Jax nodded reluctantly. He hated knowing she was alone over there, but he was anxious to see her moved. The Donovans were probably long gone, especially if Terrance had given the police their descriptions. Jax didn’t expect them to come back, but the sooner he, Riley, and Evangeline were out of here, the better.
That afternoon at Jax’s weekly lesson, Melinda wanted to work on his mental defenses. “Defend against my talent,” she instructed him.
“But you can’t—” Jax paused, not wanting to insult her. Melinda was a sensitive. She couldn’t do anything to him.
“You’re feeling guilty,” Melinda said. “Over something you did wrong and lied about.”
Jax realized she was reading his emotions as easily as looking through a book. Instinctively, he slammed the book closed on her.
Melinda smiled. “That’s more like it. Let’s try that again.”
Defending his mind against this gentle woman was harder than he could have guessed, but Jax rose to the challenge. He was afraid of what she might see in him.
“You’re strong for someone so recently turned,” Melinda said when he flopped over on her couch, feeling wrung out like an old sponge. She rumpled his hair fondly. “Your father would’ve been proud of you.”
Really? It was still hard to reconcile his dad with all of this. “So, he could do what I do?” Jax asked.
“Talent is inherited just like eye and hair color. That said, talents usually run stronger in one gender than another. Female sensitives are more talented than males, and the reverse is true for inquisitors. But you can get your talent from either parent.”
Jax looked at his wrist. “You need the right mark for it to work, though.”
“We don’t mark our children until they demonstrate a hint of talent. Or we take them to a sensitive who can read talent. In your case, you only had one Transitioner parent. Riley and A.J. knew how to mark you.”
“So your kids will all be sensitives,” Jax concluded. “Like you.”
“If they transition at all.” She sighed. “There’s a burden in this life that will rob them of their innocence. Riley grew up alone, trying to guard that girl and worrying about his vassals, even though we were the adults. He refused to live in the same house with the Crandalls because he was afraid of getting them killed. And we all uprooted our lives to move here after his family was assassinated—to help hide him and the girl—away from other Transitioner clans and everyone we used to know. To be honest, I hope my children take after their father and never need to learn about magic or the eighth day.”
Jax wondered if his father had felt the same way. He turned his honor blade over and over in his hands, thinking about it. “If it’s so important to carry your blade,” he asked suddenly, “why didn’t I ever see my father wearing this one?”
“A lot of Transitioners prefer to conceal them. It alarms Normals, seeing somebody walk around with a dagger. You’ve never noticed mine, have you?” Melinda ran her hand down the leg of her jeans, revealing the outline of a sheath beneath the denim.
But Jax shook his head. “Riley said Dad knew he was in danger. So if your dagger can make your magic stronger, why didn’t he have it with him when he . . . ?”
“Didn’t he?” Melinda looked startled. “I just assumed the blade was recovered from—” His body. She cut herself off and didn’t say it.
Jax shook his head miserably.
“Maybe I misread this.” Melinda took the dagger from his hands and examined it again. “I did think it strange that he’d used it so little, but maybe this wasn’t his primary blade. Maybe this was one he had made a few years ago and used just enough to get it ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“Ready for you, Jax.” She handed it back, and her eyes were filled with tears. “He probably meant to give this blade to you when—if—you transitioned.”
She insisted on feeding him dinner, and Jax didn’t argue. While they ate, he asked her to explain the system of liege lords and vassals. He already understood the vassal part. But he wanted to know what responsibilities the liege lord had. “I once heard A.J. say Riley wasn’t allowed to let him starve.”
“There doesn’t seem to be much danger of that! But a liege lord is obligated to defend his vassals and provide for them in times of adversity. For instance, if the Crandalls lost their jobs or their house, Riley is supposed to take care of them.”
“He can’t afford to do that.” Riley could barely take care of himself.
“No,” Melinda agreed. “Riley is not in a good position to fulfill his obligations. I don’t think either the Crandalls or I would expect Riley to provide us with a new home or job, but those are the old rules—and a lot of Transitioners still follow them.”
“And if Riley swore his loyalty to someone else . . .”
Melinda nodded solemnly. “You’ve heard about the Morgans, I guess. Yes, if Riley swore allegiance to Sheila Morgan, he wouldn’t be permitted to keep his own vassals. We’d be turned over to her. The Morgans would be obligated to protect Riley from his enemies, which is not a bad thing. To some extent, I trust the Morgans. They helped us cover the fact that Riley survived the bombing when it first happened, and they’ve kept the secret all these years.” Melinda looked Jax in the eye. “But I wouldn’t be happy with Sheila Morgan as my liege. She’s a mercenary, and her actions are usually self-serving. If she wants Riley to marry her daughter, it’s for the prestige of his name and because his talent is handy in combat. She’d like to have grandchildren with the voice of command.”
Jax felt a new sympathy for Riley when he got home that evening and found him repairing strings on a guitar. Jax watched for a moment and then commented, “Never saw you with that before.”
“It belonged to my sister, Alanna.” Riley picked up the guitar and strummed the beginning chords of “Stairway to Heaven.” Or tried to.
“You suck, dude,” said Jax.
“Yeah, I know.”
It was a long evening—no television, no computer, and almost no conversation. Jax went through his school papers and notebooks. Riley fooled around with the guitar, playing melancholy tunes badly. Jax would’ve gone to bed early to escape Riley’s poor excuse for music, but he was waiting for midnight. It looked like Riley was, too, and probably for the same reason. While she was present next door, they kept vigil.
The explosion at eleven thirty jolted them to their feet.
Riley ran outside with Jax on his heels. Over the rooftops of neighboring houses, the sky glowed red.
The radio clipped to Riley’s belt squealed. “Emergency! Emergency!”
He fumbled it free, nearly dropping it. “Is that you, Melinda? Over.”
Melinda didn’t wait for Riley’s “over” signal. Her cries overlapped his and were partly cut off by his transmission. “The whole back half of the house’s on fire!” she screamed. “My family’s in here!”
Jax’s flesh broke out in goose bumps. Melinda’s house was on fire, and she couldn’t get her husband and kids out because they weren’t there on Grunsday.
“I’m coming!” Riley shouted into the radio, even though Melinda was screaming and couldn’t hear him. He turned to Jax. “Get Evangeline out of that house.”
“This is a trap,” Jax said hoarsely. And I’m to blame. Oh crap, oh crap, I’m to blame.
“I have to go anyway,” Riley replied.
Jax shuddered and nodded.
“Take her somewhere safe before midnight. And give her this.” Riley unbuckled the knife sheath from around his waist and handed it to Jax, belt and all.