by Wesley King
An Imprint of Penguin Random House
Penguin.com
Copyright © 2017 Penguin Random House LLC
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Ebook ISBN: 9780698175310
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Acknowledgments
For Mom and Dad,
who gave me everything I required to set off in search of magic.
Good news: I found it.
Prologue
They appeared on the horizon like a giant, monstrous arrow unleashed from the ground. With his keen eyes, sharper than any eagle’s, Lourdvang counted five: four Trackers on the flanks, angular and raven black, and a much larger Destroyer at the lead—white as snow and bristling with weaponry. He had seen the same formation many times before. They had come to kill.
“Nathaniel!” he growled. “Time to leave.”
Nathaniel looked back, a bundle of supplies slung over his shoulders. He was only fourteen, but he looked much older—corded with muscle and cold blue eyes that had seen too much devastation at such a young age. They flashed with anger now. “Drones?”
Lourdvang blew a puff of black smoke from his nostrils. “Yes. And in a death formation. I don’t think they’re here for us—they have come to destroy Rennia. But we have to get back home . . . now.”
The Resistance fighters and their families had taken refuge in Forost, the ancestral home of the Nightwings, but their encampment was desperately short on food. Lourdvang and Nathaniel had volunteered to do the supply runs after the last pair was gunned down by drones. This was only their second time venturing out, and both knew the terrible danger.
Nathaniel cursed and turned back to the shop owner. “Get to shelter,” he warned, before heading out onto the street to alert the people of Rennia. He waved his arms and yelled as loud as he could. “Everyone, find shelter!”
They didn’t need to be told twice. So many villages in the outskirts of Dracone had already been destroyed, and they all knew that Rennia would eventually meet the same fate. They had delayed, reluctant to leave. But the storm was finally coming.
Screams filled the street as mothers grabbed their children, and everyone hurried away from the city center, flooding into basements or squat, brick shops for cover. Lourdvang knew bricks and basements would not protect them from the terrible firepower of the drones. The smartest people headed away from the village entirely, running for the sprawling meadows. If they were fast enough, they might escape.
Lourdvang lowered himself to the ground so that Nathaniel could reach him. “Get on!”
The desire to protect the villagers burned hot in Lourdvang, but he knew this was a fight he could not win. He felt like a defenseless rabbit. It was time to run back to their hole.
Nathaniel donned his black fire-protective gloves—along with the full suit he already wore—and raced up Lourdvang’s back with the precious supplies. He sat down at the base of Lourdvang’s long neck and grabbed onto a protruding scale, digging his fingers in for a better grip. Even with Nathaniel’s heavy gloves, Lourdvang knew it would be searing hot that far beneath his scales. But Nathaniel held on tightly, never making a sound.
Lourdvang was just about to take off when the first missile struck the village. It slammed into a large home, erupting in a plume of fire and ash and sending splintering wood everywhere. The ground shook with the impact, and Lourdvang could see villagers crash into the dirt, covering their heads and crying out for help. But help wasn’t coming. Even Lourdvang, a fully grown Nightwing, was completely outmatched.
He spread his great wings and leapt into the air just as the next missile struck. He flapped with all of his strength, trying to escape the barrage as more screams echoed in the distance. He looked back as a fresh wave of projectiles tore the village to shreds. Structures were collapsing, homes were vanishing, people were dying.
Lourdvang flew toward the clouds. Thankfully he and Nathaniel were not the targets today. But that day would come soon.
Lourdvang and Nathaniel watched silently as drones completed their methodical work, destroying yet another beautiful Draconian village. Flames seemed to consume everything. Lourdvang turned away and looked toward his destination, letting the cold moisture of the clouds wash over him as if to try to clean the memory away, though he knew it wouldn’t work. It never did.
As he sailed above the cloud cover under the brilliant morning sun, one thought continued to haunt Lourdvang:
Where were Marcus and Dree?
Chapter
1
The raging wind subsided into a whisper, and Marcus, Dree, and George were left standing alone in the middle of the carnage. Coffee cups and newspapers littered the street around them, twisting in the last bit of breeze, while the hordes of frazzled commuters standing around them were trying to fix their windblown hair and figure out what had just happened. Marcus hadn’t realized the portal was going to deliver them back to Arlington right in the thick of the busy morning rush hour. They had just appeared out of nowhere in front of hundreds of people.
“What . . . where . . .” Dree said, clearly too stunned to think.
A few commuters were staring at them now, and Marcus saw them reaching for their cell phones. Police attention or, even worse, a photo uploaded to the Internet were the last things that they needed right now. Francis could be watching, and George was wanted as an American traitor.
“Let’s move,” Marcus said, grabbing an astounded Dree’s arm.
Marcus pulled Dree around the busy street corner onto Fifth, his father trailing close behind them. Marcus was still soaked from the storm during their frantic escape from Dracone, and his clothes were clinging uncomfortably to his skin. He could feel water sloshing around in his shoes. He blinked as water snaked its way around his gray eyes.
Marcus slowed down a little, trying to get his bearings in the busy rush hour crowds; and Dree came to a full stop, looking around the street wide-eyed and disbelieving. Marcus couldn’t really blame her. Arlington, Virginia, was about as different from her home in Dracone as possible: Cars whizzed past, honking as they made their way t
hrough commuter traffic, while men and women in business attire walked by, cell phones held up to their ears. The air was full of riotous noise: horns and conversations and the low, steady thunder of thousands of footsteps on the concrete.
“It’s so . . . busy,” Dree murmured, staring up at a towering glass skyscraper.
Marcus glanced back at her. She was reacting just like he had when he first appeared in Dracone a month earlier, staring out in wonder at the strange, industrializing medieval world. It had been a whirlwind ever since.
Despite their escape from Francis and his drones after the attack on the palace, Marcus knew Dracone was still in grave danger. Francis not only had his factory of drones churning out more and more of the deadly weapons, but he now had Baby Hybrid. She had been damaged in the attack, but not irreparably, and Francis could easily get her back in the air. Marcus’s stomach twisted whenever he thought of his and Dree’s prize creation in the hands of that madman. With the hybrid on his side and a fleet of drones, Francis would be almost unstoppable in Dracone. Only the Egg could save them now. With its power to generate supposedly limitless energy, they would be able to build an even more powerful hybrid.
“Uh-oh,” George said.
Marcus followed his eyes and saw a policewoman pushing her way through the crowds holding a walkie-talkie to her mouth and with her second hand on her billy club. She was heading right for them. Marcus weighed his options. If they were arrested, George would be recognized for sure.
“Follow me,” Marcus said.
He turned and led the three of them right into the crowd. He pushed and jostled his way through, eliciting some angry mutters and dark stares, and spared a look back. The policewoman was still visible—though just the top of her cap.
“Stay low,” Dree warned, noticing the same thing.
They hurried ahead, George clearly laboring, and Marcus finally spotted their chance: a narrow alley tucked between two older buildings. He pushed through another knot of people, slouching just enough to keep his head below theirs, and then veered left into the alley. He rounded a dumpster and crouched behind it, where he was joined a second later by Dree and George. George was breathing heavily, and he grabbed at his sides as they waited. Marcus knew that if the policewoman came down the alley, they would be spotted in seconds. And now they looked very guilty.
The seconds ticked by. Finally, Marcus risked a glance. The policewoman was gone.
“I think we’re all right,” he said.
“Why are they chasing us?” Dree asked.
“She probably came to investigate the storm and someone gave her our description,” George replied. “Which should be easy,” he said wryly, gesturing at Dree’s Draconian clothes.
Marcus had to agree. She was wearing a worn leather jerkin over a forest-green tunic, a looping brown belt, and beige pants singed with fire. They had decided it was her most “Earthlike” outfit, but it was still a stretch for downtown Arlington.
“We’ll just try to stay out of sight,” Dree muttered.
Marcus checked the skies warily as they hurried down the alley, trying to put some distance between them and the commuters who had first seen them appear. He worried that drones could be watching them too. It was likely that Francis still had some on this side of the portal.
They had to get off the streets. They turned out of the alley and kept moving.
Marcus saw that Dree was slowing down again, and he pulled her along. His father was still struggling to keep up as well, already winded and clutching at his sides. It had been eight years since George had been on Earth, and he had spent the last three or four of those trapped in a secret Draconian dungeon, strapped to a chair. During that time, he had withered away to the pale, emaciated man who was now jogging to keep up. He was like a ghost of the father Marcus remembered as a child.
Marcus led them down another side street, and the crowd thinned out a little.
“You all right?” Marcus asked his father, concerned.
“Fine,” he wheezed. “Just haven’t exercised in a while, I guess.”
“How far is this safe house with the Egg?” Dree asked.
“A few miles,” George said, scooping up a crumpled newspaper strewn on the ground. His eyes locked on the date as if it was some sort of illusion. “But we need to be smart about this. And I’ll need Jack’s help to get it.”
Marcus frowned. “You never mentioned that before. Do we really have to get Uncle Jack involved? We’ll be putting him in danger.”
“He knows the risks,” George said. “In fact, he knows a lot more than you think.” A horn blared out on the street, and Marcus jumped. He scanned the skies again.
“Keep moving,” he said curtly. As they started hurrying down the street again, he glanced at his father. “You really think this can be done?”
“We have no choice but to find out. We’re stealing from the CIA, Marcus. It’s not going to be easy. We’re talking about armed guards, cameras, security doors. The place is a fortress.”
“Great,” Marcus muttered, feeling the morning sun beating down on his head.
Dree gestured at a woman who pushed past them, her eyes locked on her cell phone.
“You mentioned the Internet before. Is that what all these people are doing?”
“Pretty much,” Marcus said. He turned back to his father. “Well, we still have to move fast. Who knows what’s happening to the Draconian people as we speak.”
George lowered his voice. “I know, but we won’t do them any good in jail. Once we get the Egg, we’ll go back right away. Then we have to worry about getting your Baby Hybrid back, or at least building a new one. The Egg will make it a lot easier—you won’t need to worry about a power source. I believe the Egg might also make Lourdvang and the other dragons stronger.”
“There are an awful lot of ifs in our plan,” Marcus said.
“We’ll have to make do,” Dree replied.
“Agreed,” George said. “We have to get to Jack’s house first.”
“All right,” Marcus said. “If you’re sure that’s the only way. Let’s get a cab. It’s a few blocks away.”
Marcus tried to wave down a cab, but it just kept driving.
Dree watched in fascination as the car sped by. “Those are wonderful. How do they work?”
“It’s . . . complicated,” Marcus muttered, too focused on getting a ride to pay Dree much attention.
Dree tilted her head and studied the passing cars. “I’m guessing a combustible fuel moves the pistons, generating torque for the wheels.”
Marcus turned to her, stunned. “How did you—”
“It’s a bit like dragon fire, really,” Dree said. “I’d love to take one apart if we ever get the time. Maybe I could even build one.”
“Once we win the war, we can tear apart all the cars you like,” Marcus said.
He stepped to the side of the road and started waving at the next cab, letting his father scan through the newspaper. Marcus looked around the busy streets, remembering that this city had once been his home. Now it seemed almost alien to him. The crisp black suits, the din of horns and ringing cell phones and rumbling city buses—it was so chaotic and frenzied, and yet it also seemed so . . . lifeless. Ordinary. Marcus realized that he yearned for Dracone. He even missed Dracone’s air: fresh and alive and brimming with energy.
Just as a cab pulled up, something flashed across Marcus’s vision. It moved quickly between the buildings, soaring like a large pigeon.
But it had been circular, and the black hull had glinted noticeably in the morning sun. A Surveyor drone. Marcus turned to the others. “It’s time to go.”
Sun reflected off the cab windows as Marcus, Dree, and George rolled through the city. Marcus sat in the front, his eyes locked on the skyline. He hadn’t seen any other drones, and he hoped the drone sighting had just been in his imag
ination. But he also knew Francis wanted that Egg desperately and wouldn’t hesitate to track Marcus and the rest on Earth.
Marcus didn’t tell the others what he had seen. He didn’t want to alarm them when they had other things to worry about. George, sitting in the back of the cab, continued to read his newspaper. He occasionally snorted or grunted in disbelief, but mostly he used the paper to keep his face hidden from the driver. It may have been eight years, but George was still infamous.
Dree’s wide-eyed face, on the other hand, was in full view as she gaped at every new thing they passed: strip malls with their garish neon signs, bustling coffee shops, and skyscrapers glinting in the morning sun. She stared in wonder at a man eating a burger in his car next to them—making the man look very uneasy—and then gasped aloud when she saw a plane fly over the city.
“Marcus—”
“Just a passenger plane,” Marcus said quickly, “flying people around. No big deal.”
She settled back into her seat and went back to staring out the window.
“So simple,” she said, watching as a cyclist pedaled by. “I can’t wait to build one of those.”
“Priorities,” Marcus reminded her, giving the driver a forced smile.
But clearly the driver had seen plenty of strange things in his cab, because he barely seemed to notice. They were nearly out of the downtown core now and would be arriving at Marcus’s old apartment in minutes. Marcus thought about Uncle Jack. Would he be furious with Marcus for taking off so suddenly? For all Marcus knew his face was printed on milk cartons around the city as a missing child, and his uncle had been out looking for him ever since.
What would Jack say when they arrived?
“Jack is going to be surprised when he sees you,” he murmured, glancing at his father.
George’s eyes flicked up to Marcus over the paper. “I don’t doubt it.”
“What are you going to tell him?”
“The truth.”
Marcus turned to him, surprised. “You are?”
