Acne, Asthma, And Other Signs You Might Be Half Dragon

by Rena Rocford

  Back at the campsite, Beth sat at the picnic table, map spread out in front of her. “Bob said they wanted to make the valley before sundown. Goblin Valley.”

  “Are goblins real too?” I asked.

  “How the hell should I know? I’ve been living with goody-goody two shoes and the narwhal band. I didn’t exactly get to go socializing. The monohorns have so many stories about hunting some of the other races into extinction–dragons included–that it’s hard to know if they got anything right.”

  I nodded. “Awesome. So, now we’re going to drive out into the middle of the desert and hope the goblin stories are either not true or just exaggerated. So, what do you want for breakfast?”

  “Goat entrails.” Beth delivered the line straight and waited for me to blink.

  “Over easy, or with a side of bacon?”

  “Hmmm, bacon sounds good.”

  “How long are we driving today?” I asked.

  “From here to Goblin Valley is, like, three hundred miles. So, five, six hours, depending.”

  “Depending on what?”

  “On how long it takes you to buy some clothes that don’t smell like you’ve been wearing them all day.” Beth poked me.

  “I smell fine.”

  “For now.”

  “All right, I’ll buy some clothes. I’m sure they have a Wally World or whatever here.”

  We broke camp and got directions to the super retailer. I bought a change of clothes, blowing fifty birthday bucks, but I didn’t care. Everything would be better in Ely. The more I thought about it, the more I just knew that whatever it was, it would change everything and in a big way. I expected to find a great treasure trove, something Aunt Aggy didn’t want Mom to know about. Probably money, then. If I had enough money, I wouldn’t have to roam around the country with my mom. I wouldn’t think twice about fifty bucks for a pair of jeans, some t-shirts and a sweater. And my jeans at home were too short anyway. Now, at least they fit. I just wish we could have stopped at a Laundromat to wash them. Who knows how many other people tried them on before I got to them?

  Clad in my fresh jeans, t-shirt, and my bomber jacket, we got back in the car, hunted down breakfast, and followed a troll’s map into the high desert of Utah. Towering sandstone monoliths rose out of the desert, only to shrink into the distance again behind us. The sky was a shade of blue I’d never seen before, more saturated, but also darker. As the elevation climbed, the blue went from pale water to shades of cornflower, almost more than blue.

  We stopped for gas in a town with three gas stations, two of which were closed for the season. In that tiny town, we ate tamales and burritos and pretended we liked them as the owner of the gas station leaned over us, explaining that the tamales were real, traditional, and made by his very own grandmother.

  I left him a tip for trying so hard. It was the least I could do. I was on my way to fulfill my destiny. How could I not spare a couple bucks for some poor sod waiting out the rest of his life in Podunkville, population two closed gas stations?

  The road twisted into the mountains, and the temperature dropped accordingly. Snow dotted the shadows nearby, and rust red cinders coated the roadside. The road wound down again, and all hints of moisture–snow and rain–vanished. Pines were replaced with rock formations, and we drove on.

  Following the signs to Goblin Valley State Park, we drove on until we reached the little hut where a woman in a uniform asked if we wanted to camp. Beth handed over seven dollars–way cheaper than the KOA–and we drove to Spot 13. Not the auspicious omen I was hoping for, but there were several large vans and camping trailers in the campground. The crisp air promised a chilly evening, and I set up the tent while Beth scanned for Martin’s Moving van.

  “What if they don’t come?” Beth asked.

  “If they don’t come, then we always have Pier 22 1/2,” I said, for the hundredth time.

  The afternoon sky had that promise of adventure, and my legs itched to do something other than sit. My ankle screamed from holding one position the whole time, but my relationship with the clutch was definitely improving. Still, I wanted to do something–smash troll heads or take a hike; I didn’t care which. But we lacked the trolls. “I’m going for a walk, wanna come?”

  “Fine.” Beth growled something about waiting, but we both knew that nothing could hurry the trolls. Either they’d show or they wouldn’t.

  Walking through the park, we found the hoodoos–funny mushroom-shaped rock formations. The wind blowing through the rocks sent a tingle across my spine.

  I nudged Beth with my elbow. “You feel that?”

  “Feel what?”

  I stood still, calming myself, hoping my heart would stop thudding in my throat, and listened. The wind carried whispered words, soft at first, quickly turning into conversation. I couldn’t make out the words, but the mushroom-shaped rocks resembled people–malformed and grotesque, but people nonetheless–with every passing second. They marched toward the end of the valley, in an impossibly slow trek. The wind eroded their faces, weathered their skin, and even their equipment became coated in the dust of this place, camouflaging them.

  Beth hit me in the shoulder, and the illusion vanished.

  Once again, I stared out over mere rocks.

  “Hey, what’s wrong with you? I asked you a question.”

  I blinked, focusing on my friend’s face. “What?”

  “Hey! Are you going to stand there staring all day or what?” Beth pointed at the top of one rock wall, and the last sliver of sunlight vanished over the edge. I’d been standing there for at least a minute, maybe longer

  Or was it some sort of trick, some illusion?

  “You didn’t see that?”

  “Obviously, though I see why people were starting to call you Statue Girl. You didn’t even twitch.”

  “They’re real.” I pointed at the mushroom rocks. “They’re real goblins, Beth, part of an army.”

  Two tourists, an older man and woman, marched up the walkway, decked in sun-faded hiking gear.

  “Could you take our picture?” the woman asked as soon as they were close enough.

  Beth took their camera. “I’d love to.”

  I looked back over the mushroom rocks, but no amount of concentration would bring back the goblins.

  The man shook his head, watching the rocks. “They really do look like goblins climbing out of the rock, don’t they?”

  “Yeah.” I sighed. He was just trying to be polite, but he was wrecking my chances of seeing anything. And the sun was going down.

  The man turned a mischievous eye on his wife. “There’s a story about these rocks.”

  The woman hit him with a playful backhand. “George, don’t you dare.”

  “A story?” I asked, taking the bait.

  He hunkered down and whispered, leaning in to keep the sound from carrying. “They say the rocks here danced in the light of a full moon. If you bring the goblin king what he wants”–he pointed to a particularly tall rock formation–“he’ll march his army wherever you want. For the right price, he’ll even march his goblins to Hell, but I imagine most of us have no cause to lead an army into the depths of Hell.”

  Beth chewed on the inside of her cheek. “Huh.” She scowled at the rocks. “Why would anyone need to march an army into Hell?”

  The man laughed, and if we weren’t talking about leading armies of goblins into Hell, he would have been perfect for a sweet Santa Claus. “Pack on a few more years and you’ll be more than ready to lead an army to Hell, if for nothing else than to get your friends back amongst the living.”

  The woman rolled her eyes. “Honestly, George, how do you know their friends will go to Hell, just because yours did?”

  George, looked at us and wagged his eyebrows. “I don’t know about you fine young ladies, but I’ll be back up here ‘round midnight to check on the hoodoos.”

  The woman dragged on his arm. “Don’t listen to this old fool. He’ll fill your heads with stories.”


  “A pleasure meeting you,” Beth said.

  “And you!” George’s eyes sparkled, and they moved along the trail.

  “Well, what do you think?” Beth asked.

  “Sounds like a great story, but there has to be a reason those trolls would risk driving a giant van like that to this place. If their employer has a hundred trolls on his roster, why does he need goblins too?”

  “You don’t actually believe that story, do you?”

  I looked at Beth and pointed at the make-up covering my scales. “You don’t actually believe I’m half dragon, do you?”

  “Well, you know what they say: if it spits fire like a dragon, has a bad temper like a dragon, then it must be a duck.”

  “Oh, come on, I have scales sprouting out of my face. And–and” –I pointed at her to cut her rising retort–“when I get really upset or scared, I spit fire. If I’m part dragon, then why not goblins that spend their days as rocks?”

  Beth chuckled. “I bet you believe in the tooth fairy, too.”

  “I do not.”

  “Santa Claus?”

  “I don’t have to listen to this.” I quickened my pace.

  She caught up quickly. “The Easter Bunny? The Great Pumpkin?”

  At one end of the campground sat Martin’s Moving Van. We both stopped dead in our tracks.

  The trolls had arrived.

  e scanned the campground for any sort of cover, but there was nothing–no trees, not even trashcans big enough to hide behind. Our already pitched tent sat between the moving van and us. Slinking across the road, we made our way to the tent and slipped inside. I racked my brain for ways they might recognize us, but when they saw us in the mall we hadn’t been with the faded red MGB. As long as we stayed out of sight, we were probably safe from discovery.

  Beth unzipped the tent’s window, and watched the three kidnappers. “They’re building a fire. And they’re roasting kabobs on it.”

  My stomach growled. “We haven’t exactly had dinner.”

  “You’re the one who didn’t want to stop.” Beth rubbed her stomach. “We could hit up that couple for some food.”

  “Maybe we can sneak out of the campground after they fall asleep.” I checked the road to be sure we wouldn’t have to drive past them to leave.

  “If they fall asleep, you mean.”

  “Trolls sleep,” I said. “Some of them even snore.”

  Beth turned away from the window. “And by some, you mean me?”

  “I’d rib you more, but there’s probably nothing you can do about it.”

  “I’m sorry. Did you expect a troll to be a dainty sleeper? You look like the dead when you sleep, by the way. I almost poked you to be sure you were alive last night.”

  I peeked through the window at the trolls sitting around their bonfire, roasting strips of meat on sticks. My stomach growled. “Sorry to worry you.”

  “Is it one of your dragon abilities?”

  “To sit still? That doesn’t sound very dragonish to me.” I imagined taking a bite of one of the kabobs. They had a whole cooler full of them, and after they finished one, they reached into the cooler and pulled out the next one.

  “Try it,” Beth said.

  “Try what?”

  “Do that standing still thing, and see if you can use it to sneak around. Dragons are supposed to have exceptional camouflage.”

  I gave her the hard sideways stare. “Are you suggesting my super power is standing still?”

  Beth put up her hands. “At least you get super powers. I just heal really fast, making me the perfect practice dummy.”

  “Fine, I’ll see what I can do.” I slipped out through the tent door, and found a picnic table and eased down behind it.

  They had a six-pack of beer, but they didn’t touch it. Crouching, I waited. Taking a chance on a nearby boulder, I took a step forward, sliding into a new position. I crept along the campground road for what felt like an eternity, but my thighs didn’t scream, despite holding each position unnaturally long. Every action adventure book talked about fatigue, but I didn’t feel anything. In fact, slinking along, belly to the ground, using my hands for balance and support felt natural. I focused on the trolls and their cooler. The roasting meat smell made my mouth water at the dream of eating. My stomach demanded food, and they had it.

  Standing behind Martin’s Moving van, my prey waited. The cooler sat untended, and the trolls launched into a carousing song about a Scotsman and his kilt. Skulking the last few steps, I kept my head below the level of the picnic table. I took a plastic bag from the bench and used it to grab two solid handfuls of kabobs. I didn’t have to reach far; the ice chest was full of red meat, top to bottom.

  “Did you hear that?” the short troll asked. John looked in my direction, and I froze. I literally had my hands in the cookie jar. John locked eyes with me and arched an eyebrow.

  “Hear what?” he asked. I ducked down, and the short troll–I think his name was Bob–looked around. He looked straight at me, but he must have been fire blind. He kept searching the night for the mysterious sound.

  “It’s time; grab the offerings,” Bob said, standing up.

  “But we just started eating,” the third troll complained.

  Bob grabbed him by the collar and twisted it around his fist, lifting the third troll off the ground.

  “And now, we’re going to meet the king, so I suggest you wipe your slobbering face.”

  Bob dropped him, and the third troll wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Jeez, you don’t have to be so dramatic.”

  John grabbed the six-pack of Bud, and they walked off in the direction of our campsite. I watched from under the picnic table, heart pounding, as they walked right past our tent and up the trail to the mushroom rocks.

  Seconds after they disappeared, Beth came running up the road. “Allyson,” she whispered.

  “Down here,” I said, hands still wrapped around the kabobs.

  “Did you see that?”

  “Yeah, do you think we should use their fire, or start our own?” I squirmed out from under the table.

  “What are you talking about? They left the van. Let’s get Steve and get out of here.”

  Oh, right, rescue mission first, dinner second. “How about I stand out here and keep watch while you see about breaking out the prisoner?”

  Beth looked from me to the bag of kabobs. “Just roast enough for me, too.”

  Sticking a few kabobs into the fire, I listened as Beth mangled the back door of the moving van. A clank and a screech of metal stole across the campground. I winced as I checked the meat. More metal breaking sounds came from the back of the van, and I hurried. I wanted dinner, but if Beth caused too much trouble, the other campers might mention something to the trolls. The thump of flesh on metal sounded from the far end of the truck. She was going to tear it apart with her bare hands.

  I stretched four little sticks across the jerry-rigged spit and went to check on Beth. At the back of the van, the situation was worse than I’d feared. The bumper had three Beth-sized fist prints. “How about stealthy, like a cat?”

  “Troll, not feline,” Beth said, jabbing her thumb at her chest. She grabbed the door and wrenched. It clattered as it rolled up into the top of the van. “Ah, success.”

  I gasped as my eyes focused in the darkness.

  Lining the walls of the moving van, three sets of bunk beds waited, six beds high. One on the wall against the cabin, and two along each side, eighteen total. Every single one had a person in it.

  “Oh no,” Beth said.

  In the center of the van sat a large rollaway cart, and from the cart, IV lines ran through hooks on poles to the occupants of the van. Something dark pulsed in the IV lines.

  My stomach twisted, and the world seemed to tip on its side as I lost my balance. Static ran through my ears, and my eyes blurred. The first wave of it passed over me, receding into memory. When my vision cleared, the drugs pulsed with something more than chemicals.
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br />   I’d never believed in such things as magic. But I’d never believed in dragons, either. And without a doubt, coursing through those lines was a vile, repugnant magic that stank like death. I covered my nose, but it didn’t help.

  “Dear God.”

  Beth hopped into the back and shook her head. “What the hell do we do now?”

  “Call the police.” I climbed into the van, careful not to touch any of the IV lines.

  “Yeah, ‘cause they can stop three trolls and not kill everyone here.” Beth looked over the people in their beds.

  “Wait, are these guys normal or Kin?”

  Beth touched a couple of them. “Kin.”

  “So then the police really aren’t….” My voice died in my throat as a shock drove down my spine.

  My breath caught, and my heart skipped a beat. My aunt lay across the bunk on the back wall. My aunt. Worry welled up through me, followed by a sudden need to light someone on fire, or rip their eyes out of their socket. Someone did this to my aunt.

  That someone was going to die.

  My chest burned, alternating between constricting and gulping giant breaths.

  I crossed the metal floor, slipping past the IV lines. I touched her shoulder, and almost instantly, the nausea swept over me.

  The magic leaked around the edges, and I was on my knees.

  “Allyson, are you okay?” Beth asked. She pulled my hand away from my aunt. Even that small contact had nearly put me under, and they were pumping that stuff into their veins?

  Beth put her arm under my shoulders and picked me up. “Shit.”

  “I’m not that heavy.”

  She pointed at the bunk above my aunt’s.

  Steve lay there, peacefully.

  Beth pursed her lips. “Okay, help me get them out of the van.” She reached forward to pull the IV from Aunt Agnes’ arm.

  “Wait! What if there’s some sort of booby trap in this stuff?”

  Beth’s eyes grew as she stared back at the IV lines like they had turned to snakes.

  “We can’t assume anything.”

  “Okay, so we’ll steal the whole van and drive it to the nearest hospital. We can let the authorities sort this out.”