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  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Don’t,” Flint sneered. “You think all this is going to prepare you for the Midnight Sun? They’re going to eat you alive.”

  “You would know,” said Clay angrily. “You were the Midnight Sun’s spy. Or did you think we all forgot?”

  Clay stared hard at Flint. He still couldn’t believe that Mr. Bailey hadn’t kicked Flint out of camp after learning about his betrayal. (“If I expelled everyone with a criminal record, there’d be nobody left,” Mr. B had explained, only half joking. “This camp is all about second chances.”)

  Flint stared back at Clay. For a moment it looked as though he might slug Clay. Or shoot a fireball at him. But he appeared to think better of it.

  Flint eyed Clay’s open backpack. “Secrets of the Occulta Draco, huh? You steal that from the library again?”

  Clay shrugged. “So? You should talk.” Flint had stolen the very same volume from the library the year before.

  “Yeah, I should, shouldn’t I?” Flint walked out, chuckling.

  “Bye,” said Kwan to his departing back. “Tool.”

  Brett looked at Clay clinically. “Why would you admit that? Your problem is you’re too honest.”

  “It’s one of his worst qualities,” Mira agreed. “He’s a terrible actor.”

  Leira nodded somberly. “This is going to be a disaster.”

  “He can’t handle this mission alone,” said Brett. “If only we could go with him.”

  “Thanks for the votes of confidence, guys,” said Clay, not sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry.

  Pablo looked from Clay to the others. A smile spread across his face. “I think I have an idea.…”

  After his long training session, Clay barely had time to pack—in a trendy duffel bag borrowed from Brett—before it was time to go.

  As his friends gathered by the ocean to see him off, he watched Owen transfer boxes to his dingy old seaplane via a small rowboat. Clay remembered the first time he saw Owen’s plane, more than a year before; he’d wondered then whether such a rusty piece of machinery could actually fly. If anything, the plane looked more beat up now. And this flight was going to be a lot longer than the flight to camp!

  “Not a very swanky ride, is it?” said Kwan, standing beside him. “I mean, considering you’re supposed to be billionaires.”

  Clay smiled thinly. His sense of humor had started to fade hours ago—just around the time he learned he was going to visit the Midnight Sun.

  Pablo walked up to them, hiding something behind his back. “I’ve got one more thing for you to take.”

  Clay eyed him warily. “What does a guy need besides exploding chewing gum?”

  “This!” said Pablo, revealing what he was hiding: a black ski cap. Pablo tugged it over Clay’s head, messing up his hair and covering his eyes.

  “Hey!” Clay protested. “Did you forget I’m going to the desert? It’s going to be, like, a thousand degrees.”

  “It’s for your character,” said Brett, before Clay could remove the hat. “You know, the hipster rich kid trying to look street. Don’t ever take it off.”

  “Great,” Clay grumbled. The hat was already making his scalp itch.

  “Well, it’s better than that helmet your brother gave you, anyway,” came a voice in his ear.

  “What the—?” Clay reeled around.

  The voice in his ear laughed. It was Leira, but Clay didn’t see her anywhere.

  “Look behind you.”

  He glanced around and saw her heading up the beach toward them. She waved, revealing a large conch shell in her hand.

  “Pablo made this rad long-range two-way radio with some hanger wire and this old shell,” she continued, talking into the conch. “So we can keep helping you when you’re out there playing dragon whisperer.”

  “You mean, so you can keep making fun of me,” Clay said, imagining the long hours ahead, with Brett and Leira laughing at him in his ear.

  “That too.”

  He shook his itchy head. “Thanks. You guys think of everything.”

  “Seriously, this way I can talk you through your first act of grand theft,” said Leira when she reached him. Her voice echoed in his ears. “When you want us, all you have to do is talk. If you don’t hear us right away, it means we put down the shell for a minute. Tap the side of your ski hat, and we’ll know to get on the line.”

  “Okay, got it,” said Clay. “But can you stop talking into that shell? You’re giving me a headache.”

  “Fine,” said Leira, reluctantly lowering the conch shell. “What else are you taking with you? What about the book?”

  “The Occulta Draco? Yeah. I got it.”

  Leira nodded slowly. “So you’re not worried about it getting into the wrong hands? Not that it would. I mean, unless…”

  “Unless they catch me,” Clay completed her sentence.

  “Right. But that’s not going to happen,” added Leira, a beat too late.

  Clay hesitated, thinking about all the secrets revealed in the Occulta Draco. Besides, he’d read the book so many times, he practically knew it word for word.

  “No, no, you’re right,” he said finally. “That would be bad. You’d better put it back in the library for me.” Clay reached into his backpack and felt around. “Wait, where is it…?” He gave Leira a look.

  She shook her head. “I swear I didn’t take it this time.”

  Clay stared at her. She looked so serious he almost believed her.

  “Who, then?” Clay demanded, panic churning his stomach. He didn’t want to think about what losing the book might mean.

  “I dunno. You sure you didn’t drop it somewhere?”

  Clay thought back, trying to remember the last time he saw the Occulta Draco.

  “Flint,” he said suddenly.

  “What?”

  “Flint took it. I’m sure he did. When he was in Big Yurt, my bag was open.” Clay looked up and down the beach. Flint was nowhere to be seen.

  “C’mon, get in, Clay!” Owen shouted from the rowboat that would take them to the plane.

  “Okay—just a sec!” Clay replied.

  “Get it back from him,” he said quietly to Leira. “Please.”

  She nodded. “I’ll try. And, hey, give me a shout when you need me.” She pointed to the ski hat on his head. “Any problem—I’ll be there.”

  “Thanks,” said Clay, meaning it. “But don’t get all nice on me all of a sudden. You’re scaring me.”

  Glancing around one last time, Clay started walking toward the water. With or without the Occulta Draco, it was time to go.

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  THE NEWS FROM CAMP

  Clay started feeling grateful for the ski hat almost as soon as they were in the air: It muffled the roar of the engine, as well as the alarming clanking sounds that rattled the plane at frequent but jarringly irregular intervals.

  Almost muffled them, that is.

  He glanced over at the pilot. “Hey, Owen…?”

  Owen looked back at his young passenger. There was sweat on Clay’s brow. “Not to worry, pal—it’s going to take more than a little turbulence to knock this baby out of the sky. But if you have to puke, there’s a bucket behind your seat.”

  He smiled reassuringly, but Clay noticed that Owen’s knuckles were white. He had a very tight grip on the seaplane’s steering wheel.

  “Actually, it’s about the Midnight Sun,” said Clay. “This is going to sound totally crazy, but they’re not actually vampires, are they? That was just an expression, right?”

  Owen hesitated, as though Clay’s question wasn’t crazy at all. “Well, some of them are pretty old—hundreds and hundreds of years old—but they’re not vampires exactly. They’re alchemists. The Midnight Sun is on a never-ending search for a potion that will make them live forever.”

  “Okay…” Their being hundreds of years old was not the same as their being vampires, but it was hardly any bette
r. “And what’s with the white gloves? They really never take them off?”

  “Never,” said Owen. “Because no matter how young their faces look, their hands always show their age.”

  Clay shuddered, imagining their secretly withering hands.

  “But do yourself a favor and act like you don’t notice the gloves. Asking about them is the quickest way to get your head bitten off.”

  “They do that, too?” asked Clay, joking (mostly).

  Owen laughed. “Well, maybe not literally.” He reached over and patted Clay on the shoulder. “Whatever you’re worrying about, don’t. It’s all going to be fine. You saved Ariella once before, didn’t you?”

  Clay tried to smile back, but then they hit the worst bit of turbulence yet, and he focused on sitting still and not losing his lunch.

  Clay jerked awake to find that he had drooled all over his chin and the sun was peeking over the horizon. Below them, the dark ocean had been replaced by sunbaked desert.

  “Morning, welcome to Africa,” Owen said. “We’re already over the Kalahari. About twenty minutes now.”

  They passed over deep jagged ravines and wide desert plateaus. Past one particularly impressive canyon, a flock of birds appeared beside the plane. Clay watched them for a moment. Rather than flying in one direction, in a V formation, the birds swooped and dove, circling erratically.

  “Is that… normal?” Clay asked.

  Owen frowned. “I don’t think so.”

  “They look lost.”

  “Maybe their brains got scrambled by airplane sonar? Or a change in the magnetic fields?”

  They’re scared, Clay thought as the flailing birds disappeared from view.

  Owen pointed out the windshield. “There—that’s where we’re going.”

  Clay peered out into the desert. He could just make out the crater near the horizon; from this distance, the giant ring of rock looked like an upside-down bottle cap lying on the ground.

  There was a crackling in Clay’s ear. As he clutched his ski hat, he heard Leira’s voice, shouting at him.

  “Clay! Clay! Come in, Clay!”

  “I hear you,” he said, wincing. “You don’t have to yell so loud.”

  “It’s Mount Forge,” she said, slightly out of breath. “It’s erupting.”

  “When is it NOT erupting?”

  “Not like this.” Leira sounded uncharacteristically serious. “You should see it—like a geyser. And the lava’s heading right toward camp. I mean, you know how lava flows are—not exactly fast. But still, looks like we’re going to have to evacuate.”

  “Evacuate?”

  “Mr. B says you have to abort the mission and come back. Right now. We need the plane.”

  “What about the teepee?”

  “You think that thing can fly all the way across the ocean?”

  Owen grabbed Clay’s shoulder. “What’s going on?”

  “They want us to turn around.” Clay told Owen what Leira had said.

  Owen let loose a string of swear words that I won’t repeat here, then abruptly cut it off. “Well, I guess we don’t have a choice, do we?”

  Clay looked down at the crater, which was looming larger and larger in front of them. A moment ago, he’d been terrified at the prospect of staying with the Midnight Sun. Now he found himself unexpectedly disappointed to be aborting his mission.

  More than disappointed. Devastated.

  “Do we both have to turn around?” he asked.

  “Huh?” Owen said.

  “Huh?” Leira said in his ear.

  Clay clenched his fists and sat up straight. “I want to stay at the Keep, even if I have to do it alone.”

  “You’re asking me to leave you there by yourself?” said Owen, incredulous.

  Clay nodded. “But I won’t be by myself—that’s the point. Cass and Ariella are there. And if I don’t get them out, who will?”

  “No way,” Owen said. “Your brother would kill me. Never mind Mr. B.”

  “Say I jumped out of the plane before you could stop me. Besides, if they really need to evacuate camp, I’ll just be taking up more space.”

  “Did you think I was just kidding about the Midnight Sun? These people… well, this isn’t like an overnight at your grandma’s house.”

  “I know. Don’t worry—all I have to do is get to Ariella and I’ll be fine,” said Clay, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. “Once that dragon is free, nobody can hurt me.”

  “But how would you get back?” Owen said.

  “On Ariella’s back. Wasn’t that the plan?”

  Owen looked out over the desert, which was growing lighter all the time.

  “Cass could die there otherwise,” Clay persisted. “Ariella, too.”

  “All right,” Owen said finally. “I know I’m going to regret this, but okay.”

  “Really?” Clay blurted. “I mean, good! I can do it—I know I can.”

  “Are you sure?” said Leira in Clay’s ear. “Shouldn’t we ask Mr. B first?”

  “NO!” said Clay. “I mean, please don’t. This is my decision.”

  There was a pause at the other end. “Okay, but Brett and I are going to stay in your ear twenty-four/seven. We’re not letting you do this alone.”

  “Don’t you have some lava to worry about?” Clay muttered.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  Clay glanced over at the pilot’s seat to see if Owen was having second thoughts. Owen stared out the windshield, grim but determined.

  Directly ahead of them, the crater rose like a massive fortress out of the desert landscape. By the looks of it, the only thing harder than getting in would be getting out.

  A moment later, the plane began its final descent.

  “What’s that?” Clay asked. “Not a jet stream, right? Aren’t they usually white and puffy?”

  Something had appeared in front of them: a bright silvery line, just above the crater. It looked like a cut or slit in the sky, as if someone had sliced into the sky with a gigantic knife, revealing some secret light source behind the blue. Clay almost thought he could see lightning inside. Or maybe blinking stars. The air around the line shimmered strangely.

  “Dunno,” said Owen. “But you should probably be more concerned about what’s waiting on the ground.”

  “Yeah, guess so,” said Clay, his whole body tense.

  More birds flew around the plane, pinwheeling haphazardly. There was only one consistent thing about their movements: All the birds were heading away from the exact spot Clay was headed toward.

  FROM Secrets of the Occulta Draco; or, The Memoirs of a Dragon Tamer

  I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: You cannot train a dragon. It cannot be made to hunt like a dog or to fly on command like a hawk or a falcon. Many are the falconers who have tried to train a dragon with hoods and ropes, as they train their birds; they have paid for their hubris with their lives.*

  In short, a dragon is not your servant.

  Still less is a dragon your friend. Friendship as such has no meaning to a dragon.

  And yet, between our species and theirs, a relationship of mutual trust and respect is possible. In the Occulta Draco, we call this relationship an alliance. Like an alliance between nations, the alliance between dragon and Dragon Tamer must never be broken, else death and destruction will surely result.

  How is the alliance made? Alas, there is no surefire method of allying with a dragon, any more than there is for allying with a person. Less so, in fact. Two people may at least have interests in common. There are no commonalities between dragons and people, and do not forget it.

  However, broadly speaking, most alliances are forged in one of three ways:

  1. The bestowing of a gift, such as food or gold. Be warned: Many gifts are interpreted by dragons as insults. Do nothing that will suggest that a dragon is needy or greedy.

  2. The performance of a favor, such as the retrieval of an object from a place that a dragon
cannot reach. Again, one must be careful not to insult a dragon by emphasizing any inability on its part.

  3. A song. Though dragons cannot themselves make music, they are sometimes entranced by it. However, be sure that it is the right song and that you sing it well. There is nothing harsher than the criticism of a dragon.

  CHAPTER

  SIX

  THE AIRSTRIP IN THE DESERT

  As Owen lowered the seaplane onto the Keep’s narrow landing strip, Clay kept looking up at the strange line in the sky. It seemed like a warning, like one of those marks hoboes leave on farmhouse walls: Danger! Evil people here—stay away!

  He was on the verge of telling Owen not to land after all when the plane hit the ground with such a jolt that Clay was certain it would break into pieces on the spot.

  “Does this thing even have wheels?” Clay asked, his face pale.

  “Sure, but, well, she prefers the water, no question,” admitted Owen.

  As the plane taxied to a halt, Owen kept one hand on the steering wheel and pulled his shirt off with the other. By the time the propeller stopped spinning, he was transformed: He wore a navy-blue suit and dark sunglasses, his bald head was as shiny as a billiard ball, and he looked ready to guest star as a villainous billionaire on a crime show.

  “Here, you’ll be needing this more than I will.” Owen removed a diving watch from his wrist and handed it to Clay.

  “What does it do?” asked Clay, his throat dry. “Explode?”

  “No. Just tells time.” Owen smiled. “Ready for nothing?”

  “Yeah… definitely.” Forcing himself to move, Clay hoisted his backpack onto his shoulders and tugged the ski cap down around his head. He could feel a bead of sweat rolling down his back.

  Owen nodded. “Let’s rock.”

  With that, he opened the door, and they both jumped from the seaplane to the airstrip.

  Someone had rolled out a red carpet for them, but the plane had stopped just shy of it, so they had to make the awkward walk over to where the carpet began. The asphalt was so hot it made the air wavy, and Clay could feel the bottoms of his sneakers melting.*