Scorched by Mari Mancusi Page B

Connor caught it midair, running his thumb across the smooth side. The image vanished.
    “My mom’s holomail,” he explained, looking a little wistful. “It’s all I have left of her now.”
    Trinity knew she was gawking, but found she couldn’t help it. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Connor was right; that thing definitely didn’t belong in her world. In fact, none of it did. Nor did Connor himself, with his strange accent and strange timing, appearing at the exact moment she needed him to help save the egg. She let out a frustrated breath. Why was the most impossible explanation suddenly the one making the most sense?
    “There’s one more thing,” Connor said. “This one I think you’ll recognize.”
    He reached into his bag and, to Trinity’s surprise, pulled out a small, red velvet box. A ring box, she realized.
    “Um, don’t you think you should at least buy me dinner first?”
    Connor sighed, then pulled open the lid. Trinity gasped, her eyes bulging from their sockets as she realized what was nestled inside.
    Her mom’s ring. The one she’d pawned to pay the taxes. The one that inadvertently brought the egg into her life to begin with. She looked at Connor in amazement. He pushed the box in her direction. With trembling fingers, she somehow managed to pull it out and hold it in unsteady hands.
    “How did you get this?” she stammered as she examined the all-too-familiar piece of jewelry, cataloging its beloved imperfections: the scratch on the left side, the missing pave diamond on the top right. It was exactly the same—and yet somehow different too. Older looking, more worn. As if it had been antiqued.
    Like two hundred years antiqued.
    With shaky breath, she turned it over, her eyes searching for the inscription she knew she’d find inside.
    To Emberlyn, my love.
    “Your father gave this ring to your mother,” Connor stated quietly. “He told her to never take it off her finger. After she died, you vowed to do the same. At night, you would twist it around your finger exactly five times while staring up at the ceiling, praying for courage to face the next day.”
    She looked up from the ring, feeling the color drain from her face. “I never told anyone that,” she whispered.
    “Not yet,” he replied smoothly, his blue eyes piercing her own. “But you will.”
    She didn’t know what to say.
    “According to our histories, you wore this ring until the day you died,” Connor continued. “It became a symbol to many people. After your death, the Dracken took it and claimed it as their own. It took a lot of work for us to get it back. Many men died in the effort. But the Council knew they could never convince you to help us unless I could prove I was telling the truth.”
    Trin stared down at the ring. Then she slowly slid it onto her finger. It fit perfectly, of course, and for the first time all week, her hand felt whole again. Oh, Mom. She blinked back the tears, looking up at Connor, a million questions whirling through her brain, each warring to be asked first.
    But before she could speak, car headlights flashed through the window, freezing the words in her throat. She cringed. The cavalry had finally arrived—just in time for her to realize they may not be the men in white hats she’d assumed they’d be.
    Connor caught her guilty face, then glanced out the window. The car had pulled up just outside the barn’s front door and the driver’s side door popped open.
    “Oh, fleck,” he whispered. “Trinity, what have you done?”

Chapter Nine
    What had she done? Only what she thought was the right thing at the time. But now she wasn’t so sure. She stared down at the ring, her stomach churning. What if Connor was telling the truth? What if he really was from the future—sent to stop the government from stealing the world’s last dragon egg and thus sparking a worldwide apocalypse? Had her 911 call led the bad guys directly to the prize?
    “Trinity? Honey? Where are