A Crown of Dragons

“No. When I saw the scar on his neck, he changed his reality and showed me a construct of the Chihuahuan Desert.”

  “Good. He has revealed himself sooner than expected. That is what we had hoped.”

  “Oh, thanks for nothing! He could have killed me if he’d wanted to.”

  “But he did not. And it is most unlikely he will. You are his route into UNICORNE, Michael. What has he asked you to do?”

  “Why should I tell you? Why shouldn’t I join him and take you down?”

  Another pause. It sounded like he was sipping some of the weird blue fluid he seemed to live on. “Do not forget we are caring for your father.”

  “Is that a threat? Are you threatening me? You hurt Dad and I’ll —”

  “What do you think Hartland would do about Thomas if he had the scale? Do you really believe he would take the trouble to search for a mind as powerful as his own, when it would simply be easier to remove your father’s life support and forget about him for good? Then there is the problem you pose, of course. Jacob Hartland was merely cut with the scale, in a haphazard act of uncontrolled violence.”

  “So?”

  He paused again before replying. “We estimate that the amount of biological material that found its way into his body is up to forty times less than the level in yours.”

  “In mine? In … my body?”

  “Forty times,” he repeated, but I wasn’t listening. I was thinking back to the artifact room and the question he’d never truly answered, and I had never followed through on.

  “You told me my powers had come from the scale, but you never said how. What have you done to me, Klimt? What have you DONE?!”

  “A simple implant, nothing more.”

  “Implant?”

  “A fraction of the scale, just under the skin.”

  “You’ve put that thing INSIDE me? Where?”

  “The second knuckle of your left hand.”

  I looked at the tiny scar on my finger where a wart had been removed three years ago. They had put a piece of dragon scale there? How? It had been a nothing op. Done in minutes, under a local anaesthetic. Mom had been right there in the clinic, talking to me, holding my other hand while I looked away from the doctor’s knife.

  “No,” I said, feeling sick.

  “You are superior to Hartland in every way,” said Klimt. “The only reason he seems stronger than you is because he has been aware of the scale for longer. He believes in what it can do. Your persistent skepticism about your powers prevents you from using them at will. Hartland is a dangerous foe, but his drive for supremacy will eventually unbalance him. We have information that suggests his white blood cells have developed antibodies to the few Mleptra that entered his bloodstream. Without the Mleptra, he will struggle to control the dragon element. You, of course, received a careful balance of both.”

  “Why?” I said, again not listening. “Why did you put the scale inside me?”

  A second ticked by. “Your father begged the director to allow it.”

  “No! Dad would never put me through this. NEVER!”

  “But he did, Michael.”

  “Liar! Why would he do that? Why?!”

  “Are you certain you wish to know?”

  “You bet I do! And you’d better have a really good story, Klimt, or I will join Harvey and together we’ll destroy everything you are.”

  “Very well. Please try to control your emotions. Shortly after Thomas returned from New Mexico, Dr. Nolan gave him some test results.”

  “Tests? What tests?”

  “Blood tests, Michael, for leukemia — your leukemia.”

  “What?” My chest felt suddenly tight. Leukemia? I hadn’t been expecting that. My illness had ended years ago. Ever since the transplant of marrow from Dad, I’d been just fine. Or so I’d thought.

  Not according to Klimt. “The condition was returning,” he said. “Your chances of survival were estimated to be slim. By then, your father was in quarantine with us and deeply affected by his exposure to the scale. Any further donation of marrow was certain to include the dragon DNA. The implant was your father’s idea. He wanted you to have a better chance of life, despite the unknown risks the procedure would impose. The director agreed, on condition you would be ours to maintain and control. Your father gave his blessing. Your destiny was set then and there, Michael. If you survived the implant, you were always going to be a UNICORNE agent and a special Talen — one born out of your father’s love.”

  But it didn’t feel like love. It felt like Dad had made a deal with the devil. For no matter how I performed at school from now on, or what future ambitions I held, or who I fell in love with, or what family I had, there would always be a UNICORNE mission waiting. I was theirs, to “maintain and control.” A walking experiment. A mutant.

  A freak.

  I told Freya this at break the next day.

  “Then we are freaks together,” she croaked.

  Some small comfort, I guess.

  “Ark?! What has Klimt told you to do?”

  “He wants me to play it cool and stick to the meeting with Harvey. Keep gathering info. Stay low-key. More orders are coming later, he says.”

  “We will watch you,” she rasped, plucking out a feather. I caught it as it spiraled toward the ground.

  “No. Harvey will kill you if you try to interfere. No UNICORNE presence, that’s what Klimt says. All of the agents are being kept back.”

  “My crows belong to no one,” she craked, setting off a cry among the flock. I thought I heard Raik add The skies are ours!

  He was right. You couldn’t stop birds going where they wanted to, but that hadn’t stopped Harvey from killing one at will. I was about to say, Okay, but don’t make it obvious, when a boy’s voice carried across the playing fields, “Hey, Malone!”

  Ryan Garvey. Again. This time with a gang of friends.

  I took no notice and turned back to Freya. But before I could speak, the gang started chanting. Crow! Crow! Crow! Crow! adding some screeching arks! to pep it up.

  “Ignore them,” I said. But the flock was restless. You didn’t mock birds like these. Raik dropped down a few branches and landed next to Freya. He let out a brutal call that flew long and low across the playing fields. Ryan and his chums hooted with laughter. Crow! Crow! They flapped their arms and kept on coming.

  “Don’t attack them,” I said urgently to Freya. I knew a crow battle cry when I heard one. Raik was ready to lead a strike.

  Arrrk! cried Freya, paddling her feet. It angers Raik that you do not fight!

  “That’s what they want. It’ll only make things worse.”

  Crow! Crow! Crow! Crow!

  Freya looked me hard in the eye.

  Oh, for …

  Breathing hard, I turned to face Ryan. “Get lost!” I screamed, stepping toward them.

  “Lost!” he mocked, in a lousy imitation of a crow screeching.

  Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost!

  On they came, in arrowhead formation, Ryan leading.

  I picked up speed and got close enough to thump my hands into his chest.

  Losing next to no impetus, he thumped me back.

  Their crow chant changed.

  Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!

  “Leave me alone!” I pushed him again.

  He shoved me off. “You think you’re bad enough, Malone?”

  And then we got into the second phase, where the shoving got harder and the stares turned mean and neither one of us was going to back down.

  “What’s the matter with you?” I snarled. Ryan had always been a first-class jerk. He liked to stretch the boundaries of schoolboy tolerance. We’d had plenty of minor skirmishes before, but he’d never been quite as aggressive as this.

  “Crow boy,” he said, and spat on my shirt.

  And then I was on him.

  We hit the ground together, squirming and kicking as we tried to trade punches. Physically, we were pretty well matched, but I managed to roll him and sit astride his
chest, pinning his arms down with my knees.

  “You stupid fool!” I slapped his face, leaving a bright red mark on his cheek.

  “Ow! All right, I give in!” he yelped. And the normal (frightened) Ryan came back.

  But the normal Michael had taken flight.

  “They’ll kill you!” I screamed, and slapped him again from the other side.

  “Hey, Malone, that’s enough,” one of the gang said.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder and instinctively whacked back.

  “Awww!” The boy doubled up with his hands in his groin.

  I slapped Ryan again. But in my head, it wasn’t him I was hitting. All I could see was Jacob Hartland.

  Into the fifth strike, a hand gripped my wrist. “STOP THAT! STOP THAT THIS INSTANT!”

  And I was hauled to my feet by our PE teacher, Mr. Dartmoor.

  “They started it, sir!”

  “Well, I’m finishing it,” he snapped, shaking me around. “All of you, get to your classes. Now! Not you.” He kept his hand on my wrist. “Or you, Garvey. Do you need to see the nurse?”

  “No,” said Ryan, with a glum sniff. He struggled to his feet, feeling his jaw.

  “Dentist?”

  “No.”

  “Is it right what Malone said? Did you start this?”

  Cue the code of schoolboy silence.

  “Right,” said Mr. Dartmoor. “Detention. You’ll both stay behind after school today. No excuses. Got it?” He dragged me closer. “If I ever see you hitting anyone again, I’ll find you a pair of boxing gloves and you can try three rounds with me, understood?”

  “Sir.”

  He launched me back toward school.

  “You’re crazy,” muttered Ryan as I fell into line.

  “You’re lucky,” I hissed as the branches clattered and the crows hit the sky.

  Ark! Ark! Ark! came the cries.

  I raised a fist to shoulder level, knowing she would see it.

  Michael Malone. Still king of the crows.

  I couldn’t find Josie, so I sent a text at lunchtime. Got deten. Tell Mom 4 me.

  She texted back. ur pathetic. njoy bus ride home (snarly face with tongue out).

  Nice. At least she was talking again.

  Detention was held in a small room with one locked window. The walls were painted vomit yellow and stuck with random “crime” posters. If the police ever came to school, this was where they lectured you (or grilled you), I’d been told. I sat down at one of the desks as far away from Ryan as I could get. There were three much older boys in there with us, plus Mr. Besson, my language teacher.

  “Ah, the usual suspects, I see, plus Mr. Garvey and Mr. Malone. What an unpleasant bonus. You were fighting, I hear?”

  The boy in front of me snorted.

  Besson said, “If you want to clear your sinuses, Richardson, have the decency to use a handkerchief. As for you two heavyweight champs, workbooks out, please. I want an essay from you both on world peace. Two sides, minimum. The rest of you can —”

  “Whoa!” went Richardson, cutting him off.

  One of the other boys wolf-whistled.

  Chantelle had just walked into the room.

  “Why, Ms. Perdot,” Besson said, grinning like a dog who’d been offered a bone. “I didn’t know you were in the building.”

  Neither did I. She had briefly been a substitute teacher here — a role set up by UNICORNE, of course.

  “Monsieur Besson.” She greeted him with a faint smile.

  “Aw, she is hot,” I heard Richardson whisper.

  She was wearing plain black jeans and a turtleneck top, her dark-brown hair cropped like a strawberry leaf. She said, “I have been asked to relieve you.”

  “Really?” said Besson, unable to claw his gaze from her. She had the most amazing eyes, Chantelle. She could stun another human at twenty paces. Better than that, she could bend them to her will by “glamouring” them.

  “Oui,” she said, as if she’d snipped a rose. “You need to go to … the gymnasium and climb a rope.”

  I buried a laugh. But Richardson couldn’t. “Whaaat?”

  “R-rope?” said Mr. Besson.

  Chantelle demonstrated a hand-over-hand climbing action.

  “I … I see,” said Besson, still locked on her gaze. “G-gym … you say?”

  “… Nasium,” she added. “Now, s’il vous plaît.”

  “Is he going?” Richardson hissed at the others. “Is he actually going?”

  He was. His eyes were completely glazed. Amazing. Love her or loathe her, Chantelle was one stunning — and scary — Talen.

  “Au revoir,” she said, waving Besson out the door.

  Richardson clapped like a lazy seal.

  Chantelle was not impressed. “Out, all of you. Except Malone.”

  “No way,” said Richardson. “This is the best detention EVER!” He popped a stick of gum and sat back.

  “Out,” she repeated, bringing her gaze to bear on him. “On your hands and knees, now — like … a sheep.”

  Richardson’s mouth fell open slowly. The barely chewed gum tumbled down his shirt.

  She didn’t even need to strengthen the suggestion. He dropped to the ground and crawled out the door.

  “Sheep,” she called.

  “Baah!” he called back.

  She looked at the others. They jumped to their feet.

  Ryan said, “Can you turn Malone into a monkey, miss?”

  “Out,” she said.

  He didn’t ask twice.

  She drew up a chair and sat down to face me. “Bonsoir, Michael. Ça fait longtemps. I have come to give you your orders.”

  “Look at me,” she said. “Do not deviate or glance away. Do not try to read the flecks in my eyes. Just look at me and concentrate on what I am saying.”

  “It was you, wasn’t it?”

  “Look at me,” she said.

  “You glamoured Ryan to make him fight me and get me into detention, didn’t you?”

  “Shush,” she said, bringing a finger to her lips. “I will talk; you will listen. Try not to blink. You may nod or shake your head, but always you will keep your eyes on me. Klimt has told me about your meeting.”

  “He still wants it to happen?”

  “Yes. You are to make Hartland think you are on his side, but there are certain things we must blank out, things we do not want Hartland to know.”

  “Like wha —?”

  “Shush!”

  Her eyes were growing bigger and hazier by the second. It was like looking at a couple of chestnuts with a telescope. The more I stared, the fuzzier the world became and the more I stopped resisting. Her voice swept over me like a wave.

  “You have no idea how your powers came about.”

  “Powers,” I muttered.

  “No idea.”

  “Nnnoo … I …”

  “You believe you were born with the gift to see flecks because your father was a natural Talen.”

  “Dad …”

  “You believe your father’s donation of bone marrow boosted your ability to extraordinary levels. Nod your head if you understand.”

  I nodded — at least, I thought I did. Her face was softening and it felt as if my head was stuffed with straw. Her words were coming in broken syllables, like a pane of glass imploding in my brain. I sensed her talking about the scale and felt myself nodding again and again. I became aware of her voice fading — and after a while, I jerked awake, like an old man on a sofa, watching TV.

  The room was empty.

  I looked behind me. No one around. I checked my watch. It was 3:40. I’d been here roughly twenty-five minutes. Faint sounds of school activity confirmed I wasn’t dreaming. I pinched my wrist to make certain and even had a quick peek under the desks, just in case anyone was hiding there. No. I was definitely alone. I remembered being sent to detention and vaguely remembered there were other boys present. And was it my imagination, or had a female teacher come into the room and told us we could
leave if we did an animal impression?

  Too weird. I grabbed my bag and stuck my head into the corridor. A door opened at one end, and a teacher I didn’t know walked through. He glanced at me, glanced into the room, and walked on, whistling.

  What the heck.

  Freedom.

  Dennis’s van was in the drive when I got home. I found him in the kitchen with Mom and Josie, having yet another mug of tea.

  “Here comes the villain of the hour,” Mom said. “All right, bad boy, let’s hear what you’ve got to say for yourself.”

  I dropped my bag. “I got detention, that’s all. It’s no biggie.”

  “Fighting is not a trifling offense.”

  “How did you know I’d been —?”

  I glared at Josie.

  “Serves you right,” she sneered.

  “Maybe I should be going,” said Dennis.

  “No, you finish your tea,” said Mom. “Michael is going to his room, where he and I will continue this discussion later.”

  I stabbed a finger at Josie. “Don’t believe her. I wasn’t really fighting.”

  “Tell that to Ryan Garvey,” she scoffed.

  “You stay out of it, you little —!”

  “That’s ENOUGH!” Mom was on the attack now. “Go to your rooms. The pair of you.”

  “Why me? What have I done?!” Josie protested.

  “I think it’s called lighting the fuse,” Mom said.

  Josie stamped her foot. She turned to Dennis and said, “She’s horrible. I wouldn’t ask her out if I were you.”

  “I BEG YOUR PARDON?!” Mom roared.

  I looked at Dennis. He was laughing into his mug.

  Mom had turned several shades of red. “Josie Malone, come back here now!”

  No chance. Josie had skittered away like a rabbit down a hole.

  “I am SO sorry,” Mom said to Dennis.

  “Don’t be,” he replied. “Lovely tea.”

  Mom’s gaze fell hard on me.

  “Okay-yy, I’m going.” I slouched toward the front room, stopping for a moment by Dennis’s chair. “Thanks for the stars.”

  “No problem. Glad I spotted them.”

  He raised a hand and we high-fived gently.

  “Stars?” Mom said as I stepped out of the kitchen.

  “I scraped some fluorescent shapes off the ceiling.”