Fireborn (The Dark Dragon Chronicles Book 2)

by Ripley Harper

  And again. And again. And again.

  Again.

  I have dreamed of that fight almost every night since, but even in my dreams Jeffrey dies instantly, falling awkwardly after a single blow, the way the coroner described his death at the inquest.

  I knew I’d killed him, of course. Even Jack Pendragon’s bloodmagic wasn’t enough to make me forget that. But the primitive savagery of the attack had somehow been deeply suppressed, and watching it now, in black and white, is enough to make me physically sick.

  “There’s more,” Ingrid tells me quietly.

  “No.”

  “It’s not as bad as this. The footage was taken from the hall cameras and shows you dragging your friends outside. Oh, and apparently the office camera shows you trying to break a lock. All the rest is footage of the fire.”

  “How did this survive?” Gunn asks.

  “The cameras in the library and the hall were destroyed in the fire,” Ingrid says, “but the images were broadcast to the principal’s office, which didn’t burn down. We knew about this; the police found the footage during their investigation, but they promised to keep it quiet. Or rather, Jack Pendragon made them promise, which is why I put the issue from my mind.”

  “So how did it end up on the internet?”

  She pulls her lips into a thin line. “According to Maggie, Amanda Roberts, one of the girls who were kept hostage, managed to get her hands on it somehow. Maggie said she posted it on Facebook yesterday, hoping it would make her famous.”

  I stare at Ingrid’s computer, dumbstruck. She has an old-fashioned screensaver: a bunch of colorful bubbles slowly bouncing around, bumping into each other aimlessly.

  “What’s going to happen now?” I ask in a small voice.

  “People will probably want to re-examine the incident,” Ingrid says. “That footage is very powerful, and Maggie says that the latest videos on social media have been edited to make the material even more sensationalist.”

  I put my head in my hands.

  “We’ll do what we can to contain this. Jack Pendragon’s people are working hard to block the video wherever it pops up, but they say it’s like playing whack-a-mole. It might be a better idea to organize a town meeting tonight to address people’s questions. If he leads the meeting, it might be enough to stem the tide.”

  “It’s too late for that, I’m afraid.” Jack Pendragon enters the study. He’s careful to avoid my gaze, addressing Ingrid instead. “I hate to say this, but all the bloodmagic in the world won’t help you now.”

  “Never mind magic!” I cry. “Can’t we just throw money at the problem? Surely you can hire, I don’t know, a hacker, or whatever, to get rid of it? I mean, Maggie’s good, but she’s not a professional. If we—”

  “I’m afraid you don’t know the worst of it,” he interrupts, glancing at me quickly before addressing Ingrid again. “It’s gone viral.”

  “No.” I put a hand over my mouth.

  “How bad is it?” Gunn asks.

  “Not good.” For the first time since I’ve met him, Jack Pendragon seems almost subdued. “In the past fifteen minutes, I’ve been contacted by two major news networks. The story isn’t just local any longer.”

  Gunn picks up the remote and switches on the TV in the corner. He flicks a few times to reach the news channels. Financial news. Flick. An earthquake in Japan. Flick. A celebrity break-up. He flicks again.

  There’s a photo of Jeffrey on the screen.

  “Disturbing video footage has emerged on social media,” a woman’s voice says in a cool, clipped tone, “featuring what appears to be two cold-blooded murders caught on a small-town high school’s security camera.”

  Miss Anderson’s photo replaces Jeffrey’s.

  “The video shows a student, who has now been positively identified as Jeffrey Roland Black, shooting a teacher in the school library. According to police records, the teacher, Gloria Anderson, died instantly, while the shooter later died in a fire he had set himself.”

  My face fills the screen.

  “At the time, Black’s death was ruled an accident, but the new footage shows what appears to be a brutal attack on him by another—female—student. Our sources have identified the attacker as Jezebel Sarkany, who was seventeen at the time of the incident. Sensitive viewers are warned that the following contains graphic images of violence.”

  They show a short, edited clip of the footage I’ve just watched with Gunn, and condensed like that the violence seems even more extreme. I remember how scared and desperate I’d been at the time, but on TV I look like nothing less than a crazed, vengeful killer.

  After the video, they cut back to the studio anchor, a blonde woman in a bright red jacket. They know all our names and addresses; they know what happened to the school; they’ve found discrepancies in the police reports; they’re investigating the issue; they will keep viewers updated.

  Gunn switches channels. Another old photo of me. Flick. The Earthquake. Flick. The blackened remains of our school. Flick. The celebrity break-up. Flick. Jeffrey Black’s face.

  He switches off the TV.

  Nobody says anything.

  Zig does his appearing-out-of-nowhere trick. “There’s a group of reporters waiting outside the house,” he says. “They’re setting up cameras everywhere. We should get her out of here now.”

  “She must return to the compound immediately,” Jack Pendragon says. “It’s the only place they won’t be able to get to her. If we keep her out of the spotlight, it will soon blow over.”

  “No. This isn’t going to go away, and hiding her isn’t the answer,’” Gunn says. “We should be thinking about a strategy—if we play our cards right, we could use this to our advantage. Perhaps she should give a short statement.”

  “You cannot be serious,” Zig snarls.

  “Why not? The White Lady is secrecy-obsessed and deeply suspicious of the world outside the Order. Some notoriety could really help us.”

  “I knew you were deluded, Waymond, but I had no idea how deep your delusion went.” Zig’s silver eyes flash dangerously. “We have hidden these monsters for centuries, for reasons you understand just as well as I do.”

  “Right now, our priority is keeping her alive,” Gunn says. “If we don’t play this tactically, we won’t stand a chance.”

  “You’re being blinded by your feelings and it’s putting us all in danger.”

  “You’re the one who’s blind, Zig.”

  “I’m taking her to my house right now,” Jack Pendragon says.

  “Like hell you are,” Ingrid tells him. “I’m not letting her put a foot in that –”

  But she doesn’t finish her sentence because the next minute the room explodes in a shatter of bullets, and I’m knocked to the floor by a sharp, painful blow to the head.

  Chapter 8

  Siegfried (Sivrit in Middle High German) or Sigurd (Siguror in Old Norse) is a legendary hero in both Norse and Germanic literature, and although these traditions do not always agree on the particulars of his adventures or the manner of his death, his outstanding strength, courage, and chivalry are common to both.

  Because the Norse versions predate the Germanic myths, it has been argued that the former must present the more accurate version. However, this is highly unlikely in view of the fact that it is only in the Germanic legends that the hero first slays a dragon and then bathes in its blood, an act which hardens his skin to the point where he becomes invulnerable to attack.

  From Beyond the Legend: Dragonslayers in History (1969),

  by Lady Sarah Jane Shawcross

  I suspect I must’ve been knocked out for a few seconds because when I open my eyes again, I’m trapped.

  I can’t move. It’s even difficult to breathe.

  The immediate, overwhelming sense of claustrophobia makes me break out in a panicked sweat. I’m being crushed by a hard, unfamiliar body, and I can’t breathe.

  “Get off me!” I shove against the solid weight. “Get off
!”

  A calloused hand clamps over my mouth. “Shut up,” Zig hisses.

  “I can’t breathe.”

  “Tough luck.” But despite his harsh words the pressure on me eases slightly, and I manage to move an inch, just enough to see what’s going on.

  We’re crammed under Ingrid’s massive wooden desk, which has been overturned to act as a kind of shield. Gunn is half-crouching on one side, and Zig has thrown his entire body over mine.

  “There are three of them. Snipers. Professional.” Gunn’s eyes are closed and he’s frowning in concentration.

  “Location?”

  “One’s in the back garden and one’s in the upper front window of the house across the street. The third one’s shooting from the roof on the right. He’s got a clear view of this side of the house.”

  “We need to get her to Pendragon’s car,” Zig says. “It’s armored.”

  “As soon as we move, the sniper on the rooftop will make us. And the other two are covering both the front and back entrances.”

  “I’ll distract them; you take her and run,” Zig says.

  “Too risky; she might get hurt. You take her while I draw their fire.”

  “They’ll kill you.”

  “Better me than her.”

  “Don’t you dare,” I tell Gunn, pushing against Zig’s surprisingly heavy weight on my chest, trying to squirm loose. “You’ve only been back in my life for five minutes. I’m not losing you again.”

  “They’re not trying to get me; you’re the target. We need to distract them or you’re dead.”

  “Are you ready?” Zig asks Gunn. “As soon as you move, I’ll take her and run.”

  “I’m ready,” Gunn says.

  “Just wait a minute!” I give Zig another shove. “Wasn’t there a whole bunch of reporters outside the front door a minute ago? What could be a better diversion than that?”

  “Out of the question.” Zig doesn’t even consider the idea.

  Luckily Gunn is less of a blockhead. “She’s right.” He opens his eyes for the first time, flashing me a dazzling smile. “Clever girl.”

  “We cannot draw the uninitiated into our affairs,” Zig says. “It is absolutely forbidden.”

  “They’re already involved. We need to –” Gunn shuts his eyes again, frowning. Then he swears. “There are more coming. It’s the real deal: a full Skyguard unit, heavily armed. We’re out of time.”

  “We can handle one unit.”

  “Both Ingrid and Jack Pendragon are down,” Gunn says, his voice emotionless.

  I pull in my breath in a shocked little hiss. “Are they dead?”

  “I’m not sure. But we can’t count on their help. The press outside is now our best chance.”

  “I won’t allow it,” Zig says.

  “It’s happening.” Gunn opens his eyes and looks at me. “Sweetheart, do you trust me?”

  I nod.

  “I’m going to go now,” he says. “But I’m not leaving you, okay? I’ll be back.”

  “Promise.”

  “I promise. But I need you to stay put. For all intents and purposes, Zig is bulletproof. As long as you keep behind him, they can’t hurt you.”

  “But they can hurt you.”

  “Not if I move fast enough.” He winks at me.

  And in a flash—as in, literally, a flash—he’s up and out of the room. The movement is so unnaturally, almost horribly fast that I give a little shudder.

  “Stop that!” Zig’s angry face is inches from mine, his jaw so tightly clenched it seems as if the snake tattoo is moving.

  “Stop what?”

  “Your efforts at seduction are wasted on me.”

  “Seduction?” I gape at him. “Have you lost your mind? I would rather seduce a snake!”

  “That I can well believe.”

  His absolute conviction that I’m the kind of person who’d seduce a snake makes me snort with reluctant laughter. “You are such a piece of work.”

  “You dare laugh at me?”

  “Sorry.” I swallow the rest of my hysterical laughter with some difficulty. Seeing that he’s literally acting as my human shield, it’s probably best not to antagonize him right now. “I guess I’m just nervous.”

  “Neither your laughter nor your cheap attempts at courtesy will ever affect me.”

  I roll my eyes at his utter predictability while I try to wriggle one arm free. Then I give him a little shove against the chest, trying to win some breathing space. Human shield or not, I can’t stand feeling so trapped.

  (Last year the Order’s judges told me that claustrophobia is a well-known weakness of my family, so it’s not as if I’m being difficult on purpose.)

  “Move over a bit, okay? You’re squashing the life out of me.”

  He doesn’t move.

  I glare at him but he turns his head, pretending not to see me, which is ridiculous as there’s only about an inch of space between us. With his face so close to mine, I notice for the first time that the tattoo curling from his neck to his temple isn’t actually a snake but some winged fantasy creature, tumbling from the sky with a sword through its chest.

  Weird.

  I push against him again, using all my strength this time, but he doesn’t budge.

  Perhaps it’s time for another tactic.

  “You know what? I’m starting to think you’re enjoying this.”

  “Enjoying what?”

  “This.” I wave at our bodies pressed together in the small space.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” But the pressure on my chest lets up just the slightest bit.

  “Just admit it,” I say. “You’re starting to suspect that maybe I’m not such a monster after all. And you can’t forget our bee-yootiful kiss…” I make some fake kissing sounds near his ear.

  “You are disgusting!”

  “You want to hug me, you want to kiss me…”

  “Shut up!”

  “You want to love me, you want to marry me…”

  Slam! He smashes his fist down, right next to my face. “Next time I’m aiming at your mouth,” he hisses.

  “Oh, lighten up, would you? I’m just teasing you a little.”

  Both his eyebrows shoot up in surprise, making me think that he hasn’t been teased too often in his life. This close, I can see that his silver eyes are actually a very light, grayish blue-green color, and now that he’s not glowering at me in hatred for once, he looks almost… human.

  But then he turns his head away, makes a strange sign with his thumb over his heart, and starts mumbling that stupid poem again.

  Ugh. You just can’t win with these fanatics.

  For the next few minutes I lie there quietly, trying my best to be good. I mean, everyone always says Zig is the best at what he does, so I should probably just shut up and trust him, right?

  But still. There’s only so much poetic mumbling a person can handle before the blood starts coming out of your ears.

  “Honestly, Zig, shouldn’t you be quiet in a situation like this? Aren’t bodyguards supposed to be, like, stealthy?”

  He gives me a quick, nasty look, but at least he stops mumbling.

  “Why are we lying here anyway? Can’t we make a run for it?”

  By now I’m not even expecting an answer anymore, but he makes that strange sign again before turning his silver gaze on me. “From what Waymond could see of the snipers’ locations, the rooftop assassin has a clear view of the entire room. At the moment he doesn’t seem to know where we are, but there might be trouble if we move. And even if we don’t…” His voice is a drop less poisonous than usual, but he still avoids my eyes, as if he literally can’t bear to look at me.

  “What?”

  “He might guess we’re hiding here, eventually. Or he might get impatient and start shooting at random. The bullets he’s using will cut through this wood like paper, which means you’ll need my protection until we can get you out of here.”

  A shiver of fear ripples through me. �
�Are you really bulletproof?”

  “Human weapons can’t hurt me.”

  “Wow.” I’m impressed in spite of myself. “That’s kind of cool.”

  We both flinch when we hear the sound of gunshots outside. And then screams.

  Zig throws his body tighter over mine until I’m struggling to breathe again. But this time I don’t fight him. Instead I lay completely still, hiding under my bulletproof bodyguard, trying to make myself as small as possible.

  In the tense moments that follow, I can make out the sound of voices yelling in the street and car engines starting up, the faraway bleating of a siren.

  “We need to go!” Gunn yells from the doorway. His face and most of his upper body are covered in blood.

  Zig moves like lighting, unceremoniously throwing me over his shoulder as he explodes into a sprint. It knocks the wind right out of me, but I don’t complain.

  I want to get out of here alive.

  Gunn’s distraction must’ve worked, though, because I don’t hear any shots exploding behind us. We’re out the room, through the hall, down the stairs.

  “Gunn! Are you alright?”

  He ignores me. “Get her to into the car and out of here!”

  “Where are you going?” My panicked voice sounds muffled against Zig’s back.

  “I need to check if Ingrid’s okay. We’ll meet up later. Don’t worry; Zig will keep you safe.”

  And with that he’s gone.

  When we get to the kitchen, Zig plonks me down roughly, grabs a coat from the hook by the back door, and pulls it on. He opens one side, lifts his arms and motions for me to get inside.

  “Come.”

  “Are you seriously planning to smuggle me out of here in your coat?”

  “Get in.”

  I cross my arms, refusing to move. There are real snipers out there who are really trying to kill me. And Zig is only a couple inches taller than me; he’ll look like the Hunchback of Notre Dame if I “hide” in the folds of his coat.