Description: CHAPTER 1 JUNE, SEVENTEEN AND A HALF YEARS LATER At six foot four and two hundred pounds, very few things frightened Ryker Davis. Dragons were one of those things, but they hardly counted since dragons weren't real. Or at least, they weren't supposed to be real. They weren't real yesterday. Today might rearrange that fact. Ryker had just finished building the machine that would prove one way or the other whether he inherited superpowers to fight dragons. Were dragons just myths from the Middle Ages-the work of wild fears turned into legends-or was reality about to make a 90-degree bend? The dragon heartbeat simulator was a metal box the size of a cedar chest and about as boring looking. According to the specifications, when it was turned on, it sent out energy waves that would fool his body into thinking a dragon was around. His dormant Slayer abilities would be triggered and he'd have extra strength, the ability to see in the dark, and one of the other dragon-fighting skills. Something along the lines of flight, throwing shields up, dousing fire, sending out freezing shocks, sending out fireballs, healing burns, or seeing what the dragon saw. So far, all the machine did was make a humming-thumping sound, like something was loose inside. He stared at it, not sure whether to feel discouraged or relieved that nothing amazing was happening to him. It was hard to feel anything but foolish while his cousin, Willow, stood by, making little quips to show that she thought the whole idea of dragon slayers was hilariously funny. "So if you're a superhero, are you going to start wearing brightly colored tights under your clothes?" "No, I've always thought that jeans were good superhero fashion." Ryker hadn't known that anyone considered dragon Slayer a career option until two years ago when he did an Internet search of his name and found the website RykerDavis.com. The site proclaimed, "All You Ever Wanted to Know about Ryker Davis." It had a password to get past the first page. The clue was, What does Ryker dream about? How could he not try to guess the password? For all he knew, one of the jerk-wad senior guys from the football team had put up the site to harass him. It bugged a few of them that the coach made Ryker starting varsity when he was a freshman. They'd never forgiven him for it. And they'd especially never forgiven him when he quit football a year later and went out for cross-country instead. Guys who could play varsity football weren't supposed to like cross-country better. Ryker had typed in a few things he thought the jerk-wads would say he dreamed about, but when none of them worked, he typed in the real answer. Dragons. Although strictly speaking, those weren't dreams. They were nightmares. Ryker didn't find any jokes or stupid pictures of himself. He found something completely different. And in many ways much worse. Ryker, although you're unaware of it, you belong to an elite group of teenagers called the Slayers. Dragon eggs are here in the country, lying dormant, and will hatch within a few years. The resulting dragons won't be humankind's friends. You've inherited powers necessary to fight them. Your subconscious already knows this-which is why you've always had an obsession with dragons. Granted, for as long as Ryker could remember, and he was seventeen, he'd liked weapons. As a child, he constantly stole the vacuum cleaner's hose attachment to use as a sword. Ditto for his dad's golf clubs. In kindergarten he turned a coat hanger into a bow and pencils into arrows. He started fencing lessons in third grade and now had a collection of swords that barely fit in his bedroom. And, okay, maybe he had a habit of buying plastic dragon toys, throwing them up in the air, and then seeing how many times he could slice through them before they hit the ground. But that didn't mean he had a dragon obsession . If he was obsessed with anything, it was hang gliding. I need to train you, the site read, but it must remain a secret. Tell no one. As if Ryker would tell anyone about the website. He was constantly worried someone he knew would find it and think he'd created it. Ryker didn't want to go through high school known as the weird guy who believed in dragons. The site gave a phone number, an e-mail address, and a name. Or at least part of one: Dr. B. Ryker hadn't contacted him. The guy was probably some wack job, and besides, Ryker's parents were ultra-paranoid about identity theft, strangers, and all things that went bump in the night. If it weren't for the fact that there were two other Ryker Davises who had information all over the Internet, his parents would already be freaked out that a website existed with his name. Ryker had kept tabs on the website over the last two years. He even started believing it. Or at least believed it enough that he had to know whether it was true. A couple weeks ago, Dr. B posted schematics on how to construct a dragon heartbeat simulator, and Ryker built it. He stared at the machine now. He didn't feel extra strong. Nothing changed in his vision. The light in the basement was as dim as it always was. Ryker picked up a screwdriver, walked over to the simulator, and twisted a screw tighter. It didn't need tightening. He had picked up the screwdriver to test his strength without being obvious about it. As he stepped away from the simulator, he took the screwdriver in one hand and tried to bend it. It remained straight. Willow swished her long blonde hair off her shoulders dramatically. She was tall, thin, and graceful-willowy-which was a good thing since it would be hard to live down a name like Willow if you were short and dumpy. "Can I be your sidekick?" It had been a mistake to let his cousin see the simulator. She had promptly e-mailed Dr. B and asked if a Batmobile came with the Slayer job description. Immediately after she sent her e-mail, Dr. B contacted her, giving his phone number and asking that Ryker call him. Yeah. Ryker wasn't going to do that. He fingered the screwdriver again. It still didn't bend. He tossed it onto the floor near his dad's toolbox and decided it served Willow right that she'd e-mailed Dr. B. The guy would probably send her daily spam trying to sell her tinfoil hats and elf repellent. Willow looked upward, thinking. "For my sidekick costume, I want a cute headband like the one Wonder Woman wears but not the star-spangled bathing suit. I mean, fighting crime shouldn't require a girl to shave her legs. That's asking too much." "I don't think you have to worry. I'm not experiencing any superpowers-at least not ones I didn't already have. I think my innate genius probably qualifies." Ryker kept his voice light, but there was a sort of numb disappointment filling him. He was normal. Like everybody else. Which meant he had an entire mundane, unimportant life to look forward to. "Maybe you're not trying hard enough," Willow said. "See if you can shoot spiderwebs from your palm." "Sorry," he said. "As much as I'd like to encase you in a web and leave you dangling somewhere, I can't." On the other hand, Ryker didn't have to worry about dragons attacking cities, or about his genetic responsibility to fight them. When he looked at it that way, a mundane, unimportant life wasn't such a bad thing. Dragons. Sheesh. When had he become so gullible? Willow let out a dramatic sigh. "I guess we'd better inform Dr. Alphabet Letters that you're not as cool as he thought." She picked up her Kindle. Dr. B's e-mail to them still sat on the screen. "Don't," Ryker said. With one swift motion he grabbed the Kindle out of Willow's hands. "Don't encourage whoever" He stopped talking when Willow let out a gasp. She stared, openmouthed at his hand. Ryker looked down. The Kindle had cracked. The screen was nothing but a starburst of lines and colors. Willow took a step toward him, her hands lifted in frustration. "What did you do that for?" Ryker peered at the broken Kindle, dumbfounded. "I didn't grab it that hard. It just shattered." Willow yanked what was left of the Kindle from his hand. Pieces of plastic fell onto the floor. "These don't just shatter . You must have" Her voice trailed off, her anger fading away. They looked at each other. Then they looked at the simulator. It was still making the same soft thudding sound. They looked back at each other. Neither said anything for a moment. "Do you feel extra strong?" Willow asked tentatively. "No," he said. "I still feel the same." Willow scanned the room, saw the screwdriver, and picked it up. "See if you can bend this." She handed it to him, then took a step back from him as though the screwdriver might not only shatter, but explode, too. Ryker laughed at the change in her expression. He already knew he couldn't. "I bet anyone can break an e-reader if they grab it wrong." He put one hand on the tip of the screwdriver and slowly applied pressure to show Willow it was pointless. "I'll buy you a new-" He didn't finish. His mind couldn't form words. The metal spike of the

Please Wait