CHAPTER ONE
DRAGONS ARE BETTER COMPANY THAN PEOPLE.
Not that I hate people. Some are okay.
People can’t fly, though. Not with wings strong enough to break the shell of a dragon’s egg, which is as hard as steel. Wings that double as weapons. Witches and wizards use fancy metal wands and even fancier potions to get off the ground. So what? Dragons don’t need wands or potions. They can just fly.
Every two years, I watch them fly and fight for the Blazewrath World Cup.
No other sporting event is the home of dragon riders and their huge, badass steeds, hailing from the sixteen countries chosen to compete. Other sports have players who run. But they don’t have a Runner, the only player without a dragon steed, who has to reach the top of a magically conjured mountain before they’re blown away by a fireball or beaten to a pulp.
After today, that could be me.
For the billionth time, I sort through the stack of pages on my bed. Each one has a header that reads PUERTO RICO RUNNER TRYOUTS APPLICATION. I reread the first page:
Lana Aurelia Torres (Age: 17)
Application Accepted! Appointment: July 16, 2017 @ 1:00 p.m.
The Ritz-Carlton, Naples, Florida
*All candidates must possess an official birth certificate from Puerto Rico. If attending tryouts in the United States, candidates are required to participate in their current state of residence and none other. Previous track-and-field experience is preferred but not mandatory.
Training in martial arts is highly recommended.
Today is July 16. It’s been four weeks since Blazewrath tryouts officially began. Now they’re finally coming to Florida. Puerto Rico’s former Runner, Brian Santana, got kicked off the team back in April. Getting fired is bad enough, but getting fired before your country plays for the first time ever? I would’ve cried. Thankfully, Brian’s firing led to a broader search for his replacement, this time including Puerto Ricans living in the States. I’d switched from lamenting the loss of my country’s Runner to celebrating the chance to take his place.
I don’t have the “highly recommended” martial arts training, unless watching YouTube videos and hitting imaginary rivals in my bedroom counts. I used to be on my middle school’s track-and-field team, but my grades started slipping, so Mom told me to focus on studying instead. Hopefully, I’m still fast enough to impress the International Blazewrath Federation.
There’s a knock on my door.
“Lana, are you all set?” Mom asks. “I need help with the wrapping paper.”
“Just a sec!” Thank God the door is locked. The ruby-red shirt and faded denim jeans I’ll be wearing to hide my sporty clothes are still laid out next to my tryout documents.
“Okay. I’ll be downstairs.” Mom’s footsteps echo across the hall.
Even though the coast is clear, I rush to put on my shirt and jeans. My brown hair flops all over the place, but after a few frantic brushes, I wrangle it into a decent ponytail. I slip on my black-and-white Adidas sneakers, the ones I run in every morning. Mom’s used to seeing me in them, so she won’t find it suspicious I’m wearing them to celebrate my cousin Todd’s birthday. Besides, we’re taking him to a wand shop. No need to whip out the stilettos and fringe.
I do a quick pirouette once I’m dressed. My meeting with the International Blazewrath Federation is in a mere five hours. Today I might become the new Runner for Team Puerto Rico. I might get picked to rep my beautiful island. The island I haven’t visited in twelve years.
My smile fades. Twelve years is too long to spend away from home. The place where I became myself. Before my Puerto Rican father and my white American mother divorced, we’d lived in the mountains of Cayey. I would dash around our two-story house, its walls decorated in cracked coral paint, pretending to chase after dragons with Papi. He’d let me guide him through the endless greenery outside and the sloping, pothole-ridden roads. Our neighbors would catch me with notepads and purple pens, jotting down clues that would take me to the dragons’ lair.
There hadn’t been Sol de Noche dragons in Puerto Rico then. There was just a father and his only child, their feet running as fast as their imaginations.
Our imaginations were never as exciting as Blazewrath.
The Cup takes place in a different country every two years. I was only four when Papi let me watch my first tournament. He rearranged the furniture in our too-hot living room, barefoot and belting ’80s rock songs, the windows open and the ceiling fan blasting. He demonstrated in theatrical lunges what the Runner has to do on the mountain and explained the offensive tactics each team’s dragons could do. Two things engraved themselves in my heart:
The way my father’s face lit up whenever a match started.
And how I desperately craved to be part of the matches myself.
Puerto Rico made me who I am, but Blazewrath is the reason I was born. It’s my purpose in a life without my island. A life without my father, who’s currently living in Brazil. He doesn’t know I’m trying out. If I get picked for Team Puerto Rico, it’ll be the best surprise of his life. If nothing happens, he’ll never know what a disappointment I was to us both.
I grab the Whisperer on my dresser. It looks like a red sports watch and fits my wrist like a charm. I press the silver adjust button. “Samira? Can you hear me?”
“Affirmative! What’s up?” she says. Tupac’s “Keep Ya Head Up” blasts in the background. This Whisperer has way better sound than my phone. Thanks to magic, it lets me communicate with anyone from anywhere.
I’m not a witch, but being best friends with one has its perks.
“Just wanted to make sure the private wand-making tour is still happening,” I say.
“Yup. I called the store again to confirm. I’ll distract everyone while you sneak out for Blazewrath tryouts. I’ve already left my car in the store parking lot, so I’ll slip you my keys. Then you act your booty off to convince your mom you’re sick and can sit the private tour out.”
I’m smiling wide again. “I owe you big-time, Samira.”
“Make it onto the team. Or you could let me Transport to your house.”
“You’re not setting yourself on fire today.”
She gives me one of her Olympic gold medal–winning sighs. “That fire doesn’t actually burn, Lana. Stop being extra. Also, I can get rid of it faster than before.”
Now I’m the one who sighs. Samira’s a great BFF, but when it comes to being a great witch, she’s still a work in progress. She’s not magically strong enough to perform complex spells, including the Transport Charm, which moves anything from one place to another. Her original plan was to Transport me straight to the Ritz-Carlton, but the last time she tried the spell, I was caged in blue flames for two hours. The flames didn’t hurt me, but two hours? Come on. And since Mom’s an OB/GYN, she’s always on call from the hospital. Her car is off-limits.
Not that she’d ever lend it to me for this.
“We stick to my mother picking you up,” I say. “It’s a lot safer.”
“Fine. Let’s do it your boring way.” I can picture her pouting in disappointment.
“See you in an hour, Captain. Again, I owe you.”
“How about you admit Law & Order is the best show on television?”