City of Speed, page 11
Abel had liked it better when Topher said it. His brother did not mean it as a compliment.
Abel had gotten home pretty late. He’d had to stay for another hour after feeding and cleaning Brazza so that he could read more to her. He read to the part where the Dragon Queen disguised herself as a lowly swamp dragon to walk among her soldiers the night before the big battle. In the movie version, it was one of the funniest scenes, but in the book, it was a deeply sad moment. She shared her soldiers’ fears and hopes and knew that she would be sending some of them to their deaths in the morning. She began to doubt there was justice in war and to wish she was not a ruler at all.
Abel liked the book better than the movie, even though the movie had great special effects. No special effects were as good as what his imagination could do. Brazza seemed to love the sad part, and Abel stopped reading just as the trumpets sounded for battle. He needed to keep his partner interested, at least until after Saturday’s race. He promised he’d read Brazza a little more every day until they were finished, but he explained that he had to leave. It was late, and his father would be worried.
The dragon didn’t seem to understand about that—dragons probably didn’t struggle with anxiety—but she let him leave without eating him, which he counted as a friendship win. He spent the whole bus ride home thinking of excuses about why he was so late on a school night. He hadn’t expected to find his brother alone in the apartment when he walked through the door.
“Do you realize what I had to do to cover for you?” Silas scolded him. “First I had to access your file from another officer’s account—which is illegal for me to do, by the way—then I had to delete your description and any mention of that very recognizable jacket of yours. Then I had to get here, to make sure no one had figured it out anyway and come to arrest you. I sent Dad for groceries with the promise I’d stay for a late dinner, even though Mom’s at work and you know how Dad uses too much pepper when he cooks. It upsets my stomach!”
“Sorry about your stomach,” Abel grunted. “I forgot how sensitive you are.”
“A ‘thank you’ would be nice,” Silas said.
“You’re welcome,” Abel replied.
Silas threw his hands in the air. “A ‘thank you’ from you to me!”
Percy came padding over and sniffed at Abel’s pant leg until he picked him up. The little pangolin curled into a ball in his arms.
“I was only flying around on that dragon because of you!” said Abel. “I’ve got a race on Saturday that you told me I had to do! Have you forgotten that I’m your spy?”
“Have you forgotten that I can’t help you if you get arrested?” Silas snapped back. Then he relaxed and softened his expression, letting his shoulders sink. “Well, at least we know your dragon is fast.”
“What do you think will happen after I win?” Abel asked, remembering Lina’s and Arvin’s warnings.
“The real bad guys will notice you,” Silas said. “And when they reveal themselves, I can make the arrests.”
“And become the big hero?” Abel asked.
“And clear Lina’s name,” Silas reminded him.
“What if I don’t win the race?”
“How could you not?” Silas said. “I just saw on TV how fast your dragon is.”
“She does what she wants.”
“Well, she better want to win,” Silas said. “I can easily put your info back into the system. The Dragon’s Eye would be knocking down this door to arrest you in minutes.”
“You wouldn’t do that to Mom and Dad,” Abel told him. “Two kids wanted by the police? Even you’re not that bad of a son.”
Silas flinched, but then set his face into a hard expression. “I do whatever my service to Drakopolis demands.”
“You sound just like Lina,” Abel told him. “She said kinda the same exact thing.”
“Don’t compare me to my criminal sister. And— Wait—” Silas caught himself. He lowered his eyebrows and eyed Abel suspiciously. “When did she say that?”
“What?” Abel felt his voice catch in his throat. “When did she say what?”
He wasn’t a great liar, and he’d just revealed too much. Silas was onto him.
“When did Lina say ‘kinda the same exact thing’ I said?” Silas demanded, stepping over to Abel. He towered above Abel in that way he had, the way that reminded Abel his personal space and physical safety were entirely at his big brother’s mercy.
He wasn’t a little kid anymore, though. He didn’t back down. He stepped right up against Silas’s chest and looked straight up at him. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.
“You’ve seen her,” Silas said. “Where? When?”
Abel clamped his lips shut.
“Where?” Silas repeated. “She’s an escaped fugitive. If you know where she is, you have to tell me.”
“So you can arrest her too?”
“So I can help her,” Silas said.
“I’m infiltrating the illegal racers for you,” Abel told him. “But I won’t spy on our family.”
“You spy on who I tell you to,” Silas told him back.
“Make me,” Abel said, clenching his fists.
“Maybe I will,” said Silas.
“Maybe you can’t,” said Abel.
“Maybe you’re gonna find out,” said Silas.
“Maybe you better not try,” said Abel.
“Maybe you both better calm down!” their father barked from the doorway. He was holding a bag of take-out tacos under his arm.
“I don’t know why you two are always at each other’s throats, but I’ve had enough of it.” They hadn’t even heard him come in. Some secret agents they were. “This city is tough already without family making it harder for each other. Growing up, I wished I had siblings that I could talk to, though your grandma told me I was lucky to be an only child. Maybe she was right, if this is how brothers treat each other.”
He shut the door and crossed into the kitchen without looking at them. Abel and Silas stood chest to chest, fists clenched, frozen. Abel didn’t want to back down first. Neither, it seemed, did Silas.
Their father started setting take-out containers on the table. “It’s too late to cook,” he said. “So I got each of your favorites from the taco truck before it flew to the next neighborhood. Mild salsa for you, Silas. And, Abel, dragon pepper for you?”
Abel flinched at the memory of his sundae.
“Just kidding,” his father said. “Come on. Both of you wash your hands, and let’s eat. Whatever’s going on between you will keep warm longer than these tacos.”
He sat down at the table and waited for the boys to break apart. Finally, Silas did.
“And, Abel,” his dad called. “Maybe throw on some extra deodorant? You smell like a gym sock doused in every kind of perfume they sell at Locke & K’s. Too bad they’ll be closed for renovations for a while, huh?”
He quirked an eyebrow. Their dad must’ve seen the news and recognized Abel’s jacket.
“Dad—” Abel started, but his father raised his hand to silence him.
“You promised to tell me when it was more than you could handle,” he said. “You promised not to abuse my trust.” He folded his fingers in front of him and then looked at Silas. “And you promised me you would look out for your little brother.”
“I know, Dad.” Silas suddenly sounded much younger than he was. “It’s just that—”
His father shushed him. “I’d rather hear no excuses at all than hear my sons lie to me. So unless you’re ready to tell the truth, Abel’s gonna rinse off, and we’re going to eat dinner in peace. If either of you feels you can be honest with your dad, who truly does love you more than his own life and safety, then you can tell me anything.”
Silas hung his head and looked at his feet.
Abel hesitated, his heart breaking for his father’s sadness. He wanted to tell him everything, but his dad’s heart would break even more if he knew how all three of his kids were using each other and playing dangerous games with the city’s most dangerous criminals. It would hurt him worse to know the truth.
So instead, they ate dinner quietly, listening to the roar and screech of the dragons outside, father and sons sharing a table, but each nursing his own private hurt and hoping someone else would speak first.
Stubborn as they were, none of them did.
AN UNEASY TRUCE SETTLED OVER Abel’s family for the rest of the week. Silas went back to his barracks; Abel’s parents talked to him about practical things, like remembering his lunch and homework. None of them mentioned Lina, though all of them were thinking about her. Abel went to school and did his best to avoid Officer Grallup, who eyed him suspiciously every time they passed in the halls.
“Hey, where’s that fancy jacket of yours?” Grallup asked him on Friday morning. Abel hadn’t worn the orange leather jacket outside since the police chase.
“What jacket?” Abel shrugged, flipping up his green school hoodie and walking right on by.
“Impressive display of insouciance,” Roa whispered when they were out of Grallup’s earshot.
“What they said,” Topher agreed.
“Watch out!” Roa suddenly barked, and Abel whirled around just in time to catch Lu reaching for his waistband. She’d snuck up from an intersecting hallway.
“Nice try,” he told her.
“Whatever,” she grunted. “Who needs to wedgie you, when I can make you eat wind tomorrow night.”
“You’re pretty sure of yourself for someone with a sauce stain on her shirt,” Abel said.
Lu looked down at her spotless white school shirt. Topher put his hand up for a high five, which Abel returned without looking. He felt, for a fleeting moment, perfectly and untouchably cool.
“Childish,” Lu grunted. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure my wyvern will destroy your cut-rate Burning Market mutt,” Lu said. “Felix is a champion.”
“Then what’s he doing letting you ride him?” Topher asked.
“Greatness sees greatness,” said Lu.
“Maybe get his eyes checked,” said Topher. Then he wrapped a protective arm around Abel and led him toward the front door. “Come on, I got your back.”
“We got your back,” Roa said, flanking him.
“Thanks.” Abel glanced over his shoulder.
“See you tomorrow night!” Lu shouted. “Losers!”
Once they were clear of the school, his friends gave him some space.
“You sure you’re gonna be able to get out tomorrow?” Roa asked. “You said your parents are pretty mad.”
“They are,” Abel sighed. “I’m gonna have to sneak out, but Lina used to do it all the time.”
“No offense, Abel,” Topher said. “But she’s got, like, ridiculous stealth skills and you, um—”
Roa jumped in to rescue Topher. “Have other skills.”
Topher grinned. “That’s what I meant.”
“Guess I’ll need to count on luck, then, won’t I?” Abel said.
“That you’ve got!” Topher agreed. “How else would we be friends unless you were very, very lucky?”
They all laughed as the bus landed. Officer Grallup boarded first. They spent the rest of the bus ride joking around and talking about DrakoTek cards and Dr. Drago comics and nothing at all to do with illegal racing or drama at home or the kins. Officer Grallup looked disappointed when Roa and Topher exited the bus, having said nothing incriminating.
“Have a nice, quiet weekend,” Grallup told Abel as he got off at his own landing platform. “Hope I don’t see you before Monday.”
“Why would you?” Abel asked innocently.
“Why, indeed?” Grallup snorted. He stood in the doorway as the bus flapped up and away, but he didn’t take his eyes off Abel until the long-wing flapped around the corner of the next building.
Inside their apartment, Abel’s mom was just getting ready to go to work and his dad was looking through take-out menus.
“Get something with vegetables tonight, please?” his mother said. “The onions in those mystery meat dumplings do not count.”
Abel and his father shared an eye roll, which was as close to bonding as they’d come since the night of the police chase.
Abel knew that it was wrong to keep secrets from his parents like this, but he also knew he was doing it for the right reasons. He wondered if that made it okay. Did good intentions excuse bad actions, or would bad actions poison even a good result?
He really didn’t know. He didn’t have the answers to life’s complicated questions.
What he did have was an eight-ton racing dragon waiting for him. After his race was taken care of and Lina’s name was cleared, then maybe then he could come clean with Mom and Dad, but he feared he wouldn’t be able to even then.
Lying was like riding an untamed dragon. You were safe from its bite as long as you stayed on its back. But once you got off … well, you couldn’t control what would happen.
Stop it, Abel, he told himself. Stop making up dragon metaphors to excuse yourself from lying to your parents. Just admit you’re a spy and snitch and liar.
Also, he heard Roa’s voice in his head, that was a simile, not a metaphor.
Saturday night came fast, and Abel was a jumble of nerves. His mom didn’t have work on Saturday, so they ate dinner together, no screens allowed. She immediately knew something was wrong between Abel and his dad.
“Okay, you two, what is going on?” she asked.
“That’s a question only Abel can answer,” his dad said.
Abel was in the process of filling one of the famous thin rice-flour pancakes with the spicy veggie-and-meat mixture that his mom only made on weekends. He overstuffed his pancake and took a too-big bite, buying time. He pointed at his mouth and made apology eyes at her.
“Mouth’s full,” he mumbled.
She folded her fingers and waited while he chewed as slowly as possible.
He swallowed slowly too and took a long drink of water.
Still, she waited.
“Nothing,” he finally said, which earned him raised eyebrows and still more waiting.
In a recent issue of Dr. Drago, the heroic dragon veterinarian was framed by a devious kin boss. The Dragon’s Eye arrested him for murder. He was interrogated by a clone of his own daughter, who became a homicide investigator after he freed her from the Neon Apocalypse Cult in issue #837. During the interrogation, his clone daughter never asked him a single question, just sat with him in silence for days. Dr. Drago eventually broke and confessed, even though he didn’t do it. Silence from someone you love, he pointed out, can be worse than any torture device. Only the truly loveless can endure it.
Abel didn’t last thirty seconds.
“It’s a race!” he blurted. “I’m infiltrating an illegal racing ring for Silas to clear Lina’s name and find out who is hacking dragon DNA, and it was me on the news the other night who wrecked that department store and I’m sorry, and I didn’t mean to cause trouble, but also I have to race tonight if I’m going to help anybody, okay? I just have to!”
He sucked in a breath as he collapsed back in his seat, relieved and disappointed in himself at the same time.
His parents stared at him in frozen shock. A glob of meat plopped from his father’s wrap onto his plate.
“Oh, Abel,” his mother sighed.
His father set his dinner down and rubbed his face with both hands. His mother looked like there were three hundred different thoughts tripping over each other inside her mouth, so that none could get out. Abel knew that feeling.
“It’ll be okay,” he tried reassuring them both. “I can do this.”
“And this was Silas’s idea?” His father clenched his jaw as he pulled out his phone.
“Don’t call him!” Abel pleaded. “He can’t know I told you!”
“Oh, he’s gonna know a lot of things real soon,” his dad growled.
“Dumpling, wait.” His mom put her hand on his father’s phone. She only ever called Dad dumpling when he was getting worked up or they were getting romantic. Either way, it was embarrassing for Abel to hear. She looked back at Abel. “This isn’t a dragon battle?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Just a race.”
“Against the kins?”
He shook his head no again. “Another student. She wants to be a Red Talon, but she’s not yet.”
His mom looked at his dad. They had a whole argument with their eyes right in front of Abel, but he didn’t know how it went or who was saying what. He figured that’s something parents just learned how to do. Maybe they took classes on their honeymoon or something. They reached some kind of decision, though, because they both nodded and looked at Abel in eerie unison.
“All right,” his dad said. “You can go to this race, tonight,” he announced. “BUT—” He knocked on the table.
“I am coming with you,” his mother said.
“What?!” Abel shot up to his feet so suddenly he knocked over his water. “I can’t bring my mom to an illegal midnight dragon race!”
“You can’t go to an illegal midnight dragon race if you don’t,” she said calmly. The water spread slowly across the tabletop, but no one moved to clean it up. His parents stared at him.
“Ugh!” He threw his hands up. “Fine. But we can’t show up together, and you have to wear a disguise and pretend you don’t know me.”
“You’re worried I’ll embarrass you?” she asked.
“What? No!” Abel grabbed a rag and began sopping up the water he’d spilled. Percy had come over to lick at the puddle on the floor, then padded away to the couch when he realized it wasn’t soda. “I’m worried someone will try to kidnap you or something. Bad people go to these races.”
“You’re going to this race,” his father pointed out. “You’re not a bad person.”
Abel thought about the Burning Market, the horrible things he’d seen there and how he’d kept walking right past them. He thought about making Karak battle and, even though he’d let him go, how cool it had made Abel feel. He thought about the terrible thrill he got slicing through the streets on Brazza’s back, even as she left mayhem in her wake, and the lies and half-truths he’d told to everyone along the way. He told himself he did it all to help his sister and to help the dragons, but these weren’t the sorts of things a good person did.
