“Hey! Your mother tried to kill my father first.”
“Yeah, but she didn’t, did she? He’s alive and well.”
We have two very different definitions of “well.” “So you want me because my mother is more effective than yours? You’re telling me you played along with this whole thing just to get at me?”
“Well, that, and to see your government squirm around like a bunch of ants someone just poured water on.” She giggles like a child playing in a sandbox.
This girl is seriously twisted. I have to get control of the situation. And fast. I do the math: a two-hundred pound man will take about two point five seconds to fall ten stories. Two point five seconds. That’s cutting it close.
“Okay, well,” I say, shrugging. “It’s been great reminiscing, but I think I’ll be going now.” I turn around. I don’t even know where I find the self-control to pretend like I don’t care what will happen to Sani. Maybe my father lent me some along with the guns.
“No!” the kitsune yells, her German accent slipping into a soft Japanese one. I hear her heart quicken to a frenzy. Any time now.
I keep walking until I hear the sound of Sani’s feet slipping on concrete. The Yakuza soldiers already lean toward that edge, ready to watch him fall. I leap into the air and back flip three times across the length of the roof. The fourth back flip sends me sailing into the kitsune, knocking us both off the roof. I think my therapist might have something to say about how jumping off a roof is my definition of gaining control of a situation.
Airborne, I kick the kitsune in her gut before she has a chance to voodoo me. I shift for what I hope is the second-to-last time today and propel myself toward the ground. Sani is too far away from me, bound and plummeting toward the asphalt. Two point five seconds doesn’t seem like a lot of time until the love of your life is falling to his possible death just out of your reach, hours after you finally admit how you feel about him. Then, two point five seconds is an eternity.
I’m getting closer to him, but he’s getting closer to splatting on the street below. His eyes are wide open, staring into mine with complete indifference. I’d be screaming my head off if the situation were reversed. She’s whammied him. The strength of his stare seems to pull me closer, giving me an extra burst of speed.
With three-tenths of a second to spare I swoop underneath Sani, catching him in the coils of my dragon body. Relief floods through every fiber of my body when a fast breath escapes his mouth. Sani is alive.
The kitsune has shifted into a full-on white fox form and somehow manages to land on her feet. The tiny crack of a single bone breaking rings up and down the street. She pulls one front paw up close to her body, whimpering. Even in the tiny fox eyes, I can see the hate there. Her gaze follows me, then looks down at her broken leg. She shakes her head in disgust and scampers into a dark alley on three feet.
Chapter Twenty
I return to the roof, readying myself to help Marcy fight off half an army of mobsters. I’m expecting a war zone, but the Yakuza seem to be standing around in a confused stupor. They mutter to each other in perturbed tones and stare at me like I’m the first monster they’ve ever seen.
The influence of the kitsune must have fallen away from them when she made her escape. They’re not looking at us like sworn enemies, but they’re not really sure why we’re crawling all over their turf either. I’m a fan of getting out of here before they figure it out.
I fly over to the roof door to call down to Jacob, Director Bean, and Dominic. Marcy opens the door. They’re all standing just on the other side, ears pressed to an invisible plane that had been a door a second ago. Only Jacob has the decency to look guilty. At least the other two cast a concerned glance around the roof until they spot Sani and let out a collective sigh.
The guilt on Jacob’s face gives way to awe. This is the first time Jacob’s seen me in my dragon form, and he was kidnapped before getting to see the footage of Wallace. Like Sani says, knowing and seeing are two very different things.
“Holy shit, you’re a dragon!” he says.
“I told you,” I remind him.
“Yeah, but—I don’t know. I thought maybe you were speaking in metaphors or something. You’re an actual, flying, fire-breathing dragon.”
“I don’t have any fire breath.”
“Oh, that sucks,” Jacob says.
“Tell me about it.” I sigh. It’s a sore spot between me and just about every English dragon I’ve ever met.
Director Bean glances meaningfully around at the Yakuza men on the roof. “We should probably get out of here. They only helped and housed me because they were all under Inari’s spell.”
“Inari?” I ask.
Director Bean settles his unsettling gray eyes on me. “The kitsune’s real name.”
“Are you sure it’s her real name?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “You never know with a kitsune.”
So why the hell would you hire one? I don’t start this argument; there’s time for it later. Right now, I have a daring rescue to pull off.
“Ready for the hard part?” I ask
“Hard part?” Jacob’s jaw drops. “Kitty, you have three gunshot wounds and Sani was just pushed off a building.”
I shrug. “I’m not saying that was pleasant, but I’d do it three times over again if I didn’t have to deal with the media.”
Jacob takes a step into the sunlight and puffs out his chest. His golden hair shines in the rays of light and his blue eyes practically glow. “Just let me do all the talking.”
Gods help us.
I stretch out the length of my dragon body. “Okay, everybody on.”
“There are five of us,” Dominic points out.
“Ooh, guys, look who learned to count!” I coo.
“You don’t have to be such a b—” He glances at Jacob before continuing “—be so mean. You said you couldn’t carry both Sani and me.”
“Across the country. We’re just going to the next building over to make a dramatic entrance for the camera. I can make it.”
I’m pretty sure, anyway.
They climb on, and I rise shakily into the air. The weight is tough enough, but it’s the balancing act that has my muscles aching before we cross above the street. I pool my last reserves of energy and focus on keeping my passengers from tottering too much. Dropping the president’s son a few stories on national television wouldn’t do a whole lot of good for my dubious reputation.
Jacob whoops as we cross over the roof ledge of the building where the reporter waits, red light flashing on her camera.
“We made it!” he shouts, grinning at the camera lens. “I can’t wait to go home.”
I can’t blame him for not realizing the effect his words have on the rest of our group. Sani and Marcy must be thinking the same thing I am: we have no home we can go to.
Chapter Twenty-One
Every TV station has been playing the same five minutes of film over and over for the last twenty-four hours. Me, flying from the Yakuza rooftop across to “safety,” where the reporter and cameraman just happen to be. The five people might have been a little too much weight for me, but the lumbering flight path only makes for an even more dramatic image. Human-form Sani leaps to the rooftop to help Director Bean, Dominic, and Jacob disembark before I take off again. We hadn’t wanted to wait around in case any CIA clowns showed up.
Jacob is perfection. He shakes and takes deep, shuddering breaths when recounting his “horrific” kidnapping, but seamlessly slides into an awed, grateful kid as he describes his rescue.
“There aren’t many people who would face an armed mob for me, especially when we have her family in a cage. She took three bullets for me and kept going. She’s a hero.”
Maybe it’s too much, but he sells it like a three in the morning infomercial. With his wide, blue eyes and strategically winking dimples, he looks like a little kid, not the sixteen-year-old charmer I know so well. There isn’t a single living soul who w
ould dare to contradict him. Or so you would think.
A stony-faced Secret Service media representative fills the screen, microphones jostling in front of him, vying for position. A harsh sun lights up half his face and casts the other half in deep shadow. This was obviously a hastily assembled press conference. “The Secret Service is collaborating with the CIA and FBI to investigate all events preceding and following Jacob’s ordeal.”
Yeah, I’m sure the CIA is taking an unbiased approach to the investigation.
An unseen female reporter shouts a question. “What can you tell us about the dragon who rescued him?”
I hate this part, every time. “We are making no assumptions at this time. Eyewitness accounts of the kidnapping indicate an individual with similar abilities to the dragons who committed the kidnapping in the first place.”
Ugh. He didn’t say it outright, but he implied it: a dragon doing the kidnapping negates a dragon doing the saving. It’s not even a dragon! But can we tell the world about the kitsune? They probably won’t handle the news too well, much less be able to tell the difference between us.
Sani tightens his arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer to his side, placing a gentle kiss on the top of my head. We’re sitting in another fancy hotel room courtesy of Wallace and CINDY, registered to one Mary Smith, who just so happens to look exactly like Marcy, who nobody is currently hunting. She’s sitting at the table in the kitchen reading the same magazine page for the last two hours, as far as I can tell. Dominic returned Jacob and the “rescued” Director Bean to his employers this morning for debriefing.
All Sani and I can do now is wait. Wait for the president to make his move. Wait to see where the spinning wheel of public opinion lands. Wait to see if I’ll end up a lauded hero or a hunted criminal. Wait to see if storm troopers bust down our door with tear gas and riot shields.
I hate waiting. I’d rather have the SWAT team.
I let out a loud sigh. “Isn’t there anything else on? Cartoons?”
Sani picks up the remote control and simply turns off the TV. I’m not sure if the silence roaring from Marcy’s corner is any better.
I trace the lines on Sani’s palm in my lap. There are people who claim you can know anything you need to by looking at someone’s palm, if you know what to look for. I’m not one of those people. I saw everything I needed to know on the roof today, Sani begging me to leave, knowing it would mean his death. And then again when I leaped after him, and he didn’t doubt me for a second. Or two point two seconds.
Marcy hasn’t spoken since we arrived at the hotel. So when she does now, I leap like a dreaming dog who’s been rudely woken. “He did it for you, you know. For us.”
I know she believes it. I know she needs to believe it. So I don’t say anything even though I’m not convinced. Director Bean is one of the most secretive, manipulative humans in the known universe. He is the spy other spies study and aspire to be. I think he saw his main source of power yanked out from underneath him and made a desperate bid to take it back. A bid I upped the ante on by going all in. I am definitely not leaving my back unguarded until I figure out exactly what hand he’s holding.
Nobody else says anything for several minutes. The air conditioner kicks on and whooshing air fills the silence. Marcy stands and retreats to her bedroom.
I’m melting into Sani’s arms, drifting away from the thousands of thoughts wrestling for my attention when my cell phone rings. It’s a miracle that thing’s still working. I groan and snuggle farther into Sani’s embrace, but he shifts underneath me, and the ringing gets closer.
“It could be important, Kitty,” he says, pressing the phone into my palm.
I groan but answer the call in a singsong voice. “Kitty Lung, hero or terrorist, you take your pick.”
“Thank you,” the president’s voice says, full of emotion. “I can never thank you enough for returning Jacob to me.”
Despite the devil-may-care tone of my voice, I sit up straight, nerves taut as a violin string. “I gave you your family back. From where I’m sitting, the payback is pretty obvious.” Sani’s arms tighten around me, supporting and comforting me at the same time.
The president lets out a breath like a balloon plucked by a needle. “I can’t release the dragons, Kitty.”
A boulder rises up in my throat and, with considerable effort, I swallow it down. “You are the president of the United States. You can do whatever the hell you want.”
“Popular misconception.” He laughs sadly. “I am working on it, I promise. Director Bean has been helping me. But so far, the CIA is calling the shots on this one.”
My brain screams at me: Liar! Liar! Liar! He lies so easily and so convincingly. I know I can’t believe a word he says, but I want to.
I don’t know what to say. Do I keep him as a friend or threaten him? Gods, I wish my mother were here. I’ve been quiet for too long. The president clears his throat, but I still don’t respond.
“Give me some time,” he says.
My dragon gives a little roar inside of me. Liquid steel runs through my veins. Maybe my mother is with me after all, in some way. “You know what I’m capable of, Mr. President. I will not wait forever.”
I hang up and toss the phone across the room to land on a cushy armchair. Sani pulls me into his lap, cradling my head on his shoulder.
“How long will you wait?” he asks, pressing his lips to my temple.
A yawn tugs at my jaw and I give in to it. “First, I’m going to sleep for about a week.”
His hot breath rushes across my skin as a soft laugh escapes his lips. I snuggle in closer to him, wrapping an arm around his stomach.
“And after the fierce dragon has had her catnap?”
Determination slides down my spine, stiffening my resolve. After everything, I’m not even entirely sure who’s on my side anymore. I may not know the how, where, and when, but the “what” is the only thing that matters. “I’m getting my family back.”
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Acknowledgments
The first thanks goes to Chelsea Scheid, without whom this book would never exist—in many ways. Without you, my sky would have no sun. Eternal gratitude to Brenda Drake, who gave me the encouragement to keep going when I needed it most and for being one of the first to read this book! I have to say thanks to my dear, sweet Meg who gives me continuous encouragement and gave me a great critique of this book. Many thanks go to Jessica Souders who has helped me, cheered me on, and talked me down from several ledges. And what would I do without David Tiffany, who has proofread everything I’ve ever written and then buys it on release day, which messes up his Amazon recommendations! I’m so grateful to have my sister, Kayelee, to bounce ideas off of and to tell me when she thinks something’s stupid—and to give me the sweetest, most perfect little niece this year! (I love you, Alice! You can read this in about 13 years!) Many thanks to mama and daddy, who have always worked so hard to give me and K everything we could ever need.
If I listed every person who’s helped me along this journey, the acknowledgments would be longer than the book! Many thanks go to: Maurice Forrester, who was the first to suggest I write a full-length book; the past and current members of Yatopia and the YA Rebels; every member of every writing group I’ve ever been in, but especially Mike Taylor and Lisa Iriarte; everyone who’s ever gone on a writing retreat with me; every agent and editor who provides free and plentiful advice, especially Colleen Lindsay, who taught me so much when I first started learning about the industry; every blogger and reader who has helped spread the word about this book, even before it came out; every teacher who never gave me a hard time
about reading in the back of the class; and every single person who has encouraged or informed me in any way—you are not forgotten!
Much love to my agent, Rebecca Podos, for believing in this book and really getting Kitty, faults and all. I’m indebted to Terese for picking my book up and going to bat for it, and to Kate Brauning for giving it her all in edits! The entire team at Entangled is amazing and I’m so blessed to work with all of you.
About the Author
Sarah is a 30-something YA author who currently lives in Orlando with a 60-lb mutt who thinks he’s a chihuahua. She believes that some boys are worth trusting, all girls have power, and dragons are people too.
She’s a proud member of the Gator Nation and has a BS in Mechanical Engineering, but has switched careers entirely. She now works as an Event Coordinator for a County Library and as a freelance book publicist and author’s assistant.
Find out more about her at www.sarahnicolas.com and check her out on Twitter @sarah_nicolas.
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