Sani’s touch on my shoulders fully snaps me back to reality. His hands are hot enough to burn human skin, like a dragon’s hands should be. Like Gesina’s hand had been.
Chapter Four
I fumble in my pocket for my Secret Service phone and dial the number for my contact while Sani stares at me, still waiting for an explanation of my spacing out a few seconds ago. My contact answers.
“This is Draco Three. Probable threat.”
“What—” Sani begins. I cut him off with a glare and, within half of a heartbeat, a confused realization dawns on his face.
“In Midday Sun’s car. Now.” I don’t say much, but it’s enough for my contact, whose name I don’t actually know.
He pauses for maybe three seconds. It feels like an eternity. “Communication with the agents in the car is down. Can you pursue on foot?”
I start running at the word “down” and I’m already halfway down the driveway with Sani at my side when I say, “Pursuing.”
“Secure Midday Sun,” my contact orders. “At all costs.”
“Understood.” I don’t bother hanging up before dropping both the phone and my backpack on the grass. Sani has already shed his pack.
The car is gaining speed on the main road, but traffic is keeping it from escaping completely. I can run about twenty miles an hour for several miles. Sani is faster. He’s holding back to stay with me.
“Go!” I yell.
I know he wants to argue, but I’m not his friend right now. I’m his superior. To his credit, he doesn’t hesitate longer than the time it takes for a single step. His stride lengthens. It’s a matter of seconds before he’s halfway between me and the car.
The front half of the black Town Car explodes in a fireball. My lungs are working overtime, and I gulp in the acrid scent of burning rubber and gasoline. Tires all around us squeal as brakes are slammed. Somewhere to my left, a roaring crunch echoes the explosion, as two more cars collide in a less explosive way.
Dominic pops out of the sunroof, somehow looking confused and focused at the same time. He has his side arm in his right hand, and I dare to hope the Secret Service has control of the situation. But, somewhere inside me, I know better.
Dominic raises his gun and takes aim at Sani, who’s fifty feet from the car. He fires four shots.
I let loose a primal roar as a bullet rips through Sani’s left bicep. His shoulder jerks back at the impact, but his steps don’t even falter.
Why the hell is Dominic shooting at us? He knows who we are. Unless he’s in on the whole thing. My dragon self bellows to be let loose like it never has before. The beginning of the change scratches at my fingertips. Only my need to help Sani lets me suppress the urge to change. Letting the dragon take control of the change wouldn’t benefit any of us.
A flicker of movement on the left side of the car seizes my attention. Gesina is dragging a dazed Jacob out of the car. She’s having less trouble with his weight than I would have expected from such a waif of a girl. I alter course to intercept her.
Dominic—the bastard looking steady and calm—pops off another round. I don’t see where the bullet strikes.
But I do see, out of the corner of my eye, Sani’s body crashing to the asphalt a few feet from the back bumper.
It takes every freaking shred of control I have not to run to him. My soul fights me, tugging toward him like a physical force inside me. I can smell his blood. It’s coppery with hints of iron and earth, and there’s too much of it. But I still have a job to do.
Gesina shoves Jacob to the side seconds before I tackle her at full speed. We tumble violently, the asphalt snatching at our skin and clothes. She grasps for my arm three times before she catches it and latches on. I barely have time to register her touch before I’m lost in that forest again.
I know I want to stand up and do…something. But I don’t think my body would respond even if I knew what it was. A vibration trembles on the edge of my thoughts, beating at a steady pace.
The confusion abandons me as suddenly as it came. I’m lying on my back, my arms twisted underneath me, staring at a helicopter hovering only a couple of dozen feet up. I don’t see Jacob, but Gesina is pulling herself into the copter from a hanging rope ladder. There’s something strange about her shape and, when she heaves her torso into the helicopter, I see what looks like a long white fluffy tail hanging from her butt.
WTF? I blink a few times to clear my sight. I catch one last glimpse of the tail as Gesina hauls her legs into the helicopter. Once she’s inside, it tilts to turn north. I see Jacob’s familiar profile strapped into one of the seats, his head hanging limp and bobbing with the movement of the copter.
Despite my confusion, my training kicks in and I find myself examining the helicopter for identifying marks. Nothing. I mean, absolutely nothing, all black with no markings on the machine or the people inside it. It’s definitely not legal to fly that thing inside the city limits.
The helicopter is out of sight before I’m able to move more than my head. My dragon strains against my consciousness, clamoring to pursue Gesina. I jump to my feet and scan the crowd that has gathered around us and the burning car. Three burly Good Samaritan types are hauling the slightly blackened Secret Service agents out of the car. At least half of the people have their cell phones out, taking videos and pictures to post to Facebook and Twitter. Crap. There’s no way I can change here. Even if I turned on the invisibility mode as soon as I changed, there would be a fraction of a second my dragon form would be exposed, and someone would catch the image, I’m sure. Two Number One rule violations in twenty-four hours probably wouldn’t be good for my health.
Sani groans and rolls to his back. I run to him. When I see a giant red-soaked spot on his chest, I trip over my own damned feet and stumble to a stop on the ground next to him.
“Sani?” I peel his sticky shirt back to expose a bloody hole marring his otherwise perfect chest. I notice the first shot, a through and through on his bicep, has already healed.
“I’m all right,” he says, but I can’t imagine how that’s even close to the truth.
I wipe the warm blood away as best as I can with my hands to get a better look at the wound. Dragons heal fast, and he’s already stopped bleeding, but it’s awfully close to…
“Did it hit your—” I choke on a sob and cough to cover it up.
“Yeah,” he says. “It hit my left heart. I think it’s just a nick, though. Still beating.”
While in human form, a second heart is redundant. We can live if one of them is damaged, but it takes both hearts to maintain dragon form and we can’t change if one is even a little injured.
A few annoying, but well-intentioned, members of the crowd move closer to us, and sirens sound a mile or two away. Movement in the wound catches my eye and I lean over Sani, as close as I can, to shield him from the crowd around us. I tangle my legs in his and wrap my arms around his neck, as if we’re lovers. As if.
I dream of being this close to Sani every day, but I never wanted it to be like this. His eyes dart to my lips then back to my eyes before he says anything. “What are you—” His question is cut short by a grunt of pain low in his throat. “Oh.” He wraps his right arm around my waist and his arm tightens in pain. His fingers dig into my skin, but I don’t mind.
The bullet wiggles its way out of the wound and I slide my hand along his torso to his chest to catch it before anyone around us can see. It’s kinda slimy and disgusting, but I don’t let it show on my face. Dragons’ bodies always reject any foreign material this way; we can’t even pierce our ears, and tattoos are way out of the question. I’ve seen something like this happen a few hundred times before, but I know it’s not something human bodies do, and we don’t need any more questions.
I stare into Sani’s eyes, enjoying the view while I’m here. His wound doesn’t worry me as much anymore; he’s breathing steadily, and he has no symptoms of shock.
“Kitty,” Sani says. “We have to go.”
/> I look around at all the people—no, use the proper term; they’re witnesses now—surrounding the car and the two of us. “We can’t. How are we going to explain this?”
“We have to,” he whispers. “And now. We need to call the Secret Service and DIC so they can get on this right away. They may even be able to intercept the helicopter if we’re fast enough.”
He’s right and I know it, even if I don’t like it. “Can you run?” I ask, trying to assess his health with a glance at his wound. It’s starting to close up.
“Yeah. I’m in top shape,” he says, smirking. “I can outrun you.”
“Don’t make me make you eat your words, Mathe,” I say. “Pull your hood up. Straight for our packs, then inside the school to the photo lab. Don’t stop for anything. Ready?”
He nods.
“One. Two. Three.”
…
Sani’s true to his word and beats me to the photo lab by a couple seconds. Though I know he’s not in top shape; if that were true, he would have been here before I got in the building. There had been a few confused shouts when we started running, but nobody followed us in time to find us in the windowless room of the photo lab. We dart inside and lock the solid steel door. I pull out my Secret Service phone and my thumb hovers over the dial button. Even in my often-imagined worst-case scenarios, this is a call I never thought I’d have to make. My hand shakes and the phone’s screen goes out of focus.
Sani knows why I hesitate. “I can do it,” he offers.
It’s truly tempting, but I know it would be wrong. This is my responsibility.
My contact picks up before the end of the first ring. “Draco Three?” For the first time in three years, he doesn’t sound bored.
“We lost him.” I try to keep all emotion out of my voice, and I have no idea if I succeed.
“Dammit!” my contact shouts, and I hear a loud crash in the background. I flinch at the sound. Sani wraps a strong arm around my shoulders and pulls me to his side.
“Draco Four was shot. I was…” What was I? Bewitched? Entranced? I thought Gesina was a dragon, but I’ve never seen a dragon with a long white fluffy tail. And only Chinese dragons have special abilities. What should I tell him? I’ll be in enough debriefings after this without them thinking I’m delusional. “I’ll file a full report later.”
I give my contact the immediately salient details and hang up, sliding the phone into my pocket. If that helicopter is still in the air, they’ll find it. They have to.
“Now for the scary part.” I force a laugh to conceal the lump in my throat. “I have to tell my mom I screwed up a second mission within twenty-four hours.”
My voice wavers as I speak, betraying emotions I’ve spent years learning to suppress. This is why they warn against getting close to assignments. My mind keeps showing me Jacob’s limp form soaring away from me as I stand there, helpless. I clench my fists to keep my hands from shaking.
Taking a deep, slow breath, I focus on what I can do. I dig around in my backpack for my DIC phone, a new-model Android. My Secret Service one is a crappy bare-bones flip phone—figures. I unlock the screen but, before I can dial, I see a text message waiting for me. I don’t recognize the number. I tap the icon and it says:
Check CNN. Don’t come home. Don’t respond. Ditch this phone now.—Number One
The voice message icon sits at the top of the screen, but that’s no surprise; I never check those. Anyone who has ever met me knows to text me instead. Even Director Bean has Marcy text me if he really needs me right away. She doesn’t always get the shorthand right, but I appreciate that she tries.
I show the message to Sani. “Number One?” he asks.
“Wallace. It’s what they were calling him because of last night’s mission.” I make for the door. Sani grabs my arm to stop me.
“Check CNN,” he says, motioning to the text still on the screen. How does he always manage to stay so calm? I feel like a bull in a china closet next to his steady form.
“Why? It’s probably news about Jacob. I don’t want to see that.”
He raises his eyebrows just a little and glances to my Android. “The time stamp was for ten minutes ago, before they even got in the car.”
I sigh and open up the browser, not wanting to see the consequences of my latest mistake splattered across the headlines. CNN’s website is very mobile-friendly so the picture related to their top story displays in seconds. It’s a still from the Lebanese security camera.
Of Wallace just after changing.
Simply seeing this knocks the breath out of my lungs. I’ve always heard people say that their blood ran cold, but could never really imagine how that would feel. I thought it was just a human thing. Now I know it’s not. I shiver from the force of it.
The headline underneath reads, “U.S. admits to existence of dragon shapeshifters after video leak.” And below that one, “President assures all dragons are now confined and under control.” And finally, “Dragons aren’t a hoax.” Every one of these stories has been posted in the last hour. I don’t tap on them to read them. I don’t need to; I know what they say.
Sani reads silently over my shoulder. The scent of blood and sweat overpowers the always-present chemical stench in the lab. He’s stunned for a minute, then finally manages one word. “Confined?”
We both sort of glare at the picture for a while, hoping to make it not true with the force of our stares. It doesn’t work.
“If this is true, they’re probably looking for us,” Sani says. And he knows a thing or two about governments tracking him down. “Check your voicemail.”
I have two messages from today. One from my mother—who may sound normal to everyone else but I can hear the distress in her voice—telling me I’ve been immediately recalled and I need to come home. She’s given me thousands of orders over the years; I can tell she doesn’t mean this one. The second message is from a male voice I don’t recognize. He says he’s with the CIA and I need to come home right away. For my own protection.
Right. There aren’t many certainties in my world but I know this: when someone says they’re doing something for your protection, it’s complete and total BS.
“My guess is they’re all being held by the CIA. How did Wallace get a message to you?” Sani asked.
I shrug. “Someone must have been stupid enough to leave him alone with a computer or cell phone. Most people don’t realize that passwords don’t protect you from someone like Wallace.”
“Okay.” I can see the resignation take over as Sani says this. “Ditch the phone, like he says. They can track it. I’ll leave mine here, too.”
“Yeah.” GPS tracking is only accurate to one hundred feet. “Let them search every supply closet and crawl space in this school.”
“Should you drop the Secret Service phone, too?”
It’s a legit question. Should I? SS phones are bounced off a gazillion satellites and not easily traceable—but if anyone outside of DIC could do it, the CIA could. The number isn’t written anywhere. Only three people know it: the president, Jacob, and my contact. And if anyone does find out the number? They can back-trace it to a man named Jethro Johnson in Beaver Creek, Montana. It’s the only way I have of contacting any of them. But can I trust them not to turn me in?
“No,” I say. “I’ll keep it for now.”
I grab the phone he’s holding out, throw both of the DIC phones in the chemical supply closet, and latch the door.
“All right, let’s get out of here.” If I keep moving, maybe I won’t completely freak out. I know myself well enough. If I think too much about the last sixteen hours, I won’t be able to leave this room.
Sani looks ready to burst out of the door, but then turns to me with his eyebrows squished together over his wide nose. “Where are we going?”
“Gesina’s house.”
“Is that wise?” my careful, calm Sani says. “There’s a good chance we’re being hunted, and we’re just going to stroll up to an ambassa
dor’s house?”
“What did the president say?” I throw up air quotes. “‘All dragons are confined and under control.’ We know he knows about us. He’s lying. The CIA may be looking for us, but they don’t want most people to know it, certainly not foreign officials. Besides, her name’s the only lead we have at this point.”
Sani’s lips tighten in concentration. “You’re probably right. But let’s get a change of clothes from the athletic department before we head out. The pictures and videos from the abduction are probably all over the internet by now.”
“Yeah.” I motion to the dark red Rorschach on his shirt. “And you’re a mess.”
As we head out into the hallway, Sani asks, “What are the chances Gesina returned to her house after kidnapping the president’s son?” It’s a rhetorical question.
We’re foot soldiers, not strategists. Both of us are used to waiting for orders and doing only what it takes to carry them out. But my entire command structure is out of commission, and I just can’t sit here while that girl gets away with my friend.
“Gesina’s address is the one solid piece of information I have right now. I have to do something. Unless you have a better idea?”
Sani’s mouth sets into a hard line and he shakes his head. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Five
“Gesina isn’t home,” the ex-NFL-wannabe in a monkey suit tells Sani. The German ambassador’s house is one of the older brick buildings in downtown D.C., converted to a swank loft-style condo. This guy apparently stands inside the door just to say “boo” to whoever knocks.
“Of course she’s not,” I mumble. “Because she’s out kidnap—oomph.” Sani’s elbow to my stomach stops the words in my throat.
I hadn’t dared to hope the girl would make it easy on us by coming home, but any information we can find out is better than the diddly-squat we currently have. I stare at the sweat dripping down the forehead of this very human security guard and wonder how a dragon ended up the daughter of a German ambassador. Was she adopted? Or is the ambassador an undocumented dragon, too? Dragons are naturally solitary and suspicious creatures, so nobody really knows how many are prowling about, masquerading as humans. “Do you have any idea when she’ll be home? She left this assignment at school,” Sani says as he pulls a random piece of paper out of his backpack. “It’s due tomorrow; I’d hate for her to get a bad grade on it.” His eyes are so earnest that I almost believe it, and I suddenly hate how this job has made a liar out of him. When I first met him, he couldn’t have told a lie to save his life—and now he has to do just that over and over again. “Do you think I’m dumb enough to give out the ambassador’s daughter’s schedule to total strangers?” the goon asks.
Dragons Are People, Too Page 4