Blazewrath Games Page 4

  “He’s only doing this for Hikaru,” I whisper.

  She puts her hand on top of mine. “Regardless of what he’s after, Takeshi Endo is Dragon Knight trash. I’m so sorry, but he’s canceled.”

  I should tell her she’s right. I’ve seen this different Takeshi. This boy who hurts dragons. But if he’s really searching for proof, he’s just lost on his path to justice.

  What if the boy in that Tokyo interview is still there?

  The ambulance doors jerk open.

  Mom stands between Mr. and Mrs. Jones, who both are gasping in relief.

  “Oh, my sweet baby Jesus …” Mrs. Jones rushes toward her elder daughter. She crushes Samira in a rib-crumbling hug. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Samira says, even though her eyes are bugging out.

  I giggle. While Samira’s as tall as her father, she’s a younger version of her mother. They have curly brown hair they tie up in buns, their eyes are the same shade of soft amber, and they have even more impressive hips than mine. Samira’s a bit more slender than her mother, though.

  Mr. Jones tips his New York Knicks hat at me. It clashes with his pressed button-down and khaki pants, but that’s how he rolls. “Good to see you in one piece, Lana Lightning! You’re an angel for what you did today. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m not dead, so there’s that,” I say with a shrug.

  “Oh, come here, you!” Mrs. Jones lunges at me, too. Her grip is strong enough to rearrange my spinal cord. “Thank the Lord you’re both all right. I was so worried!”

  “We’re fine, Momma. Just a little tired,” says Samira. She’s still hiding her broken Copper wand behind her back. Looks like someone’s not ready to fess up.

  When Mrs. Jones lets me go, I gently pat Samira’s shoulder. “You should go home. Get some rest. I’ll call you after I wrap up with the bureau. They might not be ready for a while.”

  “Uh-uh,” says Mr. Jones. “Leslie’s with an agent right now.”

  He points to a thin white shield, rippling like ocean water. It blocks me from the onslaught of flashing bulbs. Mom walks through the shield, nervously running her hands down the front of her rumpled skirt. She lets out a quick yawn as she approaches.

  “Todd has a concussion from the fall and a really sore neck, but he’s stable.” She looks directly at me, her expression somber. “Honey, your father is still unreachable, but I don’t want you to panic. The bureau hasn’t gotten word of anything suspicious at the São Paulo sanctuary.”

  I’m clutching my chest like it’s about to explode. Your father is still unreachable. He could’ve misplaced his phone, but he’s the most organized and put-together person I’ve ever met. I’ve already lost my dream. I can’t lose my father, too.

  “Good afternoon.” A tall, blonde white woman walks up behind Mom. She’s wearing an emerald coat and short cream pumps. Her silver badge has the acronym IBOMM engraved on it. The words AGENT HOROWITZ appear beneath the acronym, along with the tiniest Silver wand.

  My jaw drops. “You’re the Agent Horowitz. Living, breathing legend!”

  Samira and I read an article about her in The Weekly Scorcher, a newspaper that focuses on dragon-related updates. She remains the only bureau agent who publicly identifies as a trans woman. She’s also the bureau agent with the highest number of Dragon Knight arrests (seventeen total). One of her most famous captures was performed while dangling off a cliff in Cork, Ireland, when she’d snatched up six Dragon Knights at the same freaking time.

  “Not sure about the legend part.” She gives me a crooked smile. “I’m sorry to bother you on what I presume has been a difficult day, but I have a few things to discuss with you, Ms. Torres. I swear this won’t take long.”

  “Of course,” I say.

  “Very well.” Agent Horowitz pulls out her Silver wand, which is bedazzled with amber stones in the shape of triangles. “Ms. Torres. Ms. Wells. We should get going.”

  I rise from the stretcher with Mom’s help, even though I can rise on my own. Mr. Jones holds out his hands for me, too. I take them and jump down to the grass.

  “Call me as soon as you get home, you hear?” Samira says.

  “Loud and clear.” I give her a big hug and whisper, “And guess what I still owe you?”

  “What?” she whispers back.

  “Your fifth and last wand.”

  “Pfft. Worry about taking lots of pictures of the bureau. That place must be ginormous.”

  After I bid Samira’s parents farewell, Agent Horowitz raises her wand overhead.

  SWISH!

  White light pours all over me. It vanishes a split second later.

  I’m standing in the middle of a long, chandelier-lit hallway with walls of the brightest gold. I sniff twice. There’s vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, and a little bit of red apple in the air. There’s no furniture, no paintings or sculptures. There is, however, a massive gold door at the end of the hallway. It’s shaped like a full moon, with a doorknob as big as a soccer ball.

  “Come along.” Agent Horowitz pockets her wand. “Our hosts are waiting.”

  I gape at her. “Wait, what? I thought we were going to the bureau.”

  “Not today,” says Agent Horowitz as she struts down the long hallway.

  Mom steps right in front of her. “Where are we, exactly?”

  “Nowhere. At least not on any map you may recognize.” Agent Horowitz turns to me with a kind smile. If she’s planning on murdering us and dumping our bodies afterward, at least she’s being nice about it. “Have you heard of the Other Place Charm?”

  I gasp so, so loud. Oh. My. God. This is an Other Place. I, Lana Aurelia Torres, am actually for real in an Other Place right now!

  “Yes,” I say. “It’s a spell that creates a location that can’t be found. Not even by other witches and wizards. It’s like a secret hideout or a private haven. They call it their Other Place. You can only access it if the witch or wizard owner invites you in.” I tap the wall to my left. Sure enough, it feels sturdy and real, but it’s not real at all. It’s a figment of someone’s imagination. This is one hell of a spell. “Is this your Other Place?” I ask Agent Horowitz.

  “No.” She sidesteps Mom. “The owner is behind that door. He’s very excited to meet you both.” She continues down the hall as if she’s used to its every golden nook and cranny.

  Mom snatches my hand as we reach the door. The steel knocker is a gleaming crescent moon coated in gold. A tiny, star-shaped viewer hangs above it. Instead of knocking, Agent Horowitz twists the huge knob. There’s a soft click, then the door swings inward. There it is again—vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, and a little bit of red apple. Agent Horowitz makes her way into the brightly lit room, where gold walls and chandeliers appear once more. There’s furniture inside, all darker than coal. Black-velvet chaise lounges. Black-velvet three-seater, demilune sofas. Even the coffee table in the center of the room is dark stained wood.

  Three men sit in front of an unlit fireplace. I can’t see their faces, so I keep moving forward, dragging Mom with me. Two of the men shoot off the sofa. The third stands up at a much slower pace, sipping something from a glass. Agent Horowitz stands beside the white man wearing a gray tweed suit and red tie. He’s middle-aged and a bit plump, with graying black hair, blue-green eyes, and a smile large enough to restore anyone’s faith in humanity.

  My eyes bulge out of their sockets. This is the same man who unveils the Blazewrath World Cup during the opening ceremonies. The same man who carries the Cup toward the winning team at the end. Papi and I have seen him in countless press conferences, interviews, and even one baking reality show as guest judge. He said he’d eat anything with vanilla, chocolate, or strawberry on it. And he enjoys a red apple every morning.

  President Russell Turner, the most powerful man in the International Blazewrath Federation, is smiling at me like we’re old friends.

  “Welcome!” he says in his British accent. “Make yourselves at home in my Other Plac
e!”

  I can’t speak. Mom’s grip on me tightens, but instead of reassuring her that this man isn’t a serial killer from Leeds, England, I’m drawing a blank as to how to behave in his presence. And, most important, what I’m doing in his presence at all.

  “Oh, don’t tell me you’re the shy type! I refuse to believe it.” President Turner walks up to me, his hand outstretched. “Not after what I saw you do back there at Waxbyrne, Ms. Torres.”

  I stare at him, unblinking, still processing that he is, in fact, real.

  “Excuse me, but who are you?” Mom has the ovaries to ask him.

  “Mom,” I finally speak in my fiercest whisper. “Not cool.”

  President Turner laughs. He shifts his hand over to Mom instead. “Russell Turner, madam. I’m the president of the International Blazewrath Federation. Lovely to meet you.”

  Mom ignores President Turner’s hand. “Blazewrath?” She makes it sound like it’s filthier than any swear word. “If you don’t work for the bureau, what are you doing here?”

  “I’ve invited President Turner to join us,” says the second man, who gets off of the sofa quickly. I can tell he’s Indian from his accent, but I don’t know which part of the country he’s from. His skin is a lighter brown than mine, with brown hair that’s been parted in the middle. He adjusts his navy blue suit jacket as he walks over to Mom. He seems ten years younger than President Turner, but he’s far more regal in posture and stride. “My name is Nirek Sandhar. I’m director of the Department of Magical Investigations at the bureau. Pleased to meet you both.”

  Mom squints at President Turner. She finally shakes his hand. “Leslie Wells.”

  “Delighted, Ms. Wells. You’ve raised a splendid young lady, I must say. Such a brave soul.” President Turner turns to me again. “Would you like to sit down for a bit, Ms. Torres?”

  I nod over and over.

  President Turner waves me over to the sofa. “Right this way!”

  Mom releases me, thankfully. I match President Turner’s steps as he makes his way back to Agent Horowitz, Director Sandhar, and the third man, whose face is now crystal clear.

  I gasp the loudest I’ve ever gasped.

  “What? You’ve never seen whiskey before?” The third man takes a sip from his glass again, this time slower. When he’s done, he says, “Tastes like chicken.”

  President Turner chuckles, but I can’t move a single muscle.

  The third man, this tan-skinned giant at six foot five, with salt-and-pepper hair, a peach button-down shirt, baggy jeans, and dark circles under his even darker eyes, is none other than Manny Delgado, Team Puerto Rico’s manager. The man who flips the bird at paparazzi like it’s the reason he was born, skips press conferences to have longer naps instead, and has publicly sworn to only drink coffee brewed in his hometown of Ciales. I close my eyes and open them again. He’s still here. I’m somehow in a room with Manny Delgado and President Turner, and I didn’t even make it to Blazewrath tryouts. Not even my wildest dreams are this wild.

  “Please excuse Mr. Delgado’s sense of humor,” Director Sandhar says, indignant. “He’s only slept three hours, from what I gather.”

  “Two and a half.” Manny plops back down on the sofa, his back to me.

  “And does Mr. Delgado work for the bureau, too?” Mom asks.

  “No, Ms. Wells, I’m very happy to say he does not,” says Director Sandhar. “Mr. Delgado is the manager for the Puerto Rican Blazewrath team. He’s in the States on official Blazewrath business, but he’s been invited to this interrogation at President Turner’s insistent request.”

  Mom’s lips part, but nothing comes out. The last person she ever wants to meet is the man responsible for bringing the Puerto Rican flag to the Blazewrath field. “I see.”

  Manny puts his glass on the coffee table, then leans back on the sofa. “Can we get on with this thing already? I have to get to the hotel in time for my Monday shows.”

  “Always so patient …” Agent Horowitz puts a gentle hand on my back, leading me to the black-silk chaise to the left side of the room. We sit down together. Director Sandhar claims the matching chaise directly across from mine. President Turner and Manny Delgado sit shoulder to shoulder on the sofa, with Mom joining them at a snail’s pace. She’s studying everyone and everything like the whole room will explode at any moment.

  As long as she doesn’t go into full freak-out mode, I’ll be fine.

  Agent Horowitz pulls out her wand again, but this time, she also grabs a pearl-colored compact mirror in the shape of a square. There’s an inscription in the boldest blue letters across the cover: PROPERTY OF AGENT SIENNA HOROWITZ. She flips the compact open, revealing a silver screen made of glass. “Access request.”

  A robotic male voice speaks back to her, “Identification, please.”

  “Agent Sienna Horowitz, bureau ID number seven-seven-two-five-six-three-nine.”

  “Access granted. Recording mode on.”

  The mirror’s glass cracks into three separate shards, each floating out of the compact. They linger around her like stalactites that have broken free of their cave’s ceiling. At long last, the glass reflects everything in front of it, including me, and holy whoa, do I need a hairbrush. My flyaways have flyaways. Before I can fix the mess, the shards cast out a faint red shimmer, blinking in a synchronized beat. The Recorder is officially recording me now. I will go down in bureau archives’ history as the only witness whose hair resembles a whole family of ferrets.

  Agent Horowitz slides closer to me. “Lana, I’d like you to walk me through the day’s events, starting with your arrival at Waxbyrne. Try to be as specific as possible.”

  I detail everything about my trip to Waxbyrne—the moment I saw the Fire Drake, when I realized my forever favorite was attacking it, those golden orbs with spells inside them. Mom either flinches or looks to the fireplace. She must be having a hard time with the fact that her daughter was in the presence of a dragon again. Hopefully, she’s also realizing I survived again.

  I wrap up my story with Takeshi’s final message. “Just when he was about to Transport out of the building, Takeshi told me, ‘The world you know is a lie. The world that’s coming, that’s the one you should believe in.’ Then he vanished.”

  Director Sandhar’s jaw clenches tighter than my knotted hair. “Did you hear or see anything else that could better illustrate Mr. Endo’s motives?”

  “Not really, no. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, you have nothing to apologize for, Ms. Torres.” President Turner plays with his tie. “The Takeshi Endo I knew wasn’t like this. I don’t know who this boy is.”

  “He’s the same boy you rooted for two years ago, only now he’s realized what a carnival of shit storms life really is,” Manny says unabashedly. “So he wants the crystal heart to maybe do something against his dragon’s killer? I can’t blame the kid.”

  “Thank you for sharing your much-needed perspective.” Director Sandhar’s tone drips with sarcasm. He’s leaning forward, elbows on his thighs. “Ms. Torres, what about the Gold magic Mr. Endo was wielding in the orbs? What more can you tell us about them?”

  “All I know is they were Gold and capable of paralyzing a dragon. Since Takeshi’s a Regular, someone else must have given him that magic. I think the Sire is working with a Gold Wand. Has the bureau heard of a Gold Wand who can trap spells?”

  Director Sandhar keeps a straight face. “Whoever’s helping Mr. Endo is beyond what we’re accustomed to, but we’ll be pulling up every file we have on registered Gold Wands.”

  “What if this Gold Wand hasn’t registered with the bureau?”

  He flashes me a tight smile. “Then it’s time we push them into the light.”

  Yikes. Now the bureau will be on the hunt for a rogue Gold Wand, along with a former Blazewrath superstar. An agent’s job seems pretty stressful, but to pile all this onto it?

  Agent Horowitz doesn’t seem fazed. She’s patting my back like I’m the one who has a dange
rous to-do list. Bless her soul. “Do you have any questions for us?”

  “Yeah.” I lean closer to her.” Why is there a Fire Drake at Waxbyrne?”

  Manny laughs. “Took her long enough. Go on, Sandhar. Tell her what you told me.”

  Director Sandhar scowls in his direction. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss that with anyone other than Madame Waxbyrne. My apologies, Ms. Torres.”

  Manny clucks his tongue. “There you go, nena. Feel the burn.”

  I don’t know which man to glare at the hardest. The one time I meet Team Puerto Rico’s manager, and he’s acting like a premium-level jerk. But Director Sandhar’s brushing off the fact that a dragon is living at a wand shop. And what’s worse, the dragon showed signs of having Bonded with a rider. Madame Waxbyrne isn’t British, so there’s no way the dragon is her steed. Dragons can only Bond with humans from their country. Something fishy is going on, and classified or not, I deserve to know why I almost died.

  “But it’s illegal.” I speak a little louder. “Madame Waxbyrne is keeping a dragon that doesn’t belong to her. That Fire Drake may have attacked me, but when the guards swept in, it stopped. The dragon is Bonded. Where’s the rider responsible for its safety?”

  “That’s not for me to discuss.” Director Sandhar nods to President Turner. “You’re up.”

  President Turner stands with the speed of a boy who’s been told he can leave school early. “Ms. Torres, after seeing the surveillance footage, I’m certain of one thing: You, my dear girl, are the bravest talent I’ve come across in a long, long time. You’re fast, yes, but most important, you have a heart that beats for the right things. The whole world will know what you did today. They will know how fast, brave, and good you are.”