by Avell Kro
She wasn’t like Florence. She didn’t have a moral compass born from a religion. She based her
moral compass on what she had been told, and on believing that the magic system would stop her
if she went corrupt. Therefore, whenever she’d done something questionable and Florence had
called her on it, she’d known that she was right and Florence was wrong.
For instance, choosing to kill their first arch-nemesis instead of taking him prisoner.
Tears squeezed out of Kendra’s eyes.
It wasn’t fair. She’d always followed what she had been told. She’s always believed what she had
been told. And everybody had let her down. Magic had let her down.
And that was when Kendra realized . . .
No. Magic didn’t fail me. I failed magic.
Kendra drew in a shaky breath, trying not to bawl again. Yes. She had failed magic. She didn’t
deserve it anymore.
But she couldn’t bear to give it up.
Please, Kendra pleaded silently, isn’t there any way I can keep it?
All she wanted to do was save the world. All she wanted to be was a hero. Giving up couldn’t be
the answer to that. It couldn’t.
But she had only two sure ways to make sure that future didn’t happen, and she would never
consider suicide. That was a coward’s way out. Which meant that the only real option to make
sure that, no matter how tempted she got in the future, she would never become that person was .
. .
If I gave up my powers . . .
Kendra shivered, and forced herself to continue walking down the sidewalk back home.
She wasn’t ready to stop being a magical girl. She wasn’t done. She’d never intended to quit; she’d intended to keep her powers for as long as possible until magic itself abandoned her for being too
old.
She’d always said she’d do the right thing, no matter what the cost. But this was not a cost she
had anticipated. This was not a cost she had been willing to pay.
But if it was the right thing . . .
Kendra stopped again as another thought struck her.
Is it the right thing?
Because there was another logical conclusion to draw from what she had just learned.
“The world does need me to save it,” Kendra murmured. “I see . . .”
***
Florence was getting really worried. Somebody had called her after track practice to say he’d seen
Kendra crying in the park. Then Florence had called Kendra’s house, and her parents had said
she’d been refusing to speak to anybody. And now Kendra had skipped school all day.
We’ve fought before, Florence thought uneasily. A lot. Kendra’s never cried about it. What’s made this time so different?
She and Kendra had always had a . . . dynamic friendship. Even as kids, they’d gone from best
friends to worst enemies to best friends many times in a week. They’d been fighting more than
usual lately, but that was just because Florence had been wondering whether she wanted to stay a
magical girl at all, and Kendra’d had strong opinions about the matter and problems with the
whole “staying out of other people’s business” thing.
But something must have been different this time. Florence must have really hurt her best friend.
And she had no clue what she’d said.
She caught up to Felicity near the bleachers after she’d finished running a few laps on the track.
“Any sign of Kendra?” Florence panted, pulling her dreadlocks off her sweaty neck.
Felicity shook her head. Her eyes brightened. “But I gave Daniel my phone number!”
“Really?” Florence was startled. “You told him that you like him?”
Felicity giggled, turning red. “No, no! I wrote it on his backpack while he wasn’t looking!”
“Wel , then I’m sure he’ll know exactly what that means and what to do about it,” Florence said,
rol ing her eyes.
“Kendra!” Felicity gasped, pointing behind Florence.
Florence spun around, and there was a slumped figure, standing with a wall of blonde hair covering
her face.
“Kendra . . .?” Florence asked uneasily.
“Where did you come from?!” Felicity exclaimed. “You just, like, appeared out of nowhere! Where
have you been? ”
“Do I want to know why you skipped school?” Florence added in an accusing tone, hoping to
provoke a reaction.
Kendra said nothing.
Florence felt a stab of uncertainty. What was wrong with Kendra? She never acted like this. She
always had something to say, often some kind of order that drove Florence crazy.
Did I jump to the wrong conclusions yesterday? Florence wondered. I thought she was going to pester us to apply as FBI aides yet again. Maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she wanted to suggest that we
become singing magical girls or something.
The more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed. Kendra’s mother had been a singing
magical girl, and Kendra really admired her. Kendra also knew that Florence’s favorite musician
was a singing magical girl in South Africa, and she knew that Felicity loved singing along to songs
on the radio.
Badly and out of tune. But most singing magical girls had autotune magic, so that wouldn’t be a big
deal.
If that was the case, Florence felt awful for ignoring her. She’d assumed that Kendra was still
obsessed with that whole “saving the world” schtick, but maybe she wasn’t. Maybe Kendra had
been trying to be unselfish, for once, and Florence had thrown it in her face.
“Kendra?” Florence asked cautiously.
Kendra final y spoke, but she did not raise her head. Her long, blonde hair was like a wall between
them. “I’ve been up all night, thinking. And I think . . . we need to split up our team.”
“WHAT?! ” Felicity shrieked. Loose hair clips from her ponytail went flying all over the place. She’d worn about three dozen of them today, and she’d been losing them all day.
“Wel , that’s a complete 180 . . .” Florence muttered, with a flash of irritation.
She couldn’t believe she’d been so worried. Kendra was just being Kendra, it seemed. She’d high-
handedly decided to fire them both from Wings of Justice without their permission.
“I’m sorry if I’ve talked too much about Daniel . . .” Felicity sobbed, burying her face in her hands.
“Who do you want to train to take our place?” Florence asked, almost as accusingly as she’d
intended.
“No,” Kendra said. “That’s not what I meant at all.”
Florence noticed for the first time that Kendra was holding her halo. That was odd, because your
focus item didn’t do anything unless you were transformed. You could summon it whenever, but
there was no real point in doing so.
As Kendra spoke, a flutter of feathers surrounded her halo — not Kendra herself, which was even odder, because they would normally be part of her transformation scene.
“I’ve decided,” Kendra said quietly, “to become . . . a villain instead.”
Florence’s mouth fell open as the halo grew spikes. Thick iron spikes jabbed out of the gold ring.
“WHAT?! ” she burst out, hearing Felicity say the same.
Kendra raised her head at last, and there were tears in her eyes. “If magical girls can betray the
world, then someone has to stop them! So as of right now, I’m officially defecting!”
“Are you insane?” Florence yelped.
“Teleport! ” Kendra screamed, raising the spiked halo and somethin
g else in her other hand over
her head. Then, with a poof of sparkles, she was gone.
Florence stared at the empty air, unable to fathom what she had just witnessed. Kendra had said
she was . . . defecting?
Kendra?
Kendra, of all people?
That didn’t even make sense! Defectors lost their powers, and their focus items crumbled!
Kendra’s focus item had grown spikes, as if it had become a villain weapon instead!
“What just happened?” Florence burst out, trying to process it.
“I wanna wake up from this dreeeam!” Felicity wailed.
What the —? Florence thought. WHAT?!
***
Chronos was settling in with a book she’d read many times. She was glad to get back to her
routine of doing not much of anything. She hadn’t had any nightmares on the plane home, which
hopefully meant that she could go back to ignoring everybody.
“Hm?” A twinkle of light caught the corner of her eye, and she turned around, wondering idly what
—
“Kendra? ”
The corrupt magical girl was standing there, spiked ring in one hand and watch in the other,
glowering fiercely.
“Um . . .” Chronos said. “I think you took a wrong turn —”
“I defected,” the magical girl said darkly. “Now I can never wreck the world, and no one can ever
wreck the world in my name. But that doesn’t solve the problem permanently, does it?”
What are you talking about? Chronos stared at her, baffled. That solves the problem entirely.
Granted, you could just have quit your magic, and I’m not sure why you didn’t, but . . .
“If I was going to turn evil, I won’t be the last one,” Kendra explained sharply. “So you’re going to help me fight the corrupt. We’ll form a villain team.”
“WHAT?” Chronos exploded. “I don’t do teams! And I’m not a villain — I’m neutral! ”
“Not anymore,” the magical girl said. “You want to save the world? Help me stop the people who
threaten it.”
“I don’t want to save the world!” Chronos protested. “I just wanted to end my nightmares about
you! ”
“Congratulations,” Kendra said, spinning on her heel and walking towards the door. “Where’s your
guest room?”
“You’re not staying! ” Chronos shouted. “Leave me alone! ”
“Too late for that, oracle.”
“The name’s ‘Chronos’ —”
“Whatever you say, soothsayer.”
“CHRONOS!”
DRAGON SISTERS
Jeffrey Bardwell
Published by Twigboat Press
Copyright © 2017 Jeffrey Bardwell
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, nor be
otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a
similar condition being imposed on the purchaser. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses,
places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s wild imagination or used in a fictitious
manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This
ebook may not be re-sold or given away to another person.
DRAGON SISTERS
We always argued, my sister and I. Some might call it banter or verbal sparring, but we never
minced words. We nurtured conflict like Mother nursed her garden for that was the one proof we
were different.
Twin girls are uncommon in the empire. When Mother birthed us, the other nobles flocked to our
estate to leave little gifts and gawk. We assumed they gawked as this birthday spectacle continued
year after year. But it was not merely our mirror appearance that drew such crowds. Our voices,
our inflections, our thoughts all veered along the same paths. We used to recite long poems in
unison while one twin was blindfolded, with little emerald green dresses and frilly ribbons in our
hair, to the delight of our father's guests.
The sameness lasted until three days after our eleventh birthday when one of us discovered a new trick that shocked and disturbed our parents: an odd skill her sister could not duplicate. That was
the summer I taught myself to juggle.
“It's a talent,” I crowed, keeping five acorns in the air. Mother had banished me from the house for
my vulgar minstrel display and then assigned my sister May to keep an eye on me. Each acorn was
as large as my fist and hefty as a bag of gold, but as smooth and delicate as a fresh brown egg. Not
that I was allowed to handle fresh eggs. That was servant's work. Eby handled the eggs while I
fought the chickens in their lair. Mother didn't know about that.
“Mother said it's a crude skill only fit for barbarians and beggars,” May spat, glaring at me through
the whirring golden brown circle. She tossed an acorn back and forth, then chucked it over her
shoulder.
I ignored my sister, dropping the acorns to poke through the leaf litter for a more balanced nut.
The forest floor was littered with the things. “You were clapping yesterday in the field,” I muttered.
“Sure! In our private field, Minny.” My sister flounced her white shawl. “It was a quiet, shared
moment between sisters. You promised to show me the trick later. I didn't think you'd be stupid
enough to show our parents. What did you expect, flowers and an ovation? You know how Mother
gets.”
“Don't tel me you enjoy sitting in the corner knitting with Mother any more than I do,” I said,
kicking one of the acorns. She said nothing. I started juggling again. A lone crow swooped down
from the canopy and pecked at my head while my hands were distracted. “May,” I cried, shielding
my face with raise arms and fingers. I would have had better luck defending myself from the
kitchen hounds with a shield made from meat.
May grabbed one of the bouncing acorns, transforming her shawl into a cloth mace, whirled it over
her shoulder, and smacked the crow mid air. I could hear the acorn explode as it connected. The
crow dropped. Somewhere above us, the other crows squawked while their comrade lay stunned.
She peered up into the trees, transformed the shawl into a sling, squinted into the rustling leaves
above us, and shot several acorns into the canopy. Three dark-feathered bodies plummeted to the
ground.
The rest of the rooks broke through the canopy and fled. She untied her ribbon and wound it
around my bleeding forehead. I winced when she pul ed it tight. We shared a grin as the last of the
crows flapped above the trees and vanished. Nasty birds, we thought.
May plucked the brown shards and shook the grit from her makeshift weapon and tied it back
around her shoulders. No sense getting blood on the shawl, she thought.
Nah. Mother would make you knit a new one from scratch, I replied.
I had promised to teach her how to juggle and I was as good as my word. But May was more a
straight line thinker. Intricate little circles flummoxed the poor girl. They came easily to me. When
we argued, I always won. I could twist my sister's arguments like a dragon's tongue and snare her
in them or squirm through all the tiny cracks in her defenses. Imagining little patterns of swirling
acorns was simple.
That night when my sister amused herself and distrac
ted our parents by snuffing the candle flames
between her fingers, I pocketed a few of the bread knives. I spent days practicing in seclusion. I did
offer to teach my sister, but she was nowhere to be found. Perhaps she wished to practice alone.
While May continued to struggle tossing two acorns back and forth–no wonder the poor girl didn't want an audience–I graduated to knives and not just butter knives either: real, edged blades.
After the last fiasco, I did not show my parents this new skill, but Eby was impressed. Eby was an
ancient cavalryman not long for the knackers as he put it. He'd been saying that for years. My
parents hired him as a nanny, servant, and bodyguard. He was an old dear and the day my parents
turned him out to pasture broke my heart.
May nearly broke my arm the year we turned fifteen and Eby left us, screaming how it was my
fault, all my fault, while I held my tongue. I could have argued otherwise. Half convinced my sister
if not myself, but deep in my gut I knew she spoke the truth. I should have suspected something
the way Eby's eyes lit when he caught me practicing with those knives.
I had discovered a forgotten, dusty alcove deep within the mansion, so focused on my task a
galloping herd of horses would not have fazed me. So I did not hear a single pair of worn leather
shoes. Nor did the armor creak. The old soldier oiled his kit every morning.
“Not for ye, the lacy dresses and fancy knitting, eh lass?”
I did not jump. I did lose focus and almost skewer my toes as the knives clattered to the ground.
The sound seemed deafening. “Eby?” I squeaked, voice echoing in the alcove.
“What happened to those humble lil' acorns? Too safe?” The old retainer grunted as he knelt on
the cold stone floor to collect the scattered knives. “Chef's been bitching for days about the missing
cutlery.” He raised an eyebrow as he tested one of the blades against his thumb. “Didn't swipe deer
skewers like these from the scullery, did ye? It'l be the Huntsman bitching next I shouldn't
wonder.”
“The scul ery maids use them to skin pigs and wild game.” I hung my head. “Might have swiped a
few butter knives to practice with first,” I said in a quiet voice.
“Not your Ma's good silver flatware?” The man scowled. “So that's why Chef's rosy cheeks look like