Magic is might,
But so is the heart.
Beware the desires of others,
They’ll tear you apart.
—Famous last words of Eldritch Vaughn, renowned American painter/Silver Wand
DIRECTOR SANDHAR HELPS HEADMASTER SYKES TURN THE unconscious president on his side. They say it’s safer to wait for him to wake up on his own than to use magic after his seizure.
I’m leaning against the wall in an attempt to stay upright. What just happened? And why did the president mumble about a specific region in the same country the Sire is currently in?
How does he know exactly where to find him?
After Director Sandhar makes sure President Turner is comfortable, he whips out his wand and glances over at Agent Horowitz with a ferocious grin. “We need to get to México right now.” He then turns to the rest of us. “Nobody leaves this room until I return.”
He and Agent Horowitz are out the door in a flash.
Manny’s gaze keeps darting from President Turner to the door. In Spanish, he implores everybody to stay calm, but he’s as jittery as ever, pacing like he’s trying to burn off calories.
I look from him to the president to him again. “Why can’t we leave?”
“Because we just saw something we weren’t supposed to,” says a tense Joaquín.
“Are you talking about the video or the president’s collapse?” I say. “Or is it both?”
Joaquín has eyes for his father alone. “What will Director Sandhar do to us, Pa?”
“Don’t worry about that. We have to stay calm for Russell.”
“We’re all calm except for you.” Joaquín positions himself in front of Manny, forcing him to stop pacing. “Is he erasing our memories?”
“What? No!” My breakfast somersaults in my stomach. “He can’t do that.”
“Please tell me this is a joke,” Génesis says.
“No one is erasing my memory,” Victoria tells Manny. “I don’t give a damn about what you’re afraid of us knowing or seeing. I won’t say anything. None of us will.”
“¿Por qué necesitan hacernos esto?” Edwin asks why they need to do this to us.
Lying to the public is one thing, but we’ve just witnessed something we deserve the answers to. This illness shouldn’t be such a threat for a man as rich as President Turner. He could afford the best medical care in the world, and yet he’s hiding a condition that causes him pain at the most inconvenient times. Why would he willingly endure this constant attack on his body?
Unless it’s not treatable … or maybe …
It’s not an illness.
“Oh crap,” I whisper.
“What?” Victoria says.
Great. Everyone is looking at me now.
I zero in on Headmaster Sykes. “Is he taking any meds?”
“Thank you for your concern, Ms. Torres, but my husband’s health is a private matter,” a red-cheeked Headmaster Sykes says.
“I’ll take that as a no. I go to a public school that’s open to Regulars and magically gifted people. We learn about magical maladies. When a witch or wizard is sick, it can be a treatable illness like a Regular’s flu”—I take a step forward—“or it can be a curse.”
Headmaster Sykes’s eyebrows shoot up. His silence is the dreaded confirmation I need.
Magic is what’s hurting President Turner.
Someone gasps.
President Turner sits up ramrod straight, clinging to Headmaster Sykes. He’s a fish fresh out of water, gulping for air and comfort. His unfocused eyes finally seem to register our collective presence. He takes out his wand. “You all need … to keep this … to yourselves …”
“Then tell us what the hell’s going on,” I say.
Manny could peel off my skin with his glare. “Lana, do as he says. All of you”—he points at my teammates—“can never speak a word of this.”
“Okay!” Victoria raises her hands like she’s being taken into custody. “We’ll keep quiet.”
“No!” I shout. From the way her eyes grow a million sizes larger, this could be the first time anyone who isn’t her stepfather has yelled at Victoria. I turn my back on her, even though that’s probably a bad idea. My beef with her isn’t as important as the one I have with President Turner. “How do you know where the Sire is, Mr. President? Is it because you’re working with him?”
The room falls dead silent. Not even the president’s labored breathing is audible.
“Ms. Torres,” he says, “I swear I will explain everything in due time, but right now you—”
“Tell me the truth, and I won’t say anything. Otherwise, I’m walking out of this room and confessing to every news outlet in this stadium what I just witnessed. I’m sure they’d love to hear about how the president of the International Blazewrath Federation is in cahoots with a terrorist. And before you think you can stop me”—I shake my head—“remember what my job here is.”
All of my teammates, along with Joaquín, are watching me with a mix of admiration and terror. Protesting the Cup pales in comparison to this.
A flustered Manny is about to say something. President Turner cuts in. “Very well, Ms. Torres, but I need you all inside my Other Place.” He motions to the door. “No one else can overhear what we discuss.”
Manny and Headmaster Sykes both gape at him.
“What are you doing, Russell?” Manny demands.
“Something that’s going to make Director Sandhar very angry.”
Without warning, President Turner flicks his wrist and blinds us in a flash.
I’m back in his Other Place.
Instead of arriving in the corridor, I’m inside the opulent living room, where the fireplace is home to a small, flickering flame. There’s dessert everywhere, too. Trays of pies and cakes surround the main sitting area. A glass bowl is filled with the president’s cherished red apples.
“Take a seat, my dears,” President Turner tells the team as he plops onto a chaise.
Headmaster Sykes is quick to fetch him a glass of water. He drinks it in slow bursts.
Manny’s right next to the bar, scowling at President Turner. He fixes himself a brownish drink, then chugs it down in one gulp. He fixes himself another, but this time, he doesn’t drink it. He’s silently holding it while my teammates settle on the chaises and the demilune sofa.
I’m the last to sit down, choosing a chaise all by myself. “Are you working with the Sire?”
President Turner leans against Headmaster Sykes, his face pinched like he’s chewing on something sour. “The truth is far more complicated than a simple yes or no. It’s like you correctly guessed earlier. The Sire cursed me when I was seventeen years old.”
I almost fall off my chaise. How’s that even possible? No dragon has been able to use their magic to curse humans. Then again, the Sire’s the only dragon to shatter the Bond with his rider.
“What does this curse do to you?” I ask.
“Another complicated answer, I’m afraid. You see, months after my best friend Bonded with a dragon, I woke up alone in a clearing one night. It was a few miles from our school. The last thing I remembered was falling asleep in bed. As I tried to make my way back to the dorm, the Sire swooped in to stop me.” He pauses. “That was the first time I heard his voice.”
I’m on the edge of my seat now. “A Bonded dragon let you listen to his voice?”
“Indeed.”
“What did he tell you?” Gabriela asks.
“You are my anchor, and I am yours.” President Turner quivers. “Then he sank the tip of his tail through my heart. The pain … it was unbelievable … I was dead. The Sire left my lifeless body in that clearing. And still I woke up the next morning. There were no wounds or scars. I convinced myself it was a nightmare. I Transported home and went about my day.”
I stiffen. The picture I found of him with the Sire and Edward Barnes had been taken in a clearing. He’d been the only one not smiling. Maybe that had been the same clearing where he died and came back to life, where the Sire spoke to another human he wasn’t Bonded with.
“So you’re … undead?” Héctor asks gingerly.
“We don’t really have a term to classify him,” Headmaster Sykes says, frowning. “As an academic, I specialize in obscure magical folklore and enchantments. None of the sources I’ve come into contact with have mentioned a dragon killing and bringing a human back to life. Much less binding him in the ways the Sire has bound my husband. This case remains an anomaly.”
That’s one word for it.
“What happened after you returned to school?” I ask.
“Everything went on as usual. Eddie didn’t have a clue. The Sire found us playing cards by the Foxrose main steps. When Eddie excused himself to go to the bathroom, I started cutting the deck, but my hand froze. I couldn’t move it no matter what I did. As I was about to call for help, the Sire spoke to me in my thoughts again. He confessed to killing and reviving me, and he said the words I’ve never stopped hearing since: Remember who your master is.”
That’s the same thing he said on camera a few minutes ago.
He hadn’t been talking to the world. He’d been talking to the president.
“The curse works like so,” he says. “I am responsible for some of my actions. My life has been a series of choices both mine and not mine. And, most important, I’m alive because the Sire is alive. Our bodies, our very souls, are intertwined. I believe he’s anchored himself to me as a form of self-preservation. If I’m hurt, or if I die, nothing happens to him. He would grow stronger through my suffering. Eddie cursed the Sire into an immortal body, but if he died, I’d die, too. Whenever he’s injured, he quickly recovers, but I feel the aftereffects of his pain long after he’s healed. He hurts me both of his own volition and whenever something hurts him.”
I let out a gasp. “So that’s why Edward Barnes didn’t kill him twenty years ago! He knew killing his former dragon steed would kill you, too.”
“Yes. Eddie discovered my curse after the Sire broke the Bond.”
“But you still haven’t explained how you can track him,” Luis says.
“Well, it was my husband”—he taps Headmaster Sykes’s thigh—“who suggested my curse could provide information I never thought possible. He’s currently teaching me how to infiltrate the Sire’s thoughts. Today was the first time I could actually read him in full, though, and after Lana demanded the truth, he chose to show you. I’m so sorry, my dears.”
Héctor is barely breathing. “Sorry for what, sir?”
Crickets.
Then the president says, “Teaching has always been my passion, but the Sire had other plans. I climbed up the IBF’s ranks, always hearing his voice in my head. When I became president six years ago, his biggest dream for me had been achieved.”
I only know I’m still alive because my heart’s beating super fast. My theory had been sort of right. The president of the International Blazewrath Federation isn’t willingly working with the Sire. He’s the Sire’s puppet. He’s not even fully alive. I try to keep my breathing stable, but I’m shaking, and the room is shrinking, and everything is a blur.
The Sire still lives. Edward Barnes cast a blood curse, which allowed his death to seal the Sire’s fate. From what Samira has told me, that’s the only curse there’s no way of reversing or breaking. Whatever happened to the president, it must have a cure.
“Yours isn’t a blood curse, Mister President,” I say. “The Sire would have had to die performing the spell in order for it to be forever binding. You can totally break this.”
Headmaster Sykes says, “We’ve tried everything. The Sire’s magic remains.”
My shoulders drop. Of course the Sire would find a way to ruin someone’s life so epically, but what kind of magic carries this much weight even after the one who cast it doesn’t have powers anymore? And what kind of bloodless curse is strong enough not to be broken?
“You do whatever he tells you, but you haven’t canceled the Cup yet,” Joaquín says, totally horrified. “He doesn’t actually want you to cancel it, does he?”
I wait for the president to shoot down his theory as nonsense.
Instead, he says, “The Cup is part of the Sire’s domain. It has been for the past six years. This is where he keeps the world’s most ferocious Bonded dragons and their riders, right where he can watch their every move. It also helps him gain more allies like Mrs. Endo and the other protesters. They might not condone his acts of violence, but they’re choosing to stand against the IBF and the bureau for failing to stop his murders. All this time, he’s the one moving the pieces.” His eyes start to well up. “Your careers, your lives, belong to him.”
He conjures scrolls from thin air. They’re long and a little faded, but I recognize them.
Our contracts.
President Turner flicks his wand. The endless black ink disappears. Our signatures stay at the bottom of the page, but the text above them is in deep scarlet. The erratic, barely legible handwriting features words I hadn’t seen upon signing:
I hereby agree to participate in the twenty-seventh Blazewrath World Cup in accordance with the Sire’s wishes. I shall obey his commands, as well as comply with my duties as a member of my country’s team. This agreement is bound by magic. As such, the consequences I face upon breaking it shall be swiftly communicated to the Sire and implemented by those loyal to him. Disobedience and/or failure to accomplish what is required, including divulging the true nature of this contract should I discover it, shall be punishable by death.
The chaise where I sit is sand. I’m being swallowed into the deepest pits of the underworld, tumbling into frigid darkness, too stunned to fight against gravity.
The Sire controls the president and the Cup.
We’re all his playthings. Prisoners, like Andrew believes.
Of all the things I could think of, I think of my mother. She’d been right to question this whole thing. So had Papi, but Mom had been the constant voice of dissent. I’d been so angry with her I never wondered if something bad could happen. Now the worst has happened instead.
I don’t know when I start crying, but I don’t know how to stop.
“So we’re … He’s … in charge?” Luis struggles with every word.
President Turner can’t even say it again.
“Mister President,” I choke out, “did the Sire make you recruit us?”
He offers me a heartbroken frown. “Your stories are not the same. The Sire wished for your teammates to be in the Cup because he was curious of their dragons’ magic. He wished to see what they were capable of in a controlled environment, where he could study them with greater care. But he wanted to kill you for what you did to Takeshi. He’d even planned a televised execution. Something changed his mind, though. He chose to monitor you instead.”
I’m a batch of ashes and dust. My dream coming true is the result of a cursed dragon wanting to use me for his master plan. The president is a puppet, and so am I. No amount of talent matters. I’m here because I’m famous for thwarting my forever favorite. I’m here because I hurt the Sire’s feelings and messed up his endgame with that crystal heart.
This isn’t my dream come true. This is his punishment for me.
But I still have questions. “Why does the Sire need to monitor us? How does studying the dragons and their magical skills fit his agenda?” I pause. “What exactly is his agenda?”
“Maybe he’s looking for ways to defeat us in case we riot?” Génesis offers.
“We can’t riot, thanks to our contracts,” Héctor says.
“Exactly,” says Victoria. “We can’t do anything other than what we came here to do, which is to win. You think I want that bastard acting like he owns me? Nobody owns me. But I came here to bring the Cup home, and that’s all I care about. Everything else is a distraction.”
I’m glaring at her with all my might. She’s seriously putting a trophy over our rights and well-being. A trophy that means nothing because this tournament is a sham. I get that she once felt like a loser. She’s here because of her mom. I crave that trophy, too, but not like this.
And here I thought not being Puerto Rican enough was the biggest blow to my ego.
“Victoria … “Joaquín’s tearing up as he looks to the side, away from prying eyes.
It’s only now that I remember Manny’s here. He leaves the bar and his drink behind, approaching us with caution. “Victoria’s right, mi gente. We have no choice.” His indifferent tone finally takes on a logical shape in my head.
“This is why you’re not invested in us,” I say. “You knew about the Anchor Curse and the Sire’s hold over us all. You don’t care about the Cup because it’s not real.” The frustration I once felt for Manny’s attitude evaporates into nothing. Now I understand him.
“It is real,” says Victoria.
“You’re pawns. We all are,” Manny barks at her. “When I found out, Russell showed me my contract. I’m bound to that asshole, too.”
Realization dawns on Génesis’s face. “Was this when you went to London?”
Of course: Brian Santana’s firing. Manny went cold after that incident.
He nods. “I was there to discuss next steps after we kicked out Brian.”
“Don’t say his name!” Victoria is a thunderstorm in a petite frame. With a sniffle, she reaches for Edwin’s hand. With a tender smile, he accepts hers.
Héctor’s brave enough to speak. “Don’t punish yourself for missing him. He doesn’t deserve a second of your time, but if you feel like you can’t—”
“Stop talking about him!” She’s full-blown crying.
Edwin pulls her into a hug.
“The point is,” Manny continues, unbothered, “I met with Russell at his home. It was a terrible time to visit him. I left knowing more than I bargained for.”
President Turner says, “The Sire was venting his rage on me for losing a Runner.”
“And the bureau? Do they know about this curse?” Joaquín asks. “I’m assuming at least Director Sandhar is aware of it, since he allowed you to be present during Lana’s interrogation.”
Damn it, he’s right. I hadn’t connected those dots until now.
“Only Nirek and Agent Horowitz know. They have similar contracts, swearing them to secrecy and requiring them to fulfill the Sire’s demands. The bureau is still free to try to catch him, mostly because the Sire is confident they never will. And after so many years together, it was impossible to hide this curse from Corwin.”
Manny claps his hands. “This has been enlightening. Can we leave now?”
Joaquín finally speaks again, “We can’t talk about what happened here, or in the greenroom, to anyone. We all understand this quite well. Don’t we?”
We all nod in silence. Victoria’s no longer crying, but she seems utterly depleted.
So does Joaquín, despite being the picture of calm. “Then let’s get back to the stadium.”
Somehow I find the strength to get up. I’m still crying, still drawing the shape of my mother’s face the day she abandoned me, hoping I’d go with her instead.
The blinding flash of the Transport Charm engulfs me, sending me back to a world that’s been built on blood and lies.