Voices of Dragons

He let himself out the front door.

“What was he talking about?” Mom said, staring after him. “What does he think you’ve done?”

“Can we—can we sit down?” Kay said.

In a moment, they were both seated at the kitchen table. Mom kept one of the mugs of coffee, gripping it with both hands and breathing in the steam. Kay studied her worriedly, not knowing how to start.

“Are you angry at them?” Kay asked. “For doing it—for starting the fires?” She couldn’t say exactly what, couldn’t mention Dad. Didn’t want to make it real.

“What? The dragons?” Mom thought for a moment, her gaze distant. “I don’t know. Right now I think I’m angry at him. Why’d he have to…why’d he have to be so goddamn brave? He should have known better, he should have known—”

Her voice choked, and she looked away, her mussed hair falling in front of her face. Kay put her other hand over her mother’s, and they sat like that, clutching their hands together. Mom was crying quietly. Kay’s own eyes were stinging, and she gritted her teeth to keep from crying. They were both working so hard to keep from sobbing she wondered what would happen when they couldn’t hold it in anymore.

After some time, seconds or minutes, Mom sat back, let go of Kay, scrubbed her face, and smiled like she was okay—a fake, stiff smile.

And Kay said, “Mom, I have to tell you something.”

16

The Federal Bureau of Border Enforcement building had been part of the block that burned that night, almost as if the dragons had known their target. The bureau—along with the sheriff’s department, which had also burned—had set up temporary offices in the Silver River Middle School gym. Kay and her mother stood in the open doorway, looking in at chaos. A dozen workers set up temporary office partitions; another group of technicians strung miles of wires between desks and set up telephones and computers. Various people in suits scurried through it all, from one computer to another. Outside, news vans swarming with reporters and cameras were parked. Phones were ringing, people were shouting.

Kay wondered that they had anything at all to do now. People were crossing the border all the time now—at least the military was. She thought the bureau’s job would have been practically over. But people kept calling. The military wouldn’t tell anyone anything, so people called the bureau instead.

Her mother hadn’t been back to work since the fire, just like Kay hadn’t been back to school. In the doorway, Mom put her arm over Kay’s shoulders. Kay didn’t know if the gesture was meant to comfort her or her mother.

In the end, Mom had been less angry about her crossing the border and meeting the dragon at all than she had been about the flying. She’d ranted for long time about how dangerous it was, how Kay could have been killed, and what was she thinking, and on and on. Kay tried to explain how careful they’d been, using her climbing gear. “You could have been killed, and I’d never know,” Mom said, and Kay didn’t have a reply to that.

When they arrived at the offices, people stared and reporters took pictures. They were famous, Kay supposed. That picture of them at the funeral—the one Captain Co

It didn’t help that no one knew what to say to them. If it had been someone else, Kay wouldn’t have known what to say.

A middle-aged man in a suit, with the tie missing and the shirt collar unbuttoned, walked straight toward them. “Alice, you shouldn’t be here. You should be resting. Take all the time you need—”

Kay’s mother took the man—the regional bureau director, her boss—aside and spoke in a low voice. Kay waited, feeling like she was going to be sick. Maybe this situation—the jets, the news, the fire—wasn’t inevitable after all; maybe she had caused it. After she and Artegal met, the world started falling apart. It was still falling. The more Kay thought about it, the dizzier she felt. She kept thinking that she should have told Dad about her and Artegal. She shouldn’t have kept secrets from him. If she’d told, maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

The temporary bureau had commandeered a classroom and turned it into a conference room, pushing desks together in the middle and lining chairs around them. The director guided Kay and her mother there and told them to sit, which they did, side by side in the cold, silent room. He kept giving Kay odd, sideways glances, as if he were trying to believe the story her mother had told him. Trying to imagine her with a dragon.

None of these people knew anything about dragons.

“It’s better this way,” Mom was saying. She’d been talking for a while, but Kay hadn’t been listening. The sound of her mother’s voice startled her. “You’ll only have to explain everything once. I’ll be with you the whole time. Just tell them the truth. Don’t leave anything out.”

Now Kay understood. The director had sent them there to wait. He needed to contact others, a whole group of people who had a stake in this. Kay didn’t know who else or how many. The police, probably. They’d lock her up, and she’d never see the outside of a jail again.

Somehow, she was as numb to this thought as she had been to everything since the fire. Nothing mattered. She’d done something amazing, done the impossible, and now she was paying for it. And none of it mattered. She imagined her father, remembered the look on his face when he’d pulled her over for speeding. That wry look. Why did she even think he’d be wearing that expression now, when this was so much worse? Because maybe he’d have understood. Quickly, she wiped her eyes to keep from crying.

Mom was studying her. Both of them had the same glassy stare, Kay thought. Surely no one would be mean to them, after what had happened. Her stomach clenched.

“Your dad was worried about you,” Mom said softly. “We talked about it. You were spending so much time by yourself, going off to do who knew what. But he wouldn’t let me search your room. He said, ‘Give her a little more time. I bet she’ll come clean about whatever it is. She’s a good kid.’ That’s what he said.”

Kay wanted to tell her mother to stop. Just stop talking. This was going to make her cry and she didn’t want to cry, not when she was going to have to talk to the police.

Mom smiled a grieved, wincing smile. “He was right. He was always right. I’m just trying to figure out what he’d say about this.” She wiped tears away with the heel of her hand.

Kay bit her lips and looked away. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was a whisper.

Then they didn’t say anything.

When the door to the classroom opened again, Kay flinched, startled. She didn’t think she could get any more scared, but her heart raced. A half dozen people in air force and army uniforms filed in, along with another half dozen in suits. One of them brought in an armload of stuff, a stack of poster board, and a dozen file folders. Mom stood and put her hand on Kay’s shoulder.

Kay recognized two of the military men: the air force general from TV, General Branigan, and Captain Co

One of the guys in a suit arranged the sheets of poster board on the table. They showed blown-up copies of the photos of Kay riding Artegal, the ones taken by the jet that had seen them. Maybe they won’t believe me, Kay thought. She’d tell them it was her, and they wouldn’t believe a kid could do that. Then she could go home.

Wearing a stern, serious expression, the general took his hat off and approached Kay’s mother. He radiated authority and demanded respect. But Kay felt herself growing angry. He was probably the one who ordered those fighters over the border, and that was the reason the dragons attacked. So was it the dragons’ fault? Was it the general’s?