Draxin Alistair (16)'s Arc

Chapter 7 of 22

Dante walked Draxin out of the shed and up a slope of packed dirt. A wooden building leaned into the hillside, its boards patched and nailed over with more boards. A banner hung above the door with a purple flame stitched on cloth. Men and women moved on the porch, cleaning weapons, sorting packs. They looked up when Dante passed. They did not look long. "Eleven," Dante said. He nudged Draxin forward with two fingers on his shoulder. "That's how many are in Burn. You make twelve if you count the kid we're babysitting. Which I don't." Draxin stopped at the doorway. Zag pressed flat against his neck. "I didn't ask to come here." "Nobody asks." Dante bit down on his cigar. Smoke slid out the side of his mouth and hung against the doorframe. "You swallowed something that belongs to my crew. Until I know what it makes you, you stay under my watch. You eat here. You sleep here. You don't wander." "For how long?" "Until further notice." Draxin's chest pulsed once, warm. He thought of the cold tracks in the desert, the ten years already lost. Every hour here was another hour the broken circle got farther away. Dante crouched. His eyes were level with Draxin's now, and the laid-back frown was gone. "Listen. I've watched a lot of hosts come up. Some last a month. Some last a week. I want to see how far you make it, kid. I mean that." He tapped Draxin's sternum with one knuckle. "So don't waste my time dying." He stood and walked inside. The door swung half shut behind him. Draxin turned away from it. He walked to the edge of the porch and gripped the rail. Below, the yard ran down to a line of scrub trees. He was counting the trees, measuring a run, when someone dropped from the roof beam onto the boards beside him. The cat mask. White with blue stripes. Same ripped brown pants. Same quiet boots that made no sound landing. Draxin's grip locked on the rail. "You." The girl who had kicked the bull off his chest tilted her head. She looked at the shed, at the banner, at the warmth he was holding against his ribs. She did not seem surprised to find him here. "You're with them?" he said. She didn't answer. She reached out and tapped his chest, right where the stone sat, with one finger. Then she held up two fingers and shook her head. One. Only one. "How do you know that?" She stepped back. Behind her mask, the yellow eye holes caught the light. "Mimi." Dante's voice came through the doorway. "Inside." She turned and went in without looking at Draxin again. Draxin stayed on the porch. Zag climbed onto his shoulder. The door was open. The rail was low. But he did not run. Not yet. He needed to know what they are scheming.