The Villain Keeper

by Laurie McKay

  “They look like witches.”

  Tito raised his eyebrows. “Ms. Jackson looks like a supermodel.”

  “I don’t know what that is, but if you’re talking about the young one, she’s obviously the leader.”

  “Bro, no. Just no.”

  At the tables, boys and girls gobbled down the witches’ food. The teachers gathered at a large table near the stairs. Mrs. Belle and Mr. McDonald were there. Rath Dunn sat in the middle, at a place of little importance, and ate slowly. When his gaze caught Caden’s, something cruel flashed in his eyes before he turned back to those near him. Truth be told, there was something uncomfortable about all those at the table.

  Caden nodded toward the table of teachers. “There’s evil here.”

  “Uh-huh.” Tito followed his gaze. “Mr. Rathis, the lunch people, or everyone in general?”

  “We’d be foolish to trust the lunch witches, but I speak of Rath Dunn.” From the teachers’ table, Rath Dunn grinned at him. Caden felt his muscles tighten. “And the other teachers strike me as strange.”

  “Relax,” Tito said, turning back to his food. “You’re the strange one.” He opened his mouth to say more but then snapped it shut. He watched something behind Caden with the same fierce expression that Caden’s seventh-born brother, Jasan, got before a parry.

  If battle was imminent, Caden would fight with whatever weapon he could grab. He palmed his fork. Slowly, he turned around, fork at the ready.

  He expected to see Rath Dunn, but a boy approached. He was short and wore sneakers as white as the beard of a frost giant. “Tito nonbonito,” the boy said. “Looks like you got a new girlfriend.”

  It took Caden a moment to realize he and Tito were being insulted. He prepared his fork. Tito darted a glance at it, and shook his head. No forking the enemy.

  Very well, Caden would battle with words instead of kitchen utensils. He set the fork down, and glared at the boy in the white sneakers. “Looks like you have none, nor much hope of one.”

  The boy’s smirk wobbled, then came back full force. “Where’d you get your shirt?” he said. “The girls’ department of Goodwill?”

  Caden glanced at Tito. “I assume it came from the same market as yours.”

  “Dude, I got this online. Special order.”

  “Look, Derek,” Tito said. “Get lost. We’re eating, and you’re making us sick.”

  Derek snarled at Tito. “Why don’t you go back to Mexico already? You can take Goodwill here with you.”

  Tito literally growled. “Because I’m Puerto Rican, butt face,” he said.

  Students from other tables were now watching. At a table near the back, a boy yelled out, “Uh-oh, you’re making him mad, Derek.”

  Derek laughed. He raised his hands in false surrender and went to sit down with the students at that back table. One of the girls there patted Derek on the shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she said, loud enough for the whole room to hear. “If you were that ugly and didn’t have parents, you’d have a temper, too.”

  The teachers did nothing. Rath Dunn seemed amused. Caden, however, wouldn’t sit while his friend was insulted. This battle had been brought to them. He started to stand.

  “Sit down,” Tito said through clenched teeth.

  Caden sat. “I can flatten them.”

  “Good for you, but they’re not worth it. They’re jerks. That’s all. Ignore them.”

  “They weren’t ignoring us. They want a fight.”

  Tito pushed his tray of food away. “So? We could get kicked out for fighting. We’ve got more to lose than them.”

  It seemed to Caden that Tito’s reluctance to engage grew from the belief Rosa would send them away. As Caden’s father had sent him away, Caden felt he knew something about that. “Rosa would understand.”

  “Trust me, she wouldn’t. She’d be ticked to high heck if we got in a fight.” Tito sank down in his chair. “And disappointed, which is even worse. Besides, don’t you already have enough enemies?”

  “Sometimes,” Caden said, “you have to fight.”

  “And sometimes you don’t,” Tito said. “So don’t.”

  In math, Rath Dunn gave a lesson on the spread rates of contagious disease. Caden watched; he spent the entire class memorizing the contents on Rath Dunn’s desk, the shine off his head, his clothing. His shirt was deep red and pressed—the color the same as the colors of Crimsen—and his trousers looked like they’d been sewn and fitted by the famed tailors of the lower Autumnlands.

  “Pandemic is unavoidable,” Rath Dunn said. With a glance at Caden, he adjusted his sleeves slightly. Under his right cuff, there was the glint of red metal.

  Even partially hidden, Caden knew what it was and knew Rath Dunn meant for him to see it. It was the famed Blood Dagger, a weapon feared by all. Rath Dunn shifted, and the blade was tucked back out of sight.

  To Caden’s left, Tito’s mouth was set in a hard line. No doubt, he was starting to see Rath Dunn for what he was. Horrific. Dangerous. Capable of killing.

  When the freedom bell rang, Rath Dunn stood in front of Caden. A slow, unfriendly grin spread across his face. “Caden,” he said. “Wait a spell. I’d like to talk to you.”

  Caden didn’t like the wording: “spell.” If he had his sword, he would have a chance at defeating the man. Not a good chance, but better than none, better than he had now unarmed and outmatched.

  There was no use trying to resist, though. An order was an order, and he was cursed until the end of the day. He felt the color drain from his face. “As you wish,” he said, hating Brynne more and more.

  Rath Dunn peered at him and grinned bigger. He seemed surprised by Caden agreeing. Immediately, Caden felt his jumping nerves start to sizzle. Would the tyrant figure out Caden was cursed? If so, he could simply order Caden to kill himself. A horrible thought occurred to Caden: Rath Dunn could order Caden to kill someone else. Someone innocent.

  Around them, the classroom emptied. The other students hurried into the hall until only Caden, Rath Dunn, and Tito remained.

  “Tito, I’d like a word with Caden in private,” Rath Dunn said.

  As Tito had pointed out, since Rath Dunn hadn’t killed Caden yesterday, likely he wouldn’t today. Still, Caden felt lingering doubt, and there was no reason for Tito to be “talked to” also. “Go,” Caden said.

  Tito backed out. “Relax, bro. It’s just math.” Under his breath, he added. “If you’re not out in ten minutes, Rosa will come looking for you.”

  Rath Dunn closed the door. He looked more like his portrait now, eyes mocking, grin condescending. “I wasn’t expecting you,” he said. “I remember every last son of King Axel. But from that coat, it looks like things have changed since I’ve been banished. Well, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised he’d remarry.” There was hatred in his tone. “He is, after all, resilient.”

  “I’m a proud son of Axel.” Caden fought to remain brave. “Last I read, you were banished to a slow, painful death in the Land of Shadow, Rath Dunn.”

  He smiled like he was savoring a fine food. “Ahh—slow, painful deaths. I could educate you on those. I’m a good teacher.” He laughed, loud and amused, and pulled out his dagger. “And now here you are, my enemy’s son, served to me in a coat of enchanted wool.”

  “Yet, you didn’t kill me yesterday.”

  “You know the old saying, it’s the cat that plays with the rat that has the most fun.” Suddenly, Rath Dunn was looming over him. “I’m in no hurry.”

  Caden’s brothers were always underestimating him, his father never listening. Now, the great not-dead enemy of his people toyed with him. He felt his face flush hot. “Then you’re a fool,” he said.

  Faster than Caden could move away, Rath Dunn reached out and grabbed Caden’s wrist. Caden knew, at that moment, he would die. With a flash of red glinting metal, the magical dagger ripped through his magical coat, to his skin beneath it. Caden covered the cut with his hand. Blood seeped through his fingers.

  I
t took Caden a moment to get steady words out. He’d expected his throat slit, not his arm. There was a reason he wasn’t dead. “Why haven’t you killed me?”

  Rath Dunn sighed. “It’s not allowed.”

  Through his fear, Caden thought that strange. He wasn’t allowed? When had Rath Dunn cared what was allowed? And if he wasn’t allowed to kill, it seemed unlikely he was allowed to wound. Caden heard his voice shake. “Yet you’re allowed to wound me?”

  Rath Dunn glanced toward the door, toward the hall. He lowered the dagger. From his careful expression, Caden suspected neither cutting nor killing was allowed.

  Rath Dunn pulled a red handkerchief from his pocket. The coiled symbol of the Bloodwolf, the protector of Crimsen and the Autumnlands, was embroidered on the corner. “She won’t care about a little blood.” Forcefully, he pushed Caden’s hand away and wrapped the handkerchief around the wound. “Trouble within the city isn’t allowed. Outside the limits, however, you’re fair game, son of Axel.”

  Caden pushed Rath Dunn and his bloody handkerchief away. He collected his textbooks and notebook. As he picked them up, he noticed, again, the tree carved into the desk. Rosa’s house was at the edge of the city. The mountain outside, the nature trap, those were beyond her land. Caden forced himself to meet Rath Dunn’s gaze, to not wince in fear or pain. “Is that why you put the trap on the mountain? You couldn’t steal Jane away while she was in the city?”

  Rath Dunn waved him off. “You shouldn’t be worrying about Jane.” He pulled a second embroidered Crimsen handkerchief from his desk, and wrapped the knife in it, still wet with Caden’s blood. “That horse on the news resembles a Galvanian snow stallion. He’s yours, I assume?”

  There was no reason to deny it. “Sir Horace.”

  Rath Dunn tucked the wrapped dagger back under his cuff. It made Caden uncomfortable to think that it was still bloody. Rath Dunn smiled. “Sir Horace is the one you should worry about,” he said. In a low dramatic tone, he added, “The mountains are full of interesting things.”

  Truly, Caden was beginning to feel like the poor rat Rath Dunn had called him. Still. “Sir Horace can take care of himself,” he said.

  Rath Dunn laughed. “It’s amusing you think that.” He stepped back, grabbed an eraser, and wiped his whiteboard clean. “Hide within the city limits if you want, but while you cower, the monsters of the mountain will devour your Sir Horace. They run wild, but it doesn’t take much effort to direct them to a kill.”

  Night didn’t bring darkness. The day-old snow glowed from the city lights, and as the trail moved into the woods, the snow reflected the softer silvery hues of moonlight. The icy trees shone like a crystal palace of trunk and branch. Under winter’s weight, the hillside creaked. If Caden had been in Razzon, he’d have thought the mountain alive.

  There were no signs of Sir Horace. He didn’t come when Caden whistled. Caden didn’t know who controlled Rath Dunn or what dark beasts roamed the hills, but he believed Sir Horace was in danger.

  Brynne’s breath clouded the frozen air. “We should have brought the peasant,” she said. “He could have helped. He knows this land.”

  Caden’s feet were chilled, his hands numb; and at the rip in his coat, frosty air slipped inside. The only weapon he’d found in the house was a broken-off handle to a shovel. He gripped it tightly and looked to Brynne. “Tito needs to distract Rosa.”

  She huffed and closed her eyes. “You fear for his safety. Have some faith in him.” Snow swirled down from the branches and drifted onto her eyelashes. She opened her eyes and they were the silver of the moon. “The horse is on the other side of the far peak.”

  The trek would bring them even farther from the safety of the city limits. If summoned, though, Sir Horace would certainly come. Caden took a deep breath and the air chilled him from the inside. “Sir Horace!”

  Brynne punched him, hard, in his wounded arm. She glanced at the shadows between the trees like she expected a winter wraith to barrel out. “Hush. This is a stealth mission.”

  Caden tried to yell again. Nothing came out. Silently, he cursed the curse. When it broke, he would comply with no order. He glared and pointed to his mouth.

  “Fine. Talk. But don’t yell. Better we not draw the attention of the things that are going to kill that beast of yours, lest they attack us, too.”

  “You didn’t have to come.”

  “Without my help, you’d get killed for sure.”

  Caden bristled. “I’ve survived almost thirteen years without your help and not been killed.” He shifted and his boots cracked the snow. “But I’ll admit you are good at finding things.”

  “Makes me a better thief.”

  Caden would not dignify that with a response.

  She laughed, grabbed his hand, and pulled him up the icy path. “You’re hopeless, prince.”

  Over the peak, the forest was darker. The trees were taller, the shadows starker. To the side of their path, hoofprints bit into the ground. Beside them, there were other, larger prints.

  Caden crouched down. He ran his finger around the outline of the larger print—seven claws—and frowned at the broken shovel handle. Already, the wood had cracked from exposure to the snow and the cold. It was hardly a weapon for battle.

  Brynne leaned over his shoulder. “What is it?”

  He pointed his broken shovel handle at the hoof marks. His chest swelled. Hope was not lost. He wanted to jump toward the sky he felt such joy. “These are the tracks of a dragon.”

  Brynne wrapped her arms around her chest and frowned. “There’s no evidence that there are any dragons in this land at all.” With a sneer, she added, “There’s hardly any magic.”

  “Rath Dunn is here. A mysterious she controls him. Tito wears an amulet of protection, and the lunch witch glows. We can assume not all is as it seems. A dragon made these prints.”

  Caden inhaled the chilled air. There was a dragon in Asheville. The fire dragon may have escaped him, but this Ashevillian one would not. Even in a foreign realm, he’d prove himself. He felt a slow smile spread across his lips.

  Brynne looked at him and shook her head. “We should go back,” she said, though she didn’t make it an order. “Dragons aren’t simple beasts, Caden. They aren’t creatures to fight with a broken shovel handle.”

  Caden had studied dragons. Neither animal nor energy, they were something in between. Generated by dark magic, they embodied brutal chaos and destroyed all in their way. They were memories of the once mighty and fickle Elderdragons that taught the peoples of the Greater Realm magic and fear. “I know what they are. I’m on a quest to slay one.”

  Brynne’s breath ghosted in and out. “That story grows old. King Axel wouldn’t send you to hunt dragons alone.” She was as unmovable as the mountain. “I don’t believe you.”

  He felt blood rush to his cheeks and his anger build. “I left at my father’s request.” In the following quiet, the snow creaked. Caden peered at it. Beside the dragon’s prints were smaller, more familiar prints. His hope became dampened with sickening worry. “These, beside the dragon’s prints, are Sir Horace’s marks.” This wasn’t as good as he’d thought. Oh no. “A dragon hunts Sir Horace.” The tracks led down deep into the valley. He needed to be there to fight with his friend. “Return to the house. Sir Horace needs me. I can track him from here.”

  “I’m not walking back by myself.”

  There wasn’t time for this argument. He started downhill. “Then hide until I rescue Sir Horace.”

  Behind him, he heard Brynne follow. “Hide?” She sounded offended—the same type of offended that had resulted in Caden being cursed. He glanced back. “What is your plan, prince?” she said. “Slay the dragon with the shovel handle?”

  “My plan is to rescue Sir Horace and follow my quest. I don’t wish to also worry about your safety while doing so.”

  Caden was good at saying the right thing at the right time—if he concentrated. That was difficult when he kept picturing Sir Horace ri
pped from breast to tail. If Brynne’s defiant expression was any indication, he had said the exact wrong thing.

  “We will face the dragon together, ally,” she said.

  She’d cursed Caden into following orders; she was forcing him to take her into battle. Being eaten would serve her right.

  “Very well,” he said. As they hurried, he took off his coat and gave it to her. She was his ally. She looked cold. He certainly didn’t want her drained again. She’d be unbearable. “Here,” he said. “It’ll offer you some protection.”

  She smiled, slyly, and took the coat. “I accept the Royal Coat of Warmth and Protection.”

  “You can’t keep it.”

  “I don’t know,” she said, keeping quick step beside him. “It seems like you just gave it to me.” She looked like she was going to say more, but her gaze fixed on his arm. “What happened—”

  The quiet night was split by a mighty whinny—Sir Horace’s battle cry. Caden readied the shovel handle and sprinted toward the noise. “This way!”

  Jagged branches, freshly broken and green inside, stuck up from the snow like a field of rough-honed goblin blades. The smells of pine and cedar grew thick. Caden slid to a stop.

  In a small clearing near the lower slope of the mountain, Caden made out Sir Horace whinnying and bucking. The ground around his hooves seemed slick with ice. He was watching something with great intent. Caden tracked his gaze and felt his breath hitch, his heart race.

  Facing Sir Horace, near a patch of jagged trees, was a gleaming white ice dragon. Caden stood dumbstruck. He’d seen the prints, but now he was certain. There was a dragon to slay in Asheville. He could complete his quest.

  A second later, Brynne careened into Caden. She pushed him into the snow, face-first, and he heard the powerful swish as the dragon’s tail cut through the air above them, the same exact place where he had stood. When he looked up, the tree trunks around them were now broken.

  “Careful, prince,” Brynne whispered. “That tail almost leveled you.”

  At her voice, the dragon turned in their direction. Its ice-blue eyes raked over them. Beside it, Sir Horace had fallen. A gash darkened his flank. His side rose and fell with heavy breaths. Caden’s great steed, however, was not so easily defeated. He wriggled to standing, his white coat smeared with blood and twigs, and pawed the ground. He put his head down, and his ears back.