Dragonfire: Freedom in Flames (Secrets of the Makai Book 3) (11 page)

Donovan turned abruptly and headed back into the trees, toward the house. “I expected you to stay in the house, where it’s safe. Instead, you open all the security, change my landscape, and untrain my dog!”

Donovan vanished from the nonexistent path.

“You could have left me a note!” Tristan yelled, then knelt nose-to-nose with the panting dog. “Don’t you believe a word he says. You’re a great dog. The best dog ever.”

Landon laughed. “Donovan was being serious, and you shouldn’t antagonize him like that.”

“Why not?” Tristan and the dog followed as Landon headed up the shoreline. “I finally feel good for a change and he just ruined it. Besides, it’s not my fault his dog feels neglected.”

“The dog is just an animal who guards the island when he’s gone. It probably wouldn’t bother him at all if he had to kill her for misbehaving. He’d just train a replacement.”

“He would not.”

Landon shrugged. “You might be right. He’s had this particular dog for quite a few years. Sometimes he even brings her with him to—”

“To where?” Tristan quickened his pace to walk alongside Landon. “To Darnell? I know I’ve seen this dog before, but I can’t really remember when.”

“Maybe. Let’s hurry. Victor is cooking breakfast.”

“He is?” Tristan’s stomach growled. “You would not believe how hungry I am.”

“We do have a theory, if you want to hear it.”

“Sure.”

“The more you eat, the more energy you have. That’s a good thing, unless you can’t keep that energy checked.”

“You’re not saying I should stop eating, are you?”

“No, but try to spend time every day doing things to keep your energy low. At least until you know how to lock it up.”

“I can—”

Jessie growled, then barked obsessively at nothing in particular.

“Do you see anything?” asked Landon.

“No.” As he said it, a fog that wasn’t there moments ago seemed to lift from the water and roll toward shore, where it took shape as a large crowd of people. Seven dragons towered above them all in a back row. Tristan opened his mouth and snapped it shut. Goosebumps bristled along his arms and neck at the sudden drop in temperature.

“They’re everywhere,” Tristan whispered. “Dragons, too.” He bent to one knee and opened his arms for Jessie, who promptly came to him and sat.

“I called Donovan,” Landon said. “Wait until he gets here before you say anything.”

Tristan held his breath until Donovan and Victor appeared beside him.

Everyone remained silent, watching curiously as Victor open a briefcase and pulled out various electronic items. The nearest ghost, an elderly man with a long wiry beard, held up a hand as the ghosts behind him became more restless.

“If you mean us no harm,” announced Donovan, “you are welcome to remain on the island. But you are not welcome in the house. Is that understood?”

The ghost who raised his hand made a motion for everyone to lower themselves, and they did. The dragons in the back lowered their heads, but not by much.

Tristan took a step forward and told the dog to stay. She growled, exposing her teeth. The hackles on her neck stood on end.

“Whatever it is you’re planning, I’d suggest you wait,” Donovan warned.

But Tristan couldn’t stop himself. “Will you attack me if I walk through?”

The leading ghost shook his head and turned to say something in silence to the crowd.

“Stay,” Tristan commanded the dog again. Instead, Jessie stayed an inch from his left side and growled a bit louder.

“If she doesn’t wish you to walk forward, you should trust her instincts.”

Tristan took another step and the dog moved with him, but made no attempt to prevent him from walking. “Fine. You can come with me. But don’t you dare start anything, got it?”

If the ghosts understood what he was saying, maybe they would try harder at not antagonizing the poor dog.

The ghostly crowd retreated out of his way as he walked a straight line to the back row, to where the dragons were stretched out on their bellies. He stopped and stared at one of the massive beasts. It lowered its head and shut its eyes. Even with its nose on the ground, the top of its head towered above him. A single eye had to be a full six feet wide and its nostrils were like small caves.

Scales of multiple sizes layered smoothly down its long neck and side. Tristan reached out to touch, startled as a scale rose slightly. Its edge was like a curved sword and Tristan glanced over his shoulder at the over-sized head eyeing him. “Sorry. I won’t touch. I’m just...curious.”

The beast extended a wing over Tristan’s head, creating the faintest hint of a shadow in the direct sunlight. Tristan stared up in wonder. The wing extended well past the rocky shoreline, over the water, with a thorn-like spike on each of the three major joints along the top. The bottom edge of the wing looked tattered and a bit shredded, but appeared to be smooth like leather.

He continued along a scaled foot the size of a car, with claws as large as Tristan himself. He glanced back at Landon. “I can’t believe you survived this.”

Landon smiled. “I assume you’re inspecting a dragon?”

Tristan nodded, continuing down the length of the massive creature. “Is this what I looked like?”

“We can’t see it,” Landon said.

Tristan glanced at the dragon’s large eye and it lowered its head even farther, almost resting the length of its jaw on the ground. The creature’s tail was still taller than Tristan, but grew narrower as it came to an arrow-shaped point. The grainy texture swirled slightly in the mist, and for a brief second, Tristan wished the creature was solid. He shuddered at the thought and circled to the other side.

The opposite wing unrolled itself into another ceiling above him, then contracted and expanded a few more times. Tristan breathed in awe, then felt fear rise within him as the creature got to its feet, extending both wings high in the air, taller than all of the nearest trees.

Tristan backed away, forcing the dragon behind him to get to his feet and do the same. The dog growled louder, gaining Tristan’s attention.

“Have you seen enough?” Donovan asked.

“Yes,” Tristan stumbled back when the dragon he’d been studying swiveled his head and blocked his way. “Th-thank you. I—,” he glanced at the other dragons, relieved to see them continuing to back away. “You’re all very scary—”

“Tristan,” Donavon said with a growl of his own. “Think carefully.”

Tristan straightened himself and decided to focus on the one dragon. “I don’t understand why you’re all here. You know that, right?”

The dragon lowered himself back to the ground and the others did the same. Tristan took advantage of the commotion and headed back to Donovan, Landon, and Victor, watching cautiously as the ghosts scrambled to make a new path for him.

Donovan’s posture relaxed and he gave a curt nod to the dog, who sat between him and Tristan. “How are they responding?”

Tristan glanced at the crowd. “They’re kneeling, trying not to look at me. But they seem mostly curious.”

Donovan narrowed his eyes. “Then we have no time. Let’s get back to the house.”

Victor quickly shoved his equipment back in the case, all except a hand-held device, and followed with Landon behind Tristan. Donovan paused for Tristan to catch up. “Let me speak to you privately,” whispered Donovan.

Tristan glanced over his shoulder at the crowd of ghosts and initiated a mental conversation.
They’re following us.

How many?

Twenty, thirty…and seven dragons, each about the size of your house.

They aren’t trying to change your mind about anything, or convince you of something?

No. They’re just...here.

Tell me about the words you wrote on the plane.

They were written on a page and a man wanted me to copy it. What did it say?

It tells of a village in Russia. I went to investigate and found the Forest of Darkness.

That’s great!
Tristan thought.
One less thing to find!

I know why you want to go, but why would they? What’s in it for them?

Tristan pondered the question.
They either want me to die trying, or they want me to talk to the dragon there, or....

Or what?

Maybe they want the contract broken so they can all move on.
Tristan cringed at his own thoughts. Did Donovan even know there was a contract?

Donovan stopped walking and Tristan nearly ran into him. “Are they surrounding us?”

Tristan peered around Donovan to see three tall men. He recognized them instantly. “They’re part of the council.”

Donovan growled and kept moving, forcing the specters to step aside.
We’re at a severe disadvantage here. This is not the right time to confront them.

They walked a few paces in silence, with Tristan falling more behind. Landon stepped in beside him. “Are you going to make it up this hill?”

Tristan glanced at the house sitting high on the slopping cliffs. Most of the walls were solid glass, which meant the paneled walls couldn’t have gone straight up. “Eventually.” He stopped to catch his breath. “You know, I was doing pretty good until these ghosts showed up. Now I feel like every ounce of energy—”

Donovan stopped and turned to face him. “Don’t tell me you’re feeding these things?”

“No.” Tristan blinked. “Not that I know of.” Half a dozen more spirits materialized behind the council. The ghosts who had been following circled around to face the newcomers. “We should get out of the way,” Tristan added.

“Why? What are they doing?”

Tristan ignored the question as the three councilmen stepped forward, blocking Donovan’s path to the house. The one in the middle pointed at Landon, and Tristan instinctively stood in front of him. The council member gestured for him to step aside and Tristan refused.

“Tristan?” ask Donovan.

“They want Landon.”

The councilman shook his head and pointed a gnarled finger again at Landon.

“No.” Donovan put a hand on Landon and Tristan’s shoulders and guided them forward. “There will be no negotiations with something I cannot see nor hear.”

As they neared the three councilmen, Pink launched herself from the safety of Landon’s hair. Within seconds, she disappeared over the roof of the house with all the ghosts on her glittery trail.

LOCK DOWN

“GET TO THE HOUSE,
lower the walls, and lock the doors,” Donovan said. “I’ll get Pink.”

“Wait!” Tristan said, a split second too late. He glanced at the two remaining ghosts, and one dragon. “What do they want with Pink?”

One of the ghost’s lips moved but there was no sound.

Landon pulled on his arm, encouraging him up the steep path. “Let’s go, Tristan. We can chat later.”

The ghosts nodded and motioned for Tristan to continue up the path. “Where’s Jacques? Is he still alive?”

The ghost nodded enthusiastically.

“Do you want me to go to the Forest of Darkness?”

Again, the ghost nodded.

“To break the contract?” Tristan glanced back at the other ghost, and the dragon. They were all in agreement. “What if I’m wrong and they all die? What if that dragon kills me before I can find the stone?”

The ghosts spread his arms and grinned, then seemed to reconsider his response when Tristan cringed.

“I want Jacques freed, or I’ll end up negotiating with the council for his freedom. Got it?”

The ghost appeared to consider this, then nodded as something caught his attention. Tristan glanced up the cliffs to the house, where a streak of mist arched over the roof and sped toward them.

The dragon leaped to intercept with such speed, Landon and Victor noticed the disturbance in the air. “What the heck was that?” Victor asked.

Tristan concentrated on his steps, quickening his pace up the hill. “You don’t want to know.” Above him, mist swirled into a cyclone of clouds, rising higher above the house. Other streaks shot into the brewing storm, making it dense enough to block the sun entirely. “I don’t have the staff.”

“Come on.” Landon grabbed Tristan’s arm and supported half his weight while Victor got under his other arm. “When did you have it last?”

“I’m not sure. I had it when I woke up. I think I had it when I went outside.”

“Well, we can’t backtrack,” said Victor. “Hopefully it’s in the house.”

The dog led the way, whining and growling between barks. By the time the path leveled out, they were nearly running. Victor threw open the door and they all squeezed through. The dog was the only one who needed coaxing to cross the threshold.

“What about Donovan and Pink?” Tristan asked, making his way to the wall of glass on the far side of the room. The tall trees outside swayed back and forth in the fierce wind and the sky had darkened to the point of being almost dusk. “This can’t be good.”

“He said to lock up. I’m guessing he knows how to get in on his own,” Landon offered. “What are you looking for?”

“I’m guessing there’s another button somewhere.” Tristan searched the remaining wall for something similar. “It looks like a knot in the wood grain.”

“Got it,” announced Victor as the walls began the slow descent. “I never pictured Donovan being so hi-tech,” he added, peering up at the walls. “I still think it’s a shame he doesn’t actually use this place. It doesn’t look like he spends any time here at all.”

“Maybe he does,” said Landon, handing Tristan the staff. “It was in the corner.”

“Thanks. What now?”

“There’s a sitting area this way.” Victor pointed through a narrow hallway. “We brought in a table and chairs this morning.”

“So what’s going on out there? I can only assume you’re not causing this storm?”

Tristan studied the floor as the walls snapped into place. It seemed to wave beneath his feet and he swayed.

“Tristan?” Landon led him through the maze of display cases toward Victor.

“I think the first group of ghosts are fighting with the second group of ghosts.”

“Which ones are after Pink?”

“The second group.” Tristan glanced up at the painting that had originally caught his attention. “Can you see a name for that guy?” He had a theory, but it seemed beyond impossible.

Landon scanned the painting briefly and shook his head. “You’ll have to ask Donovan.”

Tristan stopped again at a display with a clipper ship in a glass bottle.

“Everyone downstairs,” Donovan ordered, rushing into the room. He pulled open a trapdoor camouflaged with the floor and Pink flew into Landon’s hair with a terrified squeal.

“I’ll grab the food.” Victor took off down the hall.

By the time Victor returned with four canvas bags hanging from his hands, Tristan had made it as far as the opening in the floor. The descending staircase was well lit, and made of the same polished wood, but still steep. “With all the technology you have in this place, why not install an elevator?”

Donovan cocked an eyebrow as Victor dashed down the stairs. Landon followed. “Move it or I’ll shove you in.”

Tristan groaned and took a few steps as quickly as possible. Donovan followed, lowering the trapdoor behind him to block the exit.

“They’re ghosts. Do you really think that’ll stop them?” Tristan asked.

“It’s not just the ghosts we need to worry about. There’s a storm brewing and we seem to be in the middle of it.”

Donovan held his hand against the trapdoor and shut his eyes, until a scraping noise scratched the wood above them.

“It’s Jessie,” Tristan shouted. “She’s still up there!”

“She’s a guard dog—she is not allowed inside.”

“She’s already inside. I let her in!”

Donovan rolled his eyes, but opened the trapdoor to let Jessie scurry through. “She’s not a house pet.”

“Good girl!” Tristan scratched the dog behind both ears. “You stay with us where it’s nice and safe.”

Donovan re-latched the door and the walls began humming with a high frequency vibration. “I never said it was safe, but we’re sealed off for now.” Donovan passed Tristan and the dog on his way down the staircase. “It’s two flights. Take your time.”

It didn’t take as long as expected, but by the time he reached the main level, Victor was staging a small feast and Landon was halfway through the line of full body armor and weapon displays from probably every country and every century. The collection had to be worth a fortune.

One of the oil paintings stood out as familiar; he walked toward it to be sure. “I’ve seen this ship before.”

“T’was rather famous in her time.” Donovan motioned Tristan out of the museum area and towards Victor, where four oversized reading chairs faced a square coffee table.

Saliva pooled in his mouth as the scent of something delicious wafted under his nose. “I’m so hungry,” Tristan said. “I could eat a—” Everything he could think of to finish the sentence made his stomach churn.

“I need 10 minutes,” Victor said. “But here. Have some orange juice.”

Tristan made his way to the table. “Paper and pencil, please.”

“They aren’t in here, are they?” Landon asked, covering Pink protectively as she raced into his outstretched hand.

Tristan shook his head and dropped into the closest chair. Jessie lay at his feet and rested her jaw on his foot. Victor provided a piece of paper and pencil on the short table and Tristan started sketching the ship from the inside out. He filled in every cargo and storage space, every stairway, cabins for crew and captain, along with the galley. Even the secret room hidden in the very pit of the ship wasn’t so secret. By the time he got to the three masts, rigging, and the layout of sails, the paper had grown in size and the texture had shifted into something smoother.

Around him, voices buzzed with excitement, but he ignored them, intent on finishing the rigging before the schematics in his mind faded. Something gripped his wrist, jarring his concentration, then his arm was yanked into the air and the pencil fell from his grip. Jessie growled and Tristan blinked away the rush of annoyance and confusion. “What!”

Donovan let go of his wrist and he nearly fell backwards. He was standing now, and the room looked unfamiliar for a few long moments while everyone stared. How long had he been drawing? He rubbed at his tender wrist while Donovan paced.

“I don’t understand. What’d I miss?” He did tend to tune everything out when drawing...but clearly there wasn’t any emergency going on.

“Where did you see this?”

Donovan held up the drawing, which was essentially blueprints of the ship Tristan had built as a child with stolen toothpicks from whatever bar his mother was working at the time. “It’s mine. I—”

“You’re lying!”

“Donovan!” Landon said. “He’s not.”

“Prove it.”

“It was….” The toothpick ship had been his most valued possession. It had taken over a year to construct and survived three moves…and now he couldn’t even recall what had happened to it.

“It was what?” Donovan’s voice echoed in the small chamber and the veins in his temples pulsed with anger.

Tristan tightened his grip on the staff and turned away as his eyes shifted. “I don’t remember.”

“I don’t believe you.”

The dog growled again. Donovan grabbed the nearest sword from a renaissance knight and slashed repeatedly at the sudden appearance of a canvas dummy. Tristan took deep breaths, doing his best to ignore the intimating show of aggression. Victor shrugged and went back to food prep. Landon sat in one of the armchairs and waited.

Tristan didn’t dare move until the dog nudged his staff. He gave his newest companion half a smile, grateful his shifting eyes didn’t seem to be a threat of some kind, and sat on an armrest where he could keep an eye on Donovan without drawing attention to himself. The last thing he wanted was any of that anger directed at him.

The dog rested her head on Tristan’s thigh and closed her eyes as Tristan rubbed the soft patch of fur on her forehead. When his vision shifted back to normal, the dog settled at his feet.

Donovan returned the sword to its rightful place and rolled his shoulders. Tristan glanced at him quickly, then dropped his gaze back to the floor and scowled. He had no better answer now than what he’d had before.

“Forgive me. My home is under attack and I don’t usually hide from such things.”

Tristan nodded. At least the dog was still relaxed.

“You were travelling on a highway through farmlands with your mother. She told you to leave the ship behind, but you snuck it into the back of the pickup and covered it with a tarp. It tore and broke free, then the wind caught the ship....”

“How do you know that?” The scenario sounded…true.

“You jumped.”

“She wouldn’t stop.”

“That was the day you called for my assistance, only you denied it. I wasn’t about to fall for someone’s trap and didn’t stay long.”

Tristan couldn’t think of anything to say as the triggered memory came through in parts. “Why would you think it was a trap? How old was I?”

“I’m a predator, Tristan. I don’t go around saving little kids with twisted knees and I don’t think you were the one to call me, even though the call clearly came from you.”

Tristan stared at the man, unable to see past the storm of anger building in his thoughts, clouding his judgment. He was sealed underground with the enemy. With a man who could change the past, present, and future by altering the memories of others. How would he ever know what was true? Every decision would be based on how thorough the manipulation was.

He ignored whatever was being said and retreated to the staircase with Jessie matching his pace. Why couldn’t he throw a big temper tantrum and be done with it? The monster within would kill without thought. Without concern. Without debating right and wrong and who deserved death and who didn’t. But not him. He had to be in constant control of himself.

Worse was the contract with the faerie races. If he released them, would they have every right to wipe out the entire human race for the way they treated the planet? If he had to pick a side....

Jessie stopped waiting for an order and lowered her head to her paws. “I’ve seen her before, haven’t I?”

Donovan nodded, though he didn’t look eager to speak. “She was keeping Charley prisoner when you came along and saved him.”

“I don’t remember that.” Hitting his head against the wall would accomplish nothing.

“You were in my class.”

“No I wasn’t—” Even as he said it, he remembered the night he ran from the fire. From Donovan. There was nowhere to run in this basement. No place to be alone.

“I’m sorry. It was all I could do to keep myself from slicing you in half.”

The feeling was mutual.

“I was using past memories to instruct the class, and you wound yourself into private memories that were off limits. Even to myself.”

“So it was my fault?”

“You saw me at my worst, and I…I retaliated.”

Landon and Victor must have been in on it—since they wouldn’t look at him now.

“What other memories did you take from me?”

“They were suppressed, not taken.”

“Like that matters?” Tristan turned his back to Donovan as much as he could, leaning against the wall of the stairwell.

“He was my father,” Donovan said. “He didn’t know I’d changed, and he wouldn’t have done more than slap my hand. But I had little control over my rage and sudden strength. I’d already killed my maker, along with the woman I loved, just to stop her from marrying another. I was angry to be faced with those times again, without notice.”