by Eve Paludan
“I know. So, mainly, I am just here to enforce study habits. Otherwise, I would just eat, sleep, and breathe football and forget about English class.”
“That’s my best subject, as you know,” I said.
“Really?” he said, his face surprised.
“Yeah.”
“I’m broke as a joke right now, or I would hire you again,” Nick admitted. “They cut back my hours at the juice bar because football was interfering with my work schedule.”
“That’s too bad. I’ll help you for free for the rest of the semester. For the good of the football team, of course. It sucks that they’ve been losing without you.”
Relief flooded his face. “That’d be great, Tammy. Because I’m stuck on an assignment. Really stuck.”
“What do you need?” I asked.
“I really could use a tutor to help with my Beowulf project,” he admitted.
“Are you in the movie class or the book class for English lit?” I asked.
“There’s a book class?” he joked.
I smirked. “Maybe we could do something to get your grades back up.”
“I don’t want to be your charity case, though. How much would you charge me just to help me to write a movie review? Or a poem.”
I paused, thinking. “How about, for the rest of the semester, be my protector like this every Tuesday and Thursday before and after Teen Responsibility class, and during class, if need be. So none of the girls beat me up and none of the guys say nasty, creepy things to me.”
“Deal!” he said.
“Really?” I asked.
“Yeah. I need to get a C or better to stay on the football team.”
“I’ll try to help you get a B.”
“That would be awesome, Tammy.”
I liked it that he kept saying my name. I looked in Nick North’s mind and there was nothing nasty in it, just a relief that he had a tutor and how nice of a girl I was to help him. It was like looking in the mind of a choirboy. I mean, if I knew any choirboys, it would have been. What were choirboys anyway?
As we approached our classroom, whose old carpet smelled like sweaty, nacho cheesy feet, I got an idea. A marvelous idea. In fact, a diabolical idea.
I stopped in my tracks and he did, too. “Nick, do you have a car?”
He grinned. “Sure, my Mustang’s in the parking lot. I’m restoring it myself.”
“Awesome!” I licked my lips and got gutsy. “After the teacher takes attendance, how about we slip out and go somewhere until about 9:45 p.m.?”
His blue eyes looked worried. “I really need to work on my Beowulf movie review or poem, whatever it’s going to be. Where do you want to go?”
“Actually, I need to go to the Cal State Fullerton Library to do Beowulf research.”
He relaxed, and I didn’t even need to read his mind to see relief written all over his face. “For real?”
“Yeah. I read the entire Beowulf poem for my honors class. It’s 3,182 lines and really complicated to understand. I need to get my hands on some scholarly analysis from higher academia than what’s in our high school library.”
“I don’t understand what you just said, but do you think that might help me with my movie review or a poem, too? And the upcoming quiz?”
I laughed. “Sure.”
When we got to the classroom, there was a substitute teacher explaining to all the students that we were going to the library tonight for a study period—the regular teacher had eaten bad sushi and was in the emergency room. The substitute had no lesson plan and got the okay to make it a study night or catch up with homework, whatever, as long as the students stayed put in the school library for three hours. But no goofing off. There was to be quiet productivity.
Nick and I looked at each other and he waggled his blonde eyebrows up and down. I read his mind: We can easily leave the library.
“Could you be a little less obvious?” I whispered and ten minutes later, after attendance was taken and the class meandered over across the campus into the high school library, we ducked out the back door and headed for his Mustang in the student parking lot.
It was still raining cats and dogs, but he opened the car door for me and then ran around to the driver’s side where I unlocked his door. It was an older car, so there were no automatic door locks.
He got in and turned on the ignition. The sports car purred with something powerful under the hood. He turned on the heater and shut off the radio, so we could talk.
“Your Mustang is pretty,” I said of the turquoise car with the white convertible top.
“Thanks, my dad left it to me. I don’t eat or drink in here. I want to keep it nice forever.”
“Understandable. I’m very sorry about your dad,” I said.
“Thanks.”
“My dad died, too, but my brother has his car,” I confessed. “I didn’t want it and he did, so…”
“I didn’t know that. I thought your mom was just divorced.”
“No, my dad… passed away after they got a divorce.” I left out the part where he was murdered by an evil vampire.
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” he said as he pulled out of the parking lot.
“Thank you, Nick. Do you miss your dad still?” I asked, wanting to talk about him more than about me.
“Every day. It’s like a hole in my heart.”
“Me, too. I am more like my dead dad, back when he was a good guy, than I am like my mom,” I said. My undead mom.
“You don’t often hear that a girl says she is more like her dad.”
“I am. We laughed at the same sorts of mean things and he was kind of a big dreamer, like me, where my mom is really practical and no-nonsense.”
“Sounds like we have the same parents,” he joked.
I thought about my mom’s vampirism. “Not hardly. My mom is one of a kind.”
“We all think that about our mothers,” he said, pointing the Mustang toward the freeway. When he was on the freeway, he was careful about driving in the rain and didn’t speak until we were out of heavier traffic. The rain was beating on the convertible top and the windshield wipers were clunking back and forth like mad. If I would have been driving, I would have been terrified. I could hardly see through the windshield.
But he was calm, and he said, “You’re kind of a legend in our school. The other kids say you’re a witch or something.”
I smirked. “Or something?”
He came right out with it. “I’ve been careful with my thoughts around you because… is it true you can read minds?”
“Yeah, but most people are pretty boring, so I don’t dig too deep into people’s thoughts unless I have a reason beyond idle curiosity.”
“So, you know what I think of you and all?” he asked.
“Yup, pretty much,” I said, looking out the rain-streaked side window. “I know you don’t think dirty things about me, at least not in my presence.”
He was silent for a full minute and then I read his thoughts and felt myself blush. “I’m sorry about the reason: You got your heart broken by another girl. No, not a girl. A woman.”
“Thank you, but, if we’re going to be friends, I’d really like it if you respected my privacy and stay out of my head unless you’re invited in. Would you do that for me?” he asked with a bit of hesitation. Politely, though.
“Yeah,” I said softly. “I promise.”
“Thanks. Despite what they say, you’re a nice girl.”
I laughed wickedly. “Until I’m not.”
Nick laughed. “You got in the car with me, and you’re so trusting, so sweet.”
“Well, I already knew what was going on in your mind about me. Nothing nefarious. And I knew you weren’t like the other guys, almost right away.”
“Cool. You do you, Tammy. I’ll do me.”
“That’s my plan,” I said and stayed out of his head.
He smiled and watched the traffic as he moved over a lane for the exit to Cal State Fullerton. �
��Are we really going to do research on Beowulf tonight?”
“Yeah, we really are. For the ginormous epic poem for me—figuring out the nuances of it—and the movie for you.”
“You’re really smart, right?” he asked.
“Yeah, don’t spread it around, though. It might hurt my image as one of the cool girls if people knew I was actually a bit smarter than them.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” he said.
“So is yours, about your heartbreak,” I promised. I meant it, too. I was a great secret-keeper.
“Ugh, such a can of worms about my heartbreak. Don’t get me started.” He paused and changed the subject. “So, what’s so special about the resources at the Cal State Fullerton Library?” Nick asked.
“A secret occult book room,” I said.
We exchanged quick glances.
“Are you shitting me right now?” he blurted.
I laughed. “I’d pinky swear with you right now, except you’re driving in the pouring rain and you need both hands on the wheel. But we have to find the room first, and then, you’ll see.”
“Find it?”
“Yeah, it’s hidden, but I read my mom’s mind and my brother’s mind. It’s there, all right. Somewhere.”
“Are we going to get in big trouble tonight?” Nick asked. I picked up on his thoughts that he was suddenly worried about spiriting me away from the school.
“No trouble. Not if you get me back to the high school before my mom picks me up after our stupid teen responsibility class.” I paused. “But we have plenty of time before that. In theory.”
“What would happen if I don’t get you back in time?” Nick asked.
“My mother will kill you and possibly drink your blood.”
“You’re such a kidder. Vampires. Heh-heh.” He laughed nervously. As well he should.
“Yeah, I am such a kidder. And then, after she killed you and sucked you dry, she’d ground me until I was eighteen.”
“I thought you were already eighteen.”
“Nope. Seventeen.”
“Wow, good thing I have no ulterior motives,” he said.
“Duh, I knew that, or I never would have set foot in your car.”
He laughed. “Can your mom also beat up my mom?”
“I’m sure she can,” I said, thinking of all the bad asses my mom had killed. And those were just the ones I knew about from reading her mind. “She takes boxing lessons, by the way. And apparently, bruises up her trainer something good. I’ve seen him after, huffing and puffing and wincing, and he used to be a professional boxer.”
“Yikes. This little jaunt better be worth the risk of your mother’s wrath.”
“Nick, trust me, finding out the truth is always worth the risk of my mother’s wrath.”
“The truth about Beowulf, a fictional character?”
“No, Nick, not just that. I wanna know the truth about everything that’s enchanted in the secret room of that creepy library.”
“Tammy Moon, what the hell are you getting me into?” Nick asked.
“My own private world.” I shivered, suddenly feeling like the devil was listening.
Chapter 9
THE DRAGON, THORN
Daunted by the idea of re-igniting the war between King Beowulf and all supernatural creatures, in my man form, I headed to the shoreline to think about what to do. I was treated to the sight of selkies frolicking in the shallows of the tidal pools. As I watched them, I knew that whatever I did to retrieve the treasure and especially, the Cup of Forgiveness, would affect all of us: vampires, werewolves, mermaids, selkies, fairies, unicorns, and of course, dragons, of which I believed I was the only survivor of my kind.
The ogres were extinct, thanks to Beowulf and his men, not that they were particularly missed—ogres were truly the underbelly of all supernaturals—but to kill the lower-minded creatures merely for existing was Beowulf’s bloodlust and rote practice. A practice that must end. And I would end it for him or die trying.
I had never fought another supernatural creature, though I had trained for it all the days of my life as I ran in my man form with wolves or werewolves or raced the herd of the wild winged white horses of the marshes. Even bullied by harpies as a young dragon, I had turned the other cheek because my mother taught me it was imperative to be kind unless you had no other choice. Now, I had no other choice but to fight.
I did have an idea, though. A last-ditch idea. When the tide went way out, I used a big stick to write a message to Beowulf in the damp sand, knowing his shore patrol would see it and report back to him before nightfall.
I wrote large in the smooth sand with my big stick:
Hark, King Beowulf!
Let us settle this peaceably and without bloodshed. Tonight, on the new moon, leave the Cup of Forgiveness in the highest window of your north tower. If you do this, you may keep the treasure. I want only the Cup.
Sincerely,
The Dragon, Thorn
***
Hours later, under the cover of a moonless night, in my dragon form, I perched at the mouth of my granite cavern and stretched my wings, seeing with my slitted umber-colored eyes the palpable energy of the night. The sky was cloudy, covered with a blanket of rolling thunder and lightning that illuminated the clouds here and there with flashes of light ahead of the rain that was building in them and was about to be released in pelting fury.
Wispy spirits of long-dead beloved dragons, my mother and my sire, and their four parents, beckoned to me to come out into the night and fly with them. They came in their spirit forms to comfort me, guide me, fly with me.
This night, unless the Cup was surrendered in the window of the north tower, I planned to destroy Beowulf and all who flanked him in the battle of good against evil. Make no mistake about it, I am the good and Beowulf is the evil.
Whoever takes a dragon’s treasure takes away the metal that we smelt with our fiery breath to add strength to the natural armoring of our coppery scales. That is what treasure is to a dragon. It is fortification and sustenance and necessity. Dragons can smelt a treasure over and over and inhale the metal’s fumes and a treasure will last for eons that way. It was health for us, even as much as flesh and blood and sometimes carrion is sustenance to my carnivorous nature. And Beowulf had taken that away: my dragon sustenance.
But more importantly, the Cup of Forgiveness was in Beowulf’s possession and not only would he not relinquish it, his men wrote me a return missive in the sand that was an outright challenge:
To the Dragon, Thornless,
Come, then, motherless suckling dragon, and do your worst. I will be waiting for you, but I will not be alone. We will finish this battle, the seeds of which were sown fifty years ago. It is far past time for you to die at the tip of my invincible sword.
King Beowulf
It was not the answer I desired, though I should have expected it from someone of his ilk.
The spirit of my mother said to me: “Beowulf is nothing but a merciless murderer of supernaturals, a kingdom usurper, and a thief. The treasure is only metal and jewels. Those things can be replaced over time by a dragon-man who knows his way around the caverns and has a lot of time on his hands to dig and mine the ores and the gemstones. And polish it all in the fire-breath of the ages.”
And then, my father’s spirit added his opinion. “Your mother is correct. The treasure can be replaced by you over two hundred years or so. But the Cup of Forgiveness is one of a kind. Heaven help Beowulf if he puts his lips to the Cup.”
My grandmother’s spirit chimed in, “Anyone who is unworthy and drinks from the Cup—he shall die.”
My grandfather’s spirit added, “By fire. He who is unworthy to drink from the Cup shall die by fire.”
“Make no mistake about it, I am the fire,” I said, finally realizing what responsibility weighed on my shoulders. I raised my massive coppery wings into the velvet-black night and flew off toward Beowulf’s fortress. The spirits of my kin followed me a
s I bellowed my rage over the countryside. It was a war cry that screamed across the sky for miles. It was a keening and a rage such as I had never before uttered. It rattled window shutters in its wake, and to my dismay, even shattered some of the colored glass in the cathedral under construction.
But I kept on toward the burning torches of the fortress where old man Beowulf waited for me with his weapons that he hoped could kill a dragon.
Instead of burning the fields of innocent peasants—whose undersheriff had chained up virgins on poles to divert me from Beowulf’s fortress—I saved my fire-breath for Beowulf, the king of fools. I ignored the weeping virgin sacrifices. None of this war was their doing, poor pathetic creatures. And truth to tell, I’d never roasted and devoured a human woman, much less a virgin. The idea of virgins being sacrificed to appease a dragon was repugnant to me. I didn’t have any bad habits like that one, though I couldn’t speak for my ancestors. And I didn’t intend to start one now.
But before the night went any further, I vowed two things: First, that I would retrieve the Cup of Forgiveness and second, that Beowulf would know the death kiss of my white-hot sulfurous flames. Full-on in his churlish, devil-smited face…
Chapter 10
BEOWULF, THE KING
The dragon, Thorn, be bloodthirsty, as are all dragons. Lo, were I a dragon, how much damage we could do together as power-mad supernatural creatures! Not that I could convince Thorn to joining forces with me, for he is one of the darkest creatures on earth. I assume that were we both dragons, we would be clashing in the sky this very night, flames against flames, our jaws tearing the flesh from each other’s bones, and claws slashing claws.
I had never wanted to be a dragon until tonight. I asked my necromancers to advise me on how I could transform myself, but after a brief conference in their chambers with a local sorceress, they fled away with her! If I ever see their unfortunate faces again, I will imprison them for their cowardice. And torture them for their ineptitude. It cannot be that difficult to change me into a dragon. I suppose the process must be terrible and risky for them to have fled me. Their king.
