The Dragon Guard by Emily Drake Page B

help? Was that the meaning of Ting’s warning?
    He rubbed his forehead. He hated not doing anything, but he knew he couldn’t; none of them could afford it if he did something wrong. Too much depended on it. He tried not to imagine ruining the lives of people who had somehow lived across centuries only to be done in by him in one afternoon!
    He got out his lavender crystal and rolled it lightly between his palms. The feeling of it was only slightly different from his first crystal, a banded quartz, and the only way he could describe it was the way he’d once told Trent: it was like holding an orange and a lemon with your eyes closed. You could tell they were different, but they were also very much the same. The crystal warmed to his touch and he looked into it, hoping for a glimpse of Tomaz and a knowledge of what he should do to help. Not going to Gavan grated on him every day, and he wasn’t sure he could respect Tomaz’s wishes much longer.
    Finding no hint of the Magicker, Jason opened his mind to even harder things . . . Gates. After all, Tomaz had told him that finding the third Gate was the most important thing he could do, and everything might anchor on that. If only he could. Jason looked deep into the gemstone, sinking into its translucent beauty, and his own thoughts. For long moments he felt himself drift, barely aware that his body lay in his bed, propped up by doubled-over pillows, with his stockinged feet tucked into covers folded at the bottom. The distance between here and now and wherever his thoughts were taking him seemed incredibly far. . . .
    Something latched onto him. He had just a moment to realize he was no longer moving aimlessly, but he was being tugged, pulled in a certain direction through nothingness. He experienced a moment of worry, as the tug became a yank and he felt himself catapulting through space and then . . . THUD!
    He hit something large and transparent and hard, and slid down it as though it were ice. When he hit bottom, he caught his breath, and stared at the other side of the icy window.
    A man lay as if in a tomb. Jason felt his whole body freeze, but it was not the man of his many nightmares, he already knew who that man was . . . Antoine Brennard . . . no, this was someone else, and he knew this man, too. And he did not lie atop a stone tomb as Brennard had before finally awakening, but he lay on a lounge, covered with a warm brown blanket, with a small pillow for his head, and a blanket tucked over his body except for his out-thrown arms, as if he’d been caught falling backward for all time, and then laid down for that moment when he would ultimately hit bottom.
    Someone had also left a tray next to the lounge, and there was a mug and a platter of biscuits, and a small vase with fresh flowers. As if someone, somewhere, loved him and waited for him to wake up. As if he had not died in that awful magickal duel.
    He had no air to breathe even as he let out a startled gasp, and when he blinked and drew back, everything had vanished, and he lay in his own bed again. No icy panels. No tray or lounge or blanketed Gregory, and he wondered if he had really seen it.
    But what if he had?
    This, after all, had been Gregory’s own crystal. Jason held it tightly. But what did it all mean?
    Before he could recover, the phone rang, its sound harsh and jangling in his room. He jumped, the open book across his lap falling to the floor in an angry rustle of pages. He picked the novel up, replacing the dust cover carefully and marking his page. The phone stopped abruptly halfway through its second ring and he knew someone in the house had answered it. To his surprise, though, he could hear Alicia’s voice filtering down the hallway and up into his attic room.
    â€œJa-son! It’s Trent, for you.”
    Jason picked the receiver up, said, “I’ve got it, thanks!” and waited for the click before he said, “Trent? What’s up?”
    â€œYou