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  Also by Mari Mancusi

  Scorched

  Shattered

  Copyright © 2015 by Mari Mancusi Beach

  Cover and internal design ©2015 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover digital illustration © 2015 by Tony Sahara

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Fire, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  Fax: (630) 961-2168

  www.sourcebooks.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Mancusi, Mari.

  Smoked / Mari Mancusi.

  pages cm

  Sequel to: Shattered.

  Summary: “When Team Dragon finally rescues Emmy--now a full-grown dragon--they think the future is safe. Until Emmy reveals a secret: she’s laid two dragon eggs, and her offspring may bring about the fiery apocalypse they’ve all fought so hard to prevent”-- Provided by publisher.

  (13 : alk. paper) [1. Adventure and adventurers--Fiction. 2. Supernatural--Fiction. 3. Dragons--Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.M312178Sm 2015

  [Fic]--dc23

  2015009889

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Part 1: Ash

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Part 2: Ember

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Part 3: Smolder

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Part 4: Flare

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Part 5: Char

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  To Mark and Ana Beach, for your continued dragon-sized support and love! You are the best in-laws a girl could have and I feel privileged to have you in my life.

  PART 1:

  ASH

  Prologue

  Year 190 Post-Scorch

  “Emergency. Emergency. Dragons incoming. Please proceed calmly to the nearest flame shelter. This is not a drill. I repeat: this is not a drill.”

  Sixteen-year-old Connor Jacks watched as the hallway erupted in chaos, doors bursting open, bodies spilling out everywhere, not a single soul seemingly interested in proceeding with any level of calm whatsoever. Instead, hands were clawing and eyes were bulging as howls of panic nearly managed to drown out the warning sirens above. All around, red lights flashed angrily, effectively capturing the mood as neighbor shoved neighbor, friend trampled friend.

  In the dragon apocalypse, it was every man, woman, and child for themselves. A crush of the worst humanity had left to offer.

  “Dragons incoming. Estimated arrival time: fifteen minutes,” droned the computerized female voice over the loudspeaker, not exactly helping matters. “Fourteen minutes fifty-nine seconds. Fourteen minutes—”

  “Move, damn it!”

  Large hands shoved Connor in the back, out of the doorway he had been standing in and into the violent sea of people who crashed over him in waves and knocked him off balance. His hands slammed against the concrete floor first, followed by his knees, and he oomphed in pain as heavy boots trampled his fingers without apology. Biting his lower lip, he struggled back to his feet, grudgingly allowing himself to be swept along with the mob.

  He felt a pulse at his side, a slight heat indicating an incoming message on his transcriber. His eyes darted around the hall, finally settling on an empty doorway a few feet ahead. Lunging forward, he managed to traverse the mob and dive through, landing in the entryway of a now-empty home of some Strata-C family. Like most Strata-C homes, this one was small, carved out of rock, and contained only the most basic of belongings. A crude kitchen table and chairs. A few cabinets. Hammocks to sleep in. Only a small, pink plastic teddy bear, abandoned in the middle of a concrete floor, gave any indication of the makeup of the family who might have called this place home.

  Well, that and the giant full-color poster of Connor himself, one of the limited edition “Dragon Hunter Heroes” series that the Council had released a few months back and given to school children under the age of ten. He made a face. The artist had exaggerated his physique to the point of caricature, as well as the size of the gun-blade in his hands. The caption read Hasta La Vista, Dragon Spawn!—which they’d embarrassingly assigned as his catchphrase even though he’d protested that he’d never say anything so corny in real life. But the Council had insisted catchphrases increased morale, and so what could he do? Whatever gave these poor people hope, he supposed. Though if the fate of the known world really was relying on catchphrases, the world was totally screwed.

  He pulled his transcriber from his belt, running his fingers across the smooth side. A hologram popped up, and an image of his friend and fellow Dragon Hunter Troy looked back at him, his face pale. “Jacks!” he cried in a hoarse voice. “Where are you? Are you anywhere near Subterra A? Damien up at the watchtower counted five headed your way, and we’re all stuck over at E, working the peace rally you bailed o
n. We’re headed back now, but we won’t be there in time.” Troy scowled, and Connor couldn’t help but remember his friend’s catchphrase—You feeling lucky, dragon punk? “The Council is recommending nukes.”

  Connor cringed. Of course they were. He pressed the record button to send a reply to his fellow soldier. “Tell them to stand down,” he barked. “I’m not far. I’ll handle it.”

  He sent the message then reattached the transcriber to his belt. Brushing his hair from his eyes, he exited the home and stepped back into the hallway. The once-crowded passage was eerily vacant now, with all the people of Strata-C hopefully safe and sound in the flame shelters below. Waiting for him to get the job done so they could get back to their everyday lives.

  Connor ran down the hallway, his footsteps pounding to the rhythm of the flashing red lights as he made his way to the surface ’vator that would take him where he needed to go. But as he took a corner too quickly, he found himself nearly tripping over something on the floor. He looked down.

  Make that someone.

  The little girl couldn’t have been much older than six, and her grubby face was stained with tears as she sucked on the end of a messy pigtail. She looked up at Connor with wide, awestruck eyes.

  “Are you one of them?” she asked in a tiny voice. “Are you a Dragon Hunter?”

  Suddenly her fear seemed forgotten as she rummaged through her filthy backpack, pulling out a trading card–size version of the poster Connor had seen in the house. She studied it for a moment, then looked back up at him. “It is you!” she cried excitedly. “Can you sign my card?”

  “Where’s your family?” Connor demanded. He needed to get moving. But he couldn’t rightly leave the girl out here, exposed and unprotected and alone. These quarters weren’t far from the Surface Lands and could go up quickly if the dragons weren’t stopped.

  Or worse—if the Council did pull out the nukes.

  The girl dropped her hand, looking dejected. “We got separated. And then they closed the ’vators,” she warbled in a thin voice. “They wouldn’t let me down.”

  “What?” Connor frowned. This was, of course, completely against protocol. The ’vator operators were supposed to do a complete head count before closing down to make sure everyone in the strata was accounted for. But that didn’t mean it always happened, especially during a major panic like this one had been.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Salla,” the girl whispered. “My name is Salla. And I’m scared.” She stuck a grubby thumb into her mouth.

  “Okay, Salla, I’m going to get you to a shelter.” Connor scooped the girl into his arms then switched directions, once again traversing the empty hall with as much speed as he could manage. Thankfully the girl was a light load.

  He grabbed his transcriber with his free hand, pushing on it to call Damien above. “I’ll be there in a second!” he told the Watcher.

  “Hurry,” Damien’s voice crackled back. “It’s bad up here.”

  It’s bad down here too.

  They reached the ’vator, and Connor lowered Salla to her feet so he could rummage for his key card to summon it. Soon the two of them were shooting down into the earth below. When they reached floor negative 23, containing the last flame shelter one mile beneath the surface of the earth, the doors slid open, revealing two guards standing watch.

  Seeing Connor and the grimy girl, they barked, “No room.”

  But there was plenty of room, Connor saw. In fact, he had never seen a more roomy emergency shelter in his life. The people inside, dressed in finery, sipping sparkling beverages, chatting as if they were at the social event of the season, not hiding out from monsters. He thought about some of the other shelters he’d seen a few levels up, where there was barely room to turn around. He’d heard rumors of these places—where guards accepted bribes and turned others away. It made him sick to his stomach to see it for himself.

  He reached into his shirt and whipped out the badge that hung from a chain around his neck. He didn’t like to pull rank, but at the moment, he didn’t have time to screw around.

  The guards’ eyes widened as the badge flashed under the fluorescent lights. They looked at one another and then back at Connor, nervous grins erupting on their faces.

  “So sorry, sir. We didn’t recognize you,” babbled one.

  “Of course you can come in. Anything you need. It’s an honor to—”

  He waved them off angrily. “This girl is under my protection,” he stated, forcing his voice to stay even. “Take her and make sure she has water and something to eat.”

  “Of course! Of course!” the first guard assured him hastily. “I’ll treat her as if she were my own daughter.” He reached for the girl. Salla looked back at Connor with terrified eyes.

  “Don’t leave me!” she cried. “Please, Mr. Dragon Hunter!”

  “You need to be brave, Salla,” Connor commanded, hoping he sounded cool and confident and not the least bit afraid. “I’ve got to go. I have to fight the dragons and make things safe for you.”

  Salla thankfully seemed to get this. She smiled at Connor. “Hasta la vista, dragon spawn!” she cried, raising her fist in a cheer.

  He smiled back weakly, then forced himself to repeat it, trying not to blush too hard as he did. Then he gave her a last salute before running back to the ’vator.

  It was time to go slay some dragons.

  Chapter One

  Present Day

  “Come on. They should be here by now.”

  Sixteen-year-old Trinity Foxx glanced down at the clock on her disposable cell phone, then over at Connor, who was sitting next to her, in the driver’s seat of the delivery truck. He turned to her, a sympathetic look on his face.

  “Yes, you’ve mentioned that,” he said wryly. “About fifty times in the last five minutes, I believe.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry, Trin. They’ll come.”

  Trinity nodded absently, still staring out the grimy windshield. The wind had picked up, and the sand on the desert floor was swirling around like a living, breathing thing. Her gaze traveled to the large, gray building squatting in the distance, and she narrowed her eyes at it. As if the architecture itself were to blame for all their misfortune. “Well, they’d better get here soon if this is going to work.”

  And why do you think it will work this time? an ugly voice inside her head jeered. When it’s never worked before?

  It was, unfortunately, a valid question. In fact, it’d been nearly six months since her dragon, Emmy, had been captured and brought to this secret government lab buried deep in the Mojave Desert. Six months since Trinity had started receiving distress calls from Scarlet, who had surrendered along with her. Six months since they’d started formulating and acting out rescue plans that had failed to free either girl or dragon. Why should this one be any different?

  “Oh, Emmy,” she whispered. “Are you still in there? Are you okay?”

  The worst part was, once upon a time, she would have known the answer to those questions. Would have heard the answer—straight from the dragon’s mouth. Well, her subconscious whisper, anyway. Since before Emmy had even hatched from her egg, she and Trinity had shared a special bond. Fire Kissed, they called it. It allowed them to talk without speaking, share thoughts and feelings over thin air. And when they combined their powers together, they could bend people’s minds and wills. At times, Trinity had been sure there was nothing she and her dragon couldn’t do—if they did it together.

  But that bond had long since severed. Dragon and Fire Kissed were now as separate as two beings could be. Back then, Trinity had believed the de-bonding was the best plan of action—the only way to keep Emmy safe from those who sought to capture her and use her for their own gain. But each day since, the screaming emptiness in her head had become more and more unbearable. And while once upon a time she might hav
e been grateful to be spared the burden of being a dragon’s guardian, now she was pretty sure she’d sell her very soul if only she could get her best friend back.

  But that would never happen. Because Emmy belonged to Scarlet now. Scarlet, who should have never gotten involved in any of this in the first place—she was now Emmy’s keeper and protector. A fact that, most days, made Trinity want to bash her head against the wall. She knew she should be grateful that Scarlet had willingly stepped in at that final moment. After all, if it weren’t for her, they wouldn’t have any idea where Emmy had been taken. That, in and of itself, was worth everything.

  But that didn’t mean Trinity had to be happy about it. She’d lost her dragon in more ways than one, and even if they did manage to stage a miraculous rescue, things would never be the same between them.

  She reached out, searching for Scarlet now. When she’d first convinced the girl to surrender to the enemy—in order to keep tabs on Emmy—she’d used her gift of mental telepathy to open up a sort-of back door in her mind—a mental homing device to help them lock down Scarlet’s location and put the rescue plan in place. At the time, Trin had figured it would be a short-term thing. They’d break Emmy and Scarlet out of their prison and that would be the end of it. She had no idea that the government would thwart their efforts for nearly half a year. And her heart ached as she imagined what they’d been doing to her dragon all this time, deep in their labs. Experimenting on her. Abusing her.

  This had to work. It just had to.

  “Look,” Connor said, interrupting her tormented musings, his finger pointing down the road. Trinity followed it, heart in her throat. Sure enough, a parade of cars now stretched out before them, as far as the eye could see, winding down the dusty dirt road, toward the facility’s front gates. Old cars, beaten-up cars, cars that looked brand-new. All colors, all sizes, all coming their way. Connor rolled down the window, and Trinity’s ears picked up the distant bass of the latest Two Sad Boys tune drifting through the air.

  Her pulse kicked up. They’d come. They’d actually come!

  The walkie-talkie sitting in the cup holder crackled to life. “Did someone order a flash mob?” asked the voice on the other end.