Blandly, he said, “Yes, that’s a surprise.”
“But why study so many human fiction books?” My eyes fell on a stack of paperbacks with garish covers: scantily clad warriors and drooping wild-eyed dragons. Oh, Mom.
He sipped his hot chocolate. Wyverns like chocolate, a lot. “Your mother always felt bad that she never did a baby book for you.”
Dad was usually a lot subtler about changing the subject, but I went with it. “I’m baby number four. I’m lucky to even have a baby picture.”
“You were her princess.” He smiled into his mug. A sad smile.
“It’s because I was born with a crown, isn’t it? Admit it: I came out with ten fingers, ten toes, a crown, and a host of angels trumpeting my arrival. On second thought, no crown. That would hurt.” Like my rear end hurt. Stupid talon.
“She was interested in genealogy. She wanted to present you with a family tree, a history that you could be proud of. That’s why all the research.” He nodded at the papers and the books.
Ahh, so he hadn’t changed the subject. It just…wasn’t the answer I’d expected. I didn’t care about who our family had been; I cared about who we are—or rather, what we’re supposed to be: that is, together. “Our ancestors were exiled criminals.”
“She wanted to go further back than that.”
Glancing at her notes, I did see the repetition of certain themes. She’d pulled out every reference to the origin of dragons, as well as every mention of the word “home,” no matter how irrelevant. “But humans don’t know about Home. And why all the fiction books? What does”—I read a random title—“The Dragonriders of Pernhave to do with our great-great-whatevers?”
“You’d be surprised at what humans know and what secrets they’ve hidden in their fiction. Plenty of wyverns have confided in humans over the years. There are even a number of human scientists with theories on parallel dimensions—what our legends call the Door, their theories call a wormhole into a pocket universe.” He nodded at a stack of science books tucked in one corner. “These days, we have more in common with humans than not. We’ve madethisour home.”
Trying to drag the conversation back to what I really wanted to know, I waved at all the books and her copious notes. “So why did Mom try to rob Ryan’s family vault? Boredom?” It was the only explanation that made sense. She’d strangled her own brain with pointless research, and she’d craved the adrenaline rush. And the treasure, of course. “Didn’t she talk to you about it at all?”
“Of course she did. And I said no. It was a fool’s errand, and I wasn’t going to help her. I thought she’d dropped the idea. Apparently she hadn’t.” His eyes were fixed on the stacks of books, but I didn’t think he was really seeing them. He was caught in a memory.
I pushed harder. “Why did—”
He cut me off. “You were such a sweet baby. Slept through the night right away. Learned to gurgle very early.”
Off topic again. “I’ve always been an excellent gurgler. But why did Mom—”
“She loved you. We all did. We all do. Your brothers used to fight over who’d play with you. I think they regarded you as a toy your mother and I had bought them.” He fixed his eyes on me. “Wherever your mother is, I know she must miss you very much.”
I felt a lump in my throat.Don’t cry,I ordered myself. She wasn’t dead, which meant she could come back. “But you don’t know where that is?”
“I know it’s not in here,” Dad said. “Sky, leave her room. Leave her memories. Leave her past in your past.” Opening her door, he gestured to the hallway. “Go to sleep. You have school tomorrow.”
I hesitated for a moment, then walked past him, stepping sideways so he wouldn’t see what stuck out of my back pocket. I kept walking backward down the hallway to my room, watching as he closed the door and, with his fire breath, melted the lock shut.
EVEN WERE-DRAGONS HAVE TOgo to school, thanks to long-ago lawmakers who wanted to make sure we fit in. Sadly, not to dragon school, which would be awesome, but to P. Murphy High School, Home of the Fighting Badgers.
Liam dropped me off. He and my other brothers were all taking time off from college, to help Dad with our recent financial disaster in the wake of Mom’s disappearance, but I wasn’t allowed to skip even a day of high school. Unfair. “Have fun.”
“Shut up,” I told him as I stepped out of his car. All the other students were flowing out of their cars and the buses. Shouldering my backpack, I trudged in with them.
School is fine, in general. I have zero objections to learning things, though I wasn’t quite as committed to it as Gabriela. Science makes sense—it’s good to know how the world works. Math is fine—I like that it never lies. History is fascinating—humans are stupendously bloodthirsty, and wyverns have influenced human history both overtly and covertly for centuries. Other languages, sure. Computers. P.E. All fine. English class…nope, don’t get it. I refuse to believe all books are about death when it’s obvious that all books are about kissing. Or, in some cases, not kissing. Still, at forty-two minutes a day, I can tolerate it.
But the one part of school that is decidedlynotfine is lunch.
I used to like lunch.
I also used to have a whole flock of wyvern friends, plus one best friend, whom I used to kiss before, after, and during lunch. Ryan still sat with them, flanked by Emily and Rosario, at what used to beourtable.
Sliding into line, I picked up a tray and waited for my allotment of shepherd’s pie and chocolate pudding. The chatter flowed around me like water, curving and swirling in circles as if I were a rock that couldn’t hear. So I didn’t listen. Without making eye contact with anyone, I walked through the cafeteria toward my new refuge, an empty table in the back.
Setting my tray down, I sat in the middle, thereby ensuring that no one else would use the table at all. No one ever joined me in social exile here. Given that the tabloids had all tarred and feathered my family, no one dared risk—
A tray plopped down across from me. “Hi!” Gabriela said.
