Playing With Fire

by C. J. Hill

Unbidden, a memory of his mother flashed through his mind. He had been at a friend’s house playing and she’d knelt in front of him, crying. “I love you,” she said, “and I’ll come back for you.”

  But she hadn’t. That was when Dirk had first learned that parents could lie.

  His father took out his phone and texted someone. “Keeping a son from me is the sort of spiteful thing she would do. If the boy exists, I’ll find him.”

  Dirk put his spoon on the table. He couldn’t pretend he had an appetite any more. “Are you talking lawyers or kidnapping? Because if Aaron goes missing, the police will look for you. That’s not what you want.”

  His father waved away Dirk’s words. “Bianca doesn’t know where I am or what name I go by now. She won’t be able to tell the police anything.” He stood up, signaling the discussion was over. “Get dressed. We’re going to North Carolina.”

  * * *

  Two hours later, Dirk and his father were strolling across the grounds of the Renaissance festival. The sky was layered with clouds and doing its best to deny the sun’s existence. Autumn leaves drifted to the ground like never-ending litter. As good a day as any for a kidnapping.

  Dirk’s father had sent men to stake out key locations at the fair. Some were dressed as security guards and had bypassed the weapons check at the front gate. If the Slayers attacked, his father’s men would easily be able to take hostages to use in negotiations.

  Dirk’s senses were alert, his powers activated by a simulator in his father’s airplane. Slayers weren’t the only ones who could use technology to their advantage. He didn’t feel anything out of the ordinary—no swirlings of danger to indicate this might be a trap. The only people who were agitated and full of adrenaline were his father’s men.

  Two dozen of them had fanned out and were searching in a grid pattern for a blond-haired, blue-eyed twelve-year-old boy who looked like Dirk.

  The problem was that a lot of boys at the fair fit that description. The men kept snapping pictures and sending them to his father. Every time he opened a new one, he would stare at it as though trying to conjure up a resemblance. He hadn’t been satisfied with any of them.

  “It would be ironic,” Dirk said, “If you got the wrong kid.”

  The sentence was almost the first thing he’d said to his father since the breakfast table. “Some poor seventh grader is wandering around to get extra credit for his history class, and he’s bagged like a safari rhino, dragged into the dragon enclosure, and introduced to Khan. After you revive the kid, you realize it was all a mistake and fly him back to the fair.” Dirk shook his head philosophically. “No one will ever believe his story, and he’ll go through life with a nervous tick.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll find my son.” His father’s phone chimed. Another picture had come through. This one showed a kid who was arguably twelve, skinny as a rail, and had hair so pale he didn’t seem to have eyebrows.

  Dirk shook his head. “Your men think that boy looks like me? Now that’s just insulting.”

  “Idiots. They need to search for someone who looks older than twelve, not younger.” His father spoke as he texted new instructions. “My son will be taller, bigger than average.”

  His men should have known that already. Dirk and his father were both 6’ 2” and broad shouldered.

  The smell of roasted turkey drifted over from one of the stalls, a reminder that Dirk hadn’t had much breakfast.

  “I’m getting something to eat,” he said and headed that way.

  His father wouldn’t be happy with him for walking off, but Dirk couldn’t bring himself to care much today. Let his father be angry. Dirk didn’t want to be here.

  He came back a few minutes later with a turkey leg and a soda.

  His father let out disapproving grunt. “We’re in the middle of a mission. Stop thinking about your stomach.”

  “We’re in the middle of a wild goose chase.” Dirk took a bite of turkey. “You don’t have another son. It’s like you’ve told me all along. Bianca never came to see me because she didn’t care. She wasn’t hiding anything. We’re wasting our time here.”

  Dirk knew his father couldn’t argue the point; wouldn’t change his stance now and say that Bianca had cared about Dirk.

  His father ground his teeth together in annoyance. “I’ll decide when we’re wasting our time.” He viewed the crowd, scowling. “I’m going for a better look at a few of the boys. I’ll call when I need your help.”

  His father strode away, disappearing into the crowd.

  Good.

  With the mood Dirk was in, he was likely to push his father too far. He still couldn’t believe his father had spied on his conversations. Well, Dirk believed it, he just was ticked off about it. He’d have to find a way to detect the spyware and remove it.

  Or better yet, he’d leave it on and get a new phone to talk to Tori with. He’d tell her through her dragon hearing that his phone wasn’t secure anymore, and then the two of them could write cryptic nonsense on his old phone just to drive his father crazy.

  Does the color of the water run clear where you are?

  Yes, and do your sheep eat mustard in their pajamas?

  Dirk took another bite of turkey and scanned the crowd again. Somewhere out there, he had a younger brother, a brother who didn’t know how much danger he was in this very minute.

  Chapter 39

  Aaron sat on a bench by a Ye Olde Chocolate Shoppe, eating a slice of frozen cheesecake. Technically cheesecake wasn’t a Renaissance food, but tourists didn’t care about authenticity when dessert was involved.

  There was only so much to do at a Renaissance fair, and he’d done it all before today, which pretty much left eating as the best thing to do while he waited.

  This morning when he’d gone to Rudolpho’s store to ask if he could pretend to be an employee, the man’s face had gone red and he spat out, “Don’t come near my shop again, or I’ll tell security I’ve caught you shoplifting!”

  Aaron had blinked at him in disbelief. “You’re mad at me? Dude, you’re the one who sold me out. You gave my address to a bunch of teenage ninjas who trashed my house. You owe me for that.”

  “You sold me bad goods!” Rudolpho retorted, shaking his finger. “You knew the scales were dangerous!”

  Aaron backed up, hands raised. “Whatever. If anyone comes looking for dragon scales, tell them I’m selling by the Chocolate Shoppe.”

  Rudolpho kept shaking his finger. “Out!”

  Aaron left.

  Now he ate slowly, making each bite last. As long as he sat here eating something, people wouldn’t wonder why he was alone. He looked like he was just waiting for the rest of his family to join him with their food.

  The cheesecake was tasteless on his tongue. An hour ago, his mom texted that he’d been at Sergio’s too long, and she was coming to pick him up. He turned his phone off after that.

  He didn’t want to upset her, but really, he had to do this for Jacob.

  Aaron jabbed the cheesecake with his fork. Did his mom suspect where he’d really gone? She’d forbidden him from ever going to another Renaissance festival for the rest of his life. Well, mostly she’d forbidden him from ever having anything to do with dragons, and the festivals had been lumped into the restriction.

  At a nearby stage, the audience clapped for a pair of singing nuns. A drummer beat a rhythm for a juggler. Family after family walked by, talking, laughing. Aaron was nearly done with his cheesecake.

  Maybe Tori was right, and this was a bad idea. Maybe the only reason he wanted to be a dragon lord was because it sounded important and cool—and completely different from what his life was really like.

  Being a dragon lord would mean he was special, needed even.

  Aaron took the last bite of his cheesecake. What would be really awesome was if he looked up and saw his dad—his stepdad, Wesley—walking over. Maybe when his mom had realized Aaron was missing, she’d called him. Maybe he would come to the festival to searc
h for him. Wesley would smile when he found Aaron and sit down all concerned, like parents did in the movies.

  “I hear you’re looking for your father,” he would say. “But you don’t have to do that. I’m your father, and I’m coming back. We’re going to be a family again.”

  Aaron looked up. Only the crowd mulled around him.

  Another daydream played out in his mind, this one more likely to happen because it involved Overdrake. Aaron had seen pictures of him in his mother’s albums. He was tall, with dark hair and the same smile Aaron had inherited—a little crooked on one side. In his daydream, Overdrake came up to him hesitantly, and smiling that crooked smile.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you,” he’d say. “It wasn’t my fault. I just found out about you, and I want to make up for all the years we’ve missed. Come with me, and you can have anything you want.”

  The scenario was possible; Overdrake was rich, after all. Aaron’s mother had told him that enough times.

  Aaron would hold out at first, make Overdrake work to convince him. But he’d finally relent and say he would give living with Overdrake a try.

  Aaron peered around. A man was standing about twenty feet away, staring at him. Not Overdrake, just some guy who looked all military-like. Buzzed short hair and beefy arms. He held up a phone in Aaron’s direction and took picture.

  Weird.

  Aaron checked behind him to see if there was something worth taking a picture of back there. The only thing he saw was more people standing around.

  He turned to the buzzed-hair guy again, but he’d walked off a little. The man shot Aaron a furtive glance as he pushed buttons on his phone.

  Was Buzz-guy one of Overdrake’s people?

  If so, why wasn’t he approaching Aaron and pretending to be a dragon scale customer? That’s what someone who worked for Overdrake would do—make sure Aaron was the right kid.

  So if he wasn’t one of Overdrake’s men, who was he? Was Rudolpho pulling something? Maybe his mother had sent some of her friends to search for him.

  Whoever it was, Aaron wasn’t about to hang around here any longer.

  The nice thing about knowing the fairgrounds was that he wouldn’t have trouble losing this guy. Aaron got up and strolled down the street. Buzz-guy followed at a slow pace. Aaron took out his phone, turned it on, and walked into the jousting maze. If the man trailed him inside, Aaron would lose him in the maze. He already knew the solution. If Buzz-guy went to wait for him at the exit, Aaron would simply go back out the entrance.

  As soon as Aaron turned the maze’s first corner, he reversed the direction of the camera on his phone and used it like a mirror to see what the man was doing behind him.

  Instead of either following Aaron inside or going to the exit, Buzz-guy stopped at the entrance and talked on his phone, waving his arm at someone. A man in a security uniform jogged over. Buzz-guy pointed to the maze exit and the security guard went in that direction, while Buzz-guy stayed where he was. They were going to watch both exits, catch him whichever way he went.

  He bit back a groan. Rudolpho must have made good on his threat to turn Aaron in. Now security was after him. Crap. His mom was going to kill him.

  Buzz-guy strode toward the maze entrance. Game over, time to run. Aaron darted out of the maze before the man could completely block the entrance and trap him inside. Sprinting down the street, Aaron weaved between and around tourists and trees. The festival grounds were surrounded by a tall, spiked fence to keep nonpaying customers from sneaking in. Unfortunately, the fence didn’t offer him a lot of ways out. Buzz-guy was chasing after him. He could hear the man’s panting breaths coming closer, catching up. In another few seconds, Aaron would be caught. Would they call the police on him? Could they press charges against him with just Rudolpho’s word?

  Aaron didn’t want to find out, didn’t want his mother to have to pick him up at a police station.

  A large woman in a billowing dress sauntered the opposite way down the street. A man on stilts marched beside her, juggling bowling pins in large looping arcs. Aaron made a move as though he would go around them to the left, then at the last moment, darted right.

  Buzz-guy didn’t switch directions as quickly. Aaron heard the woman’s angry exclamations and the thunks of bowling pins hitting someone. Hopefully Buzz-guy. Aaron checked over his shoulder. Buzz-guy was on the ground, but another security guard had joined the chase: A dark-haired man with an athlete’s build.

  Sheesh, how many people were after him? And why were they all in such good shape? Didn’t police officers sit around and eat donuts anymore?

  Aaron put on a burst of speed. The man had no trouble keeping up. How was Aaron going to lose him? A corner was coming up. Once Aaron went around the building there, he’d have a few seconds until the man caught sight of him again. If he could lose him during those seconds, he’d be able to get away.

  Aaron turned the corner and cut through the crowd. The first shop on his right was a fortune teller’s shack. He plowed through its doors and then stood inside, panting, as he caught his breath. He’d done it. He’d gotten away.

  In front of him, a woman with a turban and way too many bracelets sat at a table with a crystal ball. Another woman, a tourist, sat in a chair across from her. Both stared at him open-mouthed and indignant.

  The fortune teller dropped her hands from the crystal ball. “What are you doing in here?”

  How could he explain? Aaron shrugged, still panting. “If you could really see the future, wouldn’t you know?”

  He’d barely finished speaking when the dark-haired security guard burst into the shack. Ugh. Aaron hadn’t lost him after all. Without a word of explanation, the man lunged at him, arms swinging like a vice. Aaron had no room to maneuver. He leaped onto the table and assessed the situation. Assessing it turned out, was overrated. He needed action. With one swift kick, he sent the crystal ball into the man’s chest. The ball hit him with a thud, and he stumbled backward. Six years of soccer practice had just totally paid off.

  Both women shrieked in surprise and pushed back from the table. The fortune teller’s chair toppled to the ground with a crash of scolding wood.

  Aaron jumped off the other side of the table and used it as a barrier between himself and the security guard.

  “See what I mean?” Aaron said to the fortune teller. “I bet you didn’t see that coming at all.”

  The man wheeled around the table and dove at Aaron. He missed and collided into the back wall, making the whole shack shudder. Aaron dashed passed him, sprinted outside, and ran down the street. He needed a strategy; he needed to be smart about this. He wasn’t going to be able to avoid every security guard in the place. At least, not dressed in a cape and hat.

  He headed into one of the larger buildings, a sit-down restaurant specializing in serving large chunks of meat. As soon as he was through the door, he slowed his pace and took off the cape and hat. He nodded to the hostess, said, “My parents are already sitting down,” and marched past her.

  He chucked his hat and cape into a booth he passed, then continued through the dining room. Several people had their jackets draped over the backs of their chairs. He walked toward a guy leaning forward and plucked off his sweatshirt without breaking stride. By the time Aaron had made it back to the front of the restaurant, he wore a maroon hoodie.

  He pulled the hood down as far as it would go over his face and made his way toward the front gate. People streamed by him on their way in. A group of fiddlers on the side of the street played so loudly, Aaron couldn’t hear footsteps, couldn’t tell if anyone was running to catch up with him.

  He didn’t dare turn around to check; that would give him away.

  He forced himself to walk slowly, tried to look natural. He gazed downward as much as possible, hoping less of his face was visible that way. Just a few more minutes until he reached the front gate.

  He glanced up and saw a security guard ahead. The man was scanning the crowd, wat
ching everyone going toward the exit. He looked in Aaron’s direction.

  Aaron didn’t want to get any closer. He took a sharp turn and headed into an eating area in between food shops.

  Had the man recognized him? Aaron didn’t think so, but he wasn’t going to have an easy time getting by the guy.

  A teenager in a baseball cap sat on a nearby bench, eating a turkey leg. Aaron sank down beside him and hoped the two of them seemed like they were together. He peeked back the way he’d come to see if the security guard was following. No sign of him. Yet.

  “If you’re smart,” the teenager said, “you’ll run.”

  “What?” Aaron turned to get a better look at the guy. He was tall, with football player shoulders, blond hair, and blue eyes. He held a soda and was drinking it casually like he was passing the time of day. Aaron recognized him—or at least thought he did. He couldn’t be sure it was really Dirk.

  “If you’re smart, you’ll run,” the guy said again. “The front gate is the worst way to go. We’re surrounded by two hundred and fifty acres of forest. It would be easier to disappear in there.”

  The guy knew someone was after Aaron. Did that mean Overdrake’s men were the ones chasing him? Why? And where was his father?

  “Who are you?” Aaron asked, eyeing him uncertainly.

  “I’m your brother. And if you stay here . . .”

  Aaron didn’t hear the rest of his words. Something sharp penetrated his hood and burrowed into the back of his neck. He let out a cry of surprise and swiped at the thing. A tiny dart fell to the ground.

  “What’s that?” he asked, outraged. But he already knew. It was some sort of drug, something that would keep him from fighting or calling out for help.

  Dirk sighed and put his soda down onto the bench. “That’s proof you waited too long to take my advice and run. I’ll try not to let this affect my judgment of your intelligence.” He gestured to Aaron’s feet. “My guess is the boots gave you away. They matched the cape. The hoodie—not so much.”

  Aaron got to his feet, anger washing over him. He was having serious second thoughts about his plan to go with Overdrake. Tori was right; his father was psychotic. Why else would he have his men do this sort of thing to a son he’d never met—hunt him like an animal? And what kind of person was his brother that he was willingly part of this?