Talker 25 Read online

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  Advance Reader’s e-proof

  courtesy of HarperCollins Publishers

  This is an advance reader’s e-proof made from digital files of the uncorrected proofs. Readers are reminded that changes may be made prior to publication, including to the type, design, layout, or content, that are not reflected in this e-proof, and that this e-pub may not reflect the final edition. Any material to be quoted or excerpted in a review should be checked against the final published edition. Dates, prices, and manufacturing details are subject to change or cancellation without notice.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  THESE ARE UNCORRECTED ADVANCE PROOFS.

  Please check any quotations or attributions against the bound copy of this book. We urge this for the sake of editorial accuracy as well as for your legal protection and ours.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  DEDICATION

  DEDICATION TK

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Disclaimer

  Title

  Dedication

  Part I: Kissing Dragons

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Part II: Reconditioning

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  About the Author

  Credit

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  PART I

  KISSING DRAGONS

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  1

  When Trish called and begged me to go dragon hunting, I should have trusted my instincts. Now I’m stuck in a car with her and a pair of wannabe farmboys whose idea of Friday night fun is sneaking onto the rez to get their pictures taken next to Old Man Blue.

  While she’s riding shotgun, laughing at Konrad Kline’s lame jokes about tonguing lizards, I’m crammed in the back with Preston Williams, a self-proclaimed dragonologer with greasy black hair, clumps of facial fuzz on his cheeks, and beady brown eyes that too often find their way to my neckline.

  Konrad steers his BMW to the side of the road and parks next to the cornfield that adjoins the rez. He and Trish walk a few yards ahead of us, their flashlights making zigzags in the darkness, the soft crunch of trampled corn mingling with their whispers. Preston chirps in my ear about his favorite band—Loki’s Grunts—or maybe it’s a band he’s forming. I stop listening, but nod and smile as my gaze drifts skyward.

  A glittering blanket of stars covers us. I won’t miss much about Kansas when I leave for college, but I’ll miss this. The nights are planetarium black here, and when I’m by myself, deathly peaceful.

  As always, staring into that vastness of space makes me think of Mom. Not burned and screaming, like in those last minutes before she slipped into a coma, but in a transcendent way, like maybe she’s watching over me. What does she think of me? She’d want me to be nicer to the farmboys, I bet. She’d want me to forgive the dragons—

  “Watch out.” Preston grabs my wrist and jerks me back. My focus snaps from the stars to the forearm-thick barbed wire a foot in front of me.

  “Better pay attention, Callahan, we’re entering enemy territory.” He sets his hand at his waist and grins. “Piles of crap this high. Doesn’t smell much, but man, it will stain your clothes something fierce.”

  After crossing over, we follow Trish and Konrad across flattened pasture toward Dragon Hill. The massive mound of rock and dirt is nothing but a shadow across the horizon, the blue light atop it another star in the heavens.

  Except for Old Man Blue, the dragons are out of sight. But I can still feel their eyes on me. Neither hostile nor friendly. Neither angry nor afraid. Just there, watching. Like I’m the one who is trapped and under examination.

  I’ve felt this before, the few times I’ve been in the car when Dad’s needed to stop by the rez to check on a patient—his term, not mine. I know these Blues aren’t dangerous. Not usually, anyway.

  Konrad calls us together near Dragon Hole. “Rule one of the hunt: never wake a sleeping dragon. Luckily, that’s not something we’ll have to worry about.” He points his flashlight at the blue glow atop the adjoining hill. “Brightest one in the bunch, but nobody’s ever seen the old man awake. Each day the other Blues dig their hole. It gets deeper and Dragon Hill gets taller. The old man’s got to get up and climb to his new position at the top, right?”

  Trish nods, eyes wide.

  “My father figured the same thing,” Konrad says, “so he posted men to monitor the old man at night. Each morning the guards were asleep and the old man had moved up the hill.”

  Preston wiggles his fingers at us. “Dragon magic.”

  Trish rolls her eyes but leans in closer to Konrad. “What about the rest?”

  “Eager for some lizard action, huh?” He takes her hand, leads her to the edge of the hole.

  “Wow,” she says. “How many are there?”

  “Two hundred or so.”

  Every one of them watching me.

  Konrad clasps Trish around the waist and spins her toward Dragon Hill. “You like those, wait until you see one up close.”

  Preston waves me over. “You gotta check this out, Callahan. It’s Jedi badass.”

  I hesitate, then think of Mom. She believed every decision boils down to two choices, whether it be as simple as yes or no, or as complex as right or wrong. I can stay here in the darkness, afraid of the dragons and everything they represent, or . . .

  I glance skyward and offer a silent prayer before shuffling forward.

  The closest dragons nestle in caves a dozen yards from the top, their blue bodies sparkling like giant sapphires. A ramp spirals down, caves and dragons on either side. Farther down, blackness swallows the ramp, but the twinkling blue lights continue into the infinity.

  Staring into the abyss reminds me how little we know about these creatures. They exploded into our world fifteen years ago, full grown and lethal. Everybody’s got theories, most of them stupid, but nobody knows how they got here. Just like nobody knows why they’re digg
ing this giant pit in the middle-of-nowhere Kansas. When Army inspectors attempted to investigate, a few months into the excavation, the dragons nearly destroyed the rez and half of Mason-Kline with their thunderous stomping.

  But at rest, they’re not scary at all. They’re beautiful.

  The dragon luminosity mesmerizes me, and the sensation that they’re watching me dissolves, along with my apprehension. A peacefulness I haven’t felt since Mom’s death creeps over me.

  Preston’s nasal laugh ruins it. “Kon thinks they’re searching for treasure,” he says. “Me, I’d put my money on dwarves. Let’s see if the old man will give us his opinion.”

  When I look away from the hole, I expect my unease to return, but it doesn’t. Maybe the dragons have seen me and are satisfied now.

  Or maybe I’m just crazy.

  It’s a hundred feet to the top of Dragon Hill. Made of huge clumps of torn earth, the mound more resembles an irregular landfill than a hill. The ten-minute climb leaves me sweating and out of breath.

  Even lying down, Old Man Blue’s taller than a double-decker bus. If his neck were longer, he’d resemble an iridescent blue brontosaurus. It’s the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen, and it’s marred only by the silver fire restrictor cinched about his neck.

  “Time for a smooch,” Preston says. For a horrible moment, I think he’s talking to me.

  “How we want to do this?” Konrad asks.

  “We’ll make this an easy one for our novices,” Preston says as he pulls out his phone. “Kon, you ride the old man, and we’ll have the ladies kiss him on the cheeks.”

  “No.”

  “Don’t be scared, Callahan,” Preston says. “The old man’s harmless.”

  “Yeah, if earthquakes and gunfire can’t wake him, a little peck on the scales ain’t gonna do it,” Konrad says.

  “I’m not scared. How would you like someone to come into your bedroom, jump on your neck, and kiss you while you’re sleeping?”

  “Depends on who’s doing the kissing.” Konrad winks at me. “Come on, Melissa, lighten up. Look, Trish is doing it.”

  Ah, farmboy logic. Beats real logic every time in Mason-Kline.

  Trish appears as if she’d rather be tiptoeing through a field of scorpions as she edges toward the enormous Blue. Konrad laughs and swings himself onto the dragon’s snout.

  “Did you see that?” I ask Preston.

  “See what?”

  “He brightened when Konrad jumped on.”

  “Hey, Kon, the old man’s got his light saber up for you,” Preston says. He removes a pair of sunglasses from his jacket. “Put these on if it’s too bright for you, Callahan. We don’t want you squinting like you’re blocked up or something.”

  I ignore him and march into place.

  “Okay, ladies, we want this to be good. Wanna spark some fires,” Konrad says, and gives us his all-American smile. “How ’bout you lose the shirts?”

  Trish shrugs at me, then wriggles out of her sweater. Guess she’s not worried about the dragon anymore.

  “Very, very nice, Patricia Potter,” Konrad says.

  She grins. “Your turn, dragon hunter.”

  Konrad complies with farmboy enthusiasm. He flexes his biceps in various poses; Trish whistles her approval.

  “Sometime this century, Callahan,” Preston says.

  “You’re wearing a bra, aren’t you?” Trish whispers over the dragon’s snout, but from Konrad’s smirk, it’s obvious he heard.

  “That’s not the point,” I hiss. “I don’t want Dad seeing this. Why don’t you ride the dragon? Konrad and Preston can kiss it, and I’ll take the picture.”

  “I’m not getting on that thing.”

  “Your dad won’t care,” Konrad says. “He knows what happens on these hunts.”

  “She won’t change her mind,” Trish says. “She’s got that stubborn look.”

  Stubborn look? At least I don’t have the whore look.

  “Actually, Callahan’s idea ain’t bad,” Preston says. “We’ll mean mug it, Jedi style. She already looks pissed anyway.” He holds up his sunglasses. “But you’ll have to wear these.”

  “You mean Trish, right?” I say.

  “If you won’t take off your shirt,” Trish says, “I won’t ride the dragon.”

  Touché.

  A minute later, Preston and Konrad have stripped to their boxers and I’m straddling Old Man Blue’s head. The dragon’s skin is harder than rock and smells of iron, and there’s a faint warmth to it, like I’m sitting on a stovetop with the oven turned on.

  Trish directs her phone’s camera at us. “Two sexy studs and a sultry dragon rider,” she says, then snaps the picture. Good thing Preston’s sunglasses hide me rolling my eyes, otherwise I might ruin their work of art.

  “So much sarcasm for one so young.”

  I remove the sunglasses and glare at Trish. “What did you say?”

  “Two sexy studs and—”

  “No, not that. After that. You said ‘so much sarcasm for one so young.’”

  Konrad shakes his head. “No she didn’t. You okay, Melissa?”

  “We’re not here to hurt you.” It’s the same voice as before. Sounds like Trish, but a bit deeper.

  I slide off Old Man Blue and scan the hilltop. Nothing but darkness and shadows. Plenty of places for somebody to hide.

  “Mel, what’s wrong?” Trish says.

  “Stop it, guys. This isn’t cool.”

  Preston’s smartass smile makes me think they’re up to something, but Konrad’s approaching me as if I were a feral dog. “Come on, Melissa, let’s get out of here.”

  I don’t know what’s happening, but I allow them to herd me away from Old Man Blue. I look over my shoulder several times, but there’s nobody there. Except for a few brief exchanges between Trish and Konrad, everything’s quiet.

  I’ve convinced myself I’m losing my mind when something tells me to check one last time. Squatting, I pretend to tie my shoes until Trish and Konrad pass. Preston stops beside me, but his attention is focused on the sparkling blue bodies winking back at us from Dragon Hole.

  When I turn around, I expect someone to be standing next to Old Man Blue, but there isn’t. I smile uneasily, glad to have come, but much happier to be going. “Bye, old man.”

  The dragon opens its eyes—giant brown orbs that bore into me. “Good-bye, Melissa.”

  “Preston,” I say in a voice softer than a mouse squeak. “Preston!”

  But he must he not hear me. He’s crouched a few feet away, staring into the sky. Two quick steps and I’m at his side, shaking his shoulder.

  He grins at me. “What’s wrong, Callahan? Still hearing voices?”

  “Old Man Blue’s awake.”

  Preston’s grin fades as he glances over his shoulder, but returns a second later. “Almost had me there.”

  My breath catches. The dragon’s eyes are closed. “He was awake. He looked right at me.” Preston regards me with a mixture of incredulity and concern. “I’m not crazy, Preston. I know what I saw.”

  But what about what I heard? Did Old Man Blue actually speak to me?

  “It’s probably a trick of the light,” he says.

  “I’m not crazy,” I murmur.

  “Maybe just a bit scared.” Preston grabs my elbow and leads me down Dragon Hill. “It’s okay, Melissa, these dragons aren’t going to hurt you.”

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  2

  Trish and the farmboys drop me at home around midnight. I tiptoe to my bedroom. Dad’s light is on, but he’s snoring. Good. I just want to go to sleep and forget about my trip to Dragon Hill.

  But sleep won’t come. I can’t stop thinking about Old Man Blue and his (her?) band of dragons. Was it all in my head, or can they really talk? If so, why did the old man talk to me and nobody else?

  Those and a d
ozen more questions plague my thoughts. I’d text Trish, but she and the others already think I’m on the train to Crazyville. At some point I even consider waking Dad, but he’d schedule an appointment with my shrink the second after I finished a sentence with the words “dragon” and “telepathy” in it.

  2:14.

  3:06.

  3:51.

  4:34.

  I look from the clock to the moonlit picture of Mom on my bedside dresser. Her arm’s wrapped around my shoulder. She’s smiling, flashing a peace sign. Two months before she died, happy and oblivious. It’s been more than three years, but it feels like I was sitting next to her only a minute ago, holding her heavy, limp hand as her coma went eternal.

  All because of the dragons she loved, dragons she believed intended us no harm.

  And then it’s eight o’clock and my alarm’s going off. No way I’m going to soccer practice today. Unfortunately, there’s also no way I’m going back to sleep.

  I dress in my Saturday outfit of choice—sweatshirt and sweatpants—and throw my hair into a ponytail before trudging to the kitchen. I grab breakfast and sit at the table beside the window that overlooks the cornfield behind our house.

  I’m wondering if Dorothy would trade me her twister for my dragons when Sam says, “What’s floggin’ your noggin, Mel?”

  I glance up from my bowl of uneaten Cheerios to find my brother examining me, a hand stroking his chin and a spoon balanced on his nose. As far as younger brothers go, Sam ranks pretty high on the nuisance list, but he’s always good for a cheap laugh.

  “Floggin’ your noggin? What’s that even mean?”

  He taps his head. “The hamsters are busy.”

  I snatch the spoon from his nose. “Keep talking like that and wearing silverware and you’re never going to find a girlfriend.”

  He grins. “Speaking of which, how’d your date go?”

  “It wasn’t a date.”

  “Touchy, touchy. You look like ass this morning, you know?”

  I throw a Cheerio at him. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” He’s dressed in an MK cross-country sweatshirt a size too big and shorts that show too much of his skinny white thighs. “Run along, little man.”