by ReGi McClain
Seraph’s smile faded when she neared. “And a soggy face, too.”
Harsha smeared tears off her cheeks. She hated showing this kind of vulnerability to people. It was one thing to let a few tears fall when thinking about Jason, or Ami, or Mom. It was another to let people see her cry for herself. It made her feel like a self-centered idiot begging for a knife in the back by laying out her heart for all to see.
“I have what I came for. That’s what matters.”
Seraph pointed to the faerie’s box. “Is that it?”
Harsha nodded, raising her eyebrows and smiling to make herself look more enthusiastic than she felt.
“There’s something wrong.”
Zeeb dumped the bags and saddle on the ground. “You got the cure, right?”
Harsha pressed her lips together, closed her eyes, and swallowed several times before answering, willing herself to retain mastery over the despair trying to fight its way out. “I got the cure.”
Zeeb leaped and whooped. Seraph kept her eyes on Harsha. When Zeeb noticed neither of the women were joining his celebration, he calmed down.
“Wait, what’s the matter? Is there something awful about it or something?”
Harsha shook her head. “No, it’s fine. It’s just there are two of us, but Phyllis said this will only cure ” Her voice cracked.
“One.” Seraph finished for her. “Oh, Harsha.” She sat down to pull Harsha into a hug.
Harsha stiffened in Seraph’s arms, refusing to accept pity. She shrugged with forced nonchalance. “I took care of Jason, and now he’ll be able to take care of me.”
Zeeb stared at her, all traces of mirth gone. He looked hurt. So much so, she felt the need to apologize to him, but for what, she didn’t know. Seraph gave up on the hug and tried to take Harsha’s hand. Harsha pulled away and stood up, clutching the box in both hands. Without looking back at either of her guides, she walked in the direction they’d come from, determined to get moving before she started crying again.
Eyes forward, she trudged ahead. She stumbled into hidden streams, scraped her arms on large shrubs, and bumped her head on low-hanging branches, but she kept going through the brief darkness of midsummer in Alaska until the sun rose over the peaks of the eastern mountains. When her knees gave out, she collapsed to the ground, holding the box, and slept.
Chapter 14
Birds sang. Warm sunshine caressed Harsha’s face. In the distance, a stream trickled. The grass she lay on smelled fresh and green and cushioned her cheek like a pillow. Refreshing spruce scent and the tantalizing aroma of fish cooked over a campfire filled the air.
She hated it. She wished for thunder and rain. She didn’t want to see the beautiful world she had to leave. So, she kept her eyes closed. She remembered coming to a clearing the night before, but few details had penetrated the miasma of her tumultuous emotions at the time. Now, the place forced itself on her awareness, as welcome as a swarm of mosquitoes.
She tried to recapture the blessed oblivion of sleep. As she began to drift off, voices pulled her back to reality. Seraph’s met her ears first. “…back to Hawaii.”
“Yeah, but I ”
Reminding herself eavesdropping on others’ conversations about oneself often led to grief, she sat up, alerting the others to her active presence with a loud yawn. The trick worked and they hushed. They set down pots filled with water. Seraph dipped a washcloth in one of them and started wiping Harsha’s face.
Harsha batted her away. “I’m not an invalid, yet.”
Seraph handed her the rag. “Sorry.” She dug in her pack. “Here, you can borrow my mirror.”
Harsha checked her reflection. She looked like a zombie. Besides tear trails, mussed hair with twigs sticking in it, and dirt, streaks of blood ran from each nostril to her chin.
“Ugh! How long has that been there?”
“Since you came out of the faerie’s house. It didn’t seem to matter at the time.”
“Eew. Grab me my brush and a scrunchie, will you?” Seraph obliged and Harsha set to grooming herself with vigor. The process took a long time and involved much cursing as she untangled twigs and shook things she preferred not to contemplate out of her hair. When she finished working all the snarls out and wiping the mess off her face, she looked up to find Seraph in her dragon form, saddled.
Zeeb hoisted their packs onto Seraph’s back. When he noticed Harsha watching, he whistled. “Wow! There’s a transformation for you.”
She rolled her eyes. For his sake, she wanted to appreciate the attempt at levity. Her heart refused to play along, but she put on a smile let him lift her into the saddle. “Are we heading back to the Yazzies’?”
“No.” Seraph wiggled her haunches. “We aren’t sure how long your cure will keep outside a faerie house. So we think it’s best to fly you home right away.”
A million reasons why this was not a good idea darted into Harsha’s head. She started with the first. “Isn’t it too far?”
Seraph chuckled. “No. The faerie feast filled me up. I’m good for several thousand miles.”
“What if we’re seen?”
“Most people will put it down to a trick of the light,” Zeeb answered. “The ones who don’t either know what they’re looking at or get dismissed as unreliable.”
“Besides, we’re timing it carefully. It will be dark by the time we get there. I’ll stay in the sun as much as I can for extra security.”
“What about radar?”
“We dragons keep magic-enhanced cloaking devices with us at all times these days.” She tapped her pendant with the tip of a claw.
Harsha wanted to ask about the cloaking device. The level of technology she guessed it involved intrigued her. A magic-enhanced device promised to be particularly fascinating. Even so, she tucked her tech-related questions into the back of her mind. She needed to get on with her next objection. “Where do you plan on landing?”
“How big is your yard?”
“My yard! Seraph, this is a crazy idea.”
“No.” Zeeb climbed on behind her. “Crazy is going on a long-shot fae hunt for a cure you can’t get anywhere else, getting the cure, refusing to use it on yourself, and then letting it spoil while you try to get it back to the person you wanted it for in the first place.”
She swiveled to glare at him.
He raised his eyebrows as if to say, “You know I’m right.”
She took a deep breath and adjusted her attitude. “All right. Let’s go.”
He placed his hands on her waist. “Ready.”
Seraph jumped into the air and climbed above the clouds, where only the sounds of the beating of her wings and the wind whistling past marred the hush of the sky. Harsha watched the landscape go by and wished Alaska farewell. In those endless, wild woods, there lived a rugged sasquatch and his expectant wife, a moody faerie, and who knew what other storybook creatures. Meanwhile, she rode on a dragon’s back with a werewolf for a companion, on her way to a small tourist town and the simple routine of a chief financial officer.
Seraph flew into the brilliant sunset and the ocean came into view. Light streamed across the waves, frosting a slice of the indigo ripples with golden icing. Harsha’s heart ached with the beauty of the scene and the longing to see more sunsets. Self-pity erupted in her belly and threatened to send a flood of tears down her cheeks. She swallowed it down, but it struggled against her and tried to force its way upwards until her throat grew sore with the effort of containing it.
Zeeb’s hands rested on her waist. His presence offered a menial form of comfort, that of a cautious friend unsure where he stood with her. At the moment, she craved deeper connection. She wanted to forget reality and lose herself in the full embrace of someone she trusted. She trusted Zeeb.
The desire both surprised and troubled her. She’d ignored her standards to such an extent once before, with Josh. Both of them faced major crises at the time. They had also turned out to be the solutions for each other’s problems. Th
e slipup, while embarrassing, resulted in them sharing their troubles and realizing they could help each other, and so ended well, with them parting as friends. If the midflight debacle of the day before implied what she suspected, Zeeb wanted to be more than friends. Taking advantage of his feelings to ease stress would be manipulative and cruel.
Seraph’s heat wafted up to warm her, providing a welcome distraction from the worrisome images flashing across her mind. Remembering their long, comfortable conversations, Harsha tried to think of a topic. She opened her mouth several times to bring up the stock market, or Ireland, or something . Every time, the lump in her throat hardened and tried to choke tears out of her.
With a growl of frustration directed at the entire universe, she flopped against Zeeb and squeezed her eyes shut. He sucked in a breath and hesitated before wrapping his arms around her. Nuzzling the top of her head, he pulled her close. His affection produced a wave of guilt-saturated nausea. She sat up, ready to apologize.
Zeeb loosened his arms, but leaned forward with her to whisper, “It’s okay. I get it.”
She doubted that, but accepted his belief in it and leaned into him. The steady beat of his heart thumped near her ear. She focused on the quiet thrum and let it soothe her. Her own heart slowed to match its rhythm and her body grew restful in spite of her racing thoughts.
Close to morning, Seraph descended over the island of Kauai. Harsha studied the island and pictured how Waimea looked from above at night, a sight she knew from flying home after trips to mainland doctors. She pointed it out and directed the dragon to her house.
Seraph folded her wings and dove toward the ground. The speed of the descent lifted Harsha off the saddle and ripped tears from her eyes. She gasped and clung to Zeeb’s arms.
“It’s okay. I got you.” His whisper tickled her ear, cutting through the shrill whistle of the wind with its gentleness.
A heartbeat before Harsha believed they were about to crash, Seraph spread her wings, slowing their descent. She extended her claws to land before Harsha noticed a problem.
“Not this one.” Her whisper sounded loud in the quiet neighborhood. “Across the street.”
Seraph brought up her feet and wobbled in the air. She beat her wings in noisy, ungraceful flaps and managed to get back in the air without touching down. Harsha glanced at her neighbor’s house. A curtain waved in an open window, but, to her great relief, no one gawked out of it.
Seraph flew into Harsha’s yard, narrowly missed landing in the pool, and plopped to the ground with a thump and sigh of relief.
“Sorry about the poor directions,” Harsha said.
Seraph swiveled her head to grin at Harsha. “It’s okay. I’ll remember for next time.”
Next time? Harsha had believed leaving Alaska meant relegating her embryonic friendship with the dragon to the status of semi-superficial internet acquaintance. Knowing Seraph hoped to visit warmed her.
She leaned forward to hug the dragon’s neck and refused to be daunted by the heat. “Come whenever you want. My door is always open to you.”
Zeeb jumped down and tugged her leg. She squawked in surprise and slid off. He caught her and smiled with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Am I invited, too?”
Zeeb’s desire to visit thrilled her less. His apparent crush complicated their relationship. It might be different if Phyllis gave her two unicorn horns—romance appealed to her as much as to most women—but with limited time left, she preferred not to add long, mushy video chats to her to-do list.
“Um, yes. Will you put me down? Phyllis fixed my leg, remember?”
He obliged.
“Thanks. For everything.” She directed her smile to both of them. “You can crash here for a couple days to recover from the flight if you want. I’m not sure what’s in the fridge, but we always have canned tuna and ice cream on hand, and I can go grocery shopping in the morning.”
Zeeb looked to Seraph and shrugged. Seraph drooped. “We better not. I forgot to tell my mother where I was going, and she’ll be angry if I’m out of Alaska too long.”
“Your… mother?” Harsha knew some adults remained dependent on their parents well into their thirties and older, but she never understood why. The notion made less sense to her when applied to a dragon-woman who led tours in the Alaskan bush for a living.
“Seraph is only an adult by human standards,” Zeeb explained. “As a dragon, she’s a toddler.”
“Not a toddler,” Seraph protested.
Zeeb smirked. “Young enough to make unapproved overseas trips a discouraged behavior.” He pulled down Harsha’s pack. “I’ll make sure she checks in next time. Where do you want me to put this?”
“It’s okay, I’ll take it.”
“We’re not in that big a rush.”
“How about this? If I ever go on another tour of the bush, I’ll let you carry my bag the whole time.”
He rolled his eyes and set the bag next to her.
Harsha’s experience of regretful goodbyes was limited to two previous incidents, and she felt most awkward about this one. “Well. I guess it’s goodbye. You have my payment, right?”
“Back at the office. I’ll send your refund as soon as I get back to Anchorage.”
“What refund?” Seraph glared at Zeeb. Little spurts of flame shot out of her nostrils.
“A grizzly attacked her. We can’t keep the money.”
Seraph blew smoke into Zeeb’s face and pouted. “You’re right.”
Harsha smirked at the dragonly expression of woe. “Keep it. I have the cure I wanted. Besides, Phyllis fixed my leg and all my other scars.”
Zeeb opened his mouth to say something, which Seraph stifled with a cloud of smoke.
“Mother always says, ‘Never offer a gift twice.’ That includes refunds.”
Between coughs, Zeeb shrugged and croaked out, “You know dragons.”
Harsha smiled and nodded. “I do. Now.” She opened her backpack, plunged her arm in, and dug around to find the waterproof pocket. She pulled out a second certified check. “Here’s the rest I owe you.”
Zeeb leaned away as if the slip of paper looked like a coiled viper rather than a form of payment, then waved his hands. “The first check is plenty. You reserved all summer. It’s not even July, yet.”
Harsha held it out, insisting. “Then it’s for shipping back my extra luggage.”
“Thirty thousand dollars? No. What you paid is plenty.”
She started to shove it into his hand, ready to drop it on the ground and walk away, if need be, to get him to accept it.
“Never offer a gift twice,” Seraph admonished.
Harsha chuckled and stuffed the check into her pocket. “If you say so.”
Seraph winced, but nodded. “I do.” She leaned down and nuzzled Harsha’s arm. “Goodbye, my friend. I will miss you.”
Harsha’s affection for the dragon swelled. She stroked the hot scales and laid her forehead against her friend’s cheek. “I’ll miss you, too, Seraph.” She waited a few moments before breaking the contact and turning to Zeeb.
He twirled a sprig of forget-me-nots. Harsha wondered where he kept them during the flight. She hadn’t noticed them before, but they looked fresh. She smiled and started to thank him, but froze and held her breath when he reached toward her. His rough callouses trailed across her cheek and through her hair, gentle, warm. With his eyes shining, he wove the stem of the flower into the strands tucked behind her ear.
“Don’t forget me, Harsha Mooreland.”
Harsha felt a blush coming on. She looked away and stifled her awkward reaction by reminding herself people in Hawaii put flowers in each other’s hair all the time. “I’m not likely to.”
Whether he smiled or not, she didn’t see. She kept her eyes on her pool until Seraph flew off to the north. She watched as her friends disappeared into the night like fantastical specters returning to the land of dreams.
Chapter 15
Inside her house, all was dark and
silent. She glanced at the clock. Jason disliked being awakened at all, let alone before four o’clock. She opened the box containing the unicorn horn. It cast a light which illuminated several feet around her. She assumed the glow meant the horn still held its power and decided to take a hot shower instead of waking Jason up right away.
Her tumultuous emotions, a disgusting, tangled mess of warring joy, despair, excitement, frustration, loneliness, hopefulness, and apathy, all of them bleeding yet bent on the destruction of the others, numbed, none of them equal to the strange calming influence of running water. She stayed in the shower, savoring the rush of steaming water flowing over her skin and the relief from her internal conflict, long enough to wrinkle her fingers and toes before putting on her favorite set of satin jammies.
After a call to the caregiving agency to tell them not to send the caregiver in the morning, she rummaged through the freezer. She found an unopened quart of lilikoi ice cream. Grateful for the comfort food, she fished a spoon out of the dishwasher, washed it, settled on the couch with remote in hand, and delved into the treat with no intention of stopping before she hit bottom.
She passed over one of her favorite tear-jerkers, loathe to add fictional reasons to cry to her factual ones, and chose a Thin Man marathon. The clever humor aided the ice cream in lifting her spirits. She watched two of them, checking the unicorn horn for brightness at commercials, before she heard Jason shuffling down the hall.
She sat up straighter and moved to the edge of the couch to hide the box behind her back. Jason poked his head around the entrance to the living room and their eyes met. A flood of relief and love broke over Harsha, washing away the negative feelings.
When she smiled, she felt it fill her face. “Surprise!”
“Harsha! You scared me. I thought a stranger broke in. You’re not supposed to be home for another five weeks. What happened? Didn’t your tour guides’ faerie wear enough glitter for you?”
She smirked. Telling him is going to be so much fun. If the unicorn horn works. “Glitter does not begin to describe it.”