The Dragon Heir (03) by Cinda Williams Chima

Author:Cinda Williams Chima [Chima, Cinda Williams]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2010-04-04T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen Mind-Burner

Dystrophe turned his collar up against the raw breath of the lake, knowing he must be getting close. He had no need to consult the scrap of paper in his pocket—he'd memorized the address and the description of the house.

Stone Cottage, it was called. He'd been told that the boy was likely to be alone. His natural wariness had been aroused, however, by the fact that Longbranch was offering an astoundingly generous stipend for a supposedly easy target.

The job had its challenges, of course. It was said that attack magic was forbidden within the sanctuary. But then, murder was likely forbidden, also.

He fingered the blades in his sleeves, and smiled. A scratch from any one of them would suffice to cut the thread of life that was often so strong in the young.

He turned up Lake Street. It was paved in brick, its wrought-iron gas lamps casting pallid pools of light into the darkness. As an assassin, he was fond of dim historical districts.

The houses to the right were waterfront, and some of them had little signposts labeled Land's End and Sunset House, Sailor's Rest, Dry Dock, and Snug Harbor. Excruciatingly cute. Dystrophe disapproved.

That must be it, up ahead. An actual stone cottage set amid a rather unkempt garden, overlooking the lake. The porch light was on.

Dystrophe walked around the house, securing the perimeter with magical barriers to prevent escape. Then he turned up the walk, negotiating the uneven pavement. Perhaps the boy would actually let him in.

But there was no answer when he rapped on the door. Ah, well. No need to delay their meeting. It was a thick oak door, but a precisely targeted charm slammed it off its hinges.

Would the boy be asleep? He thought not. Boys of that age liked to stay up late, didn't they, playing video games and what not? He secured the doors behind him, then began to search the rooms downstairs. The boy was not in the kitchen, the parlor, the dining room, the pantry, or the study.

Just then he heard movement in the back of the house, and a banging noise, like someone trying to force open a window.

Ah, Dystrophe thought. He followed the sound.

At the back of the house was a solarium, probably a lovely room in daylight. The wall overlooking the lake was entirely of glass. Waves pounded against the rocks below. And there in the dark, silhouetted against the rising moon, was the boy.

He turned when Dystrophe entered the room and stood facing him. Dystrophe gathered light into his hands and tossed it down on the floor between them. It flared up, illuminating the boy's angular features, shadowed eyes, and tangle of dark hair. He was dressed in a T-shirt and blue jeans, and still wore the big-boned, coltish look of adolescence.

It was him, Dystrophe was sure of it. "Joseph McCauley?" he inquired.

"Who are you?"

"Relax, Joseph," Dystrophe said soothingly. "I'm not here to hurt you." I'm here to kill you. It was an important distinction, but most people didn't seem to find it reassuring.

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