by Rena Rocford
Turning the book over in my hands, I took a deep breath. It smelled vaguely like piñon and dust. My hands vibrated with the knowledge that this had belonged to my father. My father had held this in his hands. As I opened it again, I held my breath and I started to read.
At first he wrote about normal things, well, normal for a dragon. Flying and breathing fire–he didn’t seem to suffer from the puking problem, but I’m only half. I skimmed through an entry where he wrote about my mother and accused my maternal grandmother of being racist. Apparently she didn’t think a sweet Irish girl should be marrying a Japanese boy.
I wondered what she would have said if she’d known he was also a dragon.
The more recent entries were about a sword. He called it the Kornus Blade, but when he was being derisive or peevish, he called it the Narwhal Horn. It read like the travels of the Knights of the Round Table, searching for the Holy Grail. They never found the sword, and as they hunted for it, more people died. He hunted for it with gryphons, unicorns, and dragons. They needed the weapon to kill someone, though he never wrote down the name. They called him the Magic Thief.
An envelope fell out of the journal onto the table. Bright red wax sealed the envelope with the same symbol as on the cover of the journal. I picked it up. The seal glowed, and fire sprang up from the paper. I dropped it, and the flames extinguished. I touched it again, and the fire leapt up. I jerked my hand back, but where the fire had burned me, tiny blue scales covered my skin. I blinked at my hand, expecting something to change, but the scales just winked back in the flashes of light. Was I completely covered in scales just beneath the skin?
And how exactly did I get back to looking human? The monohorns and the gryphons could do it, why not me?
Still, the fire didn’t burn my scales, so I picked up the envelope. Again, it popped into flames, and I opened it with one hand. I didn’t want both hands to look like I had a run in with a D&D illustrator. A piece of paper fell out with a cloud of dust and the sharp smell of oregano. I picked up the paper with my scaled hand. I’d need a glove for it. Good god, I’d be like some 80s pop artist, wearing only one glove.
The paper appeared to be normal, and when I picked it up, it didn’t try to torch off my hand. I unfolded it.
Dear Allyson,
I hardly know what to say. If you’re reading this, then I’m almost surely dead. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I know that you and your mother have had a hard life because of me, and I’m sorry. I’m not sorry I had a daughter, just sorry I can never be your father. I have fallen on dark times. We all have. My only hope is that Agnes has found a way to unleash the sword. It is our only hope.
Even now I can feel his will taking over. Never let a human touch the sokra on your head. It’s awful to feel them in your thoughts. If you hear nothing else, heed this advice: nothing is as terrible as an enemy in your sokra. By the time you read this, I will be gone, and I must ask you to do something terrible.
Allyson, if I’m not already dead, tell Agnes to kill me. She won’t want to, but I won’t be me. She’ll need to put the blade through my heart. She’ll know which one. You must help her. She has been groomed for this fight her entire life. I’ve instructed her to give you this letter when you’re old enough to help. That means she’s probably standing right there. Give her a hug for me, please; she’ll need it. I’m just sorry I can’t be there to help. I’m sure this will be hard, but if everything Agnes has told me is true, you’re as strong as your mother. You, of all of us, can do this.
I now have the information we need to take out our enemy, and that’s why I’ve written this letter. His name is Kurt Stein, and he stole something from my great grandfather, your ancestor. He stole your grandfather’s memories, forcing him to share his mind through his sokra. All the knowledge of dragons passed down through thousands of years–magic, power, everything–he stole it. Now, Kurt has me, too. The other dragons are trying to kill him, but with the power of our ancestors flowing through him, he is invincible. He has taken other dragons, and with each one, his power grows. He can wield the magic of dragons. Kurt has an army of trolls, and no force the gryphons, unicorns, centaurs, or even the giants could assemble will stand the might of a troll army. Kurt has them enthralled. He used your grandfather’s blood to make a spell to bind the trolls. They are not usually so violent.
He keeps the spell going through the blood of other Kin: the gryphons, unicorns, and even a phoenix. I wish I could tell you about your family and teach you to fly, but I’m sure Agnes is taking care of all that. I love you so much, and I’ve tried to protect you, but I’ve never managed to protect anyone. When Kurt first took me, he learned where a flock of gryphons lived. They had been my friends. I burned down the Aerie to keep them from Kurt, but he captured so many. I tried to warn off Hazel, but Kurt took her too. I don’t know how much longer she can last, but I check on her, lying in that bed, her life sent to feed the very spell that holds me.
Kurt must be stopped, and the first step is to take me down.
Tell Agnes to kill anyone who stands between her and Kurt, especially me. Armed with the Kornus Blade, she can kill him. This is the moment everyone has sacrificed for. This is what we’ve all worked for. Do not falter at the finish line for me. Tell Agnes. Tell her everything. Remind her of my wishes. I’d rather die than remain in the thrall of a wizard.
I wish I could say more, but he grows near and I lose my will. Good luck.
I love you.
Your father,
David
My hands trembled and I dropped the letter onto the table. Confirmation in my father’s own handwriting. He lit the Aerie on fire. On purpose.
My stomach twisted into knots, and I felt the fire rising in my gut. My father was a murderer. When I’d seen the letter, I’d hoped. My heart had soared with that hope. Now, it rolled in the embers of a dying dream.
He did it to save people from whoever this Kurt person was.
How could I help my Aunt Aggy now? She was on her way to San Francisco in a moving van, unless the unicorns had her. Would the unicorns kill her? Was it worse than if the trolls managed to steal the van back? And what about the sword? Where was the Kornus Blade?
Kornus, narwhal, there was something just at the edge of my mind, not quite making sense. Wasn’t a narwhal a whale? The image of one flashed before my mind. It was my biology textbook from when I lived in Vermont. The whale was in a tank, at some place like Sea World, and a bright white horn struck out of the water, pointing at one of the handlers in a wet suit. People used to kill the narwhals for their horns. Was the Kornus blade made of narwhal horn?
Then the memory of Dr. Targyne’s horn missing me by the width of a piece of paper flooded through me. It had sizzled with power and magic. What happened to a unicorn’s horn when they died? Could such a thing be made into a sword? It would make a lousy sword. The horn of a unicorn spiraled, wobbling back and forth like really thin soft serve.
Just like that stupid knick-knack Aunt Aggy gave me.
I almost fell off the bed reaching for the chunk of Lucite.
It was way too small to be an actual unicorn horn, but I held it up to the light. It looked just like a unicorn’s horn in miniature. A soft, golden glow came from the tiny sword. The Kornus Blade.
How could it be that small?
Magic?
My aunt had found the sword, but it was useless like this; a toy.
I searched the giant plastic–well, it couldn’t be plastic–but it was no good in this form. Did Agnes know how to free the sword? I paced back and forth holding the thing in my hand. The smell of burnt paper from the envelope still filled the cabin. I waved my hands through the air to disperse the smell as I paced.
Could I break open the encasement? Would that set it free? Would it grow to full sized when it was set free?
I sat down on the bunk, thinking. If it broke, then I’d have nothing to fight whoever that Kurt Stein guy was. And my Dad wanted to kill him. He’s going to start
a war, but with who and for what? I stared at the chunk of plastic. If I couldn’t get it out, the sword was as good as broken.
I looked for something to smash the plastic into, but only the table was nearby. I took the statue in my burned hand. If I was going to bloody my knuckles, I didn’t want to expose any scales on my good hand. Holding the miniature sword high over my head, I smashed it down into the corner of the table. It dented the table with a terrible thud. My plate rattled, and I thought for sure I’d broken the sword. I pulled it up to see if I’d chipped anything, but there wasn’t a scratch.
I scowled and smashed it down again, harder this time. Nothing. I beat the knickknack into the table as hard as I could. I pounded until my arm got sore.
The door burst open and Felix rushed inside, one hand on the doorknob and one hand on the door frame, eyes wide as his gaze quickly flicked around the room. His breath came in heavy gasps. “What’s going on?”
I held the encased blade in one hand and stared back. “I, uh, well–”
“What’s that?”
“None of your business.” I hid the knickknack behind my back.
“What happened to your hand? And what is that smell?”
“That’s none of your business either. And who just barges in on someone?”
He let go of the door and held his hands in front of himself, palms out, in a gesture of peace. “I thought you might be in trouble with all the banging.”
“What?”
“It’s just, you know, the smoke?” He focused on the ground, scuffing the toe of his boot across the floorboards.
“I don’t understand, and no one explains anything.” I threw my arms up and looked at the ceiling for a moment; the top of the cabin was actually a canvas tent. I looked back at Felix. He looked anywhere but at me, and his gaze fell on the letter.
“That’s private,” I said, snatching the paper from the table. “Haven’t you heard of privacy?”
“I’m sorry, okay?” He ran his fingers through his short blond hair. “Can we start over? I thought you might be hurt, and it smells like fire and, well, worse.”
Then it clicked. My eyes widened. The scent of something burning where it shouldn’t be would probably set the whole herd of gryphons into a frenzy. “We can start over, just so long as you tell me what’s going on.”
He smiled, extending his hand, but when I reached out to shake on it, his gaze dropped to my newly exposed scales.
I sucked in a breath and yanked my hand back.
Felix quickly met my gaze, then thrust his hand into mine before I could slam it into my pocket.
“Look,” he said, still gripping my scale-covered hand. “If you want to figure yourself out, you’re going to have to accept the fact that you’re a dragon, no matter how human you look.”
“I’m half human,” I said. Dumb, like clinging to a sinking raft. Oh, I’m not all big bad dragon; I’m only half.
“And half dragon. If you have more than about an eighth, you can manifest, though some people are stronger at it than others.” He shook his head, and feathers sprouted, replacing his face and hair. A hooked beak took over where his mouth had been. Only his eyes remained the same, though the feathers were nearly the same golden color as his hair. He shook his head once more, returning to his human form again. He grinned. “It just takes practice.”
“Holy crap!” I covered my mouth with my hand. “Uh, I mean, that’s pretty amazing.” I rubbed the scales on my hand. “I found out about this, like, four days ago. And then the letter.” I shook my head, turning away from him.
“What letter?”
“My dad wrote me a letter.”
Felix tensed. “I thought he died in the fire. That’s what my father said.” He took in a breath and nodded. “But if he was a dragon, he probably got out alive.”
I flopped onto the bunk. “Yeah, it seemed like it was written after the fire.” I stuffed the statue and the journal into my backpack, then zipped it shut. “Who was Hazel?”
Felix’s face drained of blood. “Where did you hear that name?”
“Why, who is it?”
“Was it in that letter?” His eyes were wide, crazy.
“Are you going to explain anything?”
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Fine, ask away.”
“Who’s Hazel?”
He sighed, his features pinched. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “She died. I’d rather not talk about it. Next question.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek, but decided not to contradict him. “Who’s Kurt Stein?”
Felix squinted, tilting his head, his eyebrows knitting together. “He’s a racing sponsor. Our biggest, actually. Dad invited him up here to see the garage. We can get more money if Mr. Stein knows we can use it. That’s why the shop is so clean right now. Usually, it’s half disaster, half organized chaos.”
“He’s coming here?”
“What’s the big deal? He’s a money guy from San Francisco.”
“What does he do?” I asked.
“Some sort of investment banker, why?”
“It can’t be the same guy.”
“As who? You’re not making any sense, Allyson.”
I jumped up and paced the floor again. I walked past the battered table four times before Felix grabbed my shoulder. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“It’s not like I know if it’s even true.”
“Why don’t you tell me, and I’ll be the judge?”
Was this some elaborate hoax? It felt like walking home with Steve all over again. But that hadn’t been a joke. I took a deep breath to steady my head and ease the rising fire.
“In the letter, it said Mr. Stein was raising an army of trolls.”
He laughed. “That’s ridiculous. How could anyone control an army of trolls, let alone a room of them? They’re not the brightest bunch, no offense to your friend.”
“She’s only half,” I said, automatically.
“You’re pretty hung up on half and whole.”
I shrugged. “It seems important to acknowledge the human component. Besides, those trolls were way stronger than Beth, and she crumbles rocks in her bare hands. And just think about it, an army that heals before it dies of a gunshot wound? Can you imagine?”
His brow furrowed, and he shook his head. “He’s an investment banker, not a James Bond villain.”
“Everyone needs a hobby.”
Felix rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, he’s been a sponsor for years.”
Fire burned in my lungs, rolling through my chest. “Oh, yeah? How long?”
“I don’t know exactly. Four or five years, practically forever.”
“Before your cousin disappeared?”
His body tensed, and his eyes hardened. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying this guy uses people like us to fuel his army-controlling spell.”
He tossed his head back and laughed. “Spells? You think there’s magic, too?” He cackled with mockery.
My stomach cramped, and the burning need to set the world on fire danced up my torso. I ground my teeth instead. Finally, he made a show of stopping his laughter. He was enjoying my discomfort, and I wanted to punch him. But I was the daughter of the devil as far as they were concerned. I couldn’t give them the satisfaction.
I held his gaze, willing him to listen. “Last week, I would have laughed just like that if you’d told me you were a gryphon.”
He clenched his jaw, and a muscle jumped along the side of his face. “I only came here to tell you my father wants to see you at first light. Good luck with that.” He spun around and slammed the door.
I sprinted after him into the night.
“Wait! Damn it, you didn’t explain anything.” I jogged to catch up, but he had a head start. Most of the crowd around the fire pit had already turned in for the night, and it was just me chasing some boy I barely knew through the trees. The forest ended, and the night sky opened up over the ledge before me.
Felix jumped off the edge.
“No!” I sprinted to the edge of the rock and searched through the darkness for him, expecting to find a broken body in the ravine below.
As my eyes adjusted, Felix flew away against the starry night sky.
Two Days Before
y mind conjured images and visions of what the gryphon bikers would do to the daughter of a traitor, keeping me awake all night.
On top of being the daughter of David Takata, I’d now also accused some beloved bringer of money of kidnapping their people.
Yup, they’d fry me for sure.
And every time I thought about Felix leaping off that cliff, my stomach twisted into rabid ferrets. Did he jump to get away from me, or had it been an invitation to follow him?
My hand was covered in scales instead of skin–another thought that kept me tossing and turning. The edges of the skin had scabbed over, but I had no clue how to make it grow back over my hand. I searched my dad’s journal for clues on manifestation, but of course, he was all dragon and probably learned how to look human as an afterthought.
I turned my hand over and studied it in the dark. The more I watched, the more my scales glistened, like they were drying; the more air they were exposed to, the shinier they became. As I watched my hand in the scant light of the moon, I could almost imagine my whole body covered in the sapphire gems.
I cut those thoughts from my mind and turned on the flashlight.
In my backpack, my emergency makeup waited. If I couldn’t sleep, the least I could do was cover the scales on my face. If gryphons didn’t like dragons, and only a handful of people knew what I was, I should try to keep it that way. Stupid secrets. Besides, makeup was normal. I could use some normal.
I put on my shirt and pants before I pulled out the tiny compact, setting it on the table so I could see my face. I painted the latex on with a tiny brush like they put in finger nail polish. As I waited for it to dry, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was painting on a mask, and Felix said I should find peace with my dragon half.
