Dragonfire: Freedom in Flames (Secrets of the Makai Book 3) (10 page)

HOUSE OF GLASS

LANDON AND VICTOR
slept on the bench across the aisle. Victor lay sprawled with a plaid blanket draped over a shoulder and Landon had a book in his lap. Tristan’s stomach grumbled and he reached for the bag of food, a little surprised to find it gone.

His shoulders ached from the tension and his stomach growled again. The plane dipped suddenly, sending his heart galloping into his throat. Energy pulsed around him. “What was that!”

“Turbulence,” answered Donovan from the front of the plane. “Try to relax—we still have a few hours.”

Tristan shuddered at the thought and peeked out the small window. Beneath the wing that seemed to bend erratically, dark fog whisked by like smoke. At least he couldn’t see how far off the ground they were. The cabin lights flickered and the plane dropped again.

“It’s a simple shift in air currents. Nothing unusual.”

“Can’t you make it stop?”

“Turbulence is completely normal when flying; the plane is even designed for it.”

Tristan kneaded his thighs until the muscles felt more bruised than relaxed. Landon awoke with a start and stared at Tristan for an uncomfortably long moment.

“We’re not going to crash,” Landon finally said. “Here.” A plush royal-blue blanket appeared in his arms and he offered it to Tristan. “Get warm and comfortable. We’ll be there soon enough.”

Tristan reached to accept the blanket, unsure whether he’d use it, and before he could fake a thanks, a jolt of power ripped down his arms and out his fingertips, electrifying Landon, who jerked back and fell unconscious.

Victor sprang to his feet with his eyes as wide as Tristan’s.

“I didn’t mean to,” Tristan said hurriedly. “I wasn’t even thinking!”

The dim cabin lights flickered and went out.

“He’ll be fine,” Victor said. “Just a shock. Blood pressure and heart rate are fine. He just needs a minute. Relax—”

“How can I relax?”

“You can sense his pulse, right?”

Tristan stared at Landon, determined to figure out how to sense a heartbeat, and suddenly the unconscious body emanated a bright orange glow. Tristan stood from his bench and retreated to the rear of the plane, though it wouldn’t do anyone any good in such a cramped space.

“Victor, keep this thing in the air,” said Donovan, standing aside for Victor to take over in the pilot seat. He took three steps and gripped Tristan’s shoulders. “Landon will be fine.”

“How can you say that?” Tristan brought his shaking fists to his chest to keep them still, then took in a gulp of air when the green form of Donovan remained unaffected by any sort of power burst.

“Unless you want me to knock you out, pay attention and listen to his heartbeat. His is the slowest, but it is strong with a steady rhythm. He’s stunned—nothing more.”

“I can’t hear it.”

Donovan gripped Tristan’s shoulders and gave him a firm shake “You’re not listening hard enough.”

Tristan shut his eyes and wished he could be anywhere but here. How much destruction would he cause before people would understand that the power had a will of its own?

“Look at me.”

Tristan refused until his eyes shifted back to normal and the dim colors returned to the cabin, though a crazed static still buzzed in his ears.

“You are going to bring this plane down if you don’t pull yourself together.” Donovan released his grip and pulled several objects from his front pocket. “See this?”

Tristan studied an odd coin with oriental writing.

“Keep it spinning.” Donovan flipped the coin into the air and Tristan caught it with his mind, forcing it to spin in place. Three more coins followed, then balls of silver, glass, and rubber. “Victor will switch them out with other items as your mind gets bored with these.” He returned to the front of the plane and switched places with Victor. “Three hours. Keep him focused.”

Within a few minutes, Landon was awake. Within an hour, the temperature in the plane dropped and two male, middle-aged ghosts were hovering in the aisle. Victor’s random items clattered to the ground as Tristan shifted his attention. Victor side-stepped his way to the front of the plane, where Tristan vaguely heard him whisper to Donovan.

The ghosts didn’t seem to care. They each knelt on the floor and one pulled a rolled piece of paper from the inside of his loosely fitted shirt. He then motioned at Tristan to write.

“Pencil and paper,” Tristan said, hoping Landon would produce the items.

He did, and Tristan copied the symbols shown to him. After several pages of symbols, the ghost bowed deeply, then nodded to the other. They both faded and Tristan shut his eyes, suddenly too tired to stay awake.

Tristan lay flat in silent stillness, comforted by the soft golden light of a hanging lamp. No engine vibration rattled his bones. No noise pounded in his ears. He wondered for an instant where he was, then felt certain he would have awakened if the plane had actually crashed.

He rolled to his side, caught hold of the staff, and attempted to stretch his protesting muscles. For once, his first thought was to find food. Victor would be proud.

Angled planks of wood paneling lined the walls. An antique leather chair sat in a corner with an ornately carved table to match. The only other piece of furniture was a chest of drawers in a similar style. There were no windows and he briefly considered whether Donovan would keep him in a polite sort of prison cell as he made his way to the door.

Relief eased his speculations when the door opened easily.

Twenty or more glass display cases filled the adjoining room. Tristan meandered through the antique collections from various eras, expecting someone to tell him the area was off limits. Museum quality paintings covered the walls from top to bottom.

One oil painting in particular caught his eye—it had to be several centuries old and looked oddly familiar. It was a portrait of a middle-aged man dressed in layers of bulky clothing, creams and greens. The man’s nose and cheekbones were sharply angled, though his face looked wrinkle-free and healthy. Some sort of circular medallion hung from his neck on a leather cord.

Tristan continued exploring the displays, perplexed by the feeling that he’d seen the man in the painting before. Recently, even.

In the corner of the room, he spotted a knot protruding like a button from the wooden paneling. Before he could stifle his curiosity, he pushed the knot until it clicked into place.

The walls began to rumble and slight screeches and squeaks echoed throughout the room.

Tristan pushed the knot several more times and tried prying his fingernails around the button to pull it back out, to reverse whatever he’d activated. Three of the four walls began to rise off the floor, disappearing into the ceiling. He gave up and ran to the nearest masterpiece, unable to reach the base of the frame. He was about to yank it off the wall with his mind when he noticed the border of molding along the ceiling and walls had pivoted away from each wall, allowing plenty of space for frames to slip through. But where were they going? The walls had to be fifteen feet tall from top to bottom.

Daylight flooded the floor as the walls inched higher. Tristan squatted to see through thick panes of glass and marveled at what was quickly becoming a spectacular view. A forest of trees extended downhill from thick undergrowth, and a deep-blue sea glistened no more than a quarter mile away.

He circled back through the gallery. The wall partitioning the room he’d awakened in was rising, along with three more exterior walls overlooking the trees. The third wall of the gallery exposed a small kitchen area and a doorway leading out.

A balcony looked over a small, sheltered inlet, where the red and white seaplane sat moored to a weathered dock.

“Hello?” Tristan called out. Though just because the plane was there, didn’t mean they couldn’t come and go at will. But then he noticed the plane only had one propeller, and smiled when he spotted Victor rummaging through a box of something on the dock.

Food could wait. He made his way along the descending stone path, distracted by the foliage trying to make themselves known. Little pink berries seemed to stand out everywhere and Tristan finally gave in to their calls.

He veered off the path and crawled along the soft moss, plucking tiny berries from the vine and popping them into his mouth, thanking each plant for the ability to make such an amazing flavor. A fruit the size of a softball fell from above, thudding to the ground in front of him. He reached for it, admiring the odd pattern of green and red on the skin, then froze when a warm, wet tongue slurped his outstretched hand.

Tristan shifted his eyes upward to see a large black dog with tendrils of drool hanging from his jaw. Something between a doberman and a pit-bull, or maybe part lab. Its tongue lulled to the side, over a row of sharp teeth. The dog quickly dropped to its belly and nudged the fruit closer with its nose.

“Okay. So, you’re a friendly dog?” One thing was certain—he’d seen this dog before, in a horrifying nightmare. Tristan wrapped his fingers around the fruit and pulled it closer.

The dog grunted a muffled bark and wagged his tailless rear end. Tristan grinned, sitting back on his heels. He faked a throw and the dog took off running before it realized what had happened, then raced back, barely able to stop in time. Tristan got to his feet and threw the fruit for real.

Everything around him seemed to brighten as he walked through the forest. Leaves became fuller, each shade of green richer than it had been before. Even the air seemed to have more value to him. Individual scents created their own paths and he followed them experimentally, taste-testing each thing calling to him. Even when the flavors were bitter or sour on his tongue, the substance nurtured something his body lacked.

Each time the dog came back, Tristan threw the fruit a bit farther.

By the time he reached the end of the island, his stomach was full and the dog seemed content to walk at his side. He stood at the edge of land and water and took a deep breath of sea air, saddened by all the years he’d lost.

Not only lost, but wasted.

Never had he imagined what the world was like beyond his preconceived ideas and personal experiences. When he lived with his mom, it was all he could do to make it through each day.

Another thought nibbled at his brain. He found a smooth area of ground in the shade and watched the clouds drift by. The dog lay beside him and rested his massive head on Tristan’s belly.

Would he willingly go back to Samara after this? The world she created was so artificial. So empty and lifeless. Every cell in his body seemed to soak up the glorious outdoors; the warm sunlight, the cool ocean breeze, the ground humming with the lapping waves.... He could never be more than content in an underground cave. But wasn’t he a cave-dweller? Maybe it was the difference between freedom and captivity.

Though the safety of everyone hinged on him being locked away.

The dog growled in her sleep, alerting Tristan to someone in the woods.

He sat up quickly, startling the dog, and spotted Donovan and Landon approaching.

“Hey,” Landon called. “Looks like the fresh air is doing you good.”

Tristan would have agreed, except Donovan looked extremely annoyed. “Is something wrong?” Tristan asked. “No one was here and Victor looked busy. And then the dog—”

“Jessie,” Donovan said sharply. “Get over here.”

The dog put her head on Tristan’s knee and stared up with big brown eyes. Tristan smiled and rubbed her neck.

“She’s not a pet,” Donovan spat. “She’s a guard dog. And she is supposed to keep trespassers to the front of the house and on the walkways.”

“Sorry,” Tristan said, getting to his feet. The dog stood along with him. “She wanted to chase a ball—”

“A ball? She’s a guard dog!”

Tristan shrugged, then smiled at his faithful friend and scratched the soft fur behind her ears.

Donovan glared. “Do you have any idea how long it takes to train a guard dog? You’ve ruined her!”

“I have not!” The dog licked his fingers, then put her head in the most ideal position for more scratching. “Were you expecting her to attack me? Would that have made you happy?”