gentled now, but still a battle. To speak or not to speak? To reveal or to hide?
Perhaps he knows I can find a Gaelic-English dictionary easily enough, because revelation wins.
“It means fire .”
My heart is thumping crazy hard now, maybe even harder than it did when I first stepped in the boat. Okay, fire. No big deal, right? I mean, his hair is fiery red. Maybe he was named after his hair.
But he lives in dragon-fire castle, of all places. And my grandmother knew a dragon around here once.
And Ed said he had days in abundance.
I have to know. My throat has gone dry and I lick my lips, trying to summon moisture from somewhere, but there is none inside me. My voice is raspy as I ask, “Why fire ?”
He meets my eyes for only a second more, before turning his head away with a shrug, shutting me out.
I’ve pushed too far, and I haven’t asked any of the questions I came to have answered. I still don’t know anything about sea monsters or the Sheehys.
But Ed surprises me by wrapping his fingers around mine (I have been holding his hand this whole time). He whispers, “Are ye afeared of sea monsters?”
“I am afraid,” I clarify slowly, trying to identify just what it is I am scared of, and keeping in mind that climbing into this boat was nearly more than I could handle, “of being attacked by something I can’t see and don’t know how to fight. I’m afraid of the enemy I don’t understand.”
“Who is yer enemy?” Ed asks.
“I don’t know.”
“Why did they attack ye?”
I startle at his question, flinching at its sharpness as it strikes so close to home. I don’t know what attacked me, but I can guess why. Whatever it was attacked me because I was a dragon. But I can’t tell Ed that. I can’t even speak right now, my throat has gone so dry.
“Ye know?” His voice is filled with wonder, maybe even awe. Somehow he’s read the answer on my face. “Why?” He turns his hand over so that mine is on top, and now he’s studying it like it’s not the most normal-looking hand in the world. My skin is on the brownish side, and my nails are clean, trimmed longish but not polished.
“Last evenin’,” Ed whispers, “when I was runnin’ toward the bull, I thought I saw somethin’ through the rain. Your hand didna look the same as it does now.”
He saw me. I had started to change, and he saw me. Is this why he was willing to spend time with me today, even though, as the Sheehys attested, he doesn’t interact with anyone? He saw me, and instead of being repelled, he drew closer.
Why?
I close my eyes. I should not do this. It goes against every rule, against my better judgment. And if my parents found out, I’d get a lecture up and down and forever.
But when I open my eyes, Ed is still watching me patiently, his hand holding mine.
So I look at the hands between us, drawing his gaze to our linked fingers. And then slowly, subtly, I let my talons grow.
Chapter Seven
I am careful not to hurt Ed as my nails lengthen and sharpen in his hands. Bright red color suffuses my fingertips, and the outlines of scales emerge. I halt the process and meet his eyes.
They’re round with wonder, aglow with something I can’t name, but it’s a welcoming thing, so I push a little further, letting my fingers lengthen, the red color deepen, the scales on my fingers solidify. The rest of me is still human.
I don’t know if all dragons can do this trick, changing one part of themselves but not others, changing slowly by gradients, but I grew up practicing in front of a mirror with my sisters, challenging each other with weird combinations—only horns and tails, for instance, or mostly dragon with a human face—so I’m good at it in ways my mother, who never changed into a dragon at all until she was nearly the age I am now, will probably never be.
Ed studies my hands until, self-conscious, I change them back into human hands. Then he smiles at me, grabs a tackle box from the back of the boat,
Perhaps he knows I can find a Gaelic-English dictionary easily enough, because revelation wins.
“It means fire .”
My heart is thumping crazy hard now, maybe even harder than it did when I first stepped in the boat. Okay, fire. No big deal, right? I mean, his hair is fiery red. Maybe he was named after his hair.
But he lives in dragon-fire castle, of all places. And my grandmother knew a dragon around here once.
And Ed said he had days in abundance.
I have to know. My throat has gone dry and I lick my lips, trying to summon moisture from somewhere, but there is none inside me. My voice is raspy as I ask, “Why fire ?”
He meets my eyes for only a second more, before turning his head away with a shrug, shutting me out.
I’ve pushed too far, and I haven’t asked any of the questions I came to have answered. I still don’t know anything about sea monsters or the Sheehys.
But Ed surprises me by wrapping his fingers around mine (I have been holding his hand this whole time). He whispers, “Are ye afeared of sea monsters?”
“I am afraid,” I clarify slowly, trying to identify just what it is I am scared of, and keeping in mind that climbing into this boat was nearly more than I could handle, “of being attacked by something I can’t see and don’t know how to fight. I’m afraid of the enemy I don’t understand.”
“Who is yer enemy?” Ed asks.
“I don’t know.”
“Why did they attack ye?”
I startle at his question, flinching at its sharpness as it strikes so close to home. I don’t know what attacked me, but I can guess why. Whatever it was attacked me because I was a dragon. But I can’t tell Ed that. I can’t even speak right now, my throat has gone so dry.
“Ye know?” His voice is filled with wonder, maybe even awe. Somehow he’s read the answer on my face. “Why?” He turns his hand over so that mine is on top, and now he’s studying it like it’s not the most normal-looking hand in the world. My skin is on the brownish side, and my nails are clean, trimmed longish but not polished.
“Last evenin’,” Ed whispers, “when I was runnin’ toward the bull, I thought I saw somethin’ through the rain. Your hand didna look the same as it does now.”
He saw me. I had started to change, and he saw me. Is this why he was willing to spend time with me today, even though, as the Sheehys attested, he doesn’t interact with anyone? He saw me, and instead of being repelled, he drew closer.
Why?
I close my eyes. I should not do this. It goes against every rule, against my better judgment. And if my parents found out, I’d get a lecture up and down and forever.
But when I open my eyes, Ed is still watching me patiently, his hand holding mine.
So I look at the hands between us, drawing his gaze to our linked fingers. And then slowly, subtly, I let my talons grow.
Chapter Seven
I am careful not to hurt Ed as my nails lengthen and sharpen in his hands. Bright red color suffuses my fingertips, and the outlines of scales emerge. I halt the process and meet his eyes.
They’re round with wonder, aglow with something I can’t name, but it’s a welcoming thing, so I push a little further, letting my fingers lengthen, the red color deepen, the scales on my fingers solidify. The rest of me is still human.
I don’t know if all dragons can do this trick, changing one part of themselves but not others, changing slowly by gradients, but I grew up practicing in front of a mirror with my sisters, challenging each other with weird combinations—only horns and tails, for instance, or mostly dragon with a human face—so I’m good at it in ways my mother, who never changed into a dragon at all until she was nearly the age I am now, will probably never be.
Ed studies my hands until, self-conscious, I change them back into human hands. Then he smiles at me, grabs a tackle box from the back of the boat,
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