by C. J. Hill
Ryker’s dad shook his head at the laptop screen. He was nearly growling. “What sort of man tells you not to tell your parents that he wants to train you for life-threatening missions?”
“The sort of man,” Ryker pointed out, “that knows you ran away the first time he told you about dragons. The other Slayers at that camp know about me. They’ve saved me a spot every year, waiting for me to come.” This, surprisingly, had been one of the harder facts for Ryker to realize was true. The other Slayers were at camp right now, wondering if he would ever show up. They must think he was a coward.
Mr. Davis spun on Ryker, his finger pointed in accusation. “We’re trying to save your life. That man will throw it away.”
Ryker raised his voice to match his father’s. “You should have told me who I was. When I was little and was worried that dragons were going to pop out of my closet—you knew why I was afraid of them. You never said one thing about it.” Until Ryker started elementary school, he’d made his father check his closet every night. It was a ritual—his father pushing shirts and toys aside to show that nothing lurked in deep shadows.
“What should I have told you?” his father asked. “That they were real and you were supposed to fight them? That would have given you good dreams.”
“What about now?” Ryker asked, incredulous. “You knew it was in my DNA to fight dragons, but you never did anything to prepare me for it.”
A flush of anger reddened his father’s throat. “I don’t care who your ancestors were. You’re a child. It’s not your responsibility to fight dragons. If you ever hear about an attack, you stay away from it. Do you understand?”
“It’s my life,” Ryker threw back at them. “You can’t make my decisions.”
His mother’s eyes narrowed and her lips tightened into a line. “We can until you’re eighteen. I swear I’ll put a restraining order on Dr. B if he comes near you.” She turned to Ryker’s father, shaking even more now. “We need to read the entire website. We need to know what it says.”
Ryker’s father put his arm on her shoulder and guided her across the room. He shot Ryker a look over his shoulder that said this was far from over, and then his parents disappeared down the hallway to their bedroom.
Ryker stared after them, gritting his teeth. This was turning out really well. They didn’t listen to anything he said, didn’t ask him what he wanted to do. They were determined to treat him like that same five-year-old who had cringed from shadows in his closet.
He stormed downstairs to talk to Willow. It wouldn’t take his parents long to read all the pages on the website. Maybe an hour or two. Once they found the blueprints for the dragon heartbeat simulator, they would realize that’s where Ryker had gotten his strength from. They would come for it. Ryker wasn’t about to give it up.
When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he found Willow leaning against the doorway that led into the rec room. She’d listened to the whole thing. Which was good since it saved him the trouble of having to repeat any of it.
Griffin, Ryker’s dog, sat at Willow’s feet, looking up at her as though he knew she was upset, and was just waiting for her to bend down so he could lick her hands to make her feel better. Stupid dog. Griffin hadn’t even cast a glance at Ryker and he was the one who fed him every day.
Willow sighed. “I just realized why superheroes wear masks. It’s so their parents don’t ground them.”
“We were right not to tell them everything. If they knew—”
“Don’t say it,” Willow looked up the stairs. “They might hear you.”
Ryker strode into the rec room so his voice wouldn’t carry. “What are we going to do?”
Willow followed him, Griffin trotting along at her heels. “What can we do? They won’t let you anywhere near Dr. B. And if you ran away, they’d have the police scouring that camp to find you.”
Ryker turned this over in his mind. Willow was right. Dr. B wouldn’t want police questioning him or looking into his camp. Ryker had been wrong to ever confront his parents about what he’d learned, to think it would make any difference to them that he could pretzelize screwdrivers or leap ten feet into the air. They didn’t care about protecting the country. They were afraid and apparently couldn’t even imagine Ryker might win in a fight against a dragon.
“I’m going to train whether they like it or not,” Ryker said. “They can’t stop me from doing that. I’ll call Dr. B and ask how to access my other power.” He turned and walked toward the boxes where they’d hidden the simulator. Restless energy filled him. He pulled the boxes away from the machine, lifting each as though it were empty. “We need to find a place to hide the simulator.”
“D.C. isn’t that far away,” Willow said, thinking. “We can find a way to see Dr. B without your parents knowing.”
“I’ll have to build a fake simulator—something my parents can get rid of so they think they’re solving the problem.” Ryker had messed up enough times while building the simulator that he had extra parts. He could put something together quickly. It didn’t have to do anything except switch off and on.
He reached the real one. It was silent now and no longer vibrating; still, the thing was big enough that there weren’t many places in the house he could hide it. “I’ll take this to Kyle’s, tell him it’s a science project on measuring hang-gliding trajectories or something.” His friend wouldn’t ask too many questions about why Ryker couldn’t keep it at his house. “I’ll pick it up every time I go hang gliding, which I’ll be doing frequently since you just decided you wanted to learn how to hang glide. We’ll train up on the ridge.”
Willow’s lips twitched. She’d never wanted to hang glide and was probably worried she’d have to show some proficiency at it if they went with that story.
Ryker pulled the simulator into the middle of the room. It had wheels, but with his extra strength, he could carry it. He hefted it onto his shoulder. “I’ll put this in my truck, then I’ll go talk to my parents again—distract them while you drive this to Kyle’s.”
Ryker hadn’t heard Jillian walk downstairs and didn’t know she’d come into the room until she gasped out, “No!”
Then he realized what he should have known all along. When his parents sent Jillian to her room, she hadn’t gone there. She went into the guest bedroom—Willow’s bedroom—right next to the family room. She heard everything he and his parents had said.
Jillian clutched her iPad. He didn’t have to ask what site it was open to. She walked toward Ryker and her hands shook, jiggling the image of a dragon that was on one of the website pages.
“Is this stuff about dragons true?” she asked. “It says their scales are bulletproof. It says they eat people. And what is EMP? What does that mean?”
Ryker put the simulator back on the floor and sighed. Dr. B’s website had lots of gory dragon details on it. They ate voraciously for their first year—people or animals, whichever was easiest to catch—adding to their size until their bodies alone were the size of a large commercial bus. With their wings, tails, and necks added to the picture, they looked more like dinosaurs than animals from this day and age. Dragons could outmaneuver planes and helicopters, and their skin absorbed radar, making it impossible for people to shoot missiles at them from a safe distance.
Those details, however, weren’t what made dragons so dangerous. When dragons screeched, they sent out an EMP: an electromagnetic pulse that destroyed anything with electronics. Vehicles, lights, cell phones, TVs, computers—so many of the things people depended on—none of them worked if a dragon screeched in the area. A few flybys from a dragon, and entire cities would be crippled.
Ryker stared at Jillian, unsure what to say. He didn’t want to scare her more than she already was, but he didn’t want to lie to her, either.
Willow walked over and took the iPad from Jillian’s hand before she dropped it. “It’s going to be all right,” Willow said.
Jillian scowled and grabbed her iPad back. “You want Ryker to fig
ht dragons. I heard what you said about training and sneaking off to D.C.” Without waiting for Willow’s response, Jillian stomped over to the simulator, looking like she would kick it. “If you call Dr. B, I’ll tell Mom and Dad what you’re doing.”
Ryker strode over and grabbed her arm. “Don’t you dare say a word about it to anyone.”
“I will,” Jillian said. Her face scrunched up until her eyes squinted with emotion.
“You won’t,” Ryker told her firmly. He didn’t know he was squeezing her arm too tightly until she grabbed at his fingers, crying out. Then he realized her emotion had been pain, not stubbornness. He immediately dropped her arm. Red lines circled her skin. His fingerprints.
A wave of sickness washed over him. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. It seemed a limp apology next to the welts he’d left on her arm.
Tears dribbled down Jillian’s cheeks. She held her arm and whimpered. In the quiet of the room, the noise sounded even louder. “I don’t care what you do to me,” she whispered. “I’ll tell if you go see Dr. B.”
Her words slapped Ryker. Jillian thought he’d meant to hurt her. The red lines were swelling now. If he had applied a little more pressure—if he’d been a little angrier—he would have broken her arm without meaning to. “I’m sorry,” he said again, and his voice caught. “I didn’t mean to. I forgot about my extra strength. Here, let me see it.”
He reached for her arm as if he could undo the damage, as if he could keep the bruises from forming. Instead of showing him the injury, Jillian wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him. She was still crying. “I don’t want you to die. Promise me you won’t join the Slayers.”
He hugged her gingerly, carefully, so he wouldn’t hurt her again. She seemed so small and thin, so breakable. “I won’t,” Ryker said. “At least not until I turn eighteen. That means you can’t tell Mom and Dad anything about what I’m doing. Promise?”
Jillian clung to his neck and muffled her words into his shoulder. “I don’t want you to train at all.”
Willow walked around Ryker’s side so she could look into Jillian’s face. “He has to learn how to use his strength,” she reasoned. “Otherwise he might accidentally hurt someone again—or do something worse. Besides, Ryker will be safer if he learns how to use his powers.”
Ryker felt Jillian sigh against him, relent a little. “All right. But you can’t go see Dr. B.”
Ryker patted Jillian’s back so softly he was barely touching her. His gaze went to Willow’s. He could read her expression. The more our family knows, the harder all of this will be. He nodded at her. She was right. Which was why they couldn’t tell anyone the other secret they’d discovered today.
CHAPTER 2
THE BEGINNING OF AUGUST, DRAGON CAMP
Tori Hampton faced the mechanical dragon. Its golden eyes glowed with electric malevolence and steam leaked from its gaping jaws. Tori’s flame-retardant suit was hot, uncomfortable, and every time she took off her helmet to wipe sweat from her face, she ended up getting soot in her eyes.
When you came right down to it, having superpowers was a lot less glamorous than Hollywood made it seem. Spider-Man didn’t have to work out hours a day to stay in shape. He just swung between buildings as if he were on an amusement park ride. Superman didn’t have to take flying lessons. He’d never turned too fast midair and slammed into a tree so hard he broke off branches. Tori, on the other hand, left the trees around her cabin looking maimed and offended. Batman—well, Batman didn’t count. He didn’t have superpowers. He just had awesome fashion accessories.
Every day after practicing at the rifle range and the archery range—after horseback riding, motorcycle riding, sword fighting, and martial arts—the Slayers assembled in the dragon hall to fight two van-size, flame-shooting mechanical dragons that swooped around the three-story pavilion.
If the twirling beams that represented the dragons’ claws touched you, you were dead. If the hundred-pound swinging tail hit you, you were dead. If one of your teammates accidentally shot you with their pellet rifle, you were dead. If the flames that shot twenty feet out of the dragons’ mouths reached you, you were burned. For real. It was real fire.
The machinery on the ceiling clanged, wires tightened, and the dragon lifted from the floor, its state-of-the-art hydraulic system hissing. The claw-shaped beams at the end of the dragon’s legs began their slow twirl.
Tori had already fought the dragon three times this afternoon. It killed her twice, which ought to be enough for one day. Still, she checked her pellet rifle for ammunition, slipped the gun into the sling on her back, and gripped her wooden sword. She was ready. She waited for Dirk, A-team’s captain, to start the round.
“Get in position,” Dirk called. He wore the standard black helmet, fire-repellent pants, and jacket. His jacket was undone around the collar, and even Dr. B’s lectures on safety couldn’t make Dirk zip it up. No one hassled him about it. Dirk was fast and his instincts were flawless. In all the years he had come to camp, he had never been burned.
Lilly edged toward one side of the dragon. Her bleached-blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail that swayed underneath her helmet like a white flag. Her hair was the only thing that would ever wave a white flag. She—for some indiscernible reason—actually enjoyed these practices, enjoyed fighting.
Kody moved around closer to the other side of the dragon. His jacket was partially open in the front, too. Not because he meant it to be. Kody was just the most muscular of any of the Slayers. Sort of a combination between a cowboy and the Incredible Hulk. His shoulders were so broad the jacket didn’t fit him right. Halfway through every practice round, the front always came undone. Dr. B had ordered him a new one, but it was the last day of camp, and it still hadn’t come.
Kody and Lilly were fire control. They tried to stay on opposite sides of the dragon. Alyssa, A-team’s healer, stayed behind Dirk. She didn’t take a dangerous position unless everyone else died first.
Healer would have been an awesome job—hang back out of the fighting and heal people’s burns. Tori wished she had it. Instead, she was A-team’s flyer.
Flying had seemed like a cool talent until Tori realized that the flyers had to do most of the work to kill a dragon. All the other Slayers’ powers were simply support. They kept the dragon from charring people while the flyers battled the monsters in the sky. The flyers had to strip away the dragon’s protections so that someone was able to shoot the dragon’s vulnerable underbelly and pierce its heart.
The mechanical dragon in front of Tori wasn’t attacking, not yet. Tori hovered off the ground, waiting for Dirk to call a play. She stole a quick glance at the other side of the dragon hall. Team Magnus had already started their round. Four black-clad Slayers darted over the practice arena while their dragon swooped and spun around that part of pavilion.
The sound of cables moving drew Tori’s attention back to her side. The dragon lunged forward, claws twirling, toward Tori.
“Eight of clubs!” Dirk called. He and Lilly sprinted around to one side of the dragon. Kody and Alyssa ran toward the other. Tori flew up over the dragon’s head, then looped back down so that she was over the dragon’s back. She had to do two things before anyone was able to go for the dragon’s heart. First, she had to run her sword along the sensors on both sides of the dragon’s back to simulate that she’d cut the two Kevlar straps that held bulletproof plating over the dragon’s underbelly. Second, she had to hit two different pairs of sensors with a blast from her pellet rifle to simulate that she’d blown through the chains underneath the Kevlar straps that also kept the bulletproof plating in place.
That was one of the new items of information the Slayers learned earlier in the summer when Overdrake set a real dragon on them. The bulletproof plating had two layers to cut through.
Tori wasn’t able to get close enough to the mechanical dragon’s back before it turned and flew upward, coming after her. She darted out of the way, made a
hand signal for an under-the-belly dive, and plunged downward, heading underneath the machine. One of the hardest things about maneuvering around the dragon was remembering to make the corresponding hand signals so the rest of the team knew what she was doing.
The dragon somersaulted after her, metal joints screeching. Theo, the techno geek who worked this dragon’s controls, wasn’t supposed to know what the Slayers’ hand signals were. Tori was pretty sure he did, though. The dragon always followed her movements without hesitation. She heard the hiss of gathering fuel in the dragon’s mouth and knew what would come next.
Fire blazed out of the dragon’s mouth at her. Heat licked against the back of her legs until Lilly managed to flick her wrist in Tori’s direction and extinguish the flames.
You would think that since the job only took as much physical effort as waving good-bye, Lilly would be faster about snuffing out flames. But no. She seemed to enjoy making Tori even hotter.
Tori flew toward Kody, giving him the signal to distract the dragon. He wound his arm back, like a pitcher throwing a fastball, and sent out a freezing shock. Moments later it hit the dragon squarely in the face. The metal on its neck shuddered. The dragon turned its glowing yellow eyes on him and hurled toward him.
Kody leapt out of the way of the dragon’s claws, and then leapt again to get away from its swinging tail. All the Slayers could leap at least eight feet in any direction. Kody could leap ten.
Tori hated putting him in danger, but it was a part of the practice. While the dragon was busy with him, she swept her sword across the top of the dragon’s back. One light on the dragon’s back lit up indicating the first Kevlar strap had been cut. Her fastest time yet. Maybe she would not only kill the dragon this round, maybe she’d do it before Jesse, Team Magnus’ flyer.
