Life With A Fire-Breathing Girlfriend

by Bryan Fields

  Back Cover

  Modern Fantasy by Bryan Fields

  A lot of guys claim to have hot girlfriends. David Fraser has one who actually breathes fire.

  Rose Drake is a Dragoness in Human form, come to Earth for three years to soak up the local energy and increase her chances of having happy, healthy, baby hatchlings when she goes home. In exchange for his time and energy, David’s body and love life both undergo extreme makeovers. It sounds like the deal of a lifetime.

  Fate doesn’t let David and Rose off so easily. A friend of theirs is murdered, their homeowner’s association starts harassing them, and they have to complete a quest for an Elven sage in order to stop a genocidal Unicorn from turning Earth into a radioactive wasteland.

  After all, when you’re dating a Dragon, you’re already a hero. It says so in the fine print.

  LIFE WITH A FIRE-BREATHING GIRLFRIEND

  BRYAN FIELDS

  MuseItUp Publishing

  www.museituppublishing.com

  BOOK ONE:

  THE DRAGON ON MY COUCH

  Chapter One

  Caution: Bind on Pick-Up

  The girl walked like Superman.

  I don’t mean she was strutting her muscles, or striking a heroic pose; it was her confidence. She walked through the Friday night traffic on Federal Boulevard as though the cars should fear hitting her. Maybe they did at that, because the traffic parted for her like the Red Sea before Moses. She reached the sidewalk without being touched and kept on in a straight line directly for me. I didn’t move or turn away; I was too busy staring.

  She crossed the Masonic Temple’s parking lot and stopped right in front of me. “I am here for fantasy. Is this correct?”

  I blinked, trying to decide exactly what she was asking. “This is the Metro Denver Speculative Fiction Society meeting, yes. Is this your first time here?”

  “First time here, yes. First time for everything here,” she replied. “Am I acceptable?”

  “Oh, yes,” I said—and she was. Black hair with metallic purple highlights, short on top and down to her waist in back, yet somehow looking nothing like a mullet. A heart-shaped face with jade-green eyes and a pixie smile. Lavender eye shadow and matching lipstick. Both eyes were outlined by an Eye of Horus, the lower arm of each sweeping down and around her cheekbones. Black leather trench coat over matching roach killers, shotgun-washed jeans, and a T-shirt proclaiming, ‘Kiss me twice, I’m Schizophrenic’.

  I’d read Burton’s translation of The Thousand and One Nights back in high school. In most of the stories in it, women were described as graceful as gazelles, and having a countenance as pale and beautiful as the full moon. The first young man who sees them falls instantly in love—followed by calling a lawyer, writing up a contract, and giving her all his money. I always figured it was just more efficient to get that part out of the way up front.

  But now, for the first time, I understood what Scheherazade had been talking about. Looking at this girl, I felt the magic of the full moon at midnight. I heard the wind rustling through the trees, the heartbeat of a stag running through the night, the roar of a river, surging and pounding, breaking even mountains with its touch. I didn’t just want to be with her; I wanted to be standing next to her on the peak of a mountain, wearing a kilt and waving a claymore while Queen rocked out the background music.

  I looked down at her shirt long enough to read it again and asked, “Is that a command, or just a suggestion?”

  She smiled and reached out to me. “An invitation.”

  “Well, then, I accept.” I put my arms around her, bent my head, and went for it with a full-body, lip-to-lip press, giving her my complete attention. Her body was sleek and sculpted like a gymnast’s, and holding her, I felt complete.

  She broke it off with a turn of her head and a throaty growl. Or maybe it was a purr; I couldn’t be sure. She took a deep breath. “More.” She didn’t wait for a response. I heard the comments and snickering from the other folks in the area. I just didn’t care. Priorities, you know?

  When we finished, she snuggled under my arm and leaned her head on my shoulder. “You,” she said. “I choose you.” She looked up, and this time her eyes had little flecks of gold in them. “Please say you accept.”

  “What am I accepting?”

  “Me. My choice of you.” She ran a finger down the center of my chest. “I choose, but you have to accept. It’s only for three years, if that helps.”

  Behind me, Sharon made a loud coughing noise. “David, do you even know her first name? Remember what happened the last time a beautiful woman appeared out of nowhere and said, ‘I am for you’. Pfft! Ack! Dead!” Sharon was an old friend, curvy and Irish, with bright red hair and sparkling green eyes. Her wife Manya snickered, but refrained from piling on.

  I shrugged. “What was it the Captain said? ‘A rose by any other name smells just as sweet’?” I leaned in for another, much gentler kiss. “I accept.” After I said it, I felt a change move through my head. It was like an otter on the parallel bars—fast, purposeful, and strange beyond words. In its wake was a whole new kinesthetic awareness, not just of my body, but of hers as well. I could also feel her emotions, and right now she was just as blissed out as I was.

  “So, what is her name?” Sharon asked. “And the quote is from Shakespeare, numb nuts.” She parked her butt on the trunk of her Chevy and draped her arms over Manya’s shoulders.

  My new girlfriend pulled a top hat from—well, somewhere—and put it on. “I’m Rose.” She said. She pressed against me and smiled at Sharon. “Rose Drake.”

  I kissed her fingers. “David Fraser. It’s very good to meet you.”

  Sharon rolled her eyes. “Watch out! Red Shirt walking!”

  “Why does she say that?” Rose asked. “Is she teasing you about something?” I could tell Rose wasn’t angry, but she was confused and feeling very protective toward me. Then I realized Rose knew about Sharon. The last thing I wanted was for Rose to jump to the wrong conclusion.

  I shook my head and stroked Rose’s shoulder. My touch seemed to reassure and relax her. “Sharon and I have known each other since we were kids, and we dated very, very briefly. We had exactly one dinner date, to be precise, and that was where Sharon met Manya. The Bollywood Siren here swept Sharon off her feet and out the door, leaving me to pay for three dinners.” I glowered at Manya in feigned outrage. “Never a mongoose around when you need one.”

  “Watch it there, buddy. Her patronus is a mongoose.” Sharon gave Manya a peck on the cheek. “You know we’ll always be grateful to you for introducing us, Bigwig. That and, well, everything else.”

  I couldn’t help feeling a twinge. Rose felt it as well and looked up at me. “You still have feelings for her. Should I be jealous?”

  “No,” said Manya. “Please do not be jealous.” She placed her hand on Sharon’s shoulder. “We want you and David to be happy together, as happy as we are. Allow David to explain, and I hope you will understand.”

  I looked at my watch. The doors wouldn’t open until a quarter of seven and we still had a few minutes. I lowered my voice and leaned in close to Rose. “There is more, but it’s nothing you need to worry about. I’ll explain later.”

  Manya gave Sharon a sideways look. “David, tomorrow night we were planning on having butter chicken and doing Random Geeky Movies night. Would you two like to join us?”

  “What, no vindaloo?”

  “I am cooking, so there will always be vindaloo. Your tastebuds are pampered and weak.” She turned to Rose and asked, “Do you enjoy spicy food?”

  Rose smiled and nodded.

  I said, “I think that’s a yes. Can we bring anythi
ng?”

  Manya said, “No” just as Sharon said, “Chocolate.”

  “Chocolate it is,” I replied.

  Rose stepped forward and touched her fingers to Manya’s cheek. “Chocolate. I did not know skin came in chocolate. It is a lovely color.”

  Manya’s jaw dropped for a moment. She shook her head. “Ah, thank you. You have never seen anyone with dark skin?”

  Sharon patted Manya’s shoulder. “Honey, I didn’t meet anyone who wasn’t Caucasian until I came to Denver. We don’t get to choose the places we grow up.”

  Manya sighed. “You’re right. I never meet a fookin’ green-eye ginger Eye-ritch Cat-lick lassie when I was growing up, either.” Manya speaks English with only a trace of an accent, but her attempt at an Irish brogue sounds more like a Brooklyn Mafia moll. She added, “My parents owe their wealth to looking forward. They accept my ginger girl because our relationship is a symbol of the new India they are driving toward.”

  Rose asked, “What do your parents do?”

  “They are venture capitalists. I work for a branch of one of their companies, managing oil and gas investments.” Manya grimaced. “It is strange, but many Americans are more accepting of my being Hindu and lesbian than they are of my being a VC.”

  I felt a sudden rush of excitement flowing through Rose. “You manage finances… I love discussing investment strategies. What is your average rate of return for your clients?”

  To be honest, that wasn’t what Rose said. I have no idea what she actually did say, because she stopped speaking English and went off in a torrent of high finance gibberish only Manya understood. It was like, “Wah wah wah wah dollars, wah wah wah wah profit”. Sharon and I simply stood there and stared.

  Thankfully, a loud clatter interrupted us and got everybody moving. Chains rattled against steel and hinges creaked as the Masonic Temple’s custodian opened the side door to let us in.

  The club rented one of the rooms in the basement. The temple itself was off-limits to non-members, but the bathrooms were clean, the parking lot was well-lit, and the rent was reasonable.

  I took Rose by the hand and we walked inside together.

  Chapter Two

  The Exotic Girlfriend Check

  Rose and I sat with my usual group of friends, the mostly single twenty-somethings with jobs, cars, and places of their own. I made introductions and left Rose alone while I hit the vending machine for some bottled water. I got back in time to catch Sharon trying to convince Rose to join in a mass trip to the ladies room.

  “It’s just planning ahead,” Sharon told her. “You don’t want to wind up needing to go in the middle of the meeting and have to miss something, do you?”

  Rose frowned at her. “I said my bladder is empty.”

  Sharon tapped out and Miriam jumped in to replace her. “Rose, I’m going to assume you’re not from Earth and that this is your first encounter with human social norms. When a group of other women invite you to the ladies room, peeing is secondary. The main point of it is to talk about the guys without them hearing us.”

  I took Rose’s water bottle back from her. “You should probably go,” I told her. “Resistance is futile.”

  “Darn right,” Sharon said. The pack scooped Rose up and fast-marched her out the door. I put Rose’s water on her chair to mark her place.

  Roger tapped me on the shoulder. “Hey, if your new girlfriend plays, give her the house rules and see if you can talk her into rolling a sawbones. You guys have shit for healing.” Roger ran a tabletop steampunk/fantasy RPG campaign every other Sunday. I’d say he was obsessed with it, except that he and his girlfriend, Claire, spent all the rest of their free time online, doing raids with their guild. Clearly, our campaign was just a passing diversion.

  I gave him a nod. “Sure. First chance I get.”

  The ladies returned just as Phil called the meeting to order. Most of the meeting was pretty standard stuff—discussions of new books, upcoming movie premiers, viewing parties for different television shows—but Rose wanted to do it all. She hadn’t been kidding when she said she was here for fantasy. She was interested enough in science fiction, but any fantasy related topic left her enraptured. She even agreed to give Roger’s game a try without knowing what ‘steampunk’ meant.

  Her enthusiasm did not pass unnoticed; nor did her utter lack of familiarity with any current, recent, or classic elements of popular culture. At the break, the ladies adjourned to the privy council again. This time, Rose and Miriam didn’t come back with the others. They didn’t reappear until the meeting had been going again for a good ten minutes.

  Rose took her seat and leaned over to whisper in my ear. “I’m sorry I was gone so long. Miriam was telling me how her brother was killed by a flying rabbit that bites people’s heads off. I had no idea there were creatures like that here.”

  I looked over my shoulder at Miriam and raised my eyebrows at her. She gave me a flat, level stare and mouthed, ‘We need to talk’.

  I gave her a nod before whispering to Rose, “I think she was teasing you. That’s a scene from a movie.”

  “Oh,” she said. “It sounds funny. Can we watch it sometime?”

  I would have thought it was Rose’s turn to be joking, but I could feel her excitement and curiosity. I smiled at her and whispered, “Sure. I think you’ll like it.”

  After the meeting, Miriam cornered me in the closet as I was stacking chairs. She glanced around to make sure we were alone and turned back to me. Somehow, she knows just how to tilt her head for her glasses to make her eyes huge and owlish. It was her ‘Professor Know-it-all’ look. She does it to let people know she’s being serious about something.

  “David, I have some concerns about Rose.”

  From anyone else I would brush a comment like that off, but Miriam is a clinical psychiatrist who works at an inpatient mental health facility. I sat down. “I’m listening.”

  Miriam moved close and lowered her voice. “I’m breaching some professional boundaries here, but after talking to her, I truly suspect that she cannot differentiate reality from fantasy. That’s not a diagnosis, just a concern. If you see anything that gives you pause, I can recommend a few people who can do a complete evaluation.” She handed me a business card. “Keep this with you. If she turns violent, call that number. They’ll help you get her on a hold and observe.”

  “You think she’s nuts.” It wasn’t quite a question.

  Miriam shook her head. “I would never use terms like that. I’m just concerned. I hope everything goes well for you, but…be careful.” She walked away.

  I put the card in my wallet. Rose was waiting for me outside, looking up at the night sky.

  “Your friend thinks I’m a madwoman,” she said. “I’m not. I know what is from what isn’t. I see more of what is and what can be than she understands. I’m different. Not mad.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. I unlocked my Cherokee and held the door open for her. “Where do you live?”

  “With you.” She climbed into the passenger seat. “I have walked my way across this world and known no rest for my place is beside you. Take us home.”

  I admit, I hesitated. Murphy’s First Law of Conventions clearly states, “Never sleep with anyone crazier than yourself”. Then again, maybe I’d rolled a ‘20’ on my Exotic Girlfriend check. I calmed my thoughts and focused on my new awareness of Rose and what she was feeling. All I could feel from her was a glow of excitement and trust.

  Perfect love and perfect trust, indeed. I didn’t just feel obligated to return the trust she was showing me; I also wanted to know what was going on here, and there was only one way I would find out. I started the car and pulled out onto Federal, heading for I-25 and home. Iacta alea est.

  Home was on the north side of Thornton, so we had time for some questions. Some she answered, others she didn’t.

  “Some truths are too big to talk about yet,” she said.

  Fair enough. I had a few things I wasn’t re
ady to talk about, either. I did learn her parents knew where she was and that she wasn’t running from any family or legal trouble. After that, I really didn’t have any more questions. There were still things about her I wanted to know, but none of them mattered right now.

  Once we got home, I opened the door. “Well, this is home. Would you like the grand tour?”

  “Sure.” Rose peeled off her shirt and tossed it on the coat rack. “As long as we start in the bedroom.”

  I took her hand and showed her upstairs. She might well be all manner of crazy, but I’m not.

  Chapter Three

  The Dragon With a Girl Tattoo

  The clock said it was 4:08 a.m., and therefore time to sleep. My bladder replied that it was time to get moving before I peed in the bed. That argument was a lot more convincing. I staggered my way into the bathroom.

  Afterward, I sat on the edge of the bed watching Rose sleep. Her arms and legs were twitching, her eyelids were fluttering, and she was talking non-stop. It sounded like a mix of Sleestak and Klingon. I stroked her hair until she calmed down and I could lie down next to her.

  I knew two more things about Rose now. One was that tonight had been her first time. The other was that she had a tattoo on the inside of her right thigh—a tattoo of herself. The detail and accuracy were exquisite. When I saw it, I asked, “Why did you get a tattoo of yourself?”

  “So I’d know what I’m supposed to look like, of course.”

  I decided this was another one of those questions we would revisit later.

  When 8:00 a.m. on the merciless digital taskmaster finally rolled around, I woke up alone. I stumbled through shaving and brushing my teeth without really looking into the mirror, but after washing my face I got a good look at myself. I try to stay active and eat right, but I’d still managed to gain a bit of weight over the last few years. This morning there was a bit less of me in the mirror than there had been yesterday. My biceps looked better as well. More defined. I got on the scale. I’d lost eleven pounds in the last two days.