by A W Hartoin
“It’s a dragon,” said Tess.
“Iris,” said Dad. “Get the Speciesapedia.”
Iris flew off as a long neck extended from the hole and the dragon started sniffing the air. It couldn’t reach the plate and the latticework rattled and bowed out. The big red body filled the hole and then went through in one big push.
“Holy crap!” said Judd.
I agreed. It was a holy crap moment. The dragon was huge, nothing like the dragons we’d seen flying around Paris pooping on ice cream cones. This one was all blubbery and lumpy like an overstuffed beach bag. It’s wings were good-sized but were way too small to support that body in flight.
The dragon lay on its side, panting and drooling. Its eyes were fixed on the poison plate. It heaved over and flapped its wings, creating a lot of wind, but only lifting it enough to get air under the belly. The claws scratched at the hard wood floor, but weren’t long enough to actually lift the body.
“That,” Dad said. “Is the most pathetic thing I have ever seen.” He looked up at the Home Depot fairies. “Stand down, guys.”
The Home Depot fairies had already hoisted the cage back onto the counter and were walking away in their line.
Iris landed next to me and opened the Speciesapedia to the section on dragons. She leafed through until she got to the page on Moroccan spice dragons. “Here it is,” she said. “Well, maybe. The coloring and snout is right, but this one is kind of…fluffy.”
“Fluffy,” said Judd. “It’s morbidly obese.”
“Are they supposed to be rotund?” asked Mom.
Iris held up the book and showed us the picture. “No. They’re supposed to be sleek fighting dragons.”
We looked back at the dragon panting on the floor, a big pool of drool around his purple tongue.
“That’s a fighting dragon?” asked Judd. “This is like getting underwear for Christmas. What are we supposed to do with that?”
“We’re supposed to be getting rid of it,” said Mom.
Tess squinted at the Speciesapedia. “Why’s it called a spice dragon?”
“They love spices. They usually live in street markets where they steal spices. Their favorites are paprika, cumin, and tumeric,” said Iris.
The dragon started rippling. Weak flames shot out of its nostrils and it started moving. Blub. Blub. Blub. The fat ripples seemed to be moving it toward the poison.
“It’s like a walrus without the fins,” said Tess.
“It must really want that poison,” said Mom.
The dragon kept blubbing toward the plate, its eyes glazed over but fixed on its goal.
“That’s how I feel about Big Macs,” said Judd.
“Take it away!” cried Iris, her fingers tracing down the page.
“Why?” asked Dad. “It clearly loves poison.”
“It’s bad for it. Listen to this.” Iris read from the book. “If Moroccan Spice Dragon’s natural diet is not available, they will feast on anything that isn’t hard to catch and easily become hooked on substances that are to their detriment.”
The cabinet rattled again and a couple of more nails became loose in the latticework.
“There’s another one,” said Tess.
“Great,” said Dad. “I don’t know what we’re going to do with this one.”
“Evan will step on it,” said Mom. “Can you imagine the mess?”
“I’ll just pick it up,” said Judd.
“You can’t.” Mom leaned over the Speciesapedia. “It says here that they are completely wild and untrainable.”
“What’s it going to do to me? It can barely move.”
“They have poison glands under their teeth and their bites have been known to kill house cats and small dogs.”
“So I won’t be picking it up. I’ll think of something.” Judd crawled out from under the table and started rummaging through drawers.
“Do it fast,” said Tess. “I hear Dad’s alarm. He’ll be out here any minute.”
“Stall him, Tess,” I said.
The cabinet rattled again and another snout appeared in the hole. This time it was purple but with the same nostrils and fire. The first dragon made it to the plate and slapped its long tongue on the poison. The second dragon must’ve seen it, because it came through the hole at speeds approaching snail velocity. This dragon’s head was smaller than the first but identical, except the colors were reversed. It was purple with a red tongue.
“I’ve got it.” Judd knelt beside the table with a frying pan and a plastic spatula.
The second dragon tried to squeeze through the hole. The wood split, shooting splinters across the room. The dragon blubbed out onto the floor. It reminded me of Tess’s hairstyling foam. Little nozzle, big foam.
The dragon lay next to the first one, panting and snorting fire. It was even bigger, especially at the rear end, kind of like a lightbulb. It groaned, rolled onto its side and farted. And I mean farted. We’re talking pea green fog billowing from its rear and spreading across the room.
Judd pinched his nose. “That’s the smell.”
“They could use that to kill rats,” said Mom.
“It is not so bad,” said Lucrece. “Reminds me of my old spriggan hole.”
“Home stench home,” said Horc.
“You’re demented. That’s worse than the Lrag treatment, both of them put together,” I said.
“To each his own,” she said.
“Evan is trying to come down the hall,” said Iris.
Judd slid the frying pan next to the first dragon and tried to push it in with the spatula. The dragon arched its neck and shot a stream of fire at the spatula, melting half of it. Judd held up the gooey mess. “Oh crap!”
I flew out to a crock filled with big utensils. “Use that one. It’s metal.”
Judd grabbed a slotted metal turner used for fish. He prodded the dragon and it shot flames at his hand. He yipped and dropped the turner.
“Somebody’s coming!” yelled Iris.
“Where’s your Mom, Judd?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” said Judd.
Marie walked in the kitchen, carrying a basket filled with fruit and pastry. “What do we have here?”
“Dragons!” we shouted.
“Calm down.” Marie put her basket on the counter and pushed the dragon into Judd’s skillet with her foot. The dragon rolled around the pan like a sausage and Marie looked at her shoe. “Ugh. Now I have dragon on it. How do I get that off?”
“Evan’s coming!” I yelled.
“Why didn’t you say so.” Marie rolled the other dragon in the pan and they laid on their backs, farting and spitting fire. “That is a smell. Now I know why Rebecca and Evan couldn’t sleep.”
Judd got a pair of silicone baking gloves and lifted the pan just as his dad came in. Tess pulled on Evan’s arm, trying to hold him back.
“Tess, if you don’t let me go, I swear I’ll ground you for a month. I have to have coffee now.” Evan looked at Judd standing at the table with pink elbow-length gloves holding an apparently empty frying pan. “What on earth are you doing, boy?”
“Ummm. Nothing,” said Judd.
“Whenever you say nothing, I know it’s definitely something.”
“Nothing, I swear.”
The dogs ran past Evan and slid around bumping into every piece of furniture in the room and began barking at Judd’s pan. The Shar-Peis were pretty sedentary dogs usually, but they jumped at the pan, snarling and snapping.
“What have you got in that pan?” asked Evan.
“Ummm…nothing.”
Marie slipped off her jacket. “I’m teaching him to flip pancakes. A useful skill for any boy. Don’t you agree?”
“Not really,” said Evan. “Are there pancakes?”
“There will be,”said Marie. “Judd, why don’t you take that to your room.”
Judd nodded hard. “Okay. Great.” The pan was starting to sag in his hand and I could see his forearms straining from the dragon we
ight.
“Wait, wait, wait. Why’s he taking the frying pan to his room?” asked Evan.
“I put some ingredients in there,” said Marie, like it was totally normal to store pancake ingredients in a bedroom.
“Why would you…” Evan dropped into a chair. “Oh, I don’t care. Go ahead.”
Judd raced out of the room with the dogs yipping at his heels. We followed him, but found the door closed with the dogs whimpering at the crack underneath. Dad darted through the keyhole and I started to go, but Tess reached the door. “I’ll let you in.”
She pushed the dogs out of the way and opened the door. Judd sat on the floor. The pan was at his feet and the dragons had flipped over and were craning their long necks up to see over the edge. Their bloated bodies filled the pan and their claws scratched uselessly on the stainless steel sides.
“Wow,” said Tess.
“They’re beautiful,” said Iris. “Can we keep them?”
Dad laughed but then sobered when he saw she wasn’t joking. “Honey, they’re dragons and fighting dragons at that.”
“The exterminator will be here any minute,”said Mom.
Iris gasped and clutched her chest. “You can’t have them exterminated.” She opened the Speciesapedia. “See? They’re rare. There’s only a couple hundred in the world.”
The dragons farted again and we all pinched our noses as they hissed and snapped at us.
Iris appealed to Tess and Judd. “Please. They’ll be good. I promise.”
I thought they would go for it for sure, but the kids looked at her doubtfully.
“I don’t think so, Iris,” said Tess. “They kill cats. Look at poor Coconut.”
Coconut sat on Judd’s bookshelf, staring down at the dragons with her teeth bared. I wasn’t totally against the dragons eating Coconut, since she’d tried to eat me at least once a week. But Tess loved her.
“And what about the dogs? They’re half crazy,” said Judd.
“They’re half crazy anyway,” said Iris. “These are dragons. You’ll probably never see another one of this breed again.”
“I’m okay with that,” said Dad.
Mom hugged Iris. “I know you mean well, but we just can’t keep them. You said yourself that dragons are disgusting.”
“That’s the other breeds. These are fighting dragons.”
“That’s not really helping your cause,” I said. “They barely want to keep me.”
Dad laughed and then gagged when he got a mouthful of dragon stink. “We can’t. Evan and Rebecca haven’t slept since we got here. They’re our humans. We can’t do this to them just because these things are rare.”
Iris grabbed Dad’s hand and pressed it to her chest. “That’s just the poison. They need their spices. I’ll take care of them. They won’t stink anymore.”
Bentha climbed in through the keyhole and jumped, landing at my feet. He already had a traveling bag slung over his shoulder. “We must go. The streets are quiet.”
I wasn’t even dressed and the only thing I wanted to do was go back to bed. “It’s awfully early.”
“The earlier in, the earlier out.”
I groaned. “Alright. Before we go, what do you think about the dragons? Should we keep them or what?”
Bentha eyed the hissing heads. The dragons had fixated on him the moment he came in and turned their heads to look at him with one reptilian eye.
“Since they are fighters, I doubt they can be controlled,” he said.
“Bentha,” pleaded Iris.
He smiled and touched her curls. “But if anyone can do it, it’s Iris. She is love after all.”
“See, Dad? Bentha thinks I can do it,” said Iris.
Dad rubbed his temples. “I don’t see how we can keep them.”
“Now, my lady,” said Bentha. “Miss Penrose’s illness waits for no one.”
I took a last look at the dragons. The purple one had managed to get a claw up on the edge of the pan and its blubbery self looked ready for an escape. Not that it was going to happen. There was no way it would blub over the edge.
“Matilda, tell them it’s okay,” said Iris. “Please.”
It occurred to me that Iris never asked for anything from anybody. She was always there doing for everyone else.
“I don’t know,” I said as the red dragon shot flames at Judd’s toe.
“Please,” said Iris.
She was asking me for something. Of course it had to be dragons. It couldn’t be normal sister stuff like borrowing shoes or something.
“I agree with Bentha. If anyone can, it’s Iris.”
“Matilda,” said Mom. “They’re fighting dragons with fire. They’ll burn down the apartment.”
“Their fire isn’t any more uncontrollable than mine. I say you feed them some cinnamon and see what happens. Let’s go, Bentha.”
We left through the keyhole. I checked Lrag and Miss Penrose. Lucrece was with them and had already done the morning doses and they’d fallen back to sleep. I got dressed and flew out to the kitchen.
Marie had fired up the espresso machine and unloaded her basket. Evan sat at the table all hunched over, looking like he’d been brought back from the dead. What was I thinking? We couldn’t keep those dragons. Evan was so tired he’d probably walk out into traffic or pass out in the bathtub. Oh, well. Mom and Dad would never let Iris keep those smelly dragons anyway. Maybe I could find her another pet.
I took a piece of brioche and waved to Marie. “Can we hitch a ride to the metro?”
She nodded and Bentha leapt onto her outstretched hand. He had Rufus coiled around his neck like a green scarf.
“I’m going out for a bit,” said Marie.
Evan grunted and sipped his espresso. I landed next to Bentha and we rode out of the apartment and down the elevator on Marie’s rather bony shoulder. She walked up to the ornate building door just as the exterminator came up the stairs. He had his hands full with a long gray cylinder and a bulky bag. Marie opened the door for him and he heaved the bag through the narrow opening.
“Bon jour, madame,” he said, flicking a glance at Bentha and me.
“Bon jour,” she replied, eyeing the bag. “What have you got in there?”
“For the rats. It will be taken care of today.”
“It’s not rats.”
“Oh, really.”
“Dragons. Moroccan spice or so I’m told,” said Marie with a wicked grin. “I always knew dragons were real. The world is too wonderful for it not to be true.”
“She sees, too,” I said.
“So many seers in one family.” He drew us away from the glass. “You must be careful. The revolution. They are killing seers.”
“Have you been attacked? Who are these rogues?” asked Bentha, drawing his sword.
“These rogues, as you say, are any fairy filled with hate. I have not been identified. My disguise.” He pointed to his overalls. “Is a good one. You had better be careful. Those rings, your dress, this apartment don’t come cheap.”
“I don’t do cheap,” said Marie.
He nodded. “I understand, but this is Paris, both beautiful and dangerous.”
“What are you going to do about the dragons?” I asked.
“Don’t worry. They will be gone when you get back.”
“Do you get a lot of dragon infestations?” asked Marie.
“They are rare, but when dragons become accustomed to human homes, they rarely leave. They are vermin. The most dangerous kind. I will take care of it. Bon jour.”
The exterminator walked to the elevator and Marie went through the building doors. I looked back through the glass. The exterminator hefted the cylinder onto his shoulder and I saw the side. It had a skull and crossbones sticker on it. The dragons. Poor Iris.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE PARIS STREETS were quiet and it made Bentha edgy. He practically vibrated with tension at the lack of fairies on the streets. For the first time, I didn’t see a single riot or protest
on the way to the catacombs.
Galiana waited for us in the tunnel. She was frowning, her arms were crossed and Fidéle the gargoyle was on her shoulder. “Come with me.”
Bentha stepped up, his sword half drawn. “Where is Ibn?”
“He’s with visitors.” She sneered when she said visitors.
We walked with her to their apartment deep in the tombstone. A group of fairies surrounded Ibn in the center of the living room. They definitely weren’t vermillion and they didn’t turn to greet us when we entered. I got the impression that they knew we were there and I was glad they didn’t. It gave me a chance to look at them. They made the Marfisis look casual with ornate suits heavy with gold and silver stitching and dresses of thick, rich fabric with jewels sown in designs on the skirts. Both the men and women had big hairstyles. Curls were piled on top of their heads and held in place with gold combs. Ibn smiled at us and moved to come over, but a fairy with wings like a peacock put his hand in front of Ibn.
He switched from speaking French to English. “I understand what you are saying, but I disagree. The vermillion clan will remain here.” Ibn pushed past the fairy. “Welcome, Matilda and Bentha. Did you have any trouble getting here today?”
“Not at all,” I said. The streets are almost deserted.”
A female fairy looked me up and down, her red painted lips in a sneer. “Who is this?”
She wanted to put the word peasant on the end of that sentence. I just knew it.
“This is Bentha and Matilda. They’re interviewing me about our family history,” said Ibn.
“As long as that’s all it is,” said a man with skin as white as Miss Penrose’s. It took me a second to realize that it wasn’t natural. His face and hands were painted a chalky white, while his lips were stained red and his eyes rimmed with kohl.
“What else would it be, Jacques?”
