evening, and the streets of Dracone were as packed and chaotic as ever.
The door slammed shut behind her with a last fiery gust of smoke, the smell wafting over her nostrils.
The city had many pungent scents of its own. It was a world in transition: Half-constructed buildings stretched toward the azure sky, bordered by shops and houses that were as old as the dirt they were standing on. Metal and wood joined together haphazardly in horse-drawn carts, while towering brick smokestacks spewed black clouds into the air. Dree stepped around a stray dog darting along the cobblestone street, chased away by raucous merchants selling beef and potatoes alongside dragon fangs and scales and hearts. Rich, young Draconians stood there, matching white fangs to fire-resistant armor theyâd never use, all with scorched-off eyebrows, elaborate painted designs on their faces, and half-shaven heads.
Dree thought it was all garish and bizarre, but that was the new Dracone.
She looked across the sprawling city, to where her house was nestled in a maze of overcrowded dockside shacks overlooking the lake. That was where her father and three younger siblings were waiting. She pictured Abiâs face. She had let her sister down too.
Dree suddenly turned the other way, toward the towering wall of mountains to the east. There was no way shewas going home right now, she decided, pushing through the crowd toward the outskirts of the city, her eyes locked on one snowcapped mountain in particular, where a hidden cave sat perched on the slopes. She needed some time to think of a story to tell her parents about why sheâd been fired.
And more importantly, there was someone she needed to see.
Chapter 2
M arcus felt something bounce off the back of his head. He sighed deeply. Judging from the relative size and weight of the object, he suspected it was an eraser, which meant Justin and Ian were throwing things at each other from across the back of the classroom as usual. He heard muted snickers, but that was probably more of a âfortunate coincidenceâ kind of laugh than the result of a deliberate attempt. He hoped, anyway.
Marcus wasnât generally the target of any bullying, but he wasnât the kind of guy they would apologize to either. He was stuck somewhere in between popular and completely invisible, which was fine by him. Actually, fully invisible would have been great tooâheâd had more than enough attention growing up.
When you were part of the most inexplicable disappearance in state history, you learned to live with questions and cameras and closed curtains. Marcus had even learned to live with the constant stares and the laughter and the older kids pushing him into walls and lockers. But Marcus had never learned to live with the names they had for his father: spy, turncoat . . . traitor.
Students had spat the names at him as he walked down the hallway, and while the teachers of course didnât say anything, even they looked at him like he was a product of something corrupt and contagious. Eventually his uncle Jackâa close friend of his fatherâs who had taken over custody of Marcusâhad moved Marcus across Arlington to a new school for a fresh start. He had been able to slip into relative obscurity here, and Marcus liked it that way. He could continue his research in private.
Brian, Marcusâs best friend, glanced over and smirked. He was slightly more popular than Marcusâthough that wasnât really saying muchâbecause he played football, which his dad insisted on despite Brianâs strong preference for video games. His sandy blond hair was always artfully messed up, which wasnât fooling anyone, and he had a strong fondness for monochrome golf shirts. Brian was on an unending quest for total popularity, but he was held back by the fact that he was a little chunky and had a bit of an ongoing acne issue. Not to mention heâlike Marcusâwas completely
The door slammed shut behind her with a last fiery gust of smoke, the smell wafting over her nostrils.
The city had many pungent scents of its own. It was a world in transition: Half-constructed buildings stretched toward the azure sky, bordered by shops and houses that were as old as the dirt they were standing on. Metal and wood joined together haphazardly in horse-drawn carts, while towering brick smokestacks spewed black clouds into the air. Dree stepped around a stray dog darting along the cobblestone street, chased away by raucous merchants selling beef and potatoes alongside dragon fangs and scales and hearts. Rich, young Draconians stood there, matching white fangs to fire-resistant armor theyâd never use, all with scorched-off eyebrows, elaborate painted designs on their faces, and half-shaven heads.
Dree thought it was all garish and bizarre, but that was the new Dracone.
She looked across the sprawling city, to where her house was nestled in a maze of overcrowded dockside shacks overlooking the lake. That was where her father and three younger siblings were waiting. She pictured Abiâs face. She had let her sister down too.
Dree suddenly turned the other way, toward the towering wall of mountains to the east. There was no way shewas going home right now, she decided, pushing through the crowd toward the outskirts of the city, her eyes locked on one snowcapped mountain in particular, where a hidden cave sat perched on the slopes. She needed some time to think of a story to tell her parents about why sheâd been fired.
And more importantly, there was someone she needed to see.
Chapter 2
M arcus felt something bounce off the back of his head. He sighed deeply. Judging from the relative size and weight of the object, he suspected it was an eraser, which meant Justin and Ian were throwing things at each other from across the back of the classroom as usual. He heard muted snickers, but that was probably more of a âfortunate coincidenceâ kind of laugh than the result of a deliberate attempt. He hoped, anyway.
Marcus wasnât generally the target of any bullying, but he wasnât the kind of guy they would apologize to either. He was stuck somewhere in between popular and completely invisible, which was fine by him. Actually, fully invisible would have been great tooâheâd had more than enough attention growing up.
When you were part of the most inexplicable disappearance in state history, you learned to live with questions and cameras and closed curtains. Marcus had even learned to live with the constant stares and the laughter and the older kids pushing him into walls and lockers. But Marcus had never learned to live with the names they had for his father: spy, turncoat . . . traitor.
Students had spat the names at him as he walked down the hallway, and while the teachers of course didnât say anything, even they looked at him like he was a product of something corrupt and contagious. Eventually his uncle Jackâa close friend of his fatherâs who had taken over custody of Marcusâhad moved Marcus across Arlington to a new school for a fresh start. He had been able to slip into relative obscurity here, and Marcus liked it that way. He could continue his research in private.
Brian, Marcusâs best friend, glanced over and smirked. He was slightly more popular than Marcusâthough that wasnât really saying muchâbecause he played football, which his dad insisted on despite Brianâs strong preference for video games. His sandy blond hair was always artfully messed up, which wasnât fooling anyone, and he had a strong fondness for monochrome golf shirts. Brian was on an unending quest for total popularity, but he was held back by the fact that he was a little chunky and had a bit of an ongoing acne issue. Not to mention heâlike Marcusâwas completely