Icefire

by Chris D'Lacey

  Zanna homed in on him straight away. “Oh, you gorgeous, gorgeous creature.”

  “He’s mine, actually,” David said, with a modest streak of affiliated vanity. “I named him G’reth.”

  “He’s fabulous,” said Zanna. “Very photogenic.”

  “He’s a wishing dragon. You put your thumbs in his paws and make a wish.”

  Zanna immediately had a try. “I wish some tall, mop-haired geography student would shower me with roses and whisk me into his open arms.”

  A second went by. Zanna removed her thumbs. She smiled bashfully at David, whose face was like stone. “Hasn’t worked, has it?”

  “Only the maker — that’s Lucy, who’s already had a go — and the owner are allowed a wish. And it has to be something beneficial.”

  “Oh,” said Zanna, suitably chastened. “What did Lucy wish for, then?”

  “Snow, as it happens.”

  “It worked?” Zanna’s pupils blossomed like flowers.

  “Zan-na?”

  “You try.”

  David screwed up his face. “I’m not playing wishing games.”

  “It’s not a game, dummy. You’re raising his auma. Believe. Wish for something — about Gawain.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as finding out where his fire tear is hidden?”

  David stepped back, shaking his head. “No. That’s not a good idea.” Not here, he thought, with all these dragons looking on.

  Zanna grabbed him by the sleeve and tugged him forward. “The fact that you’re afraid of this only confirms you think it could happen. Do you want to know the truth or not?”

  David sighed and looked away. This is ridiculous, he told himself. It won’t work. It can’t work. A wishing dragon? It was the stuff of fairy tales. But knowing he’d get no peace until he tried, he touched his thumbs to G’reth’s smooth paws.

  “Careful,” whispered Zanna, “you’re making him wobble.”

  David steadied his hands and tried again. “I wish,” he whispered, “that I knew the secret of Gawain’s fire tear.”

  He drew away, into the silence. Not a hrrr could be heard. Not a scale was rattled. He peered about the room. Not a purple eye in sight. Phew.

  “Oh, well,” shrugged Zanna. “It was worth a try.”

  “Um,” David grunted, and closed his eyes briefly, trying to picture Gadzooks. And that was when he knew that all was not well. The dragon had lowered his pencil and pad and was rolling his eyes in search of something, as if some force was about to descend. Something was coming.

  Something bad.

  “Zanna —” David turned to tell her, but she had moved across the room to another long shelf.

  “These are sweet,” she said, bending forward to examine a row of baby dragons, all breaking out of their eggs.

  “Best-sellers, for expectant moms. Listen, I —”

  “Here’s one that hasn’t hatched.” Zanna picked up a fully formed egg, nestling in a stand of intertwining sticks. It was bronze in color and had a slightly pitted surface.

  “Zanna, put it down. Liz’ll go nuts if you break anything.”

  “I won’t drop it,” she said, cupping the egg very close to her breast. “It’s very relaxing, holding this. It makes me feel … I don’t know. Warm.”

  “Well, cool off quick and put it back. We should leave. I’ve got a feeling that something’s not right.”

  But Zanna held tighter than ever to the egg, caressing it and speaking softly to it as she moved toward the window and Liz’s workbench. “Who’s this?” she asked, coming face-to-face with an elegant dragon at the back of the bench.

  “Definitely, one hundred percent, do not touch that. That’s Guinevere, Liz’s special dragon. If you knock that over, we’re cinders, I’m telling you.”

  Zanna tilted her head. “She wants it,” she whispered.

  “Eh?” said David. “What are you talking about?”

  “Can’t have it,” said Zanna, almost spitting like a cat. “My baby. My egg. It’s Zanna’s b —”

  “Zanna, what’s the matter?” David grabbed her arm.

  “No!” she squealed, trying to fight him off. In the struggle, the egg fell out of her arms. It dropped onto the workbench, spinning. Whole.

  “Zanna!” David shook her till her eyes began to clear.

  “What — what happened?” she whispered, flattening herself against his chest.

  “I don’t know. You went weird. You were talking about babies. You wanted that bronze-colored egg.”

  “Egg …” She blinked and reached to touch it.

  “No,” said David, knocking against the bench as he pulled her away. The egg jostled and twitched like a compass needle, then rolled to a rest at Guinevere’s feet. At the moment of contact, David thought he saw the surface of the egg begin to ripple. But as he squinted and focused, the clunk of a car door sounded nearby and he jerked his head sharply to the front of the house. “What was that?”

  Zanna touched his hand and gulped.

  “Oh no,” said David, turning white. “They shouldn’t be home for ages yet.” He yanked Zanna’s arm and dragged her to the landing. “Quick. Downstairs. Let me do the talking. You’ve been here two minutes, dropping off a book. Got it?”

  “Yes. No! What about the tea mugs?” “All right … ten minutes. Make yourself presentable.”

  “David!”

  “Zanna, don’t argue. Come on-nn.” They clattered downstairs and bumped to a halt beside the front door. David pulled her to his opposite side. “You never went upstairs. And I’m just showing you out, OK?”

  “Such charm,” she muttered, parting her hair.

  “Ready?” David was panting now. He bit his lip as a figure appeared behind the wafers of stippled glass in the door. He said a quick prayer and whooshed it open. “Liz!” he exclaimed in a cheery voice.

  But it wasn’t Liz. It was a stern-looking woman with pinned white hair and black lace-up shoes, dressed in a smart-fitting slate gray suit. By her side was a suitcase. Perched on top of the suitcase was a dragon. A Pennykettle dragon. It had a sort of quiver over its shoulder and a small bouquet of flowers between its paws.

  David looked at the woman. The woman looked at him. Then she looked at Zanna. Then at him once more. When she smiled, it seemed to David that a whirling vortex flickered in her eyes. When she spoke, her voice carried with it all the chilling austerity of a Victorian governess.

  “Well, well,” she said. “What have we here? Good afternoon, children. Trick or treat …?”

  11

  AUNTY GWYNETH CALLS

  If you’ve come to see Liz, she’s out,” muttered David, flicking his gaze between the woman and the dragon, and wondering what the suitcase was for.

  “How very inconvenient,” the woman said. She slid one fine hand over the other as though she was about to draw a rabbit from a hat. “Let me guess: You must be Elizabeth’s tenant?”

  “Yes. How did you know that?”

  “Are you her mother?” asked Zanna.

  The woman gave out a derogatory laugh. “We are related,” she said in a lofty tone. “But that’s really none of your business. Now, let me in. It’s beginning to rain.”

  “No, it isn’t,” said David. “It’s—” But to his astonishment, the space behind the woman, which a moment ago had been occupied by sunshine, had suddenly filled up with a transparent drizzle. The woman produced an umbrella from somewhere and snapped it open above her head.

  Before David could respond, Zanna gave him a nudge and nodded down the driveway. Liz’s car had just pulled into it.

  With a curious mixture of dread and relief, David said tartly, “Mrs. Pennykettle’s home,” just as Lucy jumped out of the car and said, “Mom, who’s that?”

  She doesn’t know one of her own relatives? thought David. He glanced at Liz. Her expression was not far short of his own: surprise, with a hefty element of shock.

  Lucy raced up. She jerked, wide-eyed, at the sight of Zanna, stare
d boldly at the woman and then at her dragon. “You’ve got a dragon,” she said, which, despite being a rather elementary observation, was nonetheless one that David would have liked to have voiced himself.

  “Yes,” said the woman, her voice as clear as a glacial raindrop. “Her name is Gretel, and you may carry her indoors if you wish.”

  Lucy picked up the dragon and caressed it like a doll. Her gaze fell on Zanna. “Who’s she?” she asked David.

  Liz was on the premises before he could answer. “Well, this is very … unexpected,” she breezed. She plumped her hair and forced a smile onto her lips. She glanced briefly at Zanna, then turned to the woman. “Have you … introduced yourself?”

  “My feet are beginning to ache,” said the woman. She put her nose in the air and folded her umbrella. The rain stopped as if she’d brought the clouds to a close.

  “What kind of dragon is Gretel?” asked Lucy.

  “Lucy, never mind that for now,” said her mom. “Say hello to … Aunty Gwyneth.”

  The white-haired woman cast her eyes down. “The last time I saw you, my dear, you were no bigger than a seaside pebble.”

  “Pebble?” queried David, thinking that was a strange comparison.

  “Why don’t we all go inside,” said Liz with her customary habit of bustling things along. “Lucy, run and put the kettle on, please. David, could you bring Aunty Gwyneth’s suitcase.”

  “Take it directly to my room,” said Aunty Gwyneth. She stepped inside, parting David and Zanna like a couple of bowling pins. She was halfway down the hall when she paused and brushed a spider’s web off the stairwell. For one dreadful moment, David thought she was going to eat it. But Aunty Gwyneth merely squashed it between her fingers and let her gaze roll slowly up the stairs. For a second or two, the whole house seemed to be holding its breath, as if the aura that Zanna had spoken of was suddenly as taut as the skin of a balloon. David was convinced he heard dragon scales rattling, but before he could really tune his ears to the sound Aunty Gwyneth snapped her fingers and everyone jumped. “Come, child,” she barked, and with a twist of her heels she took a sharp left turn and disappeared into the living room, Lucy bearing Gretel like a standard in her wake.

  “Is she staying?” David said immediately to Liz.

  Liz blew a deep sigh and gave a slightly confusing answer. “I’m just as surprised as you to see her here.”

  “What did she mean ‘take the suitcase to her room’? What room? Where’s she going to sleep?”

  “Leave the case in the hall for now. I’ll sort something out, once I’ve had a chance to assess the situation.”

  “She’s not having my room,” David said bluntly. “I’m not moving. I’m a tenant. I pay.”

  “David.” And now there was a nip in Liz’s voice. “I said we’ll talk about this later. Just live with it for now, OK?”

  “I’d better be off,” Zanna said meekly. David and Liz both turned to her then and started to make apologetic noises.

  It was David who eventually simplified things. “Liz, this is Zanna from college. She’s a friend. She’s in my department.”

  Liz held out a hand. Zanna shook it. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Pennykettle. I really like your dragons.”

  “Yes,” said Liz, looking deep into her eyes. “Yes, I expect you do.” She dropped Zanna’s hand and backed away slowly. “Excuse me. Lucy seems to have disappeared, so I’d better go and put the kettle on myself.” With that, she drifted into the kitchen.

  “What was all that about?” Zanna whispered. “Did you see the way she looked at me? What’s going on?”

  David realized he was shaking slightly and couldn’t for the life of him understand why. “I don’t know. Liz doesn’t miss much, though. Maybe she knew you’d been in the den?”

  “So? I didn’t do anything, did I?”

  David shook his head, but privately he was wondering about that egg. And Gadzooks. The dragon had not been happy. Had he sensed that Aunty Gwyneth was coming? And if so, why had he looked so worried?

  “Here,” said Zanna. She unzipped a purse that looked no bigger than a pirate’s eye patch. From it, she pulled out a business card. “My address and cell number. Call if you need me. Any time, OK?”

  “Um, fine. Thanks. But why would I need you?”

  Zanna clicked her tongue and steadied herself. Then sliding her hand around the back of David’s neck, she pulled him forward and kissed him on the mouth. “There. That’s just in case you never do. But somehow, I think you will. I don’t know who that woman is, but I’ll tell you who she’s not.”

  “Uh?” muttered David, still shocked by the kiss.

  Zanna found her car keys and stepped outside. “She’s not Liz’s aunty, and her name’s not Gwyneth. Take care, Rain. Use the number.”

  12

  FLOWER POWER

  David watched Zanna disappear up the path and continued waving till her car was out of sight. He tried more than once to utter good-bye but his mouth was still recovering from the strength of her kiss. It was like being numbed by a dental injection, though much more enjoyable and not as long lasting. He thought about Sophie then, and his lips, though deadened, soon managed to straighten to a guilty line. Sophie might be in Africa, but they were still going out. Did that mean he’d two-timed her? Did a single kiss count? Sighing, he turned and looked at the suitcase. So, he was a bellboy now. But who for exactly? Who was the mysterious white-haired visitor who might not be an aunty or a Gwyneth? He searched for a name tag, but none was present. Neither could he see a zipper or a buckle anywhere on the case at all. Puzzled, he carried it into the hall. It felt weightless and airy, as if all it contained was a box of tissues. He was about to turn it over and examine it further when Liz’s voice called him into the kitchen.

  The moment he walked in, he knew he was in trouble. Her gaze rolled away from him toward the bread box. She had taken off the lid, but not removed the contents. The listening dragon! He’d forgotten to put it back on the fridge.

  “You know, this has got to stop,” she said.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered, trying to look anywhere but into her face. He stepped forward and returned the listener straightaway.

  “And that?” Her gaze flickered over the book. It was still on the table where David had left it.

  “Zanna brought it. Research — for my essay.”

  “Research,” Liz repeated, folding her arms. Not a good sign, and David knew it. He braced himself for what he knew was coming next. “Did you take Zanna into the den?”

  “Yes,” he answered quietly. There was no point lying.

  “Did she touch anything?”

  “No, not really.”

  “What do you mean, ‘not really’?”

  “She picked up an egg.”

  “The bronze one?”

  “Yes.”

  Liz closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her gaze settled into the middle distance. “I see. You’d better go to your room.”

  David looked up, annoyed. “I’m not a little boy.”

  “This is my house,” Liz said curtly, stabbing a finger onto the dragon book. “I don’t object to your bringing friends home, but I do expect you to respect my privacy. You should not have taken Zanna into the den, not without my permission, anyway.”

  “But—?”

  “David, please. Disappear for a while. I need to make arrangements … for my aunt.”

  Knowing protests would be futile, he turned to leave, but found his way immediately blocked by Lucy. “Mom, Aunty Gwyneth says don’t forget to put a slice of lemon in her tea and, Mom, Gretel is a potions dragon.”

  “What?” said David. “What’s a potions dragon?”

  “I’m not talking to you,” said Lucy. “Oh, thanks. And what have I done to you?” Lucy, contradictory as ever, replied, “She had a dog collar around her neck —”

  “Lucy, do the lemon,” Liz said tartly.

  “— and a tattoo.”

  “Lucy.”
/>   “And tassels.”

  “So?” said David. “What’s wrong with tassels?” Lucy pinned him with an unforgiving glare. “Are you going to tell Sophie you kissed a witch?” “Lucy!” said her mom. “That’s very naughty.” And David, for once, was right. “What I do is my business,” he said to Lucy, coming almost nose to nose. “Zanna is a friend, not a girlfriend or a witch. And I’ve told you before not to spy on me.” He shoved her aside and stomped to his room, closing his ears to any more gibes.

  His first impulse was to pack. Get out of this madhouse. Live a life of happy squalor with other students. But as he paced back and forth, weighing his outrage against his guilt, he decided that quitting was the weaker option. He should stand firm, assert himself, protect his rights. No cantankerous old woman was going to oust him! Or any nosy little girl for that matter. And as for Liz. Well, she often showed people around the Dragons’ Den, didn’t she? And putting a dragon in a bread box was hardly a crime! He sat at the computer and switched it on. A short, sharp letter would suffice for this. A list of his grievances and expectations. He would apologize, of course, for causing any upset, but remind Liz, in no uncertain terms, that he had a verbal contract to rent this room and would not, under any circumstances, think about resigning it.

  “Come on, come on,” he moaned at the computer. As usual, it was taking a lifetime to boot. Impatient, he dashed upstairs to the bathroom. By the time he’d returned, the desktop was loaded. He reached for the mouse — and leaped back in shock. Aunty Gwyneth’s dragon was sitting on his mouse pad.

  “Lucy!” David shouted. “This isn’t funny!” Now who was invading whose privacy, exactly?

  He waited half a minute, but Lucy didn’t come. Frowning, he studied Gretel hard. She was a pretty little dragon with short, neat wings but a slightly larger pattern of scales than the others. Her glaze was a darker shade of green as well, which gave the impression that despite her sweet, charismatic appearance, she was really rather old, even from another age. What fascinated David most were her eyes. They were specked with a myriad of tiny pits, which caught the light from all directions and spiraled it around like a swirling pool.