by Amparo Ortiz
“Wow. Sounds like a real winner.”
He tries to smile, but he gives up midway. “She said I could go look for him once I turned eighteen if I really felt like it, but that I shouldn’t get my hopes up. I should’ve believed her.” His laugh is mirthless, hollow. “I drove all the way to Aberdeen alone. That had been my birthday wish. To meet the man who abandoned me. I didn’t expect much, just to take one good look at his face and tell him I forgave him. It had already been a year since Hikaru’s murder and Takeshi’s disappearance. My ex-girlfriend and I had been fighting a lot, too, so I was in a really bad place. All I wanted was to center myself. Let go of as much of the hurt as I could.”
He ignores the loose thread in favor of stroking his guitar strap. “I found him at the address Mum gave me. He reeked of whiskey and mumbled like he’d forgotten how to use his own mouth.” Andrew smiles for real this time. “But he recognized me. Said I looked just like my mother.” The smile is dead and gone. “Then he punched me and tried to steal my wallet.”
I jolt back as if I’m the one who’s been punched. “He did what?”
“He was hammered, lass. And broke. I’m embarrassed to admit he actually knocked me to the floor. Kicked me a few times, too. My instincts only surfaced when he lunged for my wallet. I was too shocked to even move before then.” Andrew raises his fists, admiring them. “He was too pitiful to knock out, but he got what he deserved. I thanked him for staying away all these years. For letting me live a happy life without him. Then I left.”
I lay my head on his shoulder. I bet it’s not a huge comfort for him, but it’s a start. “I’m so sorry, Andrew. You didn’t deserve to be treated like that.”
“And yet I’m grateful. I got exactly what I wanted. I met the man who abandoned me. Turns out I hadn’t been missing out on anything, but I wouldn’t have believed it unless I saw it for myself. I’ve never told Mum what really happened. She still thinks he wouldn’t answer the door and I gave up trying. But I’m never the one who gives up trying.” He takes his sweet time before speaking again. When he does, his voice is feeble. “Everybody leaves me, Lana. That’s just how my life works. I’m not the one people fight for. I’m the one fighting for people to stay, to support me, to believe in the things I want to achieve.”
I clutch his hands. “Well, that stops now. I’m not going anywhere. Your mother’s not going anywhere. Your teammates, your fans: They’re all here for you. You’re worth fighting for, Andrew. You always have been, regardless of those who chose not to stay.” I don’t know how I would’ve reacted if our places had been switched. If Papi had been the one to abandon me before I was born, then tried to rob me when I knocked on his door eighteen years later.
Andrew isn’t the heir of the most important wizard in history, but he still matters.
He’s the hero I should’ve believed in instead of Takeshi Endo.
“I refuse to trust someone who doesn’t listen to fantastic music,” he says with a smirk. “Thanks, Lana. You’re a good egg.”
“Same. Now play some more of that ‘Happy Home’ song.”
Andrew loses himself in the melody again, taking me along with him. I’d been wrong about the heir theory, but at least Andrew’s not in danger.
All I ask is for the bureau to finally catch the Sire before he steals the crystal heart.
I brought you a basket of apples,
Why don’t you take a bite?
Go to sleep, my little princess,
You won’t wake up after tonight.
—Poem written by Randall Wiggins, age nine
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
TWO YEARS AGO, I SAT IN SAMIRA’S LIVING ROOM AND WAITED FOR the twenty-sixth Blazewrath World Cup to start. Samira commented on the absurd questions male reporters asked female players. Shay commented on the jaw-dropping stunts. I focused on everything in between. Mrs. Jones fed us pizza and curly fries. Mr. Jones popped in for the occasional joke about teenagers acting tough in tights. Mom texted four times to check up on me. We’d told her we were researching colleges. I texted back to say I still hadn’t died.
Two years ago, I was dying to be where I am today. The farther I go into the stadium’s box seats—the more I say “hello” and “how are you”—the more I grapple with the fact I’m actually playing in the semifinals. Sure, my team was forced to be here, but the crackling energy in the air has nothing to do with the Sire. It permeates every handshake and bow, the endless compliments, the euphoric fan chants. Today, I’m a winner without a trophy. I can bask in the glory of being right where I’d wanted to be all my life. I still love this game.
Now I just need to know if I’m free.
Once the team greetings are over, I walk up to Manny. He’s decked out in a crisp gray suit and perfectly arranged tie. He’s even brought out some leather shoes instead of sneakers. And his posture is way straighter. For the first time, he actually looks the part of team manager, and oh my God, does he look like a different person. Maybe he’s better dressed because it’s the semifinals? Or is he finally starting to believe in us? Either way, he’s a sight for sore eyes.
“Will President Turner be here soon?” I ask.
Manny’s blinking in that slow way that suggests he’s either exhausted or I’m irking him. My money is on the latter. “Of course.”
Good. I lean in closer, dropping my voice to a whisper. “Any updates on Sweden?”
“I got nothing for you, nena,” he whispers back.
It’s been thirty minutes, and the president’s still not here. I’m double-checking my phone to see if it’s really been thirty minutes or if I’m imagining the clock speeding up. He should be here by now, right? Unless something’s wrong? I’m tempted to ask Manny to call him, but he’s too busy mingling with the other team managers to notice me.
Five minutes later, President Turner finally arrives. He and Headmaster Sykes walk straight for the Foxrose professors near the entrance. It would be rude to interrupt, but I can’t wait thirty more minutes. The match is scheduled to start soon. Besides, my head won’t be fully in the game if I’m wondering whether the Fire Drake is out of harm’s way. I jog down the stairs. By the time I reach the president, he’s already turning to face me.
“Ms. Torres! Good morning!” He shows off his pearly whites as he hugs me. “My apologies for not returning your phone call. It’s been a little hectic.”
“Not a problem, sir.” I hold him as tightly as possible. “Has he been caught yet?”
“Team Puerto Rico! Team Scotland!” an IBF staff member calls. “Game time!”
My teammates rush downstairs along with Andrew and the Scottish players. I’m still holding on to the president, but he’s backing away.
“We can chat after the match,” he says. “Best of luck out there!”
I don’t let him go. “It’s a yes-or-no question, sir.”
His forehead creases as he inches away from me. Maybe he thinks I’m being pushy. Okay, so I am being pushy, but why can’t he just be honest with me? It’s not that hard!
Someone taps me on the shoulder. “Lana, let’s hit it.” Manny. “Now.”
“But I need to know if he’s been caught.”
“Like I said,” says the president, “we’ll discuss this later. Have a great game.”
Manny whisks me away before I can insist any further. Andrew high-fives me as we march next to each other, oblivious to how confused I am. Why wouldn’t President Turner just say yes or no? Is the truth more complicated than that? Does that mean the Sire is still free?
“Ready to lose?” Andrew jokes.
I force a smile. “Keep dreaming …”
He laughs. “See you out there, lass. May the best team win.”
Andrew and the rest of Team Scotland are led to their side of the stadium.
I join my teammates in our wait zone. The dragons are already stationed above. Joaquín is checking in with everyone, asking if they’re okay. When he gets to me, I gasp. I totally forgot about what I’m suppos
ed to do on the field. What’s happening here is just as important to the Sire as whatever’s happening in Sweden. “President Turner hasn’t told us if we’re supposed to win again.” My words come out like a strained cry for help.
Joaquín shakes his head. “He didn’t have instructions for us today.”
Chills run through my whole body. Does that mean the Sire is stuck in bureau custody? Or that he’s too busy dodging spells from agents? I hate not knowing what’s going on, especially when I’m about to play the most important match of my Blazewrath career!
“So what do we do?” Héctor asks cautiously.
“We win,” says Joaquín. “That’s what we came here for, right?”
“Right.” Victoria is smiling the way she does when I reach the top of the mountain.
Héctor nods. “We’re moving on to the final, guys.”
Gabriela jumps up and down, almost knocking Edwin off his feet, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Génesis and Luis are high-fiving with both hands.
Héctor rallies us in a circle. We put our hands on top of his. “Today will belong to us. Whatever happens, we leave everything on that field. We do what we can for our country. I love you all. Even you, Luis.” We laugh as one. “Thank you for everything.”
“Thank you,” Gabriela says.
“Mil gracias a todos. Los amo demasiado,” says Edwin.
“I love you, too, Edwin. I love you all.” Génesis tearfully winks at us.
I watch as my teammates take turns thanking one another, welling up with every word. This is what this tournament should’ve been about all along. This is the kind of happiness I should’ve felt since the beginning—what I never thought I’d feel after learning the truth about my contract, a distant dream wrapped in a nightmare. Feeling it now, at this point, is both awful and awesome. Right now, though, it’s definitely more on the awesome side of the spectrum.
I gulp down the boulder in my throat. “You all took a huge risk and let a total stranger into your family. Even if we had some differences”—I sneak a glance at Victoria—“I think we were meant to be a team. It’s an honor and a privilege to wear the black uniform alongside you.”
Before we can raise our hands in the air, Manny swoops in and slaps his palm on top. “The honor and privilege is mine. I’ve gotten to see seven greats do what they were born to do. I’m sorry, mi gente, for not supporting you more. Thank you for making history on behalf of our little island. But above all, thank you for helping me believe again.” Cranky and standoffish as he’s been, it means the universe that he’s trying. Hopefully, he’ll keep it up forever.
“Get in here, mijo,” Manny says to Joaquín, who’s already leaning closer.
When Joaquín’s hand joins our little pile, Héctor yells, “¡Por Puerto Rico!”
“¡Por Puerto Rico!” we echo him together, raising our hands high.
We position ourselves in a single-file line. A staff member tells us we’ll be outside in three minutes. I jog in place, pumping myself up for the showdown of my life. Those Golden Horns won’t be easy. They might not have three heads or the ability to rattle mountains, but being chased with fire and a spear-shaped horn? No, thank you.
The jumbotron flashes a snowy, static screen.
I cringe at the earsplitting noise. “What the hell?”
Whenever the static appears, the Sire follows. I wait for his ugly mug to pop up on-screen, but the snow is still blocking the field from view, and the Sire has yet to make his cameo. Why would he be drawing this out? Is he trying to fry everyone’s brains from dread? Mine’s about to burst. Whatever this stunt is, I hope it ends quickly.
My father’s face is broadcast to the entire stadium.
He’s lying on his office floor, both hands tied behind his back. His mouth has been gagged with a white cloth. Dust flies down from the office’s ceiling, along with a few pieces of cement, as if something exploded before the transmission. Flames lick the edges of the screen.
“Oh my God! Papi!” My voice quivers. The whole stadium is blurring into white spots save for the jumbotron. I’m trying to take a step forward, but my boots are superglued to the floor, which is where my heart is also dropping. “That’s my dad!”
A new face comes into focus.
“Hi, everyone,” Takeshi says in the flattest tone. His claw dagger is aimed over Papi’s neck. “I have a message for Lana Torres. What you did at the press conference was unacceptable. My master has chosen your father’s death as punishment. We can’t be stopped, Lana. We’re everywhere. Especially in the safest places you can imagine.”
My teammates say something, hold me close, and say something again.
It’s all white noise to me. I’m shaking so, so hard. “Don’t hurt him … please … just don’t hurt him …” I whimper, even though he can’t hear me. I don’t know what else to do.
“This is my master’s message for you.” Takeshi tilts his head. “Welcome to the doom.”
He ends the transmission before I can beg again for my father’s life.
It is never easy to predict how a group of strangers will get along, especially when there are dragons involved. There have been instances where riders know one another prior to being selected for the Blazewrath World Cup, but this rarely comes to pass. Players are ordered to live together while they train in an effort to cultivate trust. Their chemistry is just as important as their athletic skills. Respect is also crucial. Anyone who enters the Cup must agree to be mindful of their teammates’ needs. The suffering of one becomes the suffering of all.
—Excerpt from Harleen Khurana’s A History of Blazewrath Around the World
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“TAKESHI HAS MY DAD! HE’S GOING TO KILL HIM!”
I black out everything except for Manny. This is the closest thing to dropping from the tallest skyscraper on Earth, sinking into a dark hole that leads to another dimension, but realizing I’ll never get to see what it looks like because my heart will stop long before the crash landing. I fly to Manny, almost knocking him down. “He’s in Brazil! You have to do something, he has my dad, he’s going to kill him!” I’m yelling so, so loud. The air in the room is thinning to the point where I can’t even breathe. “You have to call Director Sandhar and tell him to leave for Brazil!”
Manny turns ghost pale. He fidgets with his phone. “Let me contact him …” He waves Joaquín over while he dials the director’s number. After a few seconds, he hangs up and tries again. He hangs up for a second time. “Balls. He’s not answering.”
Damn it. “Do you think the bureau could be ambushing the Sire right now?”
“Anything’s possible at this point, nena.”
“Then Director Sandhar will be unreachable. My dad … he won’t …”
I lean into Edwin’s chest, a storm of heaves and tears. I’m shoving my fists into my eyes, trying to keep it together, but it’s all a waste of energy. It doesn’t matter how tight Edwin holds me. It doesn’t matter how he rocks me side to side to soothe me.
Takeshi Endo is going to kill my father.
“She needs a medic!” I hear Andrew say. I don’t know how he got here, but he’s also holding me up. “Let’s sit her down.”
He and Edwin gently place me on a nearby folding chair. A witch shows up, and she’s asking me questions I can’t understand. I bend over, head hanging between my knees, and her voice sounds light-years away. Teardrops splatter my boots, the floor. More voices fill up the space around me, but none are loud enough to distract me from myself. Takeshi waited until minutes before the start of my match to destabilize me. I’m stuck here, unable to save Papi.
A cold breeze washes over me. It’s about two or three seconds’ worth of shivers, but once it’s over, there’s only the strongest, most soothing warmth I’ve ever felt. Something blooms in the middle of my chest, like a seed growing into petals. A sturdy stem, anchoring me to myself again. I straighten up. The medic witch has her Silver wand pointed at me. She says something about the Calming
Charm being a temporary relief.
“I’ll keep trying to get in touch with Sandhar,” Manny reassures me, but he’s wasting his breath. “Russell can contact the IBF’s antiterrorism unit, too, to see if they can help.” He looks like a demon fresh out of the underworld, glowering with the kind of intensity that could silence even the most talkative person. “He has to postpone the match.”
“Our contracts are still binding,” says Joaquín, throwing a cautious glance at Andrew. “I’m sorry, Lana.”
He says it like Papi’s in a coffin already. Like there’s no other choice.
All I feel is the fire Marisol had told me to control before it burned me away. The flames carve out a path straight to my shattered shell of a heart, refusing to die out. Maybe President Turner and Manny will be able to get in touch with the bureau. Maybe they’ll Transport to Brazil just in time to save my father’s life and stop the vomit pile that is Takeshi Endo.
But I don’t want to wait for them to do something. I don’t want to play a game while Papi’s dying. I want to save him myself.
“Lana?” Joaquín calls for me. “We need to get back in line.”
“No,” I say.
“You have to—”
“NO! I won’t go out there until someone helps me save my dad!”
“Calm down!” Victoria yells. “You’re no good to us in this state.”
She’s lucky Andrew and Edwin are in front of me. Otherwise, I would’ve clocked her. “Oh, I’m sorry, Victoria. Does my father’s kidnapping inconvenience you? How rude of me!” I’m trying to close the gap between us, but Andrew and Edwin won’t let me go. “Why can’t you be of some good and think of a way to stop my father from being murdered?!”
The Sol de Noche dragons roar as one in the hangar above us.
They’re unleashing a fury unlike any other, six apocalypses all devastating the earth in a single sweep, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand. All of my team’s riders slap both hands to the sides of their heads. They scream and sink to their knees.