Dragon Fire

by Lisa McMann

  “I’m not sure how we’re going to figure this out,” said Aaron. “And I have no faith in our head mage to be able to fix it, or to come to our rescue even if she managed to. Where do we start?”

  Samheed looked up. “I wonder if there’s a way to override the error from here. Again, none of us know the answer.” He rose from the chair and postulated, “It has become clear to me that Artimé has a flaw that has been exploited. Nobody seems to have a clue about how these tubes actually work.”

  Clementi smirked at the theater professor and said sarcastically, “If only there were a place we could go to look for information.”

  Aaron turned to her. “What?” And then: “Oh.”

  “We’re in the library,” Clementi explained for the ones who weren’t tracking with her. She took the highlighter back from Ms. Octavia and started looking at the walls, trying to find the master light component. “There’s bound to be something in writing about the tubes on one of these three floors, don’t you think?” She stopped near the stairwell and touched a small button on the wall. “Illuminate,” she said, and the room burst into brightness, lighting up thousands of books.

  “Well, that’s a point I hadn’t gotten to yet,” said Samheed, though he flashed an embarrassed grin at Clementi. A memory struck him, and he turned to look at the sign that pointed out what subjects could be found on each floor. He studied it. “There are loads of maps up on the third floor, I remember. Perhaps there’s a blueprint of some sort that will give us some insight.” He started up, and then stopped abruptly and turned to the others. “There’s also a lighted drafting table up there. Alex used it to work on his first 3-D door.” He paused and looked curiously at Ms. Octavia. “Is there any chance you could replicate a 3-D door from memory?”

  “Which door?”

  “Any door that’ll get us out of here.”

  Ms. Octavia lifted her snout, thinking hard. “I highly doubt it’ll work. 3-D doors are extremely difficult to get right even when you have a picture for reference. And it could take days of work before we know if we’re successful.” She tapped her jutting chin. “But then again, we also don’t know how long we’ll be stuck here.”

  “Exactly,” said Aaron in a low voice. “So I say it’s worth a try.”

  Ms. Octavia nodded and set her glasses on her snout, then headed for the stairs. “No time to waste.”

  A New Dilemma

  Fifer, still weak and shaking from the heart attack spells, sat up somewhere in the jungle, her magic carpet already gone with a poof. The hammock was on the ground nearby with the 3-D drawing still rolled up and sitting in the middle of it. A few birds perched above in the trees. After a moment of simply breathing, Fifer tested her arms, pressing her palms into the soft, mossy jungle floor, then pushed herself up. She stood, then picked up the drawing and began limping slowly through the jungle, trying to find a path, and pausing now and then to catch her breath. Her knees continued to quake from her near-death experience.

  It was surprisingly hard for Fifer to wrap her mind around the fact that Frieda Stubbs had tried to kill her. Sure, there had been threats. But this was a solid attempt, and it made Fifer wonder if the woman had truly gone crazy. Frieda had launched three heart attack spells at Fifer without so much as a blink. That made her inhuman in Fifer’s mind. Fifer didn’t really know what had happened after the first component had struck her. But the coldness of the act was chilling—someone from Artimé, an Unwanted, had tried to kill her. Her. It was a good thing Frieda hadn’t noticed that Aaron had been sent through the tube with the others, or she might have gone after him, too. Frieda Stubbs had gone from reckless to dangerous. And she was leading people in that direction right along with her.

  Kitten was fine. One of the falcons had scooped her up from the windowsill and carried her out to where Fifer’s magic carpet had run out of steam. Now the tiny white cat nestled on Fifer’s shoulder, purring as she slept. But Fifer was far from content. Everything was in an uproar. When her mind cleared, she stopped for a moment to examine the drawing that she’d risked so much to procure. Luckily, it appeared unscathed, despite the battle raging around it. Satisfied, Fifer continued, carrying it carefully under her arm. They needed Simber now more than ever… as long as he was actually their ally.

  Above the treetops, Shimmer flew with the rest of the falcons that hadn’t been struck by freeze spells. They carried the empty hammock. Slowly their numbers grew as the spells they’d been hit with wore off. Those who hadn’t been injured, killed, or captured in the mansion battle rejoined the flock.

  Fifer felt physically miserable, but she didn’t want to tax the birds so soon after they’d been traumatized, so she didn’t call for the hammock. Being hit by two heart attack spells had been one of the most painful experiences of her life. The effects lingered longer than with a single hit, which she’d experienced once before in warrior training. Each step she took sent pins and needles radiating through her. It had been such a close call, and her mind kept circling around the question: What if the third component hadn’t somehow missed her? Would she really have died?

  Death was tough to think about. And while she was unfortunately familiar with the deaths of others by now, it didn’t seem real that Fifer herself could have actually been so close to it. Being extraordinarily magical, she felt invincible most of the time. Maybe it was foolish to feel that way. She’d had her share of near misses too.

  She also wondered if it was Frieda Stubbs’s poor magic skills that had saved her. Fifer viewed the heart attack spell with a new reverence now, and she knew she’d be way more thoughtful in the future when launching that one at anyone who had a shred of goodness in them.

  Slowly Fifer’s strength returned. She spotted the path she needed to take that would lead to the area where the rock lived. She picked up speed. What was she going to tell Florence and Sky? And poor Ava and Lukas, who would be waiting for their parents and Seth to return—how was she going to explain to little children what had happened?

  This whole surprise attack had been a big mistake. They’d underestimated Frieda and the dissenters. And they’d gotten trapped on the stairs, which was so amateurish that Fifer didn’t even want to tell Florence that part. They’d made the false assumption that all of Frieda’s people were downstairs because of the meeting. Not one of Fifer’s team had thought to keep watch behind them, just in case—either that or they’d all thought someone else was doing it. Fifer muttered angrily under her breath and stomped the jungle path, bringing the pins-and-needles feeling back. She hated making mistakes. She wouldn’t make that one again.

  The jungle grew shadier, and Fifer knew she had to be getting close. Florence and Sky would be so shocked to see that she was the only one who had escaped. She was pretty sure that all of their friends were trapped indefinitely, but at least they’d be able to get Simber out soon, now that they had the drawing. He would be a huge help. Their biggest hope. He had to be.

  Without warning, Fifer stumbled on a vine and plunged forward. Kitten and the 3-D drawing went flying, and Fifer face-planted on the jungle floor. “Oof,” she muttered. She caught her breath, then pushed herself up, arms shaking again. “Are you okay, Kitten?” she asked, wiping the leaves and dirt off her clothes.

  “Mewmewmew,” said Kitten sweetly, and ran up Fifer’s leg to get back to her spot.

  Fifer picked up the 3-D door, cringing as she examined it. The dirt shook off easily enough, but there was a small ripple and a tear in the paper. After everything the scroll had been through today, this was how it got wrecked? “Not good,” Fifer said, smoothing the ripple but unable to do anything about the tear. “I hope we can fix it.”

  There was nothing more she or Kitten could do right now. A door with a little rip in it was better than no door at all. She continued on, finally making it to the clearing and the jungle tube where Florence, Sky, and Ava and Lukas waited, looking anxious after so much time had passed.

  When they saw Fifer coming, they ran to gree
t her. “What happened?” Florence demanded. “Where’s everyone else? Why didn’t you come back through the tube?”

  “Where’s our mom?” asked Lukas.

  “And dad?” asked Ava.

  “Are you okay?” asked Sky.

  “I’m okay,” Fifer confirmed. Keeping the children in mind, she explained everything from the time her team left the secret hallway: Conducting their surprise attack, getting trapped on the staircase, and everyone dropping faster than Fifer could perform release spells on them. She told them how she’d escaped, and how she’d watched from the hammock as the dissenters sent everyone to the library and lounge and then destroyed the only remaining main tube that actually worked. “We were lucky Frieda wasn’t present for most of it. When she showed up, she tried to, um…” She glanced at Ava and Lukas, then continued. “Tried to take me out permanently with three heart attack components.” She paused. “Only two of them hit.”

  Florence was quiet. Her face fell with every detail. “I didn’t expect this level of severity. Or this much organization,” she said, beginning to pace. “How did you get trapped like that? You are all seasoned fighters. How many times…?” She frowned and mercifully trailed off.

  “We… made a mistake. We didn’t think anyone was in the hallways on the second floor,” Fifer explained, feeling the shame rise in her neck and face. “I guess we thought that since Frieda had recently been holding a meeting in the entryway, everyone would still be down there. So we were planning to do some damage and then retreat. But… that didn’t go as planned. Everybody wanted to be fighting, not looking out.”

  Florence let out a deep sigh and shook her head. “Did I not teach you stubborn alpha mages anything?”

  “But,” Fifer said with a glimmer of hope in her voice, “I managed to steal the 3-D theater door. Unfortunately,” she added, “it sustained a small tear.” Fifer chose not to mention that the rip happened due to her tripping over her own feet. She and the others were already looking incompetent enough in Florence’s eyes at the moment.

  “Good,” said Florence. “How did you get it?”

  Striving to get back in Florence’s good graces, Fifer explained how she’d managed to steal it while still under attack. “I know it was a big risk, because if I’d been hit… well, among other unpleasant things, it would have taken longer for you to learn about what happened. I took the chance because we need Simber.”

  “That was dangerous,” Florence said. “But I’m glad you did it. Having Simber back with us will be a big relief.”

  “Not that he’s ‘with’ us, exactly,” Sky warned. “He told Fifer and me outright that he works for Frieda now, and we shouldn’t tell him things that could compromise him. He said he’s bound by the constraints of magic that Mr. Today instilled in him, and that he must be loyal to the head mage. I’m not sure that’s something he can change—it’s just ingrained.”

  Fifer looked troubled. “Well, sure, that’s how he was made, but this is a terrible mage. I would hope he could get over those feelings of loyalty to somebody who’s not worthy of it. Won’t his sense of right and wrong win out? I mean, he told Frieda he wouldn’t hurt us. But he didn’t say he would work with us, either. Do you mean we shouldn’t even try to release him?” After all Fifer had gone through to get the 3-D door, she wasn’t keen on doing nothing with it.

  “I didn’t say that,” Sky said. “But…” She frowned. “Can we trust him to help us? Or will he be one more enemy? Florence, you’d know better than me.”

  Florence looked troubled. “Your concerns are valid, Sky. I find it a relief that he told Frieda he wouldn’t hurt us. And her locking him up in the theater means she doesn’t trust him, or else she’d certainly use him to fight us.” She paused to think. “He’s got to have some type of strength in him that will help him overcome his loyalty to Frieda. Something good inside him that senses what’s right for Artimé and all of the people he loves. I mean, he knew better than anyone what Marcus Today intended this world to be. But now I’m worried.” She hesitated and looked down, shaking her head slightly. “I can’t believe I’m questioning my dearest friend. I’ve known him every day of my life.”

  “Simber wouldn’t turn against us,” said Ava decisively, looking up from her spot on the ground. “He couldn’t.” Lukas nodded sleepily in agreement, but they both looked scared. Sky knelt to reassure them, then invited them to sit down with their backs against a tree so she could tell them a story.

  Fifer and Florence stood grim and unsure, talking through what could happen if they freed Simber. Fifer was overwhelmed by their tiny army. If only Thisbe would return to help this land—her homeland! Fifer thought. Then she felt a twinge of guilt, because that’s exactly what Thisbe had done by going with the Revinir. But wasn’t Thisbe able to return by now? Where was she? They needed help!

  Finally Fifer threw her hands up in exasperation. “Look. If we can’t fix the 3-D door, we won’t be able to get to Simber anyway. So we may as well not stand here forever wondering. The clock is ticking on our friends trapped in the library. They won’t have any food or water like the lounge people have access to. I say we chance it and free Simber first, because we’re definitely not going to get anywhere without him.”

  Sky left the children to pick their favorite leaves at the base of the tree and returned to Fifer and Florence. “Do you know who’s in the library?” she asked, her expression worried. “Did you see who they were sending there?”

  “They didn’t send as many there as to the lounge. I saw Aaron and Clementi. And Samheed. Maybe a couple of others.”

  Florence looked up. “Aaron and Samheed? Well, that’ll be interesting at least. Forced to work together after that argument they had. I look forward to hearing that story once they’re out of there.”

  “Here’s hoping we can get them out,” said Sky. “Do you have any more of those new send components so we can communicate with Aaron and the others?”

  “I made a few more after the one I sent to Thisbe, but they’re in Octavia’s classroom,” said Florence grimly. “I didn’t think to tell the group to grab them for me.”

  “We wouldn’t have been able to reach her classroom anyway,” said Fifer.

  “We also didn’t expect to be separated like this,” Sky said. She blew out an exasperated breath. “We have to figure out how to get everyone out of there.”

  “One thing at a time.” Florence reached for the 3-D door and unrolled it carefully to examine the tear. It went a few inches into the drawing, which meant the door wouldn’t expand and rise off the paper to form a real door. “Okay,” she said. “This is definitely a problem. Since we can’t access the mansion to get supplies to fix this, the nearest place to find what we need is in Quill. And you’re going to have do some serious searching to find art supplies there.”

  “We could break into Claire’s house,” said Sky. “I’ll bet she has plenty.”

  “Great idea.” Fifer emitted a short, shrill whistle to call for the hammock, then turned to Florence as her birds, now fully recovered, laid the canvas down and gathered around them. “Sky and I will take the hammock to Quill—it’ll be faster. We’ll meet you back here.”

  “Don’t bother,” said Florence. “We can’t do anything with that door out here—there’s nothing smooth enough to attach the drawing to. The kids and I will meet you at the old Quillitary building. We can use the exterior wall there. And while I work on fixing the drawing, you two and the children can get some sleep in the barracks. By morning I’ll have a plan for our next move.” Florence gave them a weak but encouraging smile.

  Fifer and Sky agreed to the plan. They got into the hammock, and the birds took them up through the trees.

  Florence, Ava, and Lukas watched them go. After a moment Florence turned and called out to Panther and the rock to let them know what to do next if summoned. Then she hoisted the children up, one in each arm, and started the trek toward the Quillitary grounds, each step causing the land to tremor slightly. Hea
vyhearted, she knew that even with Simber on their side, the small group of them who weren’t trapped didn’t stand a chance against an army so brainwashed they couldn’t tell right from wrong.

  Meanwhile in the Lounge

  Seth went behind the lounge bar and tried to figure out how to get the orange-cream dispenser to work.

  “What are you doing?” asked Ibrahim in a hushed voice. He didn’t want to disturb Lani and Carina, who were nearby, deep in conversation about how they were going to escape their entrapment. Others sat in the booths in small groups, brainstorming. Sean brooded by himself, no doubt worried about Ava and Lukas.

  “If we can’t get out of here, we may as well eat something,” Seth replied, jiggling a tap handle. It clicked and stuck forward, and orange cream started pouring out onto the floor. “Crud!” he cried, and Ibrahim ran for a tall soda glass and a towel.

  Seth filled the glass, then pushed the handle into the upright position, stopping the flow. “That was easier than I expected,” he said. “I could totally work here.” He licked the sticky mess off the back of his hand and offered Ibrahim the first sip from the glass. “I used to help in the kitchen sometimes, you know. Thisbe and Fifer and me. We sent the room service food up the elevator to the proper rooms.”

  “I’m not sure that qualifies you to work here, but okay,” said Ibrahim. “I mean, licking orange cream off your hand might be a bit of a turnoff to your customers.” He slurped on the drink and nodded approvingly. “Are you any good at food design?”

  “Food design?” Seth had never heard that term before, but he nodded. “Sure. I’m good at a lot of things. Pottery, um, food design, like you mentioned, and… other food-related things.”

  “Pottery is food related?”

  “Obviously.” Seth rummaged under the counter and brought out a ceramic serving bowl with fruit in it. “See? Pottery. Food.”

  Ibrahim’s thick, tented eyebrows were the most expressive part of his face, and when he raised one, as he did now, his skepticism was glaringly obvious. He grabbed a piece of fruit and polished it on his shirt.