Free The Enchanter Heir by Cinda Williams Chima

think the newspapers would be full of stories about magical people. You know, like they do with aliens.”
    “Most Anaweir don’t know about us,” Tyler said. “It’s just easier that way. And people like us—in the underguilds—
    we tend to lay low. We don’t want to come to the notice of wizards.”
    “But you’re saying my mother was working for one,” Emma said.
    Tyler nodded, staring down into his coffee. “She was. A lot of sorcerers worked for wizards, and not always by choice.” He seemed edgy, like he was teetering on the edge of a truth and might topple into it by accident.
    So Emma gave him a push. “What kind of work did she do for him?”
    “You don’t need to know that,” Tyler growled. He looked up at Emma, and it was like storm shutters had slid down over his face. “Some things are better left alone.”
    Emma shoved back her chair and stood. “I guess some things are.” She stuck out her hand. “Good to meet you, Tyler. I mean, who knew I had a father and all? Thanks for coming out.”
    He stood, too, in a hurry, practically knocking his chair over. “What? Wait a minute. You’re leaving?”
    “There’s no point in this. I ask you a question, and you either make stuff up or refuse to answer.”
    “I’m not—but . . . where will you go?”
    “I don’t think that’s any concern of yours,” Emma said. “I’m used to taking care of my own self. I’ll be fine.” Ha! Speaking of making stuff up, that was pretty close to a lie, right there.
    “Emma, I’m sorry,” Tyler said, wiping his hands on his jeans. “What I said about the guilds—it’s true, and I can prove it, if you’ll give me the chance. As for the rest, it’s just—there’s some secrets you’re better off not knowing.”
    “ I’m better off, or you’re better off ?”
    STyler hunched his shoulders and drew his head in like a turtle’s. “A little of both, maybe.” He smiled, crookedly, and Emma could see how he’d charmed her mother. “All right, you win. Sit down, and I’ll tell you the dirt.”
    Emma sat, and Tyler sat. By now, she was half afraid to hear it, half sorry she’d asked, but her ironwood spine wouldn’t allow her to admit it.
    Tyler took a deep breath. “See, the main thing your mother did for Andrew DeVries was make poisons.”
    It took Emma a moment to get her voice going. “Poisons?”
    Tyler nodded. “DeVries only employed the very best, and your mama was the very best.”
    “But . . . what would he need with poisons?”
    “He was the head of a syndicate of assassins. At the time, wizards were killing each other, right and left, even though it was against their own rules. DeVries was the one who saw the potential of poison. It’s almost impossible to defend against. Little pinprick on the street, and you die of a heart attack. You could put a drop on somebody’s pillow and be a continent away when he died. If you want your enemy to die screaming, that can happen. Or maybe he just goes crazy. Some of Gwen’s brews took a month to kill you, and others—”
    Emma raised both hands. “I get the picture,” she said, her voice trembling.
    “Now, then,” Tyler said, with a bitter smile. “Are you glad you asked?”
    “I like to know the truth,” Emma said. “That’s all. I just wish the truth was different.” She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, as if to wipe away the image of her mother she’d built for herself.
    “If it makes you feel any better, she hated the work. We needed the money, though, so I tried to get her to stick it out.
    That made her mad. One day, she came home with this idea of moving to Brazil. People from the underguilds had started a commune there—a place called Thorn Hill. They figured there was safety in numbers and distance.
    “I said no. My work was here, and you were just two years old. I worried about what would happen if you got sick or hurt in a remote place like that. Plus, like I said—you don’t just resign when you