The Enchanter Heir

Chapter Six

Kenzie

Safe Harbor—the skilled care unit at the Anchorage—was homey in a warehouse kind of way, with exposed bricks and beams and battered wooden floors polished to a warm shine. Next to each of the “residences” was a brass nameplate. Permanent. Those who lived at Safe Harbor rarely ever moved to a different building.

“Safe Harbor,” Kenzie liked to say. “Where nobody gets out alive.”

Jonah came in through the back door—the one with the disabled alarm. He climbed the stairs to the second floor, only to find Kenzie’s room empty. Jonah swore softly. He’d hoped to find his brother at home. The tablet display outside his door said, I’m in the gym. Rescue me.

So it was back down the stairs, toward the skylighted gymnasium. Residents at Safe Harbor generally used the specialized gym located in their own building, since it was too hard to transport them to the main gym.

Jonah heard raised voices, clear down the hall.

“Kenzie, could you just give it a try.” The therapist sounded pissed. “We need to loosen up those tight muscles.”

“Let’s not and say we did,” Kenzie said. “I’ll never tell.”

“You know as well as I do that we need to stretch outthose legs. Now. Let me know if you feel any pain, all right?”

When Jonah walked into the gym, he found Kenzie strapped into a chairlike device designed to stretch out his arms and legs. The therapist stood beside Kenzie, coaching him as she manipulated the levers. “Extend, then release. Extend, release. Keep breathing.”

“That’s one I’m good at,” Kenzie gasped. “Breathing.” His red-brown hair was plastered down with sweat, so they must have been working out for a while.

The therapist knelt beside the machine, adjusting the weight setting.

Kenzie spotted Jonah. “Jonah! Thank God you’re here! They’ve got me on the rack again!”

“It looks good on you, Kenzie,” Jonah said, brushing the damp hair off his brother’s forehead. “Let’s tighten up those screws a little, shall we? That will no doubt loosen your tongue.” Kenzie rolled his eyes. It was an old joke between them.

“We’ll be another fifteen minutes,” the therapist said briskly, without looking up. “Shall I call you in when we’re finished?”

Jonah knew most of the therapists, but he didn’t know this one. She seemed unimpressed with Kinlock humor.

“I’ll take over,” Jonah said. “I’m an old hand at torture, and Kenzie’s my favorite victim.”

Now she did look up. “Oh!” she said, and stood so quickly she nearly bumped her head on the equipment. S“I’m Jonah Kinlock. Kenzie’s brother.”

“I—I’m Miranda,” the therapist said, her cheeks pinking up. “They told me about you. I’m . . . um . . . filling in for Julie. And . . . ah . . . I’m sorry if I—”

“I’ve been away,” Jonah said, to put her out of her misery. “Has the treatment plan changed?” He touched the screen next to the machine and Kenzie’s chart came up. He scanned the progress notes. “Same PT and OT. What’s this mean, ‘minimal stimulation therapy’?”

Miranda shifted from one foot to the other. “It’s something they’re discussing . . . a new treatment to dampen drug-resistant seizures and hyperkinesis.”

“Hmm. How does that sound, Kenzie?”

“Horrifying.”

“My thoughts exactly. Do you have plans for him after this session?” Jonah asked. “Or can we go to the spa?”

“The spa?” Miranda said uncertainly. “Well. He has group at seven.”

“He’ll be back in plenty of time,” Jonah said.

“This is the life,” Kenzie said, biting into a Cadbury’s Screme Egg, then squinting at it. “What’s this green stuff in here anyway?”

“Guts,” Jonah said. “They already had their Halloween candy on display at Cadbury World. I guess it’s the next big chocolate holiday.”

“Crunchy spider?” Kenzie said, offering a pouch of candy. “Or would you prefer a deadhead?”

“I’ll stick with the truffles,” Jonah said, popping one into his mouth. “I’m too squeamish for the rest.”

“Squeamish? You, who fight the zombielike walking dead on a daily basis?”

“That’s exactly why I’m squeamish,” Jonah replied. “I don’t like to bring my work home.”

The spa was a little-used oasis on the roof of Safe Harbor, including an all-weather pool, sauna, massage therapy area (by appointment), and the hot tub the Kinlock brothers were presently sharing—Jonah in his boxers and leather gloves, Kenzie wearing nothing but the waterproof earbuds Jonah had brought back from the UK. They’d spent the last hour eating chocolate and reminiscing about Jeanette.

While Kenzie ate, Jonah studied him, looking for signs of deterioration or improvement. His brother was thin—all bones and brilliant eyes and a mop of red-brown hair. He burned so much energy that his caloric intake could never seem to keep up.

Kenzie looked up and caught him staring. “This is the best invention ever,” he said, tapping his earbud. “Who is this?”

“Manygoats,” Jonah said. “Navajo punk band. Hot in the UK right now.”

“You know, leather and boxers is a good look for you,” Kenzie said. “Classic, yet just a big dodgy—”

Jonah splashed him.

“Hey!” Kenzie said, snatching his chocolate out of danger. “Respect the candy.” He stretched out his legs, allowing the churning water to support them. His body seemed relaxed, free of the electric, hyperkinetic movements that had plagued him all day long. It had taken the full hour to get to this point. “Let’s build a fort up here, and stay forever. Remember when we used to build forts?”

“We never built forts,” Jonah said, leaning his head back Sand looking up at the stars. Steam rose up all around them, eddying in the wind off the lake.

“We built forts,” Kenzie insisted. “In the jungles of Brazil. You saved me from a tiger.”

“There are no tigers in Brazil, bro.”

“A jaguar, then.”

Jonah rolled his eyes.

“Anaconda? ”

“You just keep thinking, Kenzie,” Jonah said. “I haven’t saved anybody from anything so far.”

“We did our best,” Kenzie said, “if you’re talking about Jeanette.”

“You did your best,” Jonah said. “But apparently my best is not good enough,” Jonah said. “And it’s not just Jeanette. It’s a whole lot of things.”

“You’re protecting the public,” Kenzie suggested.

“Am I? It feels more like murder to me. Anyway, what do I care about the general public? They have no idea they’re being protected.” Sitting up a little, he sipped from his steaming mug of drinkable chocolate. “More?” He waggled the thermos.

“I’m good,” Kenzie said.

For a while, they said nothing, each lost in his own thoughts.

“I’m going to write a symphony for Jeanette,” Kenzie said finally.

“Good idea.” Jonah nodded. “Will you be wanting lyrics?”

“Maybe. But it seems like we should do something more than write a song.”

Jonah blotted condensation from his face with his fore arm. “I riffed Longbranch and Wylie. They’re the ones who kidnapped her.”

“That’s not enough,” Kenzie said.

“What—you want me to kill more people? Got anybodyin mind?”

Kenzie rolled his eyes. “I do, but that’s me. Her death has to mean something. It has to make a difference. I keep thinking . . . what would Jeanette want? And I think what she would want is for us to fix this.” He waved his hand, spraying droplets over the roof.

“Fix what?”

“You know, save the children of Thorn Hill. This cannot stand. We need a plan.” He looked up at Jonah, his eyes bright with tears.

“I know,” Jonah said, squeezing Kenzie’s shoulder. “We need a plan.”

“To Jeanette,” Kenzie said, raising his mug in a toast.

“To Jeanette,” Jonah echoed, clanking mugs with his brother. “She would love the fact that you’re toasting her with Cadbury’s.”