Soldier. Julie Kagawa
living with me for a little while. How does that sound?”
I didn’t answer. He was a stranger. Everyone I’d seen so far had been a stranger. Where were my parents? I wanted my mommy. I shrugged and turned away a little when the man crouched down in front of me.
“Your name,” the man before me said, “is Garret Xavier Sebastian. Can you repeat that, Garret?”
I frowned. That was wrong. The first part was right; my name was Garret. But the next two I hadn’t heard before. “That’s not my name,” I told the man, who smiled. It was the first thing I’d said since my mommy...went away. But it seemed important, suddenly, to tell him. To let him know I hadn’t forgotten who I was. Even if I couldn’t remember what happened to Mommy and Daddy. Were they coming to get me? But no...this man said I was going to live with him.
“It is now,” the man said. “And you should be proud of it. Many in the Order are named after saints, and yours is a very special one. Saint Sebastian was a great man who helped many people.” He put a hand on my head, leaning close. “Did you know that Saint Sebastian was tied to a tree and shot full of arrows, but he didn’t die?”
I blinked and peeked up. “Really?”
“Yes,” Benedict said. “He was also a centurion, a warrior for God. Which is what you are going to be one day—a warrior. A soldier who protects people from evil and monsters, just like he did.” He ruffled my hair and stood, gazing down at me. “So, Garret Xavier Sebastian, do you think you can do that?”
I nodded solemnly.
“Good,” said Benedict. “Because you’re going to have to work hard to become that soldier. But don’t worry.” He put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. His fingers were thick and strong, but not painful. “I’ll help you get there. From here on out, you’re not just a little boy. You’re a warrior in training. And someday, if you work hard, you’ll become a soldier who protects people and fights real monsters. Remember that, Garret.”
* * *
I did.
If I’d had an ordinary life before I came to live with Lucas Benedict, it was long gone. I lived in his small apartment in the middle of an Order chapterhouse and watched the daily lives, practices and routines of St. George soldiers until that was all that I knew. I ate, slept and breathed the Order, adopting its beliefs, viewing the soldiers as family, not knowing any life beyond the Order walls. When I was six, I started private classes at the chapel. It would be a few years until I was old enough to join the Academy of St. George, where all hopeful dragonslayers were trained. My education was overseen by Brother Gregory, who drilled perfectionism into my head even more than science or math or history. But my real lessons didn’t begin in the classroom.
“Garret.”
“Yes, sir.” Never Father, or Dad, or even Uncle. From the very beginning, the only title Lucas Benedict ever accepted from me was sir.
“Come here. I have something for you.”
Obediently, I slid from my desk, where I’d been doing that night’s homework—an essay about the Order’s involvement in the Salem witch trials—and padded across the room to stand before my mentor. He regarded me seriously, as he always did, before he knelt and put something hard and cold into my hands.
I looked down and blinked. A black pistol lay in my six-year-old palms, cradled between my small fingers. A chill raced up my back. I remembered gunshots, fire, men screaming, bits and pieces of that night, and I shivered.
“Don’t be afraid of it,” Lucas Benedict told me. “It’s not loaded, so it can’t hurt you. A gun is only a tool—it can kill, but the person wielding it has to make that decision.” He put his large hand over both of mine and the weapon. “This is yours now, Garret. I’ll teach you how to hold it, clean it and handle it safely so that when it is loaded, you’ll know what to do. But I want you to start learning now. This is what you’ll be using to fight monsters someday, so it’s important, understand?”
I looked at the gun again. I could kill monsters with this. Like the horrible black-winged creature that murdered my family. On my own, I was no match for the demons. I was just a scared little kid who still had nightmares sometimes. But with a weapon like this, I could do my own killing. I wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore.
“Yes,” I replied, looking back at my mentor. “I understand. When will I get to shoot things?”
He chuckled and ruffled my hair in a rare moment of affection. “When you’ve proved to me that you know how to clean, handle and take care of it properly when it’s unloaded, I’ll teach you how to shoot it. But not before. Not until I’m certain you know what you’re doing. So...want me to show you how to clean your weapon, soldier?”
“Yes, sir!”
That was the beginning.
“Too bad it’s not Mardi Gras.”
Riley shot me a look from the driver’s seat, the hint of a smile playing at his lips as we cruised down the narrow road. “Hoping to catch some beads, Firebrand?”
“No.” I wrinkled my nose at him. “But we’re here, in New Orleans. On Bourbon Street.” I looked out the window, at the buildings with their elegant verandas draped with flags and hanging plants. I imagined them filled with people in costume, crazy masks and colorful beads, with streamers of purple and gold flying all around. One huge party, like I’d seen on TV. “I was just wondering what it would be like,” I mused.
Riley snorted. “Crowded.”
“Noisy,” added Wes.
I rolled my eyes at them both.
“Where does Griffin want to meet us, again?” Wes asked, sounding annoyed as he gazed out the window, as if the crowds and pedestrians strolling past the car personally offended him. “And why here, in New Orleans, of all places? Right out in the open.”
“Exactly,” Riley said, and turned down another road, leaving Bourbon Street behind. I sighed and watched it vanish in the rearview mirror. “Out in the open, where everyone can see you. Where a Talon operative can’t walk up and shoot you in the face without causing a panic.”
I blinked. “Or where a pissed-off rogue dragon can’t kick his ass for selling us out?” I guessed.
“That, too.” Riley clenched the steering wheel, his expression promising retribution, even if it wasn’t at the moment. “Griffin is a sleazebag, but he knows what it takes to survive. And if you have a Viper breathing down your neck, the last place you want to meet someone is in a dark warehouse in the middle of the night.”
“Still.” Wes sniffed, gazing out the window in disdain. “He could’ve picked a less touristy place to meet. At least it’s not on Bourbon Street itself. I wouldn’t...oh, look there’s the blighter now.”
I followed Wes’s gaze. A figure in a familiar red suit sat at an outdoor table next to one of New Orleans’s many bars. His legs were crossed, and a half-full glass of something sat on the table in front of him. Riley’s lip curled, his hands clenching on the steering wheel. There were no parking spots anywhere on the street, so we drove past and found a place around the block.
“Wait here,” Riley told Wes, as I opened the door and slid out. The day was humid and warm, and the air felt heavy. “Keep the engine running. If Talon or St. George shows up, we’ll need to clear out fast. Firebrand...” Riley glanced at me. “Keep your eyes open. If you see anything suspicious, tell me right away. Ready?”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “Let’s go.”
We walked back to the outdoor patio where the human in the red suit waited for us. I scanned the crowds, the corners, the overhead verandas and the tops of buildings, searching for anyone suspicious. For anyone who might be hiding a gun,