The Dragon Guard Read Online Free

mainly that it would be one day next weekend, depending on when the park let them play.
    Her mouth curved. “William will be so pleased, and I think he’ll be able to get the day off.”
    â€œHow’s the new development going?”
    She shook her head. “Some sort of trouble with the permits, and you know how he hates paperwork. But he’ll get it smoothed out soon, I’m sure.” She watched Jason polish off the first sandwich. “You have homework for tonight?”
    He crunched down on a bright orange-red Terra Chip. Sweet potato, one of his favorites. His stepmother had this illusion that this variety was healthier than the old-fashioned potato chip, and she was probably right, but at least he didn’t have to eat tofu. Too often. “Yup, and I have to finish the packet you gave me for next year.”
    â€œCan you finish that for me tonight?”
    He didn’t want to. It was thick, and dull. She saw him hesitate.
    â€œYou really need to get that done, Jason. You’ve passed the tests, but your high school is a magnet school—it will be attracting students from all over for its programs. You need to sit down, make some decisions, and finish filling out your paperwork. This is a serious time. You have to decide what to study, for what you want to be for the rest of your life.”
    Jason stopped in mid swallow. There was no way he could tell her he’d already decided what he wanted to be the rest of his life: a Magicker. There was no way she’d believe him, even if he could break the Vow of Silence and get the words out. Finally, he finished swallowing and said contritely, “I know. I’ll get it done, I promise.”
    Joanne smiled brightly. “Good, good. I’m here, and William is here, if you want to ask us anything later. He has lots of good advice he wants to give you, but . . . well, he’s waiting until you ask for it.”
    He gave a crooked smile. His stepfather, big, outdoorsman-looking William McIntire, often known as “the Dozer,” had worked in construction all his life. He was a good man, and Jason couldn’t ask for more, he supposed, unless it was the advice of his own mother and father, both dead. He dusted bread crumbs off his hand. “What do you think my dad would have said?”
    Pain shot through Joanna’s face. She looked down at her note cards as her right hand twitched slightly. Then she looked back up. “Jason,” she said quietly. “I didn’t know him long enough to be able to answer that. I wish I could have.”
    His throat tightened, and he suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore. “Me, too,” he got out, standing up and taking his plate to the sink where he rinsed it once or twice. When he thought he could talk again, he set the sandwich plate down on the counter and said, “I better go get that stuff done,” and headed upstairs without meeting her gaze.
    His was the highest room in the house, the attic made into a large, sprawling bedroom reached only by a trapdoor ladder. He liked it . . . no, he loved it. It was his and his alone, private and unique. As if sensing his need for absolute solitude now and then, McIntire had had this room made for him and drawing the trapdoor ladder up after him and securing it had a medieval sense to it, like pulling up the draw-bridge over a castle moat. He retreated into it now, picking up his clothes to be washed later, and stowing them in the laundry bag in the corner before dropping onto his bed.
    He took a close look at his left hand. The crescent-shaped scar just under the knuckles along the back of it appeared as a thin white line and well healed. But he knew it could and would flare an angry red and ache beyond reason if anything evil approached him. It had before, and it would again. What he didn’t know was why. Why had the wolfish beast marked him, and why did it never seem to really heal, and why did it hurt