“That’s what you want, right? I would ask that you continue your role with Safe Passage—for the benefit of our students. And continue training our most promising candidates in the gym. Otherwise, your role would be more . . . administrative.”
“If I’m out of the field, then who’s going to—”
“We’ll have to work smarter somehow. Use a team approach, develop more weapons, I don’t know. It’s not fair to keep exploiting you just because we can.”
Jonah’s cheeks heated with embarrassment. “You’re not exploiting me, exactly. You’re doing what you feel you have to do. But—as school director—wouldn’t you want someone with a gift other than . . . than killing?”
“You have many gifts, Jonah. We just need to allow you to deploy them. You have considerable charisma and persuasive ability . . . you’ll be brilliant at attracting funding support.”
“Even if you have to go outside of the Keep, it seems like you might want someone with a real education.”
Gabriel lifted an eyebrow.
“No offense, but I’ve been gone more than I’m here. Even when I’m here, I’m distracted. I read a lot, but—”
“I know. We’ve demanded a lot of you. Now, at least, you might have the chance to focus on your education. Anyway, people won’t be beating down the door to take this job. There was a time that I hoped Jeanette might.” He shrugged. “The other reason I hope you’ll say yes is that you’re a musician, like me. I want someone who can manage it all—the club and music-promotion side as well as the foundation. It’s unlikely that I’ll find someone with every asset we’d like to have. But you come the closest.”
“If I do this, will I have a bigger voice in policy?” Jonah asked bluntly. “In how we use resources? In deciding what the mission is?”
Their eyes met for a long, charged moment.
“Eventually, yes,” Gabriel said. Which Jonah read as, Not anytime soon.
“Then my answer is, eventually maybe,” Jonah said.
Gabriel laughed. “I guess I asked for that.”
“Who’ll run Nightshade, then? After you’re gone?”
“Hopefully, after I’m gone, there won’t be any need for Nightshade anymore,” Gabriel said. “Certainly it will be a chance for someone to take the program in a different direction. Why don’t we give this a try for a while? You can spend more time with the healers and educators here. I’ll begin introducing you to some people. We can meet periodically and you can let me know how you’re doing, and whether you want to continue on.”
“All right,” Jonah said. “We’ll see how it goes.”
“Good,” Gabriel said. He thrust out his hand. “Your Nightshade amulet?”
Jonah drew back, closing his hand over the pendant, oddly reluctant to give it up. “Let’s wait,” he said. “We’ll see how I like sitting behind a desk.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Gabriel dropped his hand. “It’s hardly that boring,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“Speaking of desk work, I’ve been wondering: Are there any files, archives, records, and like that from Thorn Hill here at school? Or are they kept somewhere else?”
That wary, guarded expression returned. “What is it you’re looking for? Maybe I can help you find it.”
“I’m not sure what exactly I’m looking for,” Jonah said. “I’m just hoping that something will jump out at me that will help me figure out exactly what happened. You mentioned that sorcerers may have conspired with the Wizard Guild to compound the poison. I’m wondering if they might have been working at the commune.”
“I’m afraid that pretty much all of that was destroyed after the massacre,” Gabriel said. “As you can imagine, things were chaotic for weeks afterward. People were worried that wizards would either find or plant incriminating evidence in the records, and so a lot of material was shredded or burned. I was able to find some records from the compounding labs, and of course, I’ve gone over them with a fine-tooth comb, looking for anything that might be helpful to survivors. Some of the treatments we’ve devised have grown from those discoveries. But I think that mine’s played out. You won’t find anything useful here.” He stood, signaling that the meeting was over. “If you have any more ideas, don’t hesitate to share them with me. Sometimes fresh eyes can identify new solutions.”
On his way back to Oxbow, Jonah played their conversation over in his mind. In a way, Gabriel was offering him a promotion. But it didn’t feel that way. To Jonah, it sounded like good-bye. He was getting the message that he was definitely off Gabriel’s A-list.
Or did Gabriel have another reason for wanting to kick him out of Nightshade?
There was one more thing that weighed on Jonah’s mind. When Gabriel said that all of the records from Thorn Hill had been destroyed, Jonah read that as a lie. Which made him wonder what might be in the records that Gabriel didn’t want him to see.
Chapter Seventeen
Trinity Faire
“Are we invited to this event or are we just crashing it?”Jonah asked as they crossed the parking lot toward Trinity Square.
“We weren’t explicitly invited,” Gabriel said. “But it’s open to the public. I thought it might be helpful for you to see the seat of the Weir government and meet some mainliners in a nonofficial capacity. It’s always best to get to know people when you’re not asking them for something.”
“What do we want from them?” Jonah asked. “Right now we have no representation on the Interguild Council. I’ve been working to change that, but haven’t been able to attract much support.”
“How would it help us to have representation on the council?”
“We need to be at the table when decisions are made that affect us. Especially given the misconceptions people have about the Anchorage. Meeting you . . . interacting with you . . . that should change some minds. This is what we call outreach.”
I’m the poster child again, Jonah thought, with a stab of resentment. Because I’m pretty to look at. Because my disabilities aren’t obvious from the outside.
“Just remember,” Gabriel said, “you’re a diplomat, now. Use that Kinlock charm. Although mainliners are not at risk from us, they may not understand that. They tend to be edgy where savants are concerned.”
“So I should keep that scaly tail tucked inside my jeans?” When Gabriel frowned at him, Jonah raised both hands. “Totally harmless, that’s me.”
They passed under a banner emblazoned with the legend Trinity Medieval Faire. Jonah could hear strains of lute and recorder and the cadence of drums.
Jonah took in the crowded square—families, tourists with cameras, many clothed in period dress. “They aren’t all mainliners?” Somehow, he’d expected that they would be.
Gabriel shook his head. “The town is a mix of Weir and Anaweir. Today there’s lots of both. People come from all over to shop and have a good time.”
Tents lined the square, mostly artists and craftpersons selling their wares, with a few armorers and purveyors of medieval clothing. Food stands sold such medieval delicacies as turkey legs, deep-fried Twinkies, and “gyros of the realm.”
“Gabriel!” someone called as they passed by a booth offering handwoven clothing.
Gabriel turned aside and greeted the woman tending the booth. “Mercedes! I haven’t seen you since last year’s concert.” They air-kissed, and then Gabriel put a hand on Jonah’s shoulder. “Mercedes, this is Jonah Kinlock, one of the students I’m mentoring. Jonah, meet Mercedes Foster, sorcerer, healer, and handweaver.”
Foster was all legs and arms and clouds of wiry gray hair—like a bright-eyed bird with handwoven plumage.
“Pleased to meet you,” Jonah said politely, nodding to Mercedes. Thinking, This is a waste of time. Why should we come here and beg these people for acceptance?
“How did Natalie do at the clinic this summer?” Gabriel asked Mercedes.
“That girl is amazing,” Mercedes said. “Especially when it comes to diagnosis. It’s like she can see through a patient’s skin and identify the problem. Send her back to me, please!”
Gabriel laughed. “Oh, no, that was just a loan. I need her at the Anchorage.”
“Gabriel, if you have a minute, I have a question about a medicinal that I’m having trouble sourcing.” The two sorcerers launched into a discussion of tinctures and extractions.
A sign had caught Jonah’s eye: Swordplay demonstration—Try your Hand. Gabriel was still talking with Mercedes, so Jonah cut between two small tents to where a battered set of bleachers had been dragged alongside a fencing strip. Two fighters were going at it—a boy and a girl. Sweat ran down their faces and dripped off their bodies, spotting the piste as they thrust and parried, attacked and retreated. A small crowd of onlookers cheered them on, shouting advice, abuse, and encouragement.
The swords were not fencing blades; these were huge, heavy, and seemed to be of similar vintage to Jonah’s Fragarach. But the two combatants handled them easily, and with deadly precision—as if they were an extension of their limbs. It was more of a dance than a battle. Each seemed to know where the other would be at any given moment.
Though the swords were edged, these fighters were not padded or armored; they were not wearing medieval dress at all, but had stripped down to shorts and T-shirts that showed off their muscular bodies.
“Come on, Jack!” someone shouted from the stands. “Wrap it up and give somebody else a chance.”
Jonah circled the piste and sat down on the bleachers, next to a curvy girl with a mane of black curls and a wizard’s glow. “Who are they?” he asked, nodding toward the fighters.
“Jack Swift and Ellen Stephenson,” the girl said, without taking her eyes off the action. “You know, they’re the ones who . . .” Her eyes fixed on Jonah, and her voice trailed off. “Oh—my—God. Where did YOU come from?”