by C. J. Hill
“Dragons?” Jamison repeated. He didn’t believe his father, and yet the word still chilled him. He remembered the cow’s terrified call and the screech that cut it short. It sounded like it came from a large animal. But dragons—those were just myths, weren’t they?
Mr. Daniels’s head lulled a bit. “I didn’t know we were descendants of the Slayer knights. I didn’t know until Nathan developed the powers.”
Nathan had told Jamison that being at the plantation gave him extra strength, night vision, and the ability to throw a wall up. And now his father was saying it was true?
“He developed powers?” Jamison repeated.
“All Slayers have them, inherit them from their knight ancestors.”
Jamison stared at him in disbelief. “Then why don’t I have extra powers?”
Mr. Daniels frowned at his glass. “Because your mother didn’t go onto the plantation when she was pregnant with you.”
Jamison began pacing again. “You’re not making any sense.”
Mr. Daniels growled at the insult and seemed determined to prove that what he said made perfect sense. “Slayer genes are only activated in the womb, only activated if a mother comes within a mile of a dragon. That’s why Langston never allows women on his plantation.” Mr. Daniels’s grip tightened on his glass. “I wouldn’t have let your mother onto the plantation. It was Mrs. Overdrake’s fault. She was the one who brought your mother there.”
Jamison knew the story. His mother told it with a rebellious sort of pride. Mrs. Overdrake liked to design her own gowns, and she had Mrs. Daniels sew them for her. When Mrs. Overdrake was pregnant with her second daughter, she was too sick to come to the Danielses’ home. She wanted maternity clothes of her own creation, so she had one of her servants smuggle Mrs. Daniels into her house to do fittings.
“Mom was pregnant with Nathan?” It wasn’t really a question. Jamison knew Nathan was a couple months younger than the Overdrakes’ youngest daughter.
Mr. Daniels flung his glass down on the coffee table. It toppled over and clattered to the floor. “It was Mrs. Overdrake’s fault—her fault—and Langston killed Nathan for it.”
Jamison stopped pacing. “What do you mean Langston killed Nathan?”
“It wasn’t the electric fence. I’ve seen Nathan jump over the fences myself. He could clear them like he was flying.” Mr. Daniels stabbed his finger at the air. “Langston knew what a Slayer could do. His ancestors moved here to get away from them and they didn’t forget. He warned everyone in his inner circle what to watch for.” Mr. Daniels’s voice nearly snarled out the list. “People who had extra strength, who saw in the dark. People who could extinguish fire, throw a shield up, or fly. Overdrake knew how to stop Slayers. You overdose them. That’s how you take their powers away. You give them a dose of drugs that knocks them unconscious.” Mr. Daniels stood, wobbling. His eyes were glassy and his words slurred together. He took a swing at the air. “I saw the needle mark in Nathan’s arm. I saw it.” He took a couple of stumbling steps across the room. “Langston won’t get away with it. I won’t let him.”
It didn’t make sense. “Why would Mr. Overdrake want to kill Nathan?”
Mr. Daniels made a shuddering noise. At first Jamison thought he was laughing, then he realized he was crying. He was finally crying.
Jamison put his arm around his father. He wished he could stop asking questions. He couldn’t. “Why would Mr. Overdrake kill Nathan?” he asked again.
Mr. Daniels let out a sigh of resignation. “Slayers are born to hunt dragons just like cats are born to hunt mice. Slayers would cause trouble. That’s why I never told Nathan about the dragons. I kept Nathan away from the plantation. I thought if he didn’t know…” Mr. Daniels put his head in his hands. “We should have moved. We should have…”
Jamison took hold of his father’s arm before he fell over. “Dad, you need to go to bed. I’ll help you.”
“I can’t. I’m waiting for a call.”
“I’ll answer the phone.”
Mr. Daniels shook off Jamison’s hand and sat back on the couch. “I’m waiting,” he said. “I’m waiting … Nathan.” He shut his eyes.
Jamison kept staring at his father. Had any of what he said been the truth? How could it be? Dragons and Slayers—it was the nonsense of fairy tales, the ramblings of a drunk, grief-stricken father. And yet it fit with the things Nathan had told Jamison and the noise he’d heard from the building. What’s more, it felt like the truth. Was it possible that Langston Overdrake had killed Nathan?
Jamison had to know. He helped his father to bed, then gathered things quickly: a video camera, his father’s key ring, his father’s gun, a torch, and a canister of pepper spray. Jamison put the items into a pack, climbed into the jeep, and sped off toward the plantation. The road, like most on the island, was narrow and twisted and turned through the steep hillside. No lampposts lighted the way. Only his headlights cut through the darkness.
He focused on the road with grim determination. If the things his father said were true, if Langston Overdrake had killed Nathan, Jamison would make sure Langston regretted it.
Chapter 6
It wasn’t quite four thirty when Jamison reached the tree that looked like a pitchfork. It was easy enough to find the hole that Nathan had dug under the fence. Jamison’s chest constricted as he thought of Nathan coming here just hours before. Such a short time ago. If only Jamison could undo his brother’s trip.
Jamison pulled the torch and the pepper spray from his pack. He had taken the pepper spray in case he met any of the dogs, and his father’s pistol in case there really was something monstrous in the meat packaging building. If knights could kill dragons with swords, a gun ought to offer some protection.
Once he was on the plantation, Jamison paced himself at a steady run. Most of the plantation was a succession of grassy hills. There was hardly a flat place on the island. It was hard to see much else. He’d taken a small torch. Anything bigger would draw attention to himself. As a result, only a small patch of light jiggled out in front of him as he ran. He felt conspicuous with even this much light, but he couldn’t run in the dark. If he tried he was likely to trip and break his neck. Every moment Jamison ran, he expected to hear the dogs barking, bounding toward him. If they saw his torchlight they would charge him.
The dogs never came. Maybe Overdrake had put them in their pens before he called the doctor to fetch Nathan.
In ten minutes, Jamison neared the Overdrake mansion. He dimmed his flashlight and slowed his pace, worried that Langston might have men patrolling the area. Jamison didn’t see anyone. Several trucks were parked in front of the house and more than one light was on inside. Langston must be meeting with some of his men, telling them about Nathan’s death. Jamison picked up his pace to a run again. Five minutes later, he reached the large metal meat processing building.
He appraised it in a way he never had before. It was two stories high. That wasn’t big enough to hold a dragon, was it? Weren’t dragons supposed to fly? Jamison could have turned around right then—spared himself the trespassing charges he would face if caught. Somehow he couldn’t make himself turn back. He needed to know for himself, for Nathan.
Jamison walked to the door, listening for any noises that sounded dangerous. Everything was quiet. It only took him a few seconds to find the right key to unlock the door. With one hand keeping hold of the gun, he turned the lock, then carefully swung the door open. The room smelled dank and moist, like something left out by the shore. It was too dark to see anything.
Jamison kept the door open with his foot, turned his torch on, and ran the beam over the room to see what was in front of him.
The light only showed him dim slices of the building. As far as he could tell, nothing was in front of him. No equipment. No furniture. Nothing. He could only make out bits of a far-distant wall on the other side of the building. It didn’t make sense. There had to be something inside the building, didn’t there?
Jamison turned the torch on the wall beside him, looking for a light switch. He didn’t see one. He took another step into the room, stretching so as not to let the door shut and trap him in the dark.
He wanted to dismiss the idea of dragons, and yet, as he stood in the dark, he couldn’t. He could almost feel something stirring in the blackness around him, moving toward him.
Where was the cursed light switch? Even with the gun clasped in his hand, he felt vulnerable. Something let out a low grumbling sound. Was it machine or animal?
Finally he spotted a switch. He flipped it on. And then almost wished he hadn’t. The reason he hadn’t seen anything in front of him was that the floor only extended a few feet. It circled two huge underground enclosures in the middle of the building.
A maroon dragon sat curled up among the boulders and moss in one. A dragon with shiny blue scales blinked at him from the other. Its eyes were catlike and its face curved into a beaklike snout. Diamond-shaped crystals protruded from both dragons’ foreheads.
His father had told him the truth.
Jamison stared at the dragons in shock. Although it was hard to judge the animals’ size from this distance, each dragon appeared to be as big as a small cargo plane. And now that they had seen him, both hissed and stretched their necks to survey him. The maroon dragon ruffled batlike wings as it decided whether to come after him.
Jamison realized his gun wouldn’t do him any good in an attack. Even if shots could penetrate dragon scales, he wouldn’t be able to shoot both. He also wouldn’t have time to take a video. If he was lucky, he could make it back out the door alive.
He almost turned and fled before his mind caught up with his panic. He didn’t have to flee at all. A thick, clear wall separated the platform from the enclosure—undoubtedly a dragon-proof wall. Once Jamison was able to take his eyes off the creatures, he studied his surroundings better. Large elevators dropped down behind steel cages to the bottom floor. Levers on the top floor worked the cage’s doors. His father apparently brought cattle onto this platform, put them in the elevators, and sent them down into the enclosures to feed the dragons.
Jamison turned on his camera and pointed it at the dragons. With enough skill, anyone might be able to fake a picture of a dragon. It was harder to fake a video of moving creatures. This footage would make the world take note.
The blue dragon folded its wings, cocked its head, and watched him warily. With one fluid motion, the maroon dragon flapped its wings and shot upward toward Jamison. It hovered in the air, wings outstretched, a giant wall of glistening bloodred scales and talons. Its eyes locked on Jamison and the dragon hissed out an angry stream of fire. The wall between them lit up with reaching yellow flames.
“Not the friendly sort, are you?” Jamison said. Dragons, it seemed, lived up to their name. His finger didn’t leave the camera. All of this was evidence. He would show it to the police and to the news stations in England. He would reveal Langston Overdrake for what he was—a dragon lord—and a murderer.
The maroon dragon turned and lashed its tail into the wall, making the entire thing shudder. Maybe it wasn’t as dragon proof as Jamison had supposed. It was time for him to leave. He had more than enough proof to warrant an investigation up here.
Jamison hurried out of the building. It was still dark outside, but it would get light soon. If Langston had killed Nathan just because he had the genetic ability to harm his dragons, what would Langston do if he caught Jamison with footage of them?
Jamison needed to get off the property before daylight. He ran faster. Adrenaline had given him extra speed. Perhaps it gave him better hearing too. Every rustle of the wind seemed to carry footsteps, noises, potential danger. More than once he thought he heard the swish of dogs rushing toward him. He never saw them, though.
Jamison passed the Overdrakes’ house. The trucks were still surrounding it. The meeting hadn’t ended. Were they talking about his father? Did they see him as a threat now? If Langston Overdrake was smart, he should. Mr. Daniels wasn’t the sort to sit around and let Langston get away with murder. Jamison wasn’t either. He would insist the police do an autopsy on his brother. Once the coroner proved it was a drug overdose, not an electric shock, that killed Nathan, Langston Overdrake would be arrested.
Jamison raced the rising sun. In a few more minutes he reached the hole under the fence.
He went through it, made his way to his jeep, and drove toward Jamestown, where the island’s only police station was. Darkness still covered the island and he had to take each bend and curve slower than he wanted. He wound across the mountainside, then down the road, zooming around the hairpin turns. His jeep bounced along, protesting the speed. Finally he pulled up to the police station.
It was a tired, white building tucked into the city’s main square. Crime was nearly nonexistent on Saint Helena and the prison was mostly used to lock up the occasional shoplifter or drunk and disorderly person. Jamison strode up to the desk. A middle-aged man in uniform sat there, busy with some sort of paperwork. He had dark skin, a receding hairline, and a tired expression, as though he’d already had a long shift. “I need to speak to the chief of police,” Jamison blurted out. “Langston Overdrake murdered my brother.”
The man stared at Jamison, then looked behind him to see if he was alone. “Murder? What are you going on about?”
“I need to speak to the chief of police,” Jamison repeated, louder this time. “Langston Overdrake is keeping dragons on his property.” Jamison held up his video camera. “I know it sounds unbelievable, but I have proof. I took a video of them. You can see for yourself.”
Another constable walked into the room and stood behind the first man. He was tall with brown hair that was shot through with gray streaks. He surveyed Jamison cautiously. “I’m the chief of police. Are you talking about the Daniels boy who died tonight?” The man shook his head. “That was a shame, an awful thing. I’m sorry it happened.”
So they already knew about his brother’s death. Jamison shouldn’t be surprised. The police were probably informed of every death. “It wasn’t an accident,” Jamison insisted. “It was murder.” He gestured toward his camera. “This footage should merit a search warrant. Langston Overdrake is hiding dangerous animals on his property. He killed my brother because of them.”
Both men gaped at Jamison as though he’d started babbling incoherently. Jamison went on anyway. “You need to do an autopsy. Nathan wasn’t killed by an electric fence. Mr. Overdrake gave him a drug overdose.”
The chief of police stepped around the desk toward Jamison. His badge read Crowden. “You say you have footage of dragons?”
“Yes,” Jamison said.
“Come with me.” Crowden motioned for Jamison to follow him down the hallway. Jamison did, relieved that someone was finally taking him seriously. Crowden stopped in front of a door. He took a key from his pocket, unlocked the door, and went inside. “We can talk privately in here.”
Once Jamison had joined him, Crowden held out his hand for the camera. “You’re Nathan’s brother?”
“Yes, sir.” Jamison turned on the camera and showed Crowden the video. Even on the camera’s small screen, the footage was clear. Two dragons. One doing its best to attack. “Nathan went to the plantation tonight. I think he wanted to find out what Overdrake was hiding in that building. Mr. Overdrake killed him to keep it a secret.”
“I see.” Crowden turned off the camera with a marked lack of emotion. “I need to show this to someone.”
“We’ll need to show it to a lot of people. I want to send it to news sources as soon as possible. Do you have a way to reach England?”
Crowden held up one hand. “These things take time, Mr. Daniels. I’ll have to ask you to wait here for a bit.”
Jamison let out a breath of frustration. He wanted justice. It was hard to hear that he needed to wait. But of course it would take time. Investigations always did. “I understand,” he said.
Crowden gave him a curt nod and
left the room.
It was only after he’d gone that Jamison looked around. There was nothing in the room but a bench. Where was he? This couldn’t be someone’s office. Was it a waiting room? He turned to sit down, then decided he should call his parents and let them know where he was. He didn’t want them to wake up and worry about him. He walked to the door and tried the handle. It was locked.
At first his mind refused to register what had happened. He tried the doorknob again. It was still locked. This had to be a mistake. Crowden couldn’t have purposely locked him in here, not when Jamison had just told him that Langston Overdrake murdered his brother.
Jamison pounded on the door. “Hey! Let me out! Mr. Crowden! Somebody!”
Footsteps walked back to the door. “Breaking and entering is a crime,” Crowden said coldly. “Mr. Overdrake may want to press charges. Don’t make things worse.”
Jamison stepped back as though he’d been punched. He shouldn’t have come here. He shouldn’t have given his camera to anyone on the island. Mr. Overdrake was the wealthiest and most powerful man on Saint Helena. He was the type of person who controlled other people, who bought them. He owned the police.
Jamison kicked at the door again and again, wild with rage. He’d lost everything. His brother, his evidence, and his chance to prove Langston Overdrake’s guilt. Jamison didn’t make much of an impact on the door. It was solid metal. Finally he sunk to the floor in exhaustion. What would his parents do when the police informed them he’d been arrested? He hated the thought of it. But the worst thought, the one that wouldn’t leave him, was the thought that he had failed Nathan.
Chapter 7
Jamison wasn’t sure how much time passed before footsteps made their way back to the door. It might have been an hour. It was hard to judge. Everything had stopped being real. When Jamison heard someone insert a key into the lock, he jumped to his feet, hands clenched into fists. He wasn’t about to make this easy for Crowden.
