Playing With Fire Page 8

  They waited as a minute ticked by. Only soft creaking sounds came from below. Then Jesse’s voice—both over the earpiece and coming from a room downstairs—said, “Put your hands up where we can see them.”

  A woman screamed, a sound like a startled bird. Dirk’s stepmother?

  Footsteps pounded across the floor. The woman screamed again.

  “We don’t want to hurt you,” Bess said. “We just want to talk. Put your hands up so we know you’re unarmed.”

  Tori waited, unconsciously gripping her hands into fists at her side.

  A moment later Jesse said, “We’ve got a woman contained in the den. Obviously not Connor. Where’s our man?”

  “On his tail,” Ryker said. “But it’s not Overdrake. Too young.”

  Too young? Could it be Dirk after all? No, Ryker had seen a picture of Dirk. He would have recognized him.

  A door slammed. “He went into the laundry room,” Ryker said.

  The guy had probably been trying to make it to the garage door, seen Ryker, and locked himself in that room instead. A dead end. According to the blueprint, the laundry room had no window. But Connor might have weapons stashed there.

  Tori didn’t need to point that out to Ryker. They’d all had those sorts of details drilled into them at practice.

  “We need a shield,” Shang said.

  “On my way,” Bess called.

  The woman in the den was speaking to Jesse, but Ryker’s voice was louder. “Come out of there!” he yelled. “Hands above your head!”

  No one answered from the laundry room. Only the woman’s voice came over the line, high pitched with fear. “Who are you? What do you want?” She spoke with a slight British accent, the same sort Overdrake had.

  “We want information,” Jesse said.

  “Don’t hurt us,” the woman pleaded. “We’re unarmed.”

  The fear in her voice sent prickles of guilt into Tori’s stomach. She did her best to push them away. This lady wasn’t some innocent bystander. She was connected with Overdrake—an assistant or a secretary, someone who knew about the dragons and was helping him raise money to fund his upcoming attacks.

  Willow covered her mic so her words wouldn’t be picked up. “I guess Ryker was right about these people not fighting. You know, I sort of expected more from Overdrake’s henchmen.”

  So had Tori. Was it possible the Slayers had burst in on an unfortunate house sitter?

  “Chameleon,” Dr. B said, “What do you mean, your man’s too young? Did you get a visual on him?”

  “He’s a kid,” Ryker said. “fourteen, maybe.”

  Tori inwardly sighed. She had most likely missed Wicked to terrorize Renaissance fair merchants and house sitters.

  “We need the dragons’ location,” Jesse said. “That’s all we want from you.”

  “The what?” the woman replied. “Who are you?” If the woman didn’t know about Overdrake’s business, she probably thought Jesse was crazy.

  Ryker was still talking to the kid in the laundry room. “Come out here. Your mom won’t like it if I have to break down the door.”

  In the den, Jesse went on. “Rudolpho gave us your address. We know you’re involved with the dragons.”

  Ryker’s voice: “Hey! Put the fire extinguisher down. Now!”

  A hissing indicated the kid had ignored Ryker’s instructions and sprayed the foam. Ryker cursed. Apparently the kid’s aim had been accurate.

  Willow took a tentative step toward the stairs. “Do you guys need some, uh, reverse?”

  “No,” Ryker snapped. “I’ll take care of this.” Then he called, “Jump him!”

  Something crashed into a wall.

  “Sorry,” Shang said, “The kid is fast.”

  Willow turned to Tori, head cocked to better hear what was going on downstairs. “So what exactly are we supposed to do in this sort of situation?”

  Tori shrugged. “We’re supposed to be bonding and letting the others take care of things.” She leaned against the banister. “Let’s talk about fashion.”

  Jesse probably wouldn’t appreciate her sarcasm during a mission, but really, what did he expect? He and Ryker had taken charge of everything and sent her and Willow to guard an empty stairway.

  “I think overalls are always a bad choice,” Tori said.

  “I agree,” Willow said.

  In the den, the woman was emphatically denying any knowledge of Rudolpho or dragons.

  Ryker hadn’t subdued the teenager yet. “Come away from there,” he said. Then, “We both know you’re not really going to throw that chair.”

  A crash sounded somewhere below. “Okay,” Ryker said, “your mom is going to be ticked about that.”

  Willow peered down the staircase. “Are you sure we shouldn’t help?”

  “They haven’t said, ‘reverse.’”

  The boy shouted, “Get away from me, all of you!”

  His mother must have heard him. Light-switch fast, the fear in her voice turned to anger. “What are you doing to my son?”

  “Nothing,” Jesse said, then added, “Chameleon, bring the kid in here so his mother can see he’s safe.”

  Another crash. “Working on it,” Ryker said.

  “How hard can it be?” Jesse asked, clearly bothered.

  Scuffling sounds. “He’s strong,” Shang said. “Slayer strong.”

  “Can’t be,” Ryker said. “Wrong age. He’s not old enough.”

  Tori straightened, Shang’s words repeating in her ears. Slayer strong?

  Forget her post; she had to see the kid herself. As she flew down the stairs, she heard footsteps coming up them. And then he stood in front of her. The boy in the picture. Not Dirk, and yet enough of a lookalike to be a younger version of him. He had the same face shape, the same surfer boy blond hair and startling blue eyes. He wasn’t as tall as Dirk, and yet he was still tall enough to make her think that he might reach Dirk’s 6’2” in a few more years. Dirk didn’t have any brothers. How was it that this stranger looked so much like him?

  When he saw her standing there, floating off the floor, the boy stopped. He seemed to not know whether to fight his way past her or turn away and run.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  Perhaps it was the urgency in her voice, or perhaps it was just surprise that one of the people invading his house was a girl. Whatever the reason, the boy’s gaze swung to hers, trying to see her face through her smoky visor. The moment of hesitation cost him. Ryker flew up from behind and wrapped his arms around the boy’s chest, pinning his arms to his side. Then Ryker flew the kid, kicking and struggling, toward the den.

  Tori followed, skimming through the air.

  “Let me go!” The kid thrashed in Ryker’s arms, legs flailing. “You better not hurt my mom!”

  Ryker tightened his grip. “Your mother isn’t the one I’m thinking of hurting.”

  The group rounded the corner into the living room and nearly ran into Dr. B. He had always overseen missions from a distance, never joining in the fighting, and yet today, he’d abandoned the van and come inside. He wasn’t armed or even disguised. Ryker and Tori both hesitated, staring at him in disbelief.

  “Put the boy down,” Dr. B said. “We’ve frightened him enough.”

  Ryker didn’t move, didn’t let go of the kid.

  But the boy seemed to realize that something had changed. He stopped thrashing and took deep breaths.

  “Jaybird,” Dr. B called, using Jesse’s code name, “bring the woman into the living room so we can talk civilly about this situation.”

  Ryker reluctantly lowered the kid to the ground and let him go. The boy pushed away from Ryker, glaring at everyone. “Who are you?” he demanded.

  Dr. B looked the boy up and down. “I should ask you the same question. However, I believe I already know the answer, Connor.”

  At the name, the kid’s gaze snapped to Dr. B, and some of the angry flush drained from his cheeks, replaced by pale dread.

 
“Is that your real name?” Dr. B asked calmly, almost conversationally. “Or is Connor just a name you gave Rudolpho? Did you tell him you were someone’s delivery boy? Hard to believe he’d make deals with someone as young as yourself.”

  Bess eyed the kid. “Maybe he was using Conner as an adjective.”

  Conner, or whatever his name was, clamped his lips together in defiance. “I don’t have to answer your questions.”

  Jesse walked into the room, towing a middle-aged, blonde woman by the wrist. She was thin and pretty, the sort who looked like her clothes had always been the height of fashion. Her hair was twisted in a French knot, her makeup perfectly applied.

  Her blue eyes fixed on Dr. B and widened in surprise. “Jameson? Is that you?”

  Jameson? Dr. B’s first name was Alastair.

  Dr. B showed no confusion, gave no denial of the name. “Hello, Bianca.”

  The two regarded each other, unspeaking, but the emotion in their eyes, their familiarity, showed that they had a history. Judging by the pain in Bianca’s expression and the accusation in his, it wasn’t a good one.

  That’s when Tori remembered: Dr. B had changed his name when he left St. Helena. And he’d mentioned Bianca before. She was one of his old girlfriends—the one who married Overdrake.

  Bianca was Dirk’s mother.

  Chapter 8

  “I’m sorry for the intrusion,” Dr. B said calmly, as though this were a social call and not an attack. “We didn’t know this was your home. We’ve come for information about the dragons’ locations.”

  “I don’t keep up with Brant’s whereabouts.” Bianca pulled her wrist away from Jesse and strode over to her son. She looked him over, checking to make sure he was okay. When she was satisfied that he was unhurt, she turned and stood protectively in front of him. Her gaze darted around the room, taking in a toppled couch, an overturned end table, and a side chair that now lay in pieces on the floor. The chandelier still swayed in a reproving rhythm.

  “And why would you think I’d tell you anything after you broke into my home and destroyed my things?”

  “Actually,” Shang said, joining the semicircle they’d made in front of Bianca. “We didn’t do any of this. Your son did.”

  Bianca gawked at the broken chair. “Aaron couldn’t have.”

  The boy, apparently Aaron, surveyed the wreckage as well. He seemed surprised to see bits of broken wood strewn on the floor. “I didn’t mean to. It was the adrenaline, I guess.”

  “He’s Overdrake’s son,” Dr. B said flatly. “The simulator triggered his powers. He has extra strength right now.”

  Bianca stiffened and lifted her chin. She looked statuesque standing there, even though she was a good inch shorter than Aaron. “He’s not Brant’s son. We divorced years ago, before Aaron was born.”

  Dr. B shook his head, an unspoken sigh on his lips. “Bianca, there’s no point in denying it. He looks too much like Dirk.”

  Tori had thought Bianca looked shocked when she’d first seen Dr. B, but now her eyes went even wider. “You know Dirk? You know what he looks like?”

  Dr. B nodded wearily. He walked over to the toppled end table and lifted it, setting it right. “Dirk pretended to be a Slayer and trained with me for several years. We only recently found out who he was.”

  Bianca’s hand went to her chest. “Where is he?”

  Dr. B picked up an overturned candle and picture frame and returned them to the table. “I don’t know.” He straightened the frame. “I suppose Dirk is wherever Brant and the dragons are. I hoped that whoever was selling dragon scales to Rudolpho could give me that information.”

  “Selling dragon scales?” The words fell from Bianca’s mouth in disbelief. She turned and landed a penetrating gaze at Aaron. “You sold the dragon scales?”

  He gulped and shrank back. “Sorry. I didn’t think that . . . I mean, the guy at the fair was willing to pay a lot for them, and you said we needed money. I didn’t think they were actually real . . .”

  She gestured pointedly at the Slayers. “Do you see why I didn’t sell them? Do you see what danger you put us in?”

  Dr. B pushed aside a broken chair leg with his foot. “You’re not in danger from us, but would you be if Brant found you?”

  Bianca didn’t answer, just adjusted her position so she stood between her son and the Slayers again. She whispered to Aaron, “Don’t tell them anything.”

  “Bianca,” Dr. B said with more firmness. “If we found you because of the dragon scales, so can Brant.” His gaze went to hers, demanding her attention. “Would you be in danger if he found you?”

  She still didn’t speak, although Dr. B seemed to read an answer in the stubborn set of her shoulders and the trembling of her lips: Yes, she would be in danger.

  Dr. B’s voice grew soft with sympathy. “I’m sorry. I’d hoped things would turn out differently for you.”

  Bianca’s expression wavered. She swallowed, let out a tired breath, and slumped a little. “Brant doesn’t know he has another son. I left so he wouldn’t find out.” She sent Dr. B a pleading look. “I don’t want Aaron to have anything to do with his father.”

  Tori spoke without thinking. “But you left Dirk with him? That was okay?”

  The accusation hung in the air. Tori could feel the other Slayers staring at her.

  A flash of pain went through Bianca’s eyes, replaced immediately by coldness. “You wouldn’t understand my reasons.”

  “You’re right,” Tori said. “I don’t. And neither does Dirk. How could you have left him and never even—”

  “That’s enough,” Dr. B cut her off. “This isn’t the place.”

  “Right,” Bess said, drawing out the word uncomfortably. “We should get back to threatening these folks and leave family counseling to the professionals.”

  Aaron stepped out from behind his mother. “Who are you? What do you want with the dragons?”

  “I’ve told you about them,” Bianca answered, looking over the group as she spoke to Aaron. “They’re Slayers, and they want to kill the dragons. Now will you believe that I’m not making up stories?”

  “Slayers,” Aaron repeated, examining the group more closely. He seemed to be trying to see their features beneath the reflections of their helmets. “So you guys have all kinds of powers, and you’re like, obsessed dragon killers?”

  “We’re not obsessed.” Bess said, sounding offended as she crossed her arms. “I mean, it’s not like we do this sort of thing twenty-four/seven. We have day jobs.” She hiked her thumb in her father’s direction. “Or at least, he does.”

  “They’re teenagers,” Bianca said. She looked at Dr. B with a mixture of resignation and reprimand. “I should have known you would be the one training them. You weren’t about to let go of the past, were you?”

  “Not true,” Dr. B said, matching her crisp tone. “It’s not the past I can’t let go of, it’s the future. I’ve never wanted a future where Brant Overdrake is in charge.”

  Bianca took a step toward him. “And what about Dirk? Are you planning on killing him, too?”

  “No,” Tori answered emphatically. She’d thought about fighting Dirk, but somehow she’d never thought about the fact Dirk could be killed—that one of her friends could be the one to kill him.

  Dr. B answered more calmly. “We’ve no wish to hurt Dirk.”

  “But you might hurt him?” Bianca asked. She shook her head scornfully. “You can see why I won’t help you.”

  Tori folded her arms. “You’re about eleven years late in worrying about what hurts Dirk.” The other Slayers were still staring at her. She didn’t care. She looked Aaron up and down. “And your son has got to be older than eleven, which makes me wonder if you’re telling us the truth about when and why you left Overdrake.”

  Bianca’s gaze swung to Tori, eyes narrowed. “It’s so nice to be young and sure you’re right. I remember being that way once myself.”

  Tori gestured to Aaron. “You’re what,
thirteen? Fourteen?”

  “Twelve and a half,” he said, looking to his mother for explanation. He didn’t seem to know what to make of Tori’s accusation.

  “I left when Dirk was five,” Bianca told him. “After you were born, I left you with a friend for a bit and went back for your brother.” She paused as though it was hard to say the next words, as though even the memory had sharp edges. “I couldn’t take him. Brant made sure of that.” She wrapped her arm around Aaron and leaned in to him, shutting her eyes. “I’m trying to move on from that part of my life.”

  Tori had never told the other Slayers that she messaged Dirk online. They wouldn’t understand. Just then, she nearly admitted to everything so she could give Bianca Dirk’s contact information, but the words died on Tori’s lips.

  Bianca was trying to “move on” from that part of her life. What did that mean? Was she trying to forget Dirk? Cut her losses? Would she risk talking to him? If Tori told Dirk that she’d given his information to his mother and then she didn’t contact him, he’d feel rejected and unimportant all over again.

  Bianca’s eyes looked tight and tired. She kept her arm around Aaron, but addressed Dr. B. “When I left Brant, I took some scales that the dragons had shed. I wanted something to show Aaron that would prove the things I told him about his father were true. I don’t know where Brant or the dragons are now.”

  Dr. B listened to Bianca’s explanation, then remained silent for a moment more. Some sort of decision hung in that silence, although Tori couldn’t tell what it was. He pulled his phone from his pocket, brought up an image, and walked over to Bianca. “This is a recent picture of Dirk.”

  Tori knew which picture it was—the one she’d taken in his car last September. His blond hair was mussed, his blue eyes watching her with assurance. He had a half-smile on his face, but it was genuine. He was happy she’d come to see him.

  The Slayers hadn’t been allowed to take pictures of one another, but she and Dirk had broken the rule. After his defection, she’d given Dr. B a copy in case it would help him track Dirk down.

  Bianca took the phone from Dr. B with shaking hands. Her expression softened, then crumbled. She put her hand to her mouth and let out a choked laugh. “No wonder you recognized Aaron. They look so much alike.”