Someone had rolled out a red carpet for them, but the plane had stopped just shy of it, so they had to make the awkward walk over to where the carpet began. The asphalt was so hot it made the air wavy, and Clay could feel the bottoms of his sneakers melting.^*

At the end of the red carpet stood a jaunty blue-and-white-striped tent that might have been more at home at a Renaissance fair than on a landing strip. It was furnished with a couch and a ceiling fan. Parked nearby were several gleaming Cessnas, private jets that made the seaplane look like a broken sandbox toy.

As Owen and Clay approached, a young woman in a yellow sundress and an enormous hat emerged from the tent. When she tipped her hat, Clay saw that it was Amber, Brett’s father’s ex-girlfriend and Clay’s brother’s childhood nemesis. Clay had only ever seen her in passing, and he was pretty sure she wouldn’t recognize him; now was the test.

“Hello, friends!” Amber stepped onto the red carpet and spread her arms wide like a cheerleader’s. “Welcome to the Kalahari!”

Owen walked ahead of Clay and stuck his hand out to shake Amber’s. “Max Bergman,” he said in a brusque, confident voice that suggested he was used to giving orders. Clay was reminded momentarily of Brett’s father. “And this is my son, Austin. Thank you for having us.”

“Thank you for coming! And for that generous contribution to our work! I’m Amber, your, oh, let’s say, activity coordinator?”

Amber gave a self-deprecating laugh. Her brilliant white teeth looked straight out of a toothpaste commercial.

Clay exhaled. Evidently, she didn’t recognize him after all.

Before he could really relax, however, a large swarthy man stepped out from behind the tent. He had a big bushy beard and wild curly hair barely contained by a safari hat, and he was covered in dust and sand from head to toe. He looked like some monstrous creature risen out of the desert, the Kalahari cousin of the Abominable Snowman: the Abominable Sandman.*

“Sorry about my inelegant appearance,” he said gruffly, brushing sand off his shoulder. “The Land Rover’s radiator was acting up again.”

Amber smiled a little less enthusiastically. “Allow me to introduce the most important member of our staff: namely, our resident animal handler, and of course”—Amber lowered her voice for effect—“dragon wrangler, Vicente.”

The hairy sandman tipped his hat. He motioned past the row of shiny Cessnas to Owen’s plane, now covered with a layer of dust and sand almost as thick as the layer covering Vicente. “I usually fly hawks or falcons, not airplanes, but isn’t that a seaplane?”

Uh-oh. Clay tried to avoid looking at anyone.

Owen laughed. “You’re not insulting my trusty old Tempest, are you?! Actually”—he winked slyly—“don’t tell my office, but we came straight from Fiji. She may not look like much, but that old girl really knows her way around an island. Besides, my Gulfstream has the carbon footprint of a 747.”

Clay was pretty impressed with Owen’s acting job, but Vicente seemed less so. “Sure,” he said, looking between Owen and Clay with inscrutable dark eyes.

What was it the Occulta Draco said about hawks and falcons? Clay wondered whether Vicente’s experience with birds was the reason he was hired as a dragon wrangler.

Owen coughed. “So, I hate to cut this party short, but I got a really… badly timed phone call just before we landed.”

“Not an emergency, I hope?” said Amber, her eyes wide with concern.

“It appears I am being accused of insider trading.” Owen shook his head dismissively. “These days, everyone thinks you’re a thief if you run a hedge fund.”

“How awful!” Amber clucked sympathetically. “Believe me, we’re not so closed-minded here. Right, Vicente?”

She turned to Vicente for support, but the falconer-turned-dragon-keeper said nothing. He looked like he thought it very probable that Owen belonged in jail.

“Unfortunately, I have to turn right around to give a deposition,” Owen continued. “But Austin here, well, he’s been looking forward to this trip for weeks, and he’s heartbroken at the thought of having to leave. Is there any way… I hate to ask, but since we’re already here…”

“Of course he should stay,” said Amber. “We’ll give him the trip of a lifetime!”

“Now wait a second.” Vicente stepped forward, scowling. “I already have a kid to look out for. Not to mention a dragon or two.”

A dragon or two? Clay thought. Was that just an expression?

“Don’t be silly, Vicente,” Amber said. “He’s not going to be any trouble at all. Anyway, it’s not your decision to make, is it?”

Vicente didn’t say anything more, but his glowering stare only became more intimidating. Clay swallowed nervously. He was going to have to watch out for this guy.

Amber turned back to Owen. “Well, Mr. Bergman, I wish you could stay with us and avoid that yucky deposition, but don’t worry about Austin. We’re gonna have a super time.”

“Yeah, real super,” mocked Brett in Clay’s ear.

“Terrific.” Owen turned to go. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Then he said casually to Clay, over his shoulder, “Be good. And try not to run up too crazy a bill.”

He gave Clay a subtle thumbs-up.

Clay’s very strong instinct was to run after Owen, yelling to his “dad” that he had changed his mind. Nonetheless, he returned the thumbs-up—weakly—and remained rooted to the spot.

Amber sidled up alongside Clay. “Well, we had planned to have a drink in the tent, but with your dad on his way out, why wait? Let’s get to the dragons!”

Clay was barely paying attention, but he forced a smile. “Yeah, sure, okay,” he said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

“That’s the spirit,” said Amber.

“Wait, did she say dragons, plural?!” asked Leira, startling Clay by saying exactly what he’d been thinking.

“So that means they got Ariella to reproduce?” Brett marveled.

In the distance, Clay could already hear the seaplane’s engine revving. He turned and saw the propellers starting to spin. There was no backing out now.

On the other side of the tent, a classic sand-colored Land Rover jeep awaited them. The Keep’s name was stenciled on the door—along with a slick logo that looked like it might be the emblem of a high-tech weapons manufacturer or multinational security firm.

As Clay climbed into the back, Amber hopped into the passenger seat, holding on to her hat. “To the Keep, Vicente,” she shouted (obviously for Clay’s benefit, since there didn’t seem to be any other place to go).

Vicente kicked the Land Rover into life. Clay scrambled to buckle himself in as they left the smooth asphalt of the landing strip and made straight for a dirt road that snaked up the side of the crater.

“So how many dragons are there?” he asked, leaning toward Amber.

She looked over her shoulder. “All together?” Amber counted on her fingers. “Nine.”

“Nine?” repeated Clay, unable to hide his astonishment.

Amber nodded delightedly. “Yep. We’ve had four babies hatch just this week! You’re going to love them.”

“Wow… that’s… awesome,” said Clay.

Nine dragons. Nine Ariellas. It was a thrilling prospect. And a daunting one.