Dragon Spells

by Melinda Kucsera

  A dark-skinned gentleman stood, hat in hand, on the threshold. His dark eyes beseeched us. Before Melinda could stop him, he approached us. “You can’t let her destroy it. It’s not just heat that’s at stake. Please, you’ve got to help us.”

  “I’m trying. I know it doesn’t look like it, but I am trying.” I squeezed the phone in my hands.

  “What else is at stake?” Papa opened his eyes. They were glassy and bloodshot from lack of sleep, but his irises were faintly glowing my favorite shade of green. His magic was coming back.

  “Shut up.” The dragon lashed out with her tail and launched three metal spikes at the nice man who was finally going to tell us what this was all about.

  Before I could shout a warning, Papa lifted his foot off the dryer door, and green light lifted it. Papa gestured, and the door rose into the path of those metal blades. They struck it dead center, and Papa let go of it. His magic dropped it, and a green glow shot toward him, but it slowed as it approached us and dropped into Papa’s open hand.

  I poked that glowing ball of magic before Papa reabsorbed it, but not one iota of his magic transferred to me. Drat. Oh well, maybe next time.

  “Why did you do that?” Papa closed his fist. It didn’t glow anymore, but that magic was inside him. Hopefully, it was ready for the next time we needed it.

  I shrugged. “I want to have magic too.”

  “It’s not a toy.” Papa leaned his head against the side of the dryer and closed his eyes again.

  “I know that.”

  A thud followed by shouts ended that debate. I craned my neck to see because Papa wasn’t letting go of me just yet. But all I could see were people crowded around something, and some of them had turned their backs on the dragon. Not good, even though she was perhaps sixty feet away. “What happened?”

  “He passed out,” Melinda said from somewhere amid that huddle.

  Oh. Well, there went the answers to some of our questions. “Is he okay?” I craned my neck but I still couldn’t see anything.

  “That’s what I’m going to find out. Everyone, move back. Let me take a look at him.” The nurse pushed through the crowd of onlookers. She still wore that pretty orange hat, and the color perfectly complemented her dark complexion. But she always looked radiant even in her hospital scrubs because that radiance shined out from somewhere inside her.

  I wondered if she could charm the dragon for us. Nor was I the only one eyeing her and her cool hat. It had an orange feather tucked into its wide, upward-curving brim that trailed down her back. I wanted a smaller version in green to match my cut-down version of Papa’s Ranger greens.

  “He’ll be fine with a little rest. These nice gentlemen have volunteered to help him back to his apartment.” The nurse backed away, so two of Melinda’s younger and burlier neighbors could lift the nice man and carry him upstairs.

  And that was when that tricky dragon made her move. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of silver.

  “Nice hat.” The dragon extended a claw toward it.

  But the nurse easily sidestepped the dragon’s clumsy attempt at hat-thievery. “Ah, ah, ah, no stealing in front of children.” She nodded to me, and I returned the nod with a smile. I liked her spunk.

  “Yes, stealing is bad,” I added because it needed saying. The Newsletter-Dragon must have missed that lesson growing up.

  Papa nodded at the lady with the orange hat. “What she said. If you teach my son to steal, your horde will never be safe. Is that what you want?”

  “I’ll incinerate him if he lays one finger on them!” roared the dragon.

  Her hot breath knocked my hood back but not that orange hat. The nurse clamped it to her head with one manicured hand and gave the dragon a smug smile. I might have shared it when no fireballs sped our way.

  That dragon tapped her claws lightly on the boiler, feigning annoyance at being thwarted, but that was a lie. Her exposed bytes were suffused with pleasure, giving them a rosy glow, and she was fighting a grin. Why was that sly dragon so pleased with herself?

  Something wasn’t right here. But when I turned my head, I didn’t see anything amiss. Nothing was flying toward us. Nor did I notice anything was missing, but something must be. I wanted to ask Papa if he’d seen or sensed anything, but his eyes were closed, and he needed to rest.

  “Okay, the show’s over. We need you to clear the area. Please go back to the foyer.” Melinda herded her neighbors through the door leading back to the stairwell and the apartments on this side of the building. She gave the phone in my hands several pointed looks in between corralling her grumbling neighbors.

  Okay, okay, I got the message, and indeed I had. Melinda must have borrowed one of her neighbor’s phones and sent me a text. Maybe she saw what the dragon had just done. I touched the message, and I heard her voice in my head.

  “Watch what you say in front of the dragon. She can hear everything,” Melinda’s message said.

  “She’s digital, so she can probably read it too.” I touched the screen to send that message back.

  I didn’t understand what technical wizardry let the phone know what I was thinking, so my thoughts could appear on the screen. It was better than voice-to-text. Using this software, an illiterate character like me could send messages to our fans. I tapped the send button to shoot my response across the room to the phone Melinda had borrowed from someone.

  She checked it instead of ushering the crowd out of the door and back into the foyer where it was marginally safer. But I doubted they’d stay out there for long, not when all the interesting things were happening in here. Indeed, a new crowd gathered not a moment later just behind my Scribe. Since the doorway was wider than her outstretched arms, blocking it took serious concentration and quick thinking. But Melinda was nimble enough for the job if she kept her attention on her task and off mine.

  “Of course, I can. I read every message you send.” The dragon grinned, showing all her sharp teeth, and blue-glowing ones and zeroes zipped around them. “I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t work. Do you know why?”

  “Because you’re still part digital?” I guessed.

  The dragon shook her head, and her eyes glowed with wicked amusement. Uh-oh. What trouble were we in, this time?

  Where is Everyone?

  [Mount Eredren, Shayari]

  Meanwhile, on the other side of the portal, Miren rushed as fast as his bad leg would allow through the well-lit and overly decorated corridors of the stronghold inside Mount Eredren. To his right, an arcade separated this walkway from a balcony, which overlooked the backside of the mountain and the mile-wide meadow between it and the enchanted forest. Which made it an unpopular place to live.

  No one wanted to look at the forest crouched beyond the two rings of standing stones because it reminded them they lived in a country chock full of magic. They could legislate against it all they liked, but they couldn’t get rid of the magic in their land. It was here to stay, and Miren was glad of it, not just because his brother was a mage.

  His crutch echoed each time it struck the floor, emphasizing how empty this corridor was. Everyone who wasn’t working at this hour was on the other side of the mountain, enjoying the sunshine sparkling on the broad expanse of the River Nirthal.

  But that river didn’t interest Miren; the enchanted forest did. Sarn is so lucky he gets to go out there most nights. But his laconic brother never said much about it or anything for that matter.

  Why were you so late getting off work this morning, bro? What were you doing for more than sixteen hours straight? It was past midday when Sarn had dropped by the library. Miren squeezed the grip on his crutch and hobbled onward, wishing he could squeeze the answers out of his elder brother just as easily. Sarn had always been taciturn, but sometimes he took that to extremes. Like today, Sarn had shown up at a quarter to thirteenth bell, sandwich in hand then he’d disappeared into the stacks as if he’d never been there, but he hadn’t said a single word about what he’d been
doing since nineteenth bell the previous evening.

  More than likely, Sarn had worked a double shift or close to it. Since he was Indentured, it cost them nothing to keep him on well past the eight-hour shifts the salaried Rangers worked. Still, Sarn could have just said that instead of turning the conversation away from himself. But you didn’t because you don’t want me to know what you’re mixed up in now.

  Whatever that something was, it was more interesting than the essay Miren was supposed to write. What are you up to, bro? And why are you keeping it from me?

  Probably out of some misguided attempt to protect him. Miren shook his head and turned into a corridor so carved up; there wasn’t a blank section of rock anywhere in sight. The strap of his rucksack dug into his shoulder as he ducked into the shadows by a half door in the wall. Miren slid the door aside, revealing a rope. He dug around in his rucksack for a pair of gloves and pulled them on to protect his hands then grasped the rope and pulled.

  When the dumbwaiter rose into view, he looped the rope around a bracket set in the wall and tossed his rucksack and crutch on before climbing on. Miren settled himself with his bad leg bent at the least painful angle he could manage in the tight confines of the dumbwaiter. He’d fit better before his most recent growth spurt, but that couldn’t be helped. He might not have the same father as his elder brother, but their mother had preferred tall men as evidenced by his current height.

  At fourteen years old, Miren was already taller than the average Shayarin but still more than a head shorter than his brother. But he would likely grow as tall as Sarn in a few years or damned close to it, and that was fine too. If only he’d inherited some sort of magic, then everything would be perfect, but Miren hadn’t. Sarn had inherited all the magic.

  Miren folded his crutch and laid it across his lap. Now, all he had to do was unwind the rope and control the dumbwaiter’s fall to the Lower Quarters. Not a problem since Miren was all upper body strength, unlike his wiry brother. But Sarn was built for running.

  Sweat beaded his brow and ran down his face, his back, and under his arms by the time he reached his stop, the third level below ground. Miren tied off the rope and slid the door aside, so he could exit, pleased that he’d made good time and gotten a bit of a workout in too.

  His forearms and his shoulders burned from exertion, but the exhilaration of conquering the mountain yet again and saving himself the agony of descending two-hundred-plus small, twisting, awkwardly spaced, steps, practically in the dark, made Miren giddy. His regimen of hauling himself up and down in the dumbwaiter every day for the last four and a half years had layered lean muscle onto his upper body making up for the deficiencies of his lower half.

  If he kept this up, he might just be as strong as his brother in a few years. Miren unfolded his crutch, secured it under his arm, and slung his rucksack full of books and supplies over his shoulder. He was almost home. Miren untied the rope and slid the door back over the opening to the dumbwaiter. He turned toward home and almost crashed into Bear.

  Ran’s furry friend was an amalgamation of a stuffed bear and a real one but supersized, so Miren had to look up at the transparent ghost. Bear carried his nephew’s only toy in the crook of one arm.

  “Gah, do you have to sneak up on me like that? You gave me quite a fright.” Miren fell back a step.

  “Sorry. I didn’t see you there. I was lost in thought.” Bear walked through him like a cold knife, and he shivered.

  Miren dropped his rucksack and ran a quick hand down his sternum to make sure he was still in one piece. He was. Relieved, Miren turned on his heel and faced that Ghost Bear. “Do you have to do that? It’s creepy.”

  “Sorry. Sorry.” Bear bent and examined the ground, but there was nothing there except the same gray rocks that were everywhere under the mountain.

  “What are you looking for anyway? More ways to creep me out?” Miren retrieved his rucksack but didn’t pick it up.

  “No, something else, but I’m not finding it.” Bear scratched his head and stared off into the shadows. He was acting even stranger than usual, and that was saying something since that ghost bear usually acted in fairly bizarre ways.

  If that bear hadn’t saved his brother and his nephew, Miren wouldn’t be so inclined to trust the ghost, but Bear had, so Miren tried to dial back his natural suspicion a little. “Care to explain what that ‘something else’ is?”

  “If only I knew what I was looking for.” Bear shook his bulbous head. His button eyes were distant. “How did she do it?”

  That question sounded rhetorical but… Miren set his rucksack down. “She who? What did she do?”

  Bear waved a translucent paw in his direction and disappeared into a wall. Okay, that was one way to end a conversation. Miren shook his head as he slung his rucksack over his shoulder and headed for home. Boy, did he have a story to tell. He couldn’t wait to tell his nephew. Ran would just love it.

  Though on second thought, the tyke might know what Bear was searching for. As Miren turned the next bend, he became more certain that would be the case. His nephew was the only person who could get Bear to do anything.

  Miren hobbled faster. If there was an adventure brewing, and he had a feeling there was, he needed to reach his cave pronto. You’re not leaving me out of it, not this time, you loveable little menace. Someone had to look out for that sunny child, and if Miren hurried, he’d be that someone. After all, Sarn had enough to do just being that boy’s father. A smile tugged at his lips as Miren turned the last bend and found the door wide open. It was also charred in places. Well, that was strange.

  “Sarn? Are you in here?” Miren poked his head in and took in the empty room with a grimace. The dirty laundry littering the floor had been shoved aside leaving a cleared space about the width of Sarn’s booted feet, and some of them were charred and smoking. “What the hell happened here?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me that.”

  Before Miren could turn to see who’d spoken, an arm clamped around his throat.

  “Where is she?” His captor asked in a heavily disguised voice.

  “Where is who? I only just arrived. I probably have as many questions as you do.” But only one was important: where was Ran? Nothing else mattered except finding his nephew. Miren shifted his grip on his crutch.

  Sarn could take care of himself, but Ran couldn’t. He was just a little kid. Forgive me, bro. Prayer sent, Miren swung his crutch over his head and heard a satisfying thwack. “Take that, jerk, and that.” Miren stomped on his attacker’s instep, just like his brother had taught him. But that foot was armor-plated. Ow. Pain radiated up his foot.

  Someone struck his attacker from behind. “Sarn? Is that you, bro?” It must be his older brother taking this opponent on. Who else would interfere?

  “Let go of him!” a woman shouted. She must be one of the Foundlings since their cave was just around the bend, but she didn’t sound like any of the Foundlings, and Miren knew all of them.

  The arms that had been constricting his neck a moment ago fell away. Before Miren could turn and engage his attacker again, Ran screamed for his Papa. Oh no. “Hold on, Ran. I’m coming.”

  Ran’s shout could only have come through the purple-glowing portal. What trouble was that lovable child in now? Miren rushed through it without a backward glance. That woman would have to take care of herself. His nephew was more important. I’m coming, kiddo. Use your wits until I get to you. Purple light blotted out the world as Miren fell, crutch in hand.

  Dragons and Their Projectiles

  [Westchester, NY]

  “I hacked your phone. By the way, Wiffy123* is a terrible password,” said the metal dragon who looked entirely too pleased with herself.

  “That’s not—” I started to say, but I stopped when I realized she wasn’t talking about my Scribe’s phone. She’d hacked the phone Melinda had borrowed. Could she change the story Melinda was writing? I hoped not, but the smug look in the dragon’s eyes said she could. Uh-oh
, that was bad.

  Papa whispered in my ear, distracting me. “What else did C’s email say?” He also tightened his arm around my waist in case I got any heroic ideas.

  He needn’t have worried. I was content to stay right where I was, safe in his arms. He made a comfy chair. I squirmed until I could whisper in his ear. That dragon might hear everything, but I’d make her work for every word. “After we trap her, we should release her outside where it’s cold, and if she’s actually a heat dragon in disguise, she’ll disappear.”

  But the chances of that happening were quite slim. I didn’t know where our code-based Newsletter-Dragon had gained the ability to attract metal from, shoot lightning bolts, or breathe fire. Had that new skin changed her essential nature? If it had, then we were in big trouble.

  Nor was I the only one who was skeptical of this plan. Papa didn’t look convinced it would work either after that lightning incident. But it was something to try, and no one else had volunteered any other plans.

  I rested my head on his shoulder. “Could you make a cage?”

  “If I had the right materials, maybe, but I’ve never done anything like that before.” Papa closed his eyes again.

  They still weren’t glowing at their usual intensity. That was a bad sign. Caging this dragon might require more energy than he had to spare. I squeezed his arm around my waist and tried to come up with an alternative solution.

  “Maybe one of my neighbors has a cage lying around in their apartment. Some of them have lived here a long time, and they’re still allowed to have pets.” Melinda turned toward the group of gawkers lined up behind her. Many were retirees who lived in the building, but there was also a smattering of thirtysomething office workers like our Scribe and the two men who’d carried her other neighbor away.

  Melinda must have overheard us. Damn. That meant the dragon had too. She winked when I glanced at her, and the top of the boiler liquefied. Tiny silver teardrops rose from it and flattened into discs, and they just hovered there in front of her. What was that dragon up to now?