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When he had finished reading, Bertram very calmly hit the button on his car door and rolled the window down. A cold breeze came through, caressing his cheek like a lover might, inviting him out into the night. He looked up and down the sidewalk to make sure no one was passing by, then flung his phone with as much force as he could muster at the wall of the nearby brownstone. The impact was so devastating, the phone exploded. Pieces of it flew in all directions, but the largest and most recognizable ones remained within sight. Bertram took inventory of them from where he sat, then curled the fingers of his hand and set them all aflame.
“Good,” he muttered as he watched them burn.
He’d been afraid the plastic wouldn’t ignite.
Shivering, he sat in the dark until the fire burned itself out, then got out of the car to collect the phone’s charred remains.
He tried not to let the way the air nipped at his tear-streaked cheeks bother him, but bone-deep sorrow took him all the same.
* * *
“I’m sorry, Father,” Bertram said no more than an hour later. He stood outside the front door of Grimbold’s lair, pieces of charred, warped plastic in hand. “I came as soon as I could. I would have called, but my phone was destroyed earlier this evening during an unexpected rescue mission, and I’ve been too busy trying to figure out what, exactly, went on tonight to find another. Tell me, have you heard about what happened to Reynard and his clutch? I’m afraid there is evil afoot.”
Grimbold looked him over, gaze lingering longer than it should, then shook his head and ushered Bertram inside.
“Aye, I heard,” he said, closing the doors behind them. Beatrice, Grimbold’s sweet terrier, padded out of the next room and came straight up to Bertram, tail wagging, to demand pets. Bertram stooped down to placate her, and she pushed her head happily into his hand.
“The council has issued an emergency decree,” Grimbold said solemnly as Beatrice sniffed the burnt pieces of Bertram’s phone and sneezed. “We fear the group who targeted your brother, whoever they might be, will target other clutches. Until we get this figured out, I need all Amethyst agents available at a moment’s notice. Should any nearby dragon with a clutch need you, regardless of their clan, you are to drop whatever you are doing to protect them. Eggs are precious, and we must keep them safe.”
“Of course.” Bertram gave Beatrice one last pat, then stood up straight and looked his father in the eyes. “I will do everything I can to protect them. You have my word.”
Grimbold looked at him another moment longer, then turned and gestured for Bertram to follow. “Good, because in addition to that, I am putting you in charge of finding and eliminating this new enemy of ours. While the other Amethyst agents continue their standard duties, you will be responsible for shutting this threat down before it can harm us again.”
Bertram felt a flicker of hope. “Will I be the sole agent entrusted with this?”
“From the Amethyst clan, yes. The other clans will no doubt select agents of their own to investigate the matter.”
It wasn’t the best news, but Bertram could work with that. In his mind, the scattered pieces were moving back into place. As long as he played wisely, there was a chance he could still win the game.
“What leads do you have so far?” he asked, wanting to know how close the council was to the truth.
“None. Which is why I am entrusting this mission to you. As the agent who was on the scene when the tragedy occurred, you are the one who knows the most about the enemy. Whatever knowledge you gleaned tonight, use it. Find the one who wronged us. Make sure they never do it again.”
“Aye.”
“And Bertram?” Grimbold came to a stop in the doorway of his study and set a hand delicately on the doorframe. He didn’t turn to look Bertram in the eyes. “While I’m not glad about the circumstances, I’m happy that you’re home.”
Silence fell between them, interrupted only when Grimbold patted the doorframe twice and glided into the next room.
Bertram hesitated, heartbroken, studying the empty space where he had been, then shook his head and, with a sad smile, followed his father inside.
11
Sorin
The snarling face of Reynard Drake followed Sorin into the night. He ran wildly, chest heaving, lungs burning, breathing smoke that smelled like death while screams echoed in his head. Not all of them were rooted in his memory this time.
Some of them—too many of them—were real.
Visions of what had happened that night haunted him, shuffling through his mind like disordered slides from a slide show that someone had dropped and reassembled carelessly.
A dragon’s teeth, glistening in the dark and bared for murder.
An inky night sky studded with stars and dragons on outstretched wings.
Noxious smoke, black and billowing, smelling of metal, melted plastic, and hideous char.
Shrill screams.
