Beauty and the Dragon

by Melody Rose

  Beauty and the Dragon

  Melody Rose

  Contents

  1. Rose

  2. Rose

  3. Troy

  4. Troy

  5. Rose

  6. Rose

  7. Troy

  8. Rose

  9. Troy

  10. Troy

  11. Troy

  12. Rose

  13. Troy

  14. Troy

  15. Troy

  16. Rose

  17. Troy

  18. Troy

  19. Troy

  20. Troy

  21. Rose

  22. Troy

  23. Troy

  24. Rose

  25. Rose

  26. Rose

  27. Rose

  28. Troy

  29. Rose

  30. Rose

  31. Rose

  32. Rose

  A Note from the Author

  1

  Rose

  A few hours passed by as I circulated the chaotic labyrinth of books of Armstrong’s Antique Bookseller, brushing my fingertip against their spines in hopes that my eyes would fall upon one that absolutely inspired me. Being the head librarian of a place that specialized in rare books, I wanted to impress my employers with a rare find, and I wasn’t going to leave until I found one. My muscles tensed up as Ollie, the rather strange proprietor, shot a dirty look at me, and I could tell he probably thought I was a no-good loiterer that was just here to waste his time and spend no money.

  How wrong he was. If I could strike gold in this hectic but promising mess, I’d spend every penny in the library’s expense account to do it.

  I decided I’d ditch the bookshelves and start wading through the stacks of flea market finds, including one that was a free-for-all of mix-and-match volumes that didn’t have their matching editions. I’d once found a first edition of The Green Fairy Book here, one of my library’s crowning glories that could only be viewed on the premises. An optimistic tingle suggested I’d found the right place.

  For a while, all I found were dusty old encyclopedias and scraped up leather-bound classics that were neat but wouldn’t fit the bill for my current mission. I also felt thirst creep up after all my searching, so I tried to convince myself to pay closer attention. Eventually, I’d need to take a break.

  When I touched upon the tantalizing texture of vellum, though, I knew that I was on the right track. Even though calfskin was pretty morbid, it was perfect for Halloween, and it usually meant that the text predated the fifteenth century. I breathed in softly to calm my nerves. If Ollie knew that I was overwhelmed with excitement, he would wise up and charge me a fortune for what I found. I gently pulled out the antique artifact, holding my palm steady on the top of the stack so everything wouldn’t come tumbling down.

  My heart just about stopped when I realized what I was holding. I had the honor of chancing on what was known in the rare book community as one of the greatest, most masterful pranks in history. No one was really sure when it was created, but most speculated that the Jörmungandr Manuscripts were dreamt up by some clever monks hopped up on their own ale.

  These codexes, forty-seven in total, painstakingly related a complex culture with intricate illustrations gilded with gold leaf and stunning calligraphy. It was so thorough and earnest in its presentation that any reader would think it was a labor of love, an attempt to record the trials and triumphs of a real civilization. The only catch was that the manuscripts featured a society of dragons that were able to shapeshift into humans when needed. Obviously, there was no way that was possible, but it made for a barrel of laughs as well as pure wonder. I felt torn between poking fun at the majestic hoax and bowing down to all the work that was put into it. My mouth went dry, my mouth still agape at my good fortune.

  I snapped it closed. Ollie wasn’t a complete fool, so once he figured out what I found, he’d see the dollar signs quickly. It would take some quick thinking on my part to downplay the value of this manuscript. It probably slipped into his haul since he bought piles of books in bulk from reputable sellers. Who’s to say that it wasn’t a high-quality replica? That was certainly the angle I’d take to pull off my barter.

  Swallowing, I stepped back over to the counter to make my purchase. Ollie, who had his arms crossed stubbornly over his chest, loosened up a little when he saw that I was actually serious. Any girl with armfuls of vellum was clearly looking to drop an insane, probably misguided, amount of money.

  “Ah! I see your journey has finally come to an end,” he exclaimed with no small degree of sarcasm. “At long last. So, are you buying, or do you have... questions?”

  I could tell that his last comment was a vague threat, basically telling me to shove off if I was just going to bother him with profitless inquiries.

  “Buying.” I smiled softly to reassure him.

  His face lit up at that, genuine joy shining through his tired eyes. “Excellent!” he practically sang. “Let’s see what you have here…”

  I shifted from foot to foot as I reluctantly parted with the gorgeous manuscript and delicately placed it on the counter so that Ollie could inspect it. I tried my best to tamp down my emotions and put on a composed poker face so that he wouldn’t completely fleece me. I didn’t wave my librarian card in his face yet, even though it usually secured me discounts. He’d read that move right away and knew I was anticipating a high price.

  “Ah!” He took in the front cover, then carefully opened the book and flipped through a selection of pages to get a better sense of what I found. Ollie even pulled out a magnifying glass from under the counter, raising an eyebrow as he marveled at the beautiful illustrations. He then nodded with confidence, studying me with respect, as though I managed to outdo even him.

  “Volume eleven of the Jörmungandr Manuscripts! You’re a woman with refined tastes and believe me, I’m kicking myself that I didn’t catch this before you, or it’d be part of my own personal collection! That being said, I will honor my policy, as always. If you find it here, even if I would like to keep it for myself, you are entitled to the book. That’ll be twenty-four thousand three-hundred sixty-four dollars and six cents.”

  I was stunned by how flatly that came out. There wasn’t even a transition for me to process the astronomical amount. Creepily enough, Ollie managed to cite the total of the library’s expense account down to the decimal. Maybe it was synchronicity or destiny, but I was going to label it a downright con.

  “Twenty-four thousand dollars?” I protested. “You’re kidding me! What kind of scam are you running here? I know that you trawl flea markets... there’s no way a genuine Jörmungandr Manuscript would be found in one of those!”

  “You dare accuse me of being fooled by a copy?” Ollie recoiled as if I’d hit him, and honestly, I understood the pain. We were both lovers of rare books, after all. “Look, if you don’t want it, that’s fine. I’ll just keep it.” He patted the book. “It will have a great home in my personal collection.”

  I didn’t know if the library would ever recover the financial hit if I followed through with this madness, but I technically had the cash to cover it. More than that, if this was indeed an actual authentic part of the Jörmungandr Manuscript, the board of directors for the library would flay me alive if I let it slip through my fingers. Best to take the chance, both for my curiosity and for the good of my position.

  “No, Ollie, I do want it,” I said with more confidence than I felt.

  Without a single moment’s hesitation, he slid the card reader as close to me as possible to make his intentions crystal clear. I felt comfortable rolling my eyes at his complete lack of tact or subtlety. In one last attempt to barter, I took out my librarian’s ID out along with the expense card.


  “I wouldn’t suppose you’d be interested in some philanthropy?” I asked casually. “I’ll make sure you get a nice section of my library named after you. You pick the genre.”

  “Just for you,” he drawled in a weary tone, “twenty thousand dollars flat, and I won’t add any sales tax. But you had better name the philosophy section after me. And if you don’t mail me a picture as proof, I’ll make sure you get a nice lifetime ban from my establishment.”

  Jeez, this guy ran a tough game. I would’ve admired his ballsiness if it weren’t being used so shamelessly against me. I huffed and slid the debit card into the magnetic stripe reader.

  Ollie wrote a receipt by hand and then pushed the notepad over to me to sign. With one fluid motion, he then ripped off the original receipt and extended it to me, slipping the yellow merchant copy into his register. I nodded and placed it in my wallet, along with my debit card. It was beginning to dawn on me that I hadn’t budgeted for this at all, and I wondered just how much I would regret this in the near future.

  “Remember. Philosophy section. That’ll be Ollie Armstrong,” he warned without so much as a thank you for giving him at least two months’ of profits in a single transaction.

  Luckily, what he lacked in manners and niceties, he made up with a sincere concern for books. He shuffled into a back room behind the counter and returned with a gold oilcloth and a red leather clamshell box to keep my manuscript in. Ollie then silently and nimbly folded the protective wrap around my purchase, finally lowering it into the box and closing it with a satisfying click. I was restored with some joy to watch how deliberate he was.

  We gave each other quiet nods as I took my costly prize and folded my arms over it in a loving embrace. I cherished it too much to place it into one of my cheap tote bags and was ready to have some private time with it. Of course, it would be another seven hours until I could give it some real attention since I didn’t want to be caught in my car with precious merchandise. I knew the chance of a robbery was pretty slim, but even the untrained eye could tell this was an antique.

  As I walked outside with hurried steps and back to my Jeeps, I quickly unlocked the front door, popped open my glove compartment, placed the manuscript in, and shut it. I then closed the door and grabbed my water bottle from the cup holder, taking deep swallows with shaky hands.

  After several deep breaths, I turned my keys in the ignition and charted my way back home to my tiny studio apartment. I didn’t even think I’d need any coffee for the road as pure adrenaline coursed through me, wiring me with near supernatural energy. The entire ride I obsessed over what it would be like to tear through one of the Jörmungandr Manuscripts, knowing that the book hunter underground would be ablaze with envy if it ever found out.

  I finally returned home around half past midnight, absolutely exhausted and strung out. Call me paranoid, but I was so drawn to the ancient book and worried about it that I didn’t feel safe leaving it in my car long enough to run into a convenience store for a coffee, let alone a fast-food join for even a quick meal. I groaned and pressed the button to open my glove compartment, delicately tucking the boxed-up manuscript under my arm as I tried to suppress my hunger.

  As I hopped out of my Jeep and locked it, I began to feel pretty lightheaded and barely staggered up the three flights of stairs to my apartment. My keys jingled in my shivering hand, and it took three tries just to open the door. Once I let myself in, I was winded and bleary-eyed, and my only goal was to make it to the kitchen before losing consciousness. I really didn’t account for how much of a dent this road trip would put in my energy level.

  I sighed and weakly dropped my keys in a dish by the door and dragged myself to rifle around for anything remotely edible. I yanked my refrigerator open with all my might, but a fear clutched my heart, fear that I had forgotten to do a grocery run before my big trip to Ollie’s.

  Unfortunately, my fear was accurate. There was nothing inside except for some relish, mayonnaise, and ketchup on the condiment shelf from all the nights that I’d boiled hot dogs to make ends meet. I wasn’t quite desperate enough to squeeze it all into a bowl to make a truly vile mixture, but maybe I’d reduce myself to that if nothing else came to my rescue.

  I limped out to my living room and placed the leather-bound box onto a couch cushion so that I could have both my hands free to scavenge. I then dragged a step stool out from between my fridge and the counters and opened it, climbing to the top so I could explore all my cabinets. There wasn’t even a canned soup in sight, and I sighed in defeat as I hobbled off to flip through the Jörmungandr Manuscript. Maybe it would help me forget my empty stomach until I was ready to just brush my teeth and pass out.

  As I lowered myself into my couch, sinking into the cheap pleather, I flipped open the red clamshell box and pulled out the heavy volume. Once I touched the ancient vellum, I was transfixed, even though I was still bordering on delirium due to my enormous appetite. I leafed through it, mostly admiring the masterful artwork since I was too dizzy to concentrate on the writing.

  My favorite scenes were similar to Arthurian romances, with knights in scale armor bending at the knee and promising their loyalty to women in shimmering gowns. The major difference was that there weren’t any real damsels of distress. Instead, these regal beauties seemed as though they could hold their own in a fight. Even their formal wear was outfitted with some type of armor, usually steel breastplates perfectly molded to their figure. It seemed as though the society dreamt up was ready for battle at a moment’s notice, even in the middle of courtly flirtation.

  I wanted to immerse myself in the tales of how members in this “draconic” clan were able to shapeshift into enormous beasts, but my stomach interrupted my thoughts with a loud grumble. There was simply no way around it, I’d need to down a gross medley of sauces, or I wouldn’t be able to keep my head on straight. I sighed and dragged myself over to the kitchen, dreading what was in store for me.

  I groaned and pulled out a bowl and a spoon from the dishwasher, slapping both onto the counter. I thought that maybe I could hold myself back from the horror, but after over seven hours without food, I was loopy and shameless. I took a deep breath to brave the lowest of my lows, then peeled open my fridge door. I did a double take as I eyed what I was left with. I wondered if I was hallucinating due to low blood sugar, a victim of my lust for carbs.

  A decadent chocolate cake in a clear plastic container sat on the shelf, tantalizing me. Since it was dead center and devastating with its rich, moist glory, I couldn’t figure out how I’d missed it before. Was I in such a bad mood that I didn’t notice it? That seemed pretty unlikely, but I guessed it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. I wondered where it came from and why it was untouched. Was there someone’s birthday at the library? Well, they’d never know that I got this as their gift because it wasn’t going to last the night. I knew I’d devour it without mercy, maybe even digging into it without bothering to cut it into slices.

  It turns out I did just that, stripping off the plastic lid. It made a deafening noise that echoed in my cramped kitchen, but I didn’t care. I was too over-the-moon to treat myself. I grabbed my spoon from the counter and sank it into the spongy wonder, shoveling the frost-covered mounds into my mouth. I instantly felt rejuvenated, my posture straightening, and my vision returning to normal.

  I wasn’t sure if I was hit with a sugar rush, or I was sentimental from adding a rare book to my collection. Whatever had gotten into me, I had suddenly become a believer in luck. It seemed like I had the foresight to set myself up with the perfect cake right when I needed it the most, and I had one of the most obscure manuscripts on the planet. What more could a girl ask for?

  2

  Rose

  After I shooed out the rest of my patrons and gave the homeless frequenters bagged dinners of trail mix, protein bars, dried fruit, and beef jerky, I turned the latch and treated myself to sweet silence. Saturday evenings were absolutely divine. I could close up early
, stay after hours, and not have to worry about proper sleep because I could just roll in the late afternoon on Sunday.

  Now was the time to make some real headway with my Jörmungandr manuscript and trawl my shelves for any and all resources that would help me cross-reference who might be responsible for them. I was energized and in much better spirits since my road trip lag, actually able to focus on my epic find. I also was much better about taking care of myself and somehow figured out where I stashed a bunch of snacks so I could pull a productive all-nighter. I was currently munching on some Peanut Butter Energy Bites, a special blend I’d somehow cooked up that didn’t leave any grease on my fingers.

  I stood in a type of reverie as I savored the salty-sweet morsels, swirling my tongue around them as I peered out at the shore. Thanks to generous zoning laws and a filthy rich elderly population that voted in favor of arts and culture, my local library was placed right on an oceanfront for the most breathtaking view. Our building was outfitted with ceiling-to-floor glass panels that allowed visitors to marvel at the deep blue waves, even hearing their crashing gently from afar.

  I didn’t know what good deed I’d performed to get so lucky and turn up in this heaven on earth. Sure, the pay wasn’t great, and it was only enough to have a tiny flat and the bare necessities, but that didn’t matter. My nine-to-five “prison” was damn scenic, and if this is what it took to earn the rights of a tax-paying citizen, I wasn’t complaining.