The Dragon's Descent (10 page)

“Them?” Clover asked, feeling her heart skip a little.

“Two of 'em.”

Clover tried to process that.

“It doesn't make sense, though,” Vero said. “The old lady patient attacked me, but then another malture, one not in disguise, showed up. And instead of going after me or Tack, it went after the old lady and then they both disappeared.” Vero got more upset as he talked. “Tack saw me fighting with the old lady. I had to break her fingers to get her off of me.”

Clover was terrified by the nonchalant manner in which Vero was describing his fight with a malture.

“Wait . . . You broke an old lady's fingers while you were volunteering at the hospital?” Clover exclaimed.

“Well, yeah. I mean, she was a malture, and she was grabbing me. What would you have done? Anyway, now Tack's all freaked out by me. You're still the only one who knows what I really am.”

Clover took a moment to get over the horror. Apparently, she was a little freaked out by Vero too. But eventually, after several deep breaths, she was able to process it.

“Then you have to tell him the truth.”

“I don't know if the archangels will let me. Before, whenever I tried to tell someone something I wasn't supposed to, they always sent a fire truck past with its siren blaring or something loud to drown it out.”

“But they didn't when you told me,” Clover said.

Vero nodded.

“Did you ever think that maybe the archangels want Tack to know? I mean, why else was he even able to see the maltures? And though the truth is definitely shocking at first, when I started to think about it, it all made sense. Like when you kept trying to fly or jumped two hurdles at a time. Maybe when Tack puts it all together, it will make sense for him too.”

Vero shrugged.

“But why were you attacked? They just don't randomly attack people, right?”

Vero looked down. He clearly didn't want to answer. Clover punched him in the shoulder to get his attention. “Tell me.”

“It's almost time for me to fulfill my mission. And I think it's making the maltures nervous.”

Clover looked down and closed her eyes tight, trying to hold back tears. When she peeked up, Vero looked at her, his expression full of compassion and longing—longing to stay on earth with her. After a few moments, Clover composed herself and looked straight at him.

“You told me I was going to help you with whatever this mission is, so let me know when it's time,” she said before getting up and walking out of his room.

Clover sat two seats behind Vero on the bus ride to school the following morning, next to her best friend, Vicki, who was trying to apply mascara to her close-set, brown eyes while Clover held up a small mirror. The bus hit a pothole, causing Vicki's hand to hit her forehead, smearing it with mascara. The black mascara was about the same color as Vicki's hair, so it almost looked like she simply had a few hairs out of place . . . almost.

“Does he have to hit every single bump?” Vicki asked, outraged. “It's like he does it on purpose! And this is waterproof!”

Clover didn't answer. She couldn't care less. All her thoughts were of Vero. The thought of losing her brother was unbearable, yet she had faith that she could survive Vero's death. She was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that one day she would be reunited with her brother forever.

“Mr. Harmon, I think there are a few potholes you missed!” Vicki shouted, glaring at the back of the bus driver's head.

When Mr. Harmon had first gotten the job, he had been a baby-faced nineteen-year-old, straight out of high
school. The kids had treated him with little respect. But even though he was a few years older and looked the part, his passengers still treated him with little respect, so he made sure to hit the brakes . . . hard. Vicki's mascara wand poked her forehead once again.

“Ah!” Vicki screamed. “I
know
he's doing it on purpose.”

Clover actually managed to giggle at the sight of her friend's forehead, black with mascara. Once the bus stopped, a group of kids walked on. Clover looked up and saw Tack walking down the aisle. When he got to Vero, her brother pushed toward the window to make room for him. Tack looked at Vero for a moment then continued down the aisle. Clover watched as a hurt look came over Vero's face when Tack took a seat farther back. Clover wanted to yell at Tack and cuss him out for being so mean, but she remembered she had once treated Vero the same exact way. When strange things were happening around Vero, she too had been afraid of things she didn't understand.

The bus came to a stop in the circular driveway of the high school. As Clover stood, she felt Tack's eyes on her. As she walked down the aisle alongside Vicki, Clover leaned over Vero and whispered in his ear, knowing that Tack was secretly watching.

“Tell him,” she said in a low voice.

Vero looked hesitant, but then nodded.

Before the bus came to a complete stop at the Attleboro Middle School, Tack raced up the aisle to the front. He was the first person off the bus. Vero looked out the
window and watched as Tack hurried into the school, avoiding him.

It didn't get any better during the remainder of the school day. Wherever Vero went, Tack gave him the cold shoulder. Every time Vero approached him, Tack either turned his back or simply walked away.

After lunch, a rowdy group of boys ran down the school hallway. One shoved a stack of books out of Nate's hands, laughing as Nate bent down to pick them up. As Vero leaned over to drink from the hallway water fountain, another boy smacked the back of Vero's head into the stream of water. Vero turned around, water dripping down his nose.

“Hey, Leland, looks like your nose runs and your feet smell . . . you must be built upside down!” the boy yelled as he ran past with his friends.

While the boys laughed at Vero, he spotted Tack standing in the hallway. They made eye contact, but Tack shook his head at him. Even though he wasn't hanging out with the obnoxious group of boys, Tack had not come to Vero's rescue. The boys continued down the hall, slamming any open locker doors shut in kids' faces. And Tack just turned and walked the opposite way.

Davina approached Vero. “Did you and Tack have a fight?” she asked innocently.

“Not really, but he's mad at me.”

“Sounds like we're in the same boat,” she said sadly. “I still have no clue why Danny won't talk to me.”

“I'm sorry,” Vero said.

“I'd like to know what I did wrong to make him hate me,” Davina said. “Do you know why Tack's mad at you?”

Vero nodded. “But it's something I can't do anything about.”

“You guys have been friends forever. I'm sure it'll just blow over.”

Recalling Tack's terrified face in the hospital, Vero didn't share her confidence.

“How'd it go?” Clover asked as she looked up at Vero, who was standing on a metal ladder while cleaning out the gutters in the front of their house. Her backpack was still slung over her shoulder, and she was wearing a school T-shirt and shorts. “I've been dying to know all day. I almost skipped volleyball practice so I could come home early.”

Vero dropped a soggy handful of decomposing leaves to the ground with a loud splat. He started making his way back down, and Clover supported the ladder until he reached the ground.

“So? How did he take it?”

“I didn't tell him. He avoided me the whole day.” Vero sighed as he leaned against the bottom rung.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I think he really hates me, and I can't blame him. I put his life in danger. But worse, I've been hiding who I am from my best friend.”

“It's not your fault—those are the cards you've been dealt,” Clover told him.

Vero shrugged.

“Take this,” Clover said, shoving her backpack into his chest. “I'm taking your bike.”

She walked over to the open garage, grabbed a helmet, got on Vero's mountain bike, and pedaled down the street.

Tack was shooting hoops in his driveway when he heard Pork Chop, his English bulldog, barking excitedly. He held the basketball to his chest and turned around to see Clover dropping Vero's bike to the ground on his front lawn. His heart sank at the sight of her unfastening her helmet. He didn't want to hear what she had to say, and fought the urge to bolt.

“I know how you feel,” Clover said, kneeling down to pet Pork Chop.

Tack stood, looking at her, waiting to hear what she had to say next.

“He didn't know what he was until two years ago. He was as clueless as the rest of us.”

Tack looked at her, unsure what she was talking about, and afraid to ask. But the part of him that needed to know said, “What is he?”

“He's one of the good guys.” Clover locked eyes with Tack. “He's a guardian angel, or will be one day.”

The basketball dropped from Tack's hands. His mouth dropped open as he staggered back. He sat on a small retaining wall, stunned. Clover stopped petting Pork Chop and joined him.

“It all makes sense. Doesn't it?” Clover said. “Always trying to fly. Jumping the hurdles in track. And remember when he was kicked off the bus?”

Tack remembered. Two winters ago, Vero yanked the wheel of the school bus during a blizzard. He had claimed a car was heading straight for the bus, but nobody else saw it happen.

“One of those creatures that attacked you in the elevator had been in that oncoming car. Vero saved us all.”

Tack took that in for a moment. His brain scrambled to connect the dots representing all the strange events surrounding Vero through the years—flying, pulling the snake off Davina, the amazing feats in track and field, and the bus freak out. All the incidents he had tried to brush off, unable to understand them until now.

“I was terrible to him for so long because I didn't understand . . . I thought if I was mean to him, it'll all go away, that it would stop,” Clover said, shaking her head. “I'm embarrassed to say, but I was afraid of him.”