“Was she kidnapped?” Timmy demanded.
“We’re going to do everything possible to find her,” the cop said, which wasn’t the most reassuring thing Timmy had ever heard. “We have some leads and some eyewitness accounts…” His voice trailed away, which did just about nothing to build Timmy’s confidence.
“I have to go home,” he said, starting to rise to his feet. Dashiell’s dad put a hand on his shoulder to keep him where he was.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said with both kindness and resolve.
Timmy knew then that something really bad had happened. And his mom was gone!
“I should have been there,” he said.
“You can’t be home all the time, Timmy,” Dashiell’s mom said gently. “You can’t blame yourself for a random event.”
“Drake said I was the man of the house. Drake said I had to protect my mom since my dad was gone.” He looked away, unwelcome tears rising in his eyes. “He was right, and I let Mom down.”
“Drake?” the cop echoed, his gaze flicking to Dashiell’s parents. “Who’s this Drake?”
There was something about his attitude that made Timmy think the cop already knew the answer to his own question. “He’s a guy who does covert operations, just like my dad did. He finds people. He found my dad, when no one would do anything or tell my mom anything. Drake’s the whole reason we could even have a funeral. He’s the only reason we knew.”
The cop was surprised, but Timmy didn’t care if he was insulted. He knew the cops weren’t going to find answers for him, or help his mom.
“You should find Drake. He’d find my mom. He’d fix this.”
The cop frowned and cleared his throat. “As a matter of fact, there was a man named Drake with your mother at the time. He was injured in the attack and left unconscious as a result.”
Timmy was on his feet, unable to hide his relief, too quick for Mr. Patterson’s hand. “Drake was there? Drake came back? I have to talk to him!”
“You have to recognize that Mr. Drake is being questioned…”
“He’s not Mr. Drake. He’s military. He’s secret military,” Timmy retorted hotly. “If you think he did anything wrong, you’re totally stupid.” The adults exchanged glances and Timmy guessed that they didn’t believe him.
The cop appealed to Dashiell’s parents. “If we can just give it a day or so until we check out some details…”
“Don’t you understand? Drake’s the only one who can find my mom!” Timmy cried. “She needs his help and she needs it now!”
“Timmy,” Dashiell’s mom said gently but Timmy didn’t care what anyone said. He ran across the room, evading the grip of both Dashiell’s father and the second cop—the one who was supposedly guarding the door—and raced down the front hall. He had to find Drake. He had to talk to Drake about his mom. He ripped open the front door and froze on the threshold.
Drake stood there, as if he’d been waiting for Timmy. He looked grim, more grim than he had the last time Timmy had seen him, and there were bruises on his face as well as a bandage on his hand. He stood motionless, waiting for whatever Timmy would do. He was dressed more casually than he had been the last time Timmy had seen him, but he would have known the older man anywhere.
Timmy didn’t care if he looked like a baby. He was so glad to see Drake that he launched himself at him. Drake caught him up and held him tightly. “Timothy,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“I should have been there,” Timmy said. “I’m the man of the house, just like you said, and I should have protected her…”
“I was there,” Drake said, interrupting him flatly. “And I couldn’t protect her. There were three of them.” He leaned back to meet Timmy’s gaze, and Timmy was reassured by the cold resolve in the man’s eyes. “It is better that you were not there, for they would have injured you.”
Timmy swallowed. “They might have killed me, you mean.”
Drake nodded minutely.
“But they couldn’t kill you.”
Drake winced and put Timmy down. He crouched down beside him and Timmy listened closely. He was well aware that Dashiell and his parents and the cops had come down the hall to listen, but he didn’t care. “I will find her,” Drake said, his gaze holding Timmy’s. “I make this promise to you, Timothy.”
“And you’ll hurt them for hurting her.”
Drake’s eyes lit but he didn’t smile. “What happens to them is of no concern to you. I want you to know that I will give my life for her, if it comes to that.”
There was a lump in Timmy’s throat. “Okay.” It was a lame thing to say but he couldn’t think of anything else.
“And you, you must be strong, so that when she returns, she finds you well.”
Timmy nodded.
“You must excel in your studies so that she is proud.”
Timmy nodded again.
“You must honor the memory of your father and do as he would have done.”
“Yes, Drake.”
“It will be her love for you that will give her strength. You must ensure that she is not disappointed.”
Timmy nodded again, understanding that things didn’t look good. Just knowing that Drake was looking for his mom made Timmy feel better, though. He trusted Drake to make everything come right.
The cop cleared his throat. “Where’s your family, Timmy? In town?”
Timmy shook his head. “There’s just us, now. Mom said we were family enough for each other.”
“He can stay with us,” Dashiell’s mom said. “We’ll be glad to have him.”
“Awesome!” Dashiell said.
“I want to help,” Timmy said to Drake.
“I have told you how to help.” Drake lifted a brow and flicked a glance toward Dashiell’s mom before looking at Timmy again.
Timmy understood. “Thank you, Mrs. Patterson, for letting me stay here. I really appreciate it.”
Dashiell’s mom smiled, and he saw that she was trying to hide how upset she was. “Oh, don’t you worry. We’ll find some chores for you, so you don’t get too bored.”
Timmy turned back to Drake. “I need your email or your phone number. I need to be able to call you.”
But Drake shook his head. “I will find you each week and tell you what I can. In the meantime, I will send three friends to ensure your safety.”
“Guys like you.”
Drake nodded once. “They are named Kristofer, Reed, and Arach.”
Arach. “That’s a cool name.”
“They will identify themselves to you, then fade into the shadows. Trust that they are always watching you. Kristofer will give you a cell phone number and a signal to bring him immediately to your side.”
“Okay, Drake. Thanks.”
“Wait a minute,” the cop said. “We can post a protection detail, if we decide it’s necessary.”
Drake stood up and stared the other man down. “I have decided it is necessary. I will ensure his protection.”
“Look, you don’t know…”
Drake interrupted the cop, who didn’t look nearly so much like a warrior as Drake even though he was younger. “I know that both I and the boy will be more comfortable knowing that every precaution has been taken.”
The cop grimaced. “I’m not sure it’s wise…”
Timmy turned around and interrupted him. He didn’t realize that he stood exactly as Drake did, nor that they looked like partners. “Drake’s going to find my mom, and Drake’s going to protect me. I think that’s wise enough.”
He felt Drake’s hand land on the top of his head, even as Dashiell’s dad bit back a smile. “Show grace under pressure, Timothy,” Drake murmured.
“But thanks anyway,” Timmy added.
Mrs. Patterson was looking at Drake as if he was six kinds of awesome, and Timmy totally agreed with her.
“I don’t see any harm in it,” Mr. Patterson said. “It reassures Timmy and that’s good enough for me.” He winked at Timmy.
>
“I’ll have to get authorization,” the cop grumbled, but he could say whatever he wanted. Timmy knew that Drake would send his friends, no matter what the cop said, and he knew that Drake would find his mom.
He felt movement and turned to see Drake offering his hand.
They were going to make a deal, like men of honor.
“I’ll stay here and do what you said,” Timmy said, putting his hand in Drake’s much larger one. “I hope it doesn’t take long to find her.”
“As do I, Timothy,” Drake said and he looked grim again. “As do I.”
* * *
Ronnie awakened in an unfamiliar room.
There were bars on the windows and rubble on the floor. It smelled like mold. The walls were peeling, both plaster and paint coming off like large scales. There was a dark oily puddle on the floor on the other side of the room and the temperature was frigid.
She was lying on a mattress that appeared to be new, but had only a thin blanket. She shivered then got up, rubbing her arms to warm her skin as she investigated the confines of her prison.
Because that was undoubtedly what it was. There was only one door, which was steel and new, with a small viewing window at eye height. She didn’t doubt that it was locked from the other side, but she checked anyway.
It was.
There was a small table beside the door and a straight chair. There was a pot in the far corner with a lid that looked new. Ronnie guessed it was a chamber pot. She wasn’t in a hurry to use it, but the fact that it had been provided wasn’t a good sign.
Ronnie looked out the window, discovering that the bars were on the outside of the glass. She rapped at the window hard, then pounded on it, but it must have been tempered glass. It barely even vibrated.
There was clearly no heat in the place, which might have been an old institution. The building emanated a damp chill. The glass in the window was grimy, but she could see scrubby trees, like an untended woodlot. They were devoid of leaves and she had the sense that the forest was reclaiming the territory. She listened and thought she could hear traffic at a distance. She might have been dropped into a forgotten corner of the world. The sky was getting dark, like it might be the end of the day.
Where was she?
What did these dragon shifters intend to do to her?
Ronnie could think of many options, given their assault on her home, none of which filled her with optimism. She supposed the townhouse was as trashed as her car. Everything she’d worked to build was in shambles, and if Drake was right, she was going to have a child. Ronnie pinched herself hard in the hope that she’d awaken from the nightmare, but nothing changed.
Surely the bad dragons hadn’t gone after Timmy? She listened, but couldn’t hear any other signs of life. Had they killed her son? Abducted him and drugged him?
Ronnie realized that any other prisoner listening to the building wouldn’t be able to tell that she was there, either. She went to the door and peered out the small opening.
All she could see was a cinderblock wall, peeling with as much enthusiasm as the walls of her cell, and maybe ten feet away. It was covered with graffiti in bright colors. A corridor seemed to extend to left and right, but she couldn’t see any other doors.
That didn’t mean they weren’t there.
“Hello?” she yelled. “I’m Ronnie Maitland. Is anyone here?”
The sound of her voice echoed back to her.
Then silence.
She realized she must be alone in this place and tried not to panic.
Had the attacking dragons killed Drake? Did he have any idea where she was? He’d said he would defend her and he certainly had tried, even with the odds so stacked against him. She had to believe that he’d try to save her, if he was alive, and if he could discover her location.
That seemed to be too many “ifs.”
Ronnie began to pace her cell, her mind filling with questions for which she had no answers. She fingered her grandmother’s pearls, a nervous habit that made her realize that she still had them, at least.
Even if everything else she owned was gone.
Ronnie’s fingers closed around the pearls. Thank goodness Drake had asked her to leave them on. Of everything in her life, the only things it would break her heart to lose were the pearls and Timmy.
She paced the cell, praying that her son was well.
* * *
Ronnie wasn’t sure how much later it was that she heard thunder. She returned to the window, but the sky was clear. It looked like early evening, because there was a smear of orange in the sky, off to her right.
That wasn’t what made her catch her breath, though. A red and gold dragon descended from the sky, right outside her window. She saw that he was carrying another dragon that could have been his twin. That one was wounded, though, black blood flowing from the points where his wings should have been rooted.
To Ronnie’s amazement, the injured one began to shimmer, as if surrounded by pale blue light. That reminded her of the light she’d seen before Drake and the intruders had changed shape. The light sparked and flickered, giving enough illumination for her to see that his eyes were closed.
He changed shape abruptly, becoming a stocky older man with fair hair. She gasped, because he could have been one of the intruders in her home.
He didn’t appear to regain consciousness, but continued to shimmer. He became a dragon again, then a man, switching between forms with increasing speed even as that blue light faded in intensity. The dragon who had carried him watched impassively, his eyes glittering in the blue light. He stopped switching forms in his dragon form and was very still.
Ronnie heard a door slam and three men who also looked just like the intruders to her townhouse strode out into the wasteland. One had a bandage on his right shoulder, and she decided he must be Leftie, the one who had had his arm ripped off by Drake. They didn’t help the fallen man, just stood and watched with as much disinterest as the dragon.
Leftie took a step forward, his expression alight with what might have been anticipation.
There was thunder again, then the blue shimmer became brighter. The three men shifted shape, becoming red and gold dragons, and Ronnie heard them stomping down the dry growth of the forest. It was like looking into a mirror, because the three dragons appeared to be identical to each other—except for their various wounds, which were mostly superficial.
To her surprise, though, Leftie’s right arm wasn’t completely gone anymore. It seemed to be regenerating itself from the shoulder and had grown back to a stub. Ronnie knew it had been completely missing just the night before.
Even more worrisome, there were five very similar dragons outside her window, except one had no wings and one had only part of his arm. The wingless one also appeared to be dying, while the other four seemed to be indifferent to his fate. Leftie and the triplets, she decided to dub the ones watching. It sounded like the name of a band.
The wingless one’s eyes opened and he moaned. He tried to crawl away from the others, and Ronnie wondered why.
Then the one that had carried him breathed a brilliant plume of orange fire, roasting the wingless one while he was in his dragon form. He howled in pain. The second dragon had flipped the wingless one over and was holding down his tail and legs.
Leftie threw himself at the fallen dragon, teeth bared, but a tussle ensued. Ronnie heard even louder thunder, and the dragon who had brought the wingless one fought with Leftie. The last dragon bit into their victim’s gut, disinterested in the fight, ripping and shredding the flesh with relish. The wingless one groaned in agony as he was devoured alive.
He didn’t protest for long.
Leftie snarled, apparently resenting that he was being denied a feast. His opponent flung him against the wall of the building, two dragons fighting while two savored their meal. Their victim was silent and still now. Leftie made another attempt to score a bite, but two of the triplets breathed fire at him. The other was too busy eating.
/> Ronnie blinked at a shimmer of blue light, then realized Leftie had vanished into thin air. At the same time, the first dragon spun and breathed fire to set the woods aflame. The forest was dry and the fire spread quickly up a network of deadened vines, lighting the gruesome scene. Did she hear a human shout? Ronnie pressed her face to the glass.
It started to rain then, which maybe explained the thunder. The rain started suddenly and fell in sheets, extinguishing the fire in the forest. The scales of the red and gold dragons glistened with water, but they appeared to be oblivious to the change in the weather.
She turned her back on the scene and leaned against the wall, shivering. Maybe nothing could have turned them away from that feast. As much as she hoped that Drake would come for her, she didn’t want him to share that fate.
* * *
The third clone of Boris Vassily liked to think of himself as Boris IV. It had been a surprise to spring forth from an egg, his memories of his life as Boris as clear as crystal in his mind. His memory of his defeat at the talon of Erik Sorensson made him burn with a lust for revenge.
It was invigorating to be given a second chance.
It had been disconcerting to be flying with four mirror-images of himself.
It had been more disconcerting to have the Slayer Jorge seize them all and whisk them through space and time. Boris had enjoyed the sight of the terrified humans below them and would have happily indulged in a little ruthless slaughter. These were the beings responsible for the death of so many of his kind, after all, and his father’s call to dragon shifters to defend themselves against humans still rang in Boris’s memory. He could recite the entirety of the speech that had created the rift between Pyr, the division that had resulted in the kind known as Slayers.
His father had left his mark, and Boris wanted to leave his own.
It wasn’t going to be as a minion of Jorge, that was for sure.
No, he was the only son of Mikhail Vassily, the first leader of the Slayers. He’d be the next leader himself. It was his birthright.
Boris IV knew what had to be done to win the Dragon’s Tail Wars. A blood duel incited by the exchange of challenge coins was never left unfinished, so he would go to Erik. To his dismay, Jorge dispatched two of his fellow clones to hunt Erik. Boris IV had argued briefly with Jorge, but the younger Slayer hadn’t listened to him.