Page 48 of Dragon Unleashed

I rub my chest, glancing sideways at Chano.

My own secret sits heavy, right in my solar plexus.

Chapter Twenty-one: Lorelei

Once we hit the other side of the portal, we split up. The blacked-out SUV would fit everyone in a pinch, but Chano will use any excuse to wheel out his beloved motorbike. And being stuck next to Farrell for the next four hours? No thanks. Every time he glances in Chano’s direction fear burns in my throat.

It’s going to be a long damn trip if he keeps glaring. I get it. Farrell wants me to pretend I’m with him. And he’s got leverage. He better keep his mouth shut, let me enjoy today.

I swing my leg over Chano’s bike and nestle in behind him. Once we’re back at the academy, I have to come clean. Tell him what Farrell is,andwho my ancestors were. It could ruin everything. Enjoying one day before that isn’t too much to ask, is it?

Chano weaves in and out of traffic, my arms wrapped around his waist. This is freedom. From school, from the Virrey, from Farrell’s damn threats. As the traffic peters out, we slow, letting the SUV catch up. Turning off the highway onto a winding mountain pass, the road deteriorates. Smooth tarmac morphs into a patchwork, uneven surface and we bump along, swervingharshly to avoid the worst holes. Occasionally Chano’s cursing filters back to me. His poor bike.

A sign readingWarning: Road Passable with Careflashes past and Chano breaks hard, bringing us to a stop only a few yards from a barrier. Hellfire. That’s one massive landslide. More than half the tiny road is in the ravine, hundreds of yards below us. Peering over the edge, I can see that the road, what’s left of it, continues around the mountain, winding through a copse before vanishing around the corner.

It’s going to be a long damn walk.

The others pile out of the car and abandon it on the side of the road, while Chano gently steers his bike through the gap. It takes another twenty minutes, at walking pace, before we finally come to a sign for the town of Paradise Hills.

If the dilapidated sign is anything to go by, this place is far from paradise. As we creep the last mile toward the town, plastic detritus starts to litter the roadside, the green of the shrubbery fades to a sickly yellow, and every available surface is scrawled in graffiti.

I turn a full circle in the deserted main square. Paradise Hills is a dump. The windows are boarded up or smashed, the ground is a mishmash of scorched earth and straggling weeds, and an eerie silence permeates everything. It’s like the slums I grew up in, except with no people. Not even a rat.Where the hell is everyone?

In near silence we traipse along the main road, peering into abandoned shops. At the far end a magnificent stone house dominates the street. Or it would have been magnificent, once. The wrought iron gate stands propped open, half torn off its hinges. The sash windows on the lower floor are boarded up, and the roof is missing half its tiles. There’s something hauntingly sad about it all. I trace the nameplate on the gatepost, the once-gilt lettering faded almost to obscurity.Mayor.

Chano nudges me.

A tiny old woman wheels herself down a makeshift ramp from the front door, thumping off the last step onto the ground. A wheelchair. It’s only the second time I’ve seen one. She frantically shakes a small tin, oblivious to us standing at the end of the drive.

“Kitty? Here kitty, kitty,” she warbles.

Farrell shoulders past the rest of us and strides up the uneven path. She yelps, backing her wheelchair up until it collides with the crumbling masonry.

“Easy, ma’am. We’re not here to cause trouble,” he says.

A bedraggled ginger cat leaps from behind a giant stone and digs its claws into Farrell’s legs. He screams like a baby, clutching his thigh. The cat crouches, ears plastered to its head, hissing.

Chano snickers beside me as Farrell hops around.

“There you are, Mr. Mammon,” the old dear croons, and the kitty leaps into her lap. He rubs his muddy face against her chest with a purr. She turns back toward us expectantly.

“You named that fleabag after the demon of greed?” Chano asks.

“A better name than yours, no doubt, Mr. Fancypants,” she snaps. “See yourselves out.”

This is going to hell. She’s the only person here. And the wrecked streets themselves aren’t going to tell us much of a story. I step forward, hands up.

“Hi, I’m Lorelei, from the slums of Venez.”

“Not anymore you ain’t, looking at them clothes,” she says, but she cocks her head slightly. I shuffle, embarrassed I was envious of Professor Allegra only a few hours ago. I have clothes on my back. Good ones.

“What happened here?” I get straight to the point. “We knew things were bad, but we didn’t expect a derelict ruin.”

Naeve nudges me hard, but the old woman just strokes the cat in her lap, staring into the middle distance, across what must once have been a lawn.

“After the landslide on the big road, we were cut off. It’s a long ways around. Ain’t got no portal here. Not like you toffs. The younger families moved for work. Then it started.”

“What started?” Chano asks, stretching his hand out hesitantly to the cat in the woman’s lap. It rubs against his fingers, letting out a little meow.

---