by Sarah Noffke
“In order to help you, I’m going to need Mother Nature to give me a bottle of her essence,” he stated.
Sophia’s eyes shifted back and forth. “Is it appropriate for me to ask her for that? Maybe you should do that? It seems personal. Like I’m asking for an organ or something.”
He shook his head. “I’m very busy. If I’m going to do it, then I need some of her power. And you’ll have to ask her.”
“But why will she do it?” Sophia asked. “She’s not getting anything. She’s merely giving up something.”
He gave her a skeptical glare. “If you think for a second that I believe you’re undoing Phantom’s death so I can have his horn, you must have been born yesterday, Sophia Beaufont. I know that you have something to gain from this, but I commend you on positioning it in a way that benefits me immensely. Smart thinking. And what benefits you in this equation will help Mother Nature, who you work for. So it behooves Mama Jamba to do this. However, she might have her own hesitations, so you’ll have to take those up with her. If I get her essence, then I’ll hand over the spell. Otherwise, no deal.”
“Okay,” Sophia said, drawing out the one word. “I guess this seems fair.”
“And to help the situation,” Papa Creola began, “I don’t tell Liv about this.”
“You won’t?” she asked, hope in her voice.
“Well, there’s no point,” he reasoned. “She worries enough as it is, and when she does, she’s not as productive. So we will keep it between us.”
“Thanks, Papa Creola,” Sophia said, feeling more hopeful as she headed out into Roya Lane.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Roya Lane was even more crowded when Sophia exited the Fantastical Armory. She wished she would have asked for directions from Papa Creola, but asking the Father of Time for such things seemed like a bad use of his.
Thankfully, after weaving her way through gnomes gambling at cardboard boxes made into tables and fae who she could have sworn were offering themselves in return for money, she found the greasy bar. Chimerick’s Bar and Grill was lackluster to say the least, many of the neon letters in the sign having burned out. It read: him rick Ba an G i l. Still, she was able to find the place, which she was grateful for.
When she entered the dirty place, she was certain it wasn’t somewhere that young magicians didn’t frequent. Many of the patrons turned to gawk at her with their good eyes. She could say that since at least three of the people had eye patches or glass eyes. That seemed like a large number since there were only about six people inside. For a moment, she wondered if she’d walked into a strange optometrist office by accident.
“What brings you here, sweetheart,” the bartender said, throwing a dirty coaster in her direction on the bar.
Now that Sophia had finally made it to Chimerick’s Bar and Grill, she didn’t know what to do. She hadn’t really thought that far ahead. Mae Ling’s message had simply told her to come here. She did know that she was looking for someone.
“I’m looking for someone,” she began in a whisper, aware that everyone in the bar was watching her.
The bartender, a burly guy with a smudged nametag that read Clive or Clyde—it was hard to tell, banged his arm on the countertop, making the jukebox in the corner start playing music, drowning out their conversation.
“Go on, then darling,” he said cordially. “They can’t hear you over the music. Their ears are worse than their eyesight.”
Sophia nodded. “I’m looking for someone who I think has some…”
“You’re going to just have to spit it out, or I can’t help you,” Clive or Clyde stated.
This was tough for Sophia. She didn’t know if she should just be honest and get help or if that would endanger her entire mission.
I think he’s okay, Lunis said in her head.
Never before had she been so grateful to share her mind with a dragon.
Really? she asked.
Yeah, but if he pulls out the magical revolver under the bar, you better hightail it, Lunis stated.
How do you even know that he has that? she asked.
Maybe because of all the bullet holes in the walls, he answered.
Good point, she said, noticing them now and wishing that she hadn’t.
“I’m looking for someone who might have some dragon eggs,” she finally said to the bartender.
He considered her for a long moment. She was grateful that she had the practice of playing the quiet game with Papa Creola because otherwise, she might have broken first.
“Okay, well, since you seem like a good kid,” the bartender said, leaning forward, his hot breath smelling sour. “There’s this guy, Griff, who has been coming around lately. Usually around closing time. He drinks all my whiskey and usually scares off a few patrons, but he tips well, so I don’t throw him out.”
“And he’s been talking about dragon eggs?” Sophia asked.
He nodded. “Loudly, when he drinks too much. The other day he was asking about how to shield eggs, but none of us paid much attention since there’s no way the fellow can actually have dragon eggs. I mean, they are extinct, right?” He laughed.
Sophia joined in with him, shaking her head like the idea of dragon eggs was crazy. It made sense to her that the dragon eggs were shielded, though, because that would keep the dragons from finding them if they set their senses to do so. It wasn’t foolproof, but sometimes dragons could find their eggs, and none of the dragons in the Cave had sensed anything of the sort, according to Lunis.
“So, did someone tell him how to shield the dragon eggs he thought he had?” Sophia asked.
“Beats me,” he answered. “You might be able to ask him yourself, but he won’t talk to a pretty thing such as yourself. The guy is a chauvinist pig. Always harassing the ladies in the bar.”
“So he would talk to a man?” Sophia asked.
Clive or Clyde shrugged. “If he’s ugly and fat. The guy has a true complex and really doesn’t talk to anyone who doesn’t intimidate him. He insults them. Throws beer bottles at their head, but he doesn’t talk to them.”
“Okay, so I need to be an ugly, fat man,” Sophia said, mostly to herself.
The bartender laughed. “Yeah, good luck with that, sweetheart. Is there anything I can get for you?”
Sophia shook her head. “No, thanks. This has been quite helpful.”
“What would be helpful is if people like you would hang around my establishment instead of this lot.” He threw his head in the direction of the regulars.
She backed for the door. “Well, maybe I’ll be back.”
“Please do,” he said, winking at her.
Sophia had every intention of coming back, but the owner wouldn’t recognize her when she did.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The banging from Hiker’s office sounded about the same as the last time Sophia visited the Viking. She was grateful that she didn’t have to see him right then, although she was sorry that his troubles didn’t seem to have subsided.
She wanted to make his worries less, but something told her it was going to get worse before it got better.
“I’m grateful to see you’re pampering yourself,” Mama Jamba said to Sophia, passing her in the entryway, reading a magazine and chewing on a celery stick.
“Oh, you noticed my nails,” Sophia said, holding up Mae Ling’s handy work.
“No, I noticed your glow,” Mama Jamba stated, holding up the frayed celery stick. “You know, you need to contact whoever made these things and tell them they are not good, no matter what you put on them. Simply awful rubbish.”
Sophia gave her a sideways expression. “Ummm, wouldn’t that be you? Aren’t you responsible for celery?”
Mama Jamba winked at her. “Why do you think I went into hiding the first few times?” She laughed loudly. “But I keep trying celery, thinking I had good intentions. Turns out I think I was drunk on plum wine. It was a strange Tuesday when I created celery. Don’t even get me started on what h
appened on the Wednesday I created potatoes.”
“What happened?” Sophia asked.
“Only good things, hun,” she said proudly. “Only good things. Potatoes are still one of my favorite creations. Well, that and oceans, but whatever.”
It was simply breathtaking to Sophia that she was standing there having a conversation with the entity who created the Earth. Even stranger was that she was about to ask her for something for Father Time. Sophia’s life had gotten really strange, really fast.
“Mama Jamba, I wanted to ask you something,” Sophia began.
She turned and faced her. “No, I don’t think that powder works for your complexion.”
“What?” Sophia asked. “I’m not wearing powder.”
“Oh, well, then let’s back up,” Mama Jamba said. “Firstly, there are some great options in the realm of powder. Maybe I should send you to my esthetician.”
“That would be great,” Sophia said, trying to get the conversation back on track. “But first, I need to ask you a favor from Papa Creola.”
She lowered her chin. “What does that man want?”
“Well, you see, I need to undo the death of the Phantom so he can have his horn and I can bond to my mother’s sword, but in order to do it I’m supposed to get the essence of your magic or something like that so that Papa Creola can create the spell.” She said the entire explanation in one long sentence, not taking a breath until she was done. Then she offered Mama Jamba a smile. “So, will you give me that so I can continue on my way?”
“No,” Mama Jamba said, not even deliberating on the question. She turned for the dining hall, returning her attention to the magazine.
“But Mama!” Sophia complained, trudging after her, strangely feeling like a teenager about to have a tantrum.
“That man has been asking for the essence of my magic forever,” Mama said, dog-earring one of the pages of the magazine like she wanted to make that face mask recipe later. “He thinks he’s figured out a way to get it by having one of my riders ask for it, but it’s not going to work.”
“But I need to raise the Phantom and take his horn and kill him again to bond to my mother’s sword,” Sophia said, trailing behind Mama Jamba, who kept her eyes on the magazine.
“I totally get that, dear, but I’m simply not giving Papa my magic,” she said, licking her fingers and turning a page. “He says he needs it for one thing, but I guarantee he’s going to use it for something else.”
“So?” Sophia argued. “In the end, it will help me complete my training, and that will benefit you.”
Mama Jamba faced Sophia. She reached out her hand and held up Sophia’s chin. “I know you’re disappointed. I’m sorry. I never, ever want to hurt one of my own. But who do you think invented tough love?”
“You?” Sophia guessed.
Mama Jamba shook her head. “Oh, no. That term was coined in the 1980s by some pop psychologist. But you’ll just have to find another way. I’m not in a position where I want to go giving my magic away.”
“But it’s for Papa Creola,” Sophia argued, not willing to give up her cause.
“I know,” Mama Jamba said, nodding. “And I trust him like no one else. He and I are tight. Well, we’re pretty much married except I live in my own house and don’t have to clean up his dirty laundry, so it’s the best marriage ever. But the answer is still no, my dear. I’m not changing my mind on it.”
Sophia slumped slightly. “Okay, well, thanks for listening.”
“Oh, perk up, love,” Mama Jamba said. “You look so much more beautiful when you don’t slouch. Well, you’d look beautiful with cheese on your head, but that’s just the way it is with my riders. You are all a gorgeous bunch. Even Hiker would be attractive if he shaved that beard.”
“I heard that!” Hiker barked all the way from his office.
“And I said it,” Mama Jamba called back up to him.
She shook her head at Sophia. “I’d head through the kitchen and as far from that man as possible. He’s as grumpy as I was on the day I created durian fruit.”
Sophia laughed, heading for the kitchen and leaving Mama Jamba in the dining hall.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The kitchen was filled with an assortment of strange smells. Ainsley was leaning over the stove, churning a pot, her brow sweating.
“I don’t understand how to replicate those quesadillas you got for us from Uber Eats,” Ainsley said, catching sight of Sophia when she entered the kitchen.
Sophia strode over and peered into the pot of gray liquid. “Well, for one, they aren’t usually made in a single pot,” Sophia offered sympathetically.
Ainsley threw up her hands. “Are you serious? What sort of magic creates this Mexican food you feed to us?”
Sophia shook her head. “None. It’s just recipes. You know, take some tortillas, cheese, and whatever else and put them together.”
“Hold up,” Ainsley said, rushing over to a pad and pen. “You’re going to need to slow down. I don’t understand this business you speak of.”
“Ainsley, you know what I think would help your culinary endeavors?” Sophia asked.
“A lobotomy, S. Beaufont?” she answered, a slightly serious expression on her face.
“No,” Sophia said, trying to sound positive. “How about a field trip out of the Gullington?”
“Oh, I went into town this morning to get groceries,” Ainsley replied.
“Actually,” Sophia began. “I’m thinking something a bit more exotic and farther from home.”
“Oh,” Ainsley said, giving her a scandalous expression. “But my next century birthday isn’t for another forty years.”
Sophia couldn’t help but laugh. “Do you really have to wait that long to leave here?”
“Well… I mean, the Castle likes me here or close,” Ainsley stated. “And what if Hiker needs someone to yell at? Or what if Evan can find his cape? Someone has to hide it for him so that he has a bad morning.”
Sophia laughed again. “You all are my favorite people, and that’s saying a lot.”
“Anyway, let’s plan an outing to a few towns over in forty years,” Ainsley said, turning her attention back to the pot of sludge. “I think I can fix this dish. Maybe if I add some kale.”
Sophia shook her head. “No! Kale never fixed anything, ever. Ever!”
Ainsley’s eyes widened. “Wow, I’ve never seen you so passionate.”
“Well, I just had a conversation with the inventor of all vegetables, so I guess it rubbed off on me,” Sophia explained.
“Oh, was Mama Jamba going through her list of regrets again?” Ainsley asked. “Yeah, we had a long heart to heart last night about rutabaga.” She shook her head, looking remorseful. “That fruit really had so much possibility, but it just didn’t work out.”
“I think it’s a vegetable,” Sophia corrected.
“Well, tell that woman that,” Ainsley said, pointing in the direction of the dining room. “Currently, she’s classifying it as trash, but I think she’s just going through a thing, you know with returning to the surface of Earth and having to take ownership over her riders again. It’s a time of reflection for us all. Hiker has a bump on his forehead the size of a golf ball.”
“From ramming his head against his desk?” Sophia asked.
Ainsley nodded. “Yes, I think he’s working on a song.”
“I think he’s working on a headache,” Sophia said, thinking she could hear the constant drumming even then. “Anyway, Ainsley,” Sophia continued, “I have a mission, and I need your help.”
“Me!” Ainsley said. “I can help. Do you want me to make you some stew? Get you dressed? Clean your boots?”
Sophia shook her head. “No, I need you to go incognito to meet someone.”
“What?” Ainsley said, clapping her hands to her face. “Oh, no. S. Beaufont, you’ve lost your mind. What did you eat? I knew all that modern stuff would go to your head.”
Sophia waved the housekee
per off. “No, I haven’t lost my mind. It’s just that I need someone to meet with this guy who has the locations of a few dragon eggs. It’s important that I find them. He won’t talk to you or me. He’ll only talk to someone who is a man, old, fat, and ugly.”
“Why don’t you send—”
“It’s probably better if you don’t finish that sentence,” Sophia cut her off.
Ainsley nodded. “You’re right. The Castle has ears and repeats things. Anyway, I know you’re good at changing your appearance. You have the best outfits. Why don’t you do it?”
“Because my disguises aren’t fool-proof,” Sophia explained. “I can’t keep them up for long periods of time, especially when I need to be on guard. And I don’t trust this guy at all because he probably works for Thad Reinhart, so I want to be there to defend. But you can change your appearance easily, and if you talked to him, you could find out what he knows and I could be there to listen. And as a bonus, you’d leave the Gullington and see the world. Imagine all the inspiration you’d get. We could even go for gelato or something afterward.”
Ainsley considered this. “Gelato is a type of coffee, right?”
“Ice cream,” Sophia corrected.
“And I could wear a crazy hat, right? The Castle hates my hats.”
“Sure,” Sophia said, making a note about the Castle’s preferences. “Will you please do it?”
“This will help the Dragon Elite?” Ainsley asked.
“Yes,” Sophia answered.
“And it will help me in my role?” the housekeeper asked.
“There’s no better way to improve than to get out and get some perspective,” Sophia stated. “How long has it been since you’ve seen the modern world?”
Ainsley leaned forward, looking around like someone was listening. “Never, S. Beaufont.”
“What?” Sophia asked. “You leave the Gullington, though.”
“Yes, but I don’t go far,” she argued. “I was born not far from here, and I’m new to pretty much everything. So it’s like taking a baby out. Do you think you can handle that?”