by Katie French
“Fine,” I said with a big sigh. Putting the car in drive, I inched toward the driveway. “But your beds better be super soft.”
“The softest,” he said, smirking.
No matter how I tried to prepare myself, though, seeing Tara Palmer’s house in the dark still made icicles of dread slip down my spine. The giant Victorian mansion reared in front of us like a haunted house. Big, gaping windows on the second floor glared menacingly, marking our approach. The lights were off and the curtains open, making me picture scenes from horror movies where moaning, dead girls in white gowns floated past.
“Why does your house have to look like at least seven people were murdered here?”
“It was only six people,” Tom said, stepping out of the parked car.
“Tom!” I protested, my mind racing back to the animal graveyard I knew he had in his woods. What if there were dead animals in the basement, too?
He popped his head back into the car. “I’m totally joking. Come on. It’s not that bad.”
He grabbed Pickles’ cage. The cat yowled in protest as Tom carried him up onto the porch and waited for us. I dragged my overstuffed backpack out of the backseat while the boys parked the truck. Ki, Fang, and Santiago hopped out, each sporting small backpacks, too, though a lot of their stuff had been lost in the fire. Even so, when they said they packed light, they were not kidding. I practically felt like a hoarder with all my life’s possessions in two totes plus the bag on my back. It made sense, I realized, since they couldn’t carry a lot around when their dragons either shredded their clothes or made them leave them behind every time they shifted.
Santiago walked up to me, his duffle thrown over his shoulder. He had changed into a crisp white polo and expensive-looking jeans. “Roomies, right? I get top bunk,” he said, winking.
Rolling my eyes, I waved him past me to Tom. Ki and Fang had matching black backpacks, but Fang’s bulged while Ki’s seemed practically empty. Fang nodded at me while Ki’s sympathetic eyes asked me all the questions I didn’t want to answer. How was I feeling? Was I all right?
The answer was no, I was not all right. I’d had what I could only guess was a major panic attack on Mirror Island. Then I’d packed up all my I-couldn’t-part-with worldly possessions, including some of my parents’ things, just to have a sleepover at the house of the woman who’d ordered my death. Not to mention that my aunt blamed everything on me. Oh, and I’d put my family and friends in danger in the process.
But, if there was anything I was good at, it was pushing my emotions so deep, deep down that they couldn’t hurt me. Stuffed that lockbox nice and tight and threw away the key.
So, yeah, I was great.
Until my repressed feelings bubbled up and exploded all over, anyway.
I didn’t meet Ki’s eyes. Instead, I turned and clomped up the porch stairs. “Which bedroom is mine? And no, I am not sharing.”
Tom opened the front door and hit the lights, the house blazing into view.
It was beautiful. The old Victorian-style mansion had been refurbished recently by someone who knew what they were doing. We clustered in the entryway—a round room with lofty ceilings, a wooden staircase in front of us, and hallways on either side. Oak paneling and ornate trim made everything look stately and warm at the same time. Only the vase of dead flowers in the center of a marble table let us know things had been neglected. The inside was so nice compared to the outside it threw me off. But then, maybe Tara Palmer wanted people to assume they weren’t as wealthy as they actually were.
“Don’t mind the mess. I’ve been a bit busy,” Tom said as he set the cat carrier down, then opened the little door. Pickles took off like a shot, hiding God only knew where. I’d deal with him later.
Tom led us through to the kitchen—a spacious room with rows of pristine white cabinets and floor-to-ceiling windows on the far wall. The large marble-top island was scattered with wrappers, dirty plates, and food crumbs. Tom jogged over, swept them into his arms, and deposited them into an already-overflowing sink.
“Is it the maid’s day off?” Ki asked, an eyebrow raised.
Santiago moseyed to the sink, inspecting a moldy coffee mug and wrinkling his nose. “Dude, you’re a pig.”
The blush running up Tom’s cheeks made his whole face tomato red. “I’ve just been on my own here. You know, bachelor life. I’ll clean up.”
He started to pull out dishwashing detergent, but I put my hand on his shoulder, stopping him.
“It’s too late,” I said, stifling a yawn. “We’ll all clean up tomorrow.”
“Lila,” Ki spoke up, “we don’t have much time. Forty-eight hours goes fast.”
“It’s forty-three hours now,” Fang said, after he’d tapped the screen of his cell to see the time.
I shrugged. “There’s nothing we can do on no sleep. We’re all exhausted. You look like you’re about to fall where you stand.”
Tom lifted my bag from where I had set it. “We’ll sleep for five hours, tops, and then we’ll tackle how to stop my mother.”
“Speaking of your mother,” Santiago said dryly. “How do we know she won’t attack the minute we fall asleep?”
Tom nodded like he’d thought of this already. “We’ll take turns on watch. I’ll go first. I’ve moved the surveillance equipment into my room anyway.”
Fang meandered into the living room attached to the kitchen, then collapsed into a cozy-looking leather couch with an appreciative moan. “Wake me when it’s my turn.” He closed his eyes. In seconds, he was quietly snoring.
“He does that,” Ki said, shaking his head. “Can sleep anywhere. I once saw him fall asleep on the top branch of a forty-foot pine tree.” Staking claim to the adjacent couch, he curled up, putting a pillow over his head.
Santiago turned to Tom. “Since I am not an animal like some people, I’d love a bed if you have one to spare.”
“Sure,” Tom said. “You can have the pull-out couch in the basement office.” He nodded to a door propped halfway open. “It’s down those stairs.”
Santiago started to descend, but then turned back to me. “Lila, do you need anything?”
I shook my head, waving him toward his bed. “I’ll be fine. Tom will get me set up.”
Santiago glanced between us, an expression of unease and perhaps jealousy flitting over his face before he seemed to think better of it. “Okay. Come get me when you need me.”
When the door shut, Tom and I were alone except for the two sleeping boys. He cleared his throat, hefting my bag to his shoulder. “This way.”
I followed him down the hall, stopping only once to ogle baby pictures before he herded me quickly past them. We climbed the stairs to the second floor, which was as opulent and ornately decorated as the first. It made me think of old British libraries with big leather club chairs and tall bookcases.
When I reminded myself this was Tara Palmer’s house, though, the cold seeped back into me. She’d touched these railings. Those were her carefully placed knickknacks on the hallway end tables.
Tom stopped at a door, his hand on the knob, and peered at me through his curls. “My room is a mess. I’m sorry. Please don’t think less of me as a human being.”
“You saw my house,” I responded. I pointed to my chest. “Pot.” Then to his chest. “Kettle.”
He smiled tiredly and pushed open the door.
I was expecting a disaster area of clothes and food wrappers, but was pleasantly surprised. Sure, it was untidy, but in a way that made his room feel nest-like. While the rest of the house felt sterile and uninhabited, Tom’s room was lived in to the fullest. The walls were covered in school newspaper clippings and pictures of him and his friends. There was a wall of shelves filled with books—a quick scan revealed everything from Siddhartha to dog-eared Magic Tree House books. Large tomes looking like relics from some ancient library hunkered on the bottom shelf.
His high school diploma lay under a stack of college brochures and blank applications, negle
cted, just like our futures. How could any of us think of college when we were on the brink of war?
I lifted a picture of Tom and his mother from a stack on his desk. They were smiling, arms flung around each other on the rocky shore of Summers Lake. One big happy family—that was now threatening to kill each other.
He eyed the photo sadly, then took it out of my hands. “She wasn’t always horrible,” he said. “She’s used to doing things her way, but things only changed for the worse in the last few years.”
I stared at the photo in his long, thin fingers. “It must be so hard to have someone you love change so much. I’m not sure I could handle it.”
“It doesn’t help when everyone looks at you like you’ve changed, too. Everyone suspects me. Even though I fought for their side, they act like I’ll plunge a knife in their back at any minute.”
Sympathetically, I put my hand over his. “My aunt thinks I’ve caused all this. She basically told me it was entirely my fault.”
“Lila, you can’t listen to her. None of this is your fault.”
His eyes, the color of a summer sky, caught mine and held. A wayward lock of hair had partially covered one. I’d never seen his hair this long, brushing against his dark eyelashes. It made me want to slip my fingers through it to feel its weight. He smelled like ash and night air, the scent clinging to his skin like a cologne, reminding me of all we’d been through together. How he’d fought his own mother for me. Gave up his whole life for me.
My heart sped up as his eyes dipped from mine to my lips and up again. The space between us had shrunk somehow and his body was tenuously close, a distance quivering between us with tense, unspoken words.
“Lila,” he breathed. “If I’ve been cruel, or distant…”
“You don’t have to explain,” I whispered, my heart thudding against my ribcage.
“But I want to.” His eyes darted back to my lips. Lingered.
For a fleeting moment, I questioned what I was doing in Tom Palmer’s room, in the middle of the night, with no parental supervision.
Then the moment was gone, and he was pulling me toward him. Our bodies pressed together, and Tom Palmer kissed me.
Chapter Ten
Tom’s kiss stopped time.
Everything took a backseat to the emotions stirring in my chest. Our abandoned college applications, our current orphan status, the threat on our lives… I was able to forget it all, even if only for a moment.
Though we’d kissed once already, the tentative way he held me made it feel as if it were the first time. His tenuous embrace left me ample opportunity to push away, except that was the exact opposite of what I wanted to do.
My hands ached to explore under his shirt, but that would mean an invitation for Tom to do the same, so I held back. But I’d daydreamed of kissing him so many times that his lips on mine were more than enough.
When Tom abandoned my mouth for my jawline and neck, my heart knocked once against my chest, then picked up its pace at triple its normal speed. Heat ignited along the path his lips traced to my collarbone, making me squirm. Something wild and complicated unfurled inside of me.
Feeling at the edge of giving it all, I pulled away. Our ragged breaths came out in unison as we pressed our foreheads together. His gaze locked with mine, and it was dark and dangerous.
“We should get some sleep,” I said in a hoarse voice.
He nodded, making me nod, too. We laughed, and the small bit of tension left by the broken kiss dissipated.
“You can stay here,” he said.
“What about you?”
“I’ll sleep in the master bedroom. Don’t worry. It’s much better than this one.” He gave me a crooked smile.
When Tom closed the door behind him, a small pang of regret hit me. Why had I stopped our kiss? I collapsed on the pillow and stared at the ceiling, trying to answer my own questions. For a moment, I pretended not to know, but I was lying to myself.
In the span of a few days, I had kissed two boys—two extremely handsome, fit, and irresistible boys.
Me! Lila McCarty. The girl who had never quite gotten rid of the “weird” label her elementary school classmates had dubbed her with when she wouldn’t shut up about dragons. Ha! Who was laughing now? Dragons were real, and the guys didn’t think she was weird because she could see them. They also weren’t bad kissers. Not at all.
Two guys!
Maybe I would soon make it three. Or four.
Lila! my own voice chided inside my brain.
Enjoying the wanton imagery, I giggled like a little girl and crawled under the covers. I might be dead in a couple of days. So why not love a little?
A smile was plastered on my face for the next five minutes, but it slowly died as I tried to come up with a plan out of the mess I’d gotten us in. Sleep was a long time coming.
“Lila,” a gentle voice seeped through my consciousness. “Wake up.”
A hand brushed the side of my face. I rolled over, enjoying the sweet caress.
“You’re so beautiful,” the voice murmured.
I liked this dream. I didn’t mind being called beautiful or being treated as if I were some sort of treasure to be admired. Not that I was vain, but it felt good. For a change.
My eyes fluttered open. At first, everything was blurry. But it wasn’t long until the jean-clad figure sitting at the edge of the bed took shape.
Ki.
“Hey,” he said, his fingers still caressing my cheek.
A spontaneous smile stretched my lips. “Is it my watch already?”
“Nah, we let you sleep.” He pushed a strand of dark hair behind my ear, then began lowering his mouth toward mine.
Was this a dream? It didn’t seem like one. Ki’s hand on the side of my face felt real. His black hair was wet, and he smelled clean and fresh. His eyes were warm chocolate, full of tenderness and something more…
Three guys?
Really, Lila?
But Ki only deposited a gentle kiss on my cheek, then stood. “C’mon, breakfast is almost ready, and we have a long day ahead of us.”
For a few minutes, I lay in bed, clinging to the covers with the feel of Ki’s quick kiss on my cheek. Sighing, I dragged myself out of bed, went in Tom’s bathroom, and took a cold, cold shower.
A quarter of an hour later, I wandered into the kitchen, barefoot and pulling my damp hair into a ponytail. Pickles wound himself between my legs, meowing miserably. I scratched his head, vowing to get him some kitten vittles when all this was over. The boys were bustling around the table, setting down silverware, serving orange juice, and plating pancakes and eggs.
For some reason, a knot formed in my throat at the sight of them. Despite the reduced hours of sleep, they looked one-hundred percent better than last night. They all had damp hair and wore clean clothes. Their nimble movements exuded confidence and energy, which made me feel more optimistic about the day ahead.
When Santiago noticed me standing at the threshold, he came over and kissed me on both cheeks, the way I’d seen him greet his mother and sister on Mirror Island—except without the lingering and dangerous proximity to my mouth.
After giving me a quick wink and devilish smile that made me wonder if I was playing with fire, he took his seat. Still, my heart thudded with excitement.
Fang pulled out a chair at the head of the table. I sat and marveled at the splendid treatment.
I could get used to this!
The boys chowed down as if there were no tomorrow. They’d made enough pancakes and scrambled eggs for an army—an army of dragons, to be specific. After their cooking exploits, the sink was piled even higher with frying pans, bowls, and dishes. So much for cleaning.
We quietly enjoyed out breakfast for a few minutes, then Tom cleared his throat and approached the subject of our looming deaths. “We have thirty-eight hours before they start hunting for us. We need to think of a plan. Any ideas?”
“There are three possible alternatives,” Fang said, holding
up three fingers, the middle one coated with a dab of whip cream.
Santiago snickered. Of course. I gave him a sideways glance and shook my head.
“Hide, run, or fight,” Fang finished.
“Fight!” the others recited without stopping to think.
“Um, unless Lila has a different opinion,” Ki added belatedly.
I shook my head. “Not my style.”
“That’s right, amor.” Santiago clenched a fist, then punched his open palm. “You’re a fighter.”
“I need to get the lighthouse back,” I said, “reclaim my post as warden.”
Tom set his fork down. “That seems like a sensible path, but I’m not sure it would be a long-term solution.”
“What do you mean?” Fang asked.
“My mother and Deeploch mean war against the wardens and any who support them,” Tom said, his brow furrowed in worry. “I have a feeling they won’t honor the creed for long.”
Santiago snorted. “Then she’ll find herself terribly outnumbered.”
“I’d like to think that, too,” Tom said. “But she’s calling on her friends and making alliances. And what if her experiments succeed? She could build an army in no time. No need to wait for years for dragon eggs to hatch.”
“Wait,” I said, “You guys hatched from an egg?”
They all looked at me with raised eyebrows.
“Of course. What did you think?” Ki asked.
“I dunno, I…”
“Mom says my egg looked like it was made of solid gold,” Santiago put in.
I tapped my temple, trying to get all the questions inside my head in order. “And it took you years to hatch?”
“Four,” Fang said.
“Two,” Santiago and Ki added at the same time.
“Eighteen months for me,” Tom said. “It’s at least a year, but normally more than that. Eggs hatch when it’s their right time. Some never do. They grow cold, and that’s how you know they’re dead. Others can take hundreds of years.”
