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  Looks like my team’s dragons aren’t the only ones who can Fade away.

  THE NEXT DAY, JOAQUÍN SPENDS MOST OF HIS TIME SUPERVISING MY fight training.

  “You have to move faster.” He states the obvious. I’m pretty sure he’s regretting his decision to leave Manny upstairs with the rest of the team. Manny must be stoked to avoid my major fails again, even if that means standing in Victoria’s insufferable presence.

  “Lana? Did you hear me?” Joaquín says.

  “Uh-huh …” I’m sprawled like a snow angel on the mat, bathed in sweat and self-loathing. This is the eleventh time I’ve fallen in an effort to run past Edwin. He’s taking me down as if I’m a LEGO castle, easily breakable and scattered into pieces.

  It doesn’t get any better throughout the rest of practice. I’m sucking at maximum level.

  Though, according to Génesis and Joaquín, I’m quite good at punching and kicking. The trick is to punch and kick without exposing the Iron Scale to the enemy Blocker, which I don’t know how I’m going to pull off, especially since I have no clue what the Iron Scale feels like dangling from my hips.

  After that mess of a practice, I head to my dormitory to start prepping for tonight’s welcome party. Festivities are still on schedule despite the Sire’s silence. There’s been some press coverage of Agent Robinson’s funeral, but it’s mostly been about his secret career. Turns out Agent Robinson was one of the bureau’s best spies. Only a handful of agents knew about him until the Sire revealed he worked for Magical Investigations. It’s like his life stopped right after he graduated high school, which was when he disappeared from the public eye.

  There are also reports that Sayuri Endo, Takeshi’s mother, has been taken to bureau headquarters for interrogation on her son’s crimes. Most sites are speculating she’s planning to come to Dubai and protest the Cup in honor of Hikaru. She hasn’t confirmed or denied anything.

  Whatever. My focus should be on the welcome party. I’m finally meeting the other teams.

  I’ll also spend time with President Turner. Hopefully he’s feeling better. Not hearing from him since my arrival could just be a result of his super-busy schedule. But what if he’s helping the bureau catch the Sire? How is he even capable of playing such a role in the case?

  I could ask him tonight.

  “So who’s showering first?” Gabriela asks once we’re back in our room. “I vote me, because I take the longest to prep and glam. I still haven’t picked an outfit yet.” She checks out a huge rack of clothes someone’s left beside the office desk, where I’m currently firing up the computer. Joaquín said our team stylist won’t be arriving until photo-shoot day, but she’s sent over some options for tonight’s event. “Do you ladies know what you’re wearing?”

  “Anything red,” says Victoria.

  Génesis points to a pale-green halter dress. “That looks pretty.”

  Gabriela takes it off the rack and hands it over to her. “Lana? What about you?”

  “Oh, don’t worry. Pick whatever you want, and I’ll see what’s left afterward.”

  Only Victoria stares at me like she suspects I’ve committed a crime.

  “Okay. See you soon!” Gabriela disappears into the bathroom.

  Génesis checks her phone. “Wow, so many missed calls from the animal shelter …” She power walks out of the bedroom, dialing at lightning speed. “Be right back!”

  Victoria waves goodbye as she sifts through the dresses.

  I open up Google on the computer. I could do a quick search for Sire updates. But I don’t want to drag that negative energy into what’s supposed to be a celebration. So I fire up YouTube instead. Watching Monsta X music videos will surely make me feel better.

  “Why are you sucking so much?” Victoria stands three inches away. She’s holding a pair of gold sandals along with a short red dress. “Is something distracting you from doing your best? Or have you always sucked?”

  Is. She. For real? “What did you just say?”

  “You heard me. What you did on the mountain was humiliating, Lana. And I heard you weren’t any better today.” Victoria sneers. “I don’t get it. What makes you so damn special?”

  This is the second time she’s cornered me. I might not know what makes me so damn special, but she’s the biggest coward in the world.

  My smile is tight. “When was the last time you stood up to a Dragon Knight, Victoria?”

  Her eyes shoot venom at me. “You’re not getting paid to stand up to Dragon Knights. This team is talented. We deserve to be here.” Her laugh is a brusque taunt. “The others won’t say it to your face, but we all feel the same way. You’re dragging us down. I will never”—she gets closer to my face—“let you be the reason we lose. So get your shit together, and Do. Your. Job.”

  Victoria saunters over to her bed. She tries on the sandals as if everything’s normal.

  With clenched fists, I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Do the others really feel like I’m dragging them down? Have they been pretending to like me this whole time? President Turner did handpick me, and not even Manny got to chime in. Is that the only reason they’ve been acting like they’re cool with the girl who lives in the States joining the team?

  They have no other choice …

  A tear slips down my cheek. I sniffle and pat my eyes dry before more tears burst out.

  Génesis storms back into the room. “Okay! What’d I miss?”

  “Nothing.” I scroll down the music videos, but I’m not in the mood for fun. Not even the prospect of the welcome party is exciting anymore. Not if I’m going with people who hate me.

  I still need answers from the president. Namely, why did he offer me a spot on the team during a bureau interrogation? Manny’s coldness and even Victoria demanding to know why I’m here … it all leads back to President Turner. Papi warned me to be careful of his intentions.

  Tonight, I’m going to find out what they are.

  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

  CHAPTER TEN

  “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. W
e’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.