I clutched the dry scales of her neck. There was nothing else to hold on to—no horns, no spikes, nothing. I ended up clenching my legs tight against her for extra support.
“We’ll talk! We’ll lower our weapons!” Sanghani’s voice caught. “Don’t leave!”
The dragon kicked off the ground with a lurch. Her great wings gave a snap in the air. I jolted forward, weightless for a half second. I wrapped my arms around the broad neck in front of me. Was I making a mistake? Oh, God, I was making a mistake, wasn’t I? The dragon hadn’t even told us where we were going. Away from the house and destruction and armed agents, yes, but I didn’t know whether that meant the clearing at the edge of my perimeter, or whether that meant . . . beyond.
The dragon thumped back to the ground, sending a shock through us. She ran on heavy feet, jostling us left and right. Rainbow’s face pressed into my shoulder. Her arms around my waist clenched so tight it hurt. Then, another snap of the dragon’s wings, and we were in the air—
One wing tip smacked into a barn. Her front feet touched down again. We careened left. My legs started to slip, but the dragon righted herself on time, galloping between the barns.
“Sorry, sorry,” the dragon muttered. The wind whisked away half her words. “It’s been a while.”
Past me flashed fire, barns, trees, wrinkled wings, swift silhouettes. I saw a bent arm jutting out from under a fallen chunk of wall, deathly still. We went past so quickly that I hoped I’d seen it wrong.
We cleared the barns. I glimpsed Mom, her mouth agape—a flash of what might’ve been Director Facet, crouching by an unmoving body on the grass—then the dragon flapped her wings again, and we were back in the air, and this time we stayed there.
We rose.
We flew.
Wind whipped past me. We could’ve been up there for half a second or half a minute, I didn’t know, before I dared glance down.
We hadn’t gone far. The road stretched below us: the yellow plant that’d materialized in front of the van, the skid marks from the crash, and, farther down, the van itself. The hood was crumpled against a tree. Two doors stood wide open.
We flew on, past the mini-golf course, past Franny’s Food (where, for all I knew, Marybeth and the others might still be sitting), and finally, past that one hollow tree by the side of the road that marked the end of my perimeter.
I should’ve been terrified. But though my heart thudded in my throat and my arms wouldn’t let go of the dragon’s neck for the life of me, though I felt hot from adrenaline and cold from the wind, I wasn’t scared. I’d made my choice. Even if I wanted to go back—and a large part of me did—I no longer had that option, unless I wanted to fling myself to the ground fifty yards below.
It was oddly freeing.
I’d sit this out. I’d wait for this day to be over. I’d leave the dragon in charge and ask for my answers.
It was all I could do now.
CHAPTER NINE
Goose bumps pricked my skin as we flew.
I barely breathed as I looked at West Asherton laid out beneath us. I’d seen a satellite map online; I’d seen photos; once, Carolyn and Mom had spent an hour showing me around town using their phone cameras.
The real town was different. I recognized the layout of the streets, but no more. I soaked in every similarity to the picture in my mind, studied every unexpected difference, watched people stop and stare and point at us in the sky until they faded behind us.
The dragon had to be correct about the rift moving locations. The damage hadn’t contained itself to the grounds or road near our house. There were car crashes and small fires in town, too. Firefighters surrounded the Dunkin’ Donuts, and for some reason I couldn’t determine, at least two dozen people had gathered around what looked like a fallen streetlight. Others rushed down the street to catch an animal I suspected wasn’t simply a lost dog. I couldn’t see the rift itself; it must’ve already moved away.
Neither of the other Hazels said anything. We passed over the town without a word and set down a few minutes south of it, by a long stretch of highway and a truck stop that’d seen better days.
I climbed off the dragon’s back, my legs numb. I nearly slipped on the wet grass.
The dragon stretched, catlike—rear in the air, front legs stretching flat to the ground. Her claws curved into the dirt.
I wanted to ask why we’d landed, when I’d get my answers, where we were supposed to go—and a dozen more questions besides—but I found myself rubbing my arms and wheeling around slowly. I craned my neck as though it would help me see more, more, more.
A truck stop.
I’d never seen a truck stop!
I’d never even seen a gas station. I hadn’t realized they smelled this way, like when Dad prepped the grill on the lawn.
And the highway looked so smooth, so black and flat, nothing like the gray, bumpy, sometimes-cracked road by our house. It wasn’t like the raised seven-lane highways on TV, either.
It was dark out. I wasn’t used to that; we always had plenty of lights on the grounds.
I squirmed my feet into the grass and looked up. I nearly expected the stars to be different, too.
“I’m not dreaming,” I whispered, so soft I doubted the others heard. I closed my eyes and let moonlight spill across my face. How far had we gone? At least two mile-and-a-halves, I bet. I tried to imagine what I might’ve missed on the way, what I might’ve seen and touched now that I could.
I’d always thought that when—if—I ever left my perimeter, it’d be slow. I’d go on foot. Toe
