"She's not in mortal danger," Marty says, and Susan can't understand it.
The Huntsclan has her daughter. They know she's the American Dragon. How can she not be in mortal danger?
Fu thinks the same. He takes the compass from Marty and begins looking it over. Poking at it. Wondering aloud if it's broken.
Susan expects a joke, but it doesn't come. Fu and Marty both know how serious this situation is. Just because Haley isn't in mortal danger at this precise moment, that doesn't mean her situation can't change.
Susan's years of training didn't prepare her for this. Couldn't prepare her for this.
She doesn't want to lose another child.
She doesn't know what she can possibly tell Jonathan if she does. If they do.
My family secret got our daughter killed.
She doesn't want to think it.
She can't rid her mind of the possibility. Of the fear. Whispering. Taunting. Jeering.
This is your fault.
She should have done more to protect Haley. Somehow. Insisted that she not be made the American Dragon yet, that she's not old enough, that she finish school first, that she be allowed to decide if she wants the responsibility.
The danger.
Haley would accept. Susan can't imagine her turning it down, even if she knew this could happen. She thinks too much of herself, of her abilities, her skills, even though she is still learning. She never imagines that she can't ultimately prevail. And she wants too much to help, to do the best she can, for everyone.
That's why, as far as Susan can tell, she has never insisted that they tell her father the family secret.
Because she's accepted what Susan has said, what her grandfather has said, what Fu has said. That it is best if he doesn't know. Safer for him and for all of them. He'll never be targeted for information if their enemies know he can't give it.
And if anyone is foolish enough to try to take him for leverage, well, then they'll see just how much he can fight without realizing exactly what he's fighting.
But this, with Haley, with the Huntsclan…. This is different. These are people, just like him, who firmly believe what they have been taught. They believe dragons should all be slain. They celebrate it.
And yet….
And yet, Haley is not in dire peril.
And they cannot find her until she is.
Susan glances at the back room of the shop. An enchantment allows them to talk freely out front without being overheard, but it surely must be wearing thin by now. They'll need to renew it soon.
"I'll talk to him," she decides.
The others don't stop her. Their conversation—rehashing rejected possibilities to see if they'd missed anything, mostly—is muffled once she's out the front door, and when she enters through the back, she can't hear it all. The member of the Huntsclan they've captured, 99 by the patch on his sleeve, is alert when she comes in. She has no doubt that he's memorized as much of everything as he can, as far as he can see.
She wonders if Fu—and, more importantly, her father—will agree to let him retain his memories, now that he's seen her. She isn't sure if the Huntsclan has concocted an antidote to the potion—unlikely, given the number of times they would know they'd encountered Fu's favourite memory blanking one—but she isn't about to put it past them. She knows as well as any of them that they are trying every possible method to slay every last dragon.
She just never expected the possibility that a dragon would willingly work with them, knowing what they are, or what leverage they could hold over one that he would subject someone so young to such a fate—and the American Dragon, no less. It would not be the first time a World Dragon had perished young, and it certainly wouldn't be the first time one would be lost, but….
But this was Haley.
This was her little girl.
99 doesn't want to talk, but Susan is more than willing to fill the silence between them, trying to wear him down, to get him to slip up. They just need something, a start, anything that might hint at Haley's location—or the dragon's identity.
She doesn't know if she should hope.
She tells herself it's silly. That it's not a possibility. The Huntsclan has connections across the globe. They are powerful. They could easily bring in a foreign dragon if they wanted to. Fu hadn't heard this one speak, and for all they know, the poor dragon himself was tricked. He might not have known what he was doing when he agreed to do this, even if he should have known it would have been nothing good.
But it might not have been a deliberate act against her family, at least not on the dragon's part.
99 doesn't break his silence until she brings up the dragon, and she wishes she could read his facial expressions. She wishes they had dared to touch his mask. But they can't give him any more clues about who they are than they already have. Her involvement, undisguised as it is, is risk enough. They cannot take too many more without paying too high a price.
She knows he is off balance, that her words have finally gotten through to him. She is afraid of pushing too hard, but not as afraid as she is of not pushing hard enough. "The American Dragon has a family, too," she whispers. He bristles now, collecting himself before becoming still and silent. "Would you condemn her to death, and her family to grief? The same grief that so many families of your fellow Huntsmates must have felt?"
She sees something in his eyes, but she cannot say what it is, and then it is gone, and his eyes are ice again.
She knows it is not simply surprise that she knows the correct terminology for him and his fellow initiates.
She gathers herself, knowing she might have already lost whatever advantage she had gained earlier. She has been at this too long. She should have left earlier.
"We only ask that she be returned to us, alive and well. We would be happy to arrange for an exchange, if that is what is decided." She doesn't think it can be as simple as that. The Huntsclan would never just let the American Dragon out of their grasp, particularly for a mere initiate.
But Marty had said she wasn't in mortal peril, at least not yet, and Susan will cling to every bit of hope that she can.
She stands, waiting to see if there is any acknowledgement from 99, but there isn't. She turns. She is nearly at the door when he says, "Information."
It is the most he has volunteered in hours.
He says nothing more, but she knows what he wants. She just isn't sure if it is something they can give. False information would risk Haley's life, but if they wrapped it in truths, perhaps, perhaps it would be enough.
When she comes back in the front door of the shop, the conversation dies away, and the others look at her. She looks at Marty, and he shakes his head. He holds up his compass, and the needle spins freely, just as it was before.
Haley is still safe.
They still have no way of finding her.
"They want information," she says, and she sees the look that crosses her father's face. He knows, even better than she, what that means.
Information will put everyone at risk—Haley, themselves, and everyone and everything she is meant to protect—and gives them no guarantee that there will not be an attempt to repeat what has happened, the next time more such information is required. Even if the Huntsclan honours their part of the deal—and that is a terribly risky thing to presume in and of itself—and the exchange is pulled off successfully, it does not mean Haley would approve of what they sacrificed for her.
But if Fu or Marty or anyone else had come up with a way to track her, they would have said something by now, even if it were a long shot.
"I will go searching again," her father says, and she can't bring herself to protest that he should be resting at his age, not risking his life. She cannot go and hope to be half as useful as he will be. "We will find her without bending to their demands."
He sounds so certain, but she knows how good he is at putting on a mask.
She checks her watch.
It will be dawn in three hours.
Jonathan might have already noticed her absence. She had been too panicked to think to leave a note. What would he think if he'd woken and realized that she was gone? That Haley was gone?
She doesn't know what she can tell him.
She doesn't think she can lie to ease his mind, hoping they'll find a way to get Haley back safely when there is no guarantee of that.
But she doesn't know how he would take the truth, coming like it would.
"I need to go home," she says. "I need to talk to Jonathan. I'll come back when I can."
She ignores their protests, their cautions.
Her daughter is in danger, more danger than she's ever been in before, and it is a disservice to Jonathan to leave him ignorant of this. She must tell him something, if not everything. He is strong. He deserves to know.
She hopes she isn't making a mistake.