The Dragon's Playlist

by Laura Bickle

  I shrank close to the ground, heart hammering. I’d hoped Will would escape. And he might have, if he hadn’t taken precious seconds to push me out of harm’s way.

  But he was caught, like a fish on a line. Two policemen hauled him up to the lot with his hands cuffed behind his back. I was relieved that he seemed okay—there was blood on the side of his face, but he was well enough to be kicking, spitting, and yelling, “This is a false arrest! You’ve got no grounds to keep me. This is public property, dammit!”

  “And you and your friends have been camping here without a permit. It’s trespassing,” one of the cops said.

  “You’re arresting me for trespassing?”

  “That, fleeing and eluding, and resisting arrest. You have the right to remain silent—”

  “I didn’t successfully elude, dammit!”

  They disappeared around the edge of the van.

  I scuttled backward on my belly into thicker darkness. One by one, the strobes were turned off and engines started. Mosquitoes chewed my arms and ankles, but I didn’t dare swat at them.

  My breath snagged in my throat when a flashlight beam swept by me. Shit. I could not fathom how much further my life would suck if I got arrested. That would surely be a special circle of hell.

  “Is that the last of ’em?” someone asked.

  “Yeah. Think so. C’mon, we’ve got paperwork to finish.”

  Footsteps moved away, slapping across the pavement.

  I pressed my cheek to the ground and waited—until the last taillights had vanished down the road, until my belly was soaked with dew—to lift my head and crawl to the edge of the parking lot.

  It was empty.

  I dug my keys out of my pocket and scurried to my car. There was a ticket stuck to the windshield. I snatched it, climbed inside, and cranked the engine. I crawled out to the road with no headlights and drove for a mile before I turned them on.

  By the dashboard light, I scrutinized the ticket. It was for illegal overnight parking. Twenty dollars.

  I stuffed it into the glove box and stepped on the gas.

  I wasn’t flying, but it would get me out of there just the same.

  *

  I scratched my way through the next morning at work, covered in bug bites. I was covered from my scalp to the bottom of my feet, and I struggled not to scratch away the mostly futile makeup I’d applied over the ones showing on my face and neck. I apparently hadn’t done a good job. It was bad enough that Mr. Peters had asked if I had measles.

  I scratched my way over to the courthouse at lunchtime to pay my ticket. None of the protesters were gathered at the front steps. Were they still in jail?

  I briefly toyed with the idea of finding out.

  The county courthouse was a small building downtown that housed the courtroom, clerk’s office, sheriff’s office, and the jail in the basement. I’ had never been inside it before. The building looked as if it had been built in the twenties, with a few art nouveau flourishes at the cornices. The steel bars on the basement windows, however, were recent vintage.

  I trotted across the mosaic floor, clutching my ticket and searching for the clerk’s office. I hadn’t told anyone about the ticket; I wanted to pay it without my family knowing where I’d been. Or anyone else, for that matter.

  I followed signs to a long counter protected by Plexiglass. I mutely handed my ticket to a clerk.

  She scrutinized the piece of paper. “That’ll be twenty dollars.”

  I fished in my purse for the money.

  She continued to stare at the ticket. “You’re lucky.”

  I glanced up. “Lucky?”

  “Yeah. Big bust went down at the park last night.” She looked me up and down. I was dressed in my mother’s blouse and khakis, with my blue hair hidden under a scarf headband. Her gaze hesitated on my bug bites.

  “My car broke down after a picnic,” I lied. “I walked home. What did I miss?”

  “Plenty. Staties cleaned out the protesters squatting at the park. Got sorta messy.”

  “Messy?” I echoed.

  “Yeah. They were a scrappy bunch. But hopefully, this will encourage them to leave town.” She sighed.

  “Did they wind up in jail?”

  “Yeah. Most of them got arraigned this morning and will get processed out soon. Well, the ones that can make bail, anyways.” She handed me my receipt and leaned forward. “Be careful, though, around the parks. Those guys are kinda scuzzy, and you don’t know what they’re capable of.”

  “Thanks.” I tried to sound grateful and stuffed the receipt in my purse.

  I retreated out the front door and scurried across the echoing lobby. I’d made it halfway down the courthouse steps before a voice stopped me in my tracks.

  “Di.”

  I turned to see Will loping down the steps. He was dressed in his clothes from last night—sort of. His flannel shirt was torn and his pants grass-stained. A Band-Aid perched over his right eye, and he held a paper bag that rattled with what I assumed were the rest of his things.

  “You’re all right,” I blurted.

  “Yeah. Mostly.” He rubbed at his eye. “No thanks to the cops.”

  “What happened?” I asked as he fell into step beside me.

  “We didn’t have a damn long-term camping permit. Only a short-term one.” He rolled his eyes. “Simple harassment. They’re trying to run us out of town.”

  I bit my lip. “Will you go?”

  He grinned. “Nah. We’re just getting started.”

  That statement hung ominously in the air.

  “But where will you go?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “There’s a private campground available near the old canoe livery. It’s owned by one of the local guys who’s come around to our way of thinking. They can’t bother us on private land.”

  I nodded. I felt awkward. “Look, about last night... Thanks.”

  He waved it away. “No problem. I’m just glad you didn’t break a leg or something. It would’ve been sorta an asshole move to leave you lying in the dark with a busted leg.”

  I grinned and scratched my neck. “No broken bones. But I think I donated a gallon of blood to the mosquitoes.”

  He laughed. “Better them than the law.” His eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here, anyway? Did you come to bail us out?”

  “Oh, no.” I shook my head too vigorously, and my cheeks flamed. “I got a ticket for parking overnight in the lot.”

  He laughed. “You got off easy.”

  I knew it. And I felt sort of guilty for it, until I remembered that his dad was rich and had probably gotten him off with a phone call from the family lawyer. Heck, maybe his dad was the family lawyer.

  We’d reached the street, and I glanced at my car. “Look, do you need a ride somewhere?”

  “No. I’ve gotta go get my bike out of impound.” He grimaced at the lot across the street. “Or what’s left of my bike.”

  “Good luck with that.” I moved toward my car.

  “Di,” he said again, and I turned.

  “Yeah?”

  “Be careful,” he said. “That ticket puts you at the scene. You might become an interesting individual to the police.”

  He walked away, swinging his paper bag of possessions.

  He had no problems with being interesting.

  But I sure did.

  *

  That day after work, I brought a new offering to the dragon.

  I climbed the hillside to the flat sandstone rock. I unpacked my treasure and set it down beside me: a porcelain unicorn from my childhood collection. It was a far cry from Afakos as far as fantasy creatures went: the unicorn was glossy white, pawing at swirling porcelain clouds, highlighted with flecks of gold paint on its horn and hooves. When I was a little girl, it had been the prize piece in my collection, a gift from my grandfather. I had cried for days when the right hoof broke off, until my father glued it back on. Now, it was still valuable to me, but more as a relic of who I’d been.<
br />
  I pulled my violin from the case and played, summoning the dragon. I tried to duplicate the song from Vietnam my grandfather had taught me, but it still felt very clumsy on the strings. I unraveled several stanzas, taking them apart and putting them back together until they sounded right to my ear.

  I worked at it for almost an hour, but Afakos never came. The birds and locusts sang, and I knew that he was nowhere around.

  I descended the mountain, leaving the unicorn behind in my place.

  *

  Dragons are selective about their treasure. Some gather only the finest gems and gold. More than one has had a taste for suits of armor, often with victims still inside. Others are hoarders of great and terrible secrets. It’s rumored that dragons know the magical formulae of alchemy, how to transmute base metals into gold.

  A dragon will only accept an offering useful to it—or else one of great and splendorous value.

  I closed the book and frowned. I wanted to bring Afakos something that would please him, but I had nothing of any great value. And what on earth would be of use to a dragon?

  I chewed on the idea the next day at work. I rummaged through the supply closet, considering and tossing aside staplers, a clock, coffee mugs, and bits of construction tape. Nothing that would interest a dragon.

  I was ashamed at what I’d brought him. I wanted to see him again, but he had no such need of me. All I had to offer was music, and he seemed to want no more of that. Maybe he’d considered us even with the silver mirror, and we were through.

  I placed my paycheck on my desk, my thumbs framing it. Three hundred fifty-four dollars. More money than I’d made in my life. But I couldn’t see that this piece of paper could interest a dragon. I intended to turn it into groceries and pick up my dad’s prescriptions this evening.

  I climbed the hill and stared at the white unicorn sitting forlornly on the rock. I brushed some fallen honeysuckle blossoms away from it.

  “Afakos?” I called.

  But only the sparrows twittered back at me.

  Clearly, I was doing something wrong.

  I climbed down the hillside and glumly started my car. I’d tasted magic, and I didn’t want it to run through my fingers and vanish. I was desperate for Afakos’s attention, and I was unaccustomed to that longing. I hadn’t ever longed for Jason the way I longed for this.

  I drove aimlessly, chewing my lip, until I stopped at the door to the Enchanted Broomstick. The bell announced my arrival, and Rhiannon trotted up to wind around my legs. She was wearing a black collar with a silver nametag.

  I scooped her up, and she snuggled against my chest. “You’ve got a home, now.”

  Rhiannon purred at me and rubbed against my chin.

  “She’s ruling the roost.”

  Julie peered out from behind a bookshelf. Her hair was pinned up with pencils, and she was dressed in a tank top and long, beaded skirt. Her feet were bare and toes painted purple. She radiated joy as she stood amid cartons of books.

  “Are you both settled in?”

  She grinned and nodded. “Almost entirely unpacked upstairs. Rhiannon helped.”

  The cat chirped and dove into a box of books. Her ears peeped out over the cardboard flap.

  I sat on the floor beside Julie, scanning the new books she was shelving. The titles were obscure to me: Aura Reading, Chakra Development, Advanced Spellcraft. My gaze drifted from the books to a huge amethyst geode perched on top of the bookcase. It was almost three feet tall, the maw shimmering with thousands of purple teeth. It looked splendid and rich.

  “How much is that?” I stood up to touch it. The crystals were cool and smooth.

  “That? It’s five hundred.”

  I pulled my hand away. Yikes.

  “Are you looking for some crystals?” Julie asked. “I have plenty of smaller ones.”

  I bit my lip. “Maybe. I’m looking for, um, an offering.”

  She paused in the sorting, resting her hands in her lap with a book. She didn’t question me, only seeming deep in thought. “It’s bad manners to ask what the offering’s for. But what kind of thing are you looking for?”

  “I’m not really sure,” I admitted. “Something...splendid.”

  “Well, an offering is typically something given up in order to secure favor with the spiritual world. It can be something as simple as flowers or a dish of milk to precious stones. But the overarching idea of the offering is that it should be a sacrifice.”

  I frowned. I didn’t know what to sacrifice, other than money.

  “For example,” she continued, “a dish of rice may mean nothing to you or to me, since we’re well-fed Westerners. But giving your last ration of rice as an offering to a Shinto shrine means a great deal to the spirit world.”

  “So...” I struggled to understand. “You give what you have. What’s most important to you.”

  “The best you can give.”

  I thought long and hard about this as I explored the shop, fingering the statues of gods and goddesses, thumbing through a rack of greeting cards decorated with glittering fairies and Celtic knots. I knew what it meant: my violin. But I didn’t want to give it. That was my last lifeline to a life that could be, surrendering everything I wanted for myself.

  Instead, I picked up a pink conch shell, turning it over in my hands. Its edges were gilt, with little twinkling crystals embedded in its tough skin. I wondered if Afakos had ever seen the sea. If he held it close to his ear, he’d be able to hear the ocean—no batteries required.

  The tag on the shell was a hundred fifty dollars. It would hurt. Even thinking about it, I felt a stab of guilt about groceries and my dad’s medicine.

  “What do you think about this?” I asked, holding up the shell.

  “I think it’s a fine offering,” Julie said. “I’ll wrap it up for you so it doesn’t break.”

  She took the shell from me, peeled off the price sticker, and wrapped it in violet tissue paper. I wandered down her aisle of herbs, which were trapped in glass jars and tiny plastic bags. I had no idea what many of them were for—cinquefoil, hyssop, oakmoss. I knew the sage, nutmeg, and clove by smell. I plucked up a container of loose peppermint tea for my grandfather and paused to contemplate the henna.

  I tugged at a piece of blue hair that had come loose from my scarf. My blond roots were beginning to show. Sooner or later, I’d have to deal with the blue, now that I had a responsible job. Cut it off or dye it.

  And I sure as hell wanted to be less interesting to the police. As long as I was keeping company with protesters, and witches, and dragons, it served me to blend into the background as much as possible.

  “Thinking about changing your hair?” Julie asked.

  “Yeah. I think so.” I tugged my scarf away. “Is there anything that would hide this?”

  Julie separated the strands of blue and held them up to the light. “Have you ever thought about going brunette?”

  “Hm...”

  “Because I’m afraid if you tried to bleach this out, it would turn green. A dark brown henna would probably cover it until it grows out. And brown would be pretty with your blue eyes.”

  Brown hair would make me look less like my mother. “Okay.” I picked up a henna packet. “How do I use this?”

  Julie grinned. “If you want to stick around, I can do it for you.”

  “Sure. I’d like that.” I sure wouldn’t be able to do it at home, with my mother pounding on the bathroom door.

  “Let me finish putting the books up. Go on upstairs and wash and towel-dry your hair. You can put on one of the T-shirts on top of the dresser to protect your clothes.”

  “Thanks!” I scurried up the back stair to the apartment, anticipating the transformation.

  I washed my hair in Julie’s sink with shampoo that smelled like mint. Rhiannon paced around the edge of the sink as I lathered, pawing at the water stream. I dried my hair with a towel and combed it with my fingers. I gazed at my reflection in the mirror.

  “Goodb
ye, blue.” I felt a pang of sorrow to see it go.

  I drifted to Julie’s bedroom. She’d made a lot of progress from the last time I’d been here. The sunlight-yellow walls still smelled like paint, but a bed and dresser had appeared. The bed was covered in a calico quilt. Crystals were suspended from the ceiling by fishing line, casting tiny rainbows on the floor and walls. Rhiannon chased one off the edge of the bed and onto the floor, her claws making scuttling sounds against the hardwood.

  A small altar was set up on top of a low cabinet in the corner. A grapevine star hung above a silver cup, some polished stones, a candle, and a speckled feather. I looked, but didn’t touch. How did she keep the cat from stealing the feather? Magic?

  Julie came upstairs with a bowl of bitter-smelling dark paste and a paint brush. I sat on the edge of her bathtub while she painted the mixture onto my hair.

  “Have things quieted down...I mean, with the broken window and stuff?” I asked her.

  She paused for a moment. “Seems like there are fewer beer bottles in the yard. Business has picked up, too. There are actually a fair number of the curious and solitary practitioners here who’ve been coming out of the woodwork.”

  “Solitary practitioner?”

  “Someone who practices magic alone, without a group or a coven.”

  “People do that in groups?” In a group, it sounded vaguely cult-like.

  Julie laughed. “Some of the best magic can come from a supportive group. A lot of energy can be raised that way. Maybe in a few months...Maybe I’ll start one.”

  “Would you be in charge of it?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not much into the idea of being in charge of a hierarchy. I’d like to teach, though.”

  “I think you’d be great at that,” I told her sincerely. I was already learning a good deal from her.

  “We’ll see. Go rinse.”

  I scrubbed the bitter henna out of my hair and towel dried. Julie gave me a blow dryer, but wouldn’t let me look until my hair was dry.

  I stood before the mirror with Julie’s hands over my eyes. I was giggling, and so was she.