Descendants Series

by Melissa Wright

  I flipped open a folder marked “potential properties” to find surveys, reports, and printouts on various estates I assumed Council had considered acquiring under Morgan’s rule. Nothing sparked recognition, but tucked behind a report marked up in red ink, I found an envelope that didn’t have the feel of empty. I laid the folder down to open it, and pulled out a photograph I’d known for years.

  “It’s from my duffle bag,” Emily whispered beside me. “He must have found it ... just like Aern said.”

  I studied the photo of my mother, a younger Emily and I leaning easily into her arms, and I couldn’t help the tug at the corner of my mouth seeing our goofy smiles. We’d no idea then, what would truly come. None of it had seemed real. But our mother had known. Her eyes were the same strange green I remembered, not the softer shade of Emily’s and mine. And though she tried, her smile didn’t quite reach them. I wondered if she’d known. If she’d seen this moment before, seen her two daughters alone in a dark room, grasping the one final piece of her we had left. My gaze trailed the blonde streaks of her chestnut hair in the photo and I could feel the pressure of the banded lock where it rested against my hip inside the jeans pocket.

  She had known. All along, she’d done everything she could to stop the fate her visions warned her of.

  Emily reached over to take the photo from my hand, and once it was empty, I had the instinct to pinch the skin at the base of my thumb and forefinger. It was a trick I’d learned from our mother, one of those secrets to keep your emotions in check, but I wasn’t going to cry.

  I drew in a solid breath, the idea that I didn’t need to fight tears relaxing me even more, and Emily said, “She saw all of this, didn’t she?”

  I reached for her, to comfort the grief that was somehow absent from me, and she stopped me with a look. “You don’t have to do that, Brianna.”

  I hesitated, still contemplating the lack of sorrow. The hours after finding our mother’s lock of hair had been painful, full of regrets and what-ifs, but the overwhelming heartache at her loss seemed farther away. I didn’t know what that meant, and a stab of guilt that maybe I’d accepted it, that I’d gotten over the death of someone who’d meant so much, struck me.

  Emily watched me, so I finally asked, “Do what?”

  She sighed. “That thing you do. Where you take it away. You don’t have to, Brianna. I can handle it.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but she turned from me, tucking the photograph between the pages of a nineteenth-century collection of ancient Egyptian symbols. She was finding her own place to keep it safe.

  We walked from the office into the library, but the difference was no longer blinding. The sun was setting and the room took on a soft glow, the urge to curl up on the sofas only tempered by the figures against the farthest of the three large windows. Aern moved first, hand sliding free of his pocket as if in anticipation of Emily. I watched the gesture, maybe too long, as we crossed the room, and my gaze moved to Logan where he stood by the glass, eyes on me.

  The last rays of sun struck his face, giving them that otherworldly glow the Seven Lines sometimes had, and I couldn’t look away. When he didn’t either, my thoughts replayed the moment on the stairs, the words that kept returning—is it now—and I glanced down, shifting the documents in my hand as my cheeks heated.

  “Find anything?” Aern asked. I looked up, but he’d been questioning Emily.

  She shrugged. “Nothing to speak of.” Her tone didn’t betray the lie, but in truth neither of us wanted to speak of the lock of hair or anything else we’d seen. She gestured toward the journals and folders now under my arm. “Brianna’s got a couple of things she’s going to take a better look at later, but I don’t expect much.”

  Our eyes met in an unspoken agreement, because we both expected nightmares of Morgan and our mother, but then Emily slipped under Aern’s shoulder and the tightness at the corners of her eyes relaxed. “Be safe, Brianna,” she said.

  I managed a smile. “I will.”

  It struck me that her words were so like those used by Logan’s men, and my gaze fell to him. He was still watching me, but now that the three of us were watching him back, he stepped closer, taking the documents from beneath my arm to place them in his pack.

  He turned to Aern, each taking the other’s forearm in the traditional Council manner, and they shared their own unspoken message before Logan said his good-byes and we left the Council buildings.

  I had very little to say on the ride, the pressure of my mother’s lock of hair inside my pocket a constant reminder of Morgan and what had come to pass. It was time to take action, I knew that, but if I didn’t find some sign or clue soon, I’d be fighting blind. And I didn’t think I could trust myself not to go for Morgan first. Especially now.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dragons

  The echo of Logan’s car door in the near empty garage startled me out of my thoughts. He was opening my door a moment later, ushering me to the place only Aern and I knew as his home. I was only vaguely aware of the extra bags he carried until we were inside and he placed them on the kitchen counter.

  “You picked up supplies?” I asked.

  “Only a few things. They had extra,” Logan answered as he sorted containers into the refrigerator and cabinets.

  I smiled. The houses of the Seven Lines were never wanting for anything. And then I realized I was watching him far too closely. Again.

  I cleared my throat. “I’m going to …” I trailed off, pointing vaguely toward the bedroom as I was stifled by my lack of a good term for what I was doing that didn’t sound like freshen up or slip into something more comfortable.

  Logan nodded toward the pack that held the journals we’d collected from Morgan’s office. “I gathered a few things for you as well. I know you weren’t planning on spending this many days away.”

  I stepped to the end table that held the bag, folding the top back to find two blouses, a clear zippered bag of travel-sized soaps and lotions, and, to my horror, at least one pair of underthings. I stared up at Logan, mortified, and he immediately amended his explanation. “Ava put some things together. For you.” He rubbed a palm across his chest. “They keep extra on hand is all.”

  I closed the flap, schooling my features. “Thank you. I’ll just …” With a tilt of my head, I backed toward the bedroom door. When I was hidden safely behind it, I held my head in my hands.

  Eventually, I dropped the bag onto the bed, grateful to find the documents packed into a separate compartment from the clothes. After carefully spreading out the contents of the document side, I dumped the remaining items onto the charcoal comforter. Clearly Ava had no idea what we were up to, because she’d included a thin silk blouse and camisole in a pastel peach shade, and an ordinary black cotton tank top. I ran my fingers over the material—designer, new, the perfect size—and wondered what their stockrooms looked like. Or maybe they’d gone shopping for their prophecy girl.

  With a sigh, I took a set of fresh clothes and the zippered bag toward the bath. I paused when I saw the small carved box atop the side table. The lock of hair pressed against my hip, and I tilted the lid of the box to check inside. It was empty, the shallow interior seemingly untouched, so I laid my things aside to retrieve the banded lock from my pocket. It was oddly ceremonial, placing the last remaining piece of my mother there, and my chest squeezed for a long moment before I closed the lid.

  I hadn’t gotten over her death, I realized. It had only gotten easier because I’d accepted the prophecy. I had accepted my place, and in doing so her place, in the order of things. I had a purpose. That purpose had been there from the beginning, but it was as if it had been pushing me, dragging me, forcing me along with it.

  Now I was moving forward of my own accord, hunting instead of being chased. I would find the clue. I would choose our fate. And I was incredibly grateful Logan had a nice shower.

  I leaned forward into the spray, allowing the steady thrum of water hitting stone to drow
n out my thoughts, willing the heat to permeate my muscles, stiff from the days of tension and disuse. I ran a hand absently over the scar on my side, aware that it could have been far worse. In a matter of weeks I had nearly healed. We might not have been as capable as those of the Seven Lines, but there was something in Emily and me that allowed us to repair faster and easier than the average person. Something that made us not quite human.

  Twisting the handle, I closed off the spray with that train of thought. I ran a towel and comb through my hair, and by the time I’d made my way to the bedroom, I’d already populated a mental list of which documents to review first, which of Morgan’s things held the most promise for a hint of that clue. I threw on the black tank over a pair of designer jeans and stood barefoot above the journals.

  It was the notebook that my hand reached for first, despite my utter dread of the idea. I pressed a knee into the bed, leaning on one leg as I paged through Morgan’s notes and scrawls. Dragon, drascendo, drestillia, draco. Mare, visum, oculus, serpens. Born of the serpent. Daughter of great power. Eyes of the sea. It was random and it was prophecy and no matter how many times he’d written it, it meant nothing to me.

  And then it did. Suddenly, unquestionably, it did. My fingers drew back from the words as if I’d been burned; a terrible, undeniable sharpness was there that hadn’t been before as I reread our names.

  Emily Elizabeth Drake.

  Brianna Katherine Drake.

  Daughter of great power. Born of the serpent.

  Emily was the chosen. We’d been wrong again, it hadn’t only mentioned one of us. We were both there in the prophecy, hidden among clever phrasing. Two of us, but she was the chosen. The daughter of great power.

  I was the Serpent, but not a snake. My mother had misled us. She’d left the clue there, right in front of us the entire time. I felt like such a fool. I was the one who’d trained for this. My sister was our physical protector and I was supposed to be the warrior of … of knowledge. But I’d not seen it. I was too close. Or I hadn’t wanted to see it.

  But it was there, and Morgan had found it. Dracosicarie. Our mother had taken our very name from it. My feet were moving, though I’d no idea why. I’d kept secrets my whole life, and yet I was heading toward Logan with an incredible need to share this. To tell him.

  I stepped through the door to find him perched on the sofa, elbows braced against his knees. His face went blank for one instant when he saw me frozen in the doorway, and I had the distinct feeling he was remembering me in his shirt again. But then he saw my expression and stood, immediately back to Logan, my protector.

  I took a step toward him, unable to form the right words, and then he was standing before me, hand coming to my bare shoulder. “What is it, Brianna?”

  My eyes fell to the notebook, over the words that held our future.

  “Dracosicarie,” I said, running my fingers across the letters. “The words are not the same, Logan. It doesn’t mean what we thought.” My gaze came up to meet his. “Drake. She took our name from the old text. From this,” I pointed at Morgan’s handwriting, “Dracosicarie.”

  I could see the recognition in Logan’s face as the acid words ran through my mind. Logan would know what they meant. Not the daughter of the Serpent. Sicarie. As in assassin. Murderer.

  Dragon slayer.

  Logan’s mouth moved, as if he planned to say something, to comfort me, but there were no words. He was Aern’s best friend. He’d been trained his whole life to protect the Seven Lines, to protect the blood of the Dragon.

  “Is it all a lie?” I whispered. “The prophecy. Logan, is it—”

  “No.” His voice was thick. “No, Brianna. You just… ” He struggled for words and then decided, “It can’t be.” He stared into my eyes with a determination and trust I didn’t feel. “You are here to save us.”

  My stomach dropped. Logan hadn’t seen my visions, hadn’t felt those images of Aern. The fire, pulsing through the city. The end of everyone.

  I was here to save them, but from whom? Morgan was harmless now, a captive of the Division. The only other dragon was bound to my sister.

  Logan’s hand wrapped around my other arm and he forced me to meet his gaze. “It’s just another clue, Brianna. One more hint from your mother. To save us.”

  I tightened trembling fingers on the notebook. “Okay,” I answered. “One more clue.” I pressed my lips together, fighting hard to decide what this meant. Had she been leaving me clues? And if so, what else had Morgan discovered? The lock of hair, the notes, they couldn’t mean he was simply obsessed with her after she was gone. There had to be some reason he still believed. There had to be some reason he was meant to stay alive. “Do you know where he held her?” I asked.

  Logan’s grip on my arms loosened. “Morgan?”

  I nodded. “Council didn’t know he had her, right? So he must have been keeping her somewhere else.” Logan’s stare softened as he considered my question. “Somewhere he’d gone, probably alone. You and your men were watching him, right?”

  The alarm in my expression was replaced by this new resolve, so Logan’s arms fell to his sides, one hand slipping into a jean pocket. “We did,” he answered. “Not officially, of course—”

  I cut him off. “Then where? Where did he hide her?”

  “Brianna, you don’t understand his schedule. A man like that, his life isn’t so easy to track.”

  “Make a list,” I said. “It will be somewhere dark and cold. Two of the walls are reinforced metal. The doors are painted gray; some place industrial, I’m sure of it. Fluorescent lights, concrete floor, and she can hear him coming for a long while before he gets there, so it must be a big building. Open, I think, aside from the room she’s in.”

  Logan stared at me. “Brianna,” he tried to keep the concern from his features, “you can see her?”

  I swallowed hard. I hadn’t meant to tell him that. My eyes trailed back to his. “Not now.”

  Not since she’s dead.

  There was a long silence before Logan wet his lips. “I’ll make some calls.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Abandoned

  I’d settled onto the couch while Logan created a list of addresses. My bare feet were tucked underneath me as I paged through the other documents when he finally sat his cell phone on the narrow coffee table.

  “There are seven locations we could check, but these are our best shot.” He pointed at three blocks of text on a note pad, his writing clean and sharp, not at all like Morgan’s. “Does anything stand out to you?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “I’ve only been through Stanton. The Jamison plant, didn’t that burn last year in some kind of gas leak accident?”

  “Explosion,” he said, his level tone making me wonder if there was more I didn’t know, something the news hadn’t reported. “But there were a few buildings left standing.”

  “Okay.” I sat up. “Let me just grab my shoes.”

  He raised a brow at me. “You don’t think this should wait until morning?”

  I glanced at the window, but could see nothing except our own reflection against the dark of night. “Right. I guess daylight’s probably better.” I bit my lip, remembering Emily and Aern’s warnings about getting rest. I didn’t think I could sleep at all, but they were right. Plus, I didn’t exactly want to snoop around abandoned warehouses at night with Morgan’s men gunning for me.

  “Bri,” Logan said from beside me, and I turned, lip still tucked beneath my tooth.

  His gaze lingered on my face and I asked, “What?”

  He smiled, more to himself than for me I thought, and said, “Can I help you look for something?”

  My attention fell to the documents on the table. “I suppose,” I replied, surprised at the disappointment in my voice, “we’re looking for anything else my mother’s hidden.”

  Logan squeezed my arm. “It was hidden from the others, Brianna. Not you.”

  The gesture was so casual it sent a momentary s
hock through me. I swallowed hard. I knew his words were true—she’d meant to keep us safe, Emily and I—but it still stung. We’d been lied to for so long.

  “It’s no different,” I said, not believing I was admitting it out loud, “than what I’ve done to Emily.”

  Logan stared at me for a long moment. “For the right reasons,” he said before finally picking up a stack of papers to search for other clues. “It will all turn out, Brianna. You’ll see.”

  I huffed out a laugh. They all had faith in me. I was their savior, their prophesied hero come to light. And I was digging through paperwork for a sign. Me, the dragon slayer.

  I woke the next morning with my face plastered to the arm of Logan’s couch. He sat reading through Morgan’s journal, my feet lying haphazardly across his lap.

  I jerked to sitting, pulling them under me as a hand went to my face, but Logan didn’t flinch. “What time is it?” I asked, rubbing a cheek and sorting my hair into place.

  “Early,” he said, masking a crooked smile at my attempt at composure. “You have time for more sleep if you want.”

  He’d been right; I slept like the dead. But at least I was sleeping. I shook my head as I peered at the pages he had open.

  He indicated the book with a nod. “This is really disturbing.”

  “You have no idea,” I muttered, remembering the things Emily had taken out of the box she’d been searching. My voice was hoarse from disuse and my muscles ached to be stretched.

  Sensing my mood, Logan laid the journal on the table. “How about you get dressed and I make breakfast,” he glanced at his watch, “and we can be on the road before sunrise.”

  “Yes,” I managed. “Perfect.”

  After a much-needed hair brushing, and a large helping of freshly scrambled eggs, we were loaded into the black sedan and headed for the industrial parks in old downtown. Logan must have made arrangements with his team, because there were occasional beeps and blips on his various devices as we drove.