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"Dara, open the damn door. Now! I know you're inside,” I shouted, then pounded my fists against the old wooden door, making a hell of a noise. “For Qesborth, open up, or I'll ram it through!"

My friend Dara was pretending she wasn't inside her apartment, giving me the silent treatment. We had known each other since we were little girls, so that bull-shit didn't quite work with me.

I waited several long seconds, allowing her to decide whether or not she want-ed to spend money on a new door.

Then I heard heavy footsteps; it sounded like someone was dragging their feet across the floor. Her dark shadow appeared beneath the threshold, so I took a few steps back. She began unlocking the mass of hooks, muttering unintelligible words under her breath. She was pissed, but I didn't care anymore. I tapped my foot and saw a few ants scurrying around, along with a few spiders that were bigger than I expected. Moments later, the door finally opened, but only slightly. A pair of deep purple eyes were staring back at me. One of the chains remained in place.

"Go away, Francesca, this isn't a good time.” she told me, hiding her face in a mass of brown locks. “I don't feel so well."

"I call this a pile of horse shit, Warden, and you know it. Open the door and let me see what we’re dealing with," I barked, pushing the door with my boot, trying to snap the damn chain. She had too many locks, anyway.

Dara hated when I called her Warden, but right then, I was too wound up to think about her feelings. The past several days had been hectic, and I should have visited her sooner.

Dara sighed loudly, shut the door, and finally unlocked it, letting me in.

"What's all that noise about?" another voice snarled from down the hall. I didn't have to look up to figure out who it belonged to. It was Mrs. Partich from number eleven; the noisiest resident of this shitty townhouse. The woman had seventeen children—mostly all grown now—with ten different men. No judgment here, but to me, it explained a lot about her range of issues.

Despite her mature age, she was still very sexually active—every night she had a different guy in her apartment. Apparently, none of them managed to satis-fy her.

I was ready to march over to her apartment and tell her exactly what I thought of her, but somehow, I restrained myself. I couldn't believe she dared complain about the noise, when night after night she screamed at the top of her lungs, keeping everyone else awake. I called bullshit.

"It's none of your damn business, Partich, so get back inside and keep your mouth shut," I shouted back, and slammed the door, telling myself to keep it to-gether. The entire floor shook, and a few bits of plaster from the ceiling fell on Dara's floor. This was pretty much normal; the conditions that my friend lived in were pretty shocking.

Dara wasn't lying to me when she told me she wasn't feeling well.

I barely recognised her as she sat on the old broken chair, shivering, trying re-ally hard to smile at me. Her entire apartment stank of vomit and sweat. It was stuffy inside, and the windows needed to be opened to let in some fresh air.

Dara was one of the most outgoing and bubbliest of warden’s that I knew. She was also very beautiful and had those cute little dimples in her cheeks. Un-fortunately, at that moment, she looked like she was ready to pass out right in front of me.

"I told you this wasn't a good time," she mumbled, and started coughing really badly.

I waited until she stopped so I could ask her what was wrong. It took a while; she coughed for a good ten minutes. I knew because I kept staring at her old clock on the wall. She tried to hide the blood on her tissue, but I saw it anyway. Silly Dara; she knew nothing could get past me.

I had been busy lately, and now I was feeling guilty that I hadn’t stopped by to see her sooner. It wasn't an excuse, anyway. Dara was my best friend, and I had never let her down before.

Her apartment was filled with piles of rubbish. A stack of dishes filled the kitchen sink, and there were food containers strewn about the place. Dara didn't have much furniture, and only one room where she slept and ate. It was basically a slum, but it was the only thing she could afford in this part of Draconia. The city was expensive as hell, and I knew my own place was only a tiny bit better because of my connections.

"How long have you been sick, and why didn't you say something sooner?" I asked her, rolling up the sleeve of my shirt, and touching her head. "For Qes-borth, you're burning up! Come on, we need to get some fluid into you."

She shook her head, trying to pull away from my grip, but I forced her to stand up. When I finally got a good look at her, I was shocked.

Dara was pale, and her skin had turned a strange yellowish colour. Her nor-mally thick, healthy hair was now greasy and thin. I assumed she must have lost at least twenty pounds since the last time I’d seen her, and it hadn’t been very long at all. My gut feeling told me that there was something seriously wrong with her.

She rolled her eyes at me. "Yes, it's blood, and I'm fine, really. I just didn't want to worry you. We both know that you panic instantly, then get yourself in-to trouble," she said, trying to brush it off like it wasn't a big deal, but I knew she was bullshitting me.

I was a warden myself from the lower class, blessed with only a tiny bit of magic. Draconia was a city located in the Lower World where most wardens lived. Jobs were available; of course, there was never enough for everyone, but most wardens always got by somehow. The housing situation wasn’t any better. I knew people who waited years to get a flat the size of a shoe box. And yet, Draconia was the centre of the universe—the place where everyone wanted to be, where the most magic existed in the entire Lower World. I moved to this location a while back, after doing some research on the area. I knew rich wardens lived on the other side of the city, so it was a deal breaker for me. There was also the Dark Ones: highly skilled magicians who ruled over wardens. They lived in the Underground or high up in the Gorgu mountains.

I frowned, brushing my thick black hair away from my face, and grabbed her wrists.

"You're lying to me and I can sense it. We both know it, so why don't you skip the crap and tell me what’s really going on?" I asked. "Why didn't you go to see a healer? They’re supposed to be free for everyone in the city, right?"

Dara was like me. She didn't have any family. She grew up on the streets of Draconia, too, mostly begging for food and trying to survive from day to day. A few months back, after being on the waiting list for years, she received a letter from the council. They offered her this shithole. It was better than nothing, and after living rough for years, she took it.

I begged her to move in with me once I got my apartment sorted out, but she wouldn't accept my help. She was too proud, and the more I pushed, the more she refused.

She stared at me for a second, then her eyes wandered off to the window. Eve-ry pure-blooded warden had very intense rainbow-coloured eyes. That's how the Dark Ones recognised each one of us. Mine were deep yellow, but some people argued that they were golden. I mostly ignored them, only sometimes making a huge deal about it.

"I went to the healer a few days ago. They sent me home and told me there was nothing they could do," she admitted, chewing her bottom lip.

"They shouldn't have sent you home. What kind of crap is that? I'm going to march over there and tell them what I think—"

"It's Dragon Fever, Francesca, and I'm dying,” she answered, cutting me off. “That's the reason they sent me home." For a second, I thought she was fucking with me. Dragon Fever wasn't a new disease, and surely, she couldn't have been infected with it.

Well, not according to the papers, but apparently in the past decade there had been a worldwide epidemic. Only recently, more and more wardens in Draconia were getting it, too. The symptoms included: high fever, cough, vomiting, and explosive diarrhea that eventually eased after a day or two. After a week, the symptoms would begin to disappear, and the skin of the infected individual would slowly begin to turn green. It would become hard at first, with a scale-like surface; that's why they called it Dragon Fever. At some point, hallucinations would follow. Death was inevitable, and it typically occurred twenty-four hours after the individual refused to eat or drink anything. The Dark Ones: the council members who were the most powerful magicians in the Dragon World, were try-ing to find a cure for this terrible disease, but without any success so far.

I was staring at my friend Dara in complete shock. She had always been like a sister to me, so I was having trouble processing what she was saying.

Then an image of us together when we were teenagers began moving in front of my eyes.

“Don’t worry, Fran. Victor was a total douchebag. This break up will be very good for you, trust me,” Dara told me, placing her hand on my arm and squeezing it gently. We were sitting in the back of a dark alley, and I was crying like a baby. The only boyfriend I’d ever had, Victor, told me he didn’t want to be with me any-more.

Apparently, he never really loved me, and I kept ignoring the signs. We only dated for about two weeks, and I thought it was love at first sight. Our lame rela-tionship ended before it had ever begun.

I didn’t know what to say to that; tears were dripping down my cheeks, and I felt so stupid and useless. The pain in my heart was unbearable. Dara had plenty of boyfriends at fifteen, so she was much more experienced than I was.

“I think I might be in love—”

“Oh, come on. You only knew him for like five seconds. Don’t be stupid and get yourself together. He used you and you’re better than that. All men are arseholes,” she said, raising her voice, and I wiped my tears away.

She was right. Victor wanted to sleep with me, and I didn’t know how to say no, so I gave in. It was no surprise he left me straight after that; he didn’t even try to show me he was sorry.

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