by Oliver Urban
When I get close enough I shout out to the three witches, "hey!" I shoot towards them and find myself face to face with one of them, a slightly green-skinned woman with hair like straw. God, the dragon wasn't kidding about their split end situation.
"Hey yourself!" The witch growls. "What do you want, kid? We're busy tonight."
"What do I want? Well, it would be nice if you would leave my dragon friend alone."
She snorts like I've said something funny. "Nice try, kid. That dragon will pay for what she said! She'll rue the day she messed with our coven!"
I sigh. I was hoping this could be easy. "Maybe I didn't speak clearly enough for you. I want you to get the hell out of my neighbourhood and stop bothering my poor dragon friend you tacky witch bitch! And for another thing, you're not even a real coven! There's only three of you!"
She looks taken aback. "Well I never!" She wobbles on her broomstick slightly as she crosses her arms in outrage.
"No! You haven't ever! You haven't ever met a more determined sixteen year old girl, and you probably never will! Now I am going to be grounded for life if I don't get you out of here before my parents get home because there's a damn dragon in my yard and she won't leave until I get rid of you, so either scram like a smart witch would, or I'll curse you into the thirtieth century!"
The other two witches come to a hover on their broomsticks just behind her, and the three of them glare at me like Mom did that time I let a mermaid crash in a kitty pool in the garage for a week. Yikes.
"I think," says a witch with dark skin and wide eyes, "that we should teach this young lady some manners."
Great.
The three of them glance at each other, probably planning to hex me, but I'm too busy thumbing open the grimoire to pay much attention to them. I did warn them, didn't I? Now I'm going to have to curse them. I wonder if there's a spell to turn them into a trio of singing frogs like in an old cartoon or something. That would be epic.
I glance up to find the witches are spreading out, surrounding me.
I'm turning a page in the grimoire when one of the witches lets out a battle cry and the three of them charge me from three sides. I drop the book in surprise and dive after it, sinking in the air like an anvil dropped from a plane. I catch the book in shaky fingers and look up in time to see the witches crash into each other like a cartoon character running into a brick wall. Their foreheads smash together, arms and legs tangling as they fight to stay in the air and on their broomsticks.
They're going to have some killer headaches tomorrow, for sure.
The witches end up clinging onto a single broomstick as the other two plummet to the ground at a dizzying speed. They're lost for sure. Meanwhile the women have managed to balance themselves rather shoddily on the one broomstick. I'm surprised it doesn't snap under their weight.
The one with straw coloured hair glares at me. "What an awful brat! You haven't seen the last of us you little twerp! We'll be back!" She cries.
"I'm sure I haven't." I roll my eyes. Why do witches have to be so melodramatic?
The three of them slowly fly away, the broomstick barely managing to chug along under their combined weight. They'll probably have to land and call a taxi or something to get home. Not my problem, though. If I had my way they'd be singing frogs for at least a week. I hold the grimoire tightly against my chest and head back towards the house, my hair flying out behind me.
The dragon is still in her crater, just chilling out. She's produced a large nail file from god knows where, and she's shaping up her claws a bit. Chester sits in the doorway, tail flicking back and forth in agitation as he waits for me to return.
I land a bit roughly next to the dragon and salute her. "The witches are gone, Monique. Time to hit the road. And, hey, maybe try not to insult anyone else before you get to your cousin's wedding, okay?"
"It's not my fault people don't know what style means these days," she mumbles under her breath. Monique lumbers to her feet and flaps her wings a few times before lifting off, her massive form blasting up into the sky. The ground shakes again from her kick-off and I fall onto the grass under the force of her wings flapping.
Just as fast as she came Monique is gone, her scaly tail swinging behind her as she goes. Even if she runs into the witches again, there isn't much they can do to her on a single broomstick: they'd probably topple off if they even tried to reach for their wands, not that they were smart enough to think of using magic on me. From their varsity football tactics approach to our fight, they probably wouldn't have been much of a challenge for Monique to take on herself in the first place.
Chester pads over to me and sits at my side, his head nudging my bare leg. "We need to get rid of your wings."
"And this Monique-shaped crater." I add.
The wings are easy enough to say goodbye to. As I flip through the grimoire, looking for a spell to get rid of the crater, they begin to shimmer with silver light and tingle all over, before they vanish as if they never even existed. I can still feel a bit of dried blood on my back where they sprouted, and the cool air where they ripped open my tank top, but other than that they may as well never have been there.
"Well that's useful." Chester remarks.
"Uh-huh."
It doesn't take long to find a damage reversal spell, and soon the backyard looks like it did an hour ago, before the world's most stylish dragon decided to come crashing in. Chester and I head inside just in time for me to rush upstairs as my parents pull into the driveway. I pull on a sweater over my torn tank top and try to look casual as I head back downstairs.
Dad is shrugging his coat off and hanging it in the closet while Mom kicks off her heels, greasy pizza box in hand. She casts an appraising eye over the hallway and smiles in surprise when she doesn't find any pentagrams drawn on the floor in blood, or tentacles reaching out of the basement in search of prey.
I smile back. The entire night went off without a hitch, as far as I'm concerned.
"Hi guys," I step off the stairs and head past them into the family room, trying to act casual.
"Quiet evening?" Dad asks.
"Yeah, you could say something like tha—" I pause so fast Mom nearly crashes into my back.
"Lilac what the—" Her mouth drops open as she takes in the disaster. I squeeze my eyes shut. Maybe if I wish hard enough she won't be too angry . . . No such luck. Mom explodes. "Lilac Xia Jones, how many times do I have to tell you? Absolutely no drinks in the family room!"
The blue raspberry slushie has sunken into the carpet, staining it a deep blue.
Oh man, I am so grounded.
If you liked this story, check out Oliver Urban’s Spook Reformatory Stories, Coming soon! And don't forget to rate and review this story on Amazon and Goodreads!
Acknowledgements:
As always, telling this story was a group effort, because although writing is a solitary journey, I've been inspired by so many people, it's hard to even know where to start.
Thanks to the creators of the podcast Welcome To Night Vale, for inspiring me to write weird, crazy stories that had no basis in reality but were oh, so much fun. Ditto to the folks at Cartoon Hangover for their amazing animated shorts!
Thanks to Tumblr, for inspiring me to write diverse characters, and for all the great process and editing tips.
Thanks to Naomi & Jade for spending time with me between rounds of drafting and editing; I will always let you (or anyone, really) buy me Chinese takeout. Thanks for feeding me.
About the Author:
Oliver Urban is a blogger, pop culture nerd, and all around geek, who spends most of his time scrolling through tumblr while trying to avoid work. Oliver spent his early years devouring comics and novels alike, and can often still be found curled up on the couch with a good paranormal romance or graphic novel.
Oliver is the author of Night of the Dragon, Crave, and All is Fair, his main genres include urban fantasy, science fiction, and romance.
Contact him at art_in_motio
[email protected]
Copyright
Night of the Dragon copyright Oliver Urban, 2014
All right reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.
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License notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.
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Girl Cover image “Arisa Chan” by IOTA EXT (https://www.flickr.com/photos/iota-ext/) Available under a Creative Commons Attribution Commercial license.
URL: https://www.flickr.com/photos/iota-ext/11207225495