“So. How would you get the coal out of Booker Mountain?”

He blinked up at her, surprised at the change of subject. “Carlene let my father drill some test holes. The seams are close to the surface, so he'd probably take the top of the mountain off.”

Mountain topping, they called it. “And drop it into Booker Creek?”

He nodded. “Most likely. Then they'd follow up with some augur mining to get at the lower seams. They really won't know until they get in there.”

“You sound like an expert.”

“Yeah, right,” he said, with surprising bitterness.

“And your dad and Carlene worked this all out together?”

“Well, I guess they talked about it.” A hint of uncertainty crept in. “Just preliminary, you know.”

“And then they handed you the job of talking me into it?”

Brice cleared his throat. “Well, it seemed like a win-win for everybody.”

“A win-win.” Madison stuck her hands into her jeans pockets and rocked back on her heels. “Answer me this,” she said. “Did Carlene know you were going to set the shed on fire?”

She'd surprised him. He'd underestimated her. And so, for a moment, the truth showed plain on his face.

“I don't believe this,” she whispered, shaking her head as if she could somehow say no to betrayal.

Brice recovered, regained his smile. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Your daddy wanted to buy Booker Mountain, and Carlene wanted to sell. Only problem was, she didn't own it. So they figured that if it looked like the kids were in danger, the county would take custody. And if the county took custody, then I'd have to come home. And if I came home, then you could work on me and persuade me to sell. I bet you can be very persuasive. I bet no one ever says no.”

“Maddie.”

“So Daddy offered Carlene some kind of cut. And you set fire to the shed and hung out until Grace and John Robert tried to put it out and then took them down to town. Now tell me. What would you have done if one of the kids had been hurt?”

“Maddie, listen…”

“Don't you call me Maddie. My friends call me Maddie. Your problem is, you think everyone else is an idiot. Don't you think I had plans for this summer? You sit down here with your fake farm and your 'Sylvia will be heartbroken' when Sylvia probably wouldn't care if you took her seven-layer cake and nailed it to the barn door.”

Brice looked like he'd just taken a severe blow to the head. “What? What's Sylvia got to…”

“Because Sylvia has a life, aside from being your housekeeper. And I have a life that doesn't involve sucking up to you. So if you think you're ever going to get your hands on Booker Mountain, you better think again.”

That got his attention.

“You're nobody.” He looked at her as if she was something he'd scraped off his shoe. “Fifth generation inbred trash. But when I ask you out, you have the nerve to say no. Like you're too good for me, when you've been with every other guy at the high school.” He snorted.

Correction: she'd been asked out by practically every other guy at the high school. And said no. But that didn't stop them from talking.

“The only reason you still have that mountain is because nobody ever wanted it before,” he went on. “Carlene's totally pathetic, but at least she understands the way things work.”

“You leave my mother out of this,” Madison said, which was pretty stupid when you thought about it. “I'd rather be who I am than who you are, ripping the tops off of mountains, poisoning streams, crapping all over the land and never cleaning up your own mess, bowing and scraping to your daddy, who'd run over a kitten on his way to the bank.”

“You'd better watch your mouth. I'm warning you.” Brice swelled up with power like a kind of magical toad disguised as a male model.

Her mouth had gotten away from her again. Not that Brice didn't deserve it, but the last thing she wanted was to have him try wizardry on her and raise more questions. She stared out the window, fighting for control.

“Are we done here?” She turned toward the door. “We'd better get back to the house.”

Brice was on her in three quick strides. He grabbed hold of her upper arms, stinging fingers biting into her flesh. “We're not done here. We're going to settle this.”

He clumsily slammed power into her. It was meant to cause pain—meant to be a quick, convincing jab, but it was a far cry from the elegant delivery she was used to. Then his smile slid away, his eyes widened, and he reared back, struggling to free himself. Finally, drained dry, he crumpled to the floor and lay, face up, arms flung out in front of him like he was trying to grab onto something he couldn't reach.

Madison leaned over him. “There's something else you don't know about me. I'm not afraid of wizards.” She turned and walked out of the studio, leaving him lying on the floor.

So much for hiding out, she thought as she made her way back down the path. So much for laying low. It would be nice if, for once, you could think something and not say it out loud. Who else did Brice know and who might he be talking to?

When she arrived at the house, Grace and John Robert were sitting at the dining room table, stuffing down big slabs of chocolate layer cake and tall glasses of lemonade garnished with mint sprigs, lemon slices, and with lemon sugar on the rims. Like poor folk invited up to the big house.

John Robert's face was smeared with frosting and enthusiasm. “Try this cake, Maddie. It's awesome!”

“I'm sure it is.” Madison avoided looking at Sylvia, who was hovering nearby. “But, you know, I can't eat chocolate cake and lemonade together. Makes the lemonade taste sour and the cake too sweet. Finish up now, J.R.We have to go.”

“Where's Mr. Roper?” Grace asked.

“He's up at his mother's old studio,” Madison said. “He decided to stay a while.”

“Mr. Roper says I can come back and ride Abby whenever I want,” Grace announced, daintily blotting her lips with her napkin.

“I think Mr. Roper's changed his mind,” Madison said.

Grace dropped her fork onto her plate with a clatter, thunderclouds gathering on her face. “Why, what did you say to him?”

Madison hesitated, then decided to go with the truth. “Mr. Roper's daddy wants Booker Mountain. I said no. He's kind of mad about it.”

“Where would we live if he took the mountain?” J.R. asked around his last bite of cake.

“That's one of the problems,” Madison said. “That's why I said no.”

“We could move someplace else,” Grace suggested.

“I don't think that's going to happen,” Madison said.

On the way up the mountain, Grace commented that Brice Roper was kind of a jerk, but he had nice horses. Madison told her that there was no such thing as a free ride.

Chapter Seventeen Strong-arm Tactics

Leesha felt like the outside man in a crime-scene stakeout. She'd sat in her car in the far corner of St. Catherine's parking lot all morning, watching the custodians patch a hole in the asphalt. The new blacktop steamed and reeked in the noon sun. There was little traffic in and out of the church at midday on a Monday.

She'd been in the church a half-dozen times herself. Had spoken to the frumpy woman in the church office, to the priest, and the nerdy altar boy after Mass. Had enticed them to the garden, where at least she could use Persuasion. They'd shared all their pathetic secrets, but it was clear they knew nothing about magical artifacts. She'd searched the sanctuary, but turned up nothing. If the Dragonheart was there, it was hidden securely behind magical wards.

Churches were like saunas. They made you sweat and flooded all your magical pores. It was a relief to be outside.

Leesha's new plan was admittedly sketchy. She'd wait until one of the Weir showed up, then follow them into the church and see where that led her. If the church surveillance turned up nothing, she'd have to contemplate more direct action to find the location of the Dragonheart.

Maybe she was wasting her time. Jason could have taken the Dragonheart with him when he left. Maybe Jason was dead, and Barber already had what he wanted.

Jason.

She'd had no choice, she told herself. Barber wasn't playing around. The beating he'd given her was just an introductory offer. D'Orsay had tried to kill Barber and failed. She couldn't run away because Barber would use the torc to kill her, if she left the sanctuary. As long as she wore the torc, Barber knew just where to find her. And only he could take it off.

No choice. She'd be dead by now if she hadn't given Jason up. She stared glumly out at a world that seemed gray and colorless without him in it. She wished Barber would contact her, just so she'd know.

A battered old Jeep pulled into the lot and a familiar figure vaulted out, not bothering with the door. It was that awful Ellen Stephenson, who'd hooked up with Jack after Leesha broke up with him. Who'd slimed her with hot fudge at Corcoran s that one time. Who'd turned out to be the Red Rose Warrior and conspired with Jack to destroy the Covenant at Raven's Ghyll.

Definitely a person of interest.

But Ellen didn't go into the church. Instead, she cut across the parking lot and headed into the woods between the churchyard and the lake. Strange.

Leesha slid out of the car and crossed the lot, trailing after Ellen.

Ellen followed a wood-chip path that snaked north, toward the lakeshore. The warrior walked fast, and what with her long legs, Leesha had to move at a trot to keep up. The path was narrow, and briars caught at her clothing and tore at her hair while Ellen put more and more distance between them. Leesha crashed along behind, giving up on trying to move silently through the forest. If she'd planned on hiking, she'd have worn flats. As it was, she'd probably catch poison ivy.

Eventually the path emerged into a small clearing, studded with stickers and small bushes. No sign of Ellen. Leesha pivoted to scan the meadow, then froze as something cold touched the back of her neck.