by H. L. Burke
Cora pulled up a bucket and sat down to watch.
Circling the egg several times, he breathed on it. Flames lapped the egg like waves of water.
“Oh, I bet that is going to be another striker! That’s what he did with Firecracker’s egg!” Abry sat on another bucket, her hands on her knees. “I wonder what the one in the window is going to be … and if he’ll make a steamer like Neptune.”
Cricket spent several minutes, lovingly toasting the egg, until the top of the shell glowed. The next egg, he carried to rest beside the first.
He flew about, chirping, peeking into pots and crates, until he finally discovered a watering can and disappeared inside. When he emerged, his cheeks were puffed out and water dripped from his wingtips. He flew to the tank and doused two of the remaining eggs. Seemingly satisfied, he curled up among the eggs, tucking his head beneath one wing.
“He didn’t do anything with that last egg.” Abry stood and gazed into the tank.
“Maybe he will later.” Cora watched the dragon’s chest flutter up and down with his breath. “It seemed to take a lot out of him.”
“Oh, you’re right. We don’t want to push him too hard. I just was surprised he stopped. He seemed so excited about the whole thing.” Abry put her chin in her hands.
“Yes, I don’t think I’ve seen him that happy.” Cora stood and looked at the eggs on the window sill. They didn’t look in danger of falling, but just to be sure, she took some wire out of her pocket and made a railing to keep them in place. “What do we do now?”
Abry raised her hands. “Not much we can do. I don’t think he makes them incubate any faster.”
It was going to be so hard to wait for them to hatch.
***
Over the next two days, the girls spent all the time they could in the greenhouse. Abry brought over books and sat reading, glancing at the quiet eggs every so often. Cricket still fussed over them. While he didn’t repeat his rituals of burning and baptizing the eggs, he’d chirp to them and cuddle with them, as if communing with the tiny dragons inside.
“I wonder if he can handle more than six eggs at a time,” Cora said, watching him rub up against one of the two watered eggs. “These six seem to take a lot of effort.”
Abry raised her eyes from her book. “It’s hard to say. If all of these end up being rare dragons, that may be enough. I mean, how many do you think we can find homes for?”
“I don’t know. Parker said he could get us some customers, but he didn’t say how many, and I’m not sure how to get in touch with him anyway.”
“Oh, I can.” Abry brought the book over her face.
“You can? How? I’ve never seen him at church or school.”
“His father doesn’t go to church, and he goes to the free school across town. His mom’s dead, so it’s just him and his sister, most days. He watches her a lot. She’s little.”
“How do you know so much about Parker?” Cora’s eyebrows pinched together.
“He … um… saw me at the library the other day, and we talked a bit.”
“At the library?” Cora raised her eyebrows. She hadn’t pegged Parker as the reading type.
“Well, yeah, and afterwards. He … uh … walked me home.” Behind her book, Abry’s face was bright red.
“You’re sweet on Parker? Is he sweet on you?”
“Oh shush. We just talked. He’s nice, takes good care of his little sister. She was there, too. Cute kid. Loves Firecracker. Wouldn’t stop talking about her and how she wants her own dragon someday.”
“I can’t believe you like a boy.” Cora clicked her tongue. “The reverend’s daughter’s stuck on the jockey’s son.”
“Oh shush, Cor.” Abry scowled. “It’s not … he’s just nice.”
It would’ve been fun to tease Abry a little more, but the expression on her face was so serious, Cora thought better of it.
Scraggles wandered over and rubbed up against her shins. Cora scratched his ears. “It feels like forever and it hasn’t even been three days yet.”
“Yeah, but look on the bright side. Tomorrow is the earliest they could possibly hatch.” Abry leaned over the terrarium. “I better get home or I’ll be late for dinner again. I’m going to come over right after breakfast, if that’s okay with you and your dad. I have a good feeling about tomorrow. I think we’re going to see some dragons.”
“I’ll see you then.” Cora waved as Abry headed out the door.
Standing to stretch her legs, Cora considered going for a walk, maybe down to the fishpond to watch the glistening carp.
“You want to go out, boy?” she asked.
Wrapped around one of the eggs, Cricket raised his head and yawned.
“Yeah, I don’t really either, but sitting here is just dumb.” She leaned against the terrarium, staring at the eggs.
Cricket flew out of the tank and to the windowsill. He sniffed the eggs there and fussed over the colored foil.
Sunlight shone through his wings and glinted on his scales. Cora squinted. In that light, his color no longer looked muddy. It was as if the sun had stripped away his plainness to reveal an inner polish.
“I really should make you a bed,” she said. “Abry keeps Neptune in a cage, but I don’t think you’d like that.”
He tilted his head to one side, twisting his neck in a loop.
She laughed. “You seemed to like nesting in my book-bag. How about a nest? Like a bird.”
He glided down from the sill and landed on her shoulder. She rummaged through the discarded items on her shelf, and a brightly painted blue birdhouse caught her eye. She’d made it as a birthday present for her dad, but he’d explained that she’d made the door too big. Predators would be able to get in and eat the hatchlings. She’d put it aside, determined to fix it, but had never gotten around to it. She held it up. k'12
“If you're done growing, this would work fine. You’ve been about the same size for almost a week now.” She hung the house above the terrariums and lifted him up to the door. He poked his head in, then his front legs, and finally disappeared except for the tip of his tail. After a moment, he stuck his head back out and gave a coo.
She grinned. “Just right. Now you can sleep here if you want and keep an eye on your eggs.”
The door opened, and Dad strode in. “I thought I’d find you here. Still, no hatchlings?”
“It’s too early.” Cora shrugged. “Cricket doesn’t like to leave them for too long, though.”
“Ah.” He came over and peered into the terrariums. “Cricket is an attentive guardian.”
She eyed her father. Clutched in one hand was an old cloth bound book with a dusty-green cover. He cleared his throat and turned to her. “I got this out for you. It was mine when I was your age.”
Cora raised her eyebrows. She’d never thought of her father as a reader, other than the back of seed packets. The book was worn and the pages yellowed. “I got it when the library threw it out. It was considered outdated even then.” He passed it to her. A smell of musky vanilla rose from the paper. Faded gold letters read: A Field Guide to Wild Dragons–J. C. McCall.
He sat on Abry’s abandoned bucket. “J. C. McCall was a naturalist. He devoted his life to the study of dragons. He lived in the wilderness for months at a time, observing their colonies and sketching them. All the different dragons have unique purposes within their colonies. Racers, for instance, were called sentinels in those days. They guarded the colony and brought in food for the queen and drakes.”
She flipped it open. Inked illustrations, labeled in tiny print, showed the parts of a major dragon colony, this one in a giant cave.
“I read this book over and over, even though I knew wild dragons were dying out and would probably be gone long before I ever got the chance to see them,” Dad said.
“Do you think they’ll ever come back?” Cora whispered.
“People seem determined not to let them. Some say it is because they are too dangerous, but we have wildlife sanct
uaries now. A colony could exist there and never come across a human. There was a movement before you were born to plant a colony in the Big Hills National Forest, about a day’s ride by train from here, but the Dragon Regulatory Agency and their pet companies squashed it.”
“Pet companies like Mr. Algernon’s?” Cora turned to a picture of a dragon nursery. A dozen nurse dragons flew over a massive clutch of eggs, carrying flowers and shooting flames and water.
“It’s one of Mr. Algernon’s many holdings.”
“Dad, if you think dragon companies are so bad, why do you work for Mr. Algernon?” She tilted her head to one side.
He smiled. “I’m not fond of every aspect of Mr. Algernon’s business, but I’ve met him, and he’s not an evil man … just a slightly misguided one. Also, his gardens aren’t evil.” He stood up and ruffled her curls. “Lock up when you’re done. I’m going to see about dinner.”
Chapter Twelve
The Greenhouse Nest
That night, for the first time, Cricket didn’t want to leave the greenhouse and come home with Cora. She kissed him on his forehead, leaving him to watch over his eggs. Part of her wished she could stay with him, but Dad would never approve.
The next morning, as soon as her eyes opened, she hopped out of bed, threw on her coveralls, and darted past her father at the breakfast table, out the door.
“Good morning to you too!” he yelled, but she didn’t stop.
Her feet crunched the gravel of the path to the greenhouse. The sky was still a clear blue with a few visible stars, though a band of yellow warmed the eastern horizon. The greenhouse’s windows were fogged, and stepping inside after her run through the chill morning air, she got momentarily dizzy. After a few deep breaths, she darted down the aisle and around her pallet-board wall into her work space.
Cricket chirped a greeting. He perched on the edge of the terrarium. She bit her bottom lip. The eggs sat silently in their places. Still perfect white marbles. No cracks, no holes, no dragons.
She sat down, and her stomach rumbled. I should’ve eaten breakfast. I could go back home and eat. But what if they hatch while I’m gone?
The book her father had given her lay next to the terrarium. Most days she’d rather do anything than read, but this book was about dragons, and it wasn’t like there was anything else to do. If I find out something Abry doesn’t know, she’ll burst a blood vessel. Cora snickered.
She looked at the table of contents. Chapter seven was called, “Nurse Dragons.” She flipped right to that page.
Like the canaries used by miners to test the quality of the air in mine shafts, Nurse Dragons are considered the barometers of the colony. Sensitive to changes in their environment as well as issues such as overcrowding and food shortage, they use this instinct to determine which varieties of dragons to nurture within the eggs. Their physical appearance reflects their well-being. Healthier nurse dragons are lustrous, with gleaming mahogany scales.
Cora glanced at Cricket. He did seem shinier than he had when he first hatched.
As the sun crept through the glass panels, the mayflies stirred to life, fluttering among the branches and flowers she’d laid out for them. Cricket gave out a loud, squawking chirp.
“I know, I know. Breakfast time.” Cora pulled out her tackle box and started prepping their meals. She glanced at her notebook. It seemed silly to keep taking notes on her mayfly experiment, now that they were moving on to bigger and better dragons. Still, she didn’t want to abandon the research after so many months spent, tracking food intake and lifespans.
She opened up the first terrarium to dispense the food and saw the limp body of a mayfly. Her mouth quirked. She tried not to get attached to the short-lived creatures, but still, she never liked finding one dead. Scooping up the cold, lifeless body, she laid it reverently on the workbench before she finished feeding the other mayflies.
Cricket hopped over and nosed at the body. He looked up, his green eyes wide, and gave a low, trilling coo.
“He’s gone, boy. They don’t live that long, the mayflies. A12 had a good life.”
Cricket hung his head and didn’t touch his food when she placed it before him.
Taking up a trowel, Cora carried the corpse outside and made it a tiny resting place beneath the earth. When she returned, Cricket’s breakfast was gone. Apparently dragon mourning was short.
Cricket’s tail twitched. With a squeal, he shot to the windowsill. Cora leapt on her bucket to get a look.
One of the window eggs vibrated, almost imperceptibly. Cricket’s wings quivered. A hairline crack split the shell, followed by a clicking noise, a bit like teeth chomping together. A piece of shell fell away, revealing the yellow tip of a bony beak.
Cora reached for the egg, but Cricket shot her a warning look and hissed. She raised her eyebrows. “Okay, bossy.”
Something flashed, and the egg flew apart. Cora ducked to avoid a spray of shell bits. Oh my gosh, did it just explode?
She leaned over the terrarium. Where the egg had been now fluttered a small, golden dragon, similar in body shape to Neptune. It let out a snort and another flash of light.
“A sparker!” A grin overtook her face. Cricket nudged at the sparker, who flew in a circle around him then darted off towards the ceiling.
Oh no! How am I going to catch it?
Casting a desperate look around the greenhouse, she spied the net Dad used to clean the fishpond. She grabbed it and swiped after the sparker. It dodged. Cricket gave out a trilling chirp that almost sounded like a laugh. Cora huffed out a breath and froze, hoping it would think she was a tree.
The sparker looped around the greenhouse a few times, sticking its nose into pots and banging against the glass panels before finally alighting on a shelf. Cora crept closer. It scratched its nose with a stubby front leg. Its head turned towards Cora. She stopped moving, barely daring to breathe. It tilted its head to one side, let out a golden spark like a firework going off, then placed its head under one wing. Cora swung!
The net came down over the little dragon. It sparked several times, blackening the fibers of the net. She managed to get her fingers around it, untangle it from the net, and run it back to one of her terrariums. The dragon pounded against the glass with its beak, but at least it was safe. It wouldn’t get out and get caught by an owl or something.
She sat back, staring at it. A sparker, from the egg in the sunlight … the striker had hatched from a toasted egg, and it would make sense if the water doused eggs held steamers. Those were the three most common types of cat-sized dragons. I mean, there are the one in a million or so purple monarchs, and a few color variations of the other cat-sized, but that’s basically it. I wonder what the egg he didn’t do anything to will hatch into.
The next egg to hatch was the fire-breathed egg, predictably a striker. Cora managed to get her hands on it before it could fly and pop it in with the sparker. We need to buy some cages. I hate keeping them locked up, but having them fly around the greenhouse is too risky. Neptune doesn’t seem to mind his cage too much.
Over the next hour or so, another sparker and one steamer hatched, leaving two more eggs. The hatchlings calmed down a bit when she fed them, though their appetites reduced her food-stock by half. Going to have to get more food too.
The door burst open, and Abry rushed in. Her eyes met Cora’s and her mouth turned down. “Did I miss the hatching?” She ran to the terrariums.
“We still have two left. Look.” Cora pointed to the resting eggs.
Abry’s shoulders slumped. “I knew I should’ve come earlier, but I skipped my dusting yesterday, and Mom wouldn’t let me go until I got it done … oh, but I was right, look at them! Sparkers, a striker, and a steamer! This is wonderful. Do you want to keep one? I mean, we can’t keep them all, and I know we can sell them, but you’ve always wanted a special dragon.”
“I have a special dragon.” Cora rubbed Cricket between the wings.
Abry laughed. “Silly me. You definitely d
o. I meant another special dragon, I guess.”
Cora shook her head. “No, I think we should get our business established first, try to find some customers.”
“Oh yeah, I need to tell Parker. He wanted to know if we got any more.” Abry set her book bag down on the floor and her rear on a bucket.
“Do you think … how are we going to explain all these dragons? Your mom said we shouldn’t draw a lot of attention to ourselves.”
“Well, if we only sell two or three at a time, it won’t get a lot of notice. For now, I guess we’ll stick to the small kits. There’s nothing suspicious about a couple of kids buying a six pack of eggs every few weeks, after all. Not with how short-lived mayflies are. We’ll just have to tell the kids we sell to not to blab about it. They’ll have to save up to get the four dollars we charge, anyway, so it’s not like their dragons will just appear out of nowhere. They can truthfully say they bought them, discount dragons.” Abry laughed.
Cora shrugged.
Cricket leapt from her shoulder and landed in the terrarium.
“I bet another one’s hatching!” Cora stood. “He seems to know.”
“Maybe he hears or smells them.” Abry peered over the top of the terrarium.
Cricket positioned himself, the tip of his beak touching the egg shell.
“That’s the one he didn’t do anything to, right?” Abry asked.
Cora nodded as the egg began to twitch.
“We could help it along. Maybe crack the egg a bit,” Abry suggested. She reached towards the egg. Cricket let out a warning hiss. She recoiled.
“Cricket doesn’t like that.” Cora smirked.
“I guess … you don’t think he’d bite, do you?” Abry’s mouth pinched.
“Maybe, maybe not. All I know is he doesn’t like it, so we shouldn’t do it. These are his eggs. He’s made that very clear.”
“I didn’t see him pay for them,” Abry muttered.
The shell broke in two, and a two-legged, green dragon rolled out. Though she’d seen these dragons a hundred times, Cora’s heart still sank.