I didn’t have time to wonder or to ask where they were taking me. A massive dragon swooped down from above, his claws clicking as he landed. Luther ran toward the dragon, climbed in the saddle, and the two quickly lifted into the air once more.
Gaping at them, I wasn’t prepared for what happened next.
The dragon stretched out his back legs, talons splayed, and encircled my arms with his claws. I screamed as my feet lifted off the ground. The talons weren’t piercing my skin, but as they accepted my full weight, the dragon’s grip tightened, and my skin pinched beneath my shirt.
In seconds, my feet dangled over the school’s turreted rooftop. I thought I might vomit. If I fell, I’d surely die.
But the dragon did not let go. We soared over the city, my legs trailing through the fog that had settled over the buildings. Yellow streetlamps cast a sickly hue over the gray streets like an infection deep in the city’s veins.
Fighting the urge to pass out from fear, I tried to orient myself to where we were going. West. There was the spire of the second-largest cathedral. There was the wide avenue marking Birch Street. The library. I got lost after that, not recognizing anything. We’d moved into the industrial complex, warehouseafter warehouse passing below. Even at this hour, smoke plumed the air, making me cough.
Luther’s dragon stopped and hovered, lowering to the ground with a few flaps of his mighty wings. My feet crunched on cobblestones, then I dropped to my knees as the dragon released me and flew off into the night.
My body collapsed when I tried to catch my weight with my hands, all the blood gone from my arms after the brief, uncomfortable flight. I lay there on the frigid pavement, cheek against the stone, breaths coming in ragged, sawing gasps.
Slowly, I picked myself up. My skirt stuck faintly to the fog-dampened street. To my left was a warehouse and to my right were smokestacks like spires of the new religion of industry. A few lights burned in the windows of the brick building adjacent to the warehouse.
I headed for those lights, not sure where else to go.
Someone in there could help me. I had to make it back before classes began.
My bare feet grew cold from the stones though the night wasn’t below freezing—the puddles between cobblestones were still liquid. The air held enough moisture to feel heavy, trapping in the stench from the smokestacks. Luther’s face swam before me, and I thought only of punching him when I returned to school. There was no way Headmaster Vaughan would allow this if he knew about it.
As I approached the brick building, I noted the letters painted on the door.Kipton Steel. The Kiptons were some of the richest people in all of Cavaria, but they were not from noble blood, originally, and thus had no part in the realm of dragon riding. In fact, the Kiptons were adamant that they would replace dragon riding with their trains, leveling society once and for all.
I paused outside the door. Of course Luther would drop me here. The Kiptons especially hated dragon riders, and Bennett had mentioned that one of his friends in the Serpents was a Kipton. Maybe if I told them who my brother was, these people would help me?
But Bennett being in a gang with a Kipton didn’t mean whoever was here late at night would want to help me. They would see the school’s crest on my sweater, and that would be that. I tapped my mouth with my fist, fighting off fears of what the night employees might do if they found me. Best not to alert them to my presence.
Sprinting from the door, I angled back in the general direction we’d come from. I had until morning to return, but I didn’t actually know what time it was. I had no coin purse on me, no money at all, but if I could hop on a train headed across town, I’d make it. I’d never ridden on top like the vagabonds, but I’d do it tonight, for Myth.
“Oy, you there!” a deep voice shouted behind me, followed by a door clanking shut.
Fear blossomed in my chest and I ran faster. Footsteps followed.
Every scream I’d ever heard in the city, every warning I’d heard from Mama, from Bennett, from my own worst nightmares, echoed in my head as I ran for my life. My knives were sitting, useless, in my dorm room. I had nothing but my fists.
Up ahead, a pile of bricks lay at the base of a ruined wall in an abandoned part of a building scarred by flame. I snatched one up as I ran and glanced behind me.
The man was still there, but walking. Not in any hurry, which scared me more than his haste.
I bolted down the narrowing street and stopped short as three shadowy figures stepped into the road ahead.
Two wore bowler hats, and one was bald. The faint glint of pistol barrels hung at their sides. One man tapped a machete against his palm.
“Saints,” I hissed.
“Boys,” shouted the man in the middle. “They’re giving us a little welcome gift.”
Vomit churned in my throat, but I kept it back. I raised the brick.
“Oh, not a gift, then.” The man chuckled.
They were only a few steps away now. My whole body was shaking. The three men paused within throwing distance, but one brick couldn’t take out all three of them. The man behind me was stalling a little ways back, his own weapon drawn. He wasn’t with the other three, then.
This was a meeting. This had nothing to do with me, and I needed to keep it that way. Now I wished I’d listened more when Bennett boasted of his gang and their power.
Reeking ash.I lifted my brick.
