Blazewrath Games Read online

  If Agent Horowitz hadn’t been tethering me to the real world, I’d think I’d entered the afterlife. Instead of God, the president of the IBF greeted me as I strolled through the pearly gates.

  “Talent?” Mom sits on the edge of the sofa, all crinkled like she smells something foul. “Why are you calling her a ‘talent’?”

  “Because she is! Your daughter is one of the fastest young athletes I’ve had the privilege of meeting, even though her tryout didn’t happen as initially scheduled.” President Turner shrugs as he looks at me. “Ms. Torres, what you did at Waxbyrne proved a much better audition.”

  His words are an eighteen-wheeler speeding right through me. This is why he’s here? Does he want to give me the chance to try out at a later date? Could my dream really still happen?

  “My daughter hasn’t signed up to play your atrocious excuse for a sport.” Mom’s laugh is a short, cold burst. “I’m sorry, but you’ve confused Lana with someone else.”

  “Stop it, Mom!” I press my palms against my temples, half regretting my outburst and half wishing I were somewhere far away from the mother who doesn’t know squat about me. This isn’t how I wanted her to find out, but I can’t lie now.

  She’s watching me with a narrowed gaze. “What was that?”

  I drop my hands. “President Turner’s right. I did sign up for Blazewrath tryouts. I want to join Team Puerto Rico and play in this year’s Blazewrath World Cup. I want to be a Runner and represent my country on an international platform. This is the only dream I’ve ever had.”

  Crickets. My mother is on a different plane of existence, seemingly grappling with reality. Even Manny’s glued to her as if waiting for a bomb to go off. Mom, however, isn’t detonating.

  I gulp down. “Are you okay?”

  “Does she look okay to you?” Manny says.

  Director Sandhar shushes him, then addresses me. “If you’d like some privacy, we can—”

  “The only dream you’ve ever had …” Mom repeats in a robotic voice. It’s like she’s trying out a foreign language for the first time. “Does that mean … you’ve played before?”

  “No. There’s just one dragon in the States. You need six dragons to form a Blazewrath team. And you can only play with a formal invitation from the IBF to participate in the Cup. They don’t teach Blazewrath in schools or practice it anywhere else.” I motion to President Turner. “Anyone caught playing amateur Blazewrath gets arrested and has to pay a high fine.”

  “That is correct,” he says. “Blazewrath is illegal outside of IBF grounds and supervision for a variety of reasons, including several past incidents of non-rider Regulars who were known for baiting Un-Bonded dragons into playing with them. Most of those Regulars died, and the Un-Bonded dragons caused a lot of damage to private property. The invitation-only policy is one of the ways the IBF guarantees the sport is being played safely.”

  Mom nods. “Because dragons can’t be trusted.”

  “They can be trusted,” I cut in. “That Fire Drake was defending itself from someone who’d hurt it. The Pesadelo that tried to kill me in Brazil was Un-Bonded. I survived by outrunning its flames at five years old. You saw me on that surveillance footage today. I’m way faster now.” I’m speeding through each word, but I can’t stop. “Blazewrath is more than my favorite sport. It’s the only thing that makes me feel like I belong in this world. Like I actually have a purpose.”

  Mom slumps in her seat, shaking her head. “Honey, how can you feel like you don’t belong or have a purpose? Your parents love you. You have Samira’s and her family’s love. You’re going to be a high school senior in two months. You’re heading off to college next year.”

  “Am I? Have I told you what I want to major in?”

  “Well, no, but you still have time to decide.”

  “I don’t want to decide!” I snap. “I want to play the sport Papi taught me to love and to represent our island—our real home.”

  A shadow settles on Mom’s expression, a storm that’s yet to land. “I see … So everything I’ve done to keep you safe has ruined your life? Is that it? Have I ruined your life?”

  I stare at her, unblinking. Of course she’s ruined my life, but I love her. I always will. Even if living with Papi would’ve been so much better. Mom isn’t the worst person in the universe. She just did what she thought was right.

  Now it’s up to me to show her what the right thing was all along.

  I’m sitting on the edge of the chaise, hands in prayer position under my chin. “You haven’t ruined my life, Mom. You just made it harder for me to live my truth. I didn’t want to tell you about my plans like this, but if President Turner will still let me attend tryouts, I’d love it if you could give me the chance to make my dream a reality. Ground me for lying and sneaking around. Take my phone and laptop and Whisperer and everything else. But please let me do this.”

  She studies me as if she’s been sucked into a flurry of flashbacks—her screams back in Brazil, or the panic she must’ve felt during the Waxbyrne attack. Finally, she glances at President Turner. “Why are you really here, Mister President?”

  President Turner slips his hands into his pockets, cocking his head in my direction. “I was hoping to formally invite Lana to join Puerto Rico’s Blazewrath team as their new Runner.”

  I’m knocked back into a stiff, straight position. I wait for him to tell me this is an April Fools’ joke, even though it’s the middle of July. A few hours ago, Takeshi Endo had plucked my dream out of the realm of possibility and smashed it to smithereens. Now it’s come back to life even more beautiful than before. I get to honor my island, my father, and myself, after all.

  Then I remember that silver-scaled face on TV.

  “What about the Sire?” I ask in a hushed voice. “His attacks won’t cancel the Cup?”

  President Turner’s forehead creases. “Not at all, Ms. Torres. The Cup will go on.”

  “Trust me. He’ll be caught in no time,” Director Sandhar reassures me.

  If the director of the Department of Magical Investigations promises me the Sire will be behind bars soon, who am I to believe otherwise? The Sire is a force to be reckoned with, but I foiled one of his plans today. I can only imagine the level of badassery the bureau is capable of.

  I turn to President Turner with the hugest fangirl grin. “So I’m on the team?”

  “The spot is yours if you want it.”

  I lunge at him to shake his hand. “Yes! Thank you so much, sir. This is amazing.”

  “Lana is seventeen,” says Mom. “In order for her to play, you need a parent’s signature.”

  “Right you are, madam. Legal guardians of minors are required to sign their contracts.”

  Mom takes a deep breath. “May I see it?”

  At first, I think the Fire Drake’s roars have messed with my hearing, but when President Turner pulls out his plain Silver wand, I feel a little faint. I sit back down before I topple over.

  The president flicks his wand twice. A yellowed papyrus scroll appears out of nowhere. It rolls down just inches shy of the floor. President Turner offers the scroll … my contract … to Mom.

  I’m welling up, dumbfounded with the fact that my mother is taking this seriously. She’s choosing to put my happiness before hers. I memorize the way she pulls her blue pen from her purse, the loose hold she has on it while she signs on the dotted line.

  Leslie Anne Wells, my impossibly stubborn mother, has signed my Blazewrath contract.

  I walk over to her, arms spread wide open. “Thank you, Mom.”

  She holds up a hand. “My signature is all the support you’ll be receiving. I won’t suffer through my only child putting herself in danger again. Go on and play for your real home. I’ll be in the one you hate, waiting for you when you’re done.” She gives my contract to President Turner. “I’d like to Transport back to my car. I need to visit my nephew at the hospital.”

  I back away, my lips parted, but nothing comes out. Of co
urse she’d never attend any matches or even watch them on TV. There’s a difference between picturing something and having it drawn in bold colors right in front of you, though. Mom’s choosing my happiness over hers, but she’s also choosing not to be a part of that happiness. It’s not that she doesn’t fit in the equation. She just doesn’t have the energy to try fitting in.

  Mom follows Agent Horowitz out of the room. She doesn’t say goodbye to me.

  I rub my eyes over and over, refusing to cry.

  “Ms. Torres, if you would like a moment alone, we won’t mind,” President Turner says.

  “No. I’m fine. I, um … I’d like to sign now.”

  “Certainly!” President Turner gives me the contract.

  I read it even slower than Mom. My obligations are in super-clear detail. So is my salary. Runners get $7 million. My eyeballs almost fall out. That’s a lot of cash for someone like me, regardless of how well I live thanks to Mom’s job. The money will be transferred to my account as soon as I put my signature on the page. Mom’s signature means she agrees to have the money sent directly to me, even though I’m a minor. President Turner conjures a pen with his wand. I use it to sign my contract. Regardless of how financially stable my future feels, I still taste rotten apples in my mouth. This is supposed to be the best day of my life. There was supposed to be a choir of angels, dancing animals, a marching band, and free ice cream for everyone.

  Instead, Mom’s last words keep swirling like a tornado in my mind, slicing me deeper with each spin. I still have a mother, but why does it feel like she’s gone forever?

  Keep it together, Lana. You can cry when you’re at home.

  I hand the contract back to President Turner.

  He flashes me one last smile. “Welcome to the Blazewrath World Cup!”

  Defining the Bond is both simple and difficult. The simplicity lies in acknowledging what a Bond is: a personal relationship between dragon and human, which allows them to feel each other’s emotional state through psychic communication. Younger dragons use images to express themselves, since verbalizing their thoughts and feelings is a more complex skill. The difficulty lies in the Bond’s origins. Some dragon-studies experts argue that Bonds are destined. A dragon breaks out of its egg and searches for a rider because the universe has declared it so. When one is taken from the other, the grief that ensues can lead to wrath unlike the world has ever seen.

  —Excerpt from Carlos Torres’s Studying the Bond Between Dragons & Humans

  CHAPTER FIVE

  AFTER AGENT HOROWITZ TRANSPORTS ME HOME, I DRAG MYSELF inside the house, where the silence guts me harder than I imagined.

  Mom must still be at the hospital with Todd. She’s choosing a spineless jerk over me. And she’s doing it on our last night together until the Cup ends. President Turner has scheduled my pickup at 7:00 a.m. It’ll be a top-secret Transport to Dubai, since the IBF won’t release a statement to the press about me joining Team Puerto Rico until we’re much closer to the opening ceremonies. I’ll be on the other side of the world, living my dream, while Mom goes on with her life. She’s already practicing. I’m the ghost of a girl she raised.

  Papi wouldn’t treat me like this. I can’t leave for Dubai without giving him the best news of our lives. I can’t leave without knowing why he’s been off the grid. I won’t sleep otherwise.

  I unlock my phone.

  Takeshi’s photo is still my wallpaper. With a deep breath, I delete the photo and replace it with a plain blue screen. There are 172 Takeshi pics left. I start deleting them one by one, but seeing his face so many times doesn’t soften the blow of making it disappear. I shove my phone into my pocket. Those pics can wait until my heart doesn’t hurt.

  Maybe I shouldn’t call Papi alone.

  I speak into my Whisperer. “Samira, can you hear me?”

  Four seconds later, she’s rambling back at me. “Hello, yes, obviously. How’d it go? Is the bureau pretty? Is it just like in Law & Order: Magical Crimes Unit? Are there marble statues of famous dead wizards everywhere? Did they keep you in one of those rooms with the glass and the table in the middle and the crappy wall decor? Did you drink terrible coffee?”

  “I didn’t go to the bureau.”

  “You what? But they were supposed to take you there!”

  This is it. I’m about to speak the words for the first time ever. Hopefully, they’ll fill me up with everything Mom and Manny emptied me of minutes before. “My interrogation happened at President Russell Turner’s Other Place. He wanted to meet me after watching the Waxbyrne footage.” I pause for effect. “I’m the new Runner for Team Puerto Rico.”

  A saucepan clanks to the floor wherever she is.

  “MY BEST FRIEND IS PLAYING AT THE BLAZEWRATH WORLD CUP, SHUT UUUUUUUUUUUP! YOU ARE AN IMMORTAL SPORTS GODDESS!” Samira screams.

  I laugh until everything hurts. I can always count on her to freak out when I can’t do so for myself. “You think you can keep that fire a bit longer? I’m going to need it in a minute.”

  Samira’s yells die at once. “Why? What are we doing in a minute?”

  “You’re helping me pack for Dubai,” I say. “And we have to tell my dad.”

  SAMIRA AND SHAY TRANSPORT TO MY HOUSE TWENTY MINUTES LATER.

  “Where do you want ’em?” Shay tucks her Silver wand into her jeans. She motions like a game show host to the two boxes of pizza Samira’s carrying. She’s the most adorable fourteen-year-old ever, especially in those low pigtails.

  “Right here’s fine.” I lead her to the living room, where I’ve already set up my laptop and have the Skype window open. I help Samira put the boxes on the coffee table next to the computer. The smell alone is enough for me to know which is which. The top box is meat lovers, with cheese-stuffed crust for her and Samira. The bottom box is artisan spinach and feta for me.

  Samira launches herself at me. “Congratulations, Ms. Runner!” I’m about to thank her when Shay joins in on the hug and pulls us all even tighter. The Jones sisters jump in synchronized glee, messing up my hair and destroying what’s left of my eardrums.

  When they finally release me, I plop down on the couch and start gobbling a slice. Samira and Shay sit down, too, and Samira confesses she’s grounded for breaking her fourth wand, though her parents let her throw this mini celebration first.

  “Cheers.” Samira holds up her pizza slice like a wineglass. “To living the dream!”

  I laugh heartily. “To living the dream.”

  We clink our slices together and stuff our mouths at the same time.

  Shay points to my laptop. “So are we doing this?”

  “We are.” My laughter dies as I click on the Start Call button. Maybe Papi is nowhere near a computer, but trying won’t hurt anyone. The screen remains black. I slide a bit closer to Samira, hoping her proximity alone will pump up my confidence levels.

  A middle-aged man appears on-screen.

  He has the same deep-brown skin, light-brown hair, and high cheekbones as me. The name tag on his violet polo shirt reads DR. CARLOS TORRES, BOND SPECIALIST. It’s chipped at the left corner. He’s sitting at his desk with a stack of folders and a map of the world’s dragon sanctuaries. The misshapen star I’d drawn twelve years ago is still in the middle of the map.

  “Finally!” I almost drop my slice as I lunge forward. “¡Hola, Papi!”

  “Hola, mi amor. I literally just sat down to see if I could reach you.” He rubs his face, as if trying to get rid of the exhaustion plaguing him. “I’m so sorry for not contacting you until now. We were transferring one of the male Pesadelos to the sanctuary in Roraima, and thanks to the Sire’s latest attack, we had to turn off our phones as a safety protocol.” Papi searches my face like he’s cramming for a test. “Mija, a colleague told me what happened at Waxbyrne when I got back. He showed me the footage, and I’m aghast. How are you feeling? Are you hurt?”

  “No, just tired. But I’m in great company.” I move the laptop to show Samira and Shay.


  “Hello, Mr. Torres!” They wave at him together.

  Papi smiles at them. “Hello, ladies! I’m very happy to see you.” He looks at me again, his expression heavy with concern. “Tell me everything, Lana.”

  So I tell him. Samira and Shay eat in silence as I recount the Waxbyrne attack, followed by the interrogation at President Turner’s Other Place. Papi’s eyebrows rise higher with each detail. When I finally get to the contract part, though, he’s as mannequin-still as Mom was.

  “President Turner gave you a contract on the spot?”

  I frown at his incredulity. “He did. I’m on Team Puerto Rico. I leave for Dubai in the morning.” A short, timid laugh escapes me. “I’m going to play in the Blazewrath World Cup.”

  I wait for the explosion of whoops and hollers. An even louder cacophony than the one Samira produced. Papi’s cheers will screw up power grids everywhere and sink the whole world into darkness with its intensity. He’ll call in sick tomorrow because he won’t have any voice left.

  “Mi amor, do you really think this is the right thing to do?”

  The wind is knocked right out of me. My dream-turned-reality isn’t giving Papi the joy we’d left back in Cayey. Feeling like a failure to one parent is crappy enough, but this sinks its teeth into me and tugs at my flesh ten times harder. This sport, this career, is meant to be our home and our safe place. We’re supposed to be in this together.

  “Why are you asking me that? Of course it was the right thing to do, Papi,” I whisper. There’s not enough strength in me to speak louder.

  “I just feel like the circumstances behind your hiring are bizarre.” He’s shaking his head like he’s solving an impossible math equation. “Why would Director Sandhar allow civilians unrelated to the crime scene into an official bureau interrogation? What does Blazewrath have to do with Takeshi’s attempted theft? And what gives President Turner the kind of clearance to bypass security protocols and offer you the Runner position without putting you through tryouts? Manuel Delgado has even less clout than the president. So what’s this truly about?”