by C. J. Hill
Again, Tori wanted to tell her father everything she knew. He needed to realize what the country was up against.
The words were on her tongue, but she couldn’t say them. She had promised Dr. B she wouldn’t reveal anything about the Slayers. If her parents knew she was training to fight dragons, they wouldn’t let her anywhere near Dr. B or the Slayers again.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t tell her father other things. Before she could talk herself out of it, she blurted out, “Someone is using the Venezuelan military to try to take over the country. We’ll be hit with electromagnetic pulse that will cripple our infrastructure. I think it might happen within the year. And if I’m right, you can’t trust Senator Ethington. He’s involved with the Venezuelans.”
Her father stared at her, caught between laughter and worry—not worry about the country, worry about her. “Where did you hear all of that?”
She stiffened, stung by his reaction. Although, really, what had she expected? She’d given him no reason to believe her, and she couldn’t offer him the proof.
She crossed her arms. “You have sources you can’t talk about. So do I.”
“Jesse? Is he your source?”
She considered agreeing. Her father already thought Jesse knew about Venezuela’s request. But that wouldn’t work. Her father knew every committee member and would easily find out none of them had a son named Jesse. Maybe another cover story could give his supposed knowledge legitimacy. She quickly abandoned the idea. She shouldn’t drag Jesse into this without his permission.
“No,” she said at last. And knew she’d waited too long to make the word convincing.
“Uh-huh. Have the two of you been listening to some conspiracy podcast or something?”
“You don’t have to believe me. But you should do what you can to keep Venezuela away from our borders, and you should also look into ways to protect the country from an EMP strike.”
“EMP is a danger we’re aware of.” Her father smiled at her with more concern in his eyes than made her comfortable. “I know being a politician’s daughter isn’t easy. You’ve heard about the perils facing America since you were a toddler. But don’t obsess about them. There’s a lot to be optimistic about.”
Great. He hadn’t listened to her warning, he thought she was being paranoid, and now he was undoubtedly going to give her a lot of pep talks about having a positive attitude.
“This isn’t about being pessimistic,” she said.
Before her father could comment on that, her mother opened the door. She wore a coat, and her cheeks and nose were pink from the cold. “Brindy isn’t in here, is she?” After a quick glance around the room revealed it was German shepherd-less, she added, “I can’t find her anywhere. I let her outside a while ago, and she’s disappeared.”
Brindy was the sort of dog who firmly ignored her custom-made dog house in the backyard, as well as any intrigues their wooded three-acre backyard could provide. She preferred to spend her time sniffing for food that had fallen on the kitchen floor and devising ways to get around the no-dogs-allowed-on-the-couch rule.
Tori’s father looked unconcerned. “She can’t have gone past the fence.”
Her mother lifted a hand, puzzled. “Maybe she dug under it or something. I’ve spent the last twenty minutes looking around and calling her. She isn’t in the backyard.”
Prickles of worry darted up Tori’s spine. Her father was right; Brindy couldn’t have just disappeared.
He only shrugged. “Maybe someone let her inside, and she’s stuck in a room.”
Her mother pulled off her gloves. “I already had Aprilynne check the house.” She turned to Tori. “Would you walk around the neighborhood with Lars and see if you can find her?”
Tori didn’t have to ask why her mother didn’t send Lars to do the job by himself. Brindy wouldn’t go near the bodyguards, let alone come when they called.
A few minutes later, Tori was trekking down the street, flashlight in hand, Lars at her side.
She swept the flashlight beam over bushes and between trees, yelling, “Brindy!”
Wind rustled the fallen leaves around their feet, and a neighbor’s Great Dane rushed to the edge of its fence to bark at them. There was no sign of a German shepherd.
Tori kept walking, gripping the flashlight and listening for Brindy’s bark while she swung the light into the shadows. “Brindy!”
Silence.
“Brindy!”
Silence.
“Brindy!” The farther they went, the more her call sounded desperate and alone.
Lars didn’t call, just marched silently beside her, scanning for danger.
They spent an hour traversing the neighborhood. Tori kept hoping that if she walked a little farther, called a few more times, the dog would appear. Past the next house, or the next, Brindy would bound toward her, tail wagging and completely oblivious to the worry she’d caused.
Every minute that didn’t happen, another scenario presented itself. Overdrake knew where she lived. He’d taken her dog, maybe even killed her. Then when he attacked her at home, Brindy wouldn’t be there to warn anyone.
When Tori finally gave up searching and went back to her house, she felt sick. Her parents were in the kitchen, and she went straight to them. “I think someone took Brindy to keep her from barking during a home invasion.”
Her parents exchanged a concerned look. Not for Brindy, for Tori. “I don’t think we need to jump to the worst conclusion,” her father said soothingly.
Aprilynne, who had come into the kitchen for a snack, breezed by Tori on her way to the fridge. “How come you’re so preoccupied with death lately? It’s not healthy.”
“I’m not preoccupied with death,” Tori said.
“You thought some creepy guy was staking out our house.”
“That means I’m preoccupied with safety, not death.”
Aprilynne opened a yogurt and went to the garbage to throw away the lid. “If you want more bodyguards trailing after you, you can have mine.”
Aprilynne had graduated last year, and was taking online university classes while she worked downtown at their father’s campaign office. Mostly, she just saw the campaign staff, but she still had her share of security detail.
“No one is getting rid of their bodyguards,” their mother said pointedly, looking at Tori, not Aprilynne.
Their dad walked over and put his arm around Tori’s shoulder. “Honey, sometimes pets get lost. This isn’t the first time it’s happened. If Brindy hasn’t come home by the morning, we’ll put up flyers around the neighborhood.”
Why wasn’t her family worried about the obvious? “If Brindy got out of the backyard, someone else can get in.”
Aprilynne took a bite of yogurt. “You think someone is going to dig under our fence like a dog?” She shook her head, then left the kitchen as though she didn’t want to hear Tori’s answer.
“Even if someone did dig under the fence,” her mother said, “we have a security system.”
But alarms could be disabled. Tori didn’t press the issue. She went up to her room and sent a message to Dr. B telling him about Senator Ethington and reporting what had happened to her dog. She wasn’t sure what she expected him to do about Brindy’s disappearance; she just wanted to tell someone who wouldn’t treat her like a paranoid child.
He wrote back, I’ll send someone to watch your house tonight, and we’ll discuss long-term solutions. Make sure you don’t leave home without a means of protection.
Well, that would make going to school difficult. School had a no-weapons policy for students. What could she take to protect herself that the teachers wouldn’t see as a weapon? A candlestick? A nail gun?
Despite Dr. B’s assurances that someone was watching her house, she didn’t sleep much that night. Brindy wasn’t the sort of dog who made a lot of noise. She usually only barked when the doorbell rang. Still, the silence seemed wrong. Heavy. Where was she? Somewhere afraid and whining? Was she hurt?
Dead? Even after Tori had pushed those images from her mind, she was always half listening for the creaking of the floorboard. Instead she heard the familiar thumps, shuffles, and wingbeats of a dragon.
Chapter 18
That night when Dirk went to the kitchen to rummage for leftovers, he found Bridget sitting at the table with a bowl of popcorn. A German shepherd stood attentively at her side. Bridget was throwing pieces of popcorn in the air and laughing as the dog snatched them in its mouth.
“Where did the dog come from?” he asked. The German shepherd wore a collar, but no tags.
“Daddy brought her home. She’s visiting us for a little while. I’m naming her Peppermint because she’s so sweet.”
The family owned two Rottweilers, trained guard dogs. Neither were around now. “Are you saying we’re dog sitting for one of Dad’s friends?” Unlikely. His father didn’t have those sorts of friendships. In fact, he had hardly any friends. He had allies, contacts, employees, and if you counted Venezuela, minions.
“I don’t know who she belongs to,” Bridget replied. “But she likes popcorn.”
Dirk petted the dog’s head, scratching her ears. She turned and licked his hand, then spent several moments sniffing him with interest. “It’s dragon,” he told the dog. “A new smell. Don’t ever get too close to one.” He gave her a last scratch then went to the sink and washed his hands. “Keep that dog away from ours,” he said to Bridget over his shoulder. “They’d rip her to shreds.”
He found some pizza in the fridge and went to the room without thinking of the dog again.
Chapter 19
On Monday morning, Tori’s watch phone woke her with a beep. The sound was Dr. B’s tone notifying her of a message. She was immediately alert, senses sharp. A glance at the clock told her it was quarter after five.
Please, she thought, don’t let this news be anything horrible.
The message read: Does your father have Senator Ethington’s personal cell phone number?
Dr. B had woken her up at five-fifteen to ask that? Did the man have no idea about normal texting protocol?
She wrote, Probably. Her father had a lot of senators in his contacts. He liked to talk to people directly instead of going through assistants.
Dr. B texted, Find it and send it to me as soon as you can.
You want to talk to the senator? Tori asked.
I want to listen to what he’s saying to others.
Oh, Dr. B wanted to bug the phone. She wrote back, If Senator Ethington is making deals with Overdrake, he wouldn’t be foolish enough to use his own phone. He’d use a disposable one.
True, Dr. B answered. But most people keep their phones with them all the time. If we have his number we can hack into his phone, use it as an earpiece, and listen in to his other conversations.
That could be helpful. I’ll get his number, she wrote. And if you learn any interesting campaign info, pass that along.
She was half joking.
Dr. B wrote, I can’t disclose that sort of information. It might make him question whether he’s being bugged. It’s more important not to tip our hand.
Tori harrumphed. You’re a Democrat, aren’t you?
Get the number, and I promise to vote for your father.
One voter won over, approximately two hundred million left to go. She closed the message screen on her watch and pulled herself out of bed.
Her father wouldn’t give out private numbers, but if she got hold of his phone, she could take the contact information off it. She knew his password; she’d seen him type it in.
He kept his phone on his nightstand, and her parents were light sleepers. Could she sneak into his room and take it without being caught? What would she say if they woke up and saw her making off with her father’s cell phone?
Maybe she should ask Dr. B to stop by the neighborhood with a simulator tomorrow morning. If she could fly and see in the dark, it would be a piece of cake to nick her father’s phone. But she didn’t want to wait until tomorrow. There was an easier way to do this today.
Her father’s routine was always the same. His alarm went off at six. He showered, dressed—putting his phone in his suit pocket—ate breakfast, and left for DC. On most days he brought along Aprilynne and dropped her off at the campaign office on his way to the senate building.
Tori went downstairs and made eggs, bacon, and toast for the entire family. Then she walked into Aprilynne’s room and flicked on the light. “Hey, I need a favor from you.”
Her sister groaned and opened one eye. “What time is it?”
“Almost six. Your alarm is about to go off.” Tori sat on her sister’s bed with a thud. “So about this favor—it’s not hard, and I’ll let you have that Ralph Lauren shirt you like so much.”
Aprilynne shut her eyes and sighed. “Are you sneaking off somewhere at this hour? There’s something wrong with any guy who wants to see you this early.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Tori said. “I just made eggs and bacon. I need you to tell Mom and Dad that you made breakfast for them, and they need to come eat it now, before they shower, so it doesn’t get cold.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a loving daughter. See, it’s a win-win situation for you. Plus, you get bacon.”
Aprilynne opened her eyes, too curious now to go back to sleep. “I mean why are you doing this?”
“I need a few minutes where I’m guaranteed some private time. I, um, have an important phone call to make, and I want to make sure no one interrupts me.”
“An important phone call?” Aprilynne sat up, pushing the covers back. “Let me guess, it involves Jesse?”
“In a roundabout way.” Only because Jesse was a Slayer.
“Oh,” Aprilynne said, with a measure of understanding in her voice. “Okay, I’ll help you out.” She stood and ran her hand over her hair, smoothing it down. She’d slept in yoga pants and a sweatshirt, and didn’t bother changing before walking to the door. “Breakfast is already done?”
“Yeah.” Tori followed Aprilynne out of the room. “And if they ask where I am, stall so they don’t try to find me.”
“How?” Aprilynne asked.
Tori shrugged. “Ask them how young is too young to get married. That will keep them talking for a while.”
“And then they’ll look suspiciously at every guy I date.”
“But you’ll have my Ralph Lauren shirt,” Tori said. “And bacon.”
Ten minutes later, Tori had the phone number. She sent it to Dr. B, put the shirt on Aprilynne’s bed, then went down to the kitchen. Her parents were talking about the dangers of rushing into relationships, and they stayed on that topic for the rest of the morning.
Chapter 20
Jesse was getting dressed when his phone beeped with a message from Dr. B.
No school today. I need you for court work. I’m sending someone to your house now to pick you up.
“Court work” meant a mission. Jesse hated these sorts of cryptic texts. The mission could be anything from running a drill to fighting dragons. Whatever it was, he’d better get some breakfast while he could. Flying always made him hungry.
He made his way to the kitchen, winding around stacks of unpacked boxes in the hallway. His family had moved into this house yesterday and everything was still a disorganized mess.
His younger brother, Christian, ate at the table. His prep school uniform already looked rumpled, even though this was the first day he’d ever worn it. He had the same brown hair and eyes as Jesse, but beyond that, their resemblance was minimal, partially because Christian seemed to be stuck in a perpetual slouch.
Jesse searched the clutter on the counter for the toaster, then gave up and poured himself cereal.
His mom paced to a stack of boxes by the oven and dug through the one on top. She wore a black skirt and blazer that made her look more like a business woman than a high school teacher. Her brown hair was still damp from the shower and she hadn’t put on makeup yet.
Jesse’s dad came into the kitchen, straightening his tie. He was tall and barrel chested, with graying brown hair that tended to grow too long before he remembered to cut it, and an on-again, off-again beard, depending on whether he felt like shaving. Right now it was thankfully off. “They’re in the top box in the hallway. I marked them ‘First Day.’”
“Oh,” she said, and headed there. “I thought they would be in the box marked shoes.”
“Stop worrying,” his father called. “You’ll do fine today.” He took a bowl from a box on the counter—also marked “First Day”—and joined Jesse and Christian at the table. “Kids aren’t the only ones to get new-school jitters,” he said in a confidential tone. “How are you two doing?”
Christian finished a mouthful of cereal. “I can’t believe I have to wear a sucky uniform.”
Their father poured some cereal into his bowl. “Uniforms are a good thing. They promote learning.”
Their mother breezed back into the kitchen, now wearing black heels. “Conformity doesn’t promote learning.”
“It does if it keeps girls from wearing distracting clothing. As the father of teenage sons, I would support hazmat suits.”
Christian took another spoonful of cereal. “Man, that’s one more reason to hate uniforms. The girls won’t wear anything distracting.”
Jesse didn’t comment. His mind was on the mission, wondering how many Slayers would be involved. Would Tori be there? He hoped so.
The phone rang. His mom answered, listened for a moment, then gazed at Jesse. After she hung up, she walked over to the table. “That was Mr. Booker from the FBI. They want you for something this morning.”
His father made a low disapproving sound in the back of his throat. “How much testimony does the FBI need? It’s his first day at a new school.”
