Blazewrath Games Page 8

  The Sol de Noche is on fire from within.

  Like most dragons, a Sol de Noche can eject flames from a propeller in its throat. The propeller, the intensity of the flames’ heat, and the speed at which they’re ejected vary depending on the country of origin. That’s pretty standard anatomy. Our dragons, however, can also wrap themselves in their flames and turn into massive fireballs. They can contract their flames to keep them close to their scales or push them out farther away to burn at a greater distance. Blazewrath fans are losing their minds. It’s the first time a team with this kind of firepower will compete.

  Only the top half of the Sol de Noche’s body is visible, along with its eyes. Sol de Noche dragons have slits for eyes, thin and elongated, but bright as a daffodil’s petals. They’re glued to me, which is why I haven’t moved an inch. I’m not sure what I can and can’t do at this time.

  A second light appears to my left, then another to my right.

  Soon, I have six sources of sunlight surrounding me. None make any noise as they approach. They’re seventy feet tall, with legs the size of four tree trunks side by side, but they’re so, so quiet. All six Sol de Noche dragons form a tight circle with me at its center. Three males. Three females. Esperanza is directly behind me, the largest and shiniest one in the bunch. Her name means “hope” in Spanish, and yet she seems capable of ripping whole armies apart with a single claw. The males are a bit smaller but still super intimidating. Experts can tell them apart by the size of their tails and frontal horns. Males tend to have smaller of both.

  Their frontal horns start glimmering at the base of the bone. The glimmer swirls up until the tips are little balls of sunshine. The fire then breaks free and floats toward the ceiling. Each ball presses against something stuck to the ceiling in different shapes, which become clearer upon contact with the flame. The balls expand until they mold into the shapes above.

  The shapes are letters. When they’re all lit up and shining down at me, they read, ¡Bienvenida a nuestro equipo, Lana! It translates to “Welcome to our team, Lana.”

  The balls of sunshine keep dispersing into another shape that wraps around the message. It’s an outline of some sort. There are several jagged edges, an imperfect drawing that I can’t quite recognize, but it takes up the whole ceiling like a fiery mural. Little by little, that imperfect drawing becomes what it really is, burning even brighter than the letters.

  It’s a map of Puerto Rico.

  My country lights up the whole habitat from above. The map is blank save for the welcome message scribbled at its center, which somehow shines even brighter now.

  “Oh my God …” I haven’t stepped foot in Puerto Rico in longer than these dragons have been alive, and yet their love for our land is fueling mine. It’s a part of mine. And they’re treating me like I’m one of them. I’m tearing up. Mom ripped me away from Papi because she’d been afraid of losing me. Now here I am, easy prey for these glorious creatures of magic and might, feeling more alive than ever before. Like I belong.

  I take my time bowing at each dragon. “Muchas gracias.”

  All at once, the six dragons bow their heads in return. Their horns are still aflame. Inch by inch, the fire drops to the base of their bones again, where it flickers once and fades into nothing. The island on the ceiling is bright enough to keep us illuminated.

  Luis walks over to the smallest female dragon. She lets him plant a kiss on top of her wide, huffing nose. “Lana, meet my lovely lady, Daga.”

  Dragons have never explained how their names come about—whether dragons choose them or if they’re engraved deep within their consciousness. Not even riders are privy to this information. We only know their names are always in the language of their country of origin and, as some people believe with human names, they can provide a glimpse into their personalities.

  “Dagger,” I say. “That’s what her name translates to in Spanish, right?”

  “Sí. She’s pure danger.” Luis scratches Daga’s ear. She unleashes an earth-shattering squeal of joy. One of her hind legs is even stomping the dirt. Oh yeah. Pure danger, indeed.

  “This is Puya.” Gabriela motions to the cringing male dragon standing next to Daga. He’s inching closer to Gabriela as Daga squeals even louder, as if he’s ashamed on her behalf.

  “Puya,” I repeat with a laugh. His name means “pointed stick” in Spanish. There’s a dagger and a lance’s pointy end working together as Charger steeds. Watch out, other teams.

  Gabriela rubs Puya’s cheek, which he relishes with a deep purr. It echoes throughout the habitat. Once it dies out, Gabriela says, “He’s my best friend. And fashion stylist.”

  “I ride with her.” Génesis waves to the female dragon opposite Esperanza. “Rayo.”

  “Ray of light,” I say.

  Edwin leans against his male dragon’s chest, which has a thin silver birthmark right where his heart should be. It shimmers a little. “Este lindo se llama Fantasma,” he says.

  Ghost. “Me encanta.” I tell him I love the name, and Edwin nods.

  Rayo and Fantasma share a glance, as if telling each other a happy secret. So do Génesis and Edwin. It’s like they’re siblings who have a language only they’re allowed to understand.

  Héctor pulls out a whole handful of grapes from his pocket. He tosses them to his male dragon one by one. I’ve never seen an animal chomp down on anything harder in my life.

  Luis gasps in sheer outrage. “You gave Titán my grapes?!”

  “He deserves them more,” Héctor says while Titán licks his lips. “Titán’s the second oldest of the group. Esperanza,” he waves to the dragon behind Victoria, “is the eldest. Daga is obviously the baby.” He shakes his head as Daga keeps squealing. “We all Bonded with them in the same order they were born. So Victoria here was the first official member of the team.” He speaks with such pride, and that statue of a girl just glares at me. “And now you get to close our ranks, Lana. We all are so happy to have you be a part of this family.”

  That last word kicks me square in the chest. These people and these dragons aren’t the family I’ve been given, but as I stand surrounded by so much powerful magic, so much love for Puerto Rico, my heart weighs less than it did yesterday. Yeah, Victoria seems like she isn’t cool with me being part of the team, but everything else feels like it suits me just fine.

  “Do you have any questions before we get back downstairs?” Joaquín asks me.

  “No. This has been incredible.” I wave goodbye to the dragons. “Gracias otra vez.”

  They all bow at me again.

  I follow my teammates to the elevator.

  Victoria hangs back, though, falling into step with me. I’m about to ask her if there’s anything I can do for her when she leans in super close.

  “You better be ready to work, new girl.” Not even lowering her voice can lessen her roughness. “Everything that happened today? Hold on tight to those memories. Special treatment is officially over. Tomorrow you’ll wish you’d never come here.”

  She storms into the elevator.

  I’m rooted to the spot, sinking into whatever’s under this floor. There are six other faces before me, but I can only focus on Victoria’s. She’s still looking at me like I’m ruining her life, even though she legit just threatened me. Or maybe she’s trying to pump me up for a grueling training schedule? Either way, I’m not Brian Santana. I’m not getting fired.

  Ignore her ignore her ignore her ignore her.

  “You okay, Lana?” Gabriela asks.

  I answer her with a quick nod, avoiding eye contact with Victoria. I stay silent as the elevator doors separate me once again from the Sol de Noche dragons.

  They might actually be the least dangerous teammates I have.

  WHEN I GET BACK TO THE LIVING ROOM, PRESIDENT TURNER AND Manny are deep into an episode of Law & Order: Magical Crimes Unit. It’s the one where the Regular detectives find a kidnapped Copper witch in her Silver Wand uncle’s basement. He runs away at the end o
f this episode and becomes their main villain for Season Seventeen. I only know this because of Samira. She puts up with my Blazewrath obsession. I put up with her love of Law & Order.

  “All done with the habitat, I see!” President Turner rises without difficulty, but his hands are trembling a bit. “How did it go?”

  I force myself not to stare. “Amazingly well.”

  He sighs in relief. “That’s wonderful to hear, Ms. Torres.” With a flick of his wand, he conjures a large golden envelope out of thin air. “Your schedule for the next two weeks is in here. Manny will serve as your guardian for the duration of the Cup, as you know, and this includes making sure you fulfill every commitment. However, you can always contact me if you need anything. Just press three on any phone in this house and it will connect you to me.”

  Oh wow. He’s that easy to get in touch with? My teammates all nod, which probably means he told them the same thing.

  I take the envelope. “No problem. Thank you so much for everything.”

  “Thank you for being here.” President Turner looks at Héctor. “Your team is complete!”

  Héctor gives him a high five. “Thank you for helping us, sir. Appreciate it.”

  “Russell? You have a meeting, remember?” Manny’s tone kills the mood.

  “Right. The meeting.” President Turner glances down at his hands, which are trembling even more now, and he quickly hides them behind his back. “I’ll be seeing you all at the welcome party in two nights. Have an excellent rest of your day!”

  “You, too, Mr. President,” everyone else says.

  I don’t say a word. His health problems aren’t my business, but if he’s overexerting himself or skipping meds or whatever, he needs to be more careful.

  Once the president’s gone, Joaquín says, “Any tour-guide volunteers for Lana?”

  Gabriela’s hand shoots up like she’s in class. “We can do it!” she says, motioning to Génesis and Victoria. Only Génesis is nodding.

  “Okay. Go on ahead, ladies.”

  Gabriela yanks me back to the elevator before I can side-eye Victoria.

  THE HOUSE IS TEN TIMES MORE GIGANTIC THAN IT SEEMS.

  It has a total of four floors, with one chamber in the fourth, which is the dragons’ habitat.

  All the dormitories are located on the first floor, hidden behind the double doors on the right side. The girls’ dormitory is a sprawling suite with (wait for it) white furniture and marble walls. The floor’s marble, too. So are the pillars. There’s even a four-pole hammock in the office section. This place screams FANCY GIRLS LIVE HERE, but there are neon fabrics and feather boas on the right side of the room, where two of the four queen-sized beds have been arranged.

  “This one’s mine.” Gabriela rushes over to the bed with the fabrics and boas. Her vanity is filled with candy-scented candles, makeup sets, brush kits, and wigs. Her Sworn Magazine cover from April is framed on the wall. She and Edwin are hugging each other as they smolder into the camera. They’re both rocking all-black clothes and matching eyeliner. Gabriela has a mint-green wig on. Below their perfectly gorgeous faces, the headline reads, “Their Nation’s Pride: How Gabriela Ramos & Edwin Santiago Are Putting Queer Puerto Rico on the Blazewrath Map.”

  “That was an amazing interview,” I tell Gabriela. “I read it on my phone while stuck at dinner with my mother’s family. Not even the soufflé could get me to stop caring.”

  She does a little bow. “Thank you. This bi girl felt immense relief coming out to the world. I won’t speak for Edwin, obvi, but I sure felt like a champion.” She twirls as she pretends to hold an invisible skirt. “And those outfits. I can’t even describe how much fun that shoot was.”

  “It is a beautiful picture,” Victoria says, staring longingly at the cover.

  “And that’s Victoria’s side,” Génesis says a bit too fast. She shows me the bed next to Gabriela’s, which only has plain linen sheets. Victoria’s wall is decorated with a note scribbled in super girly handwriting: Sé el Sol en la Oscuridad. It translates to “Be the Sun in the Dark.”

  “That’s great advice,” I say dryly.

  “I know it is. Héctor said that to me when I was thirteen,” Victoria admits. “He, Génesis, and I grew up in the same neighborhood in Loíza. He’s always known how to make me feel better, but those words on the wall? They saved my life.” She’s as cold as a winter’s breeze. “It’s the last thing I said to my stepdad before I beat the shit out of him.”

  Oh crap. I’d been so busy wondering why she dislikes me that I’d forgotten about her past. While Héctor and Génesis have lovely families, Victoria comes from an abusive household. Her stepdad’s in prison now, last I heard, but she spent most of her life enduring his rage. On her thirteenth birthday, he lunged for a vodka bottle, planning to break it on her mother’s face.

  Victoria grabbed it first.

  The second her stepdad lost consciousness, Esperanza landed outside her house.

  “Wow. That’s intense,” is all I can come up with.

  “So were his bruises,” says Victoria. “I’m still quite proud of them.”

  “This one over here is my bed,” Génesis nervously cuts in. She’s moved on to the left side of the room. Hers is the corner bed with a giant stuffed panda sitting on the pillows. She’s got tons of snapshots of mixed-breed dogs and pit bulls on her wall.

  I point to the dogs. “Are those all your rescues?”

  “Sí. Bam-Bam and Boo are mine,” she taps two of the pit bulls, “but the rest are happy in other forever homes. My sisters are running my rescue while I’m here, but I really miss them.”

  “What we’re doing here is more important,” Victoria says. “You change lives on a daily basis, but winning the Cup for our country will change lives, too. This will save lives.”

  I nod. “You’re right, Victoria. I just hope we don’t have to keep worrying about the Sire.”

  Victoria looks me up and down like I’m a squashed roach. “Obviously he’ll be caught.”

  Something about the way she uses the word obviously makes me want to scream.

  “Why don’t we let Lana unpack?” Génesis grabs Gabriela and Victoria. “We’ll be in the living room setting up movie night. Find us once you’re ready.”

  They leave me to unpack alone. I check my schedule first. Scratch that: two schedules. Schedule number one is focused on training. I’ll start at 5:00 a.m. and end at 4:00 p.m., which tires me out just by reading it. Schedule number two is all about official Blazewrath duties. The welcome party will be in two days. My uniform fitting and team photo shoot is in four. We find out the team brackets for the Round of Sixteen on August 2. Opening ceremonies are on August 3. The Cup starts on the fifth.

  I collapse onto my empty bed. The sheets are so smooth, it makes me feel like I’m floating.

  This is my new home. This is my sun in the dark right now.

  Hopefully, the world will be much shinier with news of the Sire’s capture in the morning.

  “In regard to the age limit for Blazewrath players, we owe that particular rule to dragons. Most Bond exclusively with teenagers, but when riders turn twenty-one, their steeds begin to show little interest in competing. All they want to do is lounge around in their bureau-approved residences and eat. I do not think this is out of laziness. I think they’re just waiting for something more. A greater purpose than a game that pits them against one another.”

  —Transcript from 2007 radio interview with Perry Jo Smith, IBF founder

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE SIRE IS STILL OUT THERE.

  Before breakfast, I checked every news channel and website in the universe. Nobody’s mentioned an arrest in the past twenty-four hours. They haven’t mentioned Takeshi, either. Those bastards are still free, possibly kidnapping their next victim. There’s been no official word on canceling the Cup, so my scheduled training carries on as if the Sire doesn’t exist.

  “This is how we’ll tackle your sessions,” says Joaquín. He
and I are the only ones inside Training Room D, which has a track wrapping all around it. “First, we train here, then at the gym. We break for lunch. Afternoon sessions are for fight training with the Blockers on the simulated mountain in Training Room E.” He pauses. “Let’s see if you get that far today.”

  My morning is dedicated to jogging and sprinting intervals. Despite my intense sweating and flailing, Joaquín praises me every time I fly past the finish line. Then it’s off to the gym on the second floor. The team exercises together here. Victoria tosses the occasional scowl in my direction as I do my leg raises, but for the most part, nobody bothers anyone. Lunchtime is pretty quiet, too. Manny doesn’t join us at any point. He’s probably hiding in his room.

  Then it’s time to fight.

  When I walk through Training Room E’s double doors, I’m decked out in protective pads for my elbows, knees, and shoulders, not caring about how ridiculous I look. My teammates already have their uniforms, which they’re changing into back in their rooms. The only thing I’ve got that resembles what I’ll wear on the field is a metal helm. It’s black, of course, with a strip that’s meant to protect my nose.

  “Here,” Joaquín says as I put it on. “It’s been charmed to mold into your head’s shape.”

  The helm is a few inches too big, fit for the Runner who came before me, then shrinks until it’s a second skin. I knock on the helm’s side twice. A tin-like clanging reverberates around me, but it’s not too loud or annoying, and better yet, it doesn’t hurt me. Standard helms are molded after what knights wore during the Middle Ages, but some countries take it a step further with designs that engulf your entire face. I’m grateful my team has the old-school version.

  Manny finally shows up. He punches a complicated series of numbers into a panel beside the double doors. “The dragons will be with us shortly. Be ready.”

  The panel beeps twice, then the double doors slide open sideways.

  Training Room E is a domed stadium. If I weren’t looking at it, I’d think there’s no way a stadium as endless as this one could fit inside our house. The Keeper’s goalpost, where Héctor will stop the opposing team’s Striker from scoring, is at the very end of the stadium. Just like in official matches, the goalpost is built in the shape of a thick, spiky dragon’s tail. It’s coiled tight, yet spacious enough to let the Rock Flame, the sport’s official ball, through its center.