Hear Me Roar

by Rhonda Parrish

  In some ways, the sheer size of his jaws—once she stopped imagining them snapping her in half—was an advantage. Kiba could taste the blood for his targeting behavior on the feeling half of his mouth, and he could swallow with little risk of choking from impairment. On the numbed side, she could use her whole hand to squeeze the abscess from the base upward, letting warm pus gush over her gloved hand.

  “Get that last bit—right there, in the back,” Jessi said in her ear. “That’s good enough. Almost done. Got your next syringe?”

  After pressing the abscess, another injection no longer felt a challenge. Chavah squirted blood into Kiba’s mouth, shot him with a mega-dose of antibiotics, pulled back. “Good boy, Kiba, almost done. Hold on, boy. Have some rabbit.”

  The last part was the trickiest, or at least the squickiest. They had opened the blister pack ahead of time, and now she removed the cotton towels weighting it so she could reach the row of tiny chips.

  “Last time, Kiba. Let’s do this.”

  He opened his mouth, and she treated with blood. Then she took a pair of forceps and, glancing down, picked up the first chip.

  “Curved side down,” Jessi reminded her.

  “I know. Good boy.” She placed the slow-release chip against the affected tooth and slid it down into the periodontal pocket. Then the second. Then the third.

  They were guessing as to the antibiotics doses, of course. They didn’t know how this species handled drugs. She had been prepared to abort if Kiba had seemed unaffected by the lidocaine.

  “Done.” She squirted more blood into his mouth and pulled back, then clicked and removed the target stand. She laid out chunked rabbit, and then, as Kiba finished it, upended the cooler through the window. “Here you go, boy, you earned it.”

  Her legs felt weak, and she suddenly wanted to reach Jessi before she collapsed with the adrenaline crash. She pulled the gloves from her shaking hands, dropped them beside the abandoned scalpel and syringes, and staggered toward the trees. Behind her Kiba hooted, a sound she didn’t remember hearing before.

  Jessi ran to meet her, caught her under the elbows, hugged her. “You were fantastic. Great work. All those injections, just like a peach.”

  “Like a peach.”

  “But I didn’t get the video, so you have to do it again.”

  She blinked. “What? No!”

  Jessi laughed, and Chavah tried weakly to punch her arm, but her fingers felt numb as if the lidocaine had worked on them. It hadn’t, it was just the rush of stress and success.

  “Sit down,” Jessi said. “I’ll clean up. Then we’ve got a report to prepare.”

  “You all remember I said I would pursue the training angle on Kiba, after our other trainer didn’t work out,” Jessi began. “Then Chavah brought some new photos of Kiba’s condition, and those really jump-started our process.” She gestured to Chavah. “Video, please?”

  They played it cold, no preamble. They’d intercut the footage from Chavah’s POV camera with wide shots from two tripods. In the back, Chavah grinned stupidly wide all the way through.

  Jackson stared open-mouthed. Lackland repeated a single quiet profanity again and again.

  “Is this real?” Freeman managed finally. “It’s not—this isn’t some CGI joke. You really did this?”

  “It’s all real,” Jessi assured her, “taken yesterday, and from this morning’s observations, Kiba is doing fine so far. Chavah gets all the credit; all I did was talk her through the procedure.”

  “All you did was contribute years of veterinary education and experience,” Chavah put in. “Hardly a thing.”

  The video ended with a final image of Kiba stretching through the rock window to look after Chavah.

  “Why didn’t you tell us you were making progress?” Jackson said. “Surely you didn’t accomplish this in a day or two. We could have gotten a report?”

  “We didn’t want the pressure,” Chavah said. “I mean, we felt enough pressure already. We wanted to be able to stop if necessary and—let’s be honest, I’m an intern and I wasn’t supposed to be training a dragon.”

  “Well.” Jackson leaned back. “I thought I was going to have today’s big announcement, but that will teach me humility.”

  “What’s your news?” Lackland asked.

  “The Kumano Foundation is awarding us the grant.”

  Freeman sat forward eagerly. “Really? That’s fantastic!”

  Jackson broke into a wide grin. “So a proper protected contact wall should be first on the new budget?”

  Jessi looked back at the rock window framing Kiba’s head and extended neck. There would always be a special significance to the stone wall, though. That shot was a fantastic image; it would be a good choice for the cover of their new dragon veterinary manual.

  Laura VanArendonk Baugh writes fantasy of many flavors and non-fiction. She lives in Indiana and enjoys Dobermans, travel, chocolate, and making her imaginary friends fight one another for imaginary reasons. Find her award-winning work at www.LauraVAB.com.

  MEGAN ENGELHARDT

  SERPENT IN PARADISE

  “Heavens, Harris! What a mess!”

  I am a woman usually possessed of a level disposition but I turned a snarl on Zinnia. “A mess indeed! And who do you think made that mess? That fluffy beast of yours!”

  Zinnia frowned.

  “Strawberry?”

  The cat in question poked its head around Zinnia’s ankles and mewed at me.

  “Yes, that -- that monster has -- look --” I gathered a small handful of paper and shoved it at Zinnia. Our previous case had generated an extensive paper trail. Compiling and organizing it all had taken weeks and now most of my work lay in shreds on the floor.

  Zinnia picked up Strawberry and brushed its head. The cat favored me with another smug mew.

  “I’m sure she didn’t mean it,” Zinnia began.

  “I am sure it did!” I interrupted. “Really, Zinnia, I have put up with quite enough from that thing. First it trips me in the hall, then it attacks me in the middle of the night, and now this!”

  “You two have gotten off on the wrong foot, it seems,” Zinnia said. She set the cat on the floor and placed a soothing hand on my arm. “Don’t take it personally, Harris, darling.”

  A look at the thing told me that these incidents were, in fact, personal.

  “I wish Lord Brockton had not given it to you,” I complained. “I understand that he is wooing you but why could he have not given you another gown or set of jewels instead of this hellspawn creature?”

  “James knows I like animals.”

  My response was not polite.

  Zinnia looked from me to the ruined pile of papers and tilted her head thoughtfully.

  “You could use a rest,” she said. “Let’s have a retreat.”

  “There is so much to do --” I began.

  “Nonsense. A bit of work from both of us will set your pile aright, and I have already finished the report for the Society. After our presentation to Her Undying Majesty’s council we will have plenty of time for a retreat, I promise.” Zinnia came behind the desk and took my hands. “Darling Harris, please say you’ll come!”

  I was able to delay my answer while Whist, Zinnia’s butler and my sometime nemesis, entered with the tea tray. He surreptitiously kicked at the cat as he passed. We had our differences, but Whist and I were united in our hatred of Zinnia’s newest acquisition.

  “Your tea, miss,” he said, offering Zinnia the tray.

  Zinnia fixed my cup and handed it to me. It was a bribe, an obvious attempt to soften me up, but I am not one to refuse a cup of the genial beverage when it is offered.

  The tea did its work, as did the sight of Whist removing the cat from the room at Zinnia’s request. I settled back into my armchair and let the distant yowls and curses thaw my disposition.

  “Very well,” I said when my cup was empty, “I am mollified. Slightly.”

>   Zinnia flopped into her own chair.

  “Thank goodness! I don’t like when you are cross with me, Harris, darling.”

  “You promised me a retreat,” I reminded her.

  “I did, and I will keep that promise. We shall go to Unukalhai.”

  “Where?”

  “Unukalhai. The resort is brand new, frightfully luxurious, and it just so happens that James is the owner. He’s been trying to get me there for months. I do feel I’ve earned a bit of a break from work, as well.”

  This I could not deny. Zinnia was an heiress, comfortably well off and a feature of the city’s most prestigious social circles, but she was also a scientist with a sharp mind and an insatiable curiosity. Together we searched out strange, unique beasts all over the world and brought back what evidence we could. I have heard us referred to as “lady monster hunters”, but that is not precisely accurate. Technically only Zinnia is a Lady; I have no such title. Also, we do not hunt -- we do not injure or kill unless our lives are in immediate danger -- and besides, Zinnia would never classify our quarry as “monsters”. She adored every creature, great and small, beautiful and hideous, safe and deadly. She even liked Strawberry.

  “What is Unukalhai like?” I asked, nearly persuaded.

  “James says it’s wonderful, secluded but with every amenity. There are hot springs, too.”

  I grimaced.

  “Is there anything interesting to do?”

  “I expect there will be a library somewhere. And if nothing else you can go wandering around the island and look for trouble.”

  “I never look for trouble!” I protested.

  Zinnia sipped her tea, a wicked grin on her pretty face.

  “No, but it seems to find you nevertheless.”

  As we stepped off the boat at Unukalhai I found myself entranced by the starkness of the beach, the plain marble statues that were artfully hidden among the scrub, and the looming resort in the distance. It was a cold beauty. I could appreciate that.

  Resort staff waited for us at the end of the gangway. Young and attractive, they were the sort of people I would expect to meet at leisure in the City. According to James—Lord Brockton—who met us at the ship, these Adoni and Dianas used their time at the resort serving as escorts and companions for the guests, making social connections that would serve them well later in life.

  James begged off showing us around, citing a previous engagement, but motioned over a young lady.

  “Helen,” he said, putting a hand on her arm, “please show these ladies the resort. Take good care of them, now. I’m counting on you.”

  She flushed.

  “Of course, J -- of course, Lord Brockton.”

  I watched her watching him go and shared a glance with Zinnia.

  “How wonderful to meet you, Lady Carmichael,” Helen said, turning back, her smile matching Zinnia’s in sharp politeness. “And--” She paused, waiting for someone to explain me. Zinnia came to her rescue.

  “This is Miss Amaya Harris, my companion.”

  “Of course.” The Diana dismissed me as unimportant and turned back to Zinnia. “My Lady, if you’ll follow me, I will show you to your rooms.”

  We took the scenic route to our rooms. Helen led us all around the resort, talking incessantly about tennis courts and pools, breakfast on the veranda, romantic secluded gardens, and the large stretch of beach that was roped off for the resort’s use. “To keep swimmers safe,” Helen chirruped. “There can be some dangerous tides around the island.”

  I was relieved when we reached our appointed rooms and Helen left us to refresh ourselves. We let Strawberry out of the luggage and it prowled around the suite Zinnia and I shared. Large glass doors opened onto a sizable balcony. The hotel stood on top of a rise, keeping watch in a rather matronly way. Constant as time, its sound all around us, the ocean crashed and clashed against the shore. It seemed a splendid place.

  “What a splendid place,” Lord Tremare said. “Really, everything is just splendid.” I sighed: he had repeated the sentiment three times and we were only on the second course.

  We had been on the island for four days and had dined the previous nights in James’s private quarters. Finally Zinnia put her foot down and demanded to mingle with the other guests. The company at table that night was Lord Tremare, Miss Holsopple, Mr. Bentley, and the three in our party. Lord Tremare was standard issue aristocracy, fully enjoying his late middle age and considerable wealth. I found him pleasantly dull.

  “Have you been to the springs yet?” asked Zinnia in a valiant attempt to spark some conversation.

  “I have been,” ventured Miss Agneta Holsopple. “It was to ease my ailments but alas, I fear the miracle waters, like so many other miracle cures, will avail me not.”

  Miss Holsopple, wan and thin and the sort of woman who favored styles and colors that made her more so, had many ailments. It seemed she could speak about nothing else.

  “Have you sampled the springs yet, Mr. Bentley?” I asked, turning to him politely.

  Mr. Bentley did not provide an answer. Hunched over his plate, a vulture in shabby evening dress, he ate steadily. I recognized the determined pace of someone who did not always have regular meals.

  “I tried the springs,” Lord Tremare said. “Didn’t care for it. Too blame warm.”

  “They are hot springs, sir,” James pointed out. “They are meant to be warm.”

  “Full of minerals, I expect,” said Lord Tremare. “Healthy stuff. Nature’s bounty and all that. Still, too warm for me.”

  “It’s dragons,” said Miss Holsopple. Fluttery little hands clasped and unclasped at the hollow of her neck where rested, I now noticed, a dragon-shaped pendant. Her eyes glowed with a fanatic’s light -- easily recognized, for had I not seen it often enough in Zinnia’s face?

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Holsopple?” James asked.

  “Dragons! I have heard that the springs are heated by the breath of a dragon that lives beneath this island. The spring flows past its lair and it heats the water with its fiery breath.”

  “What, out of the kindness of its heart?” I asked.

  “Harris,” Zinnia remonstrated. But Miss Holsopple shook her head.

  “Oh, no. The dragon is not kind. But the rumors say it is somehow kept away from the island so we are perfectly safe. That’s for the best, of course, but I would dearly like to see the dragon.” She lowered her voice as if we were all willing conspirators instead of awkward dinner companions. “My spiritualist, Madame Zoloya, says I have traces of dragon blood in me.”

  I once had a cousin who was fully convinced that he was a foundling, a fairy switched at birth with a human child. Whenever he spoke of it I had to leave the room for fear of breaking into violence. I felt the same urge now.

  “The notion of dragon-blooded humans,” I managed through gritted teeth, “is a bit far-fetched.”

  “A bit?” Lord Tremare chortled. “Young lady, everyone knows there are no such things as dragons.”

  Zinnia allowed a faint smug look onto her face. We knew no such thing -- in light of what we’d seen we would be fools not to think otherwise -- but we did not feel it proper to enter this knowledge into the discussion. Mr. Bentley apparently felt otherwise.

  “Lady Carmichael and Miss Harris might disagree,” he said, looking up from his meal for the first time.

  James bristled.

  “I beg your pardon! Lady Carmichael is a highly rational thinker and—”

  Zinnia laid her hand on James’s arm to quiet him and smiled at Mr. Bentley.

  “I will not say you’re wrong, Mr. Bentley. I am curious what would lead you to think that of us, though?”

  Bentley put down his fork and reached into his pocket. He handed a card to Zinnia, who read it aloud.

  “Thornton Bentley, Scientific Inquiry Quarterly? I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that publication.”

  That was a lie. Whist had standing orders t
o procure a copy of each new edition from the newsstand around the corner. Much of it was bunk, but there were occasionally small pieces of interest and someone had taken to writing up brief reports on our expeditions. Bentley’s smirk suggested the identity of the anonymous author.

  “I’ve been following your career, Lady Carmichael,” Bentley said, confirming my suspicion. “I’m pleased to be on the scene now just in case something exciting happens.”

  “Nothing exciting will happen, I assure you,” Zinnia said.

  Bentley cocked an eyebrow at Miss Holsopple, who was following the exchange with wide eyes.

  “Care to give a statement about these dragons, Lady Carmichael?” he asked.

  “I know of the existence of no dragons,” said Zinnia, “nor did I hear anything about their possibility until tonight. I am here on a strictly social engagement.”

  “Don’t encourage him,” Lord Tremare said. “Men like that are to be ignored.”

  As we stood to take our leave after dinner James suggested that he and Zinnia take a walk in the gardens. Zinnia declined, explaining that I was overtired.

  “Kindly keep me out of your wooing in the future,” I hissed after we parted ways.

  “But you are such a perfect excuse, Harris, darling!”

  As always, she laughed away my glare. She knew I did not really mean it.

  Once in our rooms Zinnia kicked off her shoes, undid a few of her hairpins, and sighed contentedly. She picked up Strawberry and accepted the cat’s perfunctory tongue bath. “What did you think of Mr. Bentley? Rather bold of him to call us out like that. I liked him.”

  “The others certainly didn’t. ‘Men like that,’” I said, imitating Lord Tremare. Zinnia laughed.

  “Yes, exactly. Men like that. You know, I rather think I prefer that.” She petted Strawberry thoughtfully as we made our way out onto the balcony.

  We do not often get the chance to just sit and enjoy an evening, chatting together for some time. And when we ran out of words it was pleasant to sit in the dark and listen to the faint music from the ballroom, the steady crash of the waves, the distant scream and large splash.