Edward Barnes was fifteen years old when a Fire Drake flew out of the North Sea. The dragon found him on the steps of Foxrose Preparatory School for the Magically Gifted, where Barnes and his best friend, Russell Turner, were playing their usual game of cards. Barnes had never expected to Bond with a dragon, seeing as wizards are rarely chosen as riders, but the young Gold Wand immediately accepted the Bond and cheerfully flew away with his new steed. Even though only Barnes was privy to his true name, the world knows him as the Sire.
—Excerpt from Julissa Mercado’s article “A Cursed Life: How a Gold Wand Saved the World” in The Weekly Scorcher
“THE DESERT SUN-KISSED GLAM LOOK IS OFFICIALLY conquered. What do you think?”
Gabriela puts me in front of the full-length mirror. She frames my face with her hands like she’s voguing. Since she’s wearing a million golden bangles on each arm, the room becomes a concert hall with the sounds of clanging metal. They match her gold pleated dress and heels.
My whole face is covered in makeup thanks to her, but it’s so natural looking and un-cakey that it doesn’t bother me. I’m rocking bronze winged eyeliner, which shimmers a lot. My outfit is a bit more laid back. I’ve chosen the ballet-slipper-pink crop top, matching knee-length skirt, and strappy mauve sandals that will let me bust a move if warranted.
“Awesome,” I tell Gabriela. “You should do this professionally.”
Gabriela is a ball of light. “That means so much, Lana! Thank you!”
There’s no clear sign she’s faking it, but Victoria’s words still ring in my head.
Gabriela is just being nice not to hurt your feelings. Don’t buy into it.
I give Gabriela a thumbs-up. “Sure …”
“We’re done, right? We can go now?” Victoria crosses her arms by the door. Even though she’s elegant in a belted ruby dress, her scowl sucks the charm out of her.
Breathe. Ignore her. Repeat.
If Génesis could roll her eyes any harder, they’d fall out of their sockets. “Yes. We’re done,” she says, gorgeous in her green dress and honey flats. “Lead the way, Victoria.”
The guys are waiting for us in the living room, all wearing dress shirts and pants. Luis is the only one with a bow tie. It’s bright coral, just like his shirt. Edwin is adjusting a silver earpiece to his left ear, which will translate anything spoken in English into Spanish. Héctor tells us we look beautiful while Joaquín and Manny emerge past the double doors. Both Delgado men are in head-to-toe black, but Joaquín softens the look with a smile.
Manny does a quick head count, then says gruffly, “Vámonos, mi gente.”
The welcome party is right here in the Compound. An enormous white silk tent has been erected in between both rows of houses. Each house’s entrance has a white carpet leading to the tent, where electronic music blares into the sky. Tons of security guards swarm the tent in polished black suits. Gabriela and Luis dance their way down the carpet. Héctor pretends to photograph them like a desperate paparazzo. Everyone laughs except me. Well, and Manny, too. He makes it to the tent’s entrance first, parting the silk drapes aside for the team to file in.
The whole place is covered in comfy white couches. Some have green and black pillows. Others have white and red pillows. The four colors of the United Arab Emirates flag. Flowers have been arranged into intricate pillars on each corner. The flowers are light yellow with five petals, small and delicate. I see dinner tables with catering trays shaped like dragon claws, dishes from each of the countries represented in this year’s Cup, and a separate stage with a photo booth. It even has a green screen and costume props.
To the left side of the tent, a large dragon sculpture has chocolate cascading out of its mouth. Assorted trays filled with fruit surround it. While I drool over the prospect of fudgy goodness, Gabriela gawks at those tubular glass chandeliers Aunt Jenny loves to collect pictures of on the Internet. They look like a bunch of elongated glasses of water have been glued together and somebody decided to call them art. The largest chandelier hangs above the DJ’s stage, which is currently manned by a tall Black girl with short dreads. She’s spinning beats like a pro.
“Holy crap. Is that Onesa Ruwende?” I point to one of the stunning Blockers from Team Zimbabwe. She’s the only Blocker to have defeated every single Runner she’s ever faced.
“That is indeed Onesa,” an olive-skinned man says. He’s standing next to Manny, with warmth in his brown eyes, sporting a navy kurta and white pants. “Welcome to the start of Cup festivities! My name is Asim Haddad. I’m the IBF’s ambassador here in the city of Dubai and your host for the evening.” He takes his time to shake everyone’s hand. “Make yourselves at home. We have traditional cuisine from your country, as well as from the other participating nations. You can use the photo booth however many times you desire. We have a chocolate fountain over there”—he points to the dragon sculpture—“and the dance floor is always open.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” says Luis.
Ambassador Haddad cracks up. “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to assist you. Enjoy your evening!” He claps Manny on the back. “A quick word, Mr. Delgado?”
Manny follows him to one of the couches, where a group of other IBF people are sitting. President Turner isn’t among them. He’ll probably be fashionably late. Maybe he’ll show up even after all the teams have arrived. No big deal. I have all night to talk to him.
“We’re the first ones here?” Génesis asks. “With the exception of Onesa, of course.”
“We’ve failed our country already by being on time to a party,” Gabriela jokes.
Héctor shakes his head, but he’s smirking. “Come on. Let’s go say hi.”
“You go on ahead. I’ll get some food,” says Joaquín.
I follow my teammates on the way to the stage.
Onesa gasps when she spots us. She jumps offstage and hugs us one by one. God, she’s even taller in person. And her amber eyes pierce through my soul. “Hello!” she chirps in a soft voice that clashes with her bulging biceps. “You all look amazing tonight. How are you doing?”
“You’re Onesa Ruwende,” I say. “You. Are. Onesa. Freaking. Ruwende.”
“Fangirl alert. Proceed with caution,” Luis says into his shirtsleeve like he’s security.
Onesa laughs her trademark husky laugh. “And you’re Lana Freaking Torres.”
I swallow hard. That name isn’t meaning much, but she doesn’t know about the mountain or the failed fighting sessions. She has no idea my teammates think I’m dragging them down. Tonight is about figuring out President Turner’s real agenda, but it’s also about burying the worst parts of me. Nobody can see me break. Especially those who do intend to break me on the field.
“So? No one can get past you.” I gape at this wondrous girl with her wondrous track record. Well, her whole crew is incredible. Team Zimbabwe comprises mostly girls. Their only boy, Wataida Midzi, holds his own as their Charger, but the girls are legends.
Onesa does a little bow. “I can’t wait to see if we’ll meet on the mountain.”
“You’re going down if that’s the case,” Gabriela says playfully. “Lana will smoke you.”
“She’d better,” a snide Victoria cuts in.
I’m about to say something when a boy’s voice catches me off guard.
“Behold! An angel has landed on Earth!”
I recognize him, but still I turn around in shock. Seven white teens are approaching. The boy leading the pack is stacked like a wrestler, with lip and septum piercings. His hair is dyed the color of blueberries. Kirill Volkov, one of the Russian Blockers, beams at Edwin.
“Hello.” The wattage of his smile is out of this world. “A pleasure to meet you, Edwin. My name is Kirill Volkov. I know your Sworn Magazine interview by heart. You’re stunning both inside and out. If you allow it, I would love the honor of getting to know you better.”
My jaw has never fallen this fast.
“¡Dile algo!” a giddy Gabriela begs Edwin to say something to Kirill.
But Edwin only blushes, his eyes darting from Kirill to the floor.
“Please forgive him. He’s currently in distress.” Artem Volkov, Kirill’s twin brother, grabs Kirill’s shoulders as if to restrain him. While Kirill has blueberry hair, Artem shaves his head and has a thick scar under his left eye. “He hasn’t seen The Little Mermaid in three days.”
“Four. It’s been a difficult week,” Kirill says.
Edwin laughs but still doesn’t say anything. He just blushes even harder.
Kirill runs a hand through his hair to reveal his left ear. A blue earpiece has been carefully placed inside. “It’s programmed to translate Spanish. I hear it in Russian.”
I’m dead. It’s such a small, simple gesture, but it’s the sweetest thing I’ve seen in a while.
Edwin’s still beet red, but he tells Kirill, “Gracias, chico. Me encantaría conocerte mejor.”
He’d love to get to know Kirill better.
Kirill looks like he’s won the Cup already. “You have excellent judgment.”
“Let me remind you there are other people in front of you, Kirill,” says a deadpan Artem.
“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” says Kirill. “Hello, other people!”
He and his teammates introduce themselves, but of course I know them all. Russia is an iconic team. They’re the most physically intimidating athletes alive, mercilessly plowing through their opponents during the last Cup. They got third place because they’d squared off against unbeatable Japan in the semifinals. Also, every member is part of the LGBT community. Artem and their Striker, Kristina Ivanova, recently came out as bisexual. They’re wearing pride-flag pins. Kirill was the first member of the team to tell the world he’s gay.
When Kirill reaches me, he says, “If it isn’t the Puerto Rican Bullet!” He leans in closer, suddenly serious. “Can I call you Bullet?”
“Only if I can call you Blueberry,” I say with a straight face.
He winks at me. “Done.”
“Are any of you going to dance?” Onesa asks.
So we start dancing. At first, it’s all raising roofs and shimmies galore. When Onesa plays some old-school hip-hop, the dance floor becomes Swaying Hips Central. Kirill is giving Edwin some space, but Edwin shifts from dancing with Génesis to dancing with him. Victoria lets Luis spin her around for a while, then she joins Joaquín at the couch. Dancing must not be her thing.
Salsa music is playing when another team walks into the tent. Then another and another, until all I see are superstars. Argentina and Egypt make a beeline for the biggest couches. South Korea, México, Portugal, and China are in rapt conversation with one another as they strut to the food stations. Pakistan and Sweden arrive at the same time, sharing jokes with each other. Some of the Spanish players check out the chocolate fountain, along with Guatemala. France has taken control of the photo booth. They’re snapping pics like it’s an Olympic sport. Gustavo Pabón, the Venezuelan Striker, indulges in an arepa as he waves at me from afar. I wave back.
“I’m really thirsty!” Gabriela says over the music. “Let’s get something to drink!”
“Okay!” I tell her.
She, Génesis, and I weave our way past the Swedish Chargers, who are singing ten times louder than Luis. Ambassador Haddad is sitting with Joaquín now. The Russian manager and trainer are also at the couch. I scope out Manny across the tent. He’s alone at the bar, scrolling through his phone with a sour expression. His glass of vodka is almost finished.
If he drinks some more, he could spill some valuable secrets.
This is your chance.
“Excuse me, are you Lana Torres?”
I halt seconds before crashing into a white boy. He has dark-brown hair, hazel-green eyes, and a bit of stubble. He towers over me in his black The Skids T-shirt. Butterflies bounce all over my stomach. I’m standing in front of Andrew Galloway, Scottish Runner extraordinaire.
And Takeshi’s best friend.
The last time I saw him, he’d punched Antonio Deluca on live television. They’d been in the press-conference room after Japan’s victory two years ago. Takeshi had been giving his victory speech as team captain, and an envious Antonio clocked him in front of the whole world. So Andrew clocked Antonio right back. Security intervened before they could break any bones, but their fight had happened the day before Hikaru’s murder and Antonio’s disappearance.
“You’re Andrew Galloway,” I say stupidly.
“So I’ve been told for the past nineteen years,” he delivers with a smirk. “If you have any name suggestions, I’d love to hear them. Unless they’re nature or gemstone related.”
Génesis and Gabriela laugh. I don’t. Andrew probably knows about Waxbyrne. He might be hoping to fish for details.
Then he says, “Lana, do you like chocolate?”
Random much? “Um, yeah. Chocolate’s great.”
“Would you mind joining me over at the chocolate fountain?”
Yeah, I do mind. I have a team manager to corner.
“Actually, I need to check in with Manny real quick. It won’t take long.”
“Oh, this will be even quicker,” says Andrew. “I promise.” He’s giving me major puppy-dog eyes. The dude even puts his hands together in prayer form. “Please.”
Manny is still alone. He’ll probably still be alone by the time I’m done with Andrew.
I blow out a sigh. “Okay …”
Andrew and I walk across the edge of the dance floor, where Luis is now grinding with Adriana de León, the Guatemalan Keeper. I ignore the thumbs-up he flashes me after noticing Andrew next to me. The path to the chocolate fountain is cleared, since the newly arrived Scotland is now the center of attention at the other side of the tent. Andrew motions for me to skip ahead of him. The dragon spills liquid chocolate to the stone base below, where a rich pool of dark milk swirls counterclockwise. I grab a white metal skewer and stick it into a slice of honeydew. Then I dip the slice into the pool, rolling it all the way around so it gets extra coated.
Andrew puts three marshmallows on his skewer. “Time to live dangerously.”
I jump right to it. “So what do you want?”
“A full beard, mostly. Mine doesn’t grow all that much.”
“Right.” I pull the honeydew out of the pool. He smiles as I bite into my slice, relishing the mix of decadent gooeyness and punchy sweetness. “For real. What’s this about?”
Andrew takes his skewer out, placing the first marshmallow inches from his lips. “This is about saving the world. And I can’t do that alone.” He tugs the marshmallow free with his teeth. After he’s done chewing it, he says, “You’ve seen the Sire’s video, haven’t you?”
The wind is knocked out of me. “Yeah …”
“And you’ve met my best friend, too.”
My eyebrows are a hard-pressed line. “He’s not the boy you remember.”
“He’s still a good person, trust me.” Andrew lowers his head, lost in his thoughts. His sigh could devastate even Victoria on her chilliest day. It’s the sound of someone who nourishes himself with a steady diet of longing. “This is all for Hikaru. I can feel it.”
Great. He’s fallen into the same trap I did. “Good people don’t steal crystal hearts and murder bureau agents. I get why you think he might have ulterior motives, but he’s doing terrible things, Andrew.”
His gaze hardens. “I know him. You don’t.”
“No, you knew him. That boy is dead. He’s not coming back.”
I hate myself for tearing up. I hate that I have to argue with Andrew Galloway. I’ve been his fan since I first saw him race past Blockers in the 2013 Cup. I cheered when he punched Hikaru’s suspected murderer. The last thing I want is to make him feel like crap.
“You’re wrong,” he says sternly. “He’s trying to save the world, and we have to help him.”
I fight the urge to ask if we’re secretly filming for a prank TV show. The boy I met at Waxbyrne doesn’t want to save anything. “What are you talking about, Andrew?”
“I saw what you did at Waxbyrne. You saved that Fire Drake without a second thought. Now I’m here to ask you if you’re willing to save more lives.”
I shouldn’t talk to him. He’s still grieving Takeshi’s loss. He’s not thinking clearly.
“How do you suggest I do that?”
“Blazewrath means a lot to me, but I want no part in a tournament that will result in the death of innocents if it carries on.” Andrew checks for eavesdroppers again. “The IBF is being reckless and proud because the wrong people are putting the heat on them. They don’t care about a terrorist who’s releasing Un-Bonded dragons. What they do care about is us.”
I take a step back, breathing hard. He shouldn’t be this right. Of course I want the Sire gone, too. How does this guy think he can ensure the Cup goes on and lives are saved?
“What’s your plan?”
“You and I need to stand in front of a camera during the opening ceremonies and express our desire to have the Cup canceled. We need to show solidarity with the Cup’s protesters and the sanctuaries doing their best to protect themselves.” Andrew’s starting to smile again. “Once the world sees us fighting back, they’ll join us. Others will see their new favorite girl, the most Googled human being this week, and they’ll stand beside her.”
I’m hearing every word, but there’s only one thing reverberating through me.
A loud, sharp thing: No.
“The Cup needs to happen, Andrew. This is my only dream in life.”
Andrew rolls his eyes. “It’s a lot of people’s only dream in life, but—”
“You don’t get it. This is about more than winning a Cup.” I stab another honeydew slice with my skewer, but my appetite’s gone. Andrew gets to go home and fit in just fine. He doesn’t have to think about being an outsider, not even on his own team. I could tell him this, but what’s the point? He’s never going to understand. “I won’t ask for the Cup’s cancelation. Pitch me a way to catch the Sire, and I’m all in.”
Andrew raises an eyebrow as he draws nearer. “We stop him by ending his killing spree.”
“And how do you know he’ll really stop killing once the Cup is canceled? You cannot be this naive!” My voice rises with each word. Maybe speaking louder will make the message pierce his thick skull. “Besides, if you protest, it could backfire.”
Andrew looks behind him. Nobody’s coming. “How do you mean?”
“We’re Runners, Andrew. We could look like traitors for telling our teammates what to do with their dragons. We’ll even be traitors to our countries. You know how beloved this sport is. It’s an institution bigger than the two of us.”
“Our voices can change that. You’re their golden girl now. You were brought here so you could shift the conversation in the IBF’s favor. They won’t fire you for speaking out. They need you running up that mountain.”
Wow. He thinks I’m a publicity stunt. I’m here to make people forget about Hikaru’s death, Antonio Deluca’s disappearance, and Takeshi Endo’s new allegiance to a tyrant. I’m the syrupy antidote to the Sire’s threats.
I’m not a Runner. I’m not a Blazewrath player. I’m a tool.
“What do you say?” a tense Andrew asks.
“No.” I push my shoulders back. “I’m choosing to resist in other ways.”
Andrew’s mood sours at once. “How?”
“For starters, talking to President Turner. He told me the IBF is cooperating with the bureau. Chances are he knows more than we do.”
“Won’t do a thing, lass. Guarantee it.” He waves to the couches. “Do you see him here?”
Crap. President Turner is still nowhere to be found.
“Besides”—Andrew’s voice is at an all-time low—“Edward Barnes and the president were best mates. Turner has known the Sire for years. I highly doubt his hands are completely clean if the bureau’s up his arse about his past.”
Double crap. The Sire’s former rider was President Turner’s best friend, which means he knew the Sire when he was still a dragon. Knowing someone doesn’t make you guilty of their crimes, but what if there’s some truth to what Andrew’s saying? President Turner could’ve even been on the Sire’s side before he unleashed his chaos.
I gasp. “London …”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Whatever Manny saw or heard in London rattled him enough to change his whole personality. Could it have been related to the president’s association with the Sire? Did Manny stumble upon something he wasn’t supposed to know?
Stop it, Lana. There has to be some logical explanation to this mess.
“Earth to Lana?”
I clear my throat. “Please don’t boycott the Cup. It’ll make you a pariah among the teams and their steeds. And please don’t treat me like your bargaining chip.”
Andrew’s deep frown could break the thickest iceberg. “That’s not what you are at all.”
“Save it. We’re done here.” I toss the uneaten slices into a trash bin behind me, then place the skewer on an empty dragon claw tray. “Have a lovely evening.”
Andrew’s a wall in my path. “We’re not superstars, Lana. We’re not heroes. We’re just prisoners in the biggest cellblock in the world. Your silence is going to keep us all locked up.”
I swerve past him.
Manny isn’t at the bar anymore. I do a quick sweep of the tent, but he’s gone.
Thanks, Andrew …
Zimbabwe arrives as I plop down next to Gabriela on the couch. Onesa jumps offstage and races to hug Wataida Midzi, whose indigo suit complements his dark skin. She hugs the rest of the girls and beckons them to the dance floor.
“What happened?! Tell me everything,” Gabriela prods the second I sit next to her. “You know he’s single again, right? I read that he and Chelsea Reid broke up a few weeks ago.”
I take the water bottle Gabriela offers me. Even if I did trust her, I don’t want to talk about Andrew anymore. “He just wanted to thank me for saving the Fire Drake.”
Victoria’s staring at me like she knows I’m hiding something.
I down the whole water bottle and head back to the dance floor. Génesis and Gabriela follow me with wide smiles. I lose myself among the future winners and losers of a game that hasn’t even started yet. Tonight, though, we’re neither winners nor losers.
And yet I feel like I’ve lost a game I never signed up for.