Going Down in Flames (Going Down in Flames #1)(97)

A knock sounded on the door. “Who is it?” Bryn called out.

Merrick ducked his head in. “Are you ready?”

“I am. Is the Directorate ready to meet me?”

“They think they are,” he said, “but, I’d bet they’re wrong.”

“If you’ll lead the way, I have some serious arguing to do.”

He led her down several halls. Eventually, they came to an elevator.

“What happened to keeping the estate in its original condition?”

Merrick waved her on when the doors slid open. “Your grandfather doesn’t object to convenience as long as it doesn’t detract from the estate’s design.”

The doors closed, and Bryn felt the elevator rise before she noticed the buttons, which normally allowed occupants to pick a floor, were absent.. “I hope this thing knows where it’s going.”

“From this floor, it only makes one stop. If you access it from a lower floor, it takes you to different levels.”

“That’s weird.”

Merrick acted like it was no big deal. “It’s another form of security, which makes accessing certain areas difficult.”

When the doors opened, Bryn stepped out into a hall lit by an impressive chandelier, which had to be six feet wide. As she walked underneath, it swayed and the crystals tinkled together, creating an eerie sound. If it fell and crushed her before she could speak to the Directorate, she was going to be pissed.

Merrick led her to the double doors at the end of the hall and knocked. Her grandfather opened the door and stepped back so they could enter. She hoped the evil grin on his face meant he was amused.

Two long tables sat in the middle of the room, flanking a podium. As the Speaker for the Directorate, Ferrin stood behind the podium, while a dozen men sat on either side of him. Most of them were blondes. Of course there weren’t any women on the Directorate.

Chauvinistic jerks.

Now that she was here, she didn’t know where to go. There wasn’t a seat or podium to indicate where she should speak. She continued moving forward until Merrick touched her lower back. She took that as a sign she was in the right spot.

Praying for patience, she smiled politely and made eye contact with the men seated in front of her. A few smiled back. Most of them frowned or pretended she was invisible.

Unsure of protocol, she waited to be addressed.

Ferrin leaned on the podium like he was bored. “I thought you had something to say.”

She plunged in. “Someone thinks of me as a threat. As you can see, I’m not that frightening.”

A few Directorate members chuckled.

“I understand my existence is shocking to some. According to Mrs. Hanfelder, dragons can’t crossbreed, but I exist. And I shouldn’t have to apologize for that.”

She took a few steps to the right to escape Ferrin’s direct gaze. “I understand my parents broke the law when they ran away. Some individuals believe I should pay for their crime.”

“If you hope to gain our sympathy, it would be best not to mention your parents.” An elderly Directorate member pointed his finger at her. “What they did was a disgrace. You’re lucky we’ve allowed you access to the Institute.”

She snorted before she could stop herself. “I didn’t ask to come here. Mr. Westgate blackmailed me. If I refused, he said my parents would lose their home and their jobs.”

The elderly man addressed Ferrin. “Is this true?”

Ferrin gave a slight nod. “Perhaps.”

Several Directorate members laughed. The elderly man said, “That was a nice touch.”

Fire roared up her throat. She thought of lemon ice from Fonzoli’s and regained control. “Either you have a twisted sense of humor or you’re testing my self-control. Given my experience with Mr. Westgate, it’s probably both.”

It was time to show them who they were dealing with. She held her hands out, palm up. A ball of fire appeared in her right hand as a ball of snow swirled above her left. Several Directorate members muttered among themselves.

“I understand the Directorate oversees who can marry because they don’t want certain traits coming to light. I can make fire and ice. If that makes me a threat, so be it. In my opinion, it makes me unique.” She closed her palms and let her emissaries fade.

Some of the Directorate members huddled and spoke in small groups.

“Are you done showing off?” Ferrin snapped.

“Not quite. I plan to petition the Directorate to be allowed into the medical program, because I’m good with Quintessence.”

“Show us,” Ferrin ordered.

She could change her hair color, but her grandfather hadn’t been impressed with that. “I healed a scratch on Mr. Stanton’s hand. Merrick, if you’d volunteer.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fountain pen, the kind with a sharp metal nib, which was meant to be dipped into a bottle of ink. Holding out his hand, he scraped the pen across his palm, deep enough to draw a drop of blood.

“As you can see, he is bleeding.” Bryn said. Just in case Ferrin tried to argue the point.

“Get on with it,” Ferrin snapped.

Bryn wiped the drop of blood away with her thumb, exposing a red line, and imagined her life force flowing from her fingertip in a stream of bright white Quintessence. She traced her pointer finger back and forth over the wound until it healed to a thin, pink line.