Page 57 of Real

I didn’t know dragons could roll their eyes, but that is without a doubt what Anne is doing in response to my suggestion. She reaches out with her front paw and wraps her talons around my torso. It feels a little like a harness for an intense amusement park ride. Especially when she flaps down hard, and we rise into the air. I swing from being upright, to being parallel with the floor and almost whack into the small closet-like structure at the top of the roof.

I also almost lose my lunch.

Anne flaps her wings higher and higher into the night sky, until New York City is nothing but glittering streetlights beneath us. The air is freezing, and it doesn’t help when we’re high enough to pass through clouds. They’re wet and even colder than the air. I squeeze my eyes shut and remind myself that Buddy is worth it. He deserves a life of happiness and love with the Illusors.

There’s a bit of wind, and I admit, a bit of vomiting. But eventually, we descend until we’re overlooking an enormous house surrounded by a tall fence. The fence has razor wire along the top, and a tower on each side with a guard perched inside and huge lights that illuminate every inch of the grounds below, even at two in the morning.

This is what Buddy and Candlewick escaped from?

The lights in the house are all on, and there’s a van parked outside. It’s one of those industrial vans with no windows. The side has a painting of… I can’t quite make it out. It looks like a red ruby with a circle and anXacross it. The word “Spellbusters” is in neon letters underneath.

Is that the vehicle Dorian’s warlock arrived in?

An image flashes in my head of us landing just outside the fence. I’m pretty sure that’s how dragons communicate when they’re in their animal form. I give Anne a thumbs up, even though I’m sure she can’t see. It wouldn’t be wise to land inside the estate. Anne is a dragon. Someone will definitely notice, and the guards in the towers have guns.

I don’t know how we’re going to get past those guards, but if Candlewick and Buddy got out of this place without an ice-breathing dragon on their side, Anne and I can definitely figure out a way to get in.

25

Buddy

There are some things I’ve always known how to do. The first time Candlewick brought me colored pencils and paper to pass the time, drawing came easily to me. Math and reading were the same. I assumed it was because I learned how to add and read before I lost my memory, but now I understand that the Lights gave me all of the information I needed to be a good skatt. And apparently, driving is something the Lights deemed necessary.

I weave through New York City traffic with an ease that makes everything about this trip feel right. It’s the middle of the night, so the roads aren’t busy, and once I reach the edge of the city, there’s even less traffic.

The Lights guide me every step of the way. I see a flash to the right, and I turn. I see a flash to the left, and I get off the freeway. I don’t even question it. The insecurity that’s plagued me every day of my life has melted away, and in its place I feel a calm certainty.

The light doesn’t flash when I reach the security office just outside Dorian Gray’s estate. I recognize this place. Unfortunately, the guard recognizes me too. I wait for him to pick up his phone or get out his gun, but he doesn’t.

Instead, the gate opens.

He thinks I’ve returned home to stay.

I pull forward onto Dorian’s gravel driveway, my headlights suddenly unnecessary under the harsh lights. Just a few days ago, this house seemed like the whole world, and now, it seems so small.

The front door opens and a familiar face peers out.

Dorian is somehow much older than the last time I saw him. His back is completely hunched and the skin along his jaw sags. Timothy said Dorian was only fifty, but he looks at least eighty. Before I left, he had trouble walking, but he didn’t have sunspots all over his arms, and his hair wasn’t white. The change is so rapid, it can’t be natural.

Magic is finally coming to claim Dorian for Her own.

When he sees me, he smiles. Even under the sagging chin and sunspots, it’s a smile I recognize. I instinctively hold my breath and hunch my shoulders.

Then I remember why I’m here.

I put the car in park and turn it off. Dorian is limping toward me, and terror rises in my throat. It’s isn’t even about what I’m afraid he’ll do; it’s more about what I’m afraid I’ll feel. Not just the physical pain but the emotional spiral after it’s over. Because Dorian never just hits me. The stuff he says while he’s doing it is always the worst part.

I take in a shaky breath and open the car door. I can do this. Ihaveto do this. How can I keep the Illusors safe from the world if I can’t even keep them safe from Dorian?

Candlewick once told me that on the days when he didn’t feel pretty and he had to woo a particularly rich client, he pretended he was pretty anyway. “Fake it ’til you make it, Bud. Pretend to be how you want people to see you.”

I roll my shoulders back and step out of the car with my chin raised. I want Dorian to see me as powerful, strong, and scary.

Dorian’s gaze falls to where my shirt is open, revealing the knife still lodged in my chest. There’s no remorse in his eyes, no apology on his lips. Instead, he leans against the pillar of the porch and laughs.

He fucking laughs.

“What are you doing here? Couldn’t get an Illusor to fuck your plastic hole?”

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