Bridges Burned (Entangled Teen) (Going Down in Flames) (16 page)

After scrolling through multiple Web pages, she settled on a gardening club membership for her grandmother, which sent one plant a month in the mail. Gardening was the only hobby she knew her grandmother had. For her grandfather, she bought a dessert-of-the-month-club membership, since he seemed to like food as much as she did. Was that lame? Probably, but it would do until she came up with a better idea.

The next morning, Bryn didn’t know if she had class or not. She showered and dressed just in case. When she wandered down to the café for breakfast, it was empty. A sign posted in the caf
é
informed her classes would resume at normal times and the dining hall was open. “Nice of them to let us all know.”

Should she run and knock on Ivy’s door? Ivy and Clint coming down the stairs answered that question. They checked out the caf
é
. Bryn pointed at the sign.

“Okay.” Clint yawned and walked toward the front door of the dorm with Ivy in tow.

The mood in the dining hall was cautiously optimistic. Students talked about leaving school at the end of the week.

“How did your parents take the news about Christmas Eve?” Ivy asked as they filled their plates at the buffet.

Bryn drenched her pancakes in syrup before adding a pile of bacon to her plate. “They haven’t answered yet. I don’t know if they’re busy, or if they don’t know how to respond.” A nervous feeling plagued her stomach. That didn’t stop her from eating her weight in pancakes. As her mom once told her, when she’d explained that dragons could eat as much as they want and not gain weight, there are few problems in life sugar and fat can’t solve.

“How are you getting home?” Clint asked.

Bryn paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. “I hadn’t thought of that. Zavien and Garrett flew with me the first time.” Zavien was out of the picture. Garrett, well, he wouldn’t be flying anywhere. She pushed her food away. “Has there been any news on Garrett?”

“They allowed the injured students to leave school early for the holidays,” Clint said.

Allowed to leave? Probably more like shooed them out of sight. Sadness for Garrett and Rhianna slammed into her chest. “It’s all so wrong.”

They finished breakfast in silence.

Chapter Twenty-One

They’d taken their seats in Elemental Science when a commotion broke out in the hallway. Bryn turned to find her grandmother standing in the classroom doorway. Tears streaked the older woman’s face. “Bryn, come with me.”

Something was wrong, like end-of-the-world wrong, because nothing would make her grandmother openly show emotions except…no… She wouldn’t go there. It had to be something else.

She checked with Mr. Stanton. He gestured that she should go.

Pushing away from her desk, it took effort to move toward her grandmother. “What’s wrong?”

“Not here.” Her grandmother walked down the hall and into a classroom where two Reds stood flanking her grandfather. The frown lines etched in his face made him look like he was carved from stone.

Her grandmother sat at a student desk, like the weight of an ugly truth bore down on her, making it too hard to stand. Bryn backed up to a chair and sat. “My parents…”

“Bryn.” Her grandfather cleared his throat. “There’s no easy way to say this. A bomb, disguised as a Christmas present, was delivered to their apartment late last night. They were killed instantly.”

“No.” He had to be wrong. Her parents couldn’t be gone. She was going home tomorrow… They were going to decorate the tree, and string popcorn, and bake cookies, and play Battleship. Her dad would win like he always did, and she would roll her eyes at his victory dance while her mom laughed.

“I am sorry.” Her grandfather’s voice wavered.

No… No… No.
Heat built inside her body. This couldn’t be happening. Her parents weren’t involved in dragon politics. They were innocent. Anger banked the flames in her gut. Her breathing came faster, and something crawled up the back of her throat and for a moment she thought she might vomit, and then sparks shot from her nostrils with every exhalation and all she could taste was smoke.

She wanted to scream…yell…demand answers…and she could do none of those things without spewing flames. Pushing to her feet, she stumbled over to an open window, took a deep breath, opened her mouth and roared her grief in blazing flames over and over again until her throat felt raw and exhaustion dropped her to the floor.

And it wasn’t enough. Pain raged inside her, but her spark was gone. Her flame exhausted. Everything. Gone.

On her knees, she stared out at the afternoon sky. It was still blue. Students walked around campus going about their lives.

“How does everything keep going?” Bryn asked.

“It just does.” Her grandmother stood by her side. “Even though you think the entire world should come to a screeching halt. It keeps turning, which is damn annoying.”

Choking back a laugh, Bryn took the hand her grandmother offered. Holding out one last hope, she addressed her grandfather. “Could there be… Is there any chance you’re wrong?”

“I wish there was,” he said, “but no.”

The injustice of it cut at her insides. “Why? My parents didn’t have anything to do with any of this.”

“I know.” Her grandfather straightened his shoulders. “Life isn’t fair. As I’m sure you’ve learned.”

“Can I see…is there…” Too horrific, the words wouldn’t come.

“The bomb leveled your parents’ apartment and half the city block around it. Believe me when I say there is nothing left to see but a crater in the ground. Whoever did this made sure there wasn’t any DNA evidence left for the police to find. Nothing to identify your parents as anything other than human.” He stood. “From now on, your home is with us.”

“Thank you.” She felt hollow and empty, like someone had scraped her guts out with an ice cream scoop.

The next hour was a blur. Her grandmother and one of the Red guards accompanied her back to Mr. Stanton’s class, where she explained the situation to Clint and Ivy. They barely had time to hug her before she was escorted to her room to pack her belongings.

Her grandmother rambled on about not worrying about missing homework assignments. Like she gave a crap about homework right now. Nothing mattered right now. Nothing except finding the people who’d done this and exacting revenge. She’d never believed herself capable of murder. And now she wouldn’t give a second thought to digging her talons into the murderers’ chests and ripping out their hearts. More than that, she would enjoy it.

Funny what you learn about yourself during times of stress.

Once she’d packed, the guard ushered her and her grandparents into an SUV driven by another guard. Other students, mostly Blues, were being shuffled into similar cars.

“Everyone is afraid.” No one answered or confirmed her suspicions. “Are my friends safe?”

“You mean the Black dragons from your class?” her grandmother asked.

Bryn nodded.

“As long as they don’t have relatives on the Directorate, they should be fine.”

That was good. Bryn stared out the window of the SUV, watching the trees go by, consumed by one thought. “When we find out who murdered my parents, what happens to them?”

“No trial. No explanations. No excuses,” her grandmother said. “They die.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Good to know her grandmother was on board with the revenge plan.

The SUV bounced over a rut in the tree-lined road leading to her grandparents’ estate. Bryn grasped her seat belt, needing to hold on to something. Which was funny, because with her parents gone, what did she have left to hold on to?

Time to block things out for a while. Hoping for sleep, Bryn closed her eyes as the SUV continued winding through the forest. When the motion stopped, Bryn woke. One look out the window showed that the building—she couldn’t think of it as a house—was as monstrous as she remembered. Five stories high, built of pale gray stone, it would’ve made a great set for a vampire movie.

Would this ever feel like home? Probably not. She followed her grandparents through the giant front door and into the main hall. The marble floors and granite walls of the foyer didn’t broadcast a warm welcome. Goose bumps pebbled her arms.

Up a marble staircase they went, to the second floor landing, where they stopped.
Now what?

“I have Directorate business to attend to. I’ll see you both at dinner.” Her grandfather continued up the stairs to the third floor.

“I thought we’d choose your rooms.” Her grandmother gestured toward the right. “There are several suites in my wing that would be suitable.”

“Okay.” Rooms? As in more than one? Whatever. As long as it had a bed and a dresser, she’d be fine.

The only sound in the house was the clicking of their heels on the marble tile. This silence, this nothingness, would drive her crazy. She’d need a radio or a television for sure. They reached a door on the right hand side, and her grandmother gestured that she should enter. “Go on.”

Bryn grasped the doorknob and froze. “Are we sure there aren’t any bombs wired to the doors this time?” The last time she’d been here a bomb had blown her across the room, fractured both her legs and her pelvis, and burned off her eyebrows. Even though the medics had been able to heal her with Quintessence, it wasn’t an experience she wanted to repeat.

“Security did a sweep of the house this morning.”

“Good.” She pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was decorated in peach ruffles and cream lace. Ick. Staying in this room would give her a toothache. She made eye contact with her grandmother. “It’s lovely, but…”

Her grandmother raised an eyebrow in challenge.

“It’s a little too…”

“Frilly?” her grandmother asked.

“Exactly.”

“Then let’s move on.” Farther down the hall, they came to a door with a brass doorknob.

Bryn opened the door. The plain blue and beige color scheme lacked flair, but it was better than that froufrou nightmare. “This works for me.”

“There is one more set of rooms I’d like you to see before you choose.”

Was this a test? Would she be forced to spend the day playing musical bedrooms? All she wanted was to go to sleep and block out the nightmare her life had become. But apparently, that wasn’t on the agenda. She followed her grandmother around the corner and up a flight of stairs that ended at a small landing. The door to this room was decorated with carvings of a forest.

“Cool door.” She pushed it open and gasped. Light spilled in from the floor-to-ceiling windows and reflected off the polished dark wood floor. The room was decorated in every hue of autumn leaves. “It’s like a forest in here.”

“Your grandfather didn’t understand when I discussed this with the interior decorator, but I think it turned out quite well.”

“It’s so warm and inviting.” Oops. “Not that the rest of your house isn’t warm and inviting.”

“Stop backpedaling. Your grandfather chose intimidating and cold decorations for the main part of the house. He achieved what he set out to do. I prefer more warmth.” She turned for the door. “Come. I’ll show you my rooms.”

Interesting. Maybe her grandmother wasn’t as cold as she’d first thought. Back down the small set of stairs, they took a side hall and went up another flight, which dead-ended at a landing. Pride was evident in her grandmother’s face when she opened the door and ushered Bryn inside.

“Wow.” Sunshine spilled into this room, lighting up the amber and evergreen decor. Not a ruffle or scrap of lace in sight. Everything was simple clean lines.

Suspicion confirmed. “The frilly peach room was a test, wasn’t it?”

“Maybe.” Her grandmother pointed to another doorway. “This room is my favorite.”

One wall made entirely of glass turned the small sitting area into a greenhouse. Orchids and other flowering plants lined shelves and tables, releasing a sweet floral sent. Two brown leather wingback chairs and a bookcase were the only other items in the room.

“This is amazing.”

“Do you have any interest in gardening?” Her grandmother picked up a brass pitcher and watered a pale pink orchid.

“I’d be happy to learn. We never had a yard.”
Bam.
Pain ripped through her gut. There was no yard…no apartment…no home to return to…no parents. Just a wrenching, cold ache. She grabbed at the wall.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Suck in a breath, and exhale. Push the flames down.
Setting her grandmother’s favorite room on fire wouldn’t improve the situation.

Once she was under control, she straightened. “Sorry…it just hit me again.”

Her grandmother nodded. “And it will, over and over again. This isn’t the first time I lost your mother.”

She’d never thought of it that way—the pain her mom had caused when she ran away and abandoned her own family.

Still, her mom had tried to mend fences. She’d sent letters. Made an effort. Had pride kept her grandmother from forgiving her mother? These were questions Bryn needed to ask, but now wasn’t the time.

“Sit,” her grandmother said in a tone that wasn’t a request.

What now?
Bryn sank into one of the chairs and waited.

“You must promise me something.” She reached over and placed her hand on Bryn’s. “You must promise me you will never run away. If you wish to leave, you are free to do so. But you cannot disappear in the middle of the night.”

“I promise.” She wouldn’t do that to her grandmother, or anyone, for that matter.

“That’s settled then.” The vulnerable look on her grandmother’s face disappeared as if a mask slid into place. She stood and headed for the door. “We’ll have lunch while your belongings are placed in your new room.”

Apparently the touchy-feely moment was over.

Bryn followed her grandmother back out into the main hall and tried to orient herself. “My rooms are that way?” she asked.

Her grandmother nodded.

“Good. I might need a map to figure out the rest of this place.” Which reminded her, she’d never found an answer about what happened to the blueprints of the house. Focusing on the puzzle gave her something to think about besides her parents.

“How did Alec know the layout of your estate?”

Her grandmother stopped midstride. “That’s quite the topic change.”

“Jaxon asked me that question a while ago. We both think it’s odd that Alec knew about the security elevator and the best place to drag two unconscious victims.” Jaxon and his mother drugged, bound, and gagged like two life-size rag dolls was an image she couldn’t get out of her head.

“Your grandfather and I discussed this. He thinks someone could have taken the blueprints from the school’s library.”

“We checked into that, and they’re not there.”

“We removed them.”

One mystery solved. They continued walking. How far was the dining room? Her feet ached. Stupid high heels. Realizing this was something she had control over, she stepped out of her shoes, picked them up, and continued walking.

The glacial look her grandmother gave her told her exactly how she felt about Bryn’s actions.

“I’ll put them back on before we enter the dining room.” That was all she was willing to concede.

“And you won’t indulge in this behavior in front of your grandfather or any guests.”

Funny how her grandfather fell into the same category as guests. Figuring out her grandparents’ odd relationship could be a full-time hobby.

“So, you removed the blueprints after the attack?” Bryn asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you question Nola since she was the last to have them?”

“Are you asking that question as a rational individual or as a woman resentful of her former suitor’s chosen mate?”

Her grandmother didn’t pull any punches. “Both.”

“Do you still harbor feelings for Zavien?”

“Does bitter disappointment count?”

Her grandmother laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound. “‘Live and learn’ is one of those painfully obvious adages.”

When they reached the dining room, her grandmother stopped and pointed at Bryn’s feet.
The shoes. Right.
She slipped on the painful black heels and entered what her grandmother referred to as the small dining room, which meant the table could seat sixteen people. At the moment, it was set for eight. Four plates on one end and four on the other. What was with the segregated dining?

“Who’s joining us?” Bryn asked.

“I’m never sure. Sometimes your grandfather has Directorate members dine with us. I find it’s better to be over-prepared.”

A maid Bryn had met before, named Abigail, wheeled a cart into the room and served chicken and asparagus covered in some sort of cream sauce. Rather than ask what it was, and risk looking stupid in her grandmother’s eyes, she dug in. It tasted like Alfredo sauce.
Yum.

Her grandfather and Jaxon’s father, Ferrin, joined them halfway through lunch. Out of habit, Bryn braced for an attack.

Neither her grandfather nor Ferrin paid the slightest bit of attention to her or her grandmother. They continued discussing something about security issues while they ate.

“Is it always like this?” Bryn nodded toward her grandfather.

“Like what?” her grandmother asked.

Seriously?
“Does he”—she pointed to her grandfather—“bring Directorate members in for lunch and ignore you and everyone else in the room?”

“Mostly.”

“Then why eat in the same room?” It didn’t make sense.

“Because this is where Abigail serves lunch.”

Okay, then. What to talk about now? Her brain went back to their previous conversation. “You never answered me before. Was Nola questioned about the blueprints?”

“She likes to plan her sets based on real blueprints to make them more realistic.”

Bryn snorted. All three adults in the room shot her disapproving looks.

“What? I’ve painted those sets. If Nola uses blueprints as inspiration, then something is lost in the translation.”

“What are you going on about?” Ferrin asked.

“How did Alec know the layout of the estate well enough to attack us that night? Nola was the last to check out the blueprints. Alec was her brother.”

“Do you think the Directorate is ignorant of those facts?” Ferrin asked.

“Before you continue talking to me like I’m an idiot, you should know your son was the one who suggested this line of investigation.” That shut the jerk up.

Her grandfather gave her a sideways glance. Was he mad at her? Too bad. She would wear uncomfortable shoes and do her best to act like the young lady her grandparents wanted her to be, but when Ferrin came into the equation, all bets were off.

“You’ll have to forgive Bryn. She’s distraught over the death of her parents.” Her grandfather’s tone was flat and even. He observed Ferrin like he was waiting for a reaction. Did he suspect Ferrin of killing her parents? When her mom had jilted Ferrin and run away with her dad—a middle-class Red dragon—Ferrin had been furious. Would he seek revenge in this manner, knowing it would be blamed on the brewing civil war? Maybe.

“My condolences.” Ferrin’s tone was tight, like the words strangled him.

She nodded in response. Her throat grew tight and her eyes burned. And she’d be damned if she’d cry in front of him. Setting her fork down, she pushed away from the table. “May I be excused?”

“Of course,” her grandmother said. “I’ll send Abigail to check on you in a while.”