Bridges Burned (Entangled Teen) (Going Down in Flames) (23 page)

Chapter Thirty-Two

As they climbed the steps back up to the main area of the house, a cold feeling skittered down Bryn’s spine. Was the house damaged, or the grounds ripped up like at school? Whoever was behind these attacks seemed to have dragons from every Clan. How was that possible? The first attack on campus came in the form of sonic waves, then they’d used wind, directing tornado-like gusts to attack the theater building. In Dragon’s Bluff, the attack had come in the form of giant hail. Tonight had been the Black dragons’ weapon, lightning. That only left the Reds’ weapon, fire. Whenever the next attack came, would it come in the form of flames?

On the way back to the ballroom, everything appeared normal. Had they panicked over nothing? The smell of burned wires drifted through the air. Lillith’s grip on her arm prevented Bryn from running ahead.

Inside the ballroom, Bryn found the source of the smell. Christmas trees lay on their sides, with their branches burned and broken. Ice, or maybe glass, glittered on the ballroom floor. Most of the floor-to-ceiling cathedral windows were missing their panes or were left with jagged remnants of glass.

Had the attack been centered on the ballroom? If it had, that meant the attackers knew when and where everyone would be at a certain time. Men stood in groups with their heads together, talking heatedly. Blood spotted their dress shirts, and in a few places it puddled on the floor.

She approached a man she didn’t know who was seated on the floor, clutching his arm against his body. Blood soaked through his shirtsleeve.

“If you’re hurt, I can help you. I’ve had some training as a medic.”

Indecision showed in his eyes.

“Jaxon Westgate trusted me to heal his classmates.” Maybe that would sway him.

He pulled the sleeve of his shirt up, revealing a jagged tear, like a talon had ripped through his skin. Bryn sat on the floor next to him and focused her life force, visualizing it as a small sun glowing in her chest. Then she directed the flow of Quintessence through her right arm and out of her fingertips. Tracing her fingers back and forth over the torn skin, she visualized the raw edges pulling together, the muscles knitting themselves back together.

Concentrating on healing the young man, she didn’t pay attention to anything else. When the cut was healed, she smiled up at him.

“Thank you.” His words were sincere.

She nodded and pushed to her feet. That’s when she noticed everyone staring at her. And she did mean everyone, even her grandparents. Nothing like a captive audience.

“Does anyone else need help? I can’t heal broken bones yet, but I’m good with flesh wounds.”

You could have heard a leaf hit the grass.

“Over here.” A woman pointed to her son.

“I’m fine, Mother,” the young man protested.

“You’re not. I won’t have you bleeding all the way home.” She pointed to her son’s face. Blood soaked through a handkerchief he held to his forehead. “If you would be so kind as to take care of him.”

“Humor your mother,” Bryn said. “And remove the handkerchief so I can see what I’m dealing with.”

Resigned, the boy did as he was told. Healing him was easy.

“Thank you.” The woman held out her hand. “I’m Mrs. Everson. Do have your grandmother call me for lunch one day. My treat.”

“Thank you.”

Someone tapped Bryn on the shoulder. Another woman asked Bryn to heal her husband. She made her way around the ballroom healing half a dozen males who had refused to ask for help, but accepted it when their wives or mothers insisted. All the women extended offers of lunch or tea.

When there was no one left to heal, Bryn located her grandmother, who was saying good-bye to guests. One look at Bryn and her eyes went wide. “Please tell me that’s not your blood.”

Bryn glanced down at the crimson spattering her emerald gown. “It’s not mine. Sorry I ruined the dress, but I did receive several invitations for lunch and tea.”

“Then it was a fair trade. Now, help me say good-bye to everyone.”

Bryn did as her grandmother asked. The funny thing was, now more people looked her in the eye when they spoke to her.

Where was her grandfather? He was probably off doing Directorate business while her grandmother covered PR. An hour later, the last guest was shown out the door. Feet aching, all Bryn wanted to do was collapse in bed. “Any chance we can find out what happened tonight?”

“Your grandfather will tell us what happened when he is ready. It would be best if we went to bed.”

She was halfway back to her room when someone called her name. “Bryn.”

Crap. She recognized that voice. What did her grandfather want? She turned with a polite expression on her face that became harder to maintain as her grandfather stalked toward her.

When he was within arm’s reach, he placed his hand on her shoulder. “What you did tonight…healing Clan members…it’s not something a Blue would do.”

Uh-oh
.

“You are not the granddaughter I dreamed of having, but tonight you proved you’re worthy of our Clan, and I am proud of you.”

Warmth filled Bryn’s chest. “Thank you.”

…

The next morning, Bryn rolled over and stared at the clock. It was 8:00 a.m. on Christmas morning. And for the first time ever, it meant nothing to her.

She curled up in a ball and hugged her pillow, remembering Christmas mornings past: waking as early as possible, running into the living room to see what Santa had left for her. When she was older and her belief in Santa had faded, Christmas morning meant ripping open presents and eating pancakes dyed red and green like Christmas ornaments. Then they’d watched Christmas movies or played in the snow.

Tears soaked her pillow and a pounding started at the base of her skull. She sighed. This was getting her nowhere. Time to shower, dress, and find out what the hell had happened last night. Where would her grandmother be this morning? Should she call the operator and ask? Hopefully, Rindy the all-knowing phone fairy had Christmas morning off. Not wanting to find out for sure, Bryn headed to the dining room. There would be food there, if nothing else.

Her grandmother sat sipping coffee and reading a gardening magazine. “Good morning, Bryn. I wondered if I should send someone to wake you, but decided after last night, you could use all the sleep you could manage.”

“Thanks. This is the latest I’ve slept since I came to school, thanks to that stupid alarm in my dorm room.”

“I never cared for those alarms myself.” Her grandmother pointed to the sideboard, which held covered dishes. “Abigail left food warming for you. Or we could order something fresh if you like.”

Bryn poured herself a cup of coffee and went to investigate her options. Time to play what’s-under-the-covered-dish. Under the first lid, Christmas cookies. No need to go any further.

She’d worked her way through four chocolate chip cookies before asking the question burning in her brain. “Any news about last night?”

Her grandmother set the gardening magazine down. “We know that someone attacked our estate to make a statement, to try to show that we weren’t in control. We mobilized and launched a counterattack. Minor injuries were sustained on our side. Your grandfather believes the other side suffered several casualties.”

Was that a good thing? “Do they know who the other side is?” Since these attacks had started, the identity of the rebels had remained a mystery.

“There are indications Black and Orange dragons were among those fighting against us last night.”

“I understand thinking it was Black dragons due to the lightning, but why Orange?”

“Because of the wings they found.”

And the chocolate chip cookies were about to come back up. “Wings? They found severed wings?”

Her grandmother nodded. “Orange and Black wings, and various other body parts. Disturbing, isn’t it?”

That was an understatement. “What happens now?”

“If my instincts are correct, the Directorate will declare the attack on our home an act of war.”

“You are correct, Marie.” Her grandfather strode into the room, poured himself a cup of coffee, and sat at the head of the table.

That didn’t sound good.
“What does that mean, an act of war?”

“It means,” her grandfather said, “that the Directorate will declare martial law to keep the population safe until we can neutralize this threat. An eight p.m. curfew will be put into effect. Everyone will be advised to travel in pairs or groups rather than alone.”

She remembered her conversation with Onyx. “Someone once told me the attacks would continue until the Directorate limited everyone’s freedom to a point where they would fight back, creating a civil war.”

Smack.
Her grandfather’s coffee cup hit the table. “Who told you that?”

Uh-oh.
“I think he was just theorizing the reasons behind the attacks, not saying it was a good idea.”

“His name. Now,” her grandfather roared.

“Onyx.” While she didn’t trust the guy, she didn’t think he was behind this.

“That man has been a thorn in the Directorate’s side for years, but I don’t believe he’d attack in the open this way. He prefers to chip away at the foundation to try to undermine us from within.”

Wait a minute. “Is Onyx a member of the Directorate?”

“Unfortunately, yes. A few decades ago we decided to expand the Directorate beyond our own Clan.”

“But you don’t invite them to your Christmas party?” Bryn asked.

“No. The party is a celebration within our Clan, not a Directorate gathering.”

“Does that mean the attack was aimed at the Blue Clan rather than the Directorate?” Bryn retrieved the plate of cookies she had pushed away moments before.

“That is an interesting question,” her grandmother said.

“It makes no difference who the attack was aimed at.” Her grandfather pounded his fist on the table. “It was aimed at my home, where ninety percent of the Directorate members were known to be.”

That brought up another question. “Did they specifically attack the ballroom because they knew we’d all be there at that time?”

“I believe that was their intention. The rest of the estate suffered only minor damage.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Abigail entered the dining room and stood a few feet inside the doorway. Bryn’s grandmother acknowledged her with a questioning look.

“There’s a call for Bryn from Valmont Fonzoli.”

“Really?” That was the best news she’d had in a while. A quick check of the dining room didn’t produce a phone. “Where should I take the call?”

“There’s a phone in the sitting room down the hall,” her grandmother said. “Abigail will show you.”

Hopping out of her chair, Bryn followed Abigail to a room on the right. At this point, she was as happy to escape the dining room as she was to speak with Valmont. Sitting on a wingback chair, she grabbed the phone. “Hello, Valmont?”

“Merry Christmas, Bryn.” Warmth came through his words.

“Merry Christmas to you, too. What’s up?”

“If you aren’t busy with your grandparents today, can you come over for lunch?”

Muscles she didn’t realize were tense, relaxed. “That sounds fantastic. Hold on while I ask my grandmother.”

Laying the phone on its side, she dashed back to the dining room. They had to say yes. She needed to be out of this house for a while, someplace where she could relax.

She skidded through the doorway and met her grandparents’ speculative gazes. “Valmont’s family invited me for lunch. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” her grandmother said at the same time her grandfather said, “No.”

“We were attacked yesterday,” her grandfather said.

“Yes. We were,” her grandmother said. “And now it’s our job to make it seem as though we are unaffected. You will declare your act of war, but we should continue on with our everyday lives. Don’t you agree?”

Her grandfather stared up at the ceiling like he was mulling over her grandmother’s logic. “It’s an interesting tactic.”

“And we don’t have anything planned until six.” Her grandmother turned to Bryn. “You may go, just be back in time for Christmas dinner.”

“Thank you.” Wow. She’d never seen her grandmother argue with her grandfather before—and win. Interesting development. She ran back to the phone and told Valmont the good news.

“I’ll be there to pick you up in ten minutes,” Valmont said.

“I thought it took thirty minutes for you to get here.”

“I figured you’d say yes, so I left the house about twenty minutes ago.”

She laughed. “Be nice to the guards when you check in. There was some trouble here last night and they’ll all be on high alert.”

“What trouble?”

Was she allowed to say anything? Who knew? “I’ll explain when you get here.”

She said her good-byes and ran up to her room to freshen up and change into jeans, a sweater, and tennis shoes. Valmont wouldn’t care what she wore, so she could be herself, which was nice.

Should she change her hair back? Her current look seemed to make her grandmother happy, so she’d leave it for now. Maybe she’d ask Valmont’s opinion.

By the time she made it to the foyer, Valmont was waiting by the door next to one of the guards. She was relieved to see that the guard didn’t look annoyed.

Valmont’s ice-blue eyes were full of mischief. He smiled, which made his single dimple show. In an evergreen-colored button-down shirt and jeans, he looked awesome. Her heartbeat sped up as she grinned back at him.

“I like the new hair.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Thank you.”

Once they were out the door and in his car, the world seemed like a brighter place. Being around Valmont made her feel almost normal again. Driving along the forested road with the top down on his cherry-red convertible and the heat blasting to keep them warm, she listened to the sound of the winter wind rustling in the leaves.

“How are things going with your grandparents?” he asked.

She didn’t want to talk about the bad part of last night. Better to go with something more general. “I feel like I’ve been playing dress-up. I keep waiting for someone to come up, point at me, and scream ‘imposter.’”

“You are the Sinclairs’ granddaughter. You’re not an imposter.”

“Literally, that’s true. But I’m not the granddaughter everyone else expects me to be. I’m not Blue through and through.”

“So you’re not true blue?” He laughed.

She shook her head. “That was bad. But yes, I’m not a true Blue. At the Christmas Eve ball, I kept sneaking off to the bathroom so I didn’t have to sit at the table by myself while everyone else socialized with people they’ve known all their lives. It sucked.”

“What sucks is that your grandparents didn’t see that coming and arrange for someone to keep you company.” He reached over and grabbed her hand. “I would’ve volunteered.”

That meant a lot. “Thank you. If it wasn’t Christmas Eve, I would’ve called and asked you to come save me.”

“You can call me at any time, Christmas Eve or not. I’ll always be there for you.”

He spoke so passionately, she believed him. Would her grandparents let her bring Valmont as her date somewhere? If she asked they’d probably claim it wasn’t appropriate, which meant next time she wouldn’t ask. She’d just show up with him and hope her grandparents played nice.

“How was your Christmas Eve?” She didn’t want today to be all about her. The world didn’t revolve around her. It would be nice to get lost in someone else’s life for a while.

“My grandmother is still the reigning champion of ping-pong. I swear the woman puts drugs in the lasagna to slow the rest of us down. Either that or she takes something to speed herself up.” He grinned. “She might give you a hard time.”

“What? Why?”

“She wanted you to stop by on Christmas Eve. I told her you weren’t available, but she doesn’t like taking no for an answer.”

Light filtered through the trees as they came to a less dense area of the forest. The scent of evergreens filled the air. She took a deep breath. “It smells like Christmas.”

They chatted easily on the rest of the drive to Dragon’s Bluff. Feeling comfortable around Valmont, after feeling so out of place for days, was a relief.

When they pulled onto the main road, Bryn admired all the Christmas decorations, until she realized each store had the same wreath in the exact same place. “What’s with the Stepford decorations?”

“What do you mean?”

“Every store already has the same-colored awning and the same style of lettering, and now they have the same wreath in the exact spots on each door.”

“The official line is that uniformity creates harmony. The truth is your Directorate is anal about everything being perfect and exactly the way it has been for the last one hundred and fifty years.” He pulled into the lot behind Fonzoli’s. The scent of garlic and Italian herbs mingled with the sweet scent of vanilla.

“Is your grandmother baking cookies?”

Valmont opened his door and then came around to open hers. “My grandmother is baking every cookie known to man. When I left she was working on Italian wedding cake cookies.”

“Are those the little round balls covered in powdered sugar?”

“Yes. She rolls some of them in cocoa just to add variety.”

Yum. “I think your grandmother and I will get along just fine.”

“She’ll love you, because unlike some of the other females who come for Christmas, you have a healthy appetite.”

Right on cue, her stomach growled. “Take me to the food. I’m ready to bond with your grandmother.”

Valmont kept his arm around her shoulders as they bypassed the back entrance to the kitchen to a part of the building she’d never visited. There was a covered front porch sporting a Christmas tree with twinkling lights.

“Is this your grandparents’ house?”

He nodded. “Members of the Fonzoli family have lived here for generations.” They went up the front steps and he held the door open for her. She entered into a living room where no one paid the slightest attention to her. Two younger boys played a video game on the TV. A girl sat on the navy-blue couch with a cat on her lap as she read a book.

They continued into the house. Halfway down the hall, a man who looked like an older version of Valmont greeted her with a grin. “You must be Bryn.”

“I am.”

“Bryn, this is my dad.”

“Nice to meet you.” Bryn took the hand he offered and shook it.

“Nice to meet you, too.” He leaned toward Valmont. “I need to go pick up your mom’s gift. If she asks where I am, tell her I went to bring in some firewood.”

“Okay.” Valmont shook his head as his dad walked away. “Before I left to come pick you up, my mom sneaked out to grab my father’s gift.”

“That’s cute.” Seeing married people who actually liked each other was a rarity.

Valmont placed his hand on her lower back and propelled her forward through another door into the dining room. A large oak plank table with every type of chair pulled up to it practically groaned with food. Lasagna, garlic bread, turkey, sweet potatoes, green beans, and a half dozen other dishes sat in the middle of the table. It looked so homey, just the type of atmosphere she longed for but no longer had.

A woman with salt-and-pepper curls wearing an apron covered in flour came into the dining room. She spotted Valmont and hustled toward them.

Bryn found herself enveloped in a pastry-scented hug. “I’m so glad you could come. Valmont speaks well of you. It’s time we met.”

“I’m glad to meet you, too. Whatever you’re baking smells fabulous. Valmont swore you wouldn’t think badly of me if I ate too much.”

“Finally.” His grandmother pulled her into another hug. “A girl who eats.”

Why couldn’t her grandmother be more like this? Guilt followed that thought like a smack to the head. Her grandmother was trying. She was just a different species. Literally.

“Come into the kitchen. Keep me company while I finish up.” She couldn’t have refused if she wanted to, with the way Valmont’s grandmother had latched onto her elbow.

“Sure.” She moved forward, and it took her a moment to realize Valmont wasn’t moving along with her.

“Valmont?” What the heck was he doing?

“I promised my grandpa I’d go grab a few bottles of wine from the restaurant. I’ll be back in one minute.”

The kitchen looked like it had been through a war and lost. Flour was sprinkled on the soapstone countertops and in some places on the hardwood floor. Canisters were open, with their lids nowhere to be seen. Dirty mixing bowls were piled three deep in the sink. Spice bottles sat with the lids flipped up, like they were waiting to be used.

Bryn’s grandmother would have been appalled, but it felt nice, cozy, lived in.

“Have a seat and help yourself to a cookie.”

She sat while his grandmother watched. This was starting to feel weird, like a job interview. Valmont needed to get back here soon. She picked a star-shaped cookie and took a bite. Bitter licorice flavor filled her mouth. Ugh. It was all she could do not to spit it out. Who put licorice in cookies?

Valmont’s grandmother turned and reached into a cabinet with her back toward Bryn. If there had been a napkin on the table she’d have spit the nasty concoction out. No drink. No napkin. She swallowed, trying not to grimace.

Valmont’s grandmother joined her at the table, giving her a mug of something steaming hot. “Have some tea, dear.”

“Thank you.” Bryn put the cup to her mouth, concentrated on cold, and exhaled frost into the mug.

“That’s a handy trick.”

Bryn sipped and smiled. Once the god-awful licorice taste was gone, she lowered the mug to the table. “My grandmother wouldn’t approve, but it’s handy to produce your own ice sometimes.”

“That’s what I need to speak with you about.”

“My grandmother?”

“No.” She gave a tight smile. “The fact that you’re different.”

Where was this going? “You mean that I’m a hybrid dragon or that I’m a dragon at all?”

“You being a dragon. It concerns me. When it comes to Valmont.” The sweet maternal tone was gone. She pointed at Bryn, like she’d caught her doing something wrong. “What’s going on between you two, I don’t approve.”