by Jen Crane
“Ah, here comes Dragon Lady now,” quipped Boone as we neared the table. “Take my seat, ma’am. Please.”
“Oh, you guys are freakin’ hilarious, aren’t you?” All of the attention, good-natured ribbing or not, made me uncomfortable. I didn’t like having a spotlight shone on me. I much preferred to blend into the background—especially among these people, whom I’d come to love and trust.
“I told her that everyone here wants to do her or be her,” said Timbra. “She thinks I’m exaggerating.”
Enthusiastic ‘mm-hmm’s’ and ‘I know dat’s right’s’ erupted, but one face remained stony. Ewan. He turned his dark head from me and mumbled something almost inaudibly. He’d been in such a bad mood lately.
“What’s that?” I asked.
Ewan Bristol’s shiny black curls fell in layers almost to the top of his shoulders in back, and just around his temples in the front. No hair was in its proper place, but it was perfect just the same. Big, dark-brown eyes with nearly-curly black lashes topped the slender slope of his nose, which skimmed over slight nostrils and into cheeks that looked downy smooth when contrasted to the perpetual five o’clock shadow that ran the length of his jawbone. A hint of a mustache brought attention to his lips, which thrust out in an almost child-like pout.
“I said, ‘My nose never lies. Someone’s already doing her.’” He finally raised his chestnut eyes to mine and his rugged jaw thrust forward with determination. He stared me down, his expression revealing such disgust that I jerked, horrified.
The restaurant went silent. It wasn’t just quiet, but as if all of the sound in the room had been sucked out by a solar system-sized gravitational pull—a black hole, an absence of sound. My ears roared as humiliation pumped blood to them, and my cheeks flushed so quickly they stung. Words escaped me and my mouth fell open in surprise. Ewan had always been so reserved, so polite.
I darted glances to Timbra, to Layla, to Boone. They all showed varying degrees of shock. Boone’s sharp jaws sat agape, Timbra’s fingertips hastily shot up to cover her mouth, and Layla’s lips formed a perfect “o.” Ewan’s comments were so out of character he’d stunned the entire table.
As the blood slowly drained from my face and my shamed haze cleared, I found the other patrons weren’t hanging on our every word, but were eating, having their own conversations. My humiliation was mitigated to our table, at least. I avoided any further eye contact with my friends and fiddled nervously with a napkin. Several deep breaths did nothing to help me calm down, to move on, so I excused myself and raced toward the bathroom.
I’d gotten nearly twenty feet when I heard a strained voice call, “Stella, wait.”
Ewan, who’d followed me, grabbed for my elbow, but I shook him off and increased my pace.
“Stella. Please. I’m sorry I said that.”
I slowed and turned, letting him see the hurt, the questions in my eyes.
“Well, how the hell did you expect me to feel?” He shook his head, his handsome face pinched into something bewildered and angry.
“What are you talking about,” I hissed.
“The last we saw each other, I—I thought we had something real.” His infinite gaze searched mine. “Hell, you pursued me. You kissed me. You felt as strongly as I did the connection between us. I know you did. Then, out of nowhere, I smell Gresham all over you. And Boone confirmed you’ve been seeing him.”
“Oh, what does Boone know?” I scoffed. “He knows nothing.”
“He knows what Timbra knows.” That hurt. I hadn’t expected she would share the details of my love life. “Surely you’re not denying it?”
“No, I’m not denying it, Ewan.” I circled a thumb along my temple to ease some tension. “We…we got to know each other during my metamorphosis training. We’ve been through a lot together. It just happened. I don’t know.”
“And you’ll continue to see him?”
“Yes,” I admitted, and he flinched ever so slightly.
“Didn’t you think you owed me some kind of explanation?” he asked, his voice growing lower in pitch with each word until it was almost a growl. “Did what was between us ever cross your mind?”
I huffed out a breath. “Of course I thought about it. I did. But I heard you were seeing Pippa and I chalked our make-out sessions up to…I don’t know…drunken flirting.”
He didn’t just flinch that time. He balked. Ewan had deeper feelings for me than I’d realized, that much was obvious.
My insides turned over in shame and I snapped my eyes shut, unable to meet his gaze again after comprehending how thoughtless I’d been. The restaurant’s small dining room expanded and stretched until I was forced upon a tiny dais for all the world to inspect. I felt minuscule. More than just an insensitive love interest, I had been a bad friend. A bad person. While it was no defensible excuse, my treatment of Ewan was probably the result of being so used to the hook-up culture of my college town before coming to Thayer. He didn’t deserve that, and he obviously hadn’t expected it of me.
I finally looked up to find Ewan’s face strained. His deep eyes held anger, rejection, pain…and restraint. A lot of restraint.
“I’m sorry for what I said,” he offered again. “It was crude.” Then he stood to his full height, using the significant advantage to drive home his next point. “For what it’s worth, I thought we had the potential for something legendary.” He leaned in close to me, his breath a puff on my forehead beneath my scattered hair. “And Stella?” he said, barely above a whisper as he ran a finger from the top of my shoulder down my bare arm.
“Yes?” I managed before a compulsory swallow.
“I still do.”
With that mic-dropper, he turned his back to me and stalked toward our friends.
In the restroom, I attempted to compose myself, trying and failing not to feel like a real asshole. My mirrored reflection revealed too much. It seemed to amplify my flaws, which had stacked so high I might never reach the top in order to clear them. But improving myself was necessary, no doubt about it. I had mistreated Ewan. Badly. I couldn’t feel sorry about Gresham, but did regret my gross insensitivity.
I liked Ewan, who’d proved to be an exceptional person. It might take a while but I hoped I could regain his trust. Eventually, maybe he could even forgive me.
Resolved to be a better person, my true image was reflected in the mirror once more. Someone once told me I looked like a Scot and an Italian had been thrown into a blender. My auburn hair was long and a little wild. But rather than pale or freckled skin, mine was olive. My face was filling out my big features as I grew older. I’d been a gangly kid with a big mouth and over-large eyes. Cute, but never pretty.
After reapplying lip gloss, I made my way back to our table. It took a lot of effort; quite a bit of humility, but I smiled at my friends to show that all was well…or that it would be.
* * *
Relief flooded me when the waiter arrived to take our orders and broke the tense atmosphere. “Ah, Ms. Stonewall,” he said and pushed his smeared glasses higher up on his nose. “It’s a pleasure to have you. Whatever you like, it’s on the house.”
“No! Thank you for the gesture. But no. I enjoy your food and I’m happy to pay.”
“I insist. My mother’s people were Fae. My parents told me the tale of the Steward Massacre, just as I tell my children and they will tell their own. Each generation must know that we lost many in those days. Mothers cleaved to babes in cellars while caves were set afire by those demon dragons. We lost much.” A lock of gray hair fell over one eye and he brushed it aside with his pen. “Too much.” His milky eyes came back into focus and found mine. “Whatever you like. It’s on the house. Anyone who takes on Brandubh is honored here,” he said with finality.
I felt humbled. And beyond saddened to hear of his loss. It was clear that arguing further would only be taken as ungracious, and lord knew a lack of grace was one of my flaws.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said with appr
opriate gravity. “And thank you for your generosity. I would love a Shiso Crazy roll and some edamame to start, please.”
It was several strained moments before the group moved past the awkward tension between Ewan and I, and the horrific tale of the waiter’s ancestors. But Boone, bless him, took up the charge.
“Ah, I hate to kill the vibe we’ve got going here,” he said, his voice laced with sarcasm, “but Timbra and I have some news.”
Heads swung in his direction. Everything about Boone Adder was big. He was very tall, his rounded eyes and slim nose over-large. His big mouth housed strong white teeth. But it all worked together to form a gentle puppy-face—likely no coincidence since his animal form was a dog. His forbearers evolved from ancient Greek Molossions, massive sandy-colored guards charged with protecting flocks and families.
“We’re together,” Boone informed the group.
The same heads swung again but toward each other with brows wrinkled in confusion, each reaction echoing the same thought.
Mari was the one who spoke up. “I thought that was common knowledge. I mean, we’ve all watched you flirt for weeks, but lately you’ve been, well, schmoopy. You can’t stop touching. She looks at you like she depends on you for breath. I’ve caught you grinning like a fool twice already tonight.” She shrugged good-naturedly. “Of course you’re together.”
“What she said,” concurred Layla, whose pixie-short hair was currently died a lovely shade of pink that complimented her brown skin. She wore a thin tank top, no bra, and distressed jeans with barely-there heels. Layla always made a statement. Tonight her ensemble said, ‘The only thing sweet about me is the hair.’ The white tank was low enough that the black and aqua tattoo spanning her chest was on full display. A two-headed raven began at her collarbone and extended down into her slight cleavage. The ravens’ heads stretched, open-mouthed, toward her shoulders as if cawing before taking flight upon a pair of outstretched wings.
“I guess—I guess we just wanted to make it official.” Boone would not be deterred from his grand announcement.
“What’s official?” Bex had decided to join us. The stunning lioness knew how to make an entrance; I’d give her that. She threw her long caramel hair behind her as she took a chair with great ceremony.
“Boone and Timbra are together,” said Ewan.
“That’s news?” Bex feigned a yawn before sliding her feline eyes in my direction. “Stella, is it true you tore out Brandubh’s throat? Your form’s a wolf, then?”
And there it was.
I knew everyone had questions. Hell, I still had a lot of questions. Yes, I was going to have to talk about the night of the Brandubh attack eventually, but I had been avoiding it. Most people, even my close friends like Timbra, knew only the highlights. Gresham and I were led into a trap where we were attacked by Brandubh. Three dragons were present. I severely injured Brandubh by turning into my wolf. Brandubh and the three dragons escaped, though not together. The dragons were no longer under Brandubh’s command.
That I had a form besides my wolf was not common knowledge.
If only I could escape the inevitable and avoid the entire conversation. But I knew the best course of action, since asked directly in a room full of people, was to be forthcoming. No sense hiding, especially considering how unfair human nature can be. In the absence of the truth, people are more than happy to speculate. Problem was, I wasn’t prepared to admit the whole truth. Not yet. Not in a restaurant full of people. Not even to my closest friends.
I would have to evade Bex’s question. As luck would have it, I’d had some recent experience with tactical evasion. Gresham was a master, but I was learning to read him and catch his subtle hedging. And learning how to employ the maneuver myself.
“I turned into a wolf, yes.” There. That was true.
“And were there really dragons there?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Her golden eyes were wide with excitement. She leaned toward me, her shoulders bunched. “What was that like? Were they demented? Did they try to scorch you? I heard you ripped Brandubh’s throat out, but how did you escape the dragons?” Bex was the one asking the questions, but the entire table hung on our every word. The tables around us probably listened in, too. Senses in Thayer were heightened, hearing definitely included. Careful, Stella, I thought. The details of that day had been kept close to my chest for a reason.
It was necessary to keep the secret, but I felt compelled to defend the Drakontos dragons. While on the surface their actions were indefensible, what wasn’t common knowledge was that Brandubh forced them to do those horrific things. He literally controlled them with metal torques, stealing their free will and bidding them to hunt and kill. I knew from my long experience with my mother that the kindest, most innocent soul could be forged into an indiscriminate weapon. But I wasn’t certain that people like my friends, who’d feared and hated dragons their entire lives, could ever see them in another, more blameless light.
Still I had to try.
“Actually, the dragons were prisoners there. They didn’t want to hurt me.” Well, maybe Stryde did. “When I defeated Brandubh their torques…shorted out…and the dragons traced away, leaving the metal bands behind. I don’t know where they went, but it wasn’t with Brandubh. They were eager to escape him. For centuries they suffered and were tortured in their cratered prison, forced to stay in their dragon forms so long that they grew madder with each passing day.”
I glanced up to gauge their reactions to my statement. Nearly every head in the group had turned so that an ear faced me—as if they hadn’t quite heard right. Ewan’s brow held deep grooves of confusion and Boone cleared his throat conspicuously.
“One more reason to eradicate their scaly asses,” Bex jeered, her full lips pulled back in disgust.
Her comment received far more support than I liked from our table. Yes, Gresham and I had been right to withhold my relation to the dragons. Fair or not, they were the face of the Massacre.
Chapter 4
Stella Stonewall
Student Journal Entry #7
Logged via Pia
Saturday, June 28
Some days seem to evaporate in a matter of minutes while others drag on interminably.
Before coming to Thayer and enrolling at The Root my life was damned tedious. Days ran into each other; none bearing any real distinction from the one before it. There was no purpose or substance. Oh, sure, one day I might take a physics test and paint my toenails purple. The next I would study for biology and opt for a margarita instead of Mich Ultra. But in life’s grand design mine had no real meaning. My reality sucked.
Then Rowan Gresham introduced me to another world, the one of my parents, and my reality changed. Not only did I discover that my life had purpose, I discovered what I knew of myself was woefully insufficient. I wasn’t just a regular girl with regular problems. I was born of a dragon mother and a omni father—a rare species capable of changing into any animal form.
Here in Thayer people are derived of many species, not just apes. Some of my best friends turn furry on the regular. Having an alternate form is normal. Not so normal? Having two alternate forms…or more. So far, when faced with immediate physical danger, I’ve changed into both a massive red wolf and a fearsome dragon with scales of auburn.
My mother recently abandoned me rather than reveal information about her past. This affects my present. A lot. The pain of her betrayal haunts me every day, but I’m learning how to navigate life with an emotional handicap. And it’s a good thing, too, because I just suffered another sickening treachery.
I have three living relatives: a grandma, an uncle, and a male cousin. They’re my mother’s people, the Drakontos, and are believed to be the last of the dragons.
Though at first I was thrilled to find living relatives, the Drakontos and I will not be playing horseshoes at the family picnic anytime soon. They betrayed me to Brandubh, who had imprisoned them for hundreds of years. He forced them to
carry out savage attacks throughout Thayer. It was violent retaliation for one of these attacks, the Steward Massacre, that led to the near-eradication of all dragon lines.
And they set me up to be captured by this guy! They claimed not to know the familial connection until it was too late. I know they’d been tortured for centuries, but how could they want for anyone what they’d suffered, relative or not?
Both Gresham and I nearly died when Brandubh tried to enslave me, too. The sicko had planned an incestuous breeding program in order to repopulate the dragon lines. I was to be a brood mare, or vibria, as fertile female dragons are apparently called. Blech. Still gives me the heebie-jeebies to think about it.
A vision may have alerted Brandubh to my existence, but it didn’t reveal all of my secrets. He didn’t know that my father was an omni, and he sure as hell didn’t know that I had inherited the trait. When he least expected it I changed to wolf form and nearly ripped his throat out. He narrowly escaped. Now I fear his return every day, though Gresham says that we have taken the precautions necessary to thwart a future attack. My surroundings, and even my body are heavily warded against him with powerful magic.
And if all else fails, I am still a badass wolf/dragon girl that can fight like a boss.
Chapter 5
“Stella, a physical communication has been accepted for you at Sabre Hall’s front desk.”
I knew that voice.
“Pia, is it so hard for you to say ‘letter?’ I know you have a thesaurus function somewhere in that big brain of yours.”
“Stella, a letter has been accepted for you at Sabre Hall’s front desk.”
“There. Isn’t that better to you?” I asked.
“No. To me, ‘physical communication’ has a certain je ne sais quoi. But I am programmed to discover the method that will best assist you. If you require a less complex language format, I will simplify for you in the future.”
