Ordinary Girl (The Dark Dragon Chronicles Book 1)

by Ripley Harper

  “So, what do we do?”

  She taps one heel against the floor while she thinks, then shakes her head crossly. “I’ll probably have to talk to Jonathan,” she says, the expression on her face exactly the same as if she said “I’ll probably have to breastfeed a snake.”

  “That’s a bad idea,” Jeffrey’s head is twitching to the side again.

  “Why?”

  “Because then they’ll know you’re onto them.”

  “So?”

  “It’ll give them time to think of something else.”

  Chloe swears and falls back against the sofa, frustrated. After a few seconds her heel starts tapping again.

  “What I don’t understand,” I say, “is why they’re doing this. It just seems so random. Sure, they’ve never liked me, but why pick on Maggie? I was beginning to think that Cayden has a thing for her.” Chloe nods in confirmation while Maggie blushes beet red. “And Taylor is actually dating Josh. And Amanda will probably love the attention. So why target the five of us? It doesn’t make sense.”

  We stare at each other in silence.

  Jeffrey is the first to speak. “You’re the girls who won’t listen.”

  “Listen to what?”

  “To them. To anybody. You do what you want, no matter what people think.”

  “That’s not true,” Chloe says, frowning.

  “It is true.” Jeffrey’s hands start typing on that invisible keyboard again. “You and Taylor are beautiful, so you know you can do exactly what you want. You even dumped Jonathan after he cheated, and nobody ever says no to him.”

  “Don’t you dare put me in the same category as Taylor Wilson,” Chloe hisses.

  He shrugs. “She’s not as pretty as you, but she thinks she is, which comes down to the same thing in the end.”

  “What about the rest of us?” Maggie grins when I pull a face at her. “I mean, of course, we’re all incredibly attractive,” she winks at me, “but we’re not exactly the school beauty queens.”

  “And Amanda and Maggie literally couldn’t be more different,” I say. “Maggie is so clever and so decent and so kind, and Amanda—”

  “Has many amazing qualities, I’m sure,” Maggie hastily interrupts before I can say anything too mean.

  “No.” Jeffrey looks at me, his flat brown eyes totally devoid of emotion. “You’re wrong. They might look different on the surface, but actually they’re the same. Amanda is the biggest slut in school, but she doesn’t care. She’s not ashamed of it. She sleeps with anyone she wants, no matter what anybody says. And Maggie won’t hook up with anyone because she’s so religious and she’s studying all the time. She won’t even make out at parties or do anything normal, no matter what anyone says.”

  “Hey! I do a lot of normal things,” Maggie says defensively.

  “I still don’t understand what any of this has to do with the Alphas,” I say, genuinely mistified. “Why should they care how we live our lives?”

  Jeffrey’s head twitches to the side again. “If the top males can’t control their females, they have no right to lead the rest of us.”

  “Really?” I raise my eyebrows all the way to my hairline. “Do they teach that rule in Sexism 101?”

  “I didn’t make the rules.” His face turns red and splotchy again. “But I have to live by them, same as anyone else.”

  “So what you’re saying,” Chloe says slowly, “is that the five of us threaten the Alphas in some way?”

  “Yes,” he says. “You won’t listen, and that challenges the males’ authority. If they want to keep their position at the top, they have to put you in your place.”

  “Still,” I say doubtfully, “it’s a pretty lame reason for doing something so mean. And where do I fit into this picture anyway? I always have to listen to everybody.”

  Maggie laughs. Chloe rolls her eyes. Jeffrey frowns.

  “What?” I say.

  “You know,” Jeffrey says.

  “Know what?”

  “What you’re like.”

  Chloe makes an irritated sound. “She knows nothing,” she tells Jeffrey. “And it’s not an act; I’ve checked. It’s like she’s from a different planet.”

  “From a different planet!” Jeffrey snickers as he repeats her words, his eyes glittering with malice. “A different fucking planet.”

  Something about his words causes a strange tightening in my chest, similar to the feeling I had when Gunn talked to me about secret orders and ancient civilizations and fallen empires. I have that same unpleasant feeling again, an awareness of how ridiculously small my life is in comparison to the vast backdrop of time and space, of different planets and faraway galaxies.

  The feeling makes me so uncomfortable that I have to fight to control my breathing against the sudden suffocating sense of impending disaster.

  Something is wrong. Horribly wrong.

  I’m not sure what it is, but everything inside me tells me I’m in danger.

  We’re all in danger.

  I’m staring myself blind against all the wrong things, and if I don’t wake up soon, it will be too late.

  Chapter 10

  Please, my darling, do not believe their sly lies and over-simplifications! What I can tell you, from my own experience, is that there are the five types of lifemagic left on this world.

  The first is the magic of the sky: a soaring magic of flight and air and wind and space. It is clever but unstable—a tumbling, plummeting, rising, wheeling, treacherous magic that is always shifting, remaining just beyond one’s grasp. Those who share in this magic are called the Skykeepers. Their color is White and their clan is strong. They are brilliant and fearful and devious, and they have done us terrible harm in the past. They can be admired but never trusted.

  The second is the magic of the earth: a fertile magic of growth and soil and rootedness. This is a calm and stable magic, a steady, durable, bountiful magic of lush growth, rich earth, and deep roots. Those who share in this magic are called the Earthkeepers. Their color is Green and their clan is strong. They are deeply traditional, treasuring memory and resisting change. And although they can be both cruel and kind, they are worthy of our trust as they do not lie.

  The third is the magic of the sea: a bottomless and intuitive magic of secret places and hidden depths. This is a shadowy and mysterious magic—one of deep blue dreams and dark blue secrets, of water and rain, of joy and sadness. Those who share in this magic are called the Seakeepers. Their color is Blue and their clan is weakening. They are secretive and strange, but in times of trouble the Blue Clan has always sided with us. Their loyalty is undisputed.

  The fourth is the magic of blood: a warm and living magic of passion and excitement and love and hate. It is a rich and joyful magic, the youngest magic of this planet, and it throbs through the veins of every living being on this earth. Those who share in this magic are called the Bloodkeepers. Their color is Red and their clan, once strong and beautiful, is now weak and divided. Some can be trusted and some cannot: they have been both loyal friends and terrible enemies.

  The fifth remaining magic is the strangest and most miraculous magic of all. This is our magic, my darling! The special magic that flows in your veins and mine. And would you believe it, we have our own Keepers too. In times past, their color was Black and their clan was small but strong, but today only the Black Lady and her sister remain …

  Extract from a letter by Jezebel Sarkany to her daughter, Bella, written on the eve of her final battle against the White Witch

  “Remember that you’re a part of this earth, alive in the same way that this blade of grass is alive. You are part of everything around you, and it is part of you.”

  It’s a couple of hours later. Gunn and I are sitting in the lotus position, facing each other. I’m staring at a single blade of grass in front of me, just like I’ve been doing every afternoon for the past week or so. Apparently this is how one learns to control magic.

  “I want you to look at this tiny bl
ade of grass and realize that the feeling of separateness that keeps you locked up inside your own mind is an illusion. We are all one; we are all part of this glorious living miracle all around us.”

  At first Gunn insisted on complete silence during these sessions, trying to get me into a deep meditative state. But that strategy was so spectacularly unsuccessful that he soon began to gently guide my meditation. Now he talks almost constantly.

  “Every blade is connected to every other. It is all one. Try to understand that, to really feel it. Focus on your breathing, and then tap into that consciousness, that wholeness.”

  We’ve been sitting like this for about forty minutes. By now my concentration is seriously slipping, sweat is beading on my upper lip and I’m grinding my teeth to a fine powder. As usual, having Gunn’s body so close to mine is not helping the situation.

  “Concentrate on that single blade. Try to feel its slumberous growth, imagine the root system connecting all those leaves of grass…”

  Hmm. If only it was possible to look at that blade of grass without also being aware of Gunn’s tanned forearms, his powerful thighs, those impossibly broad shoulders, the clean, heady scent of him … It was bad enough when we only had these classes for an hour once a week. Seeing him every day for these endless sessions has made me realize that lust must be a cumulative phenomenon, a bit like compound interest.

  “Clear your mind. Feel how the molecules in your body connect you to every living, growing thing, in the same way that this blade of grass is connected to all the others around it.”

  Yes, well. Clearing your mind is one thing. Clearing your mind while sitting inches away from a smoking-hot sex god, now that’s a totally different story. I stare at the blade for a few minutes longer, my mind not cleared, my power not activated, my will to live disappearing fast.

  “Everything and everyone existing on this earth was created in the heart of an exploding star. The particles that make up your body are part of this earth, and of everything both alive and dead on this planet ...”

  It’s another perfect day. We’re sitting in Ingrid’s back garden, which to me is by far the best part of the crumbling gothic horror we live in. Hidden from the neighboring houses by gnarled old oaks, it is a large and neglected space, overgrown with a mixture of indigenous prairie grasses and wildflowers and dotted with exotic shrubs. The spot Gunn has chosen for my training is particularly beautiful: a shaded patch of lawn next to a dried-up and rusted cast-iron fountain, now covered with ivy and bordered by climbing roses. If ever there was a spot to experience the glories of nature, it’s here: I can sense the rich earth below me, the fresh air above, the raw green life all around me.

  What I can’t sense, unfortunately, is any connection whatsoever to the stupid blade of grass Gunn is droning on about.

  “This isn’t working,” I grit through my teeth.

  “You can do it, sweetheart. But you have to stop fighting me.”

  It’s the “sweetheart” that breaks the last traces of my concentration (obviously). I look up, sigh, rub my stiff neck.

  “I’m not trying to fight you, Gunn. Really, I’m trying so hard. But I’m just not feeling it. It’s like I’m … stuck.”

  He gives me a searching look, and I’m instantly aware of that familiar tight feeling low in my stomach, the one I always get when we make direct eye contact for too long.

  “What’s the biggest barrier to your concentration?” he asks. “Sometimes it helps to isolate the ideas that keep intruding. Try to think: what is keeping me from connecting here? What specific thought is interfering most with this process?”

  I look down, hoping he won’t notice my blush. The thought that I want to rip off your clothes and rub myself against you like a cat is not exactly something I can say out loud. Better change the subject.

  I clear my throat. “Gunn? Can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why are guys so weird?”

  He smiles. “What do you mean?”

  I tell him about what happened this afternoon: about the Alphas’ plans to humiliate us during the homecoming dance and Jeffrey’s bizarre theories about their motivation. Gunn listens intently without interrupting and when I finish, he’s silent for ages, clearly choosing his words carefully.

  “Look, Jess.” He blows out his breath in a long, deep sigh. “I know I’m the one who told you to continue with your normal life as if nothing has changed. And so far you’ve done really well. But you have to remember that it’s only an act: we’re trying to convince the Order that you don’t pose a threat to them—that, basically, you’re just an ordinary girl.”

  I lift an eyebrow. “So, not really an act then.”

  “No. That’s what you don’t seem to understand. You’re not just another girl. You’re different. You have an ancient heritage, a unique history that makes you special.”

  “I’ll be even more special once the whole school sees me naked!”

  He stares off into the middle distance without returning my smile, and I can’t help but notice that small nerve jumping in his cheek again.

  “I know all that must seem important to you now,” he says, his voice carefully level. “In comparison to nude photos on the internet, what I’ve told you about secret orders and ancient magics must seem fantastic and unreal. It’s natural to seek safety in what you know and understand when you’re confronted with the unknown.”

  “I’m not seeking safety—”

  He doesn’t let me finish. “It’s all a question of degree, Jess. In comparison with what the Order can do to you, those boys’ plans are nothing but a stupid teenage prank. Trust me on this. It’s one thing to be on public display without your clothes—it’s another to be displayed without your skin.”

  “Gunn!”

  “Your old life is over,” he says, his eyes blazing with urgency. “Right now your only focus should be on learning how to control your magic. Everything else is merely a distraction.”

  “You’re scaring me.”

  “Good.”

  In the tense silence that follows, I watch a mosquito land on my leg, but it flies away before I can swat at it. I’m lucky that way: bugs don’t seem to like the taste of me. I don’t think I’ve ever been bitten by an insect in my life.

  “It all just seems so… unlikely,” I say, once it becomes clear to me that Gunn isn’t about to back down on this. “So I put out a fire, and maybe I hypnotized the principal for a few minutes. So what? I couldn’t even get a show in Vegas with magic that lame, so why on earth would this Order of Wizards be interested in me?”

  “They’re not wizards, Jess.”

  “Witches, then, or sorcerers, or magicians—”

  “The word you’re looking for is keepers.”

  “Whatever, Gunn, who cares? The point I’m trying to—”

  “No,” he interrupts. “You should care; words are important. And not just because you seem to need reminding that these aren’t characters from some fairy tale, but extremely powerful men and women, all very much living in the real world.” He gives me a warning look, waiting for my nod before he continues.

  “The name matters because that’s how members of the Order have always referred to themselves—in all languages and at all times. From Sanskrit to Old Egyptian to Aramaic, from Latin to Old Norse to Aztec to Archaic Chinese… The sounds of the words might have differed, but the meaning never did.”

  “Um. Okay?”

  “Don’t you see? It proves that, in spite of what so many believe, the true identity of those belonging to the Order is not based on the fact that we can do magic, but on the fact that we are keepers of something precious, guardians of a power that has only been temporarily entrusted to us.”

  I can see he thinks he’s making an important point, one that I’m not grasping at all. But I’m suddenly far less interested in his theories about ancient languages than in the English words he’s using.

  “Us?” I ask, frowning. “What do you me
an us? Are you a keeper too?”

  He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leans back, resting on his elbows. The pose shows off his biceps and his abs to such perfection that I half-suspect he’s purposefully trying to distract me. But then I look at his face and see that his thoughts are miles away.

  After about a minute of complete silence, he sighs. “Yes. I am a keeper. I was initiated into the Order years ago, before I ever met you.”

  I gape at him. “But I thought you said the Order was evil?”

  He runs one hand through his hair, slowly, from front to back. “The Order of Keepers isn’t one thing, Jess. In essence it’s exactly what the name tells you: an organization that strives to impose order on a group of extremely diverse, extremely powerful people. In our long history there have been relatively few periods of calm: the clans have been at each other’s throats for centuries. It is only to the outside world that we present a united front; within the Order the divisions have always run bone deep.”

  I give him my best WTF look.

  He shrugs. “I tried to explain it on that first night, but I realize it must’ve been a lot to take in. Basically, the Order is divided into four large groups: Earthkeepers, Seakeepers, Skykeepers, and Bloodkeepers. These groups are referred to as clans, each of which practices a very specific kind of magic, with its own rules and rituals.”

  “So are you telling me I belong to a clan? What kind of keeper am I supposed to be anyway?”

  “You’re not a keeper, Jess. You’re…” He clears his throat a few times before he speaks. “You’re… Something else completely.”

  Both my eyebrows shoot up. “What do you mean?”

  I watch his strong throat working as he swallows a few times, almost as if the words he wants to say are stuck in his throat. “It’s… difficult to explain.” He clears his throat again, shakes his head quickly. “Anyway, it’s not important now. What we need to focus on is mastering your magic. The rest can wait.”