage.
“Are you all right?” he whispered.
“I’m just fine,” she said.
Taking hold of his hands again, she turned her head, kissing each of his palms. Then returned both hands to him, but kept hold of them. “Good,” she said. “You did good. I think that’s enough for today.” She stood, lifting him with her. “Well, I need to get to bed,” she said. “I want to get going early tomorrow.” Sliding her arms around him, she hugged him. “Keep working on that.”
“Good night, Emma,” Jonah said. “And thanks.” He pressed her closer, one hand on her back, just at the base of her spine, the other on the back of her head, his fingers stroking her hair. “Emma,” he said, after a minute. “I have a question.”
“What is it?” she murmured.
“Can we do that again sometime?”
Emma blinked back tears. “In Memphis,” she said. “I’ll see you in Memphis this summer, and we’ll write the end of that song. But be ready. You know what they say about Memphis in August.”
“What?”
“It’s hot. Smoking, in fact.”
The very best part of this job is getting to hang out with people who genuinely love books. This Heir Chronicles series has been nurtured, shaped, and championed by so many people over its nine-year gestation. These are some of them.
Thanks to savvy agent Christopher Schelling, who has always found a good home for my novels through good times and bad. Sometimes I feel like we’re sharing a tiny raft on the turbulent seas of publishing. Though at times we get a little seasick, so far we’ve managed to stay afloat.
Christopher has the best laugh in the world, all heh-heh-heh, that comes from some well deep inside him. He also makes great use of timely silence.