Descendant (Secrets of the Makai) (5 page)

"We've already disrupted the natural order of things by bringing him here," Landon added. "Is throwing him to the wolves supposed to make up for saving him in the first place?"

"We haven't saved him yet," said the map thief. "And like I said, we might have to kill him ourselves for the sake of mercy."

Tristan shuddered, leaning against a wall halfway between the room he'd awakened in and the next arched doorway. The rock's vibration pounded through his shoulder, amplifying the ringing pain in his head.

"The antidote was not designed for people. So says its maker."

Someone sighed.

"No, we're not going to throw him to the wolves, should he survive to be thrown. We'll keep him protected, within reason. I'd be more suspicious if we didn't already know the boy so well. But, as it is, we know that no one has taken responsibility for him or his actions."

"I disagree," said the map thief. "Even if she was tracking him on her own, the dragon blood comment is reason enough to hold him for ransom. I'd like to know where her orders were coming from before we start trusting her definition of balance."

"Donovan—"

"That's the thing about secret societies," the map thief, Donovan, added. "Motives are secret. Missions are secret. Values are self-serving. The same holds true for us. Both Tristan's and Gwenna's actions suggest this is more than a piece of paper, and I'd bet my life that someone will move to help him with whatever Gwenna intended. But let us be clear: the questions we should be asking are what does he really know and whose side is he on? For that matter, how many sides are there? Lastly, what are the ramifications of having a dragon lineage?"

Tristan shut his eyes, using the silent pause in conversation to consider whether secret societies were good or bad. His legs shook more fiercely and every joint throbbed with shards of pain. What had that woman gotten him into?

"We want to stay on the case," Landon said, breaking the silence.

"I won't ask you to step down. I will, however, ask you to trust and obey every order. When we say we've done enough, that's it. Even if it means Tristan must die."

Tristan inched toward the first opening, determined to get out of the hallway, relieved to see an empty, stainless steel kitchen. He hurried across the opening and into the room, then pressed himself against a wall that echoed the pulsing from the floor. Sweat dripped from his forehead.

There must have been a non-verbal agreement to the terms, because the old man continued. "We've searched her house and the emerald isn't there. If Sabbatini acquired it, he has yet to break the seal. We'd have all heard about it by now if he had."

"I wouldn't count on that," Donovan said. "No one can be certain what powers the emerald holds, and no one who's had possession has lived long enough to prove it offers immortality. It certainly didn't keep Gwenna alive."

"To my knowledge, she never attempted possession. When Nicodemus was killed, she said they were taking the emerald to safety. She didn't know where they were headed exactly, so she took the emerald home and considered herself the new guardian."

"Was Nicodemus a dragon?" asked Landon.

"He might have carried the blood if he knew where to take the emerald. Then again, maybe he was just trying to get rid of it. Whatever the case may be, it didn't offer him immortality either."

"At least we know Tristan doesn't have it."

"Regardless, the boy is suddenly very interesting to everyone. If you two are going to stay on this case, you'll need to be willing to kill him if he turns on you. He could be just as dangerous as Sabbatini or any of his men."

"Tristan was nine when I...discovered him," Donovan said. "He called for my assistance, by name, and then denied knowing me and thought calling referred to the use of a telephone. While he did have a legitimate knee injury, which he'd apparently received while exiting a moving vehicle, he had no intention of telling me about it. But then again, most people know I'm not a healer. So why call upon me?"

Some sort of dam broke in Tristan's head, releasing a flood of memories he'd long forgotten about. He and his mother were leaving the state for some unknown reason, driving through miles of rolling farmland. A blue tarp had been beating against their belongings for half a day and finally broke free. The wind caught his only prized possession—a clipper ship he'd made from stolen toothpicks and joint compound. It sailed over the road in a strangely slow arc, breaking only slightly when it finally hit the road.

His mom wouldn't stop, so he jumped. He planned on collecting all the pieces and fixing the ship. But then a Mack truck smashed it to splinters. He'd never been so devastated in his entire life. It might have been the first time he started thinking about suicide.

"I still believe it was a trap set for me, with Tristan as bait, but nonetheless, the boy did have certain qualities that couldn't be disregarded. So I concealed his memory of me and kept an eye on him from time to time.

"When he started feeding that absurd father obsession in sensing my presence, it was in everyone's best interest to assign someone other than myself to watch him."

Tristan fumbled to get the top buttons of his shirt loosened, needing more room to breathe. His breath made faint clouds in the frigid air and his muscles burned with agony. He had to get out of this place, or at least back to the room he'd started in. Had they really been watching him all this time? Since he was nine? At least he wasn't the only one who never noticed the old woman following him.

"That explains the sketch," Landon said.

"If he's made a sketch of me," said Donovan, "I want it destroyed."

Tristan felt his stomach pitch. Did they know everything? He'd always hoped whoever stalked him was his father, or someone sent to check on him. It was practically the only reason he stayed with his mother, even though she claimed he was killed in a car accident.

"My point is, he's not alone. He's not the one who called me that day."

Clicking footsteps in the hall forced Tristan away from the entrance, backtracking to get out of view.

A new voice spoke in the room next door—a woman's voice. "I'd say he's not getting worse. He's still weak and pitifully malnourished. Also, his body doesn't seem to be responding to treatment as quickly as it was, though the painkillers were easy enough to take care of."

Tristan eyed his path across the hall, tempted to make a pathetic run for the bed.

"We've concluded that the unknown substance contains a carnivorous, digestive enzyme. The entire process would have been agonizingly painful."

"Cobra lilies are carnivorous," Landon said. "Maybe Sabbatini's combined something with a related species?"

"We've already ruled out cobra lilies and other known plants with those traits. Honestly, if it weren't for that antidote…. Where on Earth did you come up with that?"

"I'd rather not say."

Tristan waited for more, apparently with everyone else.

"Dorian."

A chair screeched along the floor and something crashed. "Damn it, Donovan," the old man shouted. "We had a truce with them! She's off limits and you know it."

"It is not my goal to remain neutral at all costs."

Tristan started toward the kitchen's exit, deciding he'd heard enough.

After a tense moment of silence the woman changed the subject. "I'm running a few tests to identify the sand, and I'll give him a day or two before we try another round."

Her footsteps clicked toward him, he froze when they stopped.

"My sincerest condolences, Alpheus. I know Gwenna was a friend."

"She was a great woman," said the oldest voice. Alpheus.

He continued speaking as her clicking footsteps started up again, pushing Tristan back into the corner.

"Get more disguises while you have time and set up in-house surveillance before he gets there. I want reports on every person he makes contact with, every action, and every thought he makes. He is never to be out of range. Worthy or not of our protection, he's still a suspect."

Shuffling papers and multiple chairs dragging on stone had Tristan shrinking back with nowhere to go. His eyes darted around the kitchen for a better hiding place, but there was nothing.

"If he is meant to be here with us, he'll have to find his own way," Alpheus said. "Don't get attached."

"But if we could teach him…he really believes he's insane and isn't opposed to killing himself. He's relying on painkillers, and it's so unnecessary."

"If I can't trust you to follow orders, you won't be on this case. There is to be no coercive interaction with him while he's here or in the States, or anywhere else for that matter."

Tristan gasped for air. Were they implying that he was in another country?

"But we used to seek people like him, just to make sure they were taken care of. Why not Tristan?"

"Times are changing." Alpheus changed his tone when no one had a reply. "There's too much risk with this one."

"Risk?" Landon and Victor asked at the same time.

"Donovan suggested we give him the coral as an alternate tracking device."

Tristan shut his eyes. He should've run back to his room while he had the chance, then he could've faked sleeping. Footsteps stopped just outside the kitchen.

"How's he supposed to know we exist if no one's allowed to tell him anything?" Landon asked.

"The Makai is a
secret
society," Donovan answered.

"I'm not saying we should tell him everything, but first we strive to make things better, then we strive to do nothing. Why is keeping him in the dark better than teaching him how to block people's thoughts? Or how to conceal his own?"

Tristan held his breath—he'd give anything to block people's constant thoughts. Were his that loud?

Landon continued. "And you've been altering people's minds for who knows how long."

"Would you rather I kill anyone seeking the emerald instead? Should I let every one of them proceed, so more people can be killed along the way?"

"But you're allowing Sabbatini to pursue it. What if someone you didn't permit had rights to it?"

"Fate shall act accordingly, no matter what decisions I make."

"So you'll mess with anyone except Tristan and Sabbatini?"

Thank goodness for Landon's willingness to stand up for him so strongly.

"On the contrary. I consider Tristan the new bait. Sometimes, bait and enemies can do much of the dirty work."

Tristan slipped into a dark silence until the hairs on his neck and arms tingled. He opened his eyes, startled to see the living rendition of his sketch glaring down at him. Even the eyes, pale blue with random streaks of brown, were exactly how he'd drawn them. Exactly like his own. It had to be Donovan. The map thief.

A gray-haired man stood beside Donovan. Alpheus maybe? Landon stood behind them, then Victor. An elderly woman with long, layered skirts stepped in beside them.

Tristan shut his mouth, painfully aware of everything he had just heard. He took a shaky step back, only to be held firmly in place by the wall.

"Nice to have your attention," Donovan said. "Perhaps this would be a good time to tell us what you're involved with, and how you left your room without being detected."

Tristan shook his head in denial, speechless and unable to answer the question. Even if he knew what sort of mess he was in, he wasn't about to tell them anything. The vibration in the rock became so strong, he flattened his hands against the wall for support and slid to the ground to keep from falling.

The group of people finally seemed to notice the vibrations as the intensity increased. They watched in silence as the floor bulged upward. Slabs of stone fractured between Tristan and the group, sending a rolling shockwave in both directions. Boulders crashed from the ceiling and something the size of a tree shot up from the widening gap.

Tristan stared wide-eyed, unable to believe his eyes.

Donovan drew a sword from somewhere and sliced at the base of whatever it was with one powerful swing. The thing hit the ground with a sickening thud and twitched near Tristan's feet. He expected the carcass of an enormous snake, or something alive, but it looked like an overgrown root and smelled like fresh dirt.

Donovan leapt over the large hole and held the tip of his sword at Tristan's chin.

"He doesn't know what's happening," Landon said quickly, coming to a teetering stop on the far side of the gap. "He's as shocked as we are."

"Let him speak for himself." Donovan used the sword's sharp point to raise Tristan's head.

"I—" Tristan started, cut off by the sight of smaller roots wriggling up from the crevasse and wrapping around Donovan's ankles.

"Call off this attack or I'll kill you," said Donovan.

"Me?" Tristan didn't dare point out the fact that he wasn't the one swinging a sword. He mentally pleaded with Landon and Victor to step in, but they stayed on their side of the widening gap, keeping away from the crumbling edge.

Tristan doubted he could stand, let alone make a run for cover. The wall trembled behind him as small chunks of mortar fell on his head.